Don't Show This One to Andy

I was a bar-back at a bar called Checker's Pub. It's a real dive; a working class bar whose regulars include vagrants, factory workers, ex-cons, Vietnam veterans, prostitutes, drug dealers, and all sorts of other people who love life enough to distort their perception with alcohol night after night. It's a fun place to work, if you don't mind being around an all-star team of human failures. The employees, on the other hand were not all human failures. The owner was a great guy to work with. I was hired by Nikki, a bartender there.

Nikki was about 5'6" and a little on the heavy side, but with enough well-defined curves to make it worth your masturbation's while. She had a great ass and boner-inducing breasts, but her sexiest characteristic was her eyes. They were very dark, showing both her Native American ancestry and her French lineage. In her eyes you could see she had a lot of depth, personality-wise, as well as an enormous sexual appetite. This appetite of hers affected every part of her life.

We got along great, because we could talk about anything. Also, she had a sense of humor similar to mine. I could always make her laugh. What irked me, though, was how much she talked about her boyfriend. She was always talking about why she was pissed off at him that day. It was always something. She never did it in a whiny, bitchy way, but it was still annoying. You see, the Nikki that I worked with was such a strong, self-sufficient person. She could look into the eyes of a drunken patron, a full foot taller than herself, who's being a nuisance, and say, "Well now I'm not gonna serve you any more drinks because your wasted and your being a dick." She had an 8-year-old son who she reared and she was also taking steps toward attending the local college.

So it was difficult for me understand why she would continue to stay with her boyfriend. I had heard from other sources (patrons who knew her and Andy) that he was a real asshole. Her good friend Joey told me that sometimes he yells at her, "real abusively," as he put it. It was at times difficult to listen to her bitch about her boyfriend, because it kept me from having such respect for her. It's not often that I have respect for a woman. So when I do, I don't want it to become tainted by anything.

I had been using Nikki for masturbation fuel for a while. She and I always flirted, often to an outlandish degree, much to the amusement of the patrons. I would smack her ass (a common practice at Checker's) or sometimes get down on my knees and beg to kiss it. Other times she would say, loud enough for several people to hear, "Miles: Show my your cock." She would give me tips on how to maximize penetration with a woman, how to best make her cum, etc. Long story short, I wanted to fuck her, and I was pretty sure she was attracted to me as well.

On the particular night which the following events occurred, Checker's was pretty dead. Only a few regulars were there. It was a Sunday, so there was Karaoke. Nettie ran it, and she kept having to sing songs herself, since there was almost nobody else singing. As the night went on, Nikki and I drank more than a few shots. She complained about her boyfriend Andy. "We haven't had sex in a month. Ever since I gained twenty-five pounds, he hardly ever tries to fuck me."

"What a shame." She didn't notice that I didn't really want to hear about it. She just kept talking.

Nikki: "I'm thirty years old. I'm at my sexual peak. Every morning when I wake up, I NEED it. If I don't get a chance to masturbate, I'm the queen cunt for a couple hours."

"Goddamn." Suddenly I was interested; there was an erection in the works in my pants. I didn't care about the fact that her boyfriend neglected her, but I was turned on by how much she needed sex, how important it was to her. It aroused me because it was a sign of weakness. Her need for cock was a weakness I could exploit. "Stop teasing me," I said. She smiled.

Nikki: "It's not easy being at your sexual peak when you have a nearly celibate boyfriend."

"There are plenty of dicks in the sea," I said, waving a hand over the bar, referring to all the male patrons who'd gladly have sex with her.

Nikki: "I've ALWAYS been the good girl. I've never cheated on him."

I placed my hand on my belt buckle and said, "I think you need some Mileage."

Her smile faded slightly. We looked into one another's eyes. Just as our eye contact was lasting just a few too many seconds, Nettie called out from the Karaoke booth: "Alright. Let's here it for Kandy. Now I need Nikki the bar-wench!" That was Nikki's nick-name, as well as Nettie's way of distinguishing her from other possible Nikkis in the bar. Nikki walked out from behind the bar and up to the stage.

She sang "I Hate Myself for Loving You" by Joan Jett. It was one of her favorite songs to sing. Obviously, the song expressed her feelings concerning her relationship with her boyfriend.

I hate myself for loving you Can't break free from the things that you do I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why I hate myself for loving you

As I listened to her sing the lyrics, the anger I felt was increased by my horny state. Sexual frustration is bad enough, but it's a lot worse when it's compounded with anger toward the person toward whom you're attracted. Each emotion feeds and enhances the other. I didn't talk to her much for the rest of the night, until after everybody left. I just gave her hard stares when she talked to me.

Two o'clock eventually rolled around. Last call for alcohol. By 2:20 everybody had left. I had wiped down all the tables and taken out the trash. I had stocked all the shelves and turned off most of the lights. I locked the back door and returned to behind the bar where Nikki stood at the cash register, counting the money made for the night.

Nikki: "Tonight sucked. We didn't even come close to making five hundred."

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

She turned and glared at me. We were about three feet apart. She said, "I don't know. Is there?" We had definitely had too many shots.

