Sexy Breasts Fighting
On Bar Brawls And Sexy Breasts
It was not quite two in the morning and the atmosphere in the "All Ours Diner" was as flat and torpid as the lukewarm coffee in Bobby Mullins' cup. Slumped at a rear booth, he stared out across a sea of glinting vinyl upholstery and black formica as visions of Cynthia whirled about his fatigued brain.
God, but she had been incredible-looking! Her long flowing black hair had a sheen-like lacquered coal. Her tawny complexion was flawless, almost unnatural in its smooth head-to-toe perfection. And if Cynthia's dark and lustrous eyes were somewhat cold, the lines of her sexy mouth a bit hard, her stunning figure made up for these small imperfections. Or so Bobby had told himself.
Sometimes (usually after Cynthia's perfunctory and passionless lovemaking) he had almost wished that she weren't too damned beautiful for him to leave. But that problem had solved itself.
"Money or dames?"
A small, 50ish, pug-nosed man in a cook's cap and an apron which had probably once been white stood behind the counter to his right, swabbing at it languidly. Startled out of his reverie, it took a moment for Bobby to realize the diner was otherwise empty and the little man was speaking directly to him.
"Huh? What?" Bobby finally managed to say.
"Hey, pal, don't let me butt in or nuttin' but I been runnin' this joint for a while now. A good-lookin' young guy like you sits for three hours with his nose on da table, and it's gotta be either money or dames. No third choice," he said in almost overpowering Brooklyn-ese.
Bobby sighed. "It's probably both, in my case. I lost my girl last week and my job will probably be next. I can't seem to concentrate on anything. Or sleep, either, for that matter."
"Well, ain't dat da shits! Hey, hows about a warm-up! Imade us a fresh pot." Bobby shrugged and the little man moved around the end of the bar to refill his cup.
Bobby stood and stretched, stiff from sitting. As he did, a sweep of headlights momentarily flooded the diner's deserted interior, then came the thunk of a car door closing. He ambled back toward the men's room, hearing the counterman call out familiarly to someone as the restroom door closed behind him.
Coming out, he was annoyed to see someone now seated at his booth. The counterman was speaking to the hooded figure in a low voice. He tried to slip past to another table, but the little man took hold of his arm before he could.
"Hey, pal, I want youse to meet somebody. This is Ammy."
Bobby glanced toward the table, eager to be done with the introduction so he could be alone once more. But, as his eyes met the stranger's, his irritation was instantly forgotten.
They were the deepest, clearest blue imaginable, the kind of blue that tinted contacts tried to reproduce but could never quite capture. The white portion shone like snow in the sun, the eyes of a china doll come to life.
"Talk to dis guy, Ammy. He could use a woman's prospective," the gristly little counterman growled.
She wore the merest hint of make-up, a bit of color of her cheeks and lips, perhaps some mascara. He guessed her age to be within a few weeks of his own 28 years. Her face could not be called beautiful-a slightly crooked nose prevented that-but her generous features had a candor and wholesomeness that was very attractive. And her eyes were so compelling it was hard to focus on much else.
"Hello? Anybody home?"
As she spoke, Bobby realized he had been staring. He felt the blood rush to his face.
"I'm very sorry-I didn't mean to be rude. Your eyes are just so incredibly beautiful. I…I've never seen anything quite like them."
"Why, thank you. What a sweet thing to say!" She smiled easily, seeming as calm and unruffled as he was flustered. "I was about to have some coffee. Do you mind if I sit here?"
Bobby began to mentally rummage about for a plausible excuse to put the woman off, but his eyes locked with hers again and he heard himself say, "Not at all, please do. And my name's Bobby."
After her coffee arrived, Bobby said, "Ammy…Is that A-M-M-Y?" She nodded.
"That's very unusual. I don't think I've ever heard it before."
"And you probably never will. It's sort of a nickname. Bill's the only person who still calls me that. We've known each other quite a while."
She raised her mug in the little man's direction in a sort of salute. He grinned and waved back from behind the bar.
