badlybent
03-18-2007, 11:24 PM
Southern Comfort
By Badlybent
The construction site was hot and dusty so I stopped by the Brass Tap for a draft to wash away the grit and have a monster grease-burger with the accompanying truck load of fries to refuel.
The Tap is a Honky-Tonk or a Roadhouse depending on what part of the south you’re from. It’s just far enough out of town to be, out of site, out of mind, of the local Baptist Christian Ladies Association United Against Fun chapter which means it’s a beer joint. No wine, fancy or otherwise. Doesn’t even sell whisky.
The joint’s attractions are, cheap beer, cheap food, loud music, and Oh yes a cheap woman or two. It’s a boots and jeans kind of place. Hiking boots, construction boots, cowboy boots and their female counterparts. A suit would be as out of place as a pole cat at a church picnic.
There's a hardwood dance floor and a mighty fine local country rock band on weekends. A couple of pool tables fill the little back room and an ancient TV that sort of shows color hangs over the bar and takes care of the sports crowd. A little something for everybody.
There might even be what you call your "gentleman’s disagreement" in the parking lot now and then but nobody ever get seriously hurt. Not a knife and gun club sort a place. It ain’t the Ritz or your family establishment but the Tap's a safe place to take a date and get loose now and then, if she’s a good-old-girl, that is.
The Brass Tap is what we call a "ya'll come" kind of place.
Long days make for more work so the crowd arrives later in the summer and not a lot was happening. I ate, then kicked back, ordered a pitcher, and sat at the bar shooting the shit with George waiting for the show to start. Friday night at the Tap is always a show of some kind.
George is the owner , bartender, bouncer and bottle washer. He cooks and waits tables too when the joint isn’t busy. It’s a homey place and the regulars all know each other and whose doing what to who and who ain’t.
After a while the beer worked it’s usual magic and I headed off to leak my lizard and came up short at the door. There was a chick standing at the sink fussing with her hair. Not that it need fussing. She had flowing red hair that draws attention to her like a porch-light draws bugs on a hot southern night. Her name was Violet. She'd been hanging around lately.
Violet is what you would call cute in a slutty sort of way. Not gorgeous but cute. You wouldn’t kick her out of bed or gnaw you’re arm off getting away the next morning by any means. She’s a little young but not jail bait. George runs a clean place. He doesn’t put up with that shit.
She wears short skirts and low cut tops. Not afraid to show some skin on a warn humid night. Boobs could be bigger but she’s got nice legs and a great ass.
She’s always with some dude though. Usually one of the frat-rats that come over from the local college. The band wasn’t set up yet but I’d seen her dancing to the jukebox with some geek I’d never seen before. Just another college looser to me.
“Uhh…I gotta go.” I said.
“Sorry, the little girl's room was in use and I had to go really bad too. Well…Come on in. Go ahead, I won’t look.” She waved at the "pisser" and went back to primping in the streaked, dirty, mirror.
I hesitated a second but nature made the decision for me. I wasn’t about to piss my pants waiting on her to get out.
Not being exactly your high class establishment, the one urinal is beside the sink and there isn’t one of those privacy things between the two. I got my streaming going good and glanced over. Violet was standing there with the tiniest tip of her pink tongue sticking out intently watching me piss. .
“I cheated.” she said, giggled, not the least bit embarrassed.
She didn’t look away and I’m not the kind that can stop in mid-piss so I just shook my head and continued to let fly. If she wanted a free show, what the hell. “Damn beer,” I said. “This is the only trouble with the stuff.”
I made conversation as if this was the most normal thing in my world. Well what the hell else are you going to do. “So what do you think Violet,” I said, shaking off I turned to face her, dick in hand.
"Um.."she said and grinned. “I’ve seen worse. I’d say he’s got potential. So you know my name, and you’re Greg, right?” She continued. “Can I touch?”
