The Zookeeper Ch. 04

Chapter 4

Toilet Fun

A scant five minutes later, the young man slipped into the far right side hallway, a little bit running, a little bit walking with a stride that could in any way be described but casual.

His mouth was open to ease his labored breathing, and his eyes darting in every direction in search of his promised land, his brain always imbued with the belief that it was impossible for such a thing to be happening to him of all people.

Instead, it was all true. His gaze took a while to locate the conspicuous, flamboyant-haired figure, for the task sounded so difficult to him that he tried first to search the hidden corners of the ceiling and floor rather than directly in front of him.

And there she stood, leaning against the wall in a pose that seemed to have been drawn by an erotic artist, such was her iconographic perfection: one leg stretched out to support that magnificent ass leaning against the wall, the other bent over with her heel resting against the wall, accentuating the curvaceous forms. She was smoking that sort of cigarette of hers with a dreamy look that only alcoholic intoxication could paint on a face, and on hers, so flawless and wicked, it only served to give a mental image: she looked like a slut waiting for her customer.

That was the only word his head could conjure up that vision with.

Slut, slut slut slut.

Beautiful, eye-catching, hot. And she was waiting for him. He was the customer.

His previously wandering eyes locked on her like those of a shark on its prey, and his stride left any semblance of a walk and changed to an impatient trot.

She, of course, instantly spotted him, turning her head just as she blew out yet another puff, her hand with the vaporizer raised in a resting position beside her face.

Slut, slut slut slut slut.

She was doing that on purpose; she had to: no one could be so accurate in reproducing an erotic fantasy so precisely without having the clear intent of doing so. Especially since she was portraying it so effortlessly and casually.

He came close to her, almost expecting her to disappear as if she were a mirage, but the woman merely finished blowing out the smoke and then turned to him as if everything were normal:

"Were you able to convince your coworker to cover for you?"

"Sort of: he told me I could keep the one hundred dollars if I got him to come too..." He replied a little flushed and definitely struggling to keep himself from jumping on her.

"And what did you tell him?" She asked mockingly.

"That you're not... That you're not a call-girl.... And if you were, with a hundred dollars he couldn't even look at your ass."

"That's so cute!" She said, genuinely flattered, "I'd say you've really earned these." Without even vaguely waiting for a reaction, she unceremoniously grabbed her top with her free hand, yanked it up abruptly, and simultaneously dropped that pair of soft, perfect bombshells that dangled in front of him, finally free. "... Help yourself!"

Slut, slut slut slut slut.

Held on the edge all evening, faced with yet another brazen show-off and far from the eyes of the other patrons, the boy could take it no more and stretched out both hands and then sank his rapacious fingers inside that walking milk factory.

"Fuck! They are huge!" He only managed to utter before beginning to squeeze and grope in an absolutely chaotic pattern.

Seeing the young man's spirited eyes as he seized the much-desired prize amused Azuki immensely, and she let him enjoy it unhindered, to fully appreciate his urge that he was finally able to let loose.

The admittedly small rational part of the bartender's brain that still remained active realized how the other one was watching him completely at ease being harassed in the hallway of a pub just as only a huge...

SLUT

... could. By now that word was hammering him like a headache after a major hangover, but the more he stared at her in an attempt to say it to her face, the more that animalistic attraction mingled with far deeper infatuation.

Reflecting this change, slowly the eyes abandoned their wild look and took on a decidedly more adoring and devoted one. Even as his hands continued to massage her breasts with wide movements, they began to become rhythmic, following the cadence of his breathing.

Soon the passion began to take on a definite shape and intention, as did the direction his gaze was trailing to, and the young man's head began to be inexorably drawn to Azuki's plump lips.

She was obviously aware that she had that effect. She had it on everyone; she had drawn herself to have it. But, as she had well told her victim, she liked to see the effect she had on males, but making out with them just wasn't an option.

As usual feeling a little guilty about being a self-centered whore, she decided to make it up to him in her own way by distracting that dangerous attraction with a juicier prize.

"You really like them, huh?" She interrupted with a staggering obviousness and then dropped a devastating, "You want to taste them?"

The romantic attraction that had just sprouted in the young man's gaze was brutally crushed by that umpteenth raise in the realm of sluttiness, the opportunity so out of any expectation and even most daydreaming fantasies that it could in no way be lost.

As if he were an Olympic runner at the starting line of the 100-meter final, the bartender did not even waste time responding or marveling at the turn things had taken and immediately plunged his face toward Azuki's tits, wrapping his lips around his patron's left nipple. Immediately, his tongue began to caress the small ridge erect with arousal, resuming the massage that just moments earlier the young man had mimicked with the touch of his fingers.

He was amazed himself at how his brain had literally gone haywire. Under normal circumstances, he would never have reacted to an invitation even as explicit as that by going so straight to the point; he would have tried to make himself look good by softly getting closer, dispensing kisses and caresses, but the sexual energy that Azuki had managed to throw all that sophistication out the window.

He found himself first sucking as if he were a baby attached to his mother's breast and then making his tongue make wider and wider circles, savoring the skin and discovering a captivating taste that he could not quite put into words.

Although completely natural, it had an extremely strong flavor and yet was the exact opposite of unpleasant: it was intoxicating in the true sense of the word.

It was at that moment that he noticed that, along with the sensation it left on his tongue, Azuki's skin gave off an equally singular scent.

When he inhaled his first taste of it, an electric shock went through his nostrils and then spread throughout his head, causing him to squint and suck on the nipple so hard that it imprisoned him in an airtight grip.

