“What are you doing?” he whispered urgently.
The 105-pound bundle of plain-Jane sexuality gazed up at him, still through her owlish glasses. “Just giving you something to look at, while I get you ready.”
He kicked the shirt to his left and under the storage shelves. “I don’t want anyone to see *that*.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said. “So now I’m your prisoner.” She took off her glasses and offered them to him.
“Huh?” He didn’t take them, so she set them on the shelf beside herself.
“I can’t come out from here, until you give me back my top. Tricky. Move closer, and I’ll work on you some more. Earn my freedom, heh. Crazy situation, but hey. I told you. I’m crazy. Crazy for you.”
He allowed the stimulation for a minute or so, then whispered down again, “my father once told me, never stick your dick in crazy.” His father was full of words to live by.
“Then you’re about to find out how wrong your father was. I’m the kind of crazy that men come back to, for more. Tonight, after you get off from work.”
“I thought you said you were busy tonight.”
“I’ll figure something out. I’ll make the time for you. Crazy? I’d be crazy not to. You’re very handsome, you know.” She paused expectantly, and when he didn’t reply she coached him, “now it’s your turn. You’re supposed to tell me I’m pretty.”
“You’re very pretty,” he said to the homely 45-year-old woman fondling him.
“Tell me I’m bee-yoo-tiful.”
He paid no further attention to her compliment fishing. “There’s a guy sitting right over there,” he said. It was an older gentleman watching a soccer game on one of the televisions mounted above and behind the bar. “He’ll see me talking to you.”
“Then don’t talk. They can see you, but they can’t see me. If you have to go somewhere, to make a cocktail, just go, and don’t look down at me when you do.”
He sighed, but didn’t answer, and allowed her to keep stimulating him manually.
“See? That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Shhh,” he hissed.
“Someone’s coming?”
“No.”
“Yes there is. Someone coming, I mean. You,” she joked.
“Don’t be funny. I just mean keep your voice down. Oh wait. Now there is. For real. A customer.”
“You don’t have to say it. I told you before. Just knock.”
Indeed, five seconds later a short, plump older woman approached the bar. He rapped twice on the counter with his knuckles, somewhat pointlessly by now, then asked the customer what she wanted. She ordered a Cosmo, and in order to service her, he stepped away from the petite woman attempting to service him.
Two minutes later, he handed the customer her drink, busied himself momentarily at the sink, then stepped back in front of Michelle.
“See? This isn’t going to work,” he whispered.
“It’s working great.” She resumed fondling him. “You’re still hard. I’m still ready. Are you?”
“Ready? Not yet.”
“So, back away, when you think it’s about to happen. You don’t have to say anything, I’ll know. Then when you move back in, I’ll unzip you and you can finish.”
“I don’t know.”
“No. Don’t talk. Don’t talk. Let me do all the talking from now on.”
He stood there, idly wiping dry the same tumbler he had dried several times already. Michelle, comfortable to a greater degree than ever in the cubbyhole, peppered him now with a running commentary. The ambient sound on the ship, the background noise of the bar itself, and the sports shows on the TV, masked her words to anyone else in the area.
His cock was so hard, she intoned. (It was.) His cock was so long. (Just normal.) His cock was so thick. (Not really.) His cock was so full of sperm. (She couldn’t know his fertility count.) His cock was so full of his nasty spunk. (She assumed it would be nasty.) His cock was so ready. (It seemed true.) His cock was so full. His cock was so ready. His cock was so full. His cock was so ready. His cock was so ready. His cock was so ready. His cock was so ready, she urged.
“I’m ready,” he said at last, and stepped back.
“Okay,” she said. “I can’t wait to taste you.” He moved again toward her and pressed his crotch inward. She reached up to unzip him, and when she had trouble freeing his cock from inside, merely average in size despite her praise, she went ahead and undid the top of his pants for him anyway and pushed them down enough to free it.
“Make it quick.”
“You make it quick,” she countered, and leaned forward to take him into her mouth.
The angle still wasn’t quite right. He found he needed to crouch a little further to meet her, even though she tilted her face upward and forward. The cubbyhole interfered with her task, and she eased herself forward a little bit further, and then further still, onto the floor itself to get just enough freedom to really do the job properly. His cock went forcefully to the back of her throat, and she stifled her gag reflex and began to blow him earnestly.
“Get back in there,” he whispered desperately.
She couldn’t reply of course but waved her right hand to indicate an inability to comply, even as she worked the very base of his shaft with her left hand and used her tongue and suction to stimulate the glans. Then she put her right hand squarely between her legs and began massaging her pussy.
He put his hand on the back of her head, as though it would somehow speed things along even more. He began to groan with pleasure, even though he worried someone might notice. Suddenly, he let go of the back of Michelle’s skull, and withdrew himself from her mouth. This required him to give her a shove and take a step back. “Shit,” he said, louder than he meant to, as his stiff cock sprang free. “Get back in there. She just walked in,” he explained cryptically. He reached down to pull his pants up.
“What’s going on down there?” the old man at the end of the bar called over to him, leaning far forward and evidently gaining a fairly good angle of view now, though only of Boulou’s backside.
The barkeeper had instinctively turned away from him, but that only made matters worse, for the matronly woman who had entered through the bar’s side door reached the barkeeper’s area just as he was frantically pulling up his pants. She was thus treated to a momentary look at her subordinate’s erect member just before he managed to get the top of his pants up to cover it.
The view of Michelle was no less incriminating. She had not crawled back into the cubby space, and instead had taken the moment to pull up the waistband of her miniskirt, all the way to the middle of her rib cage, so that her unkempt pussy hair was exposed, though not pulled so high that her nipples weren’t still visible too. “This is so embarrassing!” she exclaimed, squinting in her extreme myopia to get an idea of who the intruder was.
“Boulou! This is completely unacceptable!” the manager scolded. He didn’t respond immediately.
“He forced me,” Michelle said, bursting into tears.
— Next: Tha Phrat Boys —
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