Cock of Ages Ch. 06

"Jailbait?"

"In this town? If she's in here, she's at least sixteen with a good fake ID. But I know she's at least twenty-one."

"Sounds good to me," I agreed. "Send her one of those fruity drinks."

A few moments later and the girl arrived drink in hand and all boobs and smiles. She was a curvaceous blonde, wide cheeks, slightly slutty black cocktail dress, the Jackie Kennedy hair band bisecting her locks. She moved like a classic sex kitten, and was desperately trying to project an aura of elegant sexiness that a chick that young just can't really pull off. Still, she knew about sex. There are some things that can't be faked.

"Hey there," she said in attempt at sultriness. "Thanks for the drink."

"Pretty lady, you looked thirsty."

"I was. And . . . hungry," she added with a bat of her eyelashes. I suppressed the urge to groan. I was on business.

"No doubt," I said, after looking at her for a moment's pause. "What's your name, pretty lady?" I asked, lighting a cigarette and offering her one. She took it and fitted it into a longish holder that looked a little ridiculous in her hand. I nodded and lit it for her.

"Cary," she said. "Cary Salinas."

"Well, Cary Salinas," I said, "I'm Mike Winslow. I'm in town for a few days. I'm looking for some occasional companionship. Tonight, I'm holding auditions," I said, blowing smoke manfully in her direction. She took it like a champ, and there was that gleam in her eye. Sure, there were massive pheromones at work on her CNS, but I was sure that gleam was in here eye before I crossed the doorstep.

"What kind of auditions?" she asked, smoothly, returning the pall of smoke.

"If there's someplace . . . more private we can go, I'll be happy to discuss it," I said, casually. I didn't lead with the blunt blowjob line because Cary would have bounced that right back at me and try to soak me for drinks all night before she finally gave in. April, on the other hand, would have either bolted or quietly acquiesced. While she had done the former, I'd still say I had a fifty-fifty shot at it.

To engage Cary's immediate attention, I needed to make it a challenge. The Harvard ring and the bankroll and the rich-but-sloppy manner I was dressed were the bait, but she needed to see it as a competition. She figured she could nail me first and captivate my attention for the duration of my stay, which was just what I wanted her to do. I needed to work quick. I was on a schedule.

"I know someplace . . . " she said, and motioned for Donald. After a fevered whispered conversation with the bartender, he reluctantly nodded and glanced at me.

"Let's go check out the office," she said, her voice fluttering a bit. She was horny, nervous, and determined. I was a big fish, and she wanted to land me quick.

"Lead the way," I agreed. With a nervous glance around, she led me back into a darkened hallway, past the rest rooms, and to the very back, into the bar's office. There, she took a key from a peg and unlocked a storage room and ushered me inside. It was dimly lit by a single bulb from the ceiling, and the unpainted walls were covered in shelves which were covered with all the crap you need to run a bar properly.

"The Presidential Suite, I see," I said, wryly. "What'd you have to promise him to get this?"

"A . . . a blowjob after work," she confessed.

"You must really want this position badly," I teased.

"Oh, I think I have the right qualifications," she said, trying to be sultry again. I think she was waiting for me to kiss her. I shrugged. No reason not to – it gave me a shot at checking out her goods. She had big soft lips that collided pleasantly with mine as she swam into my arms. She was an adept kisser, for her age, just the right amount of tongue and tease. I ignored the rules of baseball when I skipped the batting practice and went right for first base. My hands wandered over her ass, squeezing and feeling roughly. I brought one up to go for her tightly-encased tits, which took her aback – but she didn't pull away, either. She was aroused, and the indelicate treatment was turning her on.

I pulled at her nipples through her dress and whispered in her ear, "Are you going to ignore me all night?"

"Sorry," she said, quickly bringing her hands to my fly, where she began to rub. That's when I noticed my Harvard ring was getting warm. I chuckled, causing Cary to knit her eyebrows.