We began making out. I leaned into her, she had her ass against the sink. I lightly pulled her hair back and groped her breasts. Our tongues danced sensuously, each one wishing it could more fully inhabit the other's mouth. This alone was blissful. It was all the more pleasurable because it felt wrong. She has a boyfriend, I kept thinking. This doesn't belong to me.

Nikki groped her way down to my crotch. She felt my erection, which was giving the stitches in my jeans a run for their money. She slowly groped from the base to the tip, going up and down a couple times. Just then she broke off from me. I opened my eyes, startled, and saw that she was already halfway to the pool table. I walked out from behind the bar.

"Come hither." She said. She was facing the table, her back to me, with her hands resting on the edge. "I didn't wear any panties."

I walked over as calmly as I could, undoing my belt at the same time. I immediately unzipped and pulled out my cock. My cock was grateful for the release from its denim bondage. I grabbed her hair and lightly bit her ear, before kissing her neck.

She pulled her skirt up to her waist. She bent over onto the pool table.

Nikki the bar-wench: "King me, Miles."

I reached down and felt her cunt. Aside from soaking, it was hot. As I lined up my cock, making it touch her opening, I said, "This certainly wasn't included in the job description." She chuckled at this. Then she moaned with anticipation.

I began frigging her excruciatingly slowly, Miles-style, making sure I was going in as far as I could. I didn't want to disappoint her, you see (She was my boss). Every time the base of my cock connected firmly with her, she breathed in sharply, then exhaled slowly. I would hold it there for a few seconds before slowly pulling it back out to the tip. Her arms, holding her up, were shaking.

"How's that for maximum penetration, whore?"

Nikki: "O-o-o-o-o-oh ye--Oow!" I cut her off with a hard smack on the ass. This tightened her whole body, which turned me on more, and my frigging sped up. Faster and faster, I frigged her. Her moans became louder, more frantic. Eventually I wasn't going in all the way, only about six inches, since I was going so fast. It wasn't long before she was near an orgasm.

When I felt she was on the edge of a big one, I quickly pulled out of her. This absence of cock made her yell "Oh FUCK you m-i-i-hauuuunnnh!" Her thighs tensed up, her back arched and her ass reached for the ceiling in sexual frustration.

I took a step back, enjoying her anguish. I smiled at the sight of her cunt begging for attention, begging for release, begging for mercy. She incoherently pleaded with me, begging for my cock.

But then something about her position made my mind snap. Suddenly I was enraged, and I grabbed her hips in a frenzy, bent over and planted my mouth on her ass. Not just her ass cheek. I mean right next to her asshole. My jaw clamped on and didn't want to let go. Her muscles tightened in fear and exhilaration which only drove me to hold on harder.

Slut: "AAAH! Huunnnnh!"

Her legs shook and flailed up and down both sides of my body. And, as if this were a French kissing scene at the end of a cheesy romance film, I slowly raised her pelvis up higher, still sucking the sweet meat through my clenched jaws. Her nails scratched the surface of the pool table as her upper body moved toward the edge, closer to me.

Slut: "AAH! AAH! UuhuuuuHUUUUGH!"

Her whole body shook violently, which probably only made my bite more severe. It was like her ass gave me a whole new energy, and I clung on with all the eagerness of newborn being breastfed, raising her ass triumphantly in the air until I was almost standing straight up.

Spent, I dropped her pelvis, which actually fell further off the table since her whole body had been pulled closer to the edge during the ass-biting. I had to pick her hips up again and lift her onto the table. Then I smacked her hard on the ass to punish her for almost falling off the table. Stupid bitch.

"HUUUGH!" She continued to mewl in ecstatic pain. The pain from the bite, the pain from the drop, and the pain from the ass-smack must have complemented her orgasmic state, heightening her tension to an unbearable degree. I imagine part of her really did want me to stop. Her instincts of fighting back probably DID kick in somewhere. They were just totally smothered by her masochism. Her need for cock simply overshadowed everything else, bending her will, making her enjoy the abuse as a natural part of the sex. I could tell by her sounds that she was feeling ashamed of the situation. She was trying to hold in her mewls. She was failing.

Slut: "En-en-ugh-aaaaagh!

With my left hand I grabbed her hair and placed my elbow on her back to keep her in place. I wanted her back to remain arched. With my right hand, I put my cock right at her begging canal, threatening it, promising it. Then I noticed that down at her asshole there were two punctures in her soft meat where I bit her. Two dark spots, much bigger than normal drops. I wiped them off with my right hand. Then I reached up and put my hand in front of her face. "I won't let you cum until you clean my hand, bitch."

Obeying me, she sucked off her own blood. She breathed raggedly through her nose while doing it. I took my hand back and aimed my cock at her cunt again. But I wasn't going to let her get off that easy. First was the education. I pulled her head up by the hair and pinned my elbow on her back as I lowered my mouth to her ear. I didn't want to allow for any misunderstanding here, you see.

"Whose cock do you want?"

Slut: "YOURS!"

"When do you want it?"

Slut: "NOW!"

Then I slowly slid my cockhead up and down her begging opening, teasing her. I asked her, "What about your boyfriend?"

