There's No Such Thing as a Free Drink
-- by lightswitch © September 2010

[Lesbian, interracial, white female, black female, catfight,
domination, reluctant, non-consensual]

Synopsis: A college girl gets persuaded by a new friend to join
her in a scheme to con people for drinks at a bar, by flirting.
The tab turns out to be much bigger than anticipated.

==================================

"Wanna score some free drinks?" Leslie asked her brunette friend,
Angela, as the blonde casually twirled the long braid that
usually hung down her back. Actually, "friend" might be a
misleading term -- the two were in a gray zone, somewhere between
"friend" and "acquaintance." They had been in a class or two
together, but during the past week, Leslie had seemed to become
suddenly and significantly more sociable, seeking Angela out to
eat lunch with her and walk with her to the library. Angela
wondered if the pretty blonde might be attracted to her and
trying to find out if she were into women.

Was she, she asked herself? Angela had never done anything with a
woman before, but admitted to herself that she might be a bit ...
curious.

"There's no such thing as a 'free' drink,'" Angela scoffed,
trying not to stare at the lovely blonde, as Leslie bent over to
tie her shoe. Leslie's short, dark skirt rode up her round
backside, showing a glimpse of her sky-blue panties.

Panties that match her polo shirt, Angela grinned to herself. Now
*that* was preppy! Angela had never been into the "prep" scene,
viewing most of the adherents as being arrogant, pampered
narcissists. Which was Leslie, to a tee. Inexplicably, the
stuck-up preppy blonde had warmed to Angela.

"There's always some kind of catch," Angela continued, trying not
to stare at her new friend's scantily clad derriere.

"No catch!" Leslie argued, smiling knowingly as she straightened
up. Had she seen Angela ogling her butt? The brunette blushed
guiltily, but kept a straight face.

"I've done this dozens of time already," the blonde assured her,
smiling smugly, "and each time I've been able to get sloppy drunk
on other people's dimes!"

Spending the evening drinking, without having to pay for
anything, did sound appealing.

"OK," Angela sighed, intrigued despite herself, "tell me your
plan." Leslie giggled and hugged herself in satisfaction.

"It's simple," the blonde confided, "we go into a bar and flirt
like hell!"

Angela rolled her eyes.

"*That's* your plan?!?" she scoffed. "Forget it. I don't want a
bunch of horny college guys groping me all night and thinking
they're going to get in my pants!"

Leslie laughed.

"There's the beauty of it!" the blonde chuckled. "We don't go to
*college* bars! We go to bars where older guys hang out! Older
guys are much more reserved and bend over backwards trying to
impress beautiful young college girls!"

The pretty brunette blushed. Had Leslie just implied Angela was
beautiful?

"And if a guy comes on too strong," the conniving blonde
continued, "you just move on to flirt with another guy. Nine
times out of ten, the first guy will just give up. And if he
doesn't, you have a new champion who will jump in to protect
you."

Angela looked at Leslie in shock.

"That's mean!" she frowned. "You lead a guy on all night just to
get free drinks?"

Leslie laughed.

"No," she said. "Well, not the same guy, all night. You're right,
if a guy buys you three or more drinks, he will expect something
paid back. The trick is to con him out of two and then casually
move on to another guy. That way, you can work the room and get
free drinks all night -- and no single guy will be out more than
two drinks! It's brilliant!"

Angela furrowed her brow.

"I don't know," she murmured, "it still sounds like you're taking
advantage of people."

The callow blonde laughed.

"Of course we are!" she trilled. "People are stupid. Especially
men! You flash a little leg, show a little cleavage ..., and
before you know it, they're falling all over themselves trying to
buy things for you! If you feel sorry for any particular one, you
can let him cop a quick feel."

"Leslie!" Angela exclaimed, looking at her friend in shock.

The blonde laughed. "Oh, I just do it to a few of the married
ones -- to throw them a bone."

"I don't like it," Angela said. "I don't want to lead guys on
like some cocktease."

Leslie shrugged.

"Suit yourself," she said. "I've done this every Friday for the
past three months and have never had to spend a nickel of my own
money ... or had to go home sober!"

Angela stopped short, the mental image of both of them leaving
some bar, drunk out of their minds, played in her head. Who knows
what might happen when one dropped the other off? Inhibitions
would be low ... people might be open to ... new ... experiences
...

