One Night at Cavanaugh's

It'd been a bad week. That's all there was to say about it, really. On Monday, my rent check had bounced, when my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend now - had cleaned out my account and hopped into the car of a waitress called Darla who worked at the diner in town.

I found this out when the landlord grabbed me on my way up the stairs the following evening, pointing to a pile of my things, thrown against the wall in the hallway, with a snarled threat to call the cops if I didn't get my shit out of his place in five minutes. So from Tuesday night, I'd been living out of my car. I'd lost my job on Wednesday. The small law office, where I'd been typing up legal documents for the last two years, said they were downsizing, whatever that meant, and it was last in, first to go. Which meant, of course, me.

I'd seen the advertisement in the paper on Thursday morning for a barmaid up at a dive on one of the roads heading out of town, and knew I couldn't pass it up. At five-eight, a healthy 36C-24-36, I figured I'd get hired and if the clientele were too touchy-feely for my liking, I could always leave. It was also the only job vacancy in town.

Cavanaugh's was - still is, most likely - a roughneck bar on the outskirts of town, not all that far out but on one of those gravel roads that's just as likely to give you a puncture as get you where you're going.

Mostly there's a crowd of regulars, the big, muscly derrick-jockeys from the oil field much further out, a few farm hands from the ranches that are on the other side of town, factory workers - well, you get the idea. Occasionally there are some bikers, blowing through town on their way to somewhere else, but not that often. We weren't on the beaten track, if you know what I mean, but we weren't really that far off either.

I'd been surprised to find, on starting the afternoon shift on Thursday, that I didn't mind the work or the customers at all. They'd gotten a bit more hands-on as the evening had progressed, but nothing worse than I'd copped going out for drinks at night, and they were all good-natured enough about it.

So, that's where things were late Friday afternoon, when I started my second night's shift and my boss, Craig, came out of the office and threw a huge set of keys at me, telling me, in between yelling at his wife on his cell, to serve until midnight, close up, cash out the register and put the takings in the safe, and lock up.

Was it a promotion, I asked myself in bemusement as the sound of his V8 roared from the parking lot? I doubted it. I put the keys under the bar counter and got on with serving.

It was around nine or ten that night that the group came in, three younger men and two older. All of them fit and hard-looking, with the exception of the youngest, also the tallest, who seemed just out of high school, with a sweet face and a mop of dark honey-blonde hair that flopped over his forehead.

The others were equally as memorable, each in their own way. The two oldest were both dark-haired, with short back-and-sides and a few days' worth of beard scruffing over their jawlines. The taller was darkly handsome, dark green eyes under black brows and a voice like black velvet. The other was perhaps less memorable, but friendlier, complimenting me on both my looks and service without getting smutty.

The other two, both in the mid-twenties, I thought, were tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, one dark-haired with bright green eyes and a dark five o'clock shadow covering his chin and throat, the other blue-eyed and blond-haired, even teeth shown frequently in a nice smile.

The regulars had all left by eleven, and aside from a couple who had eyes only for each other, the group of men were all that was left. They played pool, chaffing each other over shots made and missed and they ordered round after round, adding their tips in a not ungenerous way.

It might've been an hour or so later, the younger green-eyed man leaned on the bar counter as I put together their drinks, his eyes watching me.

"You worked here long?" he asked.

I shook my head, opening the last bottle of beer and setting it on the tray beside the others. "Started yesterday," I told him. The two older guys were drinking whiskeys, doubles and neat and I reaching for the bottle, pouring the measures and setting the glasses next to the beers.

"Listen," he said, leaning a bit closer. "I gotta proposition for you."

I lifted a brow as I looked at him, admiring the high cheekbones and clean, straight jaw with a flutter of interest. He was, as they say, very easy on the eye and he seemed to have a sense of humour, not always the case with good-looking men. "Yeah? What's that?"

"You see the young guy," he said, looking over his shoulder at the pool table behind him. "My kid brother, he turned twenty-one today."

"Mazel tov," I said, a little dryly.

"Yeah, heh, the thing is," he said, looking around at me again, his gaze dropping to the shadow between my breasts, easily visible in the low-cut shirt I'd been given to wear on the job. "There's not a lot of scope for a celebration here, you know what I mean?"

I couldn't disagree. "Small town."

