Bimbette Goes Dancing

By now, Bill and Winslow had cleaned up and left the men's room. The wall-mounted dispenser was broken and empty, but there was a small pile of paper towels on the window ledge. Kevin took the last of them, handed a few to Bimbette and began wiping off his shrinking penis. Bimbette, whose eye shadow and mascara were soaked from Kevin's cum and running badly, cleaned the worst of his spunk off her face, further smudging her makeup. But she was anxious to pay Freddy back and in too big a hurry to do a better job.

Without standing up, she tuned 180 degrees and settled back down on her knees, straddling his cock and facing him. She swung her hips back to catch the tip of painfully stiff sex pole in the mouth of her tight, dripping cunt and sat up ready to impale herself on him. "Freddy, love...Freddy, you wonderful man....Freddy, you prince," she whispered sweetly, "you deserve something special." She paused for a second and then asked, "Any ideas?"

He could feel her hot juices drooling down his dark shaft. He looked up at her, mesmerized by the small motions of her perfectly round, cum-speckled breasts. To the other men in the bar, Bimbette was the most wonderful sex toy they had ever experienced. But Freddy, in a weird way, had fallen in love with her. He knew he would never see her again, and he was resigned to that. But he wanted to give her every bit of pleasure he could before she walked out of his life.

In wordless response to her rhetorical question, he grabbed her tightly by the waist and slowly pulled her down onto his aching erection. He was careful not to move too quickly because, although he had been as stiff as a two-by-four since she walked into the bar, he needed to last long enough to give his vision of sexual perfection one more orgasm. She groaned deeply as the first inch of Freddy-meat pushed its way into her hungry pussy.

Just then, a tall, lean, handsome black man in an well-tailored, dark wool suit, whom Bimbette had not seen in the bar, walked into the men's room. He stopped in the doorway, more in surprise at the squalid condition of the room than at the activity of its occupants. Bimbette and Freddy froze and looked up at him. Kevin, who was just pulling up his fly, startled and caught his not-yet-flaccid penis in his zipper. He howled in pain and started jumping up and down, doing a little dance of distress and yelping, "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SSSHEEE-IT."

The tall man looked sort of sideways at Kevin and raised an eyebrow, then looked down at Freddy and Bimbette and said quietly, "Don't let me disturb you," and walked over to the urinal.

Freddy quickly pulled Bimbette the rest of the way down onto his hard cock. She snarled loudly with pleasure and leaned forward to rest her hands on Freddy's broad shoulders. He reached up to grab her big breasts and caress their stiff brown nipples. The interruption had the advantage of allowing Freddy's ardor to cool slightly making it easier for him to last long enough to satisfy her.

Not that it would take long. As soon as he started up a regular rhythm, her passion began to build rapidly. By the time the tall intruder was done at the urinal and headed for the sink, her finish line was in sight. She and Freddy were both grunting emphatically each time he shoved it in and gasping and wheezing noisily each time he pulled out.

Kevin was at the sink ministering to his wound but stepped aside to let the other fellow wash his hands. The tall man then looked around for paper towels and seeing none (except the filthy, soggy ones on the floor), muttered, "Damn." He then paused, obviously considering whether to dry them on his expensive pants and, after a moment, turned and wiped them off on Kevin's shirt.

"Hey," protested Kevin.

The intruder stared at him impassively for several seconds, then said, "Thank you."

"Well, all right then," sniffed Kevin and stalked out the door with the air of a gentleman who had just put an uncouth ruffian in his place.

The tall man glanced at Kevin and Bimbette, smiled a little smile and followed Kevin out the door.

Shortly after he left, the two rutting lovers reached a mammoth simultaneous orgasm. Freddy began pistoning like an overheated steam engine and gushed his goo all over Bimbette's cervix with volcanic force. Her climax burst like a supernova in her belly, spreading stellar heat through her body at light speed, to the tips of her fingers and toes, and bathing her in a brilliant, vibrating exhilaration which lasted for what seemed like a very long time. But it was still over too soon for her.

She climbed off of him slowly, but was too drained to stand up immediately and sat back on her heels, hands on her knees, head down and panting. He sat up, but was also too spent to stand. After long moments, she said simply, "Thanks, lover. You're the best."

