The Bike Club Pub

Todd managed to be in the restaurant during almost all of the hours when we were either closed or when we did very little business. He arrived about 9:00 every morning to stock the bar and make the bank deposit. If needed, he also ordered bar supplies at that time. Zoey, the head chef, did all of the food orders, so he didn't have to worry about that.

The place didn't open until 11:00 a.m. and maybe a half an hour later, there was usually about a two hour long lunch rush, during which we did a decent amount of business, usually serving sandwiches, burgers and soft drinks. By 2:00 p.m. we were finished serving lunch, and the rest of the afternoon until 5:00 when the dinner menu started being served, there was very sporadic bar business. Todd was usually out the door promptly at 5:00, so as I saw it, he had at best about two hours of actual work each day, and when he was in the place, we did a tiny fraction of our overall business.

Mark, on the other hand, usually arrived at 5:00 just before the dinner rush started. Depending on the evening, the dinner rush usually lasted from about 5:30 until around 8:30, and then after that time, we usually did another two or three hours of solid bar business. We were technically open until 1:00 a.m., but usually there weren't many people in the place after midnight. So if all of the customers left before 1:00, Mark would usually lock the front door and shut off the outside lights, and, as we had that first night, those of us that worked there would sit around having drinks for the next hour or two.

When Mark worked, we served dinnertime fare -- expensive entrees like steaks and seafood, as well as salads, and soups -- and the vast majority of our expensive drinks. Consequently, Mark was responsible for the pub when it was really hopping, and when we generated 70 to 75% of all of the revenues we earned. That made no sense to me, because, as I found out later, Todd got paid a much bigger salary than Mark did, even though Mark spent a lot more hours each week working than Todd. Besides, everyone liked Mark, and Todd, it became obvious, was widely reviled.

The next night I was cutting up fruit for the garnish trays only a few minutes after clocking in when a new face approached me at the waitress station. She was a redhead with an appealing freckled face, a slender figure, and moderately-sized breasts, and she was carrying a tray of salt and pepper shakers. She introduced herself as Kayla Harr. "Hi, Kayla. I'm Tom," I responded cordially.

"I know," she mentioned, "my roommate told me all about you." Then, she grinned devilishly and said, "I think she's right!"

"Who's your roommate?" I asked innocently. I was also just about to ask what her roommate was 'right' about, when a smiling Lauren joined her at the front of the bar.

"Speak of the devil," Kayla said.

"You two live together?" I asked doubtfully.

"Sort of," Lauren replied giggling. "Kayla here is screwing the boss! She spends most of her time over at Mark's!" Kayla gave Lauren a quick, playful jab to the ribs with her elbow.

"I was 'screwing' him before he was the boss!" Kayla said defensively using air quotation marks to emphasize the word "screwing." Just as the words left her mouth, Mark reached the bottom of the stairs with two bottles of Beefeater Gin. He set them on the bar for me to put in the liquor well.

"Kayla can you help me in the walk-in refrigerator upstairs? We need to move some more steaks and seafood items to the downstairs kitchen. Hey, Tom, good to see you again," he said in a welcoming tone. Then, he turned and headed back up the stairs.

Kayla set down the salt shakers she was refilling and followed Mark up the stairs. Lauren picked up where Kayla had left off refilling the shakers. She was wearing a tight, silk blouse that accentuated her impressive bust and was staring at me intently as she worked. She didn't say anything.

"So what have you been telling Kayla about me?" I asked trying to get a little bit better handle on what she thought of me.

"Who says I've told anybody anything?" she said slyly.

"Kayla. She said you'd told her 'all about' me." Now I was using the air quotation marks. "What's there to tell? You barely even know me."

"I know enough," she said with a grin, and turned and walked away to put the salt and pepper shakers back on the tables in the rear section of the restaurant.

Business quickly picked up, and I didn't have a chance to talk to her again for awhile. We had another big night. The clientele was older and a little more well-to-do -- professors and business people and their spouses -- so we sold a lot of steaks and a fair number of expensive drinks, though this night went much more smoothly as most of the drinks were call liquors, served as highballs. A Chivas Regal on the rocks or a Tanqueray and Tonic take a lot less time to prepare than do Pink Squirrels or Singapore Slings.