What was it? It certainly wasn't perfume. It was wild, exactly like the taste he felt on her skin. Nothing artificial could have that absurd balance: a smell at once pungent and yet irresistible.

The closest feeling he found was what some people say they feel when they sniff the fumes of gasoline: they sense that it is not a good smell, but they find it strangely captivating.

The difference lay in the fact that what she had on her had nothing chemical in its aroma....

Could it be her sweat?

He did not know why, but at that thought his cock twitched involuntarily, as if the idea of being able to taste that primal smell, emanating from her body, was an intrusion, a conquest of that woman's intimacy on par with eating her out.

Yes, that was it: it was as if he was smelling her snatch, but not quite like it. It was different, but with the same criminal effect on his sexual urges. And it was all over her skin, although it seemed stronger just under....

What a fucking slut she was! As she stared smugly from above at the meltdown she had triggered, Azuki addressed herself with that same word.

She knew perfectly well what was happening to the poor guy: she had manipulated her genetic code to smell like that. True to her irresistible dictate to be the most desirable female wherever she was, a perfect physical appearance had not been enough, and she hopelessly rigged the game by literally exuding pheromones, imbuing her body with that pungent yet irresistible smell that triggered the craving for sex.

Certainly not well advised by her alcohol level, she decided to further escalate the situation, bringing her left arm behind her head in an only seemingly casual gesture and then using her right hand to direct the bartender's head to a specific spot, compounding the gesture with the phrase

"Give them a good taste underneath, too."

As if mesmerized, the young man obeyed her command by letting go of the grip his mouth had on her tit and allowing her hand to lead him to the underside of her boobs, tracing a path with his tongue, which he could not pull away from that hellish taste.

Her hand left his head free and went to lift the pink globe slightly, silently inviting him to taste the hollow beneath her breasts.

As soon as his taste buds reached that secret valley, however, he immediately realized that he was screwed: the taste immediately became addictive, forcing him to smear his tongue over it as a child would do with a spoonful of chocolate cream. At the same time, a stronger whiff of that pungent smell reached him from under her jacket, making his eyes roll in their sockets from how hard his cock became.

Bloody hell! What the fuck was that girl made of? He went down on drenched pussies that smelled and tasted less arousing than her dry skin. If he weren't still wearing his work clothes, which were definitely uncomfortable to unfasten on the fly, he would surely have started masturbating using that sensation as a stimulation, and he had no doubt it would have been the quickest and most satisfying orgasm of his life.

With his left hand, which had never let go of his grip on her other breast, he responded to that sensory overload by giving a hard squeeze that would surely have made a partner without Azuki's powers scream in pain.

She, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed by that manic attention; in fact, she actually enjoyed it: the guy was indeed an exemplary "victim," his instinctive responses giving great satisfaction to a kinky Slut like her.

At this rate, this is going to end with me riding his face with my cunt, came to her mind in a fleeting moment of clarity that arose when she sensed the distinct temptation to grab the guy's head and take it elsewhere.

It was only the question of whether the next meal would be the navel or the armpit that showed her the slippery slope her lust was taking. She knew, in fact, very well that the navel was only an intermediate stop to a lower destination, and, likewise, if she made him taste her armpits, then it would have been impossible for him not to end up licking another, far more flavored, hairy place.

All this prompted her to regain some degree of control of the situation, stroking his head in a motherly gesture to distract him at least a little from his feast.

"Fuck, you taste Good!"

"... And fuck how ravenous you are: did you notice that you never opened the door? You're making out my boobs in the middle of the toilet hallway: do you really want to get fired?"

His transfixed gaze remained frozen in its adoration while inside he sincerely thought that, if she were to pull her pants down that very second, he would not only get himself fired but would also get himself arrested so that he could just shove his face between those thighs, but, imagining with the last glimmer of rationality that his patron would not share such a wish, he called upon all of his willpower and pulled away from her chest.

"Uh... No... I..." He mumbled several times without being able to form a meaningful sentence. Giving up on the attempt, the young man merely shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a key with which he rather nervously fumbled with the lock before making it click and opening the said door impetuously. He nervously slipped in, holding the door open for his customer. She went in with all the cool and grace of the Queen of Sluts, taking another drag of her cigarette and, of course, with her boobs completely in the open.

Exactly one second passed, however, before Azuki heard the door close behind her, and then the bartender latched onto her, taking her from behind, running his hands under her arms to grope her tits, and firmly putting his crotch right in the middle of her bubbly ass.

She let him do his thing, smiling to herself, her need for the spotlight extremely fulfilled in feeling herself the object of such impetuous lust. Indeed, she leaned back to facilitate his rubbing, which soon became a clear mimicry of intercourse.

Mmmmm... Maybe I'll let him frig my clit.... She heard herself thinking in an attempt to at least deflect the dangerous mental image of how she would completely dominate him by holding his head pressed into her crotch, making him eat her out like an obedient little puppy.

Of course, none of these scenarios were going to end well for the poor guy, whose highest sexual fulfillment might have been to cum by jerking off while kneeling at her feet as she pissed in his mouth.

Cruel yet realistic scenario, given her aversion to the male anatomy.

So now she was struggling against her hangover to find a middle way to throw her improvised admirer (and her own exhibitionist disposition) a bone, but without then sending him home with blue balls (more than they already were), all without making him so frothing with desire that she had to subdue him with a kick in the balls, not least because, after all, she genuinely liked him.

Thankfully, as was often the case in situations where she let her "needs" go too far, it was her sweet, and so very cucked, girlfriend who saved the day. And this time her assistance came in the form of the ringtone of her cell phone as it echoed among the unadorned walls of the bathroom stall.