"Yeah," he said. "I was wondering if you felt like making some serious money tonight?"

The casualness of the offer, and the implications of it, stopped me cold. I looked at him disbelievingly.

"Uh, no, no," he said, rightly reading my expression. "He's, uh, not - look, I was wonderin' if you'd, uh, you know, maybe strip for him," he hastened to add. "No touching."

I'd like to say that the idea offended me, but the truth was, it didn't. I'd done a little stripping - exotic dancing, they'd called it in Chicago - to fund some of my living expenses in my abortive attempt at college, and had found it not only lucrative but sometimes fun, when I'd been in the mood.

And there was no question that I couldn't use as much cash as I could get right now.

"What kind of show were you thinking of?" I asked him, looking at the men around the pool table.

He seemed to relax, his mouth lifting in a one-sided smile. "Uh, you know, music, getting it off, maybe a lap dance for my brother."

"It won't be cheap," I told him, thinking of how much I could reasonably charge them. "It'll have to be after-hours and the boss'll kill me if he doesn't get a cut."

He pulled out a big roll of cash from his jacket pocket and peeled off several hundred dollar bills. "Got it covered."

I thought fast, wondering how to get the most of it while giving them the least I could. "Open bar, but leave five hundred in the register to cover it?"

"Sure," he agreed immediately, pulling off another five bills. "And tips."

He added three more to the jar on the counter and I nodded, lifting it and putting it under the bar. I glanced at the couple. "Closing's midnight."

Straightening up, he glanced at his watch then picked up the tray of drinks and turned away, saying over his shoulder, "Good."

I looked at the clock, hidden at the back of the overhead shelving as I wiped down the counter. It was eleven-thirty. Walking, only a little wobbly-kneed, to the couple sitting at the table on the other side of the room, I found that the guy was happy to settle his tab and he told me to keep the change when I brought it back, getting to his feet and helping his lady friend into her coat.

I walked back to the bar to add the change to my evening's tips and poured myself a triple of scotch, deciding I needed some help to get in the mood for what I'd agreed to do. The liquor went down fast and easy and I watched the couple walk out the door, coming around the counter and closing and locking it behind them. By the time I'd switched off the exterior lights and let all the blinds along the front and side windows down, I was feeling mildly buzzed, a state of being that tends to increase my libido by a large factor. I'm a cheap drunk and that little buzz was usually as far as I took it, enjoying the physical sensations of being very slightly uncoordinated and relaxed.

If any of the men noticed what I was doing, they didn't show it. I walked out to the staff room, going to the bathroom and taking off my apron. In the long mirror, I studied my reflection critically.

It wasn't too bad. The short, black skirt came to mid-thigh, a specification of management when I'd started, and was loose. Under it I was wearing high-cut bikini underwear, nothing as sexy as a thong but clean and cut to flatter the length of my legs. I wore sheer, black stockings because I hate pantyhose, and they were still smooth and unwrinkled, held up by a black fine lace garter belt. I thought that would make up for the bikini cut panties.

High heels make my feet ache so I'd compromised on the heels, they were strappy and sexy but only a couple of inches. The top was one Craig had provided. It was a sleeveless button-through white cotton with a scalloped hem and neckline. Under it, my bra matched the white cotton panties, with a line of lace around the edges. Home girl meets hooker, the look said, I thought a little disparagingly as I looked at the overall effect.

My hair's dark brown, long and wavy and was pulled back from my face at that moment in a pony-tail. I let it out and shook my head, reaching for the brush in my purse and giving it a few strokes then pulling it back loosely again. I could count the hairband as another item taken off, I thought. I'd had a full beauty session at the local salon before I'd applied for the job, leg wax and bikini, thinking it might help. It hadn't hurt, at any rate.

Satisfied there wasn't anything I could do to improve matters, I turned around and left the room, walking back out to the bar room to find the men had obviously been advised of what was going to happen, as they'd finished their game and were sitting around one side of one of the tables, facing the single overhead light that'd been left on. The green-eyed man was by the juke-box and he nodded to me as I came in and walked to the impromptu spotlight, hitting his selections.

The song came on, not exactly what I would've picked but not too bad, Metallica's The Unforgiven, and I started to dance in front of the men, trying not to look at them at first, my heart thudding against my ribs like a hammer.