Again, when the last of the customers left, Mark locked the front doors, and all of the bartenders and waitresses gathered at several tables in front of the bar and settled back to imbibe. It was a fun group, and I knew that I was going to enjoy working there.

Along with my free drink and the round that Mark bought for everyone, I only had to pay for one drink myself that night. In addition to the free drink we earned for each shift, we also got an employee discount on all of our food and drink purchases whenever we were in the place. Drinking at The Bike Club Pub was now a pretty cheap evening. After our third round, Lauren asked me if I could give her a ride home.

"Sure," I said enthusiastically, "but what happened to your car?"

"I don't have a car," she said.

"Then, who did that Volkswagen you were driving last night belong to?"

"That was Kayla's, and she's staying at Mark's tonight. A lot of the time if she's over at Mark's and gets rides to work with him, she leaves her keys so I can use her car to get to the restaurant. Besides, I'm from here in town, so if I need a car for anything else, I can usually borrow one from my parents."

While Mark was counting out the change drawer and preparing the bank deposit, Kayla, Lauren and I finished cleaning up the bar, and then Lauren and I both clocked out, put on our coats and headed out the back door to where my car was parked at the side of the building. I unlocked the passenger door of my Honda, and held it open for her as she swung her shapely butt into the front seat. Then, I climbed in.

"Where do you live, Lauren?" I asked.

"Just a few blocks down Fourth Street; it's only about a half a mile away. I guess I could have walked home, but I thought you might want to join me for a nightcap." The restaurant was closed on Sunday, so neither one of us had to go to work the next day, but I would have taken her up on her offer even if I did have to go in. She was really nice looking.

"I'd like that," I smiled as I looked over at her sitting there in the dim streetlight with a sweet, expectant look on her face. I started the car, and took a left on Main. Then, after heading a block north, I took a right on Fourth Street. Lauren and Kayla's apartment was only about five blocks east.

They had an upper flat that had two entrances. The main entrance was off Fourth Street, but when they got off work late, Lauren explained that she and Kayla always used the fire escape which ran along the west side of the house around the corner on Ninth Avenue. We climbed the steps and entered an unlocked door that opened onto the apartment's kitchen.

Lauren excused herself to go into her bedroom to change, and asked me to pour us both a glass of wine from an open bottle on the kitchen counter. I found some glasses and poured us each a glass and then carried them into the living room.

It was a small apartment, and the living room held only a couch with a coffee table and two end tables, a recliner, a TV set on a stand, and a rather large bookcase along the north wall that was stuffed beyond capacity with books of all kinds -- textbooks, paperback novels, and a wide variety of hardbound works of fiction and non-fiction. I stood before the bookcase reading the titles.

Then, on one of the end tables, I saw an opened letter, folded into thirds, and I could just barely make out the letterhead printed at the top. I wasn't trying to pry, but I could see that the logo read "Mensa International." I didn't know what that meant, but I wasn't going to sneak a peak. It was none of my business. Instead, I grabbed a large volume from the bookcase entitled Anthology of 19^th Century English Romantic Poetry and sat down on the couch. I was starting to read a Keats poem when Lauren came out of the bedroom.

She had changed from her dark skirt into a pair of really tight jeans, though she still wore the sexy, silk blouse that showed off her breasts so nicely. "You like that shit?" Lauren asked, nodding toward the hardbound volume of poetry in my hands. She took the book from me, grabbed something from the end table and stuffed it in to mark the page I was reading, and then, she sat down close to me on the couch. I handed her a glass of wine.

"Not really," I admitted honestly. "I think Keats and Blake are pretty much geniuses, but most of the rest of them bore me to tears!"

"That's good," Lauren said, "I was beginning to worry about you." She took a long sip of her wine.

I leaned back on the couch and looked at her. She appeared particularly fetching in the warm light of this room, and so I tried to make small talk. "What are you studying Lauren?" I asked, taking a long drink of wine myself. I was already pretty high.

"Biochemistry," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Really? I don't know a goddamn thing about science. That stuff's a mystery to me."

"What are you studying, Tom?"

"I'm not studying anything. I quit," I said somewhat embarrassed.

"What were you studying before you quit?"