The grip on her breasts stiffened but did not loosen, a sign that the panic had only suspended and not erased the boy's lust.

She jumped at the chance, again without giving any sign of discomfort, taking the phone from the pocket where she had stowed it and answering the call without making any attempt to get out of the guy's grasp.

"Hello?" She uttered without the slightest trace of embarrassment as she brought the device closer to her ear.

Behind her, however, she could hear the bartender silently struggling between the logical behavior of pulling himself together and the very deep desire not to give in to the idea that the intercourse had to be interrupted right at its best.

The situation had something of an irony to it, given the events of the afternoon: Azuki could deeply empathize with the young man's frustration, having experienced the same feeling only a few hours earlier, but this time the interruption was turning in her favor and, at the very least, it certainly wouldn't fall to the young man to defuse a human bomb in the near future.

"Mon Amour, are you there? Are you all right?" Cassie's voice on the other end of the line asked, "Everything is ready here. I'm done with the prep work. I am here with Brittany and Ulrika; we are waiting for you for the toast."

"Thanks, love. I'm almost done too. I'll join you in a little while." She chirped all tender in spite of her situation. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then Cassandra resumed in a slightly less affectionate tone.

"Chérie? Are you still at the pub?"

"Yes, I'm gonna pay and get going now." She replied, still very coolly, but clearly able to notice her companion's voice register veering toward the suspicious.

"I don't hear any background noise." Commented the other sharply, the sentiment now completely gone from her voice.

"Just a quick stop at the restroom." She was quick to explain herself. Apparently, however, this did not resolve but rather made the situation worse.

"FaceTime me right now!" She ordered, now decisively accusatory.

The panic of the young man still clinging to Azuki's breast became of epic proportions, and the struggle between his conflicting instincts feverish.

Fuck! What a shitty situation!!! Screamed the barman in his head, trying to figure out what to do. In the mental turmoil he was in, however, the only absurd thing he could think of was to crouch down behind her, making himself as small as possible. As he lived and breathed, however, as much as he was afraid of being caught, he could in no way keep his hands off those divine knockers, thus becoming a comical parody of a koala backpack rather than a stealthy lover on the verge of being caught by the "husband."

Realizing how laughable his approach was, he hoped his partner would come up with something to buy time to find something better. To his horror, Azuki instead instantly obeyed her partner's order, activating the front-facing camera and pointing it directly at her own face.

"Here I am, Sweetheart!" She greeted her always flirting like a newlywed in spite of the rack Cassandra was putting her on.

This was finally the straw that sent the boy's panic skyrocketing, making him able to relinquish his soft grip and try to curl into a ball on his knees, hoping to dodge the digital eye. Azuki, however, tipped backward before he could pull off the maneuver, trapping him between her and the wall, leaving as his only option awkwardly trying to hide behind her shoulder.

"Pan aroun...." The other one began immediately as if that was a typical routine for the two of them. The voice, however, stopped immediately when faced with that first shot. "... Is that a man behind you?" She asked bluntly, almost incredulous at the stupidity of the whole situation.

Fuck! He made a complete ass of himself! What was one supposed to do at this point? At least look like just a pig, instead of a pig and a sucker, too. So he slowly lifted his head, trying to overcome his shame to act as a "man" and face the consequences of his actions.

At an excruciating, painfully slow pace, he looked up at the phone, all the while unable to help but wonder why the fuck his partner in crime wasn't doing a damn thing to avoid getting so deeply into so much shit.

When his eyes managed to turn guiltily toward the display, however, his mask of remorseful shame was broken by an expression that was nothing short of stunned.

What a fine piece of ass! Those were the only words that came to his mind when he saw Cassandra's face on the screen.

The half-French girl's ice-cold beauty bewitched him almost as much as Azuki's fiery one, and the thought of the two of them fucking together pierced his brain, completely overriding that of having just been caught cucking one of them.

His member shuddered, becoming, if possible, even stiffer; Azuki, realizing this, had as her only cruel response to push back a little more her ass, giving his cock a titillating massage, all the while still smiling lovingly at her girlfriend.

"Fuck!" He let slip, barely managing to keep his gaze toward the phone, trying with very little result to mimic his customer's demeanor.

His breathing became short and rapid as the blood rushed to his brain.

He knew he should have been terrified and embarrassed, but at the same time, he found himself terribly aroused.

Watching that fashion model's face as he stood with his dick planted between her girlfriend's ass cheeks gave him a feeling of power equal and opposite to the fear of consequences.

"Chérie?!" Cassie put them back in line, demanding an explanation.

"Yes, honey. He's the bartender: he's been listening to me all night," replied Azuki innocently, at the same time giving her ass a good twist to make the young man even more uncomfortable.

"H... Hello." He barely managed to say as he involuntarily pushed his loins against that fleshy paradise.

Cassandra's face frowned further at that awkward introduction, and that was the only sign that she had noticed he was there, for she did not look away from her girlfriend for a moment and went on with her inquiry.

"Is that guy groping your boobs?" The bartender twitched involuntarily at that question and, hoping his hands would stay out of sight, he blindly fumbled to put the lace top back in place, struggling quite a bit to get the twins back in place.

"Me? N... No!" He stumbled over the words as he tried to think in advance what excuse he would use when she would inevitably ask him what he was then doing wedged between the wall and his girlfriend's ass.

The Frenchie's gaze finally turned to him, but only to glare at him and to pose an extremely different question than the one he was preparing for.

"And why the fuck not?"

"Wha...?"

