Toni, the petite Italian bombshell, blistered, standing in the center of the Cantina dining room surrounded by the custom motorcycle industry elite, over 100 nervous jealous wives, and more than a handful of intrigued bi-sexual broads. She quickly sensed all eyes on her and darted for the head.
The Cantina women’s bathroom was large, spacious, totally tiled with a motley wild assortment of various colorful tiles and a handful of antique lounge chairs. One in particular was upholstered in velvet and large puffy button-tuck billows covered the ornately carved, snake-like oak structure. Toni made a beeline for this succulent piece of furniture and plopped her pretty ass onto the soft surface. It had a comforting tendency taking the angry wind out of anyone’s blustering sails.
She buried her beautiful olive colored face in her soft petite hands and began to weep. The thought of losing Shirley was devastating. She snatched her purse off the floor and dug through it to find her crystal coke vial and the attached silver spoon. Just as she discovered it, in walked Sheila, the recovering drug addict waitress. Sheila wasn’t bad on the eyes and she carried two shots of Silver Patron tequila.
“I thought you might need something to remove the edge,” Sheila said. “But I see you have your own remedy.”
“Would you like a blast?” Toni asked, taking the thick shot-glass, downing the clear liquid, tossing the glass into the corner and reaching up to pull on the top lip of Sheila’s gathered top. She peered down at her pointed tits and Sheila’s nipples immediately hardened.
It was as if Sheila’s reaction was the drug Toni needed desperately. She sizzled to know she could still attract a hot-looking blonde. Sheila smirked and she could sense her body responding. Then Tina opened the cap on the vial, loaded a spoonful, and lifted it to Sheila’s flaring nostrils. It was the first time since Sheila stepped off her NA wagon into a pearlescent spoonful of coke. She was gone, swept into a sensual nirvana.
In the bar, Nyla flagged Marko down. “I need a break,” she purred, and Marko slipped behind the bar to relieve her of her duties. He called Cinderella out of the kitchen and she slipped behind the bar and took up Nyla’s adept bartender duties. Since coming on board, the small, youthful, voluptuous Hispanic broad learned every aspect of Cantina management. She was afforded entrée to knowledge in almost every area.
Nyla waited quietly in the back of the bar, where she had a private pull-down ladder into Bandit’s upstairs apartment. She deftly pulled the carved teak wood ladder out of the ceiling, stepped onto the carefully carved bottom rung, and pressed the button to be lifted into Bandit’s lair above.
Marko stepped back and assessed the packed dining room. The bar bustled with activity, and the dining room was packed. He could hear more bikes pulling into the parking lot. The redheaded Mandy scurried around the dining room, delivering pitchers of Gold Cadillac Margaritas as quickly as she could. Sheila was nowhere to be seen and now Nyla was gone.
Marko could smell sex in the air. He gazed toward the women’s bathroom and noticed two women leaving the restroom rapt in conversation and pointing back toward the door.
Sheila and Toni were naked on the divan going at it like two starving cats. Between the emotional upheaval, the tequila and the coke, they were both on fire, plus there was the touch of new soft flesh against hardened nipples and wet pussies. They were steaming the mirrors in the sparkling head as other women slipped in the door for a brief voyeuristic rush.
Upstairs in Bandit’s apartment, Shirley picked out a replacement cashmere sweater and admired the style. She wandered around the apartment checking the woodwork, the antique motorcycles, and the motorcycle artwork. She was amazed at the sized of the apartment, then the candles, and the steaming Jacuzzi tub. She tested the water temp with her fingers, and it was perfect, plus the flowery smell of the bubble bath lured her to disrobe and slip into the warm foamy liquid. Suddenly the embarrassment diminished, and she relaxed and sipped her wine.
Unexpectedly, she smelled the pungent aroma of marijuana wafting around her.
“Relax,” Nyla said, coming into the large bath behind her. “Would you like a hit?”
Shirley knew immediately the voice behind the bar, the round curves and those bubbly boobs bouncing in her loose top.
“Yes, please,” Shirley said, and Nyla handed her the joint and started to massage her shoulders as Shirley took a long hit.
