Lions And Tigers Ch 01

Jack woke as he so often did, before the alarm clock, mind quickly returning to the real world. His libido woke with him, as it so often did; his high sex drive had been a constant throughout his life, and now that he'd taken early retirement from wilderness firefighting, the free time and leisure only made it more omnipresent. So that his life hadn't become completely unstructured, he'd fallen back into bartending, which he'd first done to get through college, as well as teaching a couple of boxing classes. He lived in an apartment in an unfashionable but comfortable part of Chicago, and was feeling rather serene for a forty year old without any clear plan for the future. Serene except for the daily-ratcheting-up of his libido, that is.

Tonight, he was bartending at a record release party for a friend of a friend of his. He'd heard the band, and they were pretty freaking good--Chicago's music scene was always an effortless wonderland. he couldn't remember the last time he'd been out to see music and not heard wonderful stuff. It was being held in the friend of a friend's private home, a sprawling semi-mansion affair. Jack was equally at ease among dive bars and swanky salons, and was intrigued to see what sort of thing would be going down that night.

He dressed in functional bartender black, and headed out for the house. On the trip over, his libido resurged, and his eye followed the swish and sway of women's skirts on their way in and out of his subway card. One girl gave him a second, lingering glance with some heat in it and he considered briefly chucking the evening away to approach her, but his responsible side reasserted itself.

The friend of a friend, the band's manager, a nice, young, and absolutely ambitious girl named Sarah, picked him up at the subway station. She was driving some sort of sleek sports car, and was looking good yet somehow utterly remote. She talked animatedly about the party, and he found himself liking her even with all that brass. A marketing maven she might be, but obviously competent; Jack liked competence, but was almost glad to find zero chemistry between them. Not a spark, just a sense of two very, very different people working together on something.

They got to the house, and he found there was a built-in bar in the large downstairs lounge. The band's name was Bourbon Princess; Sarah had wrangled a deal with a little-known whiskey distributor, and he had a lot of cases of bourbon and other whiskies, blended and single malt--a cut above the average party spirits. A couple of kegs of strong microbrew rounded off his selection.

He set up his stuff, said hi to the security dudes, arranged with one of the waiters to come and spell him every once in a while at the bar, and started serving up pregaming drinks to the various hyperkinetic people preparing for the party's start. The place slowly filled up with a nice combination of crunchy old funky dudes, a few musicians he actually recognized, and young zesty people of various types. More than a few lovely women who'd dressed to dare themselves gave him the hot-eye as he passed over their scotch. Soon, the band itself arrived, prompting an exodus of most of the people in the room to the front of the house. A few lingered behind, including one girl who caught his eye as the crowd streamed away. She had a classic look, long pale blonde hair down below her shoulders, curling and winding around in a free and fun way. Her body was very slender but she moved in a way that showed her fitness. He instantly knew what it'd be like to touch her, the softness over the firmness underneath. Her eyes were bright, her smile flashing as she talked to some other girl. She was wearing funky 70's style clothes, anachronistic as hell. The other girl leaned in closer to overhear something, blocking Jack's view and he smiled to himself--lust was so strange, he was completely now into this young lithe blonde-haired girl and the other girl, though perfectly attractive, was just a barrier.

The other girl broke off the conversation, and the blonde one turned towards Jack. He let his eyes remain on her, not pretending he hadn't been already looking. She arched an eyebrow and walked towards him, an alluring mix of confident strutting and vulnerable hesitation, underscoring again the youthfulness of her aspect. She had really amazing breasts for such a slender girl, Jack noticed, though his eyes stayed up, meeting her gaze. Her shirt was stretched tight over them, and as she walked towards him Jack's cock responded in kind, filling out, pressing tight against his black slacks.

"Hi," she said, simply, "Can I get a whiskey?"

"Sure," Jack said, "ah, are you twenty-one?" The closer she was, the more he saw the clear skin of youth, and she shook her head from side to side and smiled wickedly at him, "No, I'm not. I'm a teenager. Nineteen."

He started to say, "I can't--" and she cut him off, "I bet you were drinking before twenty-one. You look like the kind of guy who it was old hat to. I bet you think that knowing your way around a bottle that young helped you out later in life, too, when all the freshmen at college competed for the alcohol poisoning prize."

