Young and Easy

In another life, Emily groggily opened her eyes, her cheek glued to the surface of a grain-soaked, worn out bar top. Her skimpy black dress slumped off of one shoulder, an empty shot glass still in her outstretched hand. Her favorite bar was slow on Tuesdays, and especially this time of day. But she could get cheaper drinks here than anywhere else in town, and that was all that mattered. The bartender, a slick-haired young man wearing a sky-blue loose button down shirt gleamed a grin at her.

"Nice to see you're finally awake."

Without asking, he cleaned her empty shot glass and refilled it, an amber colored liquid soaking into the sides of the container. Emily, somewhat painfully, unstuck her face from the bar top and eyed the drink. She gave the bartender a pretty smile, as best she could manage in her current condition.

"Thanks, Johnny. I always could count on you."

She greedily gulped the whiskey, eyes closed, letting the sweet burn slide down her throat and sit in her belly with so many others, trying hard to savor every drop. Her tongue searched the inside of the glass, sponging up anything that might be left over. Finally, she set the glass down, not caring that Johnny was watching her intently.

"I'll be right back, Johnny. Save me a seat."

She attempted to wink at him as she stood, using the bar top as a crutch for her liquored up legs. Her wedge shoes didn't help, but then they were never about practicality, were they? Like the captain of a great barge, Emily carefully careened in the direction of the women's restroom.

Finding her way inside, she closed the door behind her and stumbled towards the lone ladies' toilet in this very small bar. Emily hiked up her dress over her compact hips, and pushed down a matching black thong before landing on the seat a little too hard. She could already feel that last shot hit her, and the world got three ounces fuzzier as she let her head hang and the splash of the seal being broken began.

She did not get up when the peeing stopped. She didn't even raise her head when the latch quietly turned and the door pushed gently open. Within her field of view, just in front of her stood two feet in worn, black dress shoes. She felt a man's fingers lace through her silky hair, and did not resist as her head was pulled up, face to face with a familiar, already swollen cock protruding from the zipper of a pair of slacks. The rod moved closer, and, unfocused, she allowed her lips to part to grant it entry.

Emily was too far gone to do much more than stick her tongue out and let the shaft ride against it, its spongy tip kissing the back of her throat with each thrust. The hand gripped her hair more firmly now, and she felt her arms fall limp to her sides. The other strap to her already misfunctioning dress slipped off, leaving it suspended only by hanging on her small but perky breasts. Emily felt her self drool, a long, slick strand from the tip of her outstretched tongue, landing on her still-exposed pubic mound, running between her folds. From one set of lips to another.

Emily's world was of sky-blue silk and bourbon, a leather belt and an aching jaw. She didn't mind Johnny having his way with her. Johnny was a friend, but also a ferry-man. Her drachmas are flesh, her river amber-gold. Her half-moon eyes registered nothing else.

The toll struck the back of her throat again, this time a little too far, and Emily gagged hard. She fell to the sticky white tiles and her stomach clenched, forcing up nothing but liquor and bile. Immediately Johnny grabbed her, yanked her head off the floor and into the toilet, containing the rest. Johnny muttered something under his breath, but, watching this decent looking but already worn out girl puke her guts out, he kneeled behind her, careful not to make a bigger mess that he's already going to have to clean up. Using her ridiculously undersized dress as a handle, Johnny jammed his cock into Emily's drunk, slobbered up, naked, convulsing cunt.

Emily barely noticed. With every retch, her snatch clenched against Johnny's rod, which was wildly slamming into her without any sort of rhythm. Every stroke sent her now exposed breasts flying, clashing against each other and rippling against the rim of her porcelain altar. She watched as waves of her precious booze were launched from her mouth to join the depths below.

It wasn't long before Johnny reached his limit. Each hand grabbing hold of Emily's slender hips, he let loose, shooting ropes of his seed as deep as he could manage into her needy hole. Emily's own spasms, hers from her alcohol poisoning, caused her to clamp down on his shaft as he did so. Johnny groaned as the weight of the load he carried was lightened. After that, everything went black for Emily.

When she woke up, clothes on (or what little passed for clothes that she wore), the world was still spinning. Her head was pounding. Squinting, she look out into the bright world before her. She recognized this place, it was the alley behind the bar she frequented so much. She was slumped against the etched, rust-colored brick, mostly clean herself but out of focus. Her hair was a tangled mess. The sun still shined high in the sky.

Emily didn't really remember too much from earlier. Her stomach muscles and her throat were sore. She must have thrown up. Hopefully Johnny didn't have too much of mess to clean up. There was a hungry pit in her belly - she was starving. She tried to get up, wobbling to her feet in her stupid shoes. She was still pretty lubricated, but throwing up must have helped her sober up just enough to start walking down the road. Lucky her, she knew a burger joint nearby where she could get some food cheaper than she can get anywhere else. And that was all that mattered.