"I asked you why the fuck aren't you groping my girlfriend's boobs. What's the matter? Are they not to your taste? Aren't they big enough for you?!" She attacked him, causing the questioning to take a decidedly unexpected course.

"N... No, I..." He tried to pull himself together to no avail.

"You mean to tell me that you happened to see better boobs than my girlfriend's?" The young man opened his mouth to answer, but he honestly had no idea what was going on at all. "So?!" Cassie asked, raising her voice, demanding an answer.

"N... No!"

"No what?" She insisted.

"No, I've never seen prettier tits!" He literally felt compelled to answer her, as if he were being questioned by a drill sergeant.

"Then why, if you have the most beautiful boobs on planet earth at your fingertips, aren't you groping them with both hands?!" The dialogue began to sound like something out of a Tarantino movie with Samuel L. Jackson starring as the jealous girlfriend. "Are you, like, a priest or something?!" Cassie added, confirming the young man's impression.

"N... No, but..." He had the audacity to argue, trying to bring the conversation back to normal.

"No fucking Buts. Pull those puppies out and show me that you properly appreciate my girl's tits! And you, Slut, frame it right: I want to see if he's faking it!"

The bartender was completely dazed by the continuous overlapping of contradictions he was invested with: a beautiful, stylish, aristocratic girl who talked like a dockworker, very jealous of her girlfriend whose boobs she nevertheless demanded be groped by a stranger on FaceTime, all topped off by the total coolness of the aforementioned girlfriend who despite being a Playboy centerfold sexpot let herself be harassed in front of her lesbian fiancée who in turn... And the circle began anew.

It was only because Azuki took the initiative that the situation budged: lifting up her top again, she let her breasts explode once more, and then with her free hand gently brought the young man's to them, orienting the camera properly as she turned her head to whisper to him a gentle and utterly absurd:

"Come on, don't be rude: show her you like them." And, as she did before at the counter, she guided the movement of his hand to help him get started.

Resigned and actually downright appalled, the barman obeyed his impromptu mistress by bringing his other hand into position as well and beginning an awkward massage.

With doubtful eyes fixed on the screen to make eye contact with the Goth Frenchie's to see if she was laying some kind of trap for him, the young man slowly took courage and increased the force of his squeezes.

Slowly that wonderful sensation under his fingers awakened his primal instincts, making him decide that after all, even if those two were completely nuts, nothing would stop him from taking advantage of that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The groping then became laden with lust, and his gaze turned from reverent and fearful to aggressive and defiant, as if to say, Look how I'm enjoying your girlfriend's boobs, you fuckin' Cuckquean.

Instead of getting angry, however, Cassie seemed to approve, so much so that she relaxed once more, though she remained cold and aloof.

"There, that's better." She commented, addressing him and then turning to her sweetheart, "Is he hard?"

"Rock hard," Azuki replied, grinning, shaking her ass once more for good measure.

"Bon, ça va... Now wrap it up: we're waiting for you... and don't spoil your appetite by messing around."

Once again baffled by those dialogues on the edge of madness, the young man lost momentum, no longer understanding who was taking advantage of whom, thus slowing his massage and going back to an appalled gaze.

Azuki further appeased him, running her hand through his hair again and stroking his head with the same motherly gesture as before. In a persuasive voice, she rewarded him by whispering a barely audible "Well done" in his ear and then went back to talking to her lover on the phone.

"Alright, Honey, I'll be right there. Look, the boy here has really been a darling: I'm really sorry to have him go home with blue balls, but you know I just can't fuck dudes. Can you hook him up with a girl when his shift ends?"

The young man said nothing but listened with more than keen interest to the unfolding of the conversation, moving from the bitter disappointment of the I just can't fuck dudes to the surprise of the hook him up with a girl.

"What time do you get off?" The Frenchie just asked as if that were the only issue with her girlfriend's request.

"What time do you get off?" Merely reiterated Azuki, turning her head just a little and caressing his cheek to draw his attention in a way that gave him goosebumps.

"At... 3 o'clock, I close the place up."

"What is he like?" Cassie went on, proceeding with her interview.

"Brilliant and at the same time tender and respectful, but if you give him the go-ahead, he can be a real pig. But I guess you already knew that last part," replied her partner nonchalantly as if he wasn't even there (groping her boobs, by the way).

"Um, okay. What am I looking for then?" Straight to the point, the other apparently disregarded him as if that conversation didn't concern him.

"Someone tough on the outside but tender on the inside, who can enjoy a beer with a friend or some streaming series snuggling on the couch. Good as a fuck buddy, but if he likes her, he can also get serious, if you ask me." Then she turned to him again, interjecting in the conversation, 'You told me you don't have a girlfriend, right?'

"No, I don't. But how do you know I like them..." He stammered, increasingly confused.

"There's Kirsti, then." The Frenchie bypassed him once more. "That Swedish cultural exchange girl, remember her?"

"Oooh! That was one hot little minx! Come on, send a couple of pictures: I'll show him!"

"Just send me his number so they can hook up at closing. But does he have his own place?"

"Never mind. Give her a card, one of the red ones, so they can pop in someplace for a bite to eat and pay for a room."

"Bien sûr, chérie. I'll call her now. Come now: We are waiting for you." With a lovey-dovey smile, the Goth French girl blew her a kiss, winking. Azuki responded with a tender kiss with her eyes closed (but still with the guy's hands on her tits) and then ended the call.

