Indian Pure Milk

He sat on a stool at the almost-empty bar and the bartender brought him the same beer he’d ordered the night before and then disappeared. A black chick was doing a mambo on the stage. Charlie noticed a man and a woman at the far end of the bar who both seemed to be getting into her. “Hey Sara,” the bartender called back into the dressing room. “Yeah?” Sara said. She was sitting on a chair polishing her nails. “I think you might be getting off to a good start tonight. There’s a guy at the bar who was in here indian last night asking about you. You want to go next?” “What’s he look like?” “Older, dark hair, good-looking. You’ve done worse. He likes the net.” “Okay, I’ll go next.” She turned to a strawberry-haired bean pole to her right. “That okay with you, Tiff?” “Sure, go ahead,” Tiffany said, and downed a shot of vodka. Charlie was enjoying watching the dark meat cook on the stage in front of him. She danced like she was in the Soul Train finals and shook her ass a mile-a-minute. Her pussy was huge. He was in a trance staring at it when the bartender returned. “Your girl is on next,” he said. “Alright, thank you,” Charlie said. He watched the rest of the dancer’s set and then watched her retrieve her heels and clothes and slip offstage. She reappeared on the floor shortly thereafter and started working the couple down at the end of the bar that had been digging her. He ordered another beer and waited for, even though it was barely six-thirty, what for him would be the main event of the night. A couple minutes later a sultry swampy groove suddenly kicked out of the sound system and Sara sauntered out onto the stage. She wore heels and her long legs were sheathed in shiny red slacks with a nonexistent crotch, making her black thong plainly visible. Up top she wore a skimpy waistcoat that matched her red pants, and underneath it a black bikini top that matched her thong. The flimsy net covered all the goodies. She sure moved well, Charlie thought. She made eye contact with him almost immediately, pantomimed him a hello and blew him a kiss. Then she proceeded to give him what seemed like a private show. He watched her prance around and hump the pole and chew on the net until she ripped it open and he could hear the Velcro screech as she whipped it off. Her pants came off, then her waistcoat. She humped the pole a few more times and did a split on the floor and rolled over on her knees and bent backwards all the way. Her pussy was just a few feet in front of him and he could see her cameltoe outlined through her minuscule black bottom. She had a tight stomach with a silver waist bracelet wrapped around her and a leafy belly button ring dangling from her navel. She continued her sexy, slimy dance, movin’ to the groovin’, until off came her black top displaying her perky tanned tits with rings in her nipples and she swung her breasts and fondled them. Then finally off came her thong and Charlie watched for the next few minutes as Sara danced for him, and swung her hips for him, and rotated her hairless groin for him, and shook her ass for him, and spread her buttocks for him, and winked her asshole at him. When the music stopped and the show was over, Sara gathered up her assorted garments and ran off the stage naked. Charlie looked up and the bartender was smiling at him. She could not say if she did it it was her acting like a bitch in heat or if it was herself that longed for having the beastly cock up her sex again. “Oh, how far along are you?” I said as if the question came out without me telling it to. I gave her what I will be giving all of you soon. This was like the most embarrassing thing ever, "I can uh explain. "Former QB Frank Krutchen Sentenced to Fifteen Years for Rape." Suck it well and make it hard. "Runter damit!" She yelped and rolled off of him. "I did. “Yes, I am.” I pushed my indian face into that sacred place and raped her with my tongue. My large breasts swayed.