"OK," Angela said, "let's do it!” Was she only doing this in
hopes of one of them seducing the other? She blushed guiltily and
tried not to think about it.

Leslie looked surprised.

"Really?" she asked, clapping her hands in glee. "I was afraid
you were going to wuss out! That's great! I found a new place
that sounds promising: The Watering Hole! Sounds like the perfect
place for middle-aged businessmen to hang out, just waiting to
buy expensive drinks for gorgeous college girls!"

Angela blushed and nodded, eagerly following her new friend.

* * * * * * * * *

They arrived at the bar around 7 p.m.

"This place is a *dive*!" Angela whispered, as they stood out
front, in the parking lot. "Look! There are *trucks* in the
parking lot! Trucks! Businessmen don't drive *trucks*! I don't
want some fat, drunk trucker pawing at me!"

Leslie furrowed her brow as she regarded the cheap, neon sign.

"This doesn't look like what I was expecting," the blonde
murmured, regarding the dark, tinted windows and cigarette butts
near the front door. "But it's getting late and we're into prime
time. If we don't hit this place, we'll miss our window."

"Let's miss it, then," Angela muttered, trying to ignore the
unmistakable stench of urine, indicating more than a few patrons
hadn't waited until they got home to relieve themselves.

"We're already here," the impatient blonde said. "We might as
well check it out. If the pickings aren't good, we can always
leave." With that, she pushed open the naugahyde-covered door and
entered.

Angela gasped in frustrated shock. Leslie had gone inside?!? What
the hell was the matter with that girl? Couldn't she see that
this was obviously a bad part of town? But Leslie had driven them
here and Angela didn't have any other way to get back to Campus
...

Gritting her teeth in disgust and trepidation, she pushed inside,
following her friend.

* * * * * * * * * *

Inside, it took a while for the girls' eyes to adjust to the dim
light. The room was lit only by weak lights at each booth and the
neon lights at the bar. The booths had high walls that partially
enclosed a large round table and surrounding circular bench.
Despite being dingy, the place was packed with people. Music
played in the background, but it was soft enough to allow normal
conversation.

"Looks like a good crowd," Leslie whispered, swaying to a Pescha
song coming from the battered jukebox.

Angela looked around the room nervously. Her eyes were still
adjusting, but she could already make out several big forms who
appeared to be bikers and truckers.

"Let's go sit at the bar where the guys will see us," Leslie
murmured, heading towards the row of stools. Angela reluctantly
followed her perky friend.

"Welcome to the Watering Hole," grunted the bartender, a burly
black woman in a sleeveless shirt that showed off her myriad
tattoos. She accented the word "Hole" rather than "Watering," to
Angela's surprise. Perhaps she was new to her position? Still,
she really should be able to do something simple like get the
tavern's name right! Angela was trying to think of some response
to avoid answering the inevitable question as to what they'd like
to drink. To her surprise, the burly woman didn't ask, but
wandered off down the bar to chat with one of the other patrons.

"So," Angela whispered, looking around nervously, "how does this
work? What do we do now?"

The scheming blonde winked.

"We wait," she whispered.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Hey cream-puff," a big figure murmured, sidling up to Leslie.
"Lemme buy ya a drink!" The guy was obviously black, as well as
big and heavyset; Angela could barely make out his face, but
could see the glint from multiple piercings, as well as the studs
on his dirty leather jacket. His head had been shaven smooth and
reflected stray sprays of light from its shiny surface. The
anxious brunette readied herself to follow her friend out of the
bar after the preppy blonde turned down this lowlife's overture.

"I'll have an amaretto sour," Leslie smiled, conveniently
oblivious to the expanse of creamy thigh revealed as she crossed
her legs.

"LES-lie!" Angela hissed in shock. "What are you DO-ing?!? Let's
get out of here!"

Her friend gave her a playful shove.

"Oh, loosen up Angie!" she whispered, laughing. "This room is
packed with prime fools ready to pay for the privilege of
drinking with beautiful women!"

The compliment didn't do much to assuage the anxious brunette's
nerves, this time.

"Mah name's Frankie," the burly biker drawled, hitching closer to
the playful blonde while signaling the bartender. As the figure
turned towards the neon bar lights, Angela was startled to see
Frankie was wearing purple lipstick. Was this a new trend, like
when guys started wearing earrings? The bartender brought
Leslie's amaretto sour and a shot-and-a-beer for her admirer.

