Joe sat at the bar, drinking to get drunk. It was a Wednesday, the day after Christmas. The bar was full of heavy hitters, if you measure prestige in tolerance for alcohol and lack of self-respect. There was one other woman at the bar full of men. She smoked her cigarette as though she were performing a sex act. And there was another woman behind the bar, polishing a glass with a rag, repetitively, her eyes a glassed over with a haze that hid a hungry void.

Joe considered the drink in his hand. The woman with the cigarette has been eyeing him brazenly for a half hour, and this drew the intention of the bartender in her white shirt and back apron, rubbing her glass, staring with vacuous need at Joe, whispering little words with her pout lips that couldn't be heard by a soul above the pounding drone of the jukebox.

When Joe rose, her eyes widened and a smile goofy, knowing smile that struck Joe as sheer idiocy dawned on her face. As Joe rounded the bar, he saw the red shoes that he didn't except. High heels, six inches. Red, a glaring omission to night in nature, somehow a perfect accessory to the dark. Lost in the birth of some new intuition, Joe stared. A cloud of smoke billowed in front of his gaze and Joe glanced up to its source.

"Fuck me," the cigarette smoking woman mouthed, then smiled. "My name's Laura," she said in a throaty voice. "Buy me a drink, handsome."

"What are you drinking?"

"A man who doesn't know a whiskey when he sees one." Laura raised her eyebrows.

"Whiskey," said Joe to the bartender.

"And a ginger ale," Laura added, pointing to the bar in front of Joe.

The bartender winked at Laura then turned her gaze back to Joe, with placid affection, watching him almost timidly as she filled their order.

"She's sweet on you," Laura commented.

"I had the same thought," Joe answered.

"You like my shoes, Joe?" Laura wiggled her heel.

"They're a part of you, an extension of your leg."

"I think so too," Laura said with a smile, twisting her leg and dragging the spike of the heel lewdly up and down Joe's leg, the red leather shining like living tissue. "I think that you know me from somewhere."

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Joe asked.

Laura dug the tip of her heel into Joe's leg, her lips pouting beautifully. "We've met. But you don't know me. Not yet."

At that moment, the room lit brightly in a hazy glow of cigarette smoke. "That's the night, folks," the bartender called. "Go home. It's Christmas." She turned to Laura's inquisitive glace and Joe's implacable lack of concern and winked with a sashay of her hips. "You two are welcome to finish these drinks," she said as she deposited the glasses before them. "Let the others clear out of here and I'll give you some atmosphere."

Joe asked for a cigarette, which he lit from a matchbook on the bar.

Coughing out a cloud of smoke, he returned Laura's gaze. Her eyes were on the door. The bartender's eyes were on Laura. When the exit swung shut for the last time, the bartender flipped a fiddled with the stereo behind the bar and then flipped a switch on the way that cut the lights except for the black light that ran above the mirror on the bar. "You two make yourselves at home. Pretend it's my home. I'll be out in a bit to see what trouble you've started." With that, she punched one more switch on the wall that started a trio of synced strobe lights.

No sooner did the music start, a dark dance beat, than Joe dived for Laura, pawing at her hair as he shot his tongue into her mouth. She responded eagerly, caressing his tongue with the tip of hers. He gripped her tightly, squeezing her tits between their two bodies. When he finally broke their embrace, Laura stared at him with a wily sort of condescension. "You want me, baby?" she asked.

Joe was too busy stripping off his clothes to answer, preening a bit as he uncovered his flat stomach and deep chest, covered in sparse curls of dark hair.

"Tell me you want me, baby," Laura said.

Joe didn't answer again. Instead, he reached for her and forcefully disrobed her, spinning her around, his mouth everywhere. On her back, on her shoulder, on her breasts. As he was pulling her skirt down her legs, inhaling the scent of her pussy, he gasped, "Leave your shoes on." Laura smiled down at him. "They're a part of me." Joe fell to his knees behind Laura, delighting in the taste of her flesh, her ass that he kissed and bit all around as his fingers worked her pussy, sliding his tongue into her anus. Then he pulled himself up her back, holding on to her large tits, the nipples between his fingers, tugging on the and rolling, his hard cock pressing into the crevice in her ass.

"Grab the rail," he said.

Wordlessly, Laura leaned forward as Joe's hands held her on either side of her hips. Balanced carefully in those lovely heels that she knew would find her a fucking like this tonight, she swayed her ass enticingly for Joe. The next thing she felt was his hard cock pushing through the lips of her pussy, bringing a low groan from her throat as she was impaled, his full invading thick cock stretching her open for the first time in weeks.

"You're gonna love this," she heard Joe's voice say in a distant world. What she loved was feeling sexy and whorish, desired behind anything Joe had known in her heels that skittered a bit on the concrete floor. Lost in a warm cloud of alcohol and lust, she met Joe's thrusts as best she could, adrift in her own allure. But the sensation of his cock within her soon woke her and she noticed the noises she was making, the gasps that were hers, and they took over and she was crying out and the cries built on themselves, adding to her pleasure as her pussy began to quiver until she couldn't help but whine and buck as her muscles seized and gyrated until the first waves of orgasm took her.

Joe held his grip on Laura's waist as he legs went weak and she began to lose her balance in her heels. Her mind returned to her, though not completely. Satisfied but not sated, she began griding her ass back against Joe's thrust, encouraging him. Her hair tossed in the black light in a series of still frames, beads of sweat pouring down her skin. Her lips pulled back in a mask of pleasure when the high-pitched buzz of sweet pain in her pussy began to mount again. "Say my name, lover," she told Joe over her shoulder. Joe didn't respond. He placed a hand on the back of her head and pushed it forward, mindlessly thrusting into the wet heaven between her legs, his cock screaming for release.

"Say her name, Joe," a voice called out in the dark.

Joe turned to see the nude bartender advancing on him, her eyes feral with need. Intimidated, he pulled out of Laura. The bartender grabbed his cock and squeezed it with one hand and slapped his face with the other.

Back and forth her hand flew, swatting him hard with the palm then the back. His dick caught in the vice like grip of her hand.

The bartender's lips were pulled back in a grimace. "I hope you saved your cum for me."

Joe nodded, taken aback.

The bartender's fist began pumping dick. "You want my pussy, Joe?" she asked.

Joe nodded, too intimidated to shoot to the administrations of her hand.

"You want to say my name, Joe?"

Joe just stared at her, uncertain. The woman advanced and Joe stepped back instinctively, the stimulation of his cock sending tentdrils of pleasure up and down the shaft, causing his balls to ache and pulse, but offering him no release. He found himself pressued up against the bar, staring directly into the wide, burning eyes of the bartender. She pressed her fingernail into the viscous coating of semen over his piss hole, inhibiting the release of more.

"Guess it then. And you can have my pussy."

"Sally," Joe cried.

"Cum for me, Joe," the bartender said in a husky voice.

Joe groaned and his eyes rolled back in his head as his cock began pumping forth streams of spunk that carassed the inside of his dick in a beautiful massage of orgasm.