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may by posted as part of a review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive sites.

Copyright 1998 by E. Z. Riter.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

This is the repost of a fifty-two chapter mind control, multi person romance.

Please! Give me your comments.

 

MY INHERITANCE

Chapter 39

Honkytonkin

Lisa was squirming in the captain's chair in the truck as we zipped down the highway. If ever there

was a woman in sexual need, it was she. The bell was tinkling like sleigh bells at Christmas time.

The flush never left her face.

"Looking forward to this?" I asked.

"Oh, no, Davy. I really don't want this!"

"What a lying cunt," the devil dog muttered. "She is hot as a pistol."

"Yes, I agree. She cannot admit to herself how much she likes sex and how much she wants it.

Therefore, she denies it and makes us force her into it," the scientist replied.

"What! You two guys agreeing on something? This is a first," the Davy in my brain said.

Had my poor brain spilt again, trifurcating itself? And, what were the two deadly opponents doing

agreeing?

"It is not really that uncommon. She wants to be a slut but does not want it, all at the same time.

So, she gives the control to her male, allowing her to be free of responsibility. Why don't you ask

her if she wants to go back home?" the scientist suggested.

"Ask hell! Take the bitch somewhere and get her gangbanged," the devil dog chimed in.

"Want to go back home, Lisa?" I asked.

"What? Home? I thought we were going to a honky tonk."

"Is that what you want?"

"It is not my decision. It is yours. I am your slave, remember?"

"If you do go to the honky tonk, you will be humiliated. Everyone there will know you are a wild

slut. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not. But, I must obey what you say. So, if you say I must, I must."

Interesting, isn't it? They were right. But, why? Was she afraid to admit what she wanted? Or,

was she unsure of it herself? Was it a fantasy she loved down deep in her psyche but was afraid to

live? Was it simply fear of unknown men having her, of the violence or harm which could ensue?

Or, a conflict in her from upbringing (be a good girl) versus genetics (oh, yeah, let's get laid)?

"We are going to the honky tonk. You will obey my commands. I want you to be humiliated all

you can stand," I said.

"Yes, sir," was what she replied but her body language screamed at me. She could neither repress

her grin nor stop her squirming on the seat. What I had said made her happy. She was being

forced into doing what she wanted to do anyway.

Assume for a minute you had this situation? You are the dominant one dealing with someone over

whom you have power? How do you know what to do? Can you believe their words? Their body

language? Do they really want it? Is it a fantasy? Where is reality? And, where will reality be

tomorrow, in the cold light of day? Not only their reality, but yours? Let's say you force your

spouse or roommate into sex with a third party. Will you be happy about it the next day? Or, will

you be angry at them for obeying you?

I slowed the truck and made the turn into the tiny parking lot of The Tomahawk Lounge.

This honky tonk looked like a good place to get into one hell of a fight. It was a desolate hole just

like a thousand other similar places spread out over the great southwest. Mine was the only vehicle

in the lot made in the last five years. If gravel or pavement had ever graced the parking lot, it was

long ago. The dirt was hard packed and dust quickly covered our feet as we walked towards the

metal door beneath the sign which said "eer" since the neon "b" was out.

Lisa was trembling, which made the bell tinkle even more. Having it dangle between her calves she

could not stop it without assuming an awkward position. When I opened the door, the smoke hit

us like a wave and the roar of the crowd exploded into the still desert night. Eyes turned to see

who was coming in and the crowd roar diminished when they saw Lisa. She froze in the doorway,

seeing at the men staring at her. I knew fear was coursing through her.

"Come on, slut," I said loud enough to be heard by many of them and walked towards a table. I

felt Lisa's hand on my shoulder for comfort as she scurried after me.

Three men were standing at the bar, bracing themselves on their elbows as their dead eyes

followed us. They probably had been telling each other lies about this woman they fucked or that

crap game, or how they took a stranger in a pool game. Four more men were around a dilapidated

pool table on which no good game could be played, leaning on crooked and worn out cues.

The place smelled of smoke and grease and cheap whiskey. The walls were painted cinder block

adorned with beer signs or posters of women. As I looked around, I saw Rita Hayworth's pinup

from World War II and the Farrah Fawcett poster from the seventies which started the whole

poster craze. It had been awhile since anyone had decorated. Then, I saw the Pamela Lee photo

blowup, the one where she has cum on her face and is holding a cock. So, at least something in

the place was relatively new.

