Ignore the craving and go somewhere to drink my troubles away

Wiping the remnants of tears from my face, I walked upstairs and into the bedroom. I turned on the light. Everything in the house seemed stuffy. I walked to the window and opened it, letting the night air brush against me yet again. The feelings of arousal stirred up as expected; I tried to ignore them as I looked toward the side of the neighbors’ house. An upstairs light was on, probably their son Tommy’s room. Paul had talked about wanting a son. The prospect had once filled me with hope. I stifled a sob as I walked into the bathroom.

I washed my face and looked into the mirror. My robe had fallen open again. I was sexy; I knew it. For the first time, I didn’t blame myself. I blamed Paul. I rubbed my hand over my stiff nipples and down to my clean-shaven slit. I bit my lip and discarded the robe altogether, walking back to the bedroom. I was as horny as I could ever remember being.

I decided that I couldn’t let myself give in to the feeling. I crawled underneath the covers of our bed and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. I needed to get out. Just to be somewhere different is all it would take. I got dressed, absentmindedly, trying to decide where to go. I wanted to be somewhere far away from the places I normally went.

There was this dive bar on the outskirts of the city, called Ratz. It was the type of place I’d never been, nor would anyone I knew. I figured I would go, sit in a corner and have a few drinks. Maybe that would help me forget both Paul and my horniness. As I turned to leave the bathroom I finally noticed myself in the mirror.

I had been so used to dressing up in hopes of enticing my husband, that I had forgotten how not to dress sexy, apparently. I had on a tight black cocktail dress that didn’t hide anything. The only shoes that paired well with it were a pair of stiletto heels that really accentuated my perfect ass.

I decided not to change … I didn’t have the energy. I figured if I just sat in my corner, no one would bother me.

As I drove up to the dimly lit bar, I took a deep breath, not really knowing what to expect. This was a bad part of town, one I wouldn’t normally be in alone at night. Again, I didn’t have the energy to change my mind, and walked in.

The bar was smoky and rustic. It was a prototypical dive, with rickety tables and a long, wooden bar. An eclectic assortment of items adorned the walls. It was almost as dark inside as it was outside. I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the smoke and looked around at the people.

It seemed like this was a biker bar. A scattered group of rough-looking, tattooed men and thick women in leather vests and bandannas populated the tables. A few gave me a quizzical look, before turning back to their beers. I went to the darkest end of the bar and took a seat on a poorly padded stool. Hopefully, nobody would take notice of the clearly out of place woman here.

My hope was not realized. Before I could even order, the bartender placed a glass of translucent something in front of me. “I didn’t order anything yet.”

The bartender was giving me an examining look. “From the fella at the other end of the bar,” he explained, motioning to a heavyset biker a few yards away. The man was at least 30 years older than me, had a full white beard and a gut that strained to spill out from his denim shirt onto the bar. He was looking directly at me, with a cold look on his face.

I considered refusing it, but thought better of it. It probably wasn’t wise to turn away whatever hospitality these people were throwing at me. I really didn’t think it would be a good idea to have anyone here upset with me. I smiled briefly at the man and turned to the bartender, “what is it?”

“House liquor special. We call it the ‘Ratz Tail,’ around here,” he almost said it with pride.

I considered not drinking it, but the fat old man’s stare changed my mind. He would probably be equally upset if I accepted his drink and left it on the table. Reluctantly, I took a sip.

Immediately, I almost gagged. It was the strongest thing I’d ever sipped. It basically tasted like grain **** and water. I choked down the first sip, and then another. It wasn’t quite so bad when I was expecting it. I looked up at the man and smiled again. Finally, his cold stare broke into what could probably be considered a smile.

My heart sank as I watched him get up and lift his own drink, some sort of draft beer, and walk toward me. “So much for drinking alone,” I thought. Maybe I could let him down easy.

When he sat down, directly beside me, I almost gagged for the second time. He smelled like stale cigarettes and what I imagined a truck stop bathroom smelled like. I doubt he had bathed in weeks. “Thank you for the drink,” I mumbled, trying not to make eye contact.

At first, he only grunted, never taking his eyes off me. “Not often a girl comes in here looks like you do.” I decided to take the dubious compliment. I choked down another sip of the ghastly drink and kept quiet. “Everyone calls me ‘One Under’ in this place.” I didn’t figure him as a golfer. My facial expression must have cued him in on my confusion, or perhaps it was a nickname he had gotten used to explaining. “It ain’t a golfing expression,” he grunted. Even when he wasn’t grunting, it was hard to differentiate the words from the guttural chortles he would let out intermittently.

“Sure does get his fair share of holes-in-one, though,” there was a man sitting at a table directly behind us. I hadn’t noticed him earlier. The emblems on his leather vest matched those on One Under’s shirt.