"Nothing," I said, dismissing it. "Just a wicked thought."

"Best kind," she agreed with a smile. "My, but you're a big boy!"

"Big enough," I admitted. "So, let's see what you can do."

She smiled again, a little too widely, displaying a slight discomfort – this was probably moving faster than she was used to. Teasing drinks and dinner out of some middle-aged salesman was one thing. Having a supremely self-assured playboy shredding through half of her act to get to the payoff was a little out of her experience. Still, she hung in there, looking at the big picture. She started unzipping me as she sank to her knees. She gave me another glance and a seductive hair-toss as she stroked me in the dim light, then put me to her lips.

Yes, for a girl her age, Cary knew her way around a cock.

She put everything into it, every ounce of hope and enthusiasm, and she turned in a good performance. Had I actually been a rich playboy slumming in Tampa, I might have been tempted to sweep her off her feet on the basis of that blowjob, alone. Instead I groaned lustfully and relaxed to the soothing sensation of her agile lips massaging my shaft, her busy tongue caressing it languidly.

Life was good. I entangled my fingers in her hair, delighting at the headband that was emblematic of the era, and pulled her just a little more insistently down my cock. She struggled just a bit – Deep Throat wouldn't be out for a decade, yet – but went down two thirds of the way. Remarkable, for this day and age. I let her control the pace after that, and for ten glorious minutes I reveled in the oral expertise of a late teen slut on the cusp of the sexual revolution.

She glanced up at me to gauge my appreciation, and I nodded my approval. She went hungrily back to work, no doubt to coax a load from me quickly so she could get on with being arm candy for the rest of the night. I wasn't that much of a sucker – I withheld my orgasm. My ring had been warm. It was time to knock this chick up.

I pulled her away from my groin, which confused her a bit, and I kissed her full in the mouth. The passion of the moment overwhelmed her confusion, and she sagged just the slightest bit, her breathing ragged. No doubt her panties were soaked. I broke the kiss and stared at her.

"So far, so good," I murmured, and spun her around with a squeak. A hand between her shoulder blades compelled her to bend over a convenient case of rum, and I admired her ass for a moment. Round and full, like an apple – but I could see where she'd have some saddle bag issues when she was around forty. She was ripe and fresh at this age, though. Cary glanced back with a combination of nervousness and anticipation as my hands traveled over her thighs, under her skirt, and to the waistband of her panties.

"I don't usually—"

"Can the crap, sugar," I said, a little testily. "Don't tell me you haven't been bent over in this very spot more than once." That caused her to blush furiously and turn her head back around, eyes closed.

I grinned to myself at her discomfort. No woman likes being made to feel like a slut, even when she is a slut. But sometimes it really gets them off. Sometimes, it really turns them off. At this stage of the game, she couldn't back out without losing face, so I figured it was worth the chance of pissing her off. Sadistic of me, I know.

I pulled her skirt up over her ass and pulled her panties down, mid-thigh, where they hung like a hurricane flag after a squall – and were about as wet. I gave her ass one last feel, then parted her thighs and began pushing the head of my cock against her beaver. Nice and furry, still, here in the Sixties.

She groaned as I filled her, and I had to admit, she was nice and tight. It took a little effort to get inside, and once I was there it was cozy. She gave a low little moan at the penetration.

"Tighter than I expected," I added, a little back-handed compliment to push her humiliation buttons some more. I felt her ass wiggle, so I took her hips between my hands and started some deep and powerful thrusting. I wanted this little tart to feel it, every inch. I went slowly and deliberately, but forcefully, pinning her ass over a case of cheap rum in the back room of a tacky bar. Of such things are precious memories made.

A few moments of thrusting and she began to get highly responsive. Moaning and grunting at every stroke, hair tossing around, ass wiggling back at me as the lust took over and transported her away from a dusty back room. I could feel her orgasm approach, so I slowed down, pushing heavily into her until I was lodged against her cervix, and I bent over to whisper in her ear.

