You know who he is. You know what he does. Everyone knows everyone in Bayou Goula, and Jack Brandon isn’t exactly low profile. He hasn’t been at the bar in a while, but he’s here tonight.

You would know. You’re always looking, waiting for the day when he’ll walk up to you oozing swag with that shit-eating smirk on his face. You see him looking at you sometimes, ogling your tits and your ass, but he never talks to you. Never talks to any of the girls, really. He doesn’t have to. He could have any woman in town on all fours with one look.

He’s always all business in the bar, sitting in the darkened corner with his crew, scheming on something to get more of the cash everyone knows he has. That’s the one thing about Jack Brandon you can’t shake: behind that cold, hardened face, his mind is always racing. He’s always plotting his next move, always thinking about something.

You want that something to be you. Especially since your car is in the shop, your rent is due, and you just lost your job. You know Jack takes care of his women, and he’s always carrying cash. If you can hook him, you’ll be set. You’ll do a lot for money. You’ll especially do a lot for money that comes from someone who looks like Jack. Maybe tonight will be the night.

You’re always wearing a skirt that’s too short and heels that are too high, and a shirt so tight your tits are spilling over. All of it for him, so he notices you, so he wants to take you home and fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name.

Tonight you’re drunk and horny as fuck. And Jack looks good. He always looks good, but it’s summer in Louisiana and it’s like a swamp outside. He’s wearing a wife beater and that fucking chain of his–the chain with the cross on it that makes you think the most ungodly things.

You can’t let yourself stare at his arms for too long. He’s all tatted up and rock hard muscle. That’s what you think about at night, when you’re alone–the way his arms would look holding on to your hips as he fucked you, and all the ways you could get his blood pumping so hard you could see it throbbing in those veins that pop out of his forearms. Those veins. Those fucking veins. You start to feel it–the hot, damp sensation that usually follows any thoughts of him. The whiskey starts talking.

Fuck it.

He’s braced against the crowded bar and the outline of his perfect ass is calling to you. Tonight you’re answering that call, and your drink is empty besides.

You sidle up to the bar, making sure your tits swing a little harder as you squeeze in next to him. You look at him. You know he noticed.

“ Sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be.” He smiles.

His gaze lingers just long enough below the neck for you to know you’ve hooked him. You feel a burst of confidence. “Buy a girl a drink?”

As he shifts his hips to face you, you see the outline of the gun. You should be scared but you aren’t. It’s tucked away in his pants, resting next to his other prominent bulge. You wish you could see more of it, maybe the ass-end of the grip poking out, lifting his shirt just enough for you to peep at his chiseled stomach, but you make do with what you have. Just thinking about the gun makes you cross your legs.

“Jamey neat, right?” He speaks abruptly, like he’s doing you a favor. He has no idea how right he is.

“How’d you know?” You play it off cool but inside you’re reeling. A lucky guess, that’s all.

“I seen you in here,” he says. “Like I’m not gonna notice a girl that looks like you orderin’ straight Irish whiskey?” He laughs like he’s just told the world’s funniest joke. “Please.”

The bartender serves him immediately. Everyone knows you don’t keep Jack waiting. He slides the glass over to you and you thank him, taking it down in one gulp.

He chuckles. He’s warming up to you. You know what’s on his mind now, and you’re right there with him.

“Slow down, sweetheart. You got a long night ahead of you.”

You move in closer to him, so close you can feel the hard steel digging into your hip through his pants. His smell is more intoxicating than the whiskey. He smells like musk and sweat and man.

You reach into your shirt and flash him the small vial you have tucked away in your cleavage. “Don’t worry about me, baby. I got us a nice little pick-me-up.”

He takes down the rest of his whiskey and slams the glass on the bar, smiling wide at you. He looks around before grabbing your ass and pulling you close to him. His breath is hot and smells of booze and cigarettes as his gruff voice rings in your ear. “Who’s car we gonna take?”

Your car is a piece of shit. It’s in the shop. It’s always in the shop. Jack gives you a knowing grin and tells you he’ll meet you outside in five. “Got some shit I need to wrap up in here.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long.” The liquid courage is strong, and you’re enjoying playing cat-and-mouse with him even though he’s dangerous. Maybe because he’s dangerous.

He leans in close again. His scent is making you dizzy. “You’d wait all fuckin’ night for me, sweetheart. And you know it.”

Your panties are drenched by the time you make it out to the car. You light a cigarette and wait for him, thinking of all the things you want him to do to you. You’ve waited forever for this. You know you’ll do anything he wants.