"In fact, we're business partners. I'm half owner of this place."
She paused to sip at the steaming mug now held delicately between her long fingertips.
"Which at least partially explains why I should be here at this god-awful hour. What brings you out in the middle of the night? Wait, before you tell me, would you mind?"
She undid the clasp at the front of the hooded cape and glided smoothly out of the booth.
Ammy stood. And stood. And stood some more.
At a fraction over 5'11', Bobby was not short. Yet, once on his feet, he found he had to reach upward to take the cloak-like garment from Ammy's shoulders. As the hood fell away, a thick mass of wavey blonde tresses cascaded down, reaching just past her shoulderblades.
"Thanks," she said, and turned to face him.
She wore a full-cut red smock, artfully brocaded and bejeweled, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her jeans were plain and indigo blue. The blouse reached to mid-thigh, making it impossible to tell much about her figure beyond the fact that she was an immense woman. Even in the low-heeled oxfords she wore, she was at least half a head taller than he.
Seated once more, and with the hood gone, Bobby could see that Ammy was perhaps a mature mom, older than he had first thought. There was a pattern of fine lines around those mesmerizing eyes and a confidence and surety about her that only came with years of living. But she radiated a vigor and intensity that belied those years.
"Really," she said, "I'm told I'm a good listener."
Her beautiful eyes seemed to hold a genuine and penetrating compassion, and, after a moment's hesitation, Bobby plunged in.
Ammy listened quietly while he spoke and did not interrupt him once. He talked about Cynthia, starting with how he had courted her for months to get her to go out with him. He talked about those first blissful weeks together and how soon only a flood of flowers and gifts and dinners could stem Cynthia's growing ambivalence toward him. Finally, he told her of his humiliation at the ice-rink last week, when Cynthia had demanded he beat up the three guys whose rough-housing had caused her to fall and the screaming tantrum she had thrown when he declined.
"I suppose she was right…I wimped out," Bobby said. "Anyway, Cynthia made me take her home, telling me all the way how pathetic Iwas, how I'd never know what it was to be a real man. She called the next day to say it was over and to ask for her photos back. That's what Cynthia always gave as gifts-photographs. God, she was so beautiful."
Bobby leaned back in the booth, more melancholy than ever. "I guess she does deserve a real man."
Ammy sat studying him silently a moment. Then she spoke.
"Bobby, listen to me. I used to be…um, work for an adult magazine. In a branch of show business that…well, that wasn't considered too lady-like. Every day, I was surrounded by people who were telling me who and what I was. But it wasn't me they were talking about, it was what they wanted me to be and do for them."
She paused as Bill silently filled their cups and quickly vanished.
"Being 'manly'-or 'womanly'-isn't about what you do. It's about how you feel. And you've let someone else tell you how you feel. That's almost always a mistake."
She reached across the table and rested her hand on his, almost covering it completely.
"And there's a big difference between courage and macho stupidity. Starting a public brawl when you're outmatched three-to-one definitely falls into the second category."
Her touch was soft and caressing as she traced tiny circles on his wrists with her forefinger.
"Tell me something. This is just a guess, but Cynthia wasn't particularly comfortable with her own sexuality, was she?" Ammy asked.
But before Bobby could answer, the room was filled with a raucous thunder as three hogs crunched to a halt on the gravel outside in quick succession.
"Ah, cripes! Not these assholes again!" Bill said when the sound of the engines abruptly died.
The first one through the door was lanky and tall with a face like a rodent's, the next of average build, his head clean shaven. The third one could have been mistaken for a Polled Hereford bull, had he been a bit smaller and more intelligent looking. All three sported the traditional leathers, boots and grime.
"Hey, old man," the ferret-faced one said, leaning on the counter. "Three longnecks and keep 'em coming!"
Bobby shot a quick glance to Ammy. She shook her head slightly and made a small dismissive gesture with her hand.
"I know them," she said softly. "Local wanna-be's."
"Fella's, do we gotta go through dis every week? Youse guys know I can't serve no beer after midnight."