Freddy replied quietly, "I'll remember you." And, after resting a little longer, he stood, pulled up his pants and silently walked out.

After a half-minute or so, Bimbette struggled to her feet and, leaning on the sink, examined herself in the cracked and dirty mirror. Her lipstick, mascara and eye shadow were smeared and streaked and her hair was speckled with dripping cum like a slutty holiday tree. The halter top straps of her miniscule dress were hanging between her legs and her panties were still dangling from one thigh.God, am I a mess, she thought. Then, Damn, no more paper towels. She began to consider moving over to the ladies' room.It's always nicer, cleaner and better supplied than the men's room.

Just then, there was a knock on the door and a tall, older white guy, who also was not one of the men who were in the bar earlier, and also wore an expensive dark suit, walked in.What is this, Grand Central Men's Room? she wondered.

He held out a hand, looked Bimbette over and said, "Hi. I'm Randy. I have to say, you look.....a little.....disheveled, might be the right word. But," he quickly added, "it's a very sexy look on you. I thought you might need these." He held out a small stack of bar towels. Softly, she took his hand and shook it. "When you're ready, perhaps you'd like to sit with us for a drink," he said, then nodded and left.

It took a while, but eventually Bimbette toweled off the caked cum and misplaced cosmetics, reapplied the makeup and got herself looking presentable again. She refastened her halter top, but didn't see any reason to put her panties back on. Instead, she took them off completely and stuffed them into her handbag.

Having now recovered her energy, she stepped blithely out of the men's room, expecting to find Randy in the main section of the bar. But, to her surprise, he was sitting in a booth directly opposite the men's room door with the tall black man and the two guys who had been sitting at a table together when she first arrived. Sebastian was standing nearby, talking to Randy. As Bimbette approached, he nodded to her and then walked around the corner and back to the bar.

The booth consisted of a dark, worn wooden table, flanked by two long, high-backed seats, padded and upholstered in brown leather, which had once been elegant and luxurious, but was now ancient and cracked. The booth was large enough to seat three on each side. Randy and the tall black guy sat on the left, the other two men across from them. As Bimbette approached, Randy said, "Please, join us," and the outside guy opposite him stood up and motioned her to sit. She slid into the middle and he sat down again.

"This is Phil," Randy said, indicating the stout white man to her right, "and Woody," looking to the black guy on her left. "And this," he said, nodding at the tall black man on his side of the table, "is my friend and associate Sylvester, although his girl friends tend to call him 'Clarence'."

"Let's just don't startthatshit," muttered Sylvester.

On the table in front of her was a fresh vodka martini. "I hope you don't think you're going to get me drunk or, for that matter, that there's any reason to," chuckled Bimbette. "I'm a pretty cheap date with, or without, alcohol. I do like one drink. It adds a little extra to any physical pleasure I happen to run into. But more than one tends to dull the senses, so I take it pretty slow. Today though, I only got to drink a little of the first two I ordered, so another would actually be nice."

"I just thought," said Randy, "that it might be refreshing, that it might cleanse the palette, you might say."

"Very thoughtful," she answered, "thank you," and placed her left hand on Woody's thigh while she picked up the glass with her right and took a big gulp.

"Actually," Randy said, "it's on the house. So you should thank my brother."

"Your brother?" asked Bimbette, looking confused.

"Yeah, Biff....Sebastian....is my little brother," replied Randy.

Bimbette studied him. "You don't look older than Sebastian," she commented.

Randy grinned ever so slightly. "Anyway," he said, "So Woody and Phil hang out here a lot, and Woody called me to suggest I come over. He thought I might want to meet you. Turns out he was right. Might earn him a raise."

"It was my phone," protested Phil.

"And if only you could figure out how to use it, it might be you looking at that raise," lamented Randy with a broad grin.

Randy turned to Bimbette. "Tell me about you name," he said. "It's certainly.... unique. But the term 'bimbo' implies a certain lack of intellectual capacity, sort of like Phil, here. But you're obviously not stupid at all."

"You calling me a bimbo?" bristled Phil.

"Not at all," Bimbette interjected soothingly. "You're much too handsome."

"Hey, thanks," Phil beamed.

Turning back to Randy, she asked, "How doyouknow I'm not stupid?"

