It was nearing midnight, and the small roadside bar in west Texas was preparing to wrap up another slow night. The day was October the 30th, and as the minutes ticked closer to the witching hour, the world drew closer to all hallows eve. A soft, cool wind blew in from the west, disturbing the roadside grasses as well as causing a gnarled mesquite tree, that hovered over the near-deserted parking lot like a disapproving matron, to creak and groan.
In the hazy sky above, the full moon bathed the world in its silvery glow, turning all it did not favor with its light into inky pools.
A soft crunching of gravel heralded the approach of a young woman in candy red cowboy boots. Despite the late hour and remote locale, the woman showed not the slightest hint of trepidation as she sauntered toward the bar. Her tight jean skirt and lacy blouse hugging her lithe frame closely, extenuating her every dip and curve. In the moonlight, her pale skin seemed to shine, though this was dampened somewhat by her rich, dark locks and her blood red lipstick.
As she approached the worn planks of the bar’s front porch, she surveyed the parking lot. Four motorcycles were clustered near the old mesquite, and on the other end, an old chevy sat. With a smirk and a flip of her hair she crossed the bar’s threshold and pushed her way into the dimly lit taproom.
Within it was even hazier than without, the air heavy with cigarette smoke fed by four rough-looking men in biker jackets who were intermittently taking shots of hard whiskey and sips from their beers at one end of the bar. They all looked up as she entered, their dull, semi-intelligent gazes taking on a predatory hunger as they took in her appearance. Behind the bar, a man fast approaching fifty eyed her warily in his turn. There was a recognition in his eyes, this wasn’t her first visit to his establishment.
Casting a suggestive glance at the bikers, the woman awarded them a smirk that easily eclipsed the hunger in their eyes, before sashaying to the bar and sliding onto the patched bar stool directly in front of the barkeep, who quickly busied himself with cleaning a glass and avoiding her gaze.
“Seems like a slow night, Simon,” she observed, dipping a hand into her bosom and withdrawing a stick of gum from somewhere within her cleavage. Casting another glance at the bikers she slowly pushed the gum into her mouth before smirking anew.
“Not a good time o’ year is all, Eliza,” the barkeep mumbled, still avoiding her gaze. “It would help if you would be lettin’ me know when you were droppin’ in.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“That sounded dangerously close to a demand, Simon,” she growled, a guttural sound that seemed impossibly deep for a woman of her size and demeanor.
Sweat beaded on the bartender’s brow and he mumbled something that might have been an apology.
“Hey, sweet cheeks,” a voice slurred behind her. “Why you wasting your breath on this turd when you could be screaming my name right about now?”
Eliza gave Simon one more withering glare before spinning on her stool to regard one of the bikers, their leader she assumed, who stood unsteadily in his combat boots, leering at her with alcohol-reddened eyes.
“Sounds like a boast, mister,” she said, her voice adopting a slight Texan drawl where none had been before. “You got something you wanna prove to me?”
“Only that I could give you the best fuck you ever had,” he growled, then hesitated, his gaze sweeping her form, taking in her attire. “But I ain’t paying for shit.”
“Well you’re in luck then, cowboy,” she replied, “Cause I ain’t no whore.”
The bikers face contorted at her words and he growled anew, thrusting a thick finger into her face. “I ain’t no fudge packing cowboy!” He declared loudly.
Eliza rolled her eyes and slid from the stool. What was it nowadays that made cowboys fudgepackers? She wondered to herself as she sidled closer to the man, her nostrils filling with the scent of his cheap cologne and leather. Reaching down she grabbed his crotch and, looked up at him sultrily through her long lashes, murmured, “looks like you do have something to prove, then.”
Reaching behind her she grabbed a glass of whiskey that Simon had poured for her from the bartop with one hand while, with the other, she took one of the bikers in a firm grip. With sure steps she led him from the bar and into the night, their departure marked with multiple cheers from his compatriots to “get some!”
Once on the porch Eliza leaned her head back and sighed, allowing the cool night air to kiss her cheeks, invigorating her.
The biker allowed himself to be led around the side of the bar, the one bathed in moonlight, before wrenching his hand from her and grabbing her roughly by the hips, attempting to bring his lips to her shoulder or neck. With surprising agility, however, she twisted from his grip.
“What now it’s hard to get?” He slurred. “I ain’t in no mood for no cat n mouse, darlin’.”
Eliza gave him a pouty look. “Well then you’re shit outta luck, darlin’, cause that’s just my game.”
Planting a palm in the center of his chest she pushed him against the bar with surprising force that shook dust from the building’s wall. The biker barely had time to stammer however before she had pushed herself against him fully, her lips finding his, and her warm tongue sliding into his mouth. His surprise quickly gave way to a sex-starved moan, and he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him as their tongues danced.
The hand she had on his chest slid down to his belt buckle, of which she made quick work, before popping the button of his greasy jeans and sliding his fly earthward. Plunging into the heat of his crotch, she clasped his already hardened cock, freeing it into the crisp night air.
Pulling back she glowered at him briefly before taking the whiskey she’d brought out in a single swig and dropping to her knees before him. Giving him two quick strokes to bring him to full erection she drew him into her mouth, taking the salty heat of his manhood fully into her throat without the barest hint of a gag, before withdrawing it so that only the head was squeezed between her lips, then diving in anew.
“Holy shit you know your way around a cock,” he mumbled, leaning back against the bar wall, eyes closed. He tried to put his hands on the back of her head but found them forcibly removed each time. His protests always died in his throat, however, as she brought him closer and closer to climax
Under her expert administrations it didn’t take him long to stiffen. He almost protested when she removed her lips from his shaft, but again it died in his throat as her fingers closed about him and began to pump, tightening each time they neared his already weeping head.
In no time his body became rigid, his fingers contorting stiffly, and he groaned deeply. Eliza directed his aim into the empty glass she still held and milked him until his balls were empty.
As he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, Eliza looked at the glasses contents quizzically. With a forlorn sigh she stood, and turning, began to walk out into the desert.
“What? No round two? No kiss goodnight?” The biker called after her, still struggling to catch his breath.
Eliza turned back and raising the glass called back, “thank you for the offering! Sorry about this next part but, like I said, cat and mouse is my game.”
The biker cocked his head in confusion. Not only was her Texan drawl completely gone but she seemed to be hovering slightly above the ground.
“What cat n’ mouse bullshit you talking?” He demanded.
With a smirk, Eliza directed his gaze to his right where a large rock jutted from the surrounding shrubland. Atop it was crouched a massive mountain lion who was looking directly at him.
Fearfully he grabbed at his jeans around his ankles as the beast lowered its crouch, preparing to pounce. Frantically he looked back for Eliza but the night had seemingly swallowed her. Looking back at the mountain lion he saw it pounce, and barely had time to scream.