The shocked brunette studied the biker more closely. He was big
-- at least six feet tall, and looked to weigh well over 250
pounds. He was fat and had a fat, barrel chest. Even in the dim
light, Angela could see his large, almost feminine breasts
straining against the taut leather vest. She stifled a laugh; if
not for his size and sheer ugliness, Frankie might have been
mistaken for a manly woman! Angela tried not to stare at the
sizable gut that hung over the belt holding up Frankie's
low-slung jeans.

His face could only be described as ugly: Broad, coarse-featured,
with a scraggly hint of a moustache. His nose was flat and
bulbous and his brows thick and bushy over squinty, porcine eyes.

"Here you go, Miss," the bartender smirked, setting two amaretto
sours down before Angela, "compliments of the admirer near the
door and the one near the jukebox.

The startled brunette scanned the room.

There, near the front door, was another biker type -- a tall,
wiry-looking black guy in a sleeveless leather jacket. He had
long, unwashed black hair and, though the bar was dimly lit, wore
dark sunglasses. He smiled and began walking towards her.

Over by the jukebox was another really big black guy. He appeared
to be a trucker and, while not as fat as Frankie, was definitely
heavyset. He wore a trucker's cap, which didn't cover the thick
thatch of wooly black hair that cascaded from under it. His denim
overalls didn't hide his bulging gut, which jiggled as he waved
and began walking towards her.

Angela panicked and scooted off her stool, intent on bolting.
Leslie grabbed her by the arm.

"Hey," the already tipsy blonde laughed, "where ya goin'?"

The nervous brunette nodded her head towards the two approaching
black men.

"Those guys bought me drinks!" she whispered fitfully. "We have
to get out of here!"

Leslie laughed.

"Two?!?," she giggled. "You got TWO guys buying you drinks! You
are one hawt chick! Isn't that why we came here -- to get free
drinks? What are you waiting for? Go for it girl!" With that, she
gave Angela a quick peck on the cheek before turning back to
Frankie.

The brunette felt herself lubricate as she was kissed. But before
she could gather her wits, the two black guys had arrived.

"Hey," I saw her first!" the biker snarled.

"Like hell!" the trucker snorted, rolling up one sleeve of his
plaid shirt to reveal a beefy arm.

"Hey bulls!" Leslie laughed, twirling on her stool. "Why fight?
Angie there is woman enough for both of you! Why don't you take
her back to a booth and you can both ply her with drinks. Who
knows -- if you buy her enough, maybe she'll go down on you!" The
shocked brunette blushed crimson.

"LES-lie!" she admonished. But her friend had already turned back
to Frankie, who was signaling for yet another round of drinks.

Angela's two admirers glowered at one another, but finally
nodded. They each, gently but firmly, grabbed one of the white
girl's arms and hustled her back to a booth, where they slid in
on each side, hemming her in. Angela quickly gulped both the
proffered drinks and they each ordered another round for her.

All three of the booth occupants found themselves watching Leslie
and Frankie, at the bar. The blonde was giggling and seemed to
make a show of unwittingly touching the big black man whenever
she spoke, often brushing her hand over his bald pate. Each time
the big biker tried to rest his hand on the blonde's creamy
thigh, she'd playfully smack it away.

Angie stared. In this light, at this angle, Frankie (in spite of
his size) looked almost feminine. With a start, Angela realized
that "Frankie" wasn't male at all!

"Ohmigod!" the startled brunette breathed, "Frankie is a woman!"

The trucker, to her right, laughed.

"Damn right," he chuckled. "And a bigger bull dyke you ain't
never seen! Your pretty lil friend be playin' wid fire over
there."

The biker, to her left, laughed in agreement.

"Ah bin ridin' wid Frankie for almos' 'leben years now," he
chuckled, "and ah seed Frankie mess up a lotta teasin' femmes who
t'ought they could play her."

Angela felt her blood run cold. Leslie had unwittingly hooked up
with an aggressive lesbian? She had to warn her!

The pretty brunette tried to leave the booth, but found both
avenues of escape blocked.

"Mah name's Sam," the trucker offered, grinning broadly. While
not nearly as ugly as Frankie, Sam was not an attractive person.

"An' ahm Destini," the wiry biker leered, absent-mindedly
fondling his breast that was half-exposed under the leather
jacket.

Breast? He had a breast?

