Drunk and Disorderly

December Ink

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 2,200
2 Ratings (3.5)

Very bad behavior and a bratty mouth earn Jules a punishment from her favorite bartender. Though, it's never pleasant at first, John is her favorite bartender for a reason. He knows just what his customer needs.
Warning: this title contains explicit sex and language. Rough sex, spanking, corporal punishment, pain play, mild humiliation and sex outdoors.
Intended for readers 18+ ONLY

Drunk and Disorderly
2 Ratings (3.5)

Drunk and Disorderly

December Ink

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 2,200
2 Ratings (3.5)
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Cover Art by Sommer Marsden
Reviews
Very well written, I just didn't find it that hot and erotic. That she pretended to be drunk & disorderly just to get some action took down the rating as well as the sex scene. It is a short story ...about 6 pages...and only 1 scene. It just didn't do much for me but I did find the writing very descriptive and enjoyable. This may be something up your alley. I gave it a 4 because of the writing style itself.
JustMe
Excerpt

I’m not really drunk but I do it anyway. I polish off my Sam Adam’s lager and I drop my thick mug over the bar. I know it will not break. The rubber slip mat under John’s feet will keep it from shattering. But I look damn surly doing it and that is the point.

“I need another one!” I bark and John’s head whips up from where he’s cutting limes. His ginger red beard shines a white gold color in the light from the various televisions mounted in the corners.

John shakes his head, comes my way. He bends, all six foot five of himself and picks up my mug. “No. No you don’t, Jules. You need to go home.”

“But I don’t want to go home,” I say and push myself toward him. I put on my best stubborn face and poke his big barrel chest with my finger. “I do not want to go home. I want another beer. And then maybe another beer. You’re the bartender, John. That means…” I sit back and hitch my low slung jeans up a bit higher. “…you work for me. Got it?”

John frowns but his eyes dart right to my waistband. The tan ring of skin that is visible between my tee and my jeans. He seems mesmerized for a moment and butterflies start to fly low in my belly. I move a little on my bar stool and his dark green eyes follow me. There are two other patrons besides myself in the bar. They both seem asleep. Marc, his back-up is washing mugs. I want to grab his big face and kiss him. Sink my fingers into that reddish beard and tug but I don’t. Instead I frown and I wait.

“I do work for you, Jules,” he says softly. A tone of voice reserved for nuts and drunks and frightened animals. “And right now, I’m telling the boss to go home. That would be you. Boss, go home.”

I am perfectly sober but I slur my words just a hint for him. It’s taken forever to get the right tone down. The perfect softening of a th or drawing out an s way too long. “I want another beer.”

“No.”

“I want.” I push the napkin holder over the lip of the bar onto the floor. “Another.” Next goes the popcorn bowl. “Beer.” Then the stack of coasters. “Please,” I add and toss a peanut right at his big handsome face. “Now.”

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