28. Titty Shots
Titty Shots
Josephine
I should be astonished. I should turn around, walk my ruffled petticoats out the door, and never come back. That is what any lady of gentle upbringing would do. But this? This looks fun.
At the far end of the long, narrow establishment, a countertop glistens with spilled ale.
A jolly-looking gentleman from behind the counter mans the party.
A cloth, which probably used to be white, is draped like a sad, dead rat over his shoulder, and from time to time, he wipes up a spill or dries a mug with it.
A table is upended, and a few men throw punches. A fellow three times my size tumbles to the ground with a cheer, followed by a roar of laughter before I realize they are hitting one another for the fun of it.
Blaze slides an arm around my waist, urging me further in, and I nearly trip over a barmaid’s skirt as she flits by, offering us both a cheery smile before approaching a table with a raucous shout, “Alright boys! Whose next?” To my shock, the group of…
not gentlemen…proceeds to take shots from between her cleavage.
“Aye!” Albion greets us with a raised mug, and I wonder where he got it until I watch Gus swipe an ale for himself from beside an unsuspecting patron’s elbow. I assume his love of stealing was just perpetuated by his caretaker.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Blaze objects, taking the beverage from Gus before it can even reach his lips.
“Wait until you have a little hair on your lip like the rest of us,” he warns with a grin, patting the boy’s head before glancing down at the mug, then over his shoulder at the previous owner of the drink. He shrugs. “Finders keepers.”
I chide Blaze for both the stealing and for sharing a pint with a stranger, and then I slide into a chair beside him, across from a woman a few years older than me.
She is pressing kisses first into Alby’s cheeks, then Gus’s, before settling into her seat with a flop, her cheery eyes landing on me next.
“You must be the fine lady Gus and Alby keep going on about?”
“Josephine Hollows.” I bob my chin politely, reach for the mug the barmaid hands me, then promptly spew the contents the moment they contact my tongue.
“Hell and damnation!” I peer into the pale liquid, then glance sidelong at my husband who is guzzling his second.
“I believe we can accurately say this tastes more like someone’s hindquarters than any tea I have given you. ”
“Drink up, darlin’. It’ll taste better soon,” the woman across from me responds, and Blaze offers an enthusiastic nod from behind his mug.
“I’m Jeanie,” she continues, hoisting the bodice of her dress upwards, tucking her ample bosom inside the fabric.
Within seconds the frock slowly slides back down, and mountains of skin flood from her neckline.
“There be my husband, Lewis. We run a market stall a few streets over. Come by and see us!”
Lewis, a scruffy-looking fellow with dark circles under his eyes and an unevenly shaved beard leans forward to shout at his wife, “Are ye daft, woman? What’d a fine lady like this need from our sorry stall?”
Jeanie huffs, rolls her eyes, and slams a beer quicker than I have ever seen Blaze accomplish. “Even ladies must eat, Lew!”
The two argue about the whereabouts of my shopping, and I find the energetic banter delightful.
They are about to place a wager on if I would deign to shop at their stall, should my own grocer be ill or if I fell on hard times and needed a cheaper sack of potatoes, when I lean inward to offer a solution to the hearty debate.
“See that lady there?” I point to the barmaid who wedges a tiny glass between her breasts. Lewis and Jeanie nod, exchanging coy glances at each other.
“Wife,” Blaze follows my gaze, then shoots me an inquisitive smile. “Don’t tell me you are going to lick whiskey off that woman’s tits? I mean, I wouldn’t complain—”
“Blaze,” I gasp, digging fingers into his thigh. “What a suggestion, no.” I take a long swallow of my disgusting drink, then look back at the duo, ignoring how my husband and Alby whisper about God-knows-what. “Jeanie, it seems whatever those men are drinking is truly terrible, yes?”
Jeanie nods. “Burns like the devil going down.”
“Excellent. Then you each shall take a shot, and whoever controls their face in the process can pick the day on which I come to visit your stall.”
Jeanie cheers, slapping Gus on the shoulder. “Hear that, boy? Jeanie’s ‘bout to be rich!”
“Hush up, woman!” Lewis chimes in. “I’d like to offer a counter-wager!”
The table silences, and all eyes land on Lewis. The older man wears a wicked grin, and I am certain that whatever he is about to suggest is far from decent. “We are all ears,” Blaze encourages him.
“Right then.” Lewis chugs the remainder of his mead, flags down the barmaid for more, then gestures to me and Jeanie. “Ye both will present those lovely bosoms of yours—”
Jeanie smacks him upside the head about the time I gasp in shock, but the man continues, bringing Alby and Blaze to rolling laughter, the latter covering Gus’s ears.
“I shall drink from my wife, and Mr. Hollows, you will drink from yours. Whichever one of us manages to spill nary a single drop shall visit the other’s shop! ”
Jeanie gasps. “You right idiot, you!” she squeaks like a hen, pressing a palm to her chest. “Are we to spend a life savings on a gown I won’t have a chance to wear?!”