“Oh,” I responded meekly. I wasn’t trying to engage in conversation, so I let this go too.

“You know, that’s a shot, not a sippin’ drink. Pour it back, woman.” I looked down at the drink in sheer terror. There was no way I could shoot that acrid concoction. “You’d be insultin’ us all if you didn’t,” One Under had a sneer on his face. He knew I wasn’t willing to risk insulting anyone here. “Two more!” He called out to the bartender.

I took a deep breath and shot the drink back, resulting in a coughing fit. “Oh my god! Please don’t make me do that again, mister.” I caught my breath and looked up. Both of the new drinks were sitting directly in front of me. “Oh no …”

I looked up at the fat man with horror plastered on my face. “Drink up. One more comin’ your way after these two.” My hesitation clearly didn’t sit well with him. I steadied myself and took the next one. I was amazed I didn’t throw up. My head was swimming. One Under seemed to have positioned himself slightly closer to me now. The stench of him and the drinks was nauseating. He rested his left arm on the back of my stool, his hand against my back and pushed the third shot into my hand. I looked at him, and he grunted again. I took the third shot and could barely hold my head up just moments afterward. I slumped backward in the stool, but his rough hand steadied me. It was lower on my back now. I tried to stall him from ordering another with conversation.

“What’s it for then?” I asked.

He knew what I meant, “It means 11 inches.” I didn’t understand. His lips parted in a yellow-toothed smile as he took my right hand, which had to this point, been steadying me on the bar, and placed it in his lap. I gasped, and tried to pull away. The smile faded but his hand kept mine firmly in place. His other hand had somehow left my back and found its way onto my thigh. I was going to protest, until I felt something twitch in his pants.

“Oh my God.” I couldn’t help myself. All of a sudden the arousal I had tried to ignore came back with a vengeance. My nipples hardened against the sheer fabric. I felt his hand breach the hem of my dress. I bit my lip and closed my eyes as his finger reached my panties. A barely audible moan escaped my lips.

I heard laughter behind me. “Another hole in one.” I opened my eyes and looked back. The man got up and moved away. One Under had apparently given him a disapproving look. I noticed that my hand was in One Under’s lap without anyone forcing it anymore. He had moved his hand from mine and onto my left breast. He began plucking at my visibly stiff nipple through the fabric.

“It’s time for you to pay for your drinks,” he grunted. I swallowed hard. What had I gotten myself into? “Take it out, slut.” Nobody had ever talked to me like that. It made me feel so … dirty. I loved it. Hurried, I brought my other hand to help fish out his monster. It came out fully erect and pointed directly toward me. It was by far the biggest penis I had ever seen. There was no way I could fit this monster inside me. As I was considering my possibilities, One Under had removed his hand from the outside of my panties and began working on my other breast. I started stroking his cock with both hands. He pulled my dress down to reveal my naked tits. He was blocking me from most of the bar, but the bartender was certainly getting an excellent view.

He bared his yellow teeth again and pulled my stool closer to his, almost touching. His hands came back to mauling my tits. I was in heaven. “Keep stroking, bitch,” he wheezed into my face. The smell was still horrible. Before I could react, his left hand moved around behind me, and he pulled my face to his. I couldn’t think of anything in the world I wanted to do less than kiss that disgusting face. I think he knew that before he stuck his tongue down my throat. The taste was putrid, but I found myself kissing back, stroking his cock harder and faster. The tip was resting against my belly button; it was warm and throbbing.

He kept his tongue in my mouth, and I was beginning to enjoy even that. I wanted him to devour me. Finally, he pulled his head from mine, pinching hard at my nipples, then moving down for a taste. As his upper body ducked down, I could see everyone else in the bar for the first time since he came over. Everyone was watching, laughing at me. He bit down hard on one of my nipples causing me to yelp. I buried my head in his shoulder, against his thick, grimy neck.

He shot out his arm and motioned to the bartender without taking his head from my nipples. He was sucking them so hard now. I didn’t bother muting my moans as I stroked faster and faster up his shaft. The bartender came over and handed him another Ratz Tail, the same amount as before, only this time in a giant beer mug. One Under, all with his head still buried in my chest, took the mug and placed it in my hand. Finally, he rose, and pushed me back a bit. He placed the head of his cock into the mug, and had me keep stroking with my other hand.

The ropes of jizz came out in thick, oozing, gooey shots. I could feel them rise through his shaft and splash into the mug, which I knew was destined to be mine. He put his tongue back in my mouth as the last drops of cum dropped into the liquid. He pulled away, “Drink up, cunt, you earned it.” I lifted the mug to my nose and smelled the now full drink. This time, I had a smile on my face.

I leaned in to kiss One Under one last time, “Bottoms up, baby!” I chugged the mug and licked the remnants off my lips. I leaned back and sighed.