The Tales From The Tavern: Revenge, Bitch - Sex Stories

The Tales From The Tavern: Revenge, Bitch

A cold, rainy night in late autumn. The tavern was crowded. Sound of people talking, laughing, cheering; a few storytellers surrounded by their respective audience, some guests sitting at the bar. A typical night in Big ol' Tom's tavern. None of the storytellers had, nevertheless, attracted the old barista's attention – so far, that is. That was until the heavy oaken double wing doors opened once more. A man in his late twenties stepped in, coat soaked from the cold November rain. He looked around for a free seat – no particularly peculiar behavior so far. His eye caught the last free bar stool. When slowly walking towards it, he overheard a few stories. A very specific one caught his interest. “But, dude, she did give you head, right?” asked a listener to the teller of this special story. “No,” replied a grinning elderly and clearly drunk man, “for she had no head.” The crowd around him almost died laughing. Unable to understand the joke, the young man stopped his walk to the bar, and turned his head to the elderly storyteller, disgusted by his sick sense of humor. Another customer – probably a regular, judging from the self-confidence he emanated – approached him, and put his hand on his shoulder. “Don't mind him, son,” this customer said, drying his hand – wet from the young lad's soaked coat – on his own jacket “he's got a sick sense of humor. Always tells stories 'bout 'Nam. Claims he's fought in the war although everyone knows he ain't never set as much as a foot ...

... there.” The elderly drunk storyteller stood up at once and walked – better: lurched his way – to the two men who had apparently insulted him. His voice reeked of cheap booze: “Like you got an idea how many of those fucking slant-eyed gook fucks I killed back there!” Another voice came roaring from the bar: “That's enough!!” It was Big ol' Tom who was leaning over the mahogany bar. “How many times have I told you that we won't tolerate any racist expressions nor any aggressive behavior in here, Patrick!” The drunk man squinted at the owner of the tavern. “Cut me some slack, Tom! I'm one of your regulars! He started it, man!” Not willing to argue, Big ol' Tom sent the doorman after his drunk customer. It wasn't much of a fight, though. Finally, the young man sat on the barstool. “Pretty much going on here tonight, huh?” he stated. Big ol' Tom replied while filling a few pints with his exquisite draft: “Patrick. An old friend. Warned him too many times, though. But let's not talk about this, shall we? What can I do for you, son?” “Do I get it right that this here is the place where stories are told?” the young man asked, catching some of the other customer's interest. “ That's what the sign in front of this tavern said last time I checked. Big ol' Tom's Tavern, it says, the place where stories are told. ” The old man himself put a freshly filled pint in front of his new guest “Drinks on the house while you're telling.” He took a first long sip. “Well, that's something I like. Sure, a ...