Jack couldn't hide his smile--nor did he really want to. She had a great voice, a little huskier than he would have imagined, still lilting with her young age but older than that in promise. There was also the fact that everything she had just said was perfectly true. Oh well, what the hell, rock and roll, and it was a private party anyway.--he poured her a single-malt, and watched her take a knowing, practiced sip; hardly her first whisky.

"I'm Kristine," she said.

He nodded, "Jack. So how does a nineteen year old get invited to this kind of party?"

"I'm Sarah's sister. So I'm just home."

He raised an eyebrow at that--the place was palatial, but she didn't act like other rich girls he'd met before. "And where are your parents in all of this?"

"Right now I think they're in Nice. Classic parental abandonment. Poor me."

She slouched against the bar. And damn, she may have been nineteen but to Jack the way she inhabited that body was old enough for anything. She had a strangely feral look to her in her girl-next-door features, a hunger. And her body; it looked so tight, supple lithe lines under the individualistic wardrobe; he moved his hand involuntarily in the imagination of caressing it.

"Well, the band is pretty good," he said, "If you've heard them at all."

"Yeah," she said, "I got to all of their concerts. They're awesome live."

"I've never been to one of their live concerts. I could take you to the next one."

Where the hell had that come from? But there it was, and yeah, that was exactly what he had wanted. She locked eyes with him, those startling blue eyes, and said, "That was a really interesting thing to say." She gave another little smile, and then the room began to fill up as the band approached the lounge. She smiled at him, walked away, turned to make sure he was checking out her surprisingly full ass, and greeted her sister.

The next hour she kept frustratingly just on the verge of Jack's sight lanes, as the crowds moved through and Jack served beer after whiskey after beer. She was always there when he looked for her, sometimes looking back at him with those intense blue eyes, sometimes her lovely profile as she made what looked like genuinely easy, happy conversation with a wide variety of party-goers. There were some cool freaks here, and, aside from this current erotic fixation with a teenager who he was staring at, Jack was having a great time. He was in his bartender's rhythm, the energy of the crowd was surging and inspiring.

But still his heart thudded hugely when Kristine returned to his bar. She put her whiskey glass on the bar and leaned in, smiling. Jack smiled back at her, "Hello again, Kristine."

"I ran into a guy named Michel who knows you," she said.

"Oh wow, Michel is here? He's awesome."

"Michel was very verbose about how terrific you are, too. He said you were the greatest thing about America."

"Michel is a Paraguayan madman."

"He did seem that way. But charming."

"So you're collecting character references on me?"

"Yes. Well... were you being serious?" she said, suddenly looking her age.

Jack laughed, "Yes, I was serious. I just like the way you hold yourself, the way you slouch," he said, grinning, as she slouched on the bar, smiling again now.

"Okay, then, prove it. Kiss me now, in front of these people."

She was fucking with him. She was expecting him to hesitate at least a moment, he knew, so he bent down in a fluid motion and held her by the back of the neck and kissed her, treating her like the woman she was. Her soft lips parted for him and a hard little tongue flicked at his. Her eyes were so damn blue up close, and she kept them open when she kissed, just like him.

He broke it off, laughing, as a couple of people nearby gave some sarcastic applause.

"I really hope your sister didn't see that," Jack said.

She shrugged, "She's out talking to the band, no worries." She was trying to play it cool, but Jack could see the kiss had riled her up--as it had him, dear god, he was rock hard from just that contact. She looked happy now. A slightly different aspect, not coy, but a little impish. "Yes, you can take me to the next concert," she said.

"Happen to know when that is?" he asked, and she responded, "Tomorrow, in support of the CD release. You're in luck. Why don't I pick up a couple of backstage passes?"

"Why don't you," he said. This chick was a little spooky but definitely interesting and definitely had him off balance. He was more than twenty years older than her, but she was wit-dextrous as all get out. But more than anything he was thinking about his mouth on hers, his hand on the back of her head, and how compliant she'd been. They talked more, in a lull of customers, the kiss still tingling on his lips.