“Deal!” Blaze blurts eagerly, grabbing me by the hips to stand me up.
“Don’t worry about the cost of the dress, Jeanie,” he assures.
“I’ll pay if that’s what it takes to get a shot off my wife.
” His eyes zero in on mine, and I swear I see the devil of desire in them, a look which sends fire up my legs.
Jeanie slaps Lewis on the arm, the stakes far too high now for her to lose. “Been a minute since I did this, dear,” she warns. “Don’t get too eager!”
“I assume,” Blaze whispers, taking a glass three-quarters filled with clear liquid off the barmaid’s tray. “It’s safe to say you’ve never given a man a titty shot?”
“Blaze Hollows,” I laugh breathlessly, nervous as he hovers the drink over my bosom. “My breasts have never even been a topic of discussion!”
“Say that again?” Gus pipes in curiously, jumping up to better hear and see what is occurring.
“Blazes,” Alby curses, flashing my husband an apologetic grin before clamping a hand over Gus’s mouth as he proceeds to ask if he too can take a titty shot.
“I am far too old for this, and Gus is far too young.” The elderly man wobbles to his feet, grabbing his charge by the shoulders.
“We’ll be heading home. Have fun, kids.” He winks over his shoulder at Blaze, then leads the boy away from the table.
“Awww,” Gus whines as he follows Albion out of the tavern, leaving me to take the shot glass from my husband’s fingers and situate it accordingly.
“You gotta spread ‘em.” Blaze giggles, like a child, and gestures lewdly with his hands, offering to demonstrate the proper methods for separating my breasts. “Wedge that bad boy in there and let me do the rest of the work.”
“Aye!” Lewis cheers from beside us, splaying his palms towards Jeanie’s bosom where the glass is positioned. “We are ready. Hurry up, Mrs. Hollows!”
“Yes, Mrs. Hollows,” Blaze coos. “Hurry up.”
My cheeks flush, and someone hurries behind me, lurching me a step closer to Blaze.
The music is too loud, the babble of the crowd is incoherent, drowning out my doubts.
A lady of good breeding would never do this; then again, a gentlewoman wouldn’t be here in the first place.
That much is apparent in the way a few of the patrons eye me curiously, leaning in to whisper.
No doubt both horrified and impressed to see a lady of the ton in their establishment.
But this is their territory, and in a way, it is also Blaze’s, which by marriage makes it mine.
“Very well.” I comply, first allowing myself a last gulp from my mug, shivering as the nasty taste brings me to a pleasant buzz. Then, I nudge the butt of the glass between my breasts, trying not to giggle as Blaze claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously in excitement. “Try not to spill.”
“Don’t worry, love,” Blaze says comfortingly as he takes the last step to bridge the gap between our bodies, his hands closing in around the sides of my bodice. “If I spill anything, I promise to lick it off.”
“Three!” Lewis cheers, and his countdown immediately calls the attention of those around us, drawing in a crowd.
“Two!”
Our onlookers join in, and Blaze leans forward, fixing his lips around the rim of the glass, eyes peering up at me from beneath his brows. I suck in a breath as I feel his fingers press into the skin of my cleavage.
“One!”
I close my eyes, hold my breath, and stay still as the glass slips off my skin.
The crowd roars in a cheer. I peek an eye open as both Blaze and Lewis tilt their heads backward, each swallowing the whiskey.
Jeanie lets out a triumphant whoop, examining her chest before I glance down at mine, taking note of a stray droplet.
“I win!” she shrieks.
But I hardly notice her cheers, for Blaze coils an arm around my waist, drawing me near while whispering, “No, I win,” before lowering his mouth to my heaving breasts, slowly lapping the whiskey from my skin with a warm tongue.
The next three hours pass in a blur. Once promising to visit Jeanie’s stall the following week, I am lost in a twirl of tavern dances, spinning and stomping, and at some point, joining several other women on top of a row of neatly lined stools where we are each quizzed on topics regarding our husbands.
The general rules of the game are intended to leave the players too tipsy to hold their places on their perches.
Beside me, only Jeanie—who is already wobbling—and one other remain when the question of our husband’s favorite childhood memory arises.
Four other contestants have failed on account of balance, the alcohol teetering their bodies off their stools.
We are six questions deep, and I have only taken two shots thus far.
Jeanie pouts as she fails to correctly answer the query, downing her shot as a result.
Blaze stands leaning with his arms crossed against a support beam, grinning at me with a ‘I know you know this’ expression.
“Fishing,” I say, quite proud of myself when Blaze slowly nods. “On the lake with his father while his mother reads by the shore.”
“Atta girl.” My husband claps and I tip my toe to offer him a curtsy, causing the stool to wobble.
“Alrighty,” he blurts, moving towards me to help me catch my balance before I fall completely.
One arm tucks just beneath my bottom, and the other supports my back as Blaze pulls me into his arms, cradling me.
My head spins, and I am certain I hear him bid all in the establishment a goodnight, but nothing feels coherent until we are outside and the cold evening air draws me from my stupor.