The Heiress and the Barfly

By Maria Zerva

One night Melina follows her sister to a watering hole down in Athenian skid row; there, she meets Peter, an alcoholic failed writer, who instantly fascinates her. However, her wedding to the son of one of her father's business partners has already been arranged.
Via Peter and the sparse romantic moments they are allowed, Melina discovers a side of Athens, and of life, she never knew existed and wishes to escape the golden cage her father had built for her; but, blood is thicker than water and she's forced to decide whether she'll hurt her family or kill her dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Zerva
• Release date: Jan 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463825952

Maria Zerva

A philosophy student at Athens University, who likes writing erotica stories in between studying Kant and Aristotle.I love writing about various kinks and themes, which means that each of my stories has something different to offer; I am writing a lot and I hope to publish more and more stories.Feedback, reviews, and comments are always welcome, as I love knowing what my readers like and what they don't.

Book preview

The Heiress and the Barfly

By Maria Zerva

Copyright 2019 Maria Zerva

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About Maria Zerva

Connect with Maria Zerva

Read More

Chapter 1

Where are you taking me, Tif? She asked with her voice breaking into a soft tremor as she peeked about at the graffiti-covered half-ruined buildings encircling them. The lambent, white, fluorescent lights hanging above several half-open metal doors leading into dilapidated buildings were the sole source of illumination of the narrow street.

Relax, sis, Tiffany snickered. "You’re gonna love it. It’s so different than what you know. Brighten up, sis, this is an adventure."

I don’t know, Tif, she replied meekly while getting infuriated by her sister’s slow pace.

A group of dark-skinned young men sauntered toward them, talking loudly in a melodious, and completely alien to them, language. Her heart palpitated and her stomach knotted as she glanced about searching for a hiding place. The men leered at them brazenly and their cackles begot a deep, sudden urge within her to jump into the first open manhole she could find. She blinked astounded at her sister waving at the men, offering them the most radiant smile she could forge, flaunting her body and her barely-there outfit.

What the hell are you doing? She shrilled when Tiffany briefly hitched her short skirt over her ass, biting the corner of her lips at the ogling men.

What? Tiffany giggled. I’m just…giving them some thinking material for the night.

If dad knew… she mumbled.

Well, Tiffany snapped in a low, hoarse voice, he doesn’t know, nor does he need to, right?

Yes, of course, she gulped and hung her head.

Oh, cheer up, baby, Tiffany threw her arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake, turning her voice into a high-pitched chirp. We’re here to have some fun, don’t spoil it with your downcast mood.

I’m not moody, I just… she let out a deep sigh of resignation and obediently followed Tiffany as they perambulated around skid row.

A gasp managed to bypass the lump that appeared in her throat once she took her first step into the small corner bar, and stood petrified at the doorstep with every single cell in her body screaming at her to run. The crowd was divided into two categories: the bikers—men in their denim jackets, long, greasy hair, and long, uncombed beard, and women in leather hot pants and crop tops—reminding her of Hell’s Angels—she had always failed to see why it was often lauded as a great novel—and the raucous scenes of insane violence in it, and the drunks, downtrodden, rugged men that, for the most part, sat alone, hunkered down on barstools or in small tables, trying to be invisible as they swilled drinks down.

Where are we? She whispered in her sister’s ear with a trill.

In the most interesting place in all of Athens, she tossed her a wink before strutting, with debonair, toward a group of three bikers that stood near the counter, choking down tall glasses of frothy draught beer.

She ran her fingers through her long, light-brown hair, gawking dumbfounded at the bikers greeting her sister heartily; one of them fondled her ass and all Tiffany did was to give him a smile and what appeared like a girlish giggle.

With her heart thundering behind her ear and her hands trembling, she lumbered toward the group, unwilling to stand alone in the bar while surrounded by strangers that looked at her like famished wolves would look at a lost lamb; Tiffany made the introductions and she struggled to forge a smile when she shook the men’s rough hands.

So, one of the men asked Tiffany, is your sister a nun or something?

She peeked down at her long dress; a fire was kindled under her skin, painting her cheeks scarlet, and she tried to bring her hair forth to hide her flushing. The small group cachinnated, engendering within her the desire for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

It’s been a long time, Tiffany, the man addressed her sister after their laughter died out.

Been busy, she shrugged her shoulders, her lips permanently twitched into a radiant smile. You know how it is; hard work, bills to pay, responsibilities…not much time left to have fun.

Taken aback, she arched her eyebrow and bit her lips down hard to prevent herself from asking her sister what in the hell she was talking about. She clenched her fists and licked her lips; lying about their lives could very well be the only way they would survive this place. While Tiffany chatted with the three robust men—who groped and fondled her with bravado while blatantly ignoring the crowd filling up the smoky barroom—she tried to come up with a believable backstory for the character she would have to play.

Oh, Tiffany’s thunderous cackle brought her right back at the conversation, she got married to a rich man and…you know how it goes. One completely forgets their roots, how to behave…they become someone else. Yes, Tiffany threw her arm tenderly around her tense shoulders, my baby sister became a bored housewife. Being the good sister that I am, I decided to remind her what a good time is. Ain’t that right, Melina?

Yes, she cleared her throat and her chest shuddered when all three men directed their stern gazes on her. I just…yeah, I got married and…kinda changed, and… A massive lump imprisoned all words she thought of articulating in her throat.

She’s just a tad nervous, Tiffany came to her rescue. That’s all; she’s been inside the house for far too long, socializing only with her husband’s dull friends; you know the type, rich guys working at the stock market or slaving away at some conglomerate, trying to get a lucrative promotion. You should have seen how they all looked at me at their wedding. A couple of them even proposed to pay me to have sex with me.

