Saint Patrick’s Day

Here in America we celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day on March seventeenth. This year it was on Wednesday. Everyone wears green and most people claim to be Irish. I myself wore a T-shirt that read: “Kiss me I’m Irish.”

Tradition in my neighborhood says that you start drinking green beer and shorts of Irish whisky right after work and you don’t stop for anything until you pass out. I do stop to throw up and eat some food. That way I can outlast most of my friends.

This year one guy invited her sister to join us. She had just turned twenty-one the week before and could finally drink legally. She was fresh out of a Community College and a knock out too.

Samantha was a natural blonde with some darker highlights in her hair. It was curly and hung almost to her waist. She had decided to wear a tiny green bikini top that hardly covered her areolas. She also had on a tiny pair of shorts that were well under her belly button and hardly past her crotch. Green high heels finished off her outfit.

Her brother was wasted, so she asked me to take her someplace a little more exciting. We said our good byes and left. I had the rest of the week off and she was out of school so it was perfect.

The next bar had an old unused stage in one corner. It looked as if it was left over from the disco days. Samantha asked the bartender where the owner was. They exchanged a few words then Samantha came back to me. She had made a deal to remove her top and dance to two Irish songs every half-hour in exchange for free drinks for her and I.

She punched some numbers into the old jukebox, handed me her top, and then she got up on the stage. She was of Irish decent and she could dance the Jig very well. Every eye in the place was on her as she moved around constantly causing her ultra fine titties to gyrate.

After the two songs had ended she got down and I helped her back into her green bikini top. Well the audience did not like that and chanted for her to continue dancing. The owner came over to us and pleaded with her to get back up on the stage. Out of desperation on his part, Samantha made a deal to dance for fifteen minutes with a fifteen-minute rest, all of the drinks that she and I could get down, and a full case of good Irish whisky to take home with us. To top it off he told her that she could keep her tips. She didn’t want to dance for money but when he told her to donate it to her favorite charity she relented.

The owner made an announcement about fifteen on and fifteen off as well as the tips going to her favorite charity…some Irish children’s fund. He made up the last part because she had just told me that her favorite charity was to pay off her student loan.

The music started and she started dancing. Of course that was not enough and they wanted to see more. She told them that a twenty-dollar contribution would get them a ten-second look at her bald beaver.

On her first break she took me into the men’s room, made sure that the last stall was clean enough for her to sit in, and then she let me keep track of the time. In just over five minutes thirty men had paid her six hundred dollars and gotten their ten-second look at her bald pussy spread wide open.

Everyone loved it when she tied a shoelace to each of her nipples and then twirled them like helicopters. She was one very talented young lady.

She kept up her part of the bargain and danced well past last call. The owner gave her a case of Irish whiskey, a couple of bottles of Bailey’s Irish Cream, and a case of Guinness beer telling us to pretend that England was part of Ireland for one day a year. He was most appreciative. He said it was the most profitable St. Patrick’s Day that he had had in a few years. Then he asked Samantha if she would like to come in and dance on Friday and Saturday nights. He told her that she could make as much money with her body as he had hustling green beers all night. She told him that she would think it over.

I was going to take her home but she said that her mother would kill her. She wanted to go home with me since I had guarded her body all night and that I might as well reap the rewards of it. She said that her pussy had a mind of it’s own and that it wanted my cock in it.

At my place I pulled enough twenty-dollar bills out of my pocket to add up to three thousand dollars. She had a bag full of one-dollar bills that added up to almost four hundred dollars, not bad for one night’s work.

Even drunk Samantha was the best fuck that I had ever had. She was not the least bit inhibited either. If she wanted to call out obscenities, get on top, or even fart…then she did. That girl could do some incredible things with her pussy. She had talents that I hadn’t even seen yet. Then when that final orgasm possessed her body I had all I could do to hold on. It was gut wrenching, it was off the Richter Scale, and it caused her immense pleasure. I was happy that it had been my cock that had given her that extreme pleasure. She closed her eyes, snuggled into me, and started snoring. She was dead to the world until well into the next afternoon.

When Samantha finally woke up she had no headache, she was full of energy, and she wanted me to fuck her with a full bladder. She said that it gave her stronger orgasms that way. I had been hard for a couple of hours watching her sleep in my arms so I was all for it too. I had managed to slip out of bed and pee an hour before so I could last forever. Well maybe not, after all Samantha was an incredible sexy young lady. I did the unthinkable and folded her in half putting her ankles at her ears and thrusting my cock right into her full bladder causing her to let out a warm dark yellow flow that could have filled a water glass. She apologized but I just kept thrusting into her. Right then it was my need that was most important to me. She didn’t hesitate to go along for the ride though. When we climaxed together it was a loud one.

We stripped the bed to let the mattress air dry then we showered together. We made love in the shower then we had a sandwich before I took her home to get a few things. Her brother wasn’t there but her mother certainly gave her a hard time. It seems that a friend of hers had told her about Samantha becoming a stripper, taking her clothes off, and then selling looks at her bald pussy for twenty dollars. She called her a prostitute and told her to leave. Samantha just smiled and told her mother that that was why we were there. We filled the back of my car, my trunk, and I tied a few things to the roof. Samantha was all mine!

That night we went back to the bar and she accepted the job for Friday and Saturday if he would throw in an extra day too. Since Monday was his worst day of the week she took it but she wanted to dance the noon hour and return right after the work crowd arrived to dance until closing.

Word had spread quickly because when we arrived on Friday the place was packed. The owner hired me to watch the door, if someone left then someone could come in. In no time there was a line out on the sidewalk of people waiting to get a look at the hottest girl in town.

Fortunately a friend of the owner arrived to take over for me so that I could get back to Samantha. She was turned on and ready to let them look at her pussy. In the men’s room she found guys already waiting for her. She got in the last stall, removed her panties, and spread for them. She worked her little ass off for nine hours that Friday and fourteen hours that Saturday. She made so much money that she asked me to quite my day job and kept her feeling protected. I had a new job and I love protecting her body. On our off days we slept in, we made love, and we counted her money. It didn’t take her long at all to pay off her student loan.

Samantha was in such demand that other bar owners kept trying to steal her away. In the end she danced at the original bar six nights a week.

A year later we were married and had bought a nice little farm upstate. We paid cash and had to convince the real estate agent that we weren’t drug dealers. Samantha continued to dance six nights a week for the next five years. She retired at twenty-six years old with enough money in the bank to live off the interest. We raised a few head of cattle, grew our own crops, and raised a small brood of children.

The End
Saint Patrick’s Day
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