I shrugged."Not in a long time-six or seven years ago," I said, truthfully. The man grinned."My mistake then. Name's Mike but everyone calls me Stumpy... You want to join us?" he asked, motioning toward his friends. I nodded, picking up my bottle.We all finished our dinner and were just starting to relax when a new man arrived. He was dusty and rawboned and wore a greasy cotton shirt and baggy trousers. He looked like a prospector, not likely a poker companion. He stood at the bar looking thirsty. ’ I feel the cool sheen of sweat rise on his hot skin and the trembling of his muscles as he nears the final few seconds. His fingers dig hard into my breasts as he shudders, arching his back. I lower my head and moisten my lips, letting the spit drop onto the bloated purple-red knob of his cock. The gondola rocks violently as I slip of the bench to kneel between his knees. His fingers slide through my hair gripping handfuls of it as my outstretched tongue glides over the silken flare of his. More

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