Big Girls on Top (Erotic Romance) Book 1 Read online

  Big Girls on Top

  By Mercy Walker

  This is an erotic short story, or episode. (Approximately 12600 words) Each episode stands alone, like a TV episode, but is part of a larger story.

  WARNING: This story contains explicit sex and erotic scenes, M/ F. For adults, 18 + only.

  Big Girls on Top

  I groaned as the music cued up—and poured myself a shot of Jack Daniels. Nadia (aka Crystal) had decided to ravage the song stylings of Adele again. Not that I wasn’t a fan of my fellow plus sized sister from across the pond, but this was the fourth routine this week featuring the contra alto.

  Frisky Kittens, the strip-club the surreptitiously named Nadia and I work at, is pretty roomy by Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania standards. But in any other city it would be dinky. And Adele’s wall-of-sound songs kind of reverberate off the walls like shrapnel in a Spielberg war epic.

  And all that earsplitting noise for a little waif of a girl with teased bottle-blond hair, skinny legs, man hips and absolutely no ass. But she did have extravagantly surgically enhanced breasts that could stop traffic—and probably made her lose her balance every time she moved. They’d cost her five thousand dollars.

  I think she should have spent her money on a better car.

  A gorgeous woman in her late thirties came up to the bar, swinging her hips like a Las Vegas show girl (which she used to be) and set down her drink tray.

  “Hey Bev,” That’s me, Bev (short for Beverly). “I need a crown and soda, and two Buds.”

  “Coming right up, Shirley.” I moved around behind the bar with quick, practiced movements.

  I’m the bartender—what, you thought I strapped myself into a G-string and writhed around on some flimsy pole?—and I’ve worked here for five years. Five long…deranged…and sometimes funny years. What can I say? I make more in tips every night than I could make anywhere else, including using my nursing degree.

  Nurses are underpaid and overworked. Fuck that shit!

  I plopped the drinks on Shirley’s drink tray and she was off, swinging her ass like it was an Olympic event. I had to give her credit, she was almost forty and still had it going on…more than the silicon enhanced little girl parading around on stage.

  When Nadia spun around in her five inch heels before she made a grab for the pole, she got a little too much centrifugal force behind it—obviously from her size double-D boobs—and missed said pole. She fell off the stage with a terrified squeal…and into an old man’s lap that was eating garlic hot wings and was hooked up to a portable oxygen tank.

  I rushed out from behind the bar to pull the skinny ditz out of the old man’s lap, but before I could help her out I saw that the old man was actually choking on a chicken wing. He must have been eating it when Nadia took the nose dive.

  I pulled Nadia off him and she fell onto the floor with a yelp. Then I pulled the old man out of his chair and performed a hasty Heimlich maneuver on him, popping that chicken bone up and out of his mouth, sending it flying through the air where it magically landed deep in Nadia’s cleavage.

  Eww…and yuck…

  But once I got the old man back in his seat—he thanked me by pinching my ass—and pulled Nadia up off the floor (she couldn’t seem to get herself up on her own steam—guess her tits were too cumbersome), I headed back to the bar and the three cocktail waitresses lined up haughtily with drink orders.

  See? Save a life and you still don’t get any respect. Mix a drink and get tipped. What a fucked up world we live in!

  By the time I got Shirley and her two cohorts’ orders filled I was starting to get hungry…and god help me the garlic hot wings were sounding pretty good.

  So I placed my order, watched a buxom brunet named Candy Cain shake her rather bodacious money maker to Don Henley’s Dirty Laundry, and then poured myself a beer to go with my order of wings.

  Shep, the cook tonight, liked me, so I got an extra large order of wings with a side platter of celery, and cherry tomatoes. And enough blue cheese and ranch dressing to float The Love Boat.

  I woofed it all down before Candy was done with her set. That’s when most patrons usually ordered drinks, between sets, so if I wanted to eat them before they got cold I had to hurry.