He finally comes out of the bar. It’s been fifteen minutes. You know he did it on purpose. He makes his way to the car with that swag you can’t get enough of.

“Get in.”

You jump in the passenger seat and tell him where your place is. It’s only a few blocks away but you can’t get there soon enough. He starts the car and reaches into his pants, pulling out the gun and handing it to you. ”Hold this.”

It’s heavier than you thought. You’ve never held a gun before, and the weight of it in your hand is making you so hot. You start to think about the weight of something else in his pants, and you almost don’t hear him when he snaps at you.

“Fuckin’ put it somewhere already. You got a purse or some shit?”

Your purse is too small to hold it so you slide it up under your skirt. The feel of the cold steel against your thighs and the muzzle grazing that spot already hot and throbbing for him makes you shiver.

“You scared of it?”

“No.” The word flies out of your mouth before you can think, and you know it’s a lie. You are scared of it, but the danger is turning you on so much you don’t even think twice. “Is it loaded?”

Jack laughs. “What the fuck is the point of a gun that ain’t loaded?”

He speeds off toward your place. He’s way over the limit and driving like he’s in the middle of a car chase. You’re sitting with a vial of coke in your bra and a loaded gun shoved up your skirt. You should be worried but all you can think about is getting him inside and letting him fuck you half blind.

He parks in front of your place and turns to you, reaching up into your skirt and grabbing the gun. He smiles as he tucks it back in his pants. “Mmm, nice and warm,” he says.

You just smile and exit the car, swinging your hips as you walk to the door. Once inside, you pull the vial out of your shirt and set it on the coffee table, next to the mirror and the rolled up twenty already in place. Jack throws the gun on the table and grabs the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen, taking a hard swig and watching you as you cut a few lines. You are standing with your back to him, bent over as you work. You know your ass is showing. You know he likes it.

You are nearly done cutting the lines when you hear him approach you from behind. He runs two thick fingers from your clit up the crack of your ass, tracing the line of your thong, and you jump a bit, shaking the mirror and knocking some of the powder out of place.

He hisses when he feels how wet you are already.

“ Fuck, girl. You’re ready for it.”

You turn to him and smile, motioning to the mirror. “Look what you made me do.”

He slaps your bare ass, hard. “Fuckin’ fix it then.”

You do as he asks and hand him the rolled up twenty.

“Ladies first,” he says, but there is nothing gentlemanly about the look on his face.

You start to kneel to snort a line but he stops you. “Do it standing up. I like the view.”

You bend over at the waist and he grabs your hips hard, pulling your bare ass into him. You can feel his cock hardening as you take down the two thin lines you’ve cut for yourself. You snort back, savoring the drip before running a finger over the residue and gumming it. You hand him the twenty, but he just shakes his head.

You’re confused. “You don’t want any? It’s good shit.”

“Oh, I want some.” He grabs your shirt and rips it straight off you before unclasping your bra with one hand. “Lie down.”

You lie on the couch and he grabs the vial, tapping out a messy line across one of your tits. He forgoes the rolled up bill and sticks his nose right up against your skin, snorting as much as he can off you before lapping up the rest.

He takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks it hard, swirling his tongue around to lick up every bit before taking it between his teeth. He bites down with just enough force to make you cry out, and he growls as he pulls up a bit before letting go.

“You want another?”

“You know I do.” He repeats his actions on the other side and, by the time he’s through, you are aching for him. When he brings his head up, his face is covered in blow and you pull him back down to you.

“Wouldn’t want this to go to waste.” You lick under his nose and make your way to his lips, dragging your tongue across the top, then the bottom. His lips are parted just slightly, and he’s breathing heavy against you.

He loses patience and grabs you hard by the hair, crashing his mouth into yours as he lays himself on top of you. You open your mouth up to him and he kisses you deep, his tongue swirling around yours as he reaches down between your legs. He pulls out of the kiss, dragging a little bit of your lower lip as he goes, and raises himself off you.

“Stand up.”

You do and, as soon as you’re upright, he reaches under your skirt and tears your panties right off you. He yanks your skirt down to your ankles, and you’re left standing completely naked as he reaches down and runs his fingers hard and fast over your dripping cunt.

“Shit, yeah. You’re ready.”

“Give it to me, Jack.”

“What, this?” He grabs your hand and puts it on his cock, throbbing through his pants. “Is this what you want?”

You bite your lower lip and nod.