“Tough night for you,” Nyla said, leaning close so her hot breath could warm the inside of Shirley’s ear. Her adept fingers massaged Shirley’s shoulders then she ran down over Shirley’s massive boobs and kissed her soft neck. “You can completely relax in here. No one will bother us.”
Shirley leaned back and felt Nyla’s warm, soft as heaven’s clouds, boobs touch her back. She was transformed from overt red-faced ridicule to heaven on earth in a matter of seven minutes. Melting inside, the warm perfumed water, the marijuana and the touch of this woman took her to a place she loved, pure sexual escape.
Marko watched as Tina burst out of the galley with a vast platter of appetizers and darted from table to table spreading the culinary cheer. The Cantina had never been this packed. The parking lot was almost jammed entirely with motorcycles, and everyone was having a good time.
The sexual buzz seemed to fill the air as mariachis buzzed around the dining room playing traditional Hispanic tunes and Latin jazz on steel guitars. Buster and Clay remained on their usual bar stools, between trips to the parking lot to check out the metal flake choppers, flamed baggers, and hot rod FXRs.
Girls were getting buzzed and dancing together as the male guests discussed motorcycles, runs to Sturgis, and the industry. Jeremiah blazed into the parking lot, locked his front wheel against a parking chock, and did a burnout, which drew a crowd.
The rumor of the lovefest in the woman’s head spread and women peeked into the head to watch Sheila give Toni head. It was a beautiful picture unfolding, as one woman sneaked a quick look or brazenly entered the head and used the facilities.
One of the girls was an undercover harbor cop who saw the gang of motorcycles and decided to investigate. She was responsible for watching a portion of the port, the vehicles, longshoremen, and truckers. The cantina presented a new and colorful venue.
Margaret was 5’7″ tall, trained constantly, and was on the thin side with short-cropped red hair and an athletic form. She was a lesbian, and startled to find two women overtly enjoying themselves in public. She used the toilet, washed her hands in the slick, tile embossed sink, then noticed the silver coke spoon under the divan. She dried her hands and backed into the corner of the restroom, in the shadows and watched as Sheila devoured Toni’s dripping pussy, while Toni massaged her massive boobs and hard sensitive nipples.
Toni rapidly approached a climax and her breathing came in delighted spurts, as she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in ecstasy. The on-duty officer was conflicted. She hadn’t busted anyone in a year, and this would be a major criminal feather in her cap. But she couldn’t deny the warmth spreading in her loins. She reached into her jacket pocket to her cell phone, next to her badge and .38-caliber revolver.
Outside, the Cantina rocked. Curious local riders streamed into the parking lot to check the high-dollar customs. Indian John slammed his jockey shifter into second as he leaned into the parking lot and hunted for a parking spot. He slipped off his flathead saddle and made his way to the front door, where he bumped into Frankie.
“Where’s Marko?” John said, almost pressing his long beard against Frankie’s pockmarked face. He endured throat surgery after cancer from smoking most of his life. Indian John was a character, and his voice was no more than a whisper.
“In his regular spot,” Frankie said. “Why?”
John attempted to answer, but the barroom banter, the music, and the roaring motorcycles outside made communication impossible, and he raised his hands and shrugged.
He strode inside and spotted Marko in the corner, watching the mingling crowd. John approached him, and Marko read his beard-covered facial features. Marko moved deeper into a dark, quieter, corner of the bar. “What’s up?”
“There’s trouble at Harold’s with Diego,” John grappled to mutter even the slightest words. “And he’s talking about coming here.”
Marko nodded and looked around the room. The joint was packed with a crowd of Bandit’s pals. He spotted Jacob searching the crowd for his woman, and he was missing two of his own crew.
He could deal with one major incident at a time, but this scenario was beginning to boil over. He offered to buy John a drink, but John turned him down. He just looked at Marko with a deep concern and raised his eyebrows in a questioning move.
“I’ll let Bandit know,” Marko said, reassuring John. John and Bandit went back many years.