I nodded yes to both I guess because she reached out and stroked my dick which by now was making like Pinocchio’s nose, getting longer and harder. And that’s the by-god’s truth if I ever told it.
“Umm,” she mewed. “I think I woke up the one-eyed snake.”
“Uhh…Violet, we’re not going to be alone here long, somebody else’s gonna need to piss.”
“Yes…I suppose…” she pouted…then brightened. “We could go out back if you want to.”
“And?”
“And do what you’re little man wants. What else silly?”
She hadn’t let go and by now my ”little man”, being a very cleaver little guy, stood in proud salute to her ministrations.
“What about your boyfriend.” I nodded toward the barroom.
“Not a boyfriend. Just a date. He’s decided he likes Rachael better though.”
Now that brought a real grin to both of us. Rachael is gay. Everyone knows that. Well almost everyone. I guess someone else is fixing to find out.
“His loss.” Violet said.
Screwing some bar pick-up out behind The Brass Tap on a hot southern summer night isn’t exactly an original concept. The place is an institution going back to prohibition days when it was a speakeasy. You could write a couple of whose-who books on all the county gentry that’s got laid back here but it was a first for this rebel lad.
I soon found myself in the pale moonlight out behind the dumpster on hallowed ground that's been sanctified by hundreds if not thousands of other horny couples. My hand found it's way up Violets miniskirt and rubbed her sweet young pussy through polyester bikini panties while she stroked my rock hard cock with equal ardor.
The place smelled like…well…like a dump but it’s amazing what the fine combination of alcohol plus sex will do for you. Violet smelled, young, hot, as sweet as honeysuckle and nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.
Her velvet tongue tasted of honey, of Budweiser, and of desire, as we moaned our lust into each other’s mouth. The girl was an excellent kisser and soon we were gasping, grouping and dry humping like the end of the world was just down the road and only our coupling stood in Satan’s very path.
We broke contact long enough for Violet to do a bend-over, flip her little skirt up, and my pants to hit the ground. I yanked her panties down, spread her upturned cheeks and frantically sought her honey hole, the pearly gates of creation itself.
“God, oh god, hurry. Get it in I can’t wait.” she begged.
I could see that she was already rubbing her love button from the front as my dick made contact and slid home.
“Ahh…” I pushed on up inside, her vagina a tight pink glove grasping my hardness. “Jesus Violet.” I said as her pussy milked my cock.
“Pound me Greg. God, just fuck the shit out of me.”
With an invite like that, what’s a young horny construction roustabout supposed to do? I wound up and laid the wood to her. I slammed and she humped. Nothing fancy or sophisticated, just a good old fashioned southern pipe laying.
“Hard Greg. Fuck me hard cowboy.” Not to be out done she leaned into the task and matched me stroke for stroke, hump for hump.
The girl’s passion was over the top. She was working it so hard I paused in amazement to watch her hungry cunt consume my cock.
“What?…Why did you stop? God don’t stopppp…”
“Just watching.” I said and slapped her pretty ass. “ Go for it. Ride-em cowgirl.” I grinned and slapped her upturned butt again picking up the pace once more. “Gonna get you off gal. Make you cum like an earthquake. Go get’em girl. We're gonna make it a fucking big one.”
Another slap added a red hand print to her straining ass punctuating my desire. With a groan she just kicked it into a higher gear. Letting everything go she bawled like a wildcat in heat. The girl was a fuck’en treasure.
My cock could feel her cunt spasm time after time as small orgasms hit her. She was getting close to the big one and I couldn’t hold out much longer either. Her pussy was driving me crazy.
“Ahh…” she shuddered and slammed back against me so hard she almost knocked me down. Her pussy clamped down like a vise, holding, gripping. “Ahh…Oh god yes…YES…!”
Violet is a screamer. She sure enough lets the world know when she get‘s there. God love a duck, she’s a trip.
“Cumming…Ahh!” I shuddered in turn as my cock unleashed a torrent of baby juice.
