Two Fingers of Bourbon

Two Fingers


Two fingers? No, two fingers of jack were not going to pacify him, not this man. It wasn't the cold steel of the colt in his hand, aimed at nothing in particular, that compelled Daphne to comply, but the look of arrogance in the stranger's face. The smooth glass in his other hand was waiting for her to 'show a little more hospitality'.


"You're not a half bad looking woman to be working a bar this late into the morning," he said, flipping the drained glass back to her with a nod. "But you could do with showing a bit more smile to your patrons". She hated these arrogant men, both of her ex's were arrogant types.


Humph 'patrons' she thought, walking back to the bar and dutifully refilling the glass. There weren't any left after they heard the shot from the men's room. Not that there had been many to begin with late on a Tuesday. There had been three semi-regulars at the bar trying to pick her up and a younger couple at a table opposite the stranger's.


'Not half bad looking?' Who the hell does he think he is? Pushing forty Daphne still passed for thirty something. She had a lean build with sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and toned arms from this job three nights a week. She still fit perfectly into her ten year old Levis, and with a black suede vest over her white buttoned shirt she brilliantly displayed her b-cup breasts. Right where they should be, for a lady of thirty, she knew.


She brought him his 'hospitality' refill, and placed it in his firm grip, while displaying her best fake smile. Walking back to the bar she made sure that she gave her best 'rear view' walk. She wanted him to know she had a higher opinion of herself. It didn't go unnoticed.


He watched her, seemingly indifferent, as she made herself busy cleaning the bar, mopping up the evening's spills. He watched her as if he were watching a shooting gallery duck going back and forth. She knew he was watching as she kept an eye on him.


He was tall, six one, sitting there in a blue-stripe shirt, open collar, and black slacks. His short cropped brown hair graying at the sides marked him for being closer to fifty than forty. She wasn't aware that she was gazing at him as he drank the bourbon, gazing at his lips. The masculine hands caught Daphne's attention as he lay the gun on the table.


Catching her eye he raised the empty glass a couple of inches, she had learned the drill by now. She picked up a fresh glass and went for the bottle.


"You can just bring the bottle Miss. This glass will be fine." He spoke low, a baritone voice, smooth as the bourbon itself. She could see that glint in his eye, how she hated arrogant men.


Daphne hadn't noticed that she had undone the third button on her shirt while fetching the bottle from the rack. The stranger's keen eye noticed it, as she brought the bourbon. She placed the bottle down and the Stanger grasped her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips.


Daphne was quick to snatch her hand back at the last moment, intending to deliver a well-earned slap. She was fast, but experience had left the stranger faster. He caught her arm before she could make contact and gave it a firm, twist. She turned to relieve the stress on her arm. Then the stranger pulled her face down over his lap, momentarily disorienting her.


"Slap!" Daphne gasped at the suddenness of the strong, firm hand making solid contact with her backside.




"Slap!" She gasped at the audacity, the nerve of this bastard.




"Slap!" She gasped, that one actually smarted through her Levis.


His hand hesitated for a second. She took advantage of the moment and rolled in his lap sitting straight up in it. But when the fire of anger raging in her eyes turned to see his fire of lust starring right through her it was her turn to hesitate. He brought his lips to meet hers. Pulling her into him, his arms wrapped around her. Daphne found herself wrapping arms around him. She hated these arrogant types.


He brought his hands around and grasped her open shirt. He popped the rest of her buttons as well as the snaps of her vest. She appreciated the assertiveness of the stranger and displayed her own show of lust as she ripped his shirt buttons. As she nuzzled herself into his neck, he pulled her shirt from out of her jeans and then unbuttoned them.


As she stood up he did too and he smoothly rolled her faded Levis off of her. There was nothing between the denim and her soft, smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. As she stared up into his eyes she deftly opened his slacks and released his erection. She wrapped her slender fingers around it. He brought his lips down on hers hungrily consuming her as she moaned her agreement into his mouth.


As he sat back down he brought her towards him. She straddled his bare legs and lowering herself down she gave another gasp as she began taking him inside her. Their lips met again as she lowered herself a bit more. Taking all of him in, she started rocking back and forth. He thrust to synch with her motion, the pleasure cascaded through her body. She felt herself swept up, aching, rocking faster for release.


His lips left hers as they kissed their way down her neck. He was blowing on her coals to bring out the flame within her. As his lips teased her breasts she responded with a groan of needing just a little more stimulus.


She was kneading her hands along his strong shoulders. She was sweating from the heat she felt radiating through her. She rocked harder, grinding herself down upon him, taking more of him within her, feeling him growing in her.

His arms crushed her against him as his climax came. The tension causing her to constrict around him, Daphne felt herself pushed over that edge, releasing the tension within her as she arched her back and cried out. Then, resting against his chest she felt herself melt into calmness. God! She hated arrogant men.


A little later, locking the door, watching the stranger head off into the pre-dawn darkness, Daphne thought to herself and smiled, 'he'll be back for that gun someday'.