As Marko moved out of the corner toward the door, he could hear more bikers pulling into the parking lot. He sought to find Bandit, and to check the parking lot for Diego, the local Mexican badass, as he spotted Jacob strolling toward the women’s head. Something told him that wasn’t a good idea.
He moved quickly to draw Jacob from making a scene. Diego rode his ratty Sportster into the parking lot and parked is hazardously close to one of the sharpest customs in the lot. As we swung his leg over his tattered solo seat, his engineer boot scuffed the side of the engraved leather seat on the adjacent bike.
“What the fuck?” a stubby Italian biker snapped. He was the owner of this high-buck, ground-up custom, and lived in Hollywood.
“Get over it, asshole,” Diego said, stepping away from his motorcycle. He abruptly pulled his sheathed ivory-handled Colt knife. “You wanna make a big deal out of it, pretty boy?”
“Hey Jacob,” Marko said grabbing his bicep as Jacob closed within five feet of the women’s head. Two hot-looking babies just departed the restroom, giggling and pointing back toward the door.
“Did you see the waitress?” a tall well-dressed brunette said to her red-faced partner.
“Yeah!” Her partner nestled against her. “Have you ever had another woman?”
Jacob was on a mission. Some noisy broad with no class whispered in his ear about his girlfriend making out with the waitress in the head.
“I may need a hand over here,” Marko said to Jacob, steering the smaller man away from trouble, when Jerry ran in the front door.
“There’s trouble in paradise.” It was the Cantina code for a potentially violent problem.
Marko looked outside at the full moon. The night was too perfect over the harbor. Then he noticed a woman in a booth toss a perfectly good margarita in the face of her lover. Another woman stood a few feet away, reached for her purse, and Marko watched her hand slip inside. The metal flake purse was large enough to carry a fully loaded sizeable automatic.
For years, Marko and Bandit trained in close quarters combat. They studied weapons and security. When Bandit opened the Cantina, Marko preached about fire drills and security measures. Bandit always seemed too busy building and working the cantina to pay much attention to Marko’s devious safety measures. Jerry waved at Marko from the Cantina entrance. Marko could swear he witnessed a pearl-handled 9mm emerge from the woman’s purse.
Jacob pulled away from Marko’s grasp and began a beeline for the head. Marko slipped his calloused, overly trained hand inside his sweatshirt to his 45 automatic, when the lights went out. Suddenly, without warning, the Cantina went black and the crowd was stunned.
A large crack went off, like a bomb in the parking lot and the sky above the Cantina filled with fireworks. The girls screamed and ran for the door. Everybody ran outside to catch the action. The sky was filled with red, green, yellow, blue, purple Dahlia sparkles, white strobes and brocades or dazzling lights and crackling flowers. Shots with red, green, blue and purple pearls blasted into the sky with chrysanthemum bursts. Silver strobes and multi-colored streaks, and explosions filled the sky above the Cantina.
The show lasted just over two minutes and unexpectedly stopped, and the lights in the Cantina came back on and the music continued to play. Sheila was back at her post delivering drinks to happy customers. The tall buxom beauty with the pearl-handled automatic found herself in the booth beside her man, and the biker’s angry wife was gone.
Diego was comfortably asleep on the Cantina park bench and Frankie was carefully cleaning the scuff off the riders ornately carved leather seat with a special leather treating material.
Tina stood beside Jacob with a frosty new Margarita in one hand and her other delicate hand wrapped around Jacob’s arm. “I’m sorry about that,” she whispered in Jacob’s ear. “I got a tad carried away.”
Jacob turned to Tina, slightly dazed. “I was just speaking to Bandit. I told him all about Shirley. He seemed interested.”
Mandy found herself in the woman’s head delivering another frosty Gold Cadillac Margarita to the hot looking undercover agent trapped in the dark corner. The restroom was empty except for the aroused officer facing the auburn haired waitress with the bubbly personality. She quickly realized she needed something more than another crime score for her career. She gleefully accepted the margarita and took a deep gulp, pulled Mandy close and kissed her.
Nyla slipped behind the bar and relieved Cinderella, who returned to the galley, assisting the Chinaman with his cooking duties.
No one saw Bandit again for the remainder of the night, or Shirley.