"Well, that was the problem. I couldn't really decide what I was studying, so I just took any class that sounded good -- a lot English and American lit, some philosophy and religion, a bunch of social science classes, even a little history."

"You're one of those, huh?"

"Those what?"

"I don't know -- the renaissance man! The well-rounded jack-of-all-trades! You know, one of those 'learning is its own reward' kinds of guys," she leaned back on the couch, pushing her chest out toward me as she did.

"Nah, not really. I'm just a confused fuck up, I think."

She laughed. "You're pretty cute for a fuck up!"

"Is that what you told Kayla?" I asked, trying to pin her down on what exactly she'd been saying about me.

"I never told Kayla you were a fuck up!" she flashed me a cunning grin. "Besides, I don't think you are one!"

"You know what I meant! What did you say to Kayla about me?"

She just stared at me, for the longest time, and I stared right back. We were both a little bit drunk, and so it made it easier for us to have this stare down. Finally, a big grin broke over Lauren's face, and she spoke, "I told her I thought you were probably a really good fuck!"

I was a little bit shocked by her directness, but I didn't want to let on. She was sly and cunning, and I thought that she needed to be tamed just a little. She seemed to think she had me all figured out, and I needed to address that confidence. "And what makes you think that, Lauren?"

"Oh, I don't know -- the way you carry yourself, your walk... and your mouth -- you look like you know how to use it. Besides, it seems like you're packing some heavy equipment!" She reached out with her free hand and began rubbing my thigh.

"I hate to tell you, but you're looking in the wrong place for the heavy equipment!" I said sarcastically. She grinned back at me, amused by our little tête-à-tête. Then, I set down my glass on the end table, and I leaned over and kissed her long and hard on her pouty lips. Soon, our tongues were dancing around inside each other's mouths.

After a few minutes of mouth play, I began to kiss my way down her neck until I reached her silk blouse, and as I kissed and nibbled at the tops of her creamy breasts, I began unbuttoning her blouse. Lauren was breathing heavily as I let it slide off her shoulders.

Underneath that silky blouse, I found a yellow bra made from sheer nylon that was transparent enough for me to see Lauren's fat nipples. They were beckoning me, so I reached forward with both of my hands and began to feel them up through her D cups.

I ran my thumbs across her wide areolas, eliciting soft moans, even heavier breathing, and the stiffening of her prominent nipples. Now, I moved my face to those great tits and began to kiss and lick them through the sheer material, running my tongue around one areola before leaping across her deep valley of cleavage to the other areola, leaving a trail of wetness on the transparent nylon.

But as spectacular as her tits were, I wanted more. So, I reached my right hand down her creamy taut stomach, and slid it inside her jeans. I ran my hand down the outside of her panties, and I could feel how damp they were. But her jeans were just too tight, and I couldn't maneuver my hand inside them very well, so I slid my palm over her moist mound and back out of her jeans. Then, I moved the coffee table back a couple of feet, and dropped to my knees in front of Lauren.

She was staring at me now, like she didn't know what was going to happen, but she'd already anticipated my using my mouth to please her, so I regarded that as an expectation that needed fulfilling. First, I removed her high heels. Then, I unbuttoned her jeans, and slid her zipper down and pulled the tight pair down her legs and off. Her legs were spread out in front of me, and the only thing separating her pussy from me was a pair of matching sheer yellow panties.

I dropped my head between her legs and breathed in her ambrosia. Then, I kissed and nibbled all around her pubic mound, upper thighs, all the way down to her sweet ass. Lauren was groaning loudly now with anticipation, but before I applied my mouth to her sex, I ran my hands over the thin fabric of her panties and felt her wetness again. Finally, I slipped my fingers inside the waistband, and pulled her panties down her legs and off.

For a few seconds, I held those panties to my face and breathed in her aroma -- sweet and salty, pungent and musky, organic and perfume-like all at the same time. Then, I looked down on Lauren sexy pussy. She was the owner of a thick, light brown bush, but she was waxed clean around her sex, exposing her plump outer lips, and a delicate, slender set of labia minora. Her muff was shaped into an erotic triangle that pointed to a distended clitoral hood that was doing its best to conceal a slick, pink, little orb that was just now beginning to become engorged.

