Brush Off Both (Futa Hookup)

Stepping through the door, you mull over your options. On one hand, there’s the option to get closer to your operations manager — in quite a literal way. Or, you could make a new connection, but would you really be satisfied? You toss your tattered clothes into the trash and step in the shower, the fresh scent of water making your thoughts clearer.

You feel like it’s one thing to hookup with a stranger. Then it’s another to mingle business with pleasure. Maybe that’s something you’d like to do, but maybe you should also take a girl out to dinner, first — who knows what Amber-May is into?

That being said, you need something a little more… robust. Is Liza Summers ‘robust’? Well, yes. But what you’re seeking is a little more than just one for the night. Hell, you might loop her in tonight or on a different day, but you’ve got other ideas in mind since two smoking hot babes got you riled up — Liza probably wouldn’t be enough.

Instead, you decide for a tried and true solution for your problems. You crank the water to ‘off’ and step out, a robe quickly hugging your chest and a towel clenching to your hair. Looking in the mirror, you see yourself — a fresh, steaming, hot rod-bodied woman — infused with a fire that burns with fueled lust. You know where to go. Tossing off the robe and towel, you slip on a pair of elastic bell-bottom jeans, fit a cropped plaid top, and a straw summer cowgirl hat, with your embossed boots to complete the outfit. With that, you head out the door, the truck revving up as you fly down that dirt road.

Half an Hour Later…

‘The Wild Horse Bar’. That’s the sign you’ve been looking for. You pull your truck into the gravel parking area, seating it next to a collection of pickups, coupes and motorcycles alike. The breeze picks up as you open the door, hitting you with that evening cool as you hop out of the truck cabin. Your boots land on the rocky surface, hearing the sharp crunch under your heels and the bustling bar as you head towards the lively establishment.

Constant chatter and hearty laughter accosts your ears the minute you step into the main hall, a dimly lit scene bolstered with boisterous voices and hip-swinging honky tonk. And the scent is familiar, too. Your stuffed shaft stirs slightly as a heavy musk drifts past your nose, quickly replaced by the woody perfume and spice of liquors. Beyond that, you see a girl, clad in tight fitting jean shorts and a Hooters top, making her way over to you. Her figure moves with every sway of her hips — you can see her glorious ass jiggle from behind — and her busty chest nestles a huge bulge right in her equally huge cleavage.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” She announces, placing herself behind a host’s podium, “Come here fancying a drink, Sarah? Or are you keen on finding… something else?”

You let out a curt chuckle, locking eyes with the hostess in a shared, knowing look. “I think you know why I come here, Flo, but I wouldn’t mind a drink too.” Letting your stare leave her pretty little face to survey the room, you start taking a few steps into the bar: “My usual spot still open?”

You feel a smack on your ass as Flo slides right past you, her H cup chest grazing your arm — intentional, no doubt — “You know it, sugar. I’ll bring you a bottle of somethin’ in a second, mkay?”

With a nod, a few more steps in, and a quick spot check of your usual table, you make your way to the empty bistro hi-top. As you pass by different women, you gauge who would be your pick for the night. Some are already swooped up with each other — you wouldn’t steal someone away from another, you have standards — the ones you’re looking for are either on the dance floor or actively looking.

You spot Ginny, Flo’s helper as she gracefully dodges rowdy patrons and shimmies through tight spaces, all while carrying a platter. She’s just as curvy as the hostess, if not more, and a little bit shorter. Soon, the petite package arrives at your table, and sets down a shot glass and a stoppered fifth of Tennessee whiskey. The kind that goes down as smooth as drinking sweet tea. She sets down the platter to uncork the bottle and pour its first contents for you.

“Thanks, Ginny,” you look at the co-hostess as you throw the shot down your throat, “Say, what time are you and Flo off tonight?” You lean forward on the table, breasts exposed to her view. Ginny cracks a smile, the little firecracker more excited than a lit fuse as she takes your not-so-subtle hint.

“Mmmmm, I dunno, Sarah… usually, we like an hour overlap between changing shifts for the night, so I’d say in about,” she glances at the clock, “a couple of hours. Buuuuuut, for you, we could make it half an hour quicker.” She reaches up and boops your nose with a dainty finger before picking up her platter. “Wait for us here, stud…” Ginny spins herself around and struts off — you lick your lips as you view her fat bubble butt swaying away, her cute little cow tail swinging behind.

You watch as she fades away into the crowd, the sea of patrons closing her off from view in just a few seconds. As you peruse the room, you see a bunch of girls out on the dance floor, shaking what they got. On the bar side opposite from you, you catch a couple of stares from some girls, holding their gazes with yours. And they sure as hell look fun enough to tussle with for the night. Do you call them over to your table?