"For one thing, the way you just handled that situation. For another, the fact that you asked that question. A real bimbo would have just accepted the compliment, again, sort of like Phil, here. So, now, tell me about the name."

"When I was in high school," Bimbette began, "the other girls all hated me because their boy friends were hot for me instead of them. They all thought I was stealing their guys."

"I'll bet you were, weren't you," interrupted Randy.

"Well, yeah, sort of, I guess, but I couldn't help it. Well, actually I could, but it was so easy, I just couldn't resist. I mean, I love sex, and if I could have every guy in the school lusting after, why wouldn't I want to do it? Anyway, the other girls all started calling me a bimbo. So when I turned 18, I changed my name. I did it basically to say, 'Hey, I like what I am and what I can do. I'm not ashamed of it.'

"You know, my folks drummed it into me that it didn't matter what I did with my life as long as I was good at it. My father always said, 'You can be a ditch-digger if you want. Just make sure that you're the best ditch-digger there ever was.' Well, I'm a slut. But I'm proud to say that, if I'm not the best slut there ever was, I'm pretty damn close."

While she was talking, Bimbette could feel Phil and Woody's eyes on her, ogling her, drinking her in. Mostly, they were happy just watching her breathe, but every time she crossed or uncrossed her legs, their attention shifted. As always, she found their interest in her profoundly exciting.

She took another big sip of her drink and, when she put the glass down, turned to Phil and smiled a little smile. He didn't need any other invitation. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, clutching her breast while he introduced his tongue to the inside of her delicious mouth.

Woody, meanwhile, leaning in from her left, began nibbling on her earlobe and reached between her legs. She instinctively spread them widely and Woody easily found her stiffening clit, rolling it gently between his fingers. Bimbette gasped in sudden pleasure, slid her ass forward on the seat and spread her legs even more. After a moment, she affectionately stroked Phil's cheek, gave him another little smile and turned to tongue wrestle with Woody.

As she turned, she lifted the right side of her ass off the leather seat and Phil slid his hand under the back of her skirt and between her cheeks. While Woody stroked and squeezed her hard clit, Phil fingered her ass hole, at first teasing and tickling it, then poking his fingers into it. Woody's fingers, meanwhile, found their way into her tight, tender, dripping wet cunt.

Bimbette writhed happily between her two new boyfriends and kissed first one, then the other, with increasing passion. She reached for their crotches to grab their cocks through their pants, but could manage only an awkward, backhanded grip.

After fumbling ineffectually for a few seconds, she was about to change position so she could get a more convenient grasp when she heard the quiet, hard clink of metal on wood. She looked in the direction of the sound and saw that Randy had just placed a large, menacing pair of bright chrome-plated handcuffs on the table. Her jaw dropped and, as she stared at shiny shackles, her large blue eyes widened until they were as big as dinner plates. She looked up at Randy and ran her tongue along her top lip. Her clitoris began to flutter and jerk and she squirmed with anticipation.

"Not if you don't want to," he said softly. "It would just be a game, not real. They'd only be closed, not locked. You could take them off any time you wanted to, I promise. And," he added with a lop-sided grin, "you do seem to be having a problem figuring out what to do with your hands, so..."

But before Randy was even half through with his spiel, Bimbette thrust her hands out toward him, side by side. "Behind the back works better," he suggested quietly. Immediately, she put her hands behind her and turned sideways, facing Woody, her back to Phil. Randy slid the 'cuffs over to Phil and said, "If you would do the honors, please. But gently. This girl's too gorgeous to be blemished with bruises."

As Phil snapped the handcuffs in place, Woody unzipped his pants and popped out his dark, eleven-inch hard-on. He put one hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him. Behind her, Bimbette could hear Phil's fly opening as well. She put her left knee on the seat, her right foot on the floor and lowered her bright red lips to Woody's impatient cock. She licked the head and took it a half-inch into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue stud.

Phil moved close behind her, unfastened the top of her dress and cupped her tender, round breasts in his hands. The juke box started up again loudly, but now, instead of soft ballads, it blared an up-tempo rock-a-billy tune.

Woody's right hand slipped between her legs and found her rigid clit again. Grabbing it firmly with three fingers, he stroked it like a tiny penis. Bimbette licked the long underside of his huge erection, then sucked hard on its tip. He arched his back and groaned loudly.