A Hispanic looking man somewhere in upper middle age was behind the bar. He was about five

five in height and probably weighed one hundred thirty pounds. From the look in his face, he had

been in more than one fight and probably won them all. The rest of them were a motley crew in

various shapes and sizes. They had one common dominator. They were the sorriest looking group

of malcontents I had ever seen.

The table I selected had a half moon bench big enough for four and two chairs opposite. After we

sat, the pool table went back to their game and the bar guys to their stories but I could tell they

were all listening to and appraising the newcomers intruding on their turf. The bartender eased

from behind the bar toward us, moving with a rolling gate, like a man use to being at sea, which

the Navy tattoos on his forearms seemed to confirm.

"We don't get many strangers, particularly not any that look like her," he said, his eyes never

leaving Lisa's breasts.

Lisa was horribly red and continued her uncontrollable trembling but I could smell her flooding

pussy even over the stench of the honky tonk.

"We just want some beer and a little party time," I replied.

"Maybe you should go someplace else."

"Why? We can pay."

"This crowd, well, they might want to spend some party time of their own with the lady."

Lisa drew in a quick breath with a sound as her nails dug into my arm. Someone else might have

thought it was fear. I knew she was about to explode with sexual desire. A tear formed in the

corner of one of her eyes as she fought to control her breathing.

"Tell them I share but only when I am ready."

"They may not want to wait."

"Then, tell them I have a 9mm Glock in my hand under the table and I will kill anybody who

pushes me too hard."

"Sounds like an idle threat," the bartender replied but his coal black eyes were on me now and Lisa

was irrelevant for the moment.

I pulled my hand out from under the table to show him the Glock. His eyes got wide and he

stepped back a foot. I slipped the gun away again. Suddenly, a big grin, showing dirty, broken

teeth, covered his face.

"Your time table sounds fine to me," he said. "I will tell the boys."

"Thanks, and buy them a round on me."

He nodded and started for the bar. A door opened in the back and a man came out, adjusting his

pants, settling them comfortably below a substantial beer belly. Behind him was a ragged woman

with a beaten look in her eyes. You know the look, like the person has been so far down for so

long they will have to climb up to reach what the rest of us think is the bottom.

I saw her wipe a dapple of cum from the corner of her mouth as she came through the door. She

went to the bar, picked up a piece of already chewed gum from the corner and popped it into her

mouth. The bartender whispered to her before she walked toward us.

"Whatcha want?" she asked, popping the gum.

"I will have a Diet Coke, the slut will have a boilermaker."

The waitress started openly at Lisa, perhaps sizing up the competition for the best man in the

room. Lisa's color had been red ever since I opened the door and she had never looked up from

the floor. I knew her blood pressure was sky high. The waitress scurried off to get out drinks.

"Look around, slut. Are you going to enjoy fucking this crowd?"

With considerable effort, Lisa forced herself to start looking at the men. They were a sorry lot:

drifters, oil field trash, cow hands. I would have guessed that of the nine of them, not one had a

bath that week. And, every one was staring at her at she surveyed them.

I could see why they could not take their eyes off Lisa. She was a very attractive woman with a

good body. She wore a see through blouse which showed off her breasts and her nipple rings.

She had on a skin tight skirt that did not cover her pussy when she sat, giving every one a good

shot of her beaver. Most of all, that damn bell never stopped tinkling. I knew that bell was the

reason the noise level was substantially less that it was when we entered. Every man was listening

to that bell and thinking impure thoughts.

Yes, Lisa was a perfect slut and everyone knew it. She knew it and she was loving it.

"Why are you being so nice?" Diablo asked. "Let's get on with it."

"No. Let's do it slowly. Let the tension build," the scientist replied.

I wondered why the two of them were still in agreement, why the scientist was not telling us to get

out of there. My own anxiety was sky high. I knew it was a situation I might not be able to

control, even with the gun. Was I getting my jollies from the fear? From controlling Lisa? Or, the

men?

"Here you go, honey," the waitress said, sitting our drinks on the table. She started to walk away.

"Hey, talk to us for a minute. Are you the only waitress?"

"Does this place look like it can afford two?" was her smart remark.