When the FaceTime screen faded away, however, it gave way to her mobile phone wallpaper, almost causing a stroke to the poor guy. Before his eyes, in fact, only vaguely hidden by the app icons, stood the same exact beautiful, aristocratic, and haughty face of his patron's girlfriend, only completely transfigured by an obvious post-orgasmic bliss and totally covered with the most colossal, thick, and lurid cumshot he had ever seen (one of the nastiest loads Azuki's cock ever churned out, of which she was particularly proud and which she had rightfully decided to digitally capture).

"Oops," she let out, noticing the oversight, especially by the squeeze the young man gave her tits and the way he squished his boner against her ass. "Maybe you shouldn't have seen that." She smiled as she pocketed her cell phone.

There was a moment of silence and total stillness, after which the bartender could hold back no longer.

"What. The. FUCK. Can you please tell me what was that all about?!"

Definitely downplaying her "harasser's" reaction, Azuki merely slipped politely out of the young man's grasp and turned to face him, though keeping one of his hands still resting on her breast to make the transition less shocking.

"That was my fiancée: she's quite a catch, isn't she?" She completely shrugged him off.

"Was that the all-gothy, half-French girl you live with?! What the fuck are you doing in a pub restroom with someone like me when you have a hottie like her for a girlfriend?! If she were my fiancée, I'd never leave the house again!"

"And that, I guess, also answers the question: Why isn't your girlfriend jealous if you get your tits groped by the bartender you just met, right?"

"No wonder you don't feel threatened when you're a fucking front-page bombshell, but what the fuck was she doing with...? No, hold that thought. I don't even want to know what kinky little games you come up with to turn each other on, because if you're into crazy chicks, you have to know they're going to do some crazy shit."

"That's it, attaboy." She approved.

"But the thing about hooking me up? What did that mean?"

"Well, I have to admit that I ended up being definitely more of a Brat to you than you deserved, and I wanted to make it up to you. Kirsti is a girl we met one night--Azuki summarized, glossing over the fact that by met she actually meant fucked in all holes for a couple of days straight, making her our obedient little bitch--she'll drop by to hang out with you when you are done so you can 'blow off some steam': I know I drove you a little crazy."

"Is she a Call-Girl?" He immediately asked, a little disturbed by the idea.

"What? No!" she replied flatly. "Her boyfriend just dumped her, and she needs to take her mind off things. And you are VERY much in need of taking your mind off things after all of my brattiness. I'm just playing Cupid a little to solve a common predicament you two have."

Of course, that was a load of crap. Kirsti was one of the countless sluts hot enough to have attracted her and Cassandra's attention on some random night at some local club and whom they had then proceeded to use as a sex toy, dragging her along to parties and clubs, intruding on her life, brain, pussy, and ass until she had fallen head over heels for them. Then they had helped her get back to her normal life but still kept her within cell phone reach: another contact in Cassandra's ever-growing address book, from which they drew whenever they needed some easy or emergency fuck (like Brittany and Ulrika, who were waiting for her at the penthouse that night) or when they needed a pretty face for an errand or, as in that case, to reward some guy who had turned out to be somehow useful.

She had fried their brains to a few of them, mostly for their own good (or so she liked to tell herself), to avoid ruining their lives with a crush on two sociopaths, for the others the blissful experience had been enough to seal their devotion, but in every case the result was exactly the same: if Cassie called them in the middle of the night to tell them they had to run off and fuck some dude, they would slip on a pair of 5 inch heels, garter and stockings and run out of the door, happy to be able to do her a solid (which they knew would then be greatly reciprocated... maybe even with the most coveted prize: being fucked one more time by the two beautiful, mysterious chicks who had messed up their life).

So, in a nutshell, no, they were not call-girls. They were "Groupies" who had been subjugated to the extent that in order to do her a solid, they would hand out their pussies to whoever she wanted.

Which was probably measurably worse.

But, as they say: it is what it is.

The bartender could hardly have imagined the whole matter being that nasty, so once the prostitution scenario was out of the way, he would have liked to worry about more mundane matters, but just then Azuki's cell phone sent a couple of notifications, snatching his immediate attention.

"Oh! Got the pictures!" She chimed in, checking the messages and then flipping the screen toward him.

His face was lit up by the vivid colors of the photo of a very young, ice-eyed girl with a clear penchant for punk culture, evident by her hair dyed a garish pink and shaved at the sides and the helix of her ear adorned with three ring piercings.

"Holy Cow!" Blurted the young man. While not as attractive as Azuki, she was certainly one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.

Surely she would have been the most beautiful he had ever dated.

Surely if he had seen her around, he would have considered her totally out of his league, which, while putting some elation in him at the idea of being matched with such a hottie, was also beginning to make him a little anxious.

"Look..." He began warily, "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but are you sure I'm good enough for someone like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like... So gorgeous. I mean, she shows up because her super top model friend set her up on a date, and she ends up with a guy like me and..."

"A guy like you, how?" she pressed.

"Come on, don't pretend you don't get it: I'm just an average guy, and on top of that, I'm coming off a shift at a pub. Dressed like crap, haven't showered, trying to hit on someone who could be on the cover of Vogue..."

"If you're good enough to grope my tits, I guarantee you're good enough to fuck her," Azuki cut him off, bringing his attention back to his hand still glued to her breast.

In some perverse way, her statement made sense to him. Like, if the day before someone had shown him a picture of Azuki and asked him how likely it was that a babe like her would drag him into a restroom to let him touch (and lick!) her boobs, he would've said less than zero.

Yet there he was.

So, actually, this girl, who was definitely hot but not as unattainable as his extraordinarily quirky patron, might not be such an impossible mission... especially with the "blessing" he'd just been given.