  Just as I was swallowing my last scrumptious bite of spicy chicken I saw a man sidle up to the bar out of my peripheral vision. I licked the blue cheese off my fingers and grabbed a cocktail napkin to wipe my hands off with.

  “What can I get you, honey?” I said out of habit.

  The man was tall and broad shouldered, and had jet black hair. And as he turned around to tell me his order, I was struck dumb as a sack of potatoes by his handsome—no, make that his gorgeous face.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen some hot-as-hell men in my day, but this guy just had a one of a kind face…and it had been sculpted by that fucker Michelangelo!

  Unconcerned that my mouth had fallen open and I was staring like an idiot at him, he told me his order. I hadn’t an idea in hell what he’d said. I just stood there, ogling him like a teenager at a Beiber concert.

  Finally he smiled and then leaned in and waved his hand in front of my face.

  Oh, god. I must look mentally challenged or something.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, breathlessly. “What did you say?”

  His smile deepened and he leaned forward and reached out, his thumb rubbing across my lower lip—

  Damn!—

  —and then he put his thumb in his mouth, sucking what he’d rubbed off my lip from his thumb.

  His eyes ran over me as his smile turned even more lascivious. “I’ll have a beer…and an order of those wings you just demolished over there—” Oh, he’d seen that… “—but first, I’m here to see Teddy. Can you tell him Quinn’s here to see him?”

  Quinn…that’s a nice name…never met a Quinn before…never met a guy with such a confident air about him…and those dark, melted chocolate eyes…

  My gaze fell slowly from those eyes, to his thick-lipped mouth, down his neck to where his clavicles met right above his broad chest.

  He was wearing a sleek black leather jacket and a matching silk button down shirt. The shirt was open at the collar…and a few buttons were open too.

  It was getting hot in here…I felt some perspiration trickle down the back of my neck.

  Quinn smiled and shook his head, and then reached out and pushed my open mouth shut with a little upward shove of his index finger under my chin.

  I moaned at his touch…what the hell was wrong with me!?!?

  I took a really big step back and gulped. His eyes hadn’t left me, and if I stood there and looked into them for another second I was going to pass out…or maybe tear off all my clothes and jump on top of the man.

  So I pulled my tattered pride together and hustled away, back to Teddy’s office.

  Theodore Belmont Slater was the owner and manager of Frisky Kittens night club, and I’d always thought he was a nice guy and good to him employees. He’d always been good to me, and he often bailed his strippers out from jail, helped them find new apartments when they got evicted, and even helped me move once. I’d even seen him trying to get Nadia to eat a Philly Steak hoagie from Primanti Brothers.

  What a fool to waste such a great sandwich on a girl that was going to barf it up five minutes later!

  I didn’t even knock, just barged into his office and poured myself a shot of his single malt Irish whiskey and knocked it back.

  Teddy was on the phone and I heard him say he’d call whoever it was back. I plopped down in the comfy chair that faced toward his desk and let my head fall back against the cool leather.

  Teddy star
ed at me for a solid minute, laughter in his eyes, and then panic settled in as he asked, “Did someone OD in the ladies room again?”

  I shook my head.

  He frowned. “Nadia fall off the stage again?”

  “Well, yes…” I said while nodding, “but that’s not it.”

  Teddy raised his eye brows, and then his hands imploringly. “Well?”

  I took a deep, steadying breath. “A man named Quinn is waiting to see you.”

  A smile bloomed on Teddy’s face and he shot up out of his seat behind the desk and jogged out the door.

  I’d worked there for five years and hadn’t seen him move faster than a glacier even once.

  I stood up and followed suit, not really wanting to, but overwhelmed with curiosity…and I wanted to see this Quinn again…I really, really wanted to see him again.

  I got out of the office and started walking shakily back up the back hallway to the front of the house by the time Teddy and his friend Quinn shambled past me, arm in arm, shit-eating smiles on their faces, and went into the office.

