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.