Chapter 39: Honkytonkin

Lisa was squirming in the captain’s chair in the truck as we zipped down the highway. If ever there was a woman in sexual need, it was she. The bell was tinkling like sleigh bells at Christmas time. The flush never left her face.

“Looking forward to this?” I asked.

“Oh, no, Davy. I really don’t want this!”

“What a lying cunt,” the devil dog muttered. “She is hot as a pistol.”

“Yes, I agree. She cannot admit to herself how much she likes sex and how much she wants it. Therefore, she denies it and makes us force her into it,” the scientist replied.

“What! You two guys agreeing on something? This is a first,” the Davy in my brain said.

Had my poor brain spilt again, trifurcating itself? And, what were the two deadly opponents doing agreeing?

“It is not really that uncommon. She wants to be a slut but does not want it, all at the same time. So, she gives the control to her male, allowing her to be free of responsibility. Why don’t you ask her if she wants to go back home?” the scientist suggested.

“Ask hell! Take the bitch somewhere and get her gangbanged,” the devil dog chimed in.

“Want to go back home, Lisa?” I asked.

“What? Home? I thought we were going to a honky tonk.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It is not my decision. It is yours. I am your slave, remember?”

“If you do go to the honky tonk, you will be humiliated. Everyone there will know you are a wild slut. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not. But, I must obey what you say. So, if you say I must, I must.”

Interesting, isn’t it? They were right. But, why? Was she afraid to admit what she wanted? Or, was she unsure of it herself? Was it a fantasy she loved down deep in her psyche but was afraid to live? Was it simply fear of unknown men having her, of the violence or harm which could ensue? Or, a conflict in her from upbringing (be a good girl) versus genetics (oh, yeah, let’s get laid)?

“We are going to the honky tonk. You will obey my commands. I want you to be humiliated all you can stand,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” was what she replied but her body language screamed at me. She could neither repress her grin nor stop her squirming on the seat. What I had said made her happy. She was being forced into doing what she wanted to do anyway.

Assume for a minute you had this situation? You are the dominant one dealing with someone over whom you have power? How do you know what to do? Can you believe their words? Their body language? Do they really want it? Is it a fantasy? Where is reality? And, where will reality be tomorrow, in the cold light of day? Not only their reality, but yours? Let’s say you force your spouse or roommate into sex with a third party. Will you be happy about it the next day? Or, will you be angry at them for obeying you?

I slowed the truck and made the turn into the tiny parking lot of The Tomahawk Lounge.

This honky tonk looked like a good place to get into one hell of a fight. It was a desolate hole just like a thousand other similar places spread out over the great southwest. Mine was the only vehicle in the lot made in the last five years. If gravel or pavement had ever graced the parking lot, it was long ago. The dirt was hard packed and dust quickly covered our feet as we walked towards the metal door beneath the sign which said “eer” since the neon “b” was out.

Lisa was trembling, which made the bell tinkle even more. Having it dangle between her calves she could not stop it without assuming an awkward position. When I opened the door, the smoke hit us like a wave and the roar of the crowd exploded into the still desert night. Eyes turned to see who was coming in and the crowd roar diminished when they saw Lisa. She froze in the doorway, seeing at the men staring at her. I knew fear was coursing through her.

“Come on, slut,” I said loud enough to be heard by many of them and walked towards a table. I felt Lisa’s hand on my shoulder for comfort as she scurried after me.

Three men were standing at the bar, bracing themselves on their elbows as their dead eyes followed us. They probably had been telling each other lies about this woman they fucked or that crap game, or how they took a stranger in a pool game. Four more men were around a dilapidated pool table on which no good game could be played, leaning on crooked and worn out cues.

The place smelled of smoke and grease and cheap whiskey. The walls were painted cinder block adorned with beer signs or posters of women. As I looked around, I saw Rita Hayworth’s pinup from World War II and the Farrah Fawcett poster from the seventies which started the whole poster craze. It had been awhile since anyone had decorated. Then, I saw the Pamela Lee photo blowup, the one where she has cum on her face and is holding a cock. So, at least something in the place was relatively new.

