s****l Mischief

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

In The Back Of The Bar

The Chevy pulled into the gravel parking lot, coming to rest in front of a tacky roadside tavern perched atop the mountain ridge. From this high outlook on a clear day, a keen eye could see over the thick treeline, to the Pacific Ocean on the Western horizon. The air was remarkably clean. But Sausony breathed in the pine fragrance as if it might be her last breath. She had her suspicions about the seedy establishment where Rick was sure they’d get a decent burger and fries. Rick, referring to Rick Hayden who’d picked her up off the roadside, a fair damsel in distress as she lazily, thoughtlessly hitchhiked on a hot afternoon in June. Little did he know then that she was just a couple hundred yards or so from the safety of her home. He only discovered that an hour after they made love, when a hundred miles south, they finally exchanged names, shook hands laughing at themselves and she revealed the truth.

“You just walked away?”

“Yeah, you could call it that,” she said in an airy tone of indifference.

“Just turned down millions, a beautiful house, a life of ease and walked away?” He couldn’t fathom that kind of thinking.

“I was bored.”

He shook his head. Either she was incredibly self-centered or a little ‘off’. He suspected both were true, but after the f**k they’d had, he wasn’t really going to argue moral obligation with the tightest, sweetest cunt he’d had in months.

They spent the night under the covers in Room 206 of a faceless Days Inn and ate breakfast in small town diner she picked out. She must have had a sixth sense about the place. Grimy as it was, the bacon, hash browns, eggs and toast were first rate. How can you screw up breakfast, one would hasten to ask? Not easily, but this was a cut above the usual. Over steamy mugs of coffee, she batted her blue eyes at him, while his rested on her playful smile, knowing, just as he’d realized the night before, that her presence in his life was only a temporary gift. She had that Marilyn Monroesque kind of allure that would keep men coming for her, regardless of, perhaps because of, her wacky mind, drifting virtue and reckless disregard for personal safety.

“You sure you want to keep going?” he asked.

“Why not?”

“Yeah, but why?”

She shrugged as if she really didn’t have a good answer. “Some times you just know what you have to do. You ever feel that way?”

“Sure.”

“This is one of those times for me.”

They were back on the road minutes later. They didn’t say much. Her head would fall back against the backrest, leaving her chest to rise and fall in a sensuous regular rhythm, while he glanced at her in awe. Sometimes she stared out at the passing landscape, but most of the time, she closed her eyes dreamily. He thought she must be asleep, but then she’d say something. Ask questions like: ‘Where did you come from?’; ‘When were you last in LA?’; ‘What kind of music do you dance to?’; ‘Have you ever eaten tacos in Tijuana?’

He answered her truthfully—he was from the San Fernando Valley, had been there just three weeks before, danced like every other guy in a hot bar and once spent a week in Tijuana drinking tequila and eating the best damned tacos he’d ever had. When he returned with similar questions for his traveling companion, the answers were too succinct, as if she had no intention of supplying him with any information about who she was and the real reason behind the swift exit from her life. She’d laugh, smile to herself as if she was remembering some joke, and then sigh, sink back in her seat, eyes closed.

They were driving Hwy 1 south of Big Sur when they came upon the shabby tavern built a half century ago tucked inside the wild terrain. After pulling into the parking lot, Rick had appraised the rustic tavern, announcing, “I’m famished.”

Sausony was surprised to see that civilization had not yet closed in around the place and taken over, as it had so much of the California coastline. But there it stood, a relic from decades past, an outpost for bikers, lumbermen, locals and a few stray tourists who were brave enough to hope they’d find a decent meal.

Stepping into the smoky bar, Sausony practically choked. But as her eyes and lungs adjusted to the hazy atmosphere, her body led her with some urgency to the back of the place, past old dinettes, wobbly chairs and walls paneled in barn wood with faded license plates haphazardly nailed as decorations. The place was so tacky it was quaint in a backwoods sort of way. She wanted to fit in, but dressed in her blue and white sundress, every eye turned her way as she leisurely moved through the smoggy air. Her very presence in the place was an incongruity so startling as to cause a dozen double-takes. She looked more like a vision than human. In a crowd dressed in grubby jeans, boots, dingy t-shirts and faded baseball caps, she stood out like a 1940’s Hollywood movie star walking through a construction site. The pastel blue, the white, the halo of yellow blonde hair, the skin with its angelic luster emerged from the hazy wilderness of drab color like a fresh splash of paint on a dirty wall. Walking behind her, Rick fit right in with the company around him. Realizing the commotion they caused, he nodded here and there apologetically for bringing this obviously unspoiled woman into a den of rough talk and coarse, snorting manners.

Most of the tavern settled once she passed. She was headed first for the restroom and then remained in the back of the place sitting in a quiet corner near the pool table, unfazed by the attention she earned.

Rick ordered beer and sandwiches, wishing he’d chosen to drive further down the road where his companion would be less conspicuous. He felt strangely protective of his new friend—he didn’t dare consider her a lover—but once they settled in their corner, his fear subsided. She drank beer with natural ease, and bit into the sandwich with a hearty appetite. As the minutes ticked by, she seemed less out of place and more conforming. Her essence became more down-to-earth, although she continued to the draw the attention of curious patrons.