"What other services do you offer?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"You a cop?"

"No."

"Five dollars for a blow job. Twenty for a straight fuck."

"Pretty low priced."

She grinned. "Look at me, honey. I am not Lois Lane."

"I will make you a deal. Lisa has always wanted to be a honky tonk waitress. If you let her do your

job tonight, I will pay you fifty dollars and give you all the money she makes, including tips."

"Davy?" Lisa whispered.

"Shut up, slut," I answered without looking at her.

The waitress looked us both over carefully.

"Just for tonight? I really need this job."

"Just for tonight."

"Okay. Gimme the fifty first."

"I will give it to the bartender. He can pay you later."

She waved the bartender over. After a hurried conference, I gave him two hundreds to cover my

bar bill and the money for the waitress. She set down by us. Lisa's nails were digging into my

wrist when I turned to her.

"Be the waitress. If any man touches you, you freeze and let him do whatever he wants until you

hear me call your name. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," she gasped out.

"Drink your drink. Go ahead."

Lisa drank the jigger of whiskey, coughing and wheezing some, and chased it with the beer. It

would take the tension off. I seized the back of her neck with my hand and pulled her to me,

kissing her hard as my free hand slipped between her legs. She offered no resistance, spreading

for me. I unclipped the chain with the bell, then slipped a finger into her. A few strokes in and

out and she was humping my hand. I pulled away.

"Now, go be the bar girl."

She gulped and nodded. She slipped out of the booth and straightened her skirt. It was then she

realized again every eye in the place was on her. She began to shake. As she walked away, I saw

the huge wet spot on the back of her skirt. I wondered if she was that lubricated or she had peed

on herself.

The little waitress Lisa replaced looked at me for instruction.

"Want to make an extra fifty?"

"Sure, honey. What do you want?"

"Get under the table and suck me. I am not going to cum but I want a mouth around my cock."

"I don't get under the table for nobody," she said, her chin quivering as she tried to dig deep for

some pride and control over her body.

"Do it now or I will leave and tell every man in the place it is your fault they did not get to fuck

Lisa. What will they do to you?"

She turned pale and quickly glanced around at the crowd. She slipped off the bench and under the

table. Her fingers were on my zipper. In a moment, I felt her mouth around my cock.

"Nice work," the devil dog said. "Now, that is using power. That bitch really did not want to get

under the table. I am proud of you."

The scientist was quiet.

Lisa was delivering the first tray of drinks. The men were watching her. She was trying to be

unobtrusive, but she was sending off sexual signals left and right.

"Any interesting study, don't you think, Doc," Diablo said in a conversational tone.

"Yes, definitely," the scientist replied.

It was interesting. Lisa wanted to be fucked so badly she was almost out of control, yet she fought

it. But, you could see her body movements changing as she moved back and forth among the men.

She started bending over from the waist rather than kneeling, which stuck her ass out invitingly.

She bent over with her shoulders in a position to make her breasts more visible. Her tone of voice

became more sensual. She was increasing the bait for the fish she was trying to catch.

After about twenty minutes, The Tomahawk Lounge was eerily quiet as the men sipped their

drinks and watched her moving back and forth between them. Her eyes flicked back at me

frequently. I could not tell if she was making sure I was still there for safety, or looking for

instructions. I gave no response.

There were twelve people in the lounge. Lisa, me, the waitress who was still under the table with

my cock in her mouth, the bartender, and eight other men. As I watched them, I wondered who

would make the first move. They were talking among themselves in low tones, like prisoners when

the warden is watching.

Lisa was on the edge of tears just from the waiting.

The leader of the men appeared to be a Indian-Hispanic looking man about fifty, with still coal

black hair and dark eyes deep set in a weathered face. He was a raw boned man with giant

shoulders and a paunch but no other fat anywhere. His hands were big and knarled as if he had

worked hard outdoors his entire life. He was sitting two tables away, facing me.

Lisa stopped at the table to deliver drinks. I saw his hand move to rest on her knee. She froze as

her head popped up to look at me. I could see both their faces and his hand. He moved it up her

leg, watching me for a reaction. Lisa stood as still as she could.

Again, his hand moved. All the others were now watching this little dance. The bartender kept

looking back and forth between the Indian and me, as if observing a tennis match. His hands were

out of sight behind the bar. I wondered if he had a baseball bat or a shotgun back there.

