Theroit's Bar

The lone building stood on wooden stilts over the water. Chase breathed a sigh of relief. A red and blue sign with the words Theroit’s Bar hung out above a pair of gas pumps across the short road from the bar. He stopped the car in front of a bridge leading to the Theroit’s.

“Please let there be somebody inside.” He said, staring at the heavy padlocks attached to each pumps' handle.

He got out the car and stepped to the bridge, where a bench sat against the railing. It wobbled mildly under his weight, and he took his time holding onto the planks with each step. He looked to his right and saw the moon starting to rise, casting a pale light over half the bayou. He turned to his left where a pair of soulless eyes stared back at him, floating just above the surface of the water.

“Alligator,” he muttered and picked up his pace.

Silence greeted him as the bar’s front door swung open. Quickly, he stepped inside, grateful to have something between him and whatever else was lingering outside waiting for a midnight snack.

A blanket of sawdust and popcorn covered the hardwood floors, and fading burgundy walls surrounded a long and well-stocked bar. Matching, yet tattered burgundy cushions covered five old bar stools, while six empty wooden booths sat against the wall to his right. The kitchen was to his left.

What a dump, he thought, but then his stomach growled as the smell of fried food wafted up to his nose, and he decided it wasn’t that much of a dump after all.

Chase turned at the sound of a couple of metal pots clanging together and a man’s voice in the kitchen. “Good idea to close up early,” the man's voice said, spewing a molasses-thick accent Chase could barely make out.

“We still got work to do,” a woman replied.

“Finally. People.” Chase whispered to himself as he walked to the kitchen and peered over a pair of swinging wooden doors. A clap of thunder echoed by the bar as Chase fell back on his heels and away from the door. Rain fell hard and fast muffling much of the conversation in the kitchen.

Chase glanced back inside and over the swinging doors. A man at least ten years his junior sat on a chest freezer pushed up against a back wall. He was wearing a black t-shirt which clutched his slim, yet hard physique and jeans that were almost too tight. The silver tips of his gray and white snakeskin boots dangled above the floor as Chase watched the man eye the curvy figure of the woman who was bent over tying the top of a garbage bag closed.

“What we gotta do, Bridgette? Ain’t much we can git done wit dat rain ou’side.” He hopped off the freezer, his boots hitting the hardwood floor with a solid thud. Chase couldn’t help but notice the thick snake growing in the man’s jeans. Who could blame him with Bridgette standing so close? Chase had only seen a partial glance of the woman, but it was evident she wasn’t a woman you’d look away from. Not if you had eyes anyway.

The man walked over to Bridgette, “What do you say we have some fun?” Before she even responded he reached back behind his shoulder blades and pulled off his shirt, revealing the chiseled chest Chase had already seen through the form-fitting shirt.

“Ah, shit!” Chase muttered quietly. What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

The man reached Bridgette’s waist and pulled her closer to his bare chest.

“I say my sister might have a problem with that,” and she licked a finger, sliding it along the center crease of his abs.

Her voice was velvety, soft and oozed confidence. She wasn’t a woman to get involved with; not, unless you wanted your balls cut off in the middle of the night and served for breakfast.

“She not goin’ come out in dat rain. You know dat.” He tugged at the button on his jeans until the denim broke free loosing the first inch of the zipper.

“She might,” Bridgette leaned in closer to him, felling the zipper the remaining five inches until his jeans loosely held in place.

“I think I know my girl enough to say she won’t.” He reached down for a snap at Bridgette’s lips, but she snuffed him and stepped back.

“So, know you know my blood better than me?”

Chase crept closer to the door, trying to hide as Bridgette finally sashayed herself into full view. She too wore a tight black t-shirt. Whatever shoes she’d been wearing were already removed. A dark ponytail hung from the back of her head ending just above a pair of jean shorts clinging to her ass and thighs like a second skin. Chase licked his lips feeling the growing warmth of his cock against his skin.

The man took Bridgette by the waist and pulled her close. “We goin’ argue or we goin’ ah fuck?”

He started to reach inside his pants, when her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. She pulled him toward her and looked into his eyes with a hard stare that would have sent Chase running had it been him. But, it was obvious that these two had played this game before, and the man never balked.

“If you take that out,” she mused, “You better be prepared to use it.”

She let his hand go, and the man let his jeans fall revealing how excited he was. “Always, Darlin’,” he replied, proudly holding his shaft in front of her.

She dropped to her knees without a word and pulled his cock from his hand. She stroked him with both hands and licked his tip as if ice cream were melting off and about to hit the floor or dribble down the back of her hand.

“Damn, so this is the treat my sister’s been holding back?” Bridgette took his head into her mouth and finally released it with a pop. “Well, since you got so much to give, I’m sure she won’t mind sharing.” She engulfed him once more this time taking in as much as she could and slowly allowing his shaft to reveal itself from a long gentle stroke of her lips.

Chase backed away, feeling guilt over his intrusion, but as much as he wanted to—had he wanted to—he couldn’t look away. The man ran his fingers through her dark tresses as she held his cock out straight, allowing for a smooth motion back and forth and preventing him from controlling the sensation. Chase glanced behind himself noting again that the front of the bar was empty. The rain ricocheted off the tin roof like shattered glass. He moved farther from the swinging door and beyond the bar, where he had a full view of the love-fest taking place through an open window between the bar and the kitchen. He leaned back on one of the stools and reached down to rub himself. How far would he go? He had no idea, but the dripping of pre-cum down his leg was an indicator that regardless of what happened in the next few minutes he would have to take care of business soon.