Author’s note: this is part two of Hemlock and the Kippers. This is more chapter than complete short story and I do recommend reading from part one to get up to date. Perhaps an inadvertent beginning to a novel.

A Rude Awakening by VoreBeastHemlock wrapped blonde curls around his hand and tugged hard. Soon his cock was thrusting into the young blonde to the AC/DC Thunderstruck beat with his balls smacking her clit like lightning strikes.

The blonde’s head lifted like a horse having reigns pulled.

“Just wow, man,” Bald Bruce said with wide blue eyes. “You’re like Yoda.”

Hemlock turned to look back over his left shoulder and squinted his own blue eyes at him. “Short, green, pointy ears and the same voice as Miss Piggy?”

Bruce sat on the black leather couch in nothing but a white towel covering his waist down. He leaned forward with forearms supported on his thighs and his hands clasped in front.

The group had been led by Hemlock into a private area of the dark club. A single yellowish bulb was centered above the large mattress. The couch was snuggled in behind, making it awkward for voyeurs to sit without stepping through the action. The music was louder here with a speaker set on the other side of the wall.

“Miss Piggy? No, man, wise. You’re fucking wise with the ladies.”

“First,” Hemlock grunted with a particularly strong thrust, “they’re women, not ladies. Ladies have tea with extended pinky fingers.”

The blonde laughed and then sighed at the continued onslaught of the cock hammering into her pussy.

“See, Cleo agrees.” Hemlock had little doubt that her real name was not Cleopatra, but that had been the name she offered. He had not expected his first post-prison release fuck to be a blonde less than half his age, never mind expected to have a young punk watching in the hopes of picking up pointers.

Cleo, herself, was silent beyond her enjoyable moans and purrs. Her ass thrust back against Hemlock to add power to the fuck.

Expected, or not, having her twenty-year-old pussy extremely tight around his more than forty-year-old erection made it difficult to not lose himself. She did remind him a lot, oddly enough, of Lois.

Lois was the perfect business partner for Hemlock when they owned their own lifestyle sex club. With her blonde hair, cheerleader physique and gorgeous blue-eyed smile she could charm the briefs off any man and always had drinks bought for her at her own club. Then again, that was what killed her in the end and what ultimately landed Hemlock in prison for twenty years.

Memories began to fade his erection. To compensate he rewrapped his hand in Cleo’s curls and pulled harder.

Cleo squealed.

Hemlock rehardened.

Bruce gasped in awe.

AC/DC finished their tune and were quickly replaced by a modern hip-hop take of Time of My Life by some artists Hemlock did not know, nor wanted to know. The song was on his list of ones never to hear again in its first incarnation and this was intolerable. At least it helped him continue to stop his mind from returning to the memories.

“That’s fucking awesome,” Bruce grunted and slipped his hand under his towel.

Sensing his orgasm closing fast, Hemlock slowed and bent forward to whisper in Cleo’s ear, “Come for me now.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and tensed her body.

Barker sipped from his long-necked beer bottle. Setting it back down he looked at the water ring it left on the dark-stained white oak bar top from its previous position. “Let me get this straight.”

Hemlock’s blue eyes glanced at him. “Feel free to ask for clarifications.”

By pub standards the place was dark and seedy. Bare yellow industrial bulbs lit the bar from an iron beam suspended by wires. Black chalkboard with faded memories of past menus displayed the current list of on-tap offerings. A mismatch of wooden and metal tables and chairs were scattered through the room. The place was more about accessibility of drink than ambiance.

“Oh I will.” Baker nodded and took a long slug of ale.

“Good.” Hemlock shifted in his bar stool.

“I let you out of prison…”

“My sentence was over. Sure, you unlocked the gate, but I could argue as to whom actually let me out.”

Barker glared at him and continued, “…and you get a job as a bouncer at a swingers club less than twenty-four hours later.”

“How is this a bad thing?”

“A swingers club.”

The blonde barmaid behind the bar looked uncomfortable hearing this conversation.

“A private club. It’s a reputable job.” Hemlock winked at the barmaid.

“True, but you promised to bring me sometime. Now it’s a conflict of interest.”

A moment of silence was followed by both men snorting in laughter.

Hemlock stopped the laughter by holding up a hand. “Did I tell you about the blonde?”

“Yes, I believe you did. Not entirely sure I believe you.” His gaze was stolen for a moment by the lights of a passing trolley. “What happened to Bruce?”

“He joined in and proved he is much too much a Kipper to help yet. He’ll learn though.”

Barker sipped his ale. “Kipper?”

“Kink impaired people. Was a term that Travis used when he offered me the job.” Hemlock glanced around to wave down the barmaid for another beer.

“Right, the job. I gotta hear about this.”

“What, you mean you don’t want to hear more about the blonde?”

Barker gave him a wave. “Please, she came with a squeal no doubt. The fact that you never mentioned wearing a condom is what bothers me.”

“Okay, I did. Seems I skipped that point.”

“When you were in prison you never skipped such points. Then again, you were somewhat more distant from the stories you were telling than you are now.”

Hemlock nodded. “This is true. And she came more with a gush than a squeal. Had to finish her off with my mouth and she decided to squirt like fucking Niagara Falls.”

Another sip for Barker finished his pint in an attempt to hide his blushing. “So, the job?”

“Yes, the job. Travis runs a modest club and wants to get it to the level of notorious. He seems to think a man of my experience can help him.”

“Not sure the back of a swingers club is where most job interviews happen, but I guess it worked.”

“That it did.” Hemlock’s gaze wandered off to the ceiling.

“And the blonde?”

“Hmmm?”

“The girl you fucked?”

“Oh yeah.” Hemlock raised his hand and called over the barmaid. “Cleo, this is Les Barker. He’s a prison guard that was very good to me.”

Barker blushed.

“Oh really? Hemlock has told me a lot about you.”

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