  I went back out to the bar, feeling relieved that Mr. Tall Dark and Gorgeous wasn’t out there distracting me…and feeling miffed that he wasn’t. I mean, he’d licked the blue cheese off my lip, not the other way around…well, I guess it wasn’t directly from my lip…

  I had a sudden, very vivid hallucination that Quinn had pulled me to him and had kissed the blue cheese dressing from my mouth, deeply, and with tongue.

  A maraschino cherry hit me in the forehead.

  “What? Am I supposed to mix the drinks and serve them?” a waitress named Tammy groused.

  I shook off my piping hot Quinn fantasy and knuckled down to filling my backed up drink orders.

  “Lay off her, Tammy Faye!” Shirley interjected with a polished hip-check that knocked the other waitress to the right about a foot. “Bev here just met the man of her dreams.”

  My head shot up and I gave Shirley the most murderous look I could throw at her. But she didn’t fall over dead, or even wince…she just smiled all the more, proud of her handiwork.

  Her handiwork earned me a chorus of cat calls, wolf whistles and melodramatic sighs.

  “You get your drinks last,” I said, my voice dripping with venom. “For the rest of the night!”

  Shirley just smiled, taunting me with her lethally observant nature. I filled her drink order second just to get her away from me.

  The night went by pretty quickly, even though I kept my eye on the hallway leading to Teddy’s office. But at no time did Quinn leave or show his painfully handsome face.

  I thought of that creamy, delicious looking tan skin of his. Was he Italian? Maybe from Russian ancestry? Greek?

  I suddenly wondered if he had any tattoos—I was mad about tattoos. Well, good tattoos, not jail house tats, or those blue inked jobs that faded into a smudge. No, I liked a good, clean, polished tattoo with either vibrant color, or a start black that could cut glass.

  I wanted to pull off Quinn’s clothes—that lovely silk shirt, and that butter soft looking leather jacket…and other things—and search him inch by yummy inch until I found where his tattoos lie.

  After all, I was dressed pretty damn nice. I wear a size six…shoe, that is. And tonight I’d strapped on some hundred dollar four inch heels that made my calves look great. I had my barely D cup breasts peaking through a nearly see-through little blouse about two sizes too small—what can I say, I like to accentuate my assets. And speaking of assets, my own round, size-eighteen butt was firmly held by a tight leather skirt that only stretched down far enough I didn’t flash the clientele every time I leaned over to get a beer out of the coolers.

  I had some almost appropriate clothes in the back of my closet…somewhere. But I saved them for family get-togethers, and the occasional funeral.

  My fiery red hair—yeah, I’m a ginger—was pulled up atop my head, curls falling in a fashionable mess around my heart-shaped face. And you guessed it, my eyes are Irish green.

  But I had a black-belt in covering up my freckles. No one besides my immediate family knew I even had them.

  *****

  2 am came and I gave last call, and still no Quinn.

  I stocked the beer coolers, left a list of bottles of liquor I’d need for tomorrow night beside the till, so Tom the daylight guy could get them out from the locked alcohol store room—days were slow, so he did the liquor stocking and cut the fruit. I stocked the beer coolers, balanced the till and cleaned the bar.

  I had all this done, and had cashed out the waitresses and the dancers of their ones and fives—giving them big bills so we didn’t have to go to the bank for tip change every day. And there still was no sign of Quinn or Teddy.

  Damn…I was just going to have to go home without seeing Mr. Gorgeous again.

  Maybe I’d ask Teddy for the man’s phone number tomorrow?

  But with a pang of uneasiness I knew I wouldn’t. The man was all kinds of fine, and if he’d come out of the office and flirted with me again…well, I’d feel empowered to make a move…oh, man…I’d rock his world! But that was probably the buzz from the four shots I’d downed this shift.

  Now that I was sobering up—and wow, it was freaking cold outside as I made my way out to the parking lot with the other girls—I didn’t think going anywhere near that man was a good idea.

  I knew my league. I’m a full figured, rather hot babe with a mean wit and curves that could flatten the average man.

  But Quinn was…

  Quinn was extraordinary to behold. He was the kind of man women dream about, wrote bad poetry in their diaries about—he’s the kind of man they join support groups to get over when he invariably dumps them.

