The woman has tattoos.
I still do not understand this human obsession with tattoos. The need to be creative and then cover it up for fear of being judged.
She also gave that Marilyn Monroe shrug and squeaky giggle when I asked for a Rickard’s White…
Rickard’s Red only…seems racist. Should they not have all the colours?..but it is just beer.
She is wearing a baby-girl cream dress, with small muted red floral buds that barely comes half-way down her thigh…funny, but the bar area goes eerily quiet when ever she bends down to get into one of the small fridges. She also has weathered brown leather ankle cowboy boots.
Her jett-black hair is wavy and just past her shoulders. Black bangs fall just over blue eyes.
She is thin, but not skinny. Her bare shoulders, in spite of her pale skin, are much more brightly coloured with massive tattoos. Alice in Wonderland on her left shoulder, and a man in a native headdress on the other. That and plenty of jewelry…rings, necklaces, and piercing of nose and tongue…yes please, to the tongue.
I am one of four at the bar. I suspect I am easily the youngest. They are very suggestive to her…and she smiles and plays along. Not certain if she is that free in her sexuality to play, or just hoping for better tips.
Either way, she could sue these guys in this “modern world”. I don’t think she would…she seems to like the attention and is not afraid of these guys.
One of the guys just called her a beer wench and said to come dance with him…and feed him grapes and call him Sampson…though the last word actually sounded an awful lot like “Samsung”.
Samsung makes a lot of products, but I suspect the company is less studdly than this guy makes it out to be.
Just realized, the baby-girl dress is not decorated with red flower-buds, but with skulls looking at me with red eyes.
Looking out the front windows of this place, there is a storm coming. Potentially massive and dark.
The type I like.
If only I had her to myself…in the storm…in the dark…
Flashes of lightning turning her black hair white as she waits on her knees…while she begs…please, sir. I want your cock.
Next flash would be me with a handful of black hair as I pull her welcome, warm and open mouth to my erection which, in the very first slow thrust hits the back of her throat bringing about a slight gag. Pulling out, her tongue tip would circle the tip of my cock before she strokes my hardness with the aforementioned piercing.
The raunch would continue as the storm rages. Taking her to a booth to ride…her slim legs straddling while her pussy devours my erection.
Our numbers have swelled…pun intended…to nine. My fantasy has vanished for now. But it will come back when it is quieter…and I can have my way with her.
And I will have my way with her…and she will love every moment of it.
I do not know her name…yet…but I will. And she will call me ‘sir’ as she begs for me to drive her to orgasm before the end.
One of the barflies just called her Bree, I think.
A real shame that Bree, like everyone else in this place, will be dead in a week. Not my choice, but it has to happen or there will be Hell to pay.
Yeah, like Hell exists. These humans have more fantasies and doctrine for an afterlife than any beings I’ve met before.
Well, much as I will not enjoy destroying them, I am looking forward to going home after it is done.