Drunk And Disorderly

I’m not really drunk but I do it anyway. I polish off my Sam Adam’s lager and I drop my thick mug over the bar. I know it will not break. The rubber slip mat under John’s feet will keep it from shattering. But I look damn surly doing it and that is the point.

“I need another one!” I bark and John’s head whips up from where he’s cutting limes. His ginger red beard shines a white gold color in the light from the various televisions mounted in the corners.

John shakes his head, comes my way. He bends, all six foot five of himself and picks up my mug.

“No. No you don’t, Jules. You need to go home.”

“But I don’t want to go home,” I say and push myself toward him. I put on my best stubborn face and poke his big barrel chest with my finger. “I do not want to go home. I want another beer. And then maybe another beer. You’re the bartender, John. That means…” I sit back and hitch my low slung jeans up a bit higher. “…you work for me. Got it?”

John frowns but his eyes dart right to my waistband. The tan ring of skin that is visible between my tee and my jeans. He seems mesmerized for a moment and butterflies start to fly low in my belly. I move a little on my bar stool and his dark green eyes follow me. There are two other patrons besides myself in the bar. They both seem asleep. Marc, his back-up is washing mugs. I want to grab his big face and kiss him. Sink my fingers into that reddish beard and tug but I don’t. Instead I frown and I wait.

“I do work for you, Jules,” he says softly. A tone of voice reserved for nuts and drunks and frightened animals. “And right now, I’m telling the boss to go home. That would be you. Boss, go home.”

I am perfectly sober but I slur my words just a hint for him. It’s taken forever to get the right tone down. The perfect softening of a th or drawing out an s way too long. “I want another beer.”

“No.”

“I want.” I push the napkin holder over the lip of the bar onto the floor. “Another.” Next goes the popcorn bowl. “Beer.” Then the stack of coasters. “Please,” I add and toss a peanut right at his big handsome face. “Now.”

John, who is known for his temper, inhales a great breath and waits. He is either counting to ten or considering how long he will have to spend in jail if he murders me. He exhales and it is like the North Wind let loose inside of Checkie’s. He is so big. So huge. It makes me wet just to see how big his hand is in comparison to mine. They rest on the bar next to each other. His ruddy and freckled. Mine pale and thin. That hand suddenly moves and he grabs up both my hands in his one huge mitt.

“Outside. You need some fresh air. It’s either a nice bit of breeze for you, Jules or I call the cops. Drunk and disorderly. Throwing shit at your bartender is not the way to get good service.”

Oh, but it is. I grin because he is hustling me out the back hallway and I’m facing away from him. He marches me out, hands pinned behind my back. With each step toward the back patio, my cunt grows wetter and my heartbeat speeds up. “Ow! You are hurting me, John!”

And he is. Only I won’t tell him that I like it. And that it makes me even more frantic for him. For punishment. This is not the first time I have gotten out of hand. And it won’t be the last.

“You’ll be just fine. Why do you do this? What’s up with you?” He growls it in my ear and the angry undertone to his voice trickles down my spine like warm water. I shiver even though we’re outside now and the night air is cool on my bare arms.

I stumble from him pushing me but revel in the feel of him keeping me upright. John has me and he won’t let me fall. He lets me go and I turn. Face to face with this mountain of a man. Big and wide in faded jeans and motorcycle boots. A checked shirt and five o’clock shadow gone wrong. “I’m sorry, John. Sorry,” I whisper.

I hike myself up on my toes and even though I’m tall, I come nowhere close to being eye to eye with him. I rub my face against his chin and his stubble bites at me. I sigh and he grabs me by my upper arms and lifts me off the dry brown grass so we are eye to eye.

“If you’re so sorry why do you keep doing it?” His lips a millimeter from mine. His big fingers are biting into my skin and the pain sings along my arm with a ferocious heat. I feel like I am being branded and blistered. My pussy clutches around nothing.

“I don’t know. I’m a bad girl.” I grin and he frowns and then I touch my tongue to his bottom lip. I can smell beer and peanuts and the warm cinnamon smell of him.

“I thought last time was the the last time,” he says and sets me on my feet. No kiss. No nothing. Talk about punishment. That last beer must be kicking in because I do feel a little lightheaded and unsteady. But that could all be from him. From this.

“I¾” I don’t get to finish because he has popped the button and my low slung jeans are now slung even lower. Like around my knees. His eyes never leave mine as he pushes my pale blue panties down, too. And then I’m being propelled like a toy.

He sits on the wooden wall that runs the perimeter of the patio and I am thankful that it is only available if you pay to rent it. No one is out here to see him plop me over his massive lap and deliver a series of insanely hard slaps. I writhe and yelp and carry on way worse than I did in the bar. How did I forget the incredible agony of learning a lesson from John?

“You know it gets worse the worse you behave,” he says in my ear. He has paused his blows and my ass is pulsing with pain and heat. I squirm but that just makes me wetter. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock under my belly. I want it. Mouth, pussy, wherever. I just want it.