  I didn’t want to join a support group. I didn’t want to be just another notch in his headboard, and then be forgotten by sun up.

  I’d just wanted to have him for the night, get him off—get myself off, a few times—and then run like hell hoping he’d never remember where he’d met me.

  But that plan had died when I signed the register balance slip, tugged on my warm, brown leather jacket, and headed out with the girls to scrap unseasonal frost off our car windshields.

  Candy was telling Nadia, “Maybe if you gained some booty back there, maybe you’d get a little more balance on stage…and maybe you should try some shorter heels.”

  Nadia pursed her lacquered maroon lips and stopped, trying in vain to see her feet around her huge honking chest.

  “I don’t know. My boobs cost five grand last year. I don’t think I’ll be able to afford butt cheek implants until next year.”

  Candy groaned and shook her head.

  “And anyways, I’ve got a closet full of five inch heels, and Bev here thinks I should get a better car before I spend any more on…well, home improvements.”

  Candy and Shirley looked at each other, and then at me, and we all burst out laughing.

  “Home improvements?” Shirley panted as she leaned against me for support. She smelled of a fine, clean citrus blended with a subtle hint of vanilla. “Where do you get this shit?”

  Nadia looked confused, and then she looked put out. I shook off my laughter and pulled the conversation away from her verbal blunder.

  “I just meant that before you get anymore surgeries, you should invest in a better car.”

  We all turned and gazed at the rusty little silver Miata with the bald tires, cracked windshield and dragging muffler. When she turned the damn thing over it sounded like a demolition derby—crashes and everything.

  “Bev’s got a point,” Shirley said.

  “Yeah, definitely...you need new wheels,” Candy said.

  Tammy Fay was heading up the rear, since nobody could stand her. “And what if your fake tits start to freeze while you’re driving home one night in that piece of shit? Do you really think they can just unthaw those puppies?”

  Nadia turned bone white, and then her cheeks blazed scarlet before she turned and crammer herself behin
d the wheel of the rusty clunker, turned it over and filled the air with ear splitting noise pollution.

  The damn thing chugged out on her twice before she made it out of the parking lot, and we watched grimly as she charmed the ailing motor over again and again, finally making it to Pen Avenue.

  It was late, so she would probably run all the lights to keep the engine running until she got home.

  “Was it something I said?” Tammy Fay said and shrugged, obviously not giving a shit, and then headed over to defrost her shiny blue Impala.

  I was about to say something scathing about Tammy Fay to Shirley when I heard someone jogging up behind us.

  We’d had problems in the past with handsy, drunken patrons waiting outside, trying to get a phone number, cop a feel, and once time trying to force themselves on one of us. That fucker hadn’t fared too well before the ambulance came to cart his sorry ass away. We ladies had handled his punishment, with prejudice.

  Fear gripped me as I reached into my purse and grasped the stun gun I’d bought myself for Christmas last year, swung around and thrust the hand held defense tool into my attacker and squeezed the button. Ten thousand volts of grade A electricity sparked the night to a dim blue glow, and my attacker stopped in his tracks and stood there, shaking for a moment.

  And then I saw who it was…

  Quinn…

  Double damn!

  I let off the juice and the man crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud.

  Shit!

  “What the hell?” boomed Teddy’s scratchy voice. He jogged over and looked down at his fallen friend. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

  I looked to Shirley, but her face was a portrait of shock.

  Tammy Fay sauntered over and looked down at Quinn. “Well, at least she didn’t shock him in the balls like she did the last dumbass that snuck up on her out here.”

  Shirley snickered. Even Teddy had to wipe the guilty grin off his face as he kneeled down to get a better look at Quinn.

  “Really Teddy, you ought to post signs that you will get fucked up by the bartender if you fuck around in the parking lot—save everyone a hell of a lot of trouble. Cause you’re gonna get sued one of these days.” And just like that Tammy Fay turned and got into her car and sped away.