I went down on her, spreading her lips apart with two fingers from both of my hands, and then running my flat tongue up and down her wet slit, until her chest was heaving, and her hips were grinding against me, and then she started talking dirty, "Oh, yeah, eat my pussy!' Eat my wet pussy, you cuntlicker! Oh, fuck! Your tongue feels so good in my cunt!" I couldn't believe the way she was talking. I had never been with a girl that talked that way during sex.

Then, I wrapped my lips over her hood and began to suck her sensitive little nub into my mouth, pulling it in with a suctioning effect, and then rolling my tongue over her clitoris inside my mouth. She was bucking wildly now and simultaneously screaming obscenities, "Ooh fuck! Jesus fucking Christ! Oh my fucking god! Fuck! Fuck! Ooh Fuck!" So I backed off for a minute or so to let her come back down just a bit. I knew that I would soon return to that clit again, and when I did, it would be with a vengeance.

Then, I entered her with my fingers, pushing not one, but two long digits into her leaking pussy. In doing so, I must have displaced a quantity of juices, because they began dripping out of the bottom of her sex down to her tight, little butthole. I began sliding my fingers back and forth inside her, while I periodically lashed just the tip of my tongue across her exposed clit. As soon as I touched it again, she recommenced her writhing.

I knew I could make her cum any time I wanted to, but now I decided Lauren needed to be taught a lesson. She'd been teasing me a little too mercilessly, and so now I figured I'd show her who was boss, who was in control. Now was the time to make her submit.

With my curled fingers exploring her sensitive G-spot, I put my other hand on her pubic mound and pushed down so her responsive inner switch would be pushed against my fingers that were bending and unbending inside her as if to beckon her forward in a kind of come hither motion.

Then, I went back down on her clit, sucking it back into my mouth and lolling my tongue over it again and again and again inside my mouth. This time I wasn't backing off. And now Lauren was screaming with passion, "Ooh... ooh... ooh my... ooh... ooh... ooh my god... ooh my god... ooh... ooh... ooh... ooh my god, I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Fuck, I'm cumming!"

She screamed again this time in such a blood curdling way that I was certain she awakened her downstairs neighbors, "Ooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

I was holding her legs down with my arms, but she bucked and quaked so violently that she managed to extricate one leg from my grip, and with it she involuntarily kicked me hard on my shoulder. Her arms were flailing above her head, trying unsuccessfully to grab a hold of something, anything on the couch or the wall behind it. Failing to do so, she finally grabbed my head with both hands and hung on for dear life, riding her orgasm to a prolonged conclusion.

When she finally stopped shaking and opened her eyes to look up at me, I was wiping her juices from my face with the sleeve of my shirt. She was smiling at me and was just about to say something, when abruptly I stood up and announced, "It's getting pretty late; I better get going. Good night, Lauren."

And with that I walked back out to the kitchen, through the back door, and down the fire escape to my car, leaving her lying on her couch wearing only her sheer yellow bra with her legs splayed wide open and her pussy dripping cum down her thighs to a pool that was gathering on the couch.

When I bent my legs to get in my car to drive away, my erection was so stiff that I had a hard time climbing into the seat. I drove home, jumped into bed, and jacked off thinking about the sights, sounds, and smells I had left behind in Lauren's apartment. I blew a huge load all over my stomach.

I hadn't wanted to leave. She had made me so horny that I would have given just about anything to fuck her that night. The one thing I wasn't willing to part with though was my pride.

I learned some things that night about Lauren Laudner. For one thing, she was really smart, and even more than that, she was sly and clever. Also, she could play games with the best of them, and when she did, she was almost always trying to gain some strategic psychological advantage.

Lauren was acting like she had somehow psychoanalyzed me, and that knowing what she knew about me, she was in control. That was a game I didn't want to play. I figured I had turned the tables on her, had gained the upper hand by leaving when I did, and I knew that in the long run, that decision would pay dividends.

Lauren and I didn't have sex again for at least a month, and it was a long time before she said anything to me about leaving that night. That was the way she operated, and I was generally agreeable to that kind of reticence. So whenever things happened between us, we rarely talked about them. On the other hand, I knew she talked to other people about me and most everything we did together. I found that out a day later.