Instead of answering, she just gave a frustrated "Hnnnngh," as her whole body shook. There was a rage in her voice now. A genuine anger. This was what I wanted. This was what she needed.

Pulling her hair harder, I bellowed, "ANSWER THE QUESTION YOU WENCH!" Than I smacked her ass hard.

Slut: "AAAGH!"

"What-about-your-boyfriend?" with each word I stuck my cock in only an inch and then back out, torturing her.

Slut, getting angry: "Huuughnn! FUCK my boyfriend! Just please FUCK me!"

To reward her, I gave her two inches, which provoked another "Uuungh." Softly into her ear: "Say it again."

Slut: "FUCK ME!" SMACK "Aaaah!"

Pulling her hair: "Say FUCK YOUR BOYFRIEND BITCH!"

"I HATE YOU! FUCK MY BOYFRIEND!" She earned another three inches. Now there were five inches in, four to go. But I held still, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of friction. Her pelvis kept shaking in frustration to bring in more cock.

"One last thing. Say you LOVE your boyfriend, then beg for my cock."

Slut: "Uuuughn! I HATE YOU! I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND! Oh my GOD I HATE YOU! I hate THIS! Just FUCK ME! FUCK ME! PLEASE FUCKING GOD FUCKING FUCK ME!"

"That's more like it." She earned it. I immediately let go of her hair so I could clamp both of my hands on her hips, holding her still. Then I slammed my cock in as deep as it could possibly go, ruthlessly, over and over and over and over like a steam-engine train that's trying to catch up because it's running late. On and on and on and on. I was angry with her, and all the bottled up anger was driving me. Like a frenzied mass murderer, long overdue, knowing this is his moment of purity, of vengeance, of absolute authority. I held a general's rank, letting the blitzkrieg reign, and she was Anastasia screaming in vain.

The wench kept slapping at the table, compulsively, drowning in a sea of orgasms, trying to grab at something to keep herself above the water's surface. Her breathes were urgent, desperate gasps. Her voice kept going back and forth from low, guttural noises to very high-pitched mewls and screams. She was unable to verbalize anything, like a panicking mother who's just seen somebody kidnap her baby. Her head moved about with a frightened rage directed at everything and nothing.

My rock-hard cock was piercing a hole through her willpower. I was weakening the strength of her love for her boyfriend. With each orgasm, I was bringing her another step further away from loving him.

Finally I neared my orgasm. I felt it so strongly in my balls, it was like they had suddenly become larger. Right before it hit, I yelled out, "Corner pocket!" just to amuse myself, and smacked her on the ass one last time. By then she was so spent from cumming so many time, that she barely even shouted out in pain.

Both of us were exhausted for a few minutes afterward. She lay there on the table while I leaned on the side, away from her, to give her some air to breathe.

"So much for the good girl routine. How's the bite?"

Wench: "I think I can still feel the blood between my cheeks.... It's still pretty wet .... Good thing I'm wearing my cheap skirt and no panties.... I've had bite marks before."

"Just don't let Andy see this one. If he sees this, he'll probably kill you or me."

Wench: "No of course not."

Later, there was no dialogue between us as we sat at the bar and she counted her tips for the night. She and I both smoked a cigarette. I was staring at her the whole time, with a smirk on my face, showing how satisfied I was at what had happened. When she handed me my cut of the tips, she noticed this smirk. She was clearly irked by my cockiness.

Wench: "You don't actually think that was something special, do you?"

"I know it was." I counted my cut. "Wow. This certainly is more than I usually get."

Wench: "You did good tonight. You know, bar-backing." She takes a drag from her cigarette.

"Yes, you could say I put my back into it." I take a drag from mine.

The wench, attempting to regain her dignity: "You don't actually think I'm paying you for the sex. My boyfriend's fucked me that good plenty of times," she said with a bit too much assertiveness as she put her cigarette out in the ashtray.

"When was the last time he did?" as I stared into her eyes. I flicked my cigarette away, onto the floor.

She didn't answer this. Instead, she just looked at me for a few seconds, then looked away.

"Look into my eyes and tell me you still love him." We made eye contact for a few seconds. She was obviously having trouble answering the question.

Finally she said, "Fuck you."

I slapped her across the face. This snapped her out of her delusion. She immediately grabbed me and planted a violent kiss on my mouth. Checkmate. I leaned into her. Just then she shoved me away. Without looking at me again that night, she picked up her purse and said, "Time to go."

I felt satisfied.

Her dignity would never again materialize in any convincing manner. I had taught her a lesson she wouldn't forget: that at her core, she's a slut. She already knew, but sometimes a slut needs a reminder. Nikki was a masochist with an appetite for degradation and self-hatred, who needed abuse to maintain her emotional equilibrium. Her lust was much stronger than her willpower.

I quit working at Checker's Pub a couple weeks later. Nikki never broke up with her boyfriend, which disappoints me but doesn't surprise me. However, I have heard that she's cheated on him with a few different men since we frigged that Sunday night on the pool table. It's nice knowing I helped her free herself from the chains of monogamy. It's enough to make me smile whenever I think about her today.