Adult stories

Head Barman (1340 words)

“We have a couple of jobs open, Ms Bronson,” Aaron lied as he sank into the seat, dismayed to realise that he was trembling. “Which one was it that you were interested in?”

“Head bar…” Say it! It’s the twenty-first Century. You can be a barman like anyone else. “…man,” she finished after the briefest hesitation. “Head barman. I presume you’ve read my résumé?”

“Oh, yeah,” he lied. “You have all the right experience. But you’ve gained most of it abroad, is that right?”

Damn! “I spent a year in Australia and four-week stint in Thailand,” Sam said, nodding.

Aaron decided to be blunt. “So you’ve no experience in throwing out drunken American truckers when they’re intent on copping a feel?”

Sam raised her eyebrows. “You get many truckers in here? I was under the impression that this was an exclusive Gentleman’s…” lecherous bastard’s “…club.”

Aaron squirmed. “Well, yeah. It is, but…”

“Then can I ask you this; have you ever seen an Australian farmer drinking? He can walk through the door and put down ten pints before he even says G’day to his mates.”

“But it can get rough in here.”

“Rough?” Sam spluttered. “Let me tell you rough. One Australian stripper could take out both of your doormen. I’ve seen bar fights that lasted two and a half hours.” She stepped closer and leaned on the table. “Australian police don’t wade in when they’re called to a bar fight – they shut down the neighbourhood to contain it as if it was a fire. You don’t break up brawlers over there – you give them room to finish it up, then everyone can get on with their drinking.”

“Well,” Aaron muttered, pretending to glance at the résumé. His hand was shaking as he tried to avoid peeing down Sam’s low-cut top. “What’s your experience with handling a team of bar staff?”

“I’ve supervised a dozen staff in three different bars.” Sam straightened up.

“Just women?”

“Men and women – aged eighteen to fifty-five. Never had any trouble.” She folded her arms, hiding her breasts and Aaron sighed with relief. Now, if only he could stop glancing at her legs. Was she wearing stockings? A persistent voice suggested that he ought to offer her a seat so that he could check for stocking tops.

Shit…no. “Ah, well, that’s great. Now, can you please fetch me a Mojito?”

Sam nodded. “You want fresh mint leaves or essence?”

“Fresh – please. And use sugar, not syrup.”

“Of course,” Sam smiled. As she strode off towards the bar, Aaron’s eyes fastened onto her legs and butt. He sighed.

“Do you dance?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Shit!

Sam turned, frowning. “Do I dance? Why do you ask?”

Aw, hell. “You have very…toned legs,” he spluttered. Keep it professional, you dumb bastard!

“Thanks,” Sam smiled. “I use Burlesque and pole dancing to keep fit.”

Aaron whimpered quietly. Images of Sam in a basque and stockings slammed into his mind. He squeezed his temples between his thumb and forefinger and sighed. His hand helped to conceal the scantily-clad sight from his eager eyes.

“Do you have a headache?” Sam asked. Aaron nodded.

“Still want a Mojito?”

This time Aaron shook his head. “Just a JD – straight,” he groaned. This was never going to work, he realised. He couldn’t stand to even look at her. How the hell was he going to be able to work with her? Even if Jacob stayed, he’d probably see her every night, her tits and ass teasing him with what he couldn’t let himself have.

The Jack Daniels clicked as it touched the table. Aaron opened his eyes – and immediately got an eyeful of Sam’s long legs. His eye traced the line of her hip, the indent of her neat waist and finally settled onto her breasts. They were so close…he could just lift his hands and…

He reached instead for the glass and drained it in one gulp.

Sam watched him, wondering what was going on. The outfit was working, she was sure, but Aaron kept looking away, as if he couldn’t stand to look at her. Did he not want her around, or what? Maybe he was testing her to see how badly she wanted this job. Well, if she had to flaunt it a little, it would be worth it to get out from beneath her mother’s feet. It wouldn’t be the first bar job she’d earned at the expense of a little skin flash. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and jerked it upwards, wriggling her butt and flexing her knees for good measure.

“Darn thing,” she muttered. “Keeps slipping down. Sorry,” she smiled at Aaron. “Wouldn’t want it to drop round my ankles while we’re talking.”

Aaron just stared at her, his eyes wide with shock.

“Wh – why don’t you sit down?” he gestured towards a chair. Sam immediately sat herself directly opposite him, crossing her legs as she did so. The pale flash of thigh was like an electric shock to Aaron’s nerves.

Sam smiled to herself. “So, are there anything other cocktails you need me to put together for you?”

“I…um…appreciate that you know your way around a bar, but…”

“But?” Sam echoed, her voice trembling.

“But…I have…other candidates to interview today.”

“Oh…” she croaked. If any of them were guys and had the right experience, she’d lose her chance, she realised.

“I can do the job, Mister Marraccini. Just let me prove myself. I’ll…work a week – for free – just to show you.” Sam stopped, realising that she was practically begging for the job.

“I’m sure you can, Miss,” Aaron smiled tightly. He realised he was patting her knee. Gritting his teeth, he knew he should lean back and break contact, but a stronger urge within him had locked his muscles. He knew he shouldn’t – but he also knew that he enjoyed feeling the warmth of her knees beneath his hands.

“Is there nothing I can do?” Sam sighed. Her legs were trembling at the thought of having to tell her mother that she’d failed.

Why not bribe him with a little sweetener?

Sam relaxed her thighs and her knees slowly drifted apart. It was a moment before Aaron realised what was happening. His posture shifted as he prepared to pull back, but Sam’s hands were faster, landing on top of his to trap them. She slid her butt forwards slightly, exposing a little more thigh as her short skirt slid upwards. Aaron stared at the pale thighs that topped the dark stockings. Sweat sprang to his brow as he fought against his buried addiction, but the long dark road beckoned to him once again.

“Nothing at all that I can do?” Sam asked. Her voice had deepened to a husky whisper.

“No…” Aaron muttered, unable to tear his gaze away from her thighs. As she slid further down in the chair, he caught sight of the strip of black material that covered her crotch.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… he told himself. I don’t want to go there again. If I touch her, it’ll all spiral out of control and my life’ll turn to shit again. He remembered the endless nights of screwing, boozing and mixing drugs. Day and night had blurred into one long grey haze. He’d lost track of the club’s finances, alienated the staff, fought with customers and even gotten himself arrested three times. That was when Jacob had stepped in and kicked his butt. He’d taken over the club and sent his brother across the ocean for nine weeks to clean up. And it had worked. No sex, no drugs and without them, even the booze had begun to lose its appeal.

And now, his own mind was urging him to begin all over again with some easy pussy. After that, a quick call to his dealer – he had the number memorised – and he’d be back in a drug-induced haze before sunset. So easy.

But he’d lose everything.

And his brother would kill him.

© Gothic Bite Magazine

Written by Monsters for Monsters


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