"Destini?" Angela finally processed. "Destini is a ... girl's
name!" Her gaze shot back to Sam, who was sitting back, which
caused her fat tits to jut out under her coveralls. The white
girl looked at her two admirers in horrified confusion.

"None of them are men!" Angela thought. Scanning the room, she
realized there were no men present, at all. Figures whom, in the
dim light she'd assumed to be men, were actually rough-looking
women!

"Oh hell! We're in a lesbian bar!" she realized. Suddenly, the
tavern name "watering HOLE" took on a whole new meaning.

Round after round of drinks were bought and consumed, both at the
bar and at the booth. After two rounds from each of her lesbian
admirers, Angela tried to wave off further offers, remembering
Leslie's warning about "three drinks and people believe you owe
them." But Sam and Destini were insistent and Angela was
pressured into drinking more rounds. She was vaguely aware that
Leslie, also, kept drinking, without reservation.

Leslie had spun in her stool to unwittingly face Angela's booth.
Frankie was standing almost behind her, massaging the young
blonde's shoulders.

"Yeah," the women in the booth heard Frankie croon, "you like how
ah rub you, donchew white girl! You like feelin' mah strong,black
hands on yo' fine, white body!" Angela cringed, watching the big,
ugly dyke kneading her purring friend.

The blonde moaned loudly before taking another sip of her drink.

"She's still acting," Angela realized. "God, how many drinks has
she had? I hope she doesn't go too far." Frankie did not look
like the type of person to take "no" for an answer. The worried
brunette reflexively took another sip of her drink. How many had
*she* had? Sam and Destini had been plying her with drink after
drink, mixing the variety so Angela didn't tire of any one type.
She'd had amaretto sours, tequila sunrises, pina coladas, rum and
cokes ...

With a start, Angela realized that she had to have already had at
least eight drinks -- since the two admirers always bought one
each -- and she'd had probably drunk even more! But her mind was
too fuzzy to do more remembering or math. She kept looking for a
chance to escape. But the two black women sitting to each side
made that impossible. Maybe if she went to the bathroom?

A sudden vision of Sam and/or Destini following her into a
secluded room with a door made her immediately reconsider.

For her part, Leslie appeared to have graduated to doing shots.
Frankie took a short, thin glass of something from the bartender
and pushed it down between Leslie's full, white tits. The blonde
giggled and pushed her breasts together to keep the drink from
falling.

Frankie leaned over to grasp the glass with her thick,
purple-painted lips, fortuitously steadying herself by placing
her hands on the white girl's waist, just above the blonde's
hips. Nabbing the glass in her mouth, the big biker leaned her
head back and drained the contents.

"My turn!" Leslie tittered, grabbing the proffered glass from the
bartender and inserting it in the dark, sweaty crevice of
Frankie's big boobs. The biker helpfully pushed her breasts
together, effectively releasing her big, brown boobs from their
leather prison. Angela stared in amazement as the big black biker
smiled at the blonde, completely unabashed that her big boobs had
popped out for all to see.

The blonde giggled and made a show of "accidentally" palming the
big woman's saucer-sized nipples. Frankie let out a soft moan of
pleasure as the teasing blonde grabbed the glass with her soft,
pink lips and pulled it up and back, drinking most of it, but
splashing some on her face. The biker quickly leaned forward and
began licking the giggling white girl's face clean.

This was going to get out of hand.

Alarmed, Angela called out "Leslie! I think it's time to go,
don't you?"

The blonde gave her a bleary-eyed look, but the warning
eventually seemed to register.

"Oh!" Leslie slurred. "Right! Get out afore anythin' happens.
Right." She stumbled as she scooted off her stool. Relieved,
Angela rose and tried to edge past the trucker.

"You ain' goin' nowhere, sweet cream," Sam chuckled, pushing the
anxious brunette back down on the bench. "'Sides, you gonna wanna
see the main event, comin' up!"

Angela's heart raced. She wouldn't be allowed to leave.

"Main event?" she asked, her voice catching. She didn't know what
the big butch was talking about, but it couldn't be good.

Back at the bar, Frankie had firmly taken Leslie by the arm.

"Where you goin', cream-puff?" she leered, jerking the drunk
white girl into a firm embrace. "You ain' thinkin' o' runnin' off
after ah boughtchew all dem drinks, is you?" The inebriated white
girl awkwardly struggled to free herself. The big black biker
grabbed the blonde's head and forced her face forward for a deep,
dominant kiss.