The bald one reached across the counter and pulled the front of Bill's apron, pulling him toward him.
"Hey, Animal! That's not a very good idea."
It was Ammy who had spoken. Her tone was even, almost cordial, yet edged with a steely authority. For a heartbeat, the room was quiet and still. Then the three renegades turned their heads toward the back of the diner in perfect synchronization.
Something about this unintentional choreography struck Bobby as funny, and he was forced to stifle a laugh. The one called Animal relaxed his grip on Bill and sauntered back toward their booth with studied casualness.
"Well, if it ain't the Jolly Queen Giant," he said in a saccharin voice. Bobby felt an odd but vaguely pleasant pressure begin to build in his chest. "Your boyfriend ain't too smart, is he?" he said, fixing his gaze on Bobby.
"Your 'mean look' could stand some work, Animal," Ammy said in a considered, forceful voice. "What do you think, Bobby?"
"Definitely room for improvement," Bobby said. "Maybe if he sneered a little more…"
Animal's eyes widened for a second in astonishment.
"You tryin' to start some shit with me, cocksucker?" he said, and swept Bobby's coffee cup off the table.
"And they say the art of conversation is dead," Ammy said to Bobby, smiling sweetly.
Bobby felt very strange. The feeling in his chest was spreading rapidly, infusing his whole body with warmth and energy. He felt relaxed but hyper-alert, almost euphoric.
"Hey, cunt, when I-h-h-h-humph!"
Without rising, without even knowing he was about to do it, Bobby had shot a line-drive jab into Animal's solar plexus. It was an awkward position from which to punch, but there was a year's worth of pent-up anger and frustration behind the blow, and it took the biker totally by surprise. Animal folded like a chaise lounge.
As he doubled over the table, Ammy swung her empty coffee mug in a short perfectly-aimed arc. The heavy mug literally exploded against the biker's shiney head. He collapsed onto the table, then limply slid to the floor.
Bobby looked across at Ammy in amazement. As their eyes met, he saw something change in her face. Before her cry of warning could even leave her lips, he lunged from the booth and whirled in a single movement.
Something large and red and shiney filled his field of vision and he heard a noise like a gunshot, except it seemed to come from inside his head, not outside. While he was trying to figure out what that might mean and why everything had gone red and black, he felt himself begin to float. Then he quit caring about much of anything and went somewhere else.
The next thing Bobby was aware of was a pleasant feeling of coolness on his brow. He found if he focused on the coolness, the throbbing on the left side of his head was almost bearable. Then he saw Ammy's beautiful face looking down at him, less than a foot from his own and frozen with genuine worry. She held something cold and wet to his forehead, the source of the blissful sensation.
"I know it's sort of cliched to ask, but where am I?"
Ammy's look of concern relaxed somewhat and she said in a soft voice, "You're in the back room of a cheap diner on a wornout mattress regaining consciousness."
"I thought it was something like that," he said. "What happened?"
"How much do you remember? You took a pretty good shot from a ketchup bottle," she said, plunging the cloth into a pan of water beside her and wringing it out.
"I remember the road rats coming into the diner. I remember punching the bald one and turning around and…that's a. A goddess not only of fecundity and sensuality, but of the supreme power of the feminine itself.
She crossed to him and, kneeling beside him on the mattress, worked his briefs down to free the rock-hard erection he now proudly possessed. But then, instead of straddling him on her knees as he had expected she would, Ammy stood and stepped over him, standing with one foot on either side of his chest. Squatting, she rose up on the balls of her feet and, after finding her balance, leaned forward in a quasi-athletic stance.
Reaching behind her with her left hand, Ammy found his pulsing cock and lowered herself another few inches until her pouting lips brushed the head of his dick. She began to work his cock from side to side, slapping it against her dangling pudenda with short quick movements of her hand. Every so often, she would change direction, rubbing his cock-head up and down the furrow of her pussy and teasing her clit with it. Soon her hot juices were flowing down onto him like a ripe, sun-warmed peach.