"In any case," she resumed, stepping closer and grabbing his hand, forcing him to sink his fingers into her breast in a gesture that somehow felt like encouragement, "handle it however you like. If you want to be a gentleman, take her somewhere open late or get a room at some nice hotel: it's on me. Kirsta will use the card the Frenchie gave her to cover all the expenses. But if you're not in the mood, go straight to the point: Kirsta's a first-class slut, and she knows me well enough to understand that if I recommend a guy to fuck, he shouldn't be going home without scoring. You can ask her to suck your cock right off the bat, and I guarantee the only question she'll ask before getting on her knees will be, How deep?" The bartender noticed from Azuki's tone that she was serious and not exaggerating. He swallowed hard as his mind began to visualize what it meant to be given that kind of power. "Don't actually hurt her and don't leave permanent marks, and you can do anything to her..." Her voice had become low and almost threatening with lust, and the pressure only increased when she got even closer, staring straight into his eyes and whispering, "... I recommend going to town on her ass, pounding it like there's no tomorrow: that little slut shines when put on all fours."

The bartender wasn't a virgin, but none of his girlfriends had ever let him even get close to their ass, and the prospect of finally getting to enjoy the "back door" of such a beauty put him in a state of distress that was genuinely difficult to handle, especially while squeezing the tit of another sexy bombshell whispering dirty things right to his face.

At some point during the conversation, he wanted to delve into the part about "It's on me" and the credit card the Goth Frenchie was supposed to give the girl, but the direction the conversation had taken had completely erased those kinds of worries from his head.

One thing was for sure: if they kept going that way, he'd end up making a huge mess by trying to stick his tongue in his patron's mouth, who seemed to appreciate only a very accurate selection of male attention.

He called on all of his willpower to slow his breathing and tried to break the tension with some sarcasm.

"For someone who's not a call-girl, your friend seems really available."

"You have no idea what people would do to lick my pussy one more time," she snarled at him with a cocky grin on her face.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do, considering I never have, but I'd suck my coworker's dick just to get a chance to do it even once," he said with an emphasis that could only come from sincerity.

For a second, there was absolute silence, and the young man thought he had overstepped his bounds by daring to match his patron's bravado instead of backing down.

But then it was Azuki's turn to evaluate the potential outcomes of the situation: the strong temptation to end the night by having him lick her pussy was certainly still there, thus completing her domination ritual. However, now that the bartender had hinted he'd be willing to suck dicks just to please her, she naturally started thinking about shoving her own cock in his mouth; that would truly assert her dominance, and a simple pussy lick no longer seemed as satisfying.

Obviously, whipping out her dick after playing the "dyke with a naughty streak" all evening would require a long dance of further flirting and innuendos to succeed without frying his brain (which was always an option, but far less satisfying). In any case, such a conquest would demand not a quickie blowjob but a thorough one, a good thirty- to forty-minute head...

... And she already had an appointment set for those thirty to forty minutes, not with one, not two, but three deliciously fragrant and lush hairy pussies.

... And she just loved pussy.

... Nothing against blowjobs, of course, but pussy...

... and add to that not three but six sweaty, perfectly overgrown, unshaven armpits belonging to three smoking hot babes: the choice was easy.

So, to her surprise, she found herself having to concede, having finally found a valid reason to not give in to her nymphomania... Pussy.

Azuki sensed that this conclusion held a deep meaning about the dichotomous contradiction of her being, but fortunately, she was drunk enough not to care and to focus instead on how to dismiss her dear bartender.

The first sign of relaxation was the smile that crept onto her lips, amused by the U-turn her libido had taken.

In response, the young man relaxed as well, finally exhaling, relieved to have defused the situation a bit.

Azuki stepped back, creating some distance and releasing his hand, then took a drag from her cigarette, breaking eye contact.

"Heheh," she chuckled, "You're quite the crafty one. Alright, I've harassed you enough for tonight, don't you think?"

The bartender let out a vaguely frustrated sigh from the effort of crafting another balanced response but gave it a shot anyway.

"Well... let's say if we keep going like this, I'm bound to fuck things up."

"I noticed you were aware of that. Special reward for your efforts: the intense make-out session you were thinking about, you can have it with my nipple so you can say goodbye properly."

The bartender took the blow, closing his eyes in amused embarrassment for being read so transparently, but he had to admit the solution seemed fair: it wouldn't be as intimate and romantic as a French kiss, but it would certainly be more carnally satisfying; something about his improvised partner seemed much more open to receiving attention.

So, with a boldness that surprised even himself, without adding anything else, he adjusted his grip on her breast to cup it (as much as possible) in his hand, making it easier to suck. With his mouth slightly open, he gently approached the erect tip of Azuki's breast, and once he had her nipple between his lips, he did exactly what she suggested, playing with it just as he had wanted to do with her tongue, even projecting in his mind the fantasy of that torrid kiss.

For almost a full minute, he worshipped her, licking and stimulating her from every possible angle, finally focusing his efforts in a rapid series of tongue flicks right on the tip, titillating and vibrating on it to maximize the stimulation.

When he finished, he allowed himself the pleasure of sucking on her nipple with the same abandon and desire of a hungry baby, finally ending by gently taking it between his teeth, giving it one last lick, and then pulling his mouth away from her breast while still sucking, savoring the bottle-pop sound the gesture produced.

With his cock rock hard but somehow mentally satisfied by the "farewell," he took a step back too, releasing his hand and bringing his gaze back to Azuki.

She still had that confident look, completely in control of the situation, but there was a hint of approval, similar to that of a teacher when a student does well on a task at the blackboard.

"If you treat Kirsti's clit like that, she'll squirt in your face, for sure," Azuki complimented him in her own way, smirking.