“You play pool?” she asked Rick, after watching two bikers finish a quick game and move on.

“Sure.”

“I wonder…” her voice trailed off.

He thought nothing more of her question until she suddenly pushed away from her seat and made a beeline for the pool table, glancing over her shoulder, saying, “How about a game?”

She moved with her hips, her groin, making eye contact with those who noticed, then averted her gaze bashfully when someone stared at her too long. She efficiently racked the balls then pulled a pool cue from the wall and stared back at the stunned Rick, waiting.

“Come on. It’s been awhile. Who knows when I’m going to get a chance again?”

He raised his eyebrows, shook his head and rose to his feet, sauntering toward her trying not to blush. He could already feel his p***s starting to warm and the gentle pulse as it began to rise.

Before the eyes of the entire place, her soft sundress suddenly changed from modest to risqué. She bent over to make a shot, and a half dozen eyes looked right down the neckline, which opened wide in that position. With just the right angle, several beer-guzzling patrons could see all the way to her navel. Most enjoyed a long unfettered glance at her naked breasts. The view from behind was even more shocking. Bending over, she exposed the bottom of her tight ass cheeks, and when she parted her legs, her cleanly shaved p***y teased every eye behind her with the promise of a slow ride inside that hot wet valley.

She conveyed just the right mix of ‘dumb-blonde playful innocence’ to make one think that she didn’t know how brazenly she exhibited herself. But no woman her age—she had to be pushing thirty—could be that naïve or dim-witted, which left the only possible conclusion: her exhibition was deliberate.

Having come to that exact conclusion, one enterprising fellow moseyed to her side as she was about to shoot again. Placing his hand on her ass and giving it a good squeeze, he asked the obvious question.

“This what you want, little lady?”

“Hands off guy,” Rick stepped right in, attempting to be righteously stern.

Sausony turned toward her traveling companion and sweetly informed him: “Honey, I don’t think I need you to rescue me. But thanks.”

“You’re sure?” Her recklessness alarmed him as much as it pleased the man who fondled her ass.

The man grinned at Rick with smug satisfaction, “I guess you don’t own her.”

“No, can’t say that I do,” he agreed.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” The dark-haired fellow was the kind of guy to take s*x any way it came. Even if he got his face slapped, the rush was worth the pain. This was one opportunity too hot to pass on. He had a swarthy swagger and a cockeyed grin to match the macho posturing; and the way his hand curled around the cheek of Sausony’s ass made it appear he owned her.

“Saucy,” she answered his question, licking her lips. She smothered a sexy giggle, quivering with body lust.

“Real name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not by me.”

“Let’s just say it’s close enough.” She wriggled her ass inside his hand, feeling a hot wave of desire run right through her anxious tummy and downward where her crotch was getting warm and her p***y started to spasm. Then she wiggled right out of his grasp. Her last shot put two balls in the side pocket and she was on her way to running the table. A sweet expression of triumph made her face light up when each ball dropped neatly into place. Of course, her audience never figured she was a real player. What they didn’t know about were the long bored hours at home waiting for Peter, when playing pool had been an available, mindless game. She considered her next shot carefully and moved to position with her ass end facing the tavern, not the corner. She could sense the eyes riveted to her exposed behind, and feel imaginary hands running along her flesh, moving inside her dress, and then the stiffness of a c**k about to plunge. She sucked in air as a shiver of want made her body quake involuntarily. The whole place saw—at least those wondering what the slut was about to do. If anyone dared call her a slut, she might have spilled her juices right there on the floor. Oh, yes! She literally quivered with s****l excitement.

Her next shot slipped the 10 ball handily into a corner pocket, and another hand moved on her ass, grabbing it firmly in his palm. She turned her head, staring into the face of a heavy-set fellow with a dark black beard and coal black eyes, who almost caused her instant panic. He wore a plaid cotton sport shirt and well-worn jeans and boots, which suggested working class values and simple s****l tastes. This scene might have been as out of his element as it was for Sausony, but he seemed as destined to move on her as she was to flirt with him. He felt her body go rigid when he touched her and then eased his grip, caressing her gently. Relieved, Sausony’s panic melted into the simmering pool of her desire.

“You serious?” he asked, as his fingers moved effortlessly under the dress.

“About what?” she innocently asked.

“About f*****g, girl. If you are serious, you might as well have me. If you’re not, you might just want to mosey on out of here cause you’ll get yourself raped acting like such a slut.”

“You think I’m a slut, huh?” She was truly proud.

“No, I don’t,” he shook his head, “but a bored housewife in way over her head. That I do. There’s some husband out there that ought to spank your pretty ass and send you to bed.”

She hummed, batted her eyes and goaded him. “Oh, but I am serious, big guy. If you want me, I’m yours. Long as you take me here.” Her smile was cute and whimsical, as she turned her concentration on her next shot.

“Here?” This surprised even him. Was she calling his bluff?