One For The Road

Four drinks in thirty minutes are three too many, Rick Blaine thought to himself as he took another drag on his cigarette. He had been sitting at a corner table, watching the overall activity in the club, signing an authorization for a credit extension when needed. But his eyes kept drifting back to Berger at the bar. Although he took great pride in his personal motto that he often quoted to people, "I stick my neck out for nobody," Rick none-the-less snubbed out his cigarette and headed for the bar.

He had deliberately waited for the band to start playing dance music, figuring that with the center of the Main Room being crowded with couples moving to the rhythm, his actions would be less noticeable.

"Belting back the booze, Berger?" Rick asked over the man's shoulder.

Berger spun around on his barstool, staring into Rick's face, trying to focus his vision. "Rick," he said at last, drawing out the name to two or three syllables. He clasped the night club owner fondly on the shoulder. "Let me buy you a drink."

Rick slowly turned his head, glancing down at the offending hand with a disdainful look. As drunk as he was, Berger did not miss the gesture.

"Ooops, I forgot," Berger carefully lifted the erring hand. "You never drink with customers."

"Berger, why don't you find your daughter and call it an evening?" Rick asked.

As if on cue, Michelle Berger came sashaying back into the club, a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile on her face. Skirting the crowded dance floor, she was making her way back to her previous table when she saw the club owner talking to her father. Curious, and a little concerned, she made her way over. When she reached the two men, Rick caught sight of her with his peripheral vision. Turning to her, he said, "Michelle, one of your father's associates is in there." He nodded towards the large, imposing inlaid door of the Gambling Room. "Go knock on the door and tell them to send him out to take your father home."

Michelle's large, round eyes blinked several times, wondering how he knew her name, how he knew where Gerard was, and how did he think he had the right to tell her, or her father, or anyone else, what to do. But she complied, crossing to the door indicated. She could not help being intrigued by the suave, commanding man in the white dinner jacket.

Emerging from the Gambling Room immediately, Gerard hurried over to the bar, slipping his arm around Berger's waist and draping one of Berger's arms over his shoulder. "Thanks, Mister Blaine," he nodded as he dragged the ****, but by no means belligerent, Berger to the exit. Michelle tagged along behind.

"Gerard, old friend. My most trusted friend. My friend that I trust implic... implic... completely," he patted the much larger, muscular, and younger Gerard on the chest. "Let me buy you a drink."

"There should be a line of taxis waiting outside," Rick called out to the departing trio. Turning around to head back to his table, he nearly collided with Carl, who was grinning up at him, his eyes twinkling.

"Don't you have tables to wait on?" Rick asked gruffly, walking past the head waiter when he stepped aside.

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

The cab ride to Berger's shop was short, but when they exited the taxi, Michelle looked up to the windows of her father's two-bedroom apartment over the store. "How are we ever going to get him up the stairs?"

By now, the last few drinks had kicked in so Berger was passed out. Gerard calmly leaned down, slung Berger over his shoulder, and stood up. "Like this."

Michelle dashed ahead of Gerard, opening the street level lock, running up the stairs, and unlocking the door to the apartment. It was a simple matter to put Berger to bed. They did not try to undress him; just removed his suit jacket, shoes, and loosened his tie.

Gerard left the bedroom first, and when Michelle flipped out the light and closed the door, he grabbed her. Taking her into his arms as they heard the sound of the latch bolt clicking into place. The man's kiss was of lustful hunger, pressing his lips down firmly on the young Michelle's mouth, his tongue probing, seeking out hers. She responded in return. Her fingers clawed through this hair, knocking his fedora off onto the floor. Her lithe, dancer's body melded against the tower of strength that was Gerard.

They grappled and groped for several minutes, hands everywhere, grabbing and fondling, as they stood there in Berger's living room. Finally, Gerard broke the kiss and scooped Michelle up in his arms. Carrying her over to the sofa, he playfully threw - not dropped - threw her down into the cushions. Michelle's skirt flew up, revealing that she had not bothered with stockings this evening, and giving Gerard a flash of her white panties. She let out a delightful squeal and kicked off her shoes. Then, locking her eyes with Gerard's, she slowly and teasingly pulled up her skirt, not stopping until her dress was bunched up around her waist. Still staring lustfully at him, she languidly spread her legs.

From where he was standing, Gerard could see that Michelle's panties were wet. Soaking in fact. It was hard to believe that a woman could become so aroused after only a few minutes of necking. Sinking to his knees, he reached up and hooked his fingers into the waistband of the flimsy garment. When he had pulled her underwear off and held it in his hand, it was so thoroughly drenched in her juices, it was as if they had been dunked in a bucket of water. Probably if he threw them against the wall, they would stick.

Jennifer was indeed wet; her thick pubic bush matted with dampness. But it was not from her brief make-out session with Gerard. It was from her recent time with Sam's huge, black member. Even now, she could not stop thinking about it. Remembering it. Craving it. She was brought back to her present situation by Gerard moving his face in towards her pussy. She was so turned on from handling Sam's massive dick, that she was afraid one lick would be all it would take to set her off.

A loud moan greeted Gerard when he began kissing and lapping the young woman's pussy. She threw one arm over her head and clutched a handful of hair on the top of his head with her other. Squirming and wiggling around beneath him, she mumbled, "Yes, do me... do me... make me cum, make me cum."

Gerard's powerful hands gripped Michelle's thin thighs, near the point where they joined her body, and pressed his face in closer. Clamping his open mouth over the top of her sex, he started flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue. To his surprise, she started orgasming right then and there. Her hips lurched repeatedly and she arched her back, grinding her wet pussy into his face. Both of her hands were pulling on his hair so hard, that Gerard was afraid he would walk out of this place with a bald head. Quickly his left hand shot up to cover Michelle's mouth. Just in the nick of time, for She started to scream and thrash around like a woman possessed.

A few moments later, she lay collapsed on the couch. Her legs were still spread apart obscenely. Gerard's face was still in between them and grinning up at her. Weakly she smiled down at him, saying in a voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you."

As Michelle tried to catch her breath while still basking in the after-glow of her orgasm, she began to ponder how she was going to repay him. Despite her licentiousness, Michelle was still a virgin. Technically. And intended to stay one until she had landed a suitable husband. Although she would be willing to sacrifice her hymen in order to have Sam's cock inside her. Anal sex was an acceptable alternative for her if she liked the guy, and what was not to like about the big, loveable twenty-five year old Gerard? She had let him use her 'back door' a time or two before. But with her father passed out in his bedroom, it was too risky and complicated.

Which left them with two options. Her hand or her mouth.