1. Swigglewicks


    Date: 10/5/2017, Categories: Exhibitionism, Author: adagio_sabadicus, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    Little be known of the circle-jerks and daisy chains in Shiloh, and with these I get my ague. Out of modesty I am but a mere mortal of prose, penning concoctions and on occasions, a novel. A book monger and savant of a small gathering spool, the thread binding us as one. We bear no images or give prayer in our gatherings. We have our own separatism in our daily chores. Simply put, we are like-minded people when it comes to sexual yens and satisfactions. Nothing is known of our cartouche. We being the undercarriage of above ground Shiloh. Here is where I met my inamorata, when she wore naught but a kiss. I have a gadabout panache about me, but in reality a stranger to some ways. So, it's not often I carouse with unsavory minions but, however, as a writer of dark erotica and gobbledygook gibberish, I must raise my immoral pre-eminence at times, giving truth of the goings-on and matters of the peekaboo's. Just a voyeuristic aficionado bonhomie, I be. Like an apostrophe, between two antebellum willows, stood 'Swigglewicks'. A speakeasy and private lounge designed with a 1920's motif. With a gentle rapping, I tap-tapped on the old plank door whereupon a small slat of wood slid back and an eyeball surveyed me. I whispered the pass word. "Corn beef and quiche." It was only a pass, for I wore the spats, being minor entrepreneur of the punctuation. In mock-pretense, I paid the cover charge and was kindly escorted to a table by the sweetest little coquettish hostess you ever did see. ...
    She, wearing a one-button waist coat with tails and something resembling a G-string, did smile, the glint in her eyes making me feel special. ‘Twas like I was her best customer and her only concern. Nodding gratefully, I allowed her to pull out my chair and took my seat at the table I had reserved. My choice was excellent; close to the stage, near to the sight of my gabling vision. My view, unobstructed, was the best in the house although my hope was to transfer to a downstairs-upper room, and soon. The hoi polloi were seated in mass, dropping a few dollars to catch a view of scantily attired dancers and waitresses. They whistled and leered whilst slowly sipping on a one-brew, as if it would last. Cheap-skates. They’d be eaten alive and spat out before the hour was up. Most of the gals were daily grinders who knew their patrons, and the size of their wallets. No fools, they picked their marks with care whilst milking the unsuspecting newcomers of all they had. Bluegill Alice was ending her session. She homed in on her chosen victim, arms draped around his fat neck, rouged lips pouting promises. Grinding, her hourglass figure, she polished her cunt on the balustrade of his chair before taking him hand. The upstairs rooms awaited, and trousers bulging, he followed her like a dog. Ordering a double Sazerac (absinthe, sugar cube and bitters) just to ogle the waitress, the one with a curvaceous, tightly packaged backside. She was adorable. Young and carefree, she giggling like a ...
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