Then an interlude passed: more and more thirsty people wanting alcohol to sever their inhibitions. Kristine stepped back and saluted him with the whiskey. She disappeared into the crowd, he served more, the party getting nicely out of hand, with uproarious laughter abounding. He got one of the waiters to spell him and searches for her but doesn't find her. Another couple of hours passed and the party had melted down, he'd had to restrain several people from just grabbing bottles of scotch, and he was finally able to start locking the stuff away. For a few of his special friends--including Michel--he unlocked and gave them a bottle as they went to prosecute their various agendas.

And then she was back. It was two in the morning by then, and in the lounge, intense conversations, makeout sessions, impromptu strange dancing, it was all going on. And Kristine still looked fresh--in fact, even slightly more made up than before. For him? Yes. For him. She approached the bar, and leaned in close, "Just so you know. I'm not inexperienced--far from it. I'm not some schoolgirl fantasy. Not that I think you have one. Just saying."

He loved hearing her voice say these things. "I like the reality I'm seeing. A wise-ass precocious little minx femme fatale with a bit of devil-may-care insouciance."

"You forgot to mention my powerful sexuality," she says, touching his hand. A drunken member of the general party public stumbles up to the bar, sighs, shakes his head, and stumbles off. They both laughed. "This party got heavy fast."

"Yeah," she said, "I feel a little vulnerable out here."

It was an obvious lie, but it served her as she opened the waist-high door and walked behind the bar with him. There were about ten other people in the room in various states of sobriety and attention, others passed out in chairs and couches. Jack and Kristine were standing face to face, her firm young breasts still pushing against that shirt, her eyes still a blazing blue, her hip cocked in an arch, come-get-me fashion. Something about her made sense to him on a deep level at that moment. She swallowed and in that motion looked vulnerable and then in the next so hungry again.

He'll never know what told him it's the thing to say but he said it to her, after looking quickly around to make sure they're not directly observed. "Get on your knees, Kristine."

Her eyes widened and just a moment later she was doing it, getting down on her knees, looking up at him--totally hidden from the room. She arranged herself in front of him, and he couldn't believe it he'd only had one drink but he was unbuckling his belt, his hand pulling out his already-hard cock and her small hand was going around it and she looked up at him and he looked down at her and gasped as she bent her head and slowly took the tip of that cock into her young mouth. He rested one hand on the bar as he looked down, heart pounding, head swimming in arousal and alarm. What the fuck was he doing? He was getting a blowjob right behind the bar, in a roomful of people. Insanity. But he'd never felt more right. And she was so freaking beautiful, her eyes still wide, looking up at him as her perfect little lips slid around the head of his cock, and he felt that darting little tongue against him.

He put one hand on her head as another semi-drunk guy came towards the bar, and he had to lift his eyes from the amazing sight. "What can I do for you?" he said, trying to keep his voice neutral even as he heard a faint giggle enemate from below. "Just a beer," the drunk said, swaying on his feet but full of good cheer. "Hell of a party, eh?" Right as he asked, he felt Krstine push her head forward, sliding his cock back along her tongue. "Ah," he said, "Yes. Fucking hell. Great party." He grabbed a cup and pulled a pint, taking the opportunity to look down and see Kristine's lips wrapped firmly around his cock as she pulled back on it, sucking hard all the way. He handed over the beer to the bemused drunk, who took it off him and said, "Thanks, buddy."

"No problem," Jack managed, as he guided Kristine's mouth back onto him with his hand on her head. Hopefully to anyone in the lounge looking over it'd seem like he was fiddling with bottles below the bar. But fuck it, it felt so fucking good he didn't care. He looked down now, and she looked up, their eyes meeting as his hand kept pulling her in, kept pushing his cock in between her lips. Her eyes were amazing like this; he was so fucking aroused it was hard to stop urging her sweet face down on his cock, but he stopped as he felt her gag and released her a little bit. It didn't dissuade her at all and she eagerly hummed on his cock. That made him moan and he quickly checked to see if they'd gathered any attention but no there was a couple making out in the room who were drawing fire away. He looked back down and she was sucking but keeping still and he intuited right and really gripped her head in his hands and started to pull and push her on his cock, her kneeling like a good girl, like a bad girl, taking as much of him as she could. He couldn't fucking believe how good this nineteen year old girl's mouth felt around his cock, how much he was willing to risk being caught just so he could keep feeling this, so that he could keep taking her.