"How many times have you been fucked, little girl?" I asked the spasming teen. "How many times have you spread your legs for some crappy local football hero, or some drunk from out of state who's wife just doesn't understand him?"

She answered with a wordless groan.

"Well, Mikey is in town now, and I can fuck little whores like you all day long. So spread the word: my daddy wants me to get married and start popping out grandkiddies – he's already got the trust funds set up. But I won't marry any cunt who can't keep up with me in bed. So I'm going to find the biggest beachfront bar-slut in Tampa and take her home to meet my sainted parents. They want me to find a prim and proper little socialite, but if I pick a horny little fuck toy they can't stand, that'll do. So take this," I said, suddenly slamming back into her, which drew another moan. "Take that, and let the word go forth. Auditions start today, and last all week. Best slut wins. Winner take all."

I didn't spare her after that – I'd given her all the bait she needed. A night of free drinks was one thing – trust funds and rich parents who wanted a daughter-in-law were quite another. Those were high stakes, indeed, and there was no way in hell that she would keep her succulent lips closed about it. In an hour, the word would go forth, and every bar on the strip would empty out as the chicks came at least for a look at Mikey The Eligible Bachelor. I was set for pussy for days, tons of freebies, all off the books. If this didn't impress the boys down-stream, I didn't know what would.

I pumped her ruthlessly, using her as callously as any rich boy would use a poor girl. And she took it, took it well, and suddenly she became very, very vocal. I paused again, just shy of her orgasm, and sighed. "Yeah, every slut in Tampa. And you're the first, Mary."

"C-cary!" she struggled out, writhing in frustration.

"Carry what?" I asked, feigning confusion. "I'm not carrying shit!"

"My name!" she cried, a little desperately. "My name is Cary, not Mary," she insisted. If she was going to get hammered, I at least had to know her name.

"What's the difference?" I sniffed, and began pounding away again. It only took me a few moments to get my nut, spraying her insides with plenty of life-saving baby batter – but she had cooled down enough during our little discussion about her name that she hadn't quite made it, yet. She was wound tight and ready to go, and my dick was already deflating inside her.

"Great ride," I commented with a grunt, pulling free of her warm, wet depths. "Stick around tonight, I might give you a second go."

"O-Okay," she said, tensely, but meekly.

"Oh, wait," I said, before I closed up my cock in my pants. "I seem to be all sticky, now. I can't have that. Do you have any idea what I can use to clean off my dick, Cary?" I asked, meaningfully.

I didn't have to explain. Cary was smart enough to figure it out. Without even pulling her panties up, she slowly turned and squatted in front of me, and obediently cleaned my cock off with her tongue and lips.

"That was pretty good," I commented, critically, as I finally zipped up. "But I couldn't just . . . settle for the first can of peas on the shelf, now, could I?"

"Huh?"

"I'll be in touch," I said, without explaining further. "Like I said, stick around a while. You might get lucky." And with that I left the storeroom and returned to the bar.

"You just got yourself a mean tip, Donald," I said, sliding a hundred dollar bill across the bar. "Scotch, rocks. And . . . Cary? Cary drinks on my tab tonight."

As if I had summoned her, Cary came out of the bathroom a moment later, looking a little worse for wear, and blew me a kiss from across the bar. Sure, I had humiliated and used her and left her on the brink of release, but she was currently at the top of my very short list, and she didn't want to blow it.

"You mind if I use your office again, later?"

The young man stared down at the bill and swallowed in surprise. "Yeah, sure, boss, whatever you need."

"I need a drink, and then I'm going to scout for more sluts. Help me out with that, will ya?"

"You bet," Donald agreed, making the bill disappear. "It's still early yet, but I know all the easy marks."

"Great, let's see how many I can do in one night," I said with a grin.

I don't think he believed me, but for the kind of bread I was throwing around, he was willing to bang them over the head for me and hold them down if I wanted.

I could get to like this Mike Winslow guy. He knew how to party.