Leslie's eyes shot open and she beat her fists ineffectively
against the big woman's shoulders. Frankie didn't break the kiss
and the impaired blonde's resistance weakened until her pale
hands rested, motionless, on the big biker chick's thick
shoulders.

After several minutes, Frankie released the white girl's lips.

"Now daz more like it!" the black woman murmured, reaching one
big hand down to cup the drunken white girl's ass cheek. Leslie's
eyes shot open and she pushed her admirer away.

"Get your dirty paws off me, you fucking dyke whore!" the blonde
slurred, swaying slightly as she glared at the biker. "Nobody
said you could touch me!"

The big biker made a show of looking confused.

"Butchew bin lettin' me buy you drinks all night," Frankie
complained. "What did you *think* wuz gonna happen?"

The tipsy blonde gave her a malicious grin.

"I thought you'd buy me drinks until you ran out of money," she
slurred, "and then me and my friend would walk out, leaving you
and your lez friends all hot and bothered to go home and
fantasize about us as you jilled off."

Angela felt Sam's arm fall heavily across her shoulders and
Destini's press down on her thigh.

"Is that how it is?" she heard Destini whisper menacingly. "You
bin playin' us, white girl?" The terrified brunette didn't have
time to answer.

"Ah think you need a lesson, blondie," Frankie muttered, rising
up off the stool. Balling up her fist, she punched Leslie in the
gut. The drunken blonde was knocked off her feet, rising in the
air at least six inches. Her eyes bugged and her cheeks puffed
out as the air was forced from her body.

As the blonde landed, the big biker woman punched her in the jaw,
spinning the white girl around. The big biker woman caught her by
the hair before she could hit the floor.

"Now, then," Frankie said angrily, "you still feel like teasin'?"

The blonde was crying, both hands clutching the biker’s fist,
clenched in her hair.

"No ma'am!" she sobbed. "Please, just don't hurt me anymore."

Frankie slapped her hard in the face and stood staring at her, as
if deciding what to do with her bitchy young conquest.

"You like teasin'?" the big biker asked, with a mean chuckle.
"Then get up on that bar and give us a show."

Still using the blondes' hair as leverage, Frankie forced Leslie
up onto the bar. The bartender had stepped back, grinning in
anticipation, and all of the other women in the bar had their
eyes riveted on the pair at the bar. The bartender flipped a
switch and a small spotlight shone on the beaten white girl as
she stood, swaying and trembling on the polished wooden surface
of the bar.

"Dance for us!" Frankie ordered. Leslie looked scared and
bewildered, like a deer in oncoming headlights.

"Ah said DANCE!" the big biker bellowed.

The frightened blonde began doing the Macarena. Frankie grimaced
with frustration.

"You call that dancin'?" she demanded. "Dance sexy! You a tease
at heart; make us wanchew!" Leslie stopped moving and looked down
at her, bewildered.

"Dance sexy!" Frankie ordered. "Donchew MAKE me come up there!"

Her white body glowing under the small spotlight, Leslie began
swaying seductively, running her hands over her body. Catcalls of
appreciation burst from the audience.

"Yeah, daz it!" the big biker breathed. "Daz more like it!" They
let the drunken white girl dance like that for several minutes.

"OK," Frankie grunted huskily, "now start stripping." Leslie
didn't break rhythm, this time, but did look at the biker with
reluctance and alarm.

"Daz right," the big woman said, throatily, "ah said start
stripping. Take yo close off!"

Sobbing, Leslie complied. Angela marveled at how a simple, preppy
college girl could have such natural aptitude at strip-tease, but
Leslie did an amazing job. Slowly, teasingly, she removed every
article of clothing, one at a time, and let it fall to the bar
surface below. Before long, she was nude, her white body glaring
under the small spotlight as she gyrated in time to the music.
The women at the bar burst into appreciative applause.

"Now, you lil white tease," Frankie husked, "it's time for you to
pay your tab." She reached up and pulled the inebriated white
girl from the bar and into her arms. Allowing Leslie's feet to
drop to the floor, Frankie kept a firm hold on her and bent her
backwards for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. All of the blonde's
pale, nude front was exposed to Angela's view and she caught her
breath at how beautiful Leslie's body was.