A Hispanic looking man somewhere in upper middle age was behind the bar. He was about five five in height and probably weighed one hundred thirty pounds. From the look in his face, he had been in more than one fight and probably won them all. The rest of them were a motley crew in various shapes and sizes. They had one common dominator. They were the sorriest looking group of malcontents I had ever seen.

The table I selected had a half moon bench big enough for four and two chairs opposite. After we sat, the pool table went back to their game and the bar guys to their stories but I could tell they were all listening to and appraising the newcomers intruding on their turf. The bartender eased from behind the bar toward us, moving with a rolling gate, like a man use to being at sea, which the Navy tattoos on his forearms seemed to confirm.

“We don’t get many strangers, particularly not any that look like her,” he said, his eyes never leaving Lisa’s breasts.

Lisa was horribly red and continued her uncontrollable trembling but I could smell her flooding pussy even over the stench of the honky tonk.

“We just want some beer and a little party time,” I replied.

“Maybe you should go someplace else.”

“Why? We can pay.”

“This crowd, well, they might want to spend some party time of their own with the lady.”

Lisa drew in a quick breath with a sound as her nails dug into my arm. Someone else might have thought it was fear. I knew she was about to explode with sexual desire. A tear formed in the corner of one of her eyes as she fought to control her breathing.

“Tell them I share but only when I am ready.”

“They may not want to wait.”

“Then, tell them I have a 9mm Glock in my hand under the table and I will kill anybody who pushes me too hard.”

“Sounds like an idle threat,” the bartender replied but his coal black eyes were on me now and Lisa was irrelevant for the moment.

I pulled my hand out from under the table to show him the Glock. His eyes got wide and he stepped back a foot. I slipped the gun away again. Suddenly, a big grin, showing dirty, broken teeth, covered his face.

“Your time table sounds fine to me,” he said. “I will tell the boys.”

“Thanks, and buy them a round on me.”

He nodded and started for the bar. A door opened in the back and a man came out, adjusting his pants, settling them comfortably below a substantial beer belly. Behind him was a ragged woman with a beaten look in her eyes. You know the look, like the person has been so far down for so long they will have to climb up to reach what the rest of us think is the bottom.

I saw her wipe a dapple of cum from the corner of her mouth as she came through the door. She went to the bar, picked up a piece of already chewed gum from the corner and popped it into her mouth. The bartender whispered to her before she walked toward us.

“Whatcha want?” she asked, popping the gum.

“I will have a Diet Coke, the slut will have a boilermaker.”

The waitress started openly at Lisa, perhaps sizing up the competition for the best man in the room. Lisa’s color had been red ever since I opened the door and she had never looked up from the floor. I knew her blood pressure was sky high. The waitress scurried off to get out drinks.

“Look around, slut. Are you going to enjoy fucking this crowd?”

With considerable effort, Lisa forced herself to start looking at the men. They were a sorry lot: drifters, oil field trash, cow hands. I would have guessed that of the nine of them, not one had a bath that week. And, every one was staring at her at she surveyed them.

I could see why they could not take their eyes off Lisa. She was a very attractive woman with a good body. She wore a see through blouse which showed off her breasts and her nipple rings. She had on a skin tight skirt that did not cover her pussy when she sat, giving every one a good shot of her beaver. Most of all, that damn bell never stopped tinkling. I knew that bell was the reason the noise level was substantially less that it was when we entered. Every man was listening to that bell and thinking impure thoughts.

Yes, Lisa was a perfect slut and everyone knew it. She knew it and she was loving it.

“Why are you being so nice?” Diablo asked. “Let’s get on with it.”

“No. Let’s do it slowly. Let the tension build,” the scientist replied.

I wondered why the two of them were still in agreement, why the scientist was not telling us to get out of there. My own anxiety was sky high. I knew it was a situation I might not be able to control, even with the gun. Was I getting my jollies from the fear? From controlling Lisa? Or, the men?

“Here you go, honey,” the waitress said, sitting our drinks on the table. She started to walk away.

“Hey, talk to us for a minute. Are you the only waitress?”

“Does this place look like it can afford two?” was her smart remark.

“What other services do you offer?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You a cop?”

“No.”

“Five dollars for a blow job. Twenty for a straight fuck.”