Her dangling, bell-shaped big boobs hung inches from his face, and he tilted his head back and gingerly tongued the nipple of her left breast. It stiffened instantly, swelling into a thick knot of tightness. As he hungrily sucked her huge nipples into his mouth, Ammy moaned deep in her throat. She cradled his head with her free hand and pushed his face hard into her pliant mounds.
Ammy brought her knees together on either side of her massive breasts, trapping them between her thighs and squeezing them together. Bobby continued to suck her rigid dugs as he gripped her abundant breast-flesh, now made dense and unyielding by the pressure of her legs.
Until now she had been teasing him and herself, but his attention to her swollen nipples and voluptuous breasts soon fanned the flames she had kindled so well. Making sure his cock was notched into her wet cleft, she moved her hand up to his chest. Her fingers were wet with her own juices and he could smell the thick scent of her arousal. She pushed herself down onto him, taking him in up to the hilt in one smooth motion. As he sank deep into her, he felt her cunt muscles convulse and tighten around him with amazing force.
She rode him with skill and exuberance, adroitly varying the speed and power of her strokes every few moments. Sometimes she would angle her pelvis upward and only fuck the last two inches of his cock, squeezing the glans rhythmically with the mouth of her hot canal as she did. Then, when she had tantalized him sufficiently and he was bucking and moaning to feel himself all the way inside of her, she would plunge herself down on him once more, driving his hips into the mattress and pounding her groin against his manhood with powerful jackhammer blows.
Straddling him as she was, their only points of contact were her hands on his chest and their groins. But, somehow this seemed to focus and magnify the incredible sensations coursing through Bobby's body. For a timeless interval, it was as if the entire universe had turned to pure and indescribable pleasure.
Looking up into her fathomless eyes, he realized he couldn't hold back much longer. The image of Ammy's luscious and powerfully-built body, suspended, bouncing up and down while her face hung motionless six inches from his own was quickly pushing him over the edge. He was about to cry out that he was coming when her body went suddenly rigid. Drawing a deep shuddering breath, she leaned in and pressed her face to his as she ground her pelvis desperately against him. Her orgasm was loud and forceful, sweeping over her at the same instant as his own. They surged together in a perfect and mindless unity, throbbing and pulsing in syncopation as their two bodies briefly became one.
When Ammy emerged from the back room half an hour later, the sun was coming up. Bacon hissed on the griddle as the relief cook worked beside Bill to serve the dozen or so patrons now scattered about the cafe.
When he say Ammy, Bill's face instantly lit up and he called out in a campy, theatrical voice, "The winner and still champeen, Amaz-o-o-o-nia!"
Ignoring the turned heads and startled stares, Ammy stepped behind the counter and crossed quickly to Bill. Speaking in low, clipped tones, she said, "Dammit, Bill! Stop it! Not in front of the customers, okay!"
Bill's smile quickly fled and he looked suddenly abashed and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess last night just got me thinkin' about the good old glory days." Ammy put a hand on Bill's shoulder and spoke much more softly.
"Bill, you were my manager for six years, and I love you dearly. But I put wrestling behind me a long time ago. I can live with 'Ammy'-I even kind of like it-but please don't call me 'Amazonia' in public. Okay?"
"Sure, doll. Wot ever you say. Hey, how's da kid doin'?" he asked, brightening once more.
"He's fine. In act, he's sound asleep. Let's leave him rest a while."
"No problem. It'll give us a chance to get that hand of yours seen to. You got one knuckle busted for sure- maybe me." Bill began taking off his apron. "Hey, what did da kid say about youse cleanin' those jerks clocks last night?"
"He doesn't know, Bill." She gave him a no-nonsense look as they walked toward the door. "And he's never going to find out. Agreed?" She smoothly swung her cape around her ample shoulders.
"But, couldn't I just…"
"No, Bill!That 'kid,' as you call him, is going through a tough time. He made a stand last night, maybe for the first time. I won't take that away from him. And you won't, either."
By scoreland online publications
|| © Copyright
4/5/2006; 1:05:47 AM.