The S D

Amelia settled into the back of her Uber, adjusting her glasses before pulling her Iphone from her clutch and dialing her friend Marie, who answered quickly. "I'm on the way now," Amelia declared, putting her friend on speaker. She glanced at the driver, who according to Uber was named Maruf; an older middle eastern man, he paid Amelia no attention as he weaved through early evening traffic.

Let's see how long that lasts

, Amelia thought. "I'm ready for an S.D."

"Wow, a slutty dare on a blind date, you must be horny," Marie laughed. Amelia grinned, her eyes on the rear-view mirror, but if the driver heard he didn't let on. She leaned back and pulled her loose braid over her shoulder, tugging at the highlighted end a bit.

"Maybe a little," she admitted, "But the last one was too easy. Give me something harder."

"Harder, heh heh." Marie giggled. "Too easy? Sucking off five guys in a row one after the other, too easy?" Amelia watched the driver's eyes leap to the mirror, and laughed to herself. She winked at the man, who stared for a moment before yanking his gaze back to the road and swerving.

"Those guys were drunk," Amelia countered, "and frat boys. I think you just wanted to watch me suck a lot of cock." She idly rubbed at the side of her jaw at the memory.

"It was pretty hot alright. Good thing that was out of town, or you'd have Delta's lined up at your door."

"Fuck that," Amelia snorted, "those guys probably couldn't find a clit with map, and they come too fast to get me off." She idly wondered if her driver was Muslim, and what his religion taught regarding self-pleasure.

"You're fuckin-A," Marie agreed. "Okay, slutty dare, slutty dare... How about this? Get his cock into you within an hour."

"Way too easy," Amelia protested. "You don't see how I'm dressed."

"Is it the red? You whore."

"No, the new blue one," Amelia chuckled. The driver was stealing looks in the rearview more often now; Amelia looked out the window, letting him gawk a little more freely. Allahu Ackbar, she imagined him thinking.

"Ooh, the tight one. I bet your tits look great, no room for a bra." Amelia glanced down at the bulges the tight dress made of her breasts; the white buttons leading from cleavage to waist were working overtime. Thoughts of the driver stealing glances were getting to her, and her nipples were noticeable dimples against the fabric.

"Yup," Amelia agreed, crossing her legs. Since she'd dumped Daryl The Loser (as Marie always referred to him), her friend had encouraged Amelia to enjoy the single life, if a particularly promiscuous one. The "slutty dare" was Marie's idea; before and including Daryl, Amelia had had a few lovers in her twenty-eight years, but they had all been fairly vanilla affairs. Under Marie's prompting, the Amelia of today was a far more sexual, someone who didn't blink twice at a challenge. In three months, Amelia had discovered things about herself she'd never have guessed.

"So yeah, his cock, in you somewhere, an hour... Wait, this place is kinda nice, let's say ninety minutes. But!" Marie's voice grew commanding. "It has to be his idea. No asking for it, no telling him what you're gonna do, just tease him until he drags you to his car or the bathroom or whatever." She paused. "Wait, do you have me on speaker? In an Uber?"

Amelia grinned. "Yes I do," she asserted proudly. "It says my driver's name is Maruf."

"Hi Maruf," Marie shouted. "My friend is a slut, she's about to go try to fuck her blind date, I bet if you ask her nice she'll suck your -"

"We're here," Amelia interrupted as the car pulled into the parking lot of Havaford's, one of the city's better eateries. "No time." Maruf stopped the car near the restaurant's door, but seemed to look everywhere but at Amelia, whether for embarrassment or