None of this pull out and squirt in her face shit. No rubber either. One- hundred percent pure high-test rebel cum flooded her vaginal canal as spasm after spasm emptied my balls, filling her tank to overflowing. The excess ran down her legs re-christening this little patch of southern ground once again.
"OH YES...! Damned Good!" I slapped her ass hard again just because it felt good and because I could. She didn't mind at all.
"Fine ass. Mighty fine ass.!" I exclaimed with glee. "Good God woman what a fuck you are!"
We collapsed laughing at ourselves, at the deed we had done and at the pure unadulterated joy of being young and alive.
“Well, wasn’t that just something.” I said. I hadn’t even bothered to pull my pants up yet. “Guess I owe you a drink or something. What’da you think?”
“Or something…Hmm.” she said. “Well..You can take me home and play around some more. That is if you want to?” Her smiling eye's sparkled even in the light of that old North Georgia moon.
“What about what’s his name when he figures out he ain’t getting no-where with Rachael and comes looking for you?”
“I’d say fuck him but I wouldn’t mean it. He'll figure it out.” She took my hand. “Come on cowboy get your pants up. We‘re gonna go get us some desert.”
My old pickup tore a right fair patch in the gravel parking lot spinning rubber as we tore off into the Georgia night hunting more Southern Comfort.
“Yee..Hawwww! -----Ya’ll cum now ya hear.
THE END…Or maybe not. Experience informs this good old boy that you can’t get too much Southern Comfort.
:sgrin: --------------------------- :sgrin:
For the uninitiated. Southern Comfort is a brand of whisky. Powerful stuff. You may find Jesus in one bottle and the Devil in the next. A complementary hang over comes with every bottle though.
Thanks for reading this little story. The Brass Tap was a real place though it's long gone. Violet was real but my memory fails me as to her real name, so many years, so much shit, and yep she was a wildcat. The story is a fictional condensation of a lot of shit that went down there and in similar places when I was young, wild and free. Comments and feedback are welcome.
By Badlybent
The construction site was hot and dusty so I stopped by the Brass Tap for a draft to wash away the grit and have a monster grease-burger with the accompanying truck load of fries to refuel.
The Tap is a Honky-Tonk or a Roadhouse depending on what part of the south you’re from. It’s just far enough out of town to be, out of site, out of mind, of the local Baptist Christian Ladies Association United Against Fun chapter which means it’s a beer joint. No wine, fancy or otherwise. Doesn’t even sell whisky.
The joint’s attractions are, cheap beer, cheap food, loud music, and Oh yes a cheap woman or two. It’s a boots and jeans kind of place. Hiking boots, construction boots, cowboy boots and their female counterparts. A suit would be as out of place as a pole cat at a church picnic.
There's a hardwood dance floor and a mighty fine local country rock band on weekends. A couple of pool tables fill the little back room and an ancient TV that sort of shows color hangs over the bar and takes care of the sports crowd. A little something for everybody.
There might even be what you call your "gentleman’s disagreement" in the parking lot now and then but nobody ever get seriously hurt. Not a knife and gun club sort a place. It ain’t the Ritz or your family establishment but the Tap's a safe place to take a date and get loose now and then, if she’s a good-old-girl, that is.
The Brass Tap is what we call a "ya'll come" kind of place.
Long days make for more work so the crowd arrives later in the summer and not a lot was happening. I ate, then kicked back, ordered a pitcher, and sat at the bar shooting the shit with George waiting for the show to start. Friday night at the Tap is always a show of some kind.
George is the owner , bartender, bouncer and bottle washer. He cooks and waits tables too when the joint isn’t busy. It’s a homey place and the regulars all know each other and whose doing what to who and who ain’t.
After a while the beer worked it’s usual magic and I headed off to leak my lizard and came up short at the door. There was a chick standing at the sink fussing with her hair. Not that it need fussing. She had flowing red hair that draws attention to her like a porch-light draws bugs on a hot southern night. Her name was Violet. She'd been hanging around lately.
