Everybody Comes To Rick's

It was a pretty good crowd this evening Rick Blaine thought as he observed the Main Room from a table tucked away in a corner. The customers seemed happy. The band was swinging. Only Sam, the piano player, seemed a little off. But Rick merely mentally shrugged; everyone has an off-night on occasion.

His eyes still scanning the room, he noticed a young woman sitting at a front table, her elbow on the table, her hand supporting her face, as she stared at the night club's main attraction. Rick summoned the passing Carl over. Pointing to the woman in question, he asked the head waiter, "Is she old enough to be in here?"

Carl followed Rick's finger, and after adjusting the glasses on the end of his nose, answered, "Miss Michelle? Ja. She graduated finishing school this spring. Her father is over at the bar."

Rick looked in that direction and saw Berger perched on a barstool, bent over a drink. The slender man with the receding hair-line, over-sized nose, and under-sized chin claimed to be a jewelry salesman. But Rick knew Berger's true reason for being in Casablanca. He was the head of the local Resistance. As the club owner watched, Berger belted back his drink and ordered another one. "He seems to be hitting the sauce a little heavy tonight."

Carl had been watching, too, and nodded at Rick's question. Then his eyes grew wide, "Say..." he said excitedly, "You don't suppose that man who was killed last night was a member of..."

"I gave up on supposing years ago," Rick cut him off.

"Ja," Carl pressed on excitedly, "But didn't you used to..."

"Mind my own business?" Rick again interrupted.

Carl gave up after that and walked away muttering under his breath, "Minding my own business now I am."

Sam finished the song he had been singing and then announced, "Alright folks, that's it for this set, but don't go away. I'll be back at the top of the next hour."

As Sam made his way towards the kitchen in the back, the band leader stepped up to his microphone to introduce the club's female guitar player and singer, Carmen Del Rey . Rick noticed that the girl at the front table, Berger's daughter, turned her head when Sam passed by, following him with her eyes. Then the slender girl with the long black hair stood up and exited the club through the front door.

***** ***** *****

Sam was already standing in the recessed door way in the building across the alleyway when Michelle entered from the street. "Miss Michelle," Sam said in a disapproving tone, "your daddy is sitting right there at the bar in the club. What if he goes looking for you?"

"He won't," she said confidently as she attacked Sam's belt and fly. "He is too broken up about that murdered man." Crouching down, Michelle leisurely pulled down his pants and shorts. When the semi-erect cock came into view, the young woman gasped happily, "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

Grabbing the long schlong in both hands, she began to slobber all over it. Even without it even being fully hard, this piece of meat was the biggest dick she had ever had ever seen. Sam stood there with his feet wide apart, leaning against the wall, as this pretty young thing right out of a Swiss finishing school made love to his cock. It got bigger and longer in her hands, and she felt that she just had to wrap her lips around it. She wanted that thing in her mouth1 Michelle began to bob her head back and forth while still stroking on the rest of Sam's slab of meat with both hands. She want to see how much of that monster she could get into her. She was doing reasonably well, although sometimes she would move forward too far and gag when the wide head of Sam's cock hit the back of her throat, trying to enter it.

"Careful, girl," the black piano player cautioned. "You don't want to die of suffocation with my dick stuck down your throat."

Pulling her mouth off with a loud 'pop', the angel-faced girl smiled up sweetly, "Then I would die happy."

Returning to sucking off the double-handful-and-then-some tube steak, she wondered how she would ever be able to go back to the puny penises she had been used to. This throbbing trouser-snake was the thing all girls' dreams are made of. Or at least the ones she knew back at school. They all talked about hoping to get a husband who had a big... like really big... dick. Michelle bobbed and weaved, tilting her head this way and that, as she pumped away on Sam's firehose of a cock. It occurred to her that since experiencing such an enormous sausage as this one, she had become a bona-fide phallophile.

The sounds of Carmen singing inside the club could be heard faintly, but it was mostly drowned out by the slurping noises Michelle was making. Cradling he sides of her cantering head with both hands, Sam looked down at her and asked, "All right, Miss Michelle, you about ready for it?"

Eagerly she nodded her head while murmuring a loud 'Mmm-huh!' She pounded on that donkey-dick, wanting him to bust his nut and flood her mouth with his spoog. Sam gasped and grunted several times, and then Michelle was all but **** on jizz. Her cheeks swelled out from the spunk being shot into her mouth, some of the gooey ball-cream oozing from the corners of her tightly stretched lips. She swallowed repeatedly, her stroking hands urging him to use her mouth as his personal cumdumpster.

When the tidal wave was over, Michelle gave the spent dick one last kiss then helped Sam to re-arrange his clothing. "Now don't expect me to meet you out here at the end of my next set," he warned. "I am all tapped out."

"I know," Michelle smiled mischievously, wiping the back of her fist across her mouth. She was almost skipping as she walked happily away.

"Yep," Sam muttered to himself as he watch that swaying slender backside of the seemingly well-bred young lady. "I've said before and I'll say it again. That girl has got daddy issues."