I can feel the menace coming off of him in waves. An invisible musk of control and very little mercy. His palm, nearly as big as my ass cheek, lands again and I buck under him. Then we’re back to the old one, two, one, two while my eyes leak salty tears and my body grows impossibly tight inside and out. I hover right on the brink of orgasm and he stops.

The absence of smacks invites the night sounds to my ears. The sound of the jukebox inside playing Sweet Child O’ Mine. The cicadas in the trees. The traffic noise from the street. And the heavy breathing of the huge man who has me sprawled on his lap. His cock is impossibly hard under my belly and I move and shift on purpose to make him catch his breath.

John’s fingers slide over the hot welts on my bottom. His fingers play over the hills and peaks of flesh he has created with his blows. His calluses a rasping balm of pleasure as I relax a little on his lap. “Why do you always misbehave?”

“I don’t know.” My long dark hair is streaking through the dry grass and I hear it whispering softly. His fingers dip into me. Testing me. I push back beyond caring if I look whorish or easy.

I am whorish.

I am easy.

When it comes to him.

“Take it down, then, Jules,” he laughs. So I do. We have been here before and I know the way it goes. I’ll do what he says or I’ll be expelled. Out of the bar. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. I take his button, pop it. Drag his zipper down and then I’m being repositioned again.

John’s dirty little rag doll.

His cock is out. The streaks of party lights strewn from the trees, show me just enough to make me half crazy with want. Big hands that grip my flesh, big fingers that slide into my cunt just one more time. Big cock that I am suddenly being impaled on. He stretches me and fills me, all the while his serious gaze studies me.

I feel small and bad and filthy and wonderful. “You like that don’t you? You like it when I fuck you, Jules.”

I nod and fight to keep my eyes open. But the feeling is too good. Being filled is too good. And he’s going so slow I have all the time in the world to feel his cock invading me. My eyes slip shut, my head falls back. I murmur but it’s not really an answer.

His mouth is on my neck, my collar bone. And then his teeth. Pinching and hurting. He will leave marks but will not break skin. He moves me faster. Up and down. Up and down. I grab his biceps to feel the muscles play under the skin. To feel his arms grow and bunch from moving me like a plaything.

“Look at me, Jules.” It is not a request.

I open my eyes and he grins. It’s not an entirely nice grin. It’s sort of scary and I feel my cunt quiver just from that look. I’m done for very, very soon. Now that my eyes are opened, I’m fucked. I’ll be coming any moment. I look him in the eye and he pinches me. My nipples, the sides of my breast, my belly, until I am gasping. I make sounds of pain. Sounds of pleasure. And the cicadas ratchet their volume up to a near deafening call as if in sympathy.

“You’re not drunk are you?” He has stopped moving me, so I am moving me. Fucking him with a speed that is drawing me closer and closer to coming.

I try to kiss him and he pushes me back. But not before his stubble burns me. He pinches my ass, where the welts are the worst and I cry out. I bite my lip so no one will hear. “What?” Maybe if I play dumb.

“Don’t try that. You are not drunk.” He twists my nipple and my body clutches him. I’m going to come but only if he lets me. That much is clear. I try to move. He pins me into submission. I shake my head. I cry. Maybe if I cry he’ll relent. “Answer me and I’ll let you.” His tone is reasonable and cajoling. Like the wolf talking the piggy out of the house. “I’ll let you come if you’re a good girl and answer me.”

I shake my head, clench my pussy tight around him. I can come on my own. But he pulls me up so I’m only half impaled, not nearly full. Now I am crying for real.

“Say it.”

“It.” The smart ass response slips out before I can think.

His open palm is a pistol crack in the near dark and my face ignites with invisible flames. White hot. I sob but the pain in my face makes my body feel as if it is glowing. He lets me slide down an inch on his cock and now the pain has translated to pleasure.

“I’m not drunk. I’m sorry. I’m not drunk. I’m not. I’m fine. I just wanted…we’ve been here before and you…can’t get you…” He lets me sink a little more and his cock is nudging deep inside of me again.

“Go on.”

“Out of my head. I can’t. No matter what I do. I mean, I fucking dream about you and I…oh!” He’s back in me and he’s rocking me softly. Big green almost mean eyes studying me as I confess like a naughty child.

“Go on.”

“I just wanted you to fuck me.”

“And hurt you.” His thumb is worming into my ass as he holds me in place. The bite of pain and pressure triggers white spots in my vision and a warmth in my womb.

“And hurt me. You’re the only one who…” I’m coming. The orgasm is winding up and my mind is shutting down.

“Who?”

“Who gets it. The only one who…”

The spasms wrack me and he’s thrusting up under me now. I can tell he is close. His thumb is in my ass and the orgasm is ripping through me and stealing my words. “Who?”

“Can give it to me. Give it to me, John. Please.”

No more talk. He is coming and I am coming again. His big body jumps under me, his cock drives me past the point of speech. And here I am, another Saturday night, drunk and disorderly.