Again, the Indian's hand moved upward, now resting half on her stocking tops and half on her bare

thigh. Again, he waited to see if I objected. I made no movement, gave no sign.

"Now, we are going to get some action." Diablo said.

"Yes. Well worth the wait," the scientist agreed.

His hand disappeared under her skirt. Lisa was trembling badly now, her face red, tears in her

eyes. I wished I could have been in her mind right then. She knew she was seconds away from

having this stranger's rough hand on her pussy, knew she was minutes away from being taken by

all these men. She had to wonder if it would hurt, or if I would lose control. Was she humiliated?

Or, was she simply in sexual heat, her desire so great any man, any hand was welcome? If she

wanted to get away, I saw no sign of it.

The Indian turned his wrist and Lisa grunted slightly and widened her stance. Her lip begin to

quiver. I watched her face. It was obvious when he stuck a finger up her pussy. He did not move,

sitting as still as a statue. Lisa raised up on her toes a fraction and lowered herself again. Then,

again, she raised up, a little higher this time.

She was going to fuck herself on the huge finger up her.

"Lisa!"

She stopped. I heard her whimper.

"Beg for it, slut. Beg me to let you cum on his hand."

The Indian broke into a huge grin but no other part of him moved. The others were perfectly still

except for their eyes which flicked and danced over the action.

Lisa's pelvis tightened on his finger. She looked around the room at all the men staring at her.

"Please, let me cum," she moaned.

"I think she needs to be undressed," I said to no one in particular.

The youngest looking of the group quickly stood and moved to her. He began unbuttoning her

blouse as a older man approached her from behind. The older one took a handful of her hair and

pulled her head back, arching her back and forcing her body down on the Indian's hand. It thrust

her breasts up into the young man's hands. Her blouse was open now. The began massaging her

breasts as the man behind her bent her further as he raped her mouth with his. The Indians's hand

between her legs was probably keeping her from falling over.

The young man reached for the zipper on her skirt. I heard it tear as his patience expired. She was

now naked except of her stockings and heels. I could see the Indian's hand now. He had two

fingers up her slue and his hand was drenched to the wrist with her juices.

He gave me a questioning look and I nodded affirmatively.

The Indian stood, his hand between her legs never releasing its grip. He unzipped his pants and

pulled out a nice sized cock. He pushed Lisa across the table. I guess they thought she might resist

because the man across the table grabbed her arms and held her in place. The Indian slammed into

her with one hard thrust. Lisa orgasmed with a squeal.

Ever been to an gangrape, or an orgy? This was not a gangrape really because Lisa was enjoying

every minute of it. They took turns and took their time. Her blouse was used to keep her pussy

wiped so the next guy could get some friction. She was fucked in her mouth as well, often taking

two guys at a time. I won't describe it. Picture eight guys with their cocks hanging out, waiting their

turn with one woman. I was surprised how orderly it was. Picture one woman orgasming over and

over, eagerly swallowing cum, happily getting fucked, enjoying every minute of it until she was

floating in a state of delirium some where in the ozone.

I did not participate. I stayed in my booth, sipping my soft drink and watching, with the waitress's

mouth wrapped around my cock. She complained once her jaw was getting tired. With my hand

in her hair, I yanked her straight up, banging her head on the underside of the table. I heard a curse

but she quit complaining.

"Nice move," the scientist said when the woman's head thunked the table.

"Yes, nice," Diablo echoed.

I started to keep track of Lisa's orgasms at first, but they were going so quickly, I lost track. Also, I

was distracted by the conversation in my head. Diablo and the scientist were arguing about the use

of power and whether what Lisa was enjoying qualified as such a use.

She was on her back now, covered in cum from her knees to the top of her head, her pussy a

bloated mess in white. She was exhausted and dazed and so were they. No one had the energy to

get up as I walked over to her. I cleaned her off with a bar towel, threw her over my shoulder like

a sack of flour and carried her to the truck.

She did not speak on the way back to the motel, but she did groan occasionally.

Mary opened the door for us. I left her to help Lisa with her bath. I crawled in bed next to Andy.

She pushed her ass up against me but I was not in the mood.

To be continued....

Please! Give me your comments.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
E. Z. Riter
Chapter 40