Violet is what you would call cute in a slutty sort of way. Not gorgeous but cute. You wouldn’t kick her out of bed or gnaw you’re arm off getting away the next morning by any means. She’s a little young but not jail bait. George runs a clean place. He doesn’t put up with that shit.
She wears short skirts and low cut tops. Not afraid to show some skin on a warn humid night. Boobs could be bigger but she’s got nice legs and a great ass.
She’s always with some dude though. Usually one of the frat-rats that come over from the local college. The band wasn’t set up yet but I’d seen her dancing to the jukebox with some geek I’d never seen before. Just another college looser to me.
“Uhh…I gotta go.” I said.
“Sorry, the little girl's room was in use and I had to go really bad too. Well…Come on in. Go ahead, I won’t look.” She waved at the "pisser" and went back to primping in the streaked, dirty, mirror.
I hesitated a second but nature made the decision for me. I wasn’t about to piss my pants waiting on her to get out.
Not being exactly your high class establishment, the one urinal is beside the sink and there isn’t one of those privacy things between the two. I got my streaming going good and glanced over. Violet was standing there with the tiniest tip of her pink tongue sticking out intently watching me piss. .
“I cheated.” she said, giggled, not the least bit embarrassed.
She didn’t look away and I’m not the kind that can stop in mid-piss so I just shook my head and continued to let fly. If she wanted a free show, what the hell. “Damn beer,” I said. “This is the only trouble with the stuff.”
I made conversation as if this was the most normal thing in my world. Well what the hell else are you going to do. “So what do you think Violet,” I said, shaking off I turned to face her, dick in hand.
"Um.."she said and grinned. “I’ve seen worse. I’d say he’s got potential. So you know my name, and you’re Greg, right?” She continued. “Can I touch?”
I nodded yes to both I guess because she reached out and stroked my dick which by now was making like Pinocchio’s nose, getting longer and harder. And that’s the by-god’s truth if I ever told it.
“Umm,” she mewed. “I think I woke up the one-eyed snake.”
“Uhh…Violet, we’re not going to be alone here long, somebody else’s gonna need to piss.”
“Yes…I suppose…” she pouted…then brightened. “We could go out back if you want to.”
“And?”
“And do what you’re little man wants. What else silly?”
She hadn’t let go and by now my ”little man”, being a very cleaver little guy, stood in proud salute to her ministrations.
“What about your boyfriend.” I nodded toward the barroom.
“Not a boyfriend. Just a date. He’s decided he likes Rachael better though.”
Now that brought a real grin to both of us. Rachael is gay. Everyone knows that. Well almost everyone. I guess someone else is fixing to find out.
“His loss.” Violet said.
Screwing some bar pick-up out behind The Brass Tap on a hot southern summer night isn’t exactly an original concept. The place is an institution going back to prohibition days when it was a speakeasy. You could write a couple of whose-who books on all the county gentry that’s got laid back here but it was a first for this rebel lad.
I soon found myself in the pale moonlight out behind the dumpster on hallowed ground that's been sanctified by hundreds if not thousands of other horny couples. My hand found it's way up Violets miniskirt and rubbed her sweet young pussy through polyester bikini panties while she stroked my rock hard cock with equal ardor.
The place smelled like…well…like a dump but it’s amazing what the fine combination of alcohol plus sex will do for you. Violet smelled, young, hot, as sweet as honeysuckle and nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.
Her velvet tongue tasted of honey, of Budweiser, and of desire, as we moaned our lust into each other’s mouth. The girl was an excellent kisser and soon we were gasping, grouping and dry humping like the end of the world was just down the road and only our coupling stood in Satan’s very path.
We broke contact long enough for Violet to do a bend-over, flip her little skirt up, and my pants to hit the ground. I yanked her panties down, spread her upturned cheeks and frantically sought her honey hole, the pearly gates of creation itself.
