The Broken Drum

“I think this place could do with a better front page.” I said, but I was smiling anyway. Laura shook her head.

“It’s part of its charm!” she said sitting down, also grinning, “Like entering a different world. People who are turned off by the old billy-goats gruff downstairs get filtered out like the cowards they are.”

I had to laugh at that. “Cowards, eh? What does that make me?” I asked.

“A worthy initiate. You dared follow me all the way in. We’ll make a man out of you yet.”

The waitress returned with menus and a notebook, to ask us what we would take to drink. Laura ordered her stuff with the laid back self-assurance of the recurring customer she was, whereas I said “I know nothing. Give me whatever you think is appropriate before a mid-day meal.” Both women laughed at my frankness, giving me occasion to compare the ever pleasing movements of their breasts. Laura’s melons trumped the game of course, their low-hanging firmness quite unbeatable by any competition so far. Even Carmen...

“Leave it to me,” said the waitress cutting short my contemplation of present and past busts, “I’ll bring you the one beverage every self-respecting customer of ours must try.” and she bounced away to find the bar.

Shortly after I was introduced to the local rust beer. Well, I say local, but really, the red, iron-tinted desert which inspired the name and that our ancestors initially settled is close by neither in space nor time. The Argyre greened and sprouted a forest of obscenely huge fir trees thousands of years ago.

I immediately understood why it was a sort of ritual drink, as it was not unlike trying to just drink froth filled with rust dust, and almost as painful in the throat, even though (presumably) it did no real damage. But somewhere underneath the biting sting there was a sweet aftertaste. For that, I finished the cup. I opted not to have a second one though, and was relieved for not being offered more when the waitress returned a second time to take our orders for lunch.

We both ate heartily, and took our time at it. The food was very filling, such that even after finishing it enthusiastically neither of us felt like kicking up the pace at all. When I finally looked at the time it was around 01:30 pm.

“I hope I haven’t dragged you away from your prior engagements?” asked Laura as I pulled out my phone.

“Honestly, I’m willing to pass on the Rashid biology session for today. Her shrivelled tits will make me throw up”

“Oh my, that would be a shameful waste of good chicken.” Laura laughed, “This one almost tasted real don’t you think?”

I nodded absently, still thinking of what I was escaping. Prolonged exposure to Helena Rashid’s tyrannical mania was a hard sell on its own, sure, but there wasn’t just that. I couldn’t shake a gut feeling of discomfort toward Carmencita, yet I could find no good reason for it. After all, she had big tits and her pussy tasted delicious. I should have been mournful of the opportunity to fuck her, promising though Laura’s assets were. Yet I had this nagging dread whenever I was reminded of her.

By the time I got around to considering the implications of Laura using ‘real’ in reference to meat, the waitress had returned to take our plates, and our orders for desert.

“I’ll choose for us,” Laura said as I ended my mental wandering, “I don’t very much fancy snogging chicken.”

Her words roused my vaguely serpent-shaped partner to life, and I happily nodded my approval to the waitress, content not really paying attention to what ultimately was commissioned and instead thinking of all that was surely to come. Minutes later two large glasses of ice cream were brought us, one mostly pink, the other mostly mauve. I know I had the darker one, though I couldn’t tell you for the life of me what it was like. I did enjoy it though, that I remember.

“Now then,” Laura got up and walked around to sit herself down beside me, “Did you miss me?” she asked, pushing her bare chest towards me. I didn’t answer with words, as I decided my lips would be much better used elsewhere, instead leaning over, grabbing the nearest of her glorious tits and sucking it in nipple first. Of course I had missed her. This was what we set out from school to do in the first place. She cooed with delight as I resumed my interrupted adoration, but soon pushed me away giggling “Oh come on, let me have a feel for a bit.” She reached for the bulge in my pants and attacked my fly. I lent her a hand a hip thrust in getting my jeans loose, then she peeled back my boxers and grabbed a handful of me. Only after I was hardening between her fingers did she invite me to suckle on her again, her remaining hand guiding mine between her legs. Her pussy was moist already, matching my arousal. It didn’t take long for our petting to have us writhing ever closer together, and so much were we absorbed in each other that neither of us saw the waitress return to collect our empty glasses.

In the wake of a long and breathy kiss we saw that there was room on the table, and Laura climbed aboard to have me eat her out. For the first time I laid eyes on her dripping slit. Her flaps were fully deployed from my preparatory fingering, and the surrounding flesh was glistening pink with her spilled juices.

Leaning forward for the dive, I decided I would only give her a little bit of what my tongue could give that my fingers couldn’t, as in my mind it was merely a prelude to penetration. She couldn’t reach my dick from up there on the table, so I thought I’d warm her just a bit more, and then satisfy the two of us. So I licked and kissed and bit her some, got acquainted with the shape of her inner folds and bumps and all. But when I made to rise and climb to her height so I fuck her, she shoved me right back down, pressing me from behind with both hands, pushing my face into her crotch as if she wanted me to literally breathe her. I hesitated.

I was aware of a collection of nagging half-thoughts and feelings, irritation, dread, even fear, and none could I pin onto any solid concept. Soon a cocktail of negative emotions was boiling somewhere just outside my conscious reach, and in my vain scramble to make sense of it all, I kept drifting back to Carmen. Meanwhile without my turbulent head I was torn between doing as my buxom and up to this point eminently enjoyable sexual partner clearly wanted, or doubling down in rebellion and having my way now. Laura’s next remark sealed the deal for me.

“What’s wrong, Frank? Too lazy to finish the job or too pusillanimous to take what you want? Make your choice.”