While I love to dance, to feel the music catch me up and dissolve thought and leave only feeling behind, doing it in front of people who are watching only your body is a different thing altogether. But it didn't feel invasive and as I started to relax, I found I was able to look at them, singly and together, gaining confidence from the intensity of their rapt expressions. Only the dark-haired man was watching me without that open hunger, the brief glimpse I caught of his expression more feeling than horniness as the quiet chorus played and I twisted and turned to the guitar and surprisingly sweet vocal.

I unbuttoned the shirt slowly, drawing it off as I turned and swayed, moving closer to the men and leaving the shirt on the table to one side of them. In big clubs, in the cities, the girls used to oil themselves, adding glitter to the most pronounced curves. From the way their eyes were following me, I got the impression they didn't mind the lack of pizzazz.

The skirt slid off my hips and I turned away from them, leaning right down to pick it up, tossing it onto the table with the shirt. The hair band came off next, then my bra and turned around slowly, lifting my breasts with my hands, rubbing my thumbs over the already-hard nipples. I walked to the young man whose birthday it apparently was and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Your brother said it was your birthday?"

He nodded, swallowing hard as my fingers slid down the side of his neck.

"How 'bout something special to remember?" I asked him, swinging one leg over his lap and settling myself on his thighs, linking my hands behind his neck. The chairs had rungs to either side under the seat, and I hooked my heels into them, easing myself closer and closer to him and lifting my breasts to his face at the same time.

The rule of stripping, or lap dances for that matter, is no touching. Any man who's been in such an establishment knows it and knows it's not to be broken - ever. Most clubs have plenty of large, beefy men to throw out customers who are overfamiliar with the girls and they learn to keep their hands to themselves, contented with the graze of knuckles over oiled skin as they slide their money into whatever the girl leaves on to take it.

Whether it was the booze or the atmosphere, or the fairly certain knowledge that I could make more from these men if they were allowed to go a little further, I'm not sure, but I brushed my nipples over the young man's mouth and felt him jerk in the seat, his hands rising from his sides to slide up my stocking-clad thighs to my hips, his mouth opening as I swayed back and my nipple slid past his lips again.

The feel of his tongue, flicking out and tasting me, sent a deep shudder through me, and I looked down at him encouragingly, brushing the other breast past his mouth and keeping my upper body still, while rocking my hips into him, when his eyes closed and he sucked it between his lips.

There was a collective exhale from the men watching and I felt someone come up behind me, recognising the voice of the older brother as he leaned close to my ear.

"You up for more?"

His fingers touched my ribs, curving under the breast that wasn't in his brother's mouth and lifting and squeezing it, the thumb rising to rub hard over my tight and frankly aching nipple. I felt the scrape of paper as his other hand tucked a note into the elastic of my panties and I tipped my head back toward him, nodding slightly.

"Blow job?" he asked, his voice pitched low for my ears only.

I opened my eyes and looked upside down into his face, then nodded again and I felt another note slid into the side of my panties to join the first. His fingers trailed lightly down my thigh and then slipped in between my legs, brushing lightly over the taut cloth of the panties, and cupping me firmly before pulling away.

That touch, as light as it'd been, sent a volcanic flush of heat through me, and I lowered myself slightly to rub against the younger brother's crotch, feeling a hard and surprisingly well-endowed package beneath the tight denim of his jeans.

I slid backwards off him, turning around with the beat and unhooked the garters and belt, leaving the stockings in place. Utilising a little more of the floor space, I wriggled my panties down, inch by inch, flashing my ass for slightly longer periods than what I was exposing at the front, twisting in time with the music until the panties reached my knees when they came off by themselves and I turned back to my audience.

I swayed and sashayed back to the young man, bumping and grinding past each of the other men, their hands reaching out to slip over my thighs and ass, none of them attempting to hold on. In front of the birthday boy, I bent my head to kiss his mouth, arching my back as I caught hold of his hands and settled them against my hips. I swayed in front of him for a moment, then stepped close, swinging a leg out to straddle his lap again. A flush of red rose up his neck, his eyes dropping to my breasts and his fingers digging into my hips when I settled right up against his crotch.