“God, oh god, hurry. Get it in I can’t wait.” she begged.
I could see that she was already rubbing her love button from the front as my dick made contact and slid home.
“Ahh…” I pushed on up inside, her vagina a tight pink glove grasping my hardness. “Jesus Violet.” I said as her pussy milked my cock.
“Pound me Greg. God, just fuck the shit out of me.”
With an invite like that, what’s a young horny construction roustabout supposed to do? I wound up and laid the wood to her. I slammed and she humped. Nothing fancy or sophisticated, just a good old fashioned southern pipe laying.
“Hard Greg. Fuck me hard cowboy.” Not to be out done she leaned into the task and matched me stroke for stroke, hump for hump.
The girl’s passion was over the top. She was working it so hard I paused in amazement to watch her hungry cunt consume my cock.
“What?…Why did you stop? God don’t stopppp…”
“Just watching.” I said and slapped her pretty ass. “ Go for it. Ride-em cowgirl.” I grinned and slapped her upturned butt again picking up the pace once more. “Gonna get you off gal. Make you cum like an earthquake. Go get’em girl. We're gonna make it a fucking big one.”
Another slap added a red hand print to her straining ass punctuating my desire. With a groan she just kicked it into a higher gear. Letting everything go she bawled like a wildcat in heat. The girl was a fuck’en treasure.
My cock could feel her cunt spasm time after time as small orgasms hit her. She was getting close to the big one and I couldn’t hold out much longer either. Her pussy was driving me crazy.
“Ahh…” she shuddered and slammed back against me so hard she almost knocked me down. Her pussy clamped down like a vise, holding, gripping. “Ahh…Oh god yes…YES…!”
Violet is a screamer. She sure enough lets the world know when she get‘s there. God love a duck, she’s a trip.
“Cumming…Ahh!” I shuddered in turn as my cock unleashed a torrent of baby juice.
None of this pull out and squirt in her face shit. No rubber either. One- hundred percent pure high-test rebel cum flooded her vaginal canal as spasm after spasm emptied my balls, filling her tank to overflowing. The excess ran down her legs re-christening this little patch of southern ground once again.
"OH YES...! Damned Good!" I slapped her ass hard again just because it felt good and because I could. She didn't mind at all.
"Fine ass. Mighty fine ass.!" I exclaimed with glee. "Good God woman what a fuck you are!"
We collapsed laughing at ourselves, at the deed we had done and at the pure unadulterated joy of being young and alive.
“Well, wasn’t that just something.” I said. I hadn’t even bothered to pull my pants up yet. “Guess I owe you a drink or something. What’da you think?”
“Or something…Hmm.” she said. “Well..You can take me home and play around some more. That is if you want to?” Her smiling eye's sparkled even in the light of that old North Georgia moon.
“What about what’s his name when he figures out he ain’t getting no-where with Rachael and comes looking for you?”
“I’d say fuck him but I wouldn’t mean it. He'll figure it out.” She took my hand. “Come on cowboy get your pants up. We‘re gonna go get us some desert.”
My old pickup tore a right fair patch in the gravel parking lot spinning rubber as we tore off into the Georgia night hunting more Southern Comfort.
“Yee..Hawwww! -----Ya’ll cum now ya hear.
THE END…Or maybe not. Experience informs this good old boy that you can’t get too much Southern Comfort.
:sgrin: --------------------------- :sgrin:
For the uninitiated. Southern Comfort is a brand of whisky. Powerful stuff. You may find Jesus in one bottle and the Devil in the next. A complementary hang over comes with every bottle though.
Thanks for reading this little story. The Brass Tap was a real place though it's long gone. Violet was real but my memory fails me as to her real name, so many years, so much shit, and yep she was a wildcat. The story is a fictional condensation of a lot of shit that went down there and in similar places when I was young, wild and free. Comments and feedback are welcome.