Well, the tallest of the three clapped Melina gently on the shoulder, if your husband, or his friends, ever give you trouble, just give us a call, okay? We’ll give them an attitude adjustment.

Sure, will keep it in mind, she nodded, boring holes in her lower lip with her teeth.

How come you haven’t married one of his friends? The man turned his attention back at Tiffany. I bet you had all those business geeks ready to crawl at your feet.

Oh, Dave, she giggled. "You know me. I could never be with someone like that. Can you picture it? Me being with some spoiled rich kid working at his father’s company, hearing all day and night long about stocks and prices going up or down or whatever? Sure, it’d be nice living in a nice mansion in the suburbs, like my baby sister, but…thanks but no thanks.

I may be poor and struggling to get by, she added, blatantly ignoring Melina’s befuddled glance, "but, at least, I get to enjoy real sex with real men." She caressed Dave’s upper arm while tossing him a meaningful wink.

That’s my girl, Dave let out a crude chortle and cupped her ass, lifting her feet off the floor, and shoved his tongue down her mouth.

She took a step back and perused the barroom, which was engulfed in a dense mist of cigarette smoke and the rank smell of its unwashed patrons. The sight of the rugged men and scantily clad women was more appealing to her accustomed to widely different crowds and environments eyes than her sister having wrapped her legs around the biker’s waist, sucking on his tongue with hunger and passion not becoming their social status.

Oh, man, one of Dave’s friends said with a groan, "here we go again."

With her arms crossed around her chest, she observed the alien environment, astounded at how indifferently almost everyone was to what her sister and her friend were doing. They all appeared focused on the drinks they somberly nursed, perhaps hoping that reaching the bottom of their lowballs would solve whatever troubles ailed them. Her gaze got stuck at a long-haired man hunkering down on the corner stool of the counter, choking down lowballs in quick succession. Despite his drinking pace, he rolled and lit a cigarette with perfectly steady moves.

As her sister got louder with her kissing, flooding the barroom with her slurping and sloppy noises, she decided the time to have a drink had arrived; she lumbered to the corner of the counter, as far away as she could from her sister dry humping the biker, and stood next to the man that had drawn her attention; she arched an eyebrow once she peeked at the stack of napkins standing next to his half-empty lowball, with a small pencil on top of them.

Can I get a cosmopolitan, please? She said once the bartender leaned toward her, twirling his finger in the air as a way to ask her what it’ll be.

A what? He tilted his head sideways, giving her the same look most people would to someone claiming to be a time traveler.

Just get her a beer, man, the long-haired man interjected. "Better make it light ber," he added after running his gaze up and down on her.

"I can place my own order, thank you," she reproached him.

Did you really think, he replied with a snigger, that he’d know how to make a cosmopolitan? Or that he has all the ingredients needed? Honey, this ain’t the fancy-ass lounges you frequent.

Thank you, she said to the bartender and reached into her purse.

It’s on me, the young man stated and slammed a 5-euro bill on the counter. It was me that ordered it, anyway.

I don’t need you to…

I don’t care. I’m Peter, by the way.

She gave him a meek handshake and pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek.

That your friend? He pointed his finger at something behind her. With an arched eyebrow, she glanced over her shoulder and gasped once she saw Tiffany stroking Dave’s penis while his friends fondled and groped her.

"Well, she’s my…sister," she stated and clenched her fists as she dropped her gaze to her bottled beer.

Oh, he let out a dry chuckle. I should warn you, then, that they tend to get…frisky.

Huh?

Your sister comes here often, he explained. And…well, she, Dave, Fred, the rest of the gang…they usually increase the temperature of this place by a tenfold.

You mean… She paused, finding it physically impossible to conclude the sentence.

Precisely, his lips twitched into a smirk. Get me another, man, he raised his empty lowball and almost immediately the bartender poured bourbon in it to the brim.

Where the hell did you get all that money, man? The bartender lifted the bill Peter set on the counter toward a yellow lamp and squinted at it. Did you rob a bank or something?

None of your fucking business, he dismissed him with a snicker. By the way, he leaned closer toward her, "I’m not that big of a deadbeat. He always exaggerates."

Yes, you are, the bartender said with a horselaugh. Ah, for fuck’s sake, he scoffed and groaned in exasperation.

She turned around, following the bartender’s gaze, and immediately regretted doing it. Tiffany had gone down on her knees and all three bikers drummed their dongs on her head while she took turns sucking them.

I gotta go, she addressed Peter with despair in her voice. I can’t be around to…I can’t watch what is…is there a backdoor or something? Can’t… walk right across…

There is, he pointed his thumb at a blue metal door behind him. Trust me, you do not want to go out there.

"No matter what, it’s gotta be better than…this!"

No, it’s not. You’re safe here, he insisted. We’ll talk, get you a bit drunk, you won’t even notice what’s going on. Trust me. He stared deep into her eyes and her heart skipped a beat.

The moment someone hollered: "that’s it, bitch! Swallow that big cock down!" she had no option. She leaped off the stool, clapped Peter on the shoulder, offering him a timid smile, and dashed through the emergency exit door, which slammed shut behind her, and she jumped when she heard the lock clicking.

She perused the small, dirty, crepuscular alley and her eyes bulged when she noticed at least six shadowy figures lurking around; some were lying on the pavement while others paced about flailing their arms in the air. Suddenly, they all stirred and she pressed her back against the wall, trembling and panting as ten lumbering men circled her; with