Big Beautiful Cass Ch. 01

Sam Jasper was into everybody's business. He owned the most successful Ford dealership in the area and every cop, revenue agent and booze runner knew that nothing could outrun a Flathead V-8. Sam got all the business because he looked the other way whenever good or evil wanted something special to keep a level playing field.

While Sam's dealership prospered, his personal life had taken a turn for the worst. His wife Edith had passed on a year before; her body had given in to rheumatic fever. First she's felt aches and pains in the joints. Before Sam and the docs knew it, her heart had collapsed; she couldn't take anymore. Sam was devastated; he had been completed devoted to her. He'd always had a thing for a full-figured gal, and Edith was pleasingly plump, sexy, and smart. They'd been great lovers, but they had also looked out for each other.

Sam had many chances to meet women after Edith passed away. Short, sandy-haired, with a full head of hair that made him look younger than his 38 years, he was considered quite a catch. But he had rejected overtures of some of the wealthiest ladies in town. He'd found them too stodgy and boring, and they didn't attract him as Edith had.

Sam's friend, Joey, owned the Peacock Club, a hot night spot not far from his dealership. Unlike Sam, Joey had stayed single. Night after night, he'd walk into his club with a different girl around each arm: blondes, brunettes and redheads, and they were all tall, thin and long legged beauties. After six months of mourning Edith's death, Sam had made the Peacock Club his home after-hours. Anyone who was anyone frequented the Peacock Club, and there were always deals to be done. And of course, there were Joey's women. They were all beautiful, true, and they were nice, but he felt none of them could carry a candle to Edith.

"What's wrong with you?" Joey finally asked one night, frustrated that Sam had been only polite to one of his favorite femmes. Joey had constantly tried to fix Sam up with his girls, but Sam barely budged. "I mean, these ladies are smokin'. You know what most guys would give just to say 'hello' to these broads?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I know, but they don't do it for me."

"Your wife, you know that girl had some ass, but I always liked her, even when she broke my balls."

They laughed together. Joey had gotten along well with Edith, though she'd found his business offensive. But she was never nasty, only teasing. Joey and Sam had been friends a long time, and they'd steered business each other's way. But Joey also did some strange deals behind the scenes and kept his pal out to protect him. He hired much burlier men for protection.

Sam slapped Joey's shoulder. "Yeah, she did, but I liked her ass." Sam winked then Joey stepped away to meet and greet other customers, while Sam remained at the bar sipping his Jack Daniels on the rocks. The bar was smoky, and a band had gotten practically everyone, except the wallflowers at the bar, up to dance.

And then a new woman walked in, and she's come alone. She was tall and blonde, like most of Joey's ladies, but she looked stronger and more confident--those girls were usually frail and willowy—but her ass, covered under a skirt tighter and shorter than most, reminded him of Edith. He took another sip of whisky to be sure, or was it for courage. The lump between his legs throbbed for the first time in two years.

The woman grew larger as she approached the bar; she appeared as tall as any man in the place. Her face was beautiful; perfectly round red cheeks and big aquamarine eyes. Her breasts reminded Sam of headlights turned backwards on the convertible that was in the center of his showroom. Her lips were redder than the taillights on that car. For a couple of seconds, Sam imagined himself in the front seat of the convertible with this woman, her blonde hair flying in the breeze.

She stopped next to Sam, who hadn't stopped throbbing, and had started shaking, and withdrew a cigarette and holder from her purse. She asked Pete, the bartender, for a light, and he obliged.

"What'll it be, Sam, another?" Pete asked, pointed to his nearly empty glass.

"Yeah, and whatever she wants,' Sam said. The woman pointed to Sam's glass; she wanted whatever he had.

As Pete poured their drinks, Sam studied the woman's profile. She was taller than he was; maybe a little less than half a foot. But the curves of her legs and ass were perfect to his eyes, as was her face. She was different than most who came through Joey's door, and she'd come alone, which meant she entered the club at her own risk.

"I'm Sam," he said, and offered his hand, trying to break the ice.

"Yeah, I heard," she answered, pointing to Pete, who had just brought their drinks. "I'm Cass." She had a handshake as firm as any man Sam had ever met, and a voice that sounded as confident as any salesman in his dealership. Sam couldn't tell if she was single or married; she wore diamond-jeweled rings on more than one hand.

"What brings you here? I've never seen you before," he asked trying to suppress himself from drooling as he stared at the edge of her skirt.

"Let's just say business, and keep it at that," she answered.

Sam stirred the ice in his glass and pretended not to look at her. "Uh, okay, " he said, "maybe I can help. I know everybody here."

"Oh you do? How do I know you can take care of my needs?" Cass took a drag from her cigarette and blew smoke just over the top of Sam's ear.

"Got to give a guy a chance," he replied, surprised that his voice did not sound shaky. This tall blonde woman had captured his attention, quite possibly away from business.

Cass scanned the room as she took another drag; this time she blew smoke rings in the direction of the dance floor. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head, then she noticed a bulge between Sam's legs. "Is that a pistol, or are you glad to see me?"

Sam blushed. "I'm a car dealer, and no I don't carry a gun."

"Maybe you need one, to keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Cass smiled. Her teeth were perfect, pearly white; few women are born with teeth like that.

"I got lots of friends; everybody needs a car. Maybe not today, but tomorrow"

"How 'but a truck. You sell trucks too?" she asked.

Sam was surprised by the question; he had not expected to close a business deal with this woman, but was interested in closing a different kind of deal. "Yep, lots of 'em. Stop by and check us out." He handed her a business card. Sam always carried cards whenever he stopped by the Peacock Club. Many a deal had started at the bar, if not from a friend, then a friend of a friend.

"I might, but I think your mind's wandering." Cass ran a long nailed finger along the front of Sam's shirt and played with the bottom button. Overwhelmed by the tingling sensations, Sam shuddered and blushed. He had not felt this way since the best of times with Edith. Cass didn't unbutton his shirt, but she ran a finger along the zipper of his trousers. Those sensations tingled his balls and sent a shock up his spine.

"Oh, I'll get you the best deal," Sam stuttered, forming the words slowly from his lips.

"I never rush into deals. Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly. Don't want to be done in by some slick car salesman." She laughed and stopped teasing Sam with her fingers. "I want to have 'em like this." Checking to see no one was looking. Cass reached for Sam's crotch and squeezed his balls. Sam gritted his teeth, but he actually enjoyed the power of her fingers clamping down.

"Uhhh, okay. But why don't you come by and give me a chance?"

Cass smiled and winked. "Maybe I will," she said. "If not, here's something to remember me by." She picked a drink moistened napkin off the bar and pressed it against her lips, leaving a kiss stained on the napkin. She handed Sam the napkin and headed through the smoke for the door.

Sam stared at her ass for as long as he could see it. It finally disappeared in the smoke.

Pete's voice came from behind the bar, shaking Sam out of his reverie. "You okay, bud?"

"Yeah Pete, why?" he asked, curious about the gruff man's concern.

"I think you better go home," he answered, pointing to Sam's leg.

A wet streak had trickled from his cock to his shoes.