The head of Phil's big love shaft pressed against the mouth of her oozing snatch, but didn't enter. He put his meaty hands on either side of her head, thumbs across the back, and slowly pushed her mouth down onto Woody's eager, twitching manhood. The hard rod slid gradually into her throat.

Without her hands to brace her, Bimbette could not have resisted if she had wanted to. But resistance was the furthest thing from her mind. She opened widely and welcomed Woody in. Phil forced her face down into Woody's lap until her full lips were pressed hard against his pubic hair, held her there a few seconds, then moved her head an inch up and down a few times. Finally, he pulled her slowly back up. She was sucking and tasting Woody's pre-cum the whole way as his long, stiff boner slid reluctantly from her soft, shiny lips.

Then it was Phil's turn. He and Woody turned Bimbette around and directed her magic mouth onto Phil's throbbing cock. As she turned, she locked eyes first with Randy, then with Sylvester. They were obviously enjoying the show.

Phil again took her head in his hands and, for a minute or so, steered it around at his pleasure while her lips, tongue and throat made love to his large, rock-hard lance. Meanwhile, Woody's fingers toyed with her cunt and clit. He pushed his thumb into the wet entrance and flicked, rubbed, rolled and squeezed her cute, stiff little nubbin.

By now, Bimbette was tingling with sexual excitement and badly needed to be crammed full of men. When Phil let her momentarily up for air, she lost her balance, and fell face forward into his lap, hands still locked behind her back.

"Fuck me now," she mumbled into the wad of pants bunched below his balls. "I'm so horny, I can't stand it another second." She turned her head and looked up at him from the corners of her eyes, pleading in a hoarse whisper, "Shove your cock in and fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please, please, please."

"Well, if you put it that way, I guess I can accommodate," Phil answered. He helped Bimbette up so her body was erect, right knee on the seat, left foot on the floor. Then, pulling his pants down around his knees, he swung his legs up onto the seat, slid them between hers and leaned back on his elbows, his hard prick standing straight up like a rosy flag pole. "Come and get it," he invited.

Bimbette anxiously moved forward to straddle his rod, but in her rush she lost her balance again and repeated her face-first dive into his lap. In frustration, she turned her head sideways, grabbed his cock tightly between her lips and tugged at it, shaking her head back and forth like a dog with a bone. Her ardor and the vigorous motion were so stimulating to Phil he had to quickly pull her mouth off his staff before he came all over his very expensive, new shirt. In the process, he also lost his balance and flopped flat on his back.

Instead of struggling back upright, Bimbette slithered forward, her plump breasts sliding over Phil's balls and boner until the head of his hard prick peeked out coyly from between her squashed tits. There she paused to let him enjoy the sight. He reached down, cupped the sides of her breasts, pressing them tightly against his stiff cock, and rocked his hips slowly back and forth for a few seconds, fucking her tits the way he longed to fuck her cunt.

As soon as he stopped, Bimbette resumed pushing herself up over him so that first her chest glided over his rigid rod, then her flat stomach and her soft abdomen and finally her steamy genitals. When the tip of his swollen love boat was knocking on the door to her tunnel of lust, she paused. Her face was pressed hard against his. She attacked his mouth with her sweet, moist lips and his tongue with hers.

She caught the head of his cock in the wet mouth of her pussy, brought her left leg under her and slowly raised her shapely torso into an erect position, at the same time lifting his big boner to the vertical. Now she was in control, and she hesitated, enjoying the role reversal. Her juices drooled down Phil's stiff fuck-stick.

He looked up and marveled at the vision of sensual beauty poised on his cock, ready to deliver a biggest dose of erotic ecstasy he had experienced in a long time. The top portion of her dress dangled from her waist, exposing her sublime breasts, which, with her hands bound behind her, were thrust out even more proudly than usual. They hung over him like succulent fruit, their nipples as agonizingly rigid and bloated as his rod, telling him that she was as ready to cum as he was. Above that, her open-mouthed eagerness, sweet face and tousled, flame-red hair fanned his passion to the point where he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from cumming.

Meanwhile, the juke box blared out another loud country-western rocker:

A teeny little skirt, Skin-tight, revealing shirt, Spike heels so high, And my, my, my, That girl sure loves to flirt.