He smiles and rips his shirt off, leaving just the chain.

He’s so fucking cut and you can’t take your eyes off his muscles. You run your free hand over his rippling chest. “You are so fucking hot. Fuck me, Jack. Fuck me hard.”

He pulls down his pants and boxers in one motion. His cock pops up and you lick your lips at the sight of it–it’s thick and veiny, just like those fucking arms of his. He swings you around and throws you against the arm of the couch, bending you over with a hard shove and spreading your legs with his knee.

You can’t help but look over at the gun sitting on the table, barrel pointed straight at you. He follows your gaze. He knows what you’re looking at. He moves toward the table and picks up the gun.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You nod. Your eyes dart between his cock and the gun, and he laughs. You flash a wicked smile at him. He knows what you want. You never knew you wanted it, but now it’s all you can think about. He moves back behind you and rubs his cock up and down your entrance. You push back into him, wanting him to fill you up and fuck you senseless.

When you feel the cold steel touch the small of your back and move up your spine to the back of your head, you buck back even further and moan.

“You want it like this, don’t you, you crazy bitch.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

He pushes into you, slow at first, hissing as he feels you take him inch by inch. When he presses the gun hard to the back of your head, you feel yourself gushing around his cock and he slams into you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck. You are so fuckin’ tight.” He grabs your hip with his free hand, his rough fingers digging into your skin, and starts pounding you furiously. With each hard thrust, the barrel hits your skull and it hurts so good you could come just thinking about it.

He brings his hand down hard across your ass a few times as he slams against you, and the crack of his hand mingles with the sound of wet skin on skin echoing through the room. You love the way he grunts as his balls slap against you, and you need to reach down and touch yourself.

You move your fingers in quick circles around your clit as he quickens his pace and fucks you harder than you’ve ever been fucked. He takes his hand and grabs your breast, pulling you upright and keeping pace as he moves the gun from the back of your head to your temple. When you look down, you can see those fucking veins in his arm and his muscles taut and straining as he fucks up into you.

Your legs are jelly and you can barely stand, so you reach one hand back and grab his ass for balance while you continue to work yourself. It’s hard in your hand and you feel his muscles bunch under your grasp with each thrust. He grunts and bites down on your shoulder as he continues to pound you mercilessly. You know it will leave a mark and you don’t fucking care.

He grabs you by the hair and pulls hard so you’re looking up at him. His eyes are full of lust and menace.

“You like that cock, don’t you?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“You like this, too, don’t you?” He presses the gun harder into your temple and you speed up the pace of your fingers against your clit.

“Oh fuck, Jack, I’m gonna come.”

He grunts as he fucks you harder and you can feel the sweat dripping off of him and onto your back. “Yeah, that’s it. Come all over my cock.”

“Oh, FUCK! I’m so close.”

“Come right fuckin’ now or I’ll blow a hole in your head.”

That does it. Your walls tighten and you come so hard you’re almost seizing. He growls as he feels you clamp down on him and holds you in place as you ride it out, his pace unrelenting. When you’re through you collapse over the arm of the couch and he tosses the gun away, placing both hands on your ass and squeezing so hard you know you’ll have bruises. His thrusts grow erratic and you know he’s close. You look back at him over your shoulder. His forehead is creased with deep lines and his thick lips form an O as he puffs out air with each thrust. His chain is swinging in time with his rhythm, bouncing off his chest slick with sweat.

“That’s it. Fill me up, baby.”

“You want it?”

“Fuck yes. Give it to me, Jack.”

“You want it, you crazy fuckin’ bitch?”

“I want it. Give it to me.”

“Oh, FUCK.” He comes hard, head thrown back and eyes clenched shut. The noises coming out of him are animal and you know you can come again just listening to it. You rub your clit the way you always do when you're thinking of him, and it brings you to a quick climax. He grunts and groans as you milk every drop from him, and collapses onto you, sweaty and panting. You lay there for a while before he pulls out of you.

You already feel empty without him inside. You grab the whiskey off the table and drink straight from the bottle, lounging on the couch naked and basking in the afterglow with the bottle between your legs.

He looks at you and laughs before dressing himself. You just watch, mesmerized by his body. When he’s through, he throws a wad of cash onto the table, grabs the gun, and kneels beside you on the couch.

He runs the cold steel muzzle from your temple down to your chin and you smile wide as you stare him down.

He just shakes his head. “You’re fuckin’ psycho,” he says with a wicked smile. “Lucky for you, so am I.”