"Thanks," he said, too spent to come up with anything clever.

"You're welcome," she replied, shifting back to normal conversation. "It's the truth. Now, if you give me your cell number, I'll send it to Kirsti so you can assfuck her after your shift." She then pulled out her phone again, opened the keypad, and turned the display towards him.

"Delicate as ever," he teased lightly before starting to type his number into her phone.

"Like a field rose. What name should I register?"

"Liam O'Sullivan," he replied, pressing the call button and then stepping back again.

As soon as he did that, Azuki quickly looked up at him with amused disapproval.

"I knew you were a crafty one..." she remarked just as the sound of a vibrating phone came from his jeans pocket.

"Oops," he said, not sorry at all, as he reached for his phone.

But as he brought it in front of him, his sly smile soon turned into a defeated but sportingly resigned grimace.

The screen displayed "Private Number."

"Oops," she mimicked him, purring.

"You can't blame me for trying."

"Indeed. But don't worry: even Kirsti doesn't have my number."

"I'm not upset: I get that for girls like you, having your number out there can become a problem..."

"If it makes you feel better, my girlfriend will send you Kirsti's contact: you can keep her number, and if you need anything, just give her a call."

The guy's face took on a somewhat disbelieving expression.

"And what do I tell her? Hi, is your girlfriend free Saturday night because I'd like to take her out to dinner?"

Finding sarcasm a sign of intelligence, Azuki appreciated the bartender's wit, and it showed in her gaze.

"You can try, but I recommend something more like: Hi, I'm Liam. I'm dating a new girl, and I'd love to see your girlfriend eating her out while you jerk me off."

There was no sarcasm in her voice, however, and as soon as the bartender's brain registered this, his face flushed, turning deadly serious.

"You can't be serious," he challenged her.

"I'm fuckin' dead serious."

For a few moments, there was silence, and Azuki could almost hear the gears in his brain turning.

"Kirsti included?" He finally blurted out, still very serious.

"Heh heh heh... Liam O'Sullivan, this is the third time I'm telling you that you're a crafty one. No, Kirsti doesn't count: I've already fucked her, as a crafty guy like you has surely figured out by now. But, listen: you can help her pick up a new one; she also has a similar offer pending..."

"You have no idea what people would do to lick my pussy one more time, huh?" he quoted her, a bit intimidated.

"Exactly. You're really sharp. You know what? Make that call to the Frenchie tomorrow anyway: you mix great cocktails, but you're wasted here. She'll find you a better gig so you can pay off that student loan by the end of the year."

If possible, this promise left the bartender more stunned than the prospect of hooking him up with a fuck buddy for the night, so much so that he couldn't help but reply with more sarcasm:

"And the call is still like: Hi, I'm the guy who was groping your girlfriend's tits yesterday. Do you have a job for me?"

"Well, this time it might work: you saw she's quite the laid-back chick."

"Laid-back wasn't the word I was going to use, but I get the drift."

"She knows a lot of people, that Massive Laid-back Girl, she'll definitely find you something. But I guess getting a job offer in a public restroom from a chick whose tits you just sucked isn't the height of credibility."

"It's true that you're not from Los Angeles if you think that's so strange."

"Heh heh... now get back out there; we've used up all our hundred-dollar cover."

"Is there really no way to keep in touch?" he blurted out, finding the courage to be so bold at the prospect of parting.

"You've been cute enough to deserve a straight answer: if we meet again, it'll be by chance, or because you need a hand to sort out some mess. But in the second case, you won't be happy to see me because if the Frenchie calls me instead of solving your problem herself, it means you're really in deep shit... like I-killed-John-Wick's-dog-and-stole-his-car deep shit. If you like what my girlfriend can find you to get you to leave this pub, then maybe I'll drop by one day to see how you're doing."

The guy couldn't help but notice how his patron had purposefully slipped the most unsettling part of her speech between two rather innocuous ones to make it less conspicuous. However, it wasn't Azuki's lexical mastery that distracted him from probing further, but rather his hormones, which were now decidedly overstimulated.

"Can I come visit you at work? I don't know, maybe one day I'll stop by this zoo and give a hundred bucks to a coworker to cover your shift and..."

The guy's persistence was as commendable as it was amusing, especially spiced with that comedian touch, but all it earned him was a smiling and kind rejection.

"I would strongly advise against this approach: I already have enough Columbia Basin pygmy rabbits to keep safe without having more in for a visit," she said, realizing a bit too late that the alcohol had caused her narrative metaphor to slip.

Like the previous sentence, though, the bartender's persistence saved her from having to give difficult explanations.

"At least a social account to follow?"

"I don't have accounts anywhere."

A pause asserted itself in the barrage of attempts the bartender was making. It was a moment Azuki particularly enjoyed because she sensed her admirer wasn't ready to give up yet but was out of options, and she was curious to see what he would come up with.

She was obviously right, and her wait was rewarded with a desperate:

"OnlyFans?"

In response, she sighed and brought a hand to her forehead, incredulous at the sheer audacity that could be granted to someone in pursuit of pussy.

"Seriously?"

"Why?!" he retorted, trying to make the most innocent face he could muster at that moment.

She lifted her gaze, scrutinizing him with amused despair, while evaluating whether she should grant him permission to jerk off while sucking on her tit... or licking her armpit.

The familiar tingling of perversion warned her that she was again heading down the path she had decided to abstain from... because it led her away from Pussy.

So, she decided to go philosophical, which was usually the quickest way to make a hard-on go soft.