With her fat ass barely on the barstool, Frankie unfastened her
tight leather vest and let her fat tits spring free. Grabbing the
blonde's head, she spun Leslie around and forced her face down
onto one dark mound.

"Suck 'em, tease!" she ordered. "Suck my titties!" Sobbing,
Leslie complied, slurping noisily at Frankie's thick, dark
nipple. The big biker enjoyed this attention for a while before
shifting the white girl to the other breast. As she smilingly
enjoyed this attention, she unfastened her tight jeans.

"Pull mah boots off," she directed. Leslie fell to her knees and
began tugging at the big biker's boots. It took several minutes,
but she finally removed them. The stink of hot, sweaty feet hit
Angela's nose even from across the room. Frankie immediately shot
her feet our, mashing them into the inebriated blonde's face and
pushing the white girl backwards, pinning her head against the
other bar stool.

Angela tried to jump up to help her friend, but Sam and Destini
held her down against the booth bench.

Leslie was crying, obviously humiliated at being naked with the
big dyke biker's hot, sweaty feet pressed against her pretty
white face.

"Play witch yoself," Frankie ordered. Leslie hesitated a moment
before gently fondling her full, white breasts. Angela couldn't
watch, but every other eye was riveted on the humiliated blonde.

"Yeah," Frankie moaned, pressing her feet harder against the
white girl's pretty face, "you get off on dat, donchew! You like
mah smelly feet in yo bitchy white face, donchew!" The hapless
blonde moaned and continued playing with her stiffening nipples.

"Now play witchu pussy," the ugly biker whispered, fondling her
fat, floppy tits.

Obediently, the pinned white girl let her hands drift down to her
blonde snatch and she began gently rubbing herself.

Angela was mesmerized and felt as if she were in some dream.

"This can't be happening!" she kept repeating to herself.

Frankie had finally released the weepy blonde from her foot
prison and had forced the white girl's teary face between her
thick dark thighs. Judging from the moans of pleasure coming from
the big, ugly biker, the pretty preppy was servicing the black
butch's dark, hairy muff. To Angela's amazement, most of the
other women in the bar stood and began forming a single-file
line, stretching from where Frankie was getting her pussy licked
and circling around the walls of the bar.

Sure enough, when Frankie climaxed on Leslie's reddened face, the
next black woman stepped up and forced her dark, dripping snatch
into the kneeling blonde's pretty face.

"Ohmigod!" Angela gasped, awareness dawning, "they're going to
make Leslie go down on *every woman in here*!" She struggled to
escape, but Destini and Sam held her down.

"Let me go!" Angela screamed. "I have to help my friend!"

Destini gave a mean laugh.

"Looks like yo friend busy helpin' hersef!" she chuckled, pushing
Angela back against Sam and leaning her own weight down on the
struggling brunette, pinning her.

"Ain'chew figgered it out yet, honey?" Sam laughed softly,
grabbing Angela's arms and pinning them behind her back. "You
think dis is the firs' time yo frien' been in here? Hell, she a
reglar! We calls her 'Lezzie.' She come in here every Friday and
tease Frankie until mah girl force her to put out. Den yo slutty
lil frien' satisfy all comers fo de rest o' the night. Dat white
girl twisted -- she really in'ta roleplay."

Angela blinked, unable or unwilling to accept what she’d heard.

"Das right," Destini said, leaning forward to kiss Angela softly
on the lips. "And about once a month, she bring in a friend who
she think may be in'ta girls -- sorta like a present fo' de rest
o' us."

"Das you," Sam added, as Destini's kiss became open-mouthed and
probing.

Angela felt limp, nerveless, unable to fight her horny admirer
off. This had all been a set-up from the start – just a ploy to
get Angela to this lesbian bar? The pretty blonde had … used her?

From the corner of her eye, Angela saw something she had missed
before: Sticking out from under the side of the huge ass of a fat
black trucker type who was wearing no pants, she saw two bare,
white feet. Squeezed into that booth were four other heavyset
black women, sitting side by side along one edge of the bench.

Destini followed Angela's gaze and laughed.

"Oh her," she said, pushing the stunned brunette down under the
table. "Dat's the white girl Lezzie bought here las' time."

Angela’s world was blotted out as Sam grabbed her head and pulled
the dazed brunette's pretty face between the trucker's thick,
dark, sweaty thighs.

Another line started forming at Angela's table.