From the men surrounding us there was a chorus of whistles and catcalls, encouraging and envious, and I lifted my arms to curve them around his neck as his hands seemed to get that they could roam wherever they liked. He kissed me back enthusiastically as he slid his fingers between my legs, brushing through the crisp curls and exploring the folds of heated and very moist flesh.

As he fingered me with one hand, the other was rubbing over my ass, and his tongue was in my mouth, and I wasn't thinking about a blow job any more, I wanted the big cock I could feel through his jeans inside me, scratching the itch he was creating.

To tell you the truth, I don't know what it was that turned the moment from a way to make some money to something I couldn't - or didn't want to - stop myself from doing. It didn't hurt that all of the men there were good-looking, fit and hard and well-built. It certainly didn't hurt that I hadn't been this aroused, or wanted sex this much since I'd first started dating my ex. It could've been a factor that I needed the money pretty badly if I was going to get out of this hick town and head back for a city. And the glass of scotch that the older brother held next to me, tipping it mouthful by mouthful into my mouth as I broke free of the kiss, had to have some impact.

Who knows? It felt like a good idea at the time, as they say.

Some of the whiskey spilled down my chin and over my breasts, and the man whose lap I was grinding myself into ducked his head to lap it off, pushing me back and struggling to undo the button and fly of his jeans as his tongue swept around the curves of my breasts and rasped softly over my nipples. I shivered with another rush of heat, feeling myself flood, and from the comments to either side of me, it wasn't something that went unnoticed by anyone there, leaving a dark stain on the material under me.

The men groaned and moved closer as he freed his cock from the confines of denim and cotton, thick and red, the head purpling from its constriction and slicked already and I felt hands lifting me, under my elbows and thighs and from both sides as he rubbed that big head up and down the soaked folds of my pussy, positioning himself as the older brother and one of the older men shifted their hands further under my thighs and between my legs to catch my labia and spread me out for him. His hair flopped back from his forehead when he tipped his head back, a soft groan rumbling in his chest as they lowered me over him and he pushed inside.

He was huge. Both thick and long, and I regained a modicum of control when I felt him stretching me out, wider and wider, repositioning my heels against the chair's rungs to control the slow slide down his length, giving me time to accommodate him, and him time to get used to the heat and pressure now throbbing around his cock.

When I'd taken the entire length, I rocked my hips sharply and started to rise again, and his hands tightened on my hips, his eyes wide and staring at me, the pupils hugely dilated at the slow-motion move.

"Fuck, I'm gonna explode," a voice said from somewhere in the near vicinity. I didn't look around, didn't pay any attention to the others at all, keeping my eyes on the man in front of me as I raised myself up him and let myself drop down on him, each time feeling more comfortable and each slow motion vertical thrust sending spasms through my thighs and my pussy, all the way back to my ass.

"Jesus Christ, that's me next," another voice said distantly.

"Take a fucking number."

"I just want to taste her."

"Think she'll do us two at a time?"

Even then I didn't really think of what I'd gotten myself into.

"God, fuck him, baby, FUCK him!"

I did just that, speeding up and rolling my hips with each downward thrust, both of us breathing fast and hoarsely now, a sheen of sweat over his face, and his hips jerking under me, trying to get deeper, faster, as need built and built until he was shuddering in the chair.

I came seconds before he did, sliding down and stopping as the interior muscles clamped and rippled around him, washes of heat and pleasure coruscating through my nervous system until I had no idea where I was, could only feel, the thickness of him filling me completely, swollen and pulsing inside of me.

As the aftershocks dissipated I felt their hands again, lifting me off the young man. I opened my eyes to see the older dark-haired man to one side, the younger blond to the other then I was tilted back, laid out on the table and my arms and legs were lifted and held apart. Hands slid over my body, squeezing my breasts and pulling and tweaking my nipples, running up my thighs, fingertips spreading me open to all of their gazes and then slipping inside, pushing harder, deeper, two and then three, fucking me. They dipped through the come that dripped out of me, slicking it along to the crack of my ass, circling and pushing at my ass and finally thrusting in, twisting along the silken flesh there. No one spoke, and through my half-closed eyes, I could see their expressions were more or less identical, fixated and hungry, as they ducked their heads to taste and touch me more and more intimately, lips closing around my clit and sucking hard on it, a tongue thrusting into my pussy as someone else fingered my ass.