"Look: you've done well so far. But you're dangerously close to looking like a Simp. For your own good, let me warn you: perverts, maniacs, and stalkers have a better chance of fucking a girl than a Simp, even though no girl will openly admit it. Trust your perverted side more than your agreeable one when you're after a girl, especially if you think she's out of your league. Remember: everyone treats hot girls like princesses because they want to fuck them, and hot girls know this very well, even if they pretend not to. The best way to bond with them is to treat them normally so they won't feel like you're buttering them up just to get their panties off. This will both reassure and intrigue them, because it's very rare for them not to have people crawling at their feet... which, paradoxically, will give you a better chance of bedding them."

As anticipated, the sociological detour had the effect of reducing the young man's frantic advance, though not entirely stopping it.

"If I had done that with you, would you have given me your number?" he asked with a hint of regret.

"Liam," she sighed, preparing to masterfully summarize the heart of the matter. "I like pussy. No amount of testosterone or groveling could have led to a different outcome. We're in this bathroom because I'm a slut. Actually, worse: I'm a Slut and an Attention-Whore. I'm a pathological case: you've seen what I put my girlfriend through. Now, before you comfort me with the catchphrase 'You're not a slut,' let me inform you that A) yes, I am a slut, and B) so is Kirsti, albeit to a more manageable extent, and, fortunately, she likes dick. So, take all the determination you're using to get my number and put it into holding out until the end of your shift. There waits a guaranteed fuck with someone who doesn't play these 'I want you to suck my tits, but I won't give you my number' games."

Astounded by such straightforwardness, never before experienced in an interaction with the opposite sex, the bartender found himself literally slack-jawed, still not willing to give up, but completely helpless.

"Well..." he finally forced himself to say, to avoid looking like a complete fool. "You... let's say you couldn't be any clearer than that... I can't even feel bad because, honestly, I can think of at least a couple of times when I would have preferred the girl I was going out with to say something like that instead of stringing me along for a month and then ghosting me." He paused to gauge Azuki's reaction, and her relaxed expression gave him courage. "You... okay, I know you just told me not to, but in my opinion, you're... alright. Even if you are as you say..."

"A Slut," she interrupted, emphasizing the word since he struggled to use it.

"Yeah, well... then you're alright for being a slut. You live a really twisted life, and I think everyone has to do what they can to get by when life crushes them. If your way of coping is to pick a random bartender, give him a hundred-dollar tip, let him feel up the most perfect body he's ever seen, and then set him up with another bombshell to finish the job... what the hell can I say? I hope they drive you crazy at the zoo every week. But only on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, which is when I'm on shift. Because I certainly don't complain about your coping mechanism."

Liam blurted it all out at once, fearing she would take his words of admiration as brown-nosing and cut him off mid-sentence as she almost had before.

The result was uncertain, as it was Azuki's turn to stay silent, and the feeling, which he had felt several times during the evening, of having said one too many stupid things resurfaced in his mind.

Then, without warning, she closed the distance, taking him by the shoulders. The young man instinctively tensed his abs, fearing she was about to knee him in the balls for daring too much... but instead, he felt his head brought to her shoulder, held in a simple hug that seemed infinitely more "intimate" than all the dirty things they had done so far.

"You're really a good guy, Liam O'Donnell," she said in a calm and serene voice he hadn't heard from her all night. "Kirsti is like you, but I've fucked up her mind a bit. If you treat her like you treated me, you'll do her a lot of good."

A bit hesitant and definitely more embarrassed than when he had sucked her nipple, the young man gathered all his courage to hug her back, gently.

"I... Yes, don't worry. I'll be treating her well."

Hearing those words, Azuki pulled back to look him in the face and resumed her sarcastic mask.

"Oh no, you don't, you hear me?! The assfucking while you call her a slut is non-negotiable, okay?" The bartender's eyes widened, caught off guard, but he smiled, understanding her attempt to lighten the parting. "I just meant that after you assfuck her, if you talk to her like that, you'll score a lot of points!"

"Ah... I... Count on it," he said, not knowing how to respond better than that.

"Good. Then I'll leave her in good hands. Now tell me you also have a back door so I can slip out without the whole place giving me a rectal exam."

He nodded and smiled wider to show he understood and appreciated the effort she made by opening up even just a little.

Then he reopened the service bathroom door and, still in silence, led her to another locked door.

When this one also swung open, they were greeted by a poorly lit alleyway that housed the pub's garbage bins. Azuki stepped into the street and then turned while he remained in the doorway.

"I'll stay here until you reach the main street," he said in a tone that brooked no argument, "I won't leave you drunk in a place like this."

It was her turn to gently smile again.

"Chivalrous to the end. Alright, I won't argue. As they say in Italy: Ciao bello, ci vediamo!" She finished, saying goodbye in the foreign language.

"Sh... Shau belo... Shividamu," he tried with disastrous results.

"Ha ha ha--she burst out laughing. --You sound like a Brazilian drag queen! Forget about it!"

"Well then... I'll do as I've always done: Goodbye, Gorgeous," he said, unable to prevent a note of sadness from creeping into his voice.

"Addio, Liam O'Donnell," she said. Then, before the alcohol-fueled emotion could infect her as well, she started walking towards the lit street.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the young man faithfully remaining at his post until she turned around the corner. There, she paused for a moment, then leaned slightly to check that the bartender had gone back inside. Once confirmed, she retraced her steps into the alley.

After a couple of steps, she commanded the thin layer of psychoreactive material covering her to bend the light and blend with the surroundings, making her invisible. She then stopped, took a deep breath, and with a powerful push of her legs, shot upwards, beyond the buildings, making the alley windows tremble as she took flight towards the penthouse.