She moaned again loud enough for him to hear her above the music and that brought him close. He looked down at her and nodded and she closed her eyes and opened them in pleasure and his hand pulled her a few last rough strokes on his cock; he almost shouted and turned it into just a loud breath, heaved out a rush of air as he felt his cum surge out of him. She sealed her lips around him and sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing, almost tumbling him off his feet--how the fuck could this feel so good. He looked down and she met his eyes as another jet of come poured into her, and he saw her young throat work as she swallowed him down. He braced himself against the bar and took another deep breath and let it out, barely controlled again as he finished in her mouth, his cock still pulsing in pleasure, utterly spent inside her.

She moved then, sucking it a few more times and then sitting back on her heels, reaching up to wipe her lips with the back of her hand, panting happily. She had such a nice smile, painted with joy, her lips a little bruised from that amazing facefucking she'd just been given. She asked "Is anyone looking over right now?" and when he shook his head she smoothly stood up, still panting. He put an arm around her--how could he not--and drew her in, holding her, feeling her tremble a bit.

"So, this is your house," he said, smiling at her.

She hugged him another moment in silence, and then pulled back, her impish wry look coming back onto her face. "That was fucking amazing, Jack, and I can see you're going to be trouble for me, but you're not getting into my bed tonight."

He slid a hand down her back to her ass, murmuring, "I just want to reward you for that wonderful job you did." She leaned back in his arms, looking at him and smiling, and said "You will. It's on the account. You owe me."

He laughed. How fucking crazy was this. This nineteen year old girl had just done that as if it was natural to her--and he'd ordered her, he'd told her to do it, how had he known--fucking amazing. And he really liked her, he really liked this attitude she was giving, this letting him know she could deal, she wasn't afraid, she could handle him.

"You're not getting in my bed tonight," she repeated, "But pick me up for the concert tomorrow at eight."

She still had a small smear of his cum gleaming on the edge of her mouth, he saw, and the sight turned him on all over again. But he respected the serious game she was playing, and he said, "I'll pick you up at eight, Kristine." She smiled one last time, and then walked out from behind the bar, and disappeared into the bare beyond.

And Jack sat down behind the bar himself, laughing, opening a bottle to have a slug straight from it. What the fuck, man, what the holy fuck.

Back in her room, Kristine looked at herself in the mirror, heart still racing, still amazed at herself. It had been the tone in his voice, she thought. But how had he known, how had he seen that? Everyone couldn't see it... nobody else ever had. Although she had gotten quite a lot of experience with blowjobs, it was because she hadn't really been ready to do much with her first two boyfriends, and had only fucked a few times, and not very fulfillingly. But in her fantasies she'd gone so far beyond. She couldn't tell when this had started, but as soon as she was aware of herself as a sexual being she knew she wanted not sweetness and light in sex, but dark desire, force, commands, to be a vulnerable girl, to push boundaries every time. She didn't feel she'd lied to him when she said she was far from inexperienced, her mind had ventured far, she'd consumed porn and erotica ravenously.

Sigh looked at herself in the mirror, her slim body, her obvious youth. That guy... Jack--where the hell had he come from? How had they made that connection, considering the yawning gap of years between them? The memory of his cock filling her mouth, of his hand guiding her, almost forcing her--between her legs, her pussy dampened and she moved a hand down to it. Then she laid back on the bed, imagining what she had looked like as she sucked his cock, wondering if anyone saw, half-terrified and half-aroused. She got her sneakily-acquired dildo out of her nightside table, and positioned it, spreading her legs wide, pretending thinking she was doing it for Jack as she pushed it inside herself. Then she was lost in mute desire, just needing to fuck herself silly, mind crowded with fantasy and memory and incoherent, wild thoughts as she fucked the dildo in and out of her young pussy. It was a sizeable dildo, but Jack's cock was larger and she liked that too, that he'd been that way, she thought as she filled herself with her dildo and imagined her pussy even more full, his weight on her, and oh god so quickly she was coming yelping and gasping and her pussy so wet and tight on the dildo as she fucked herself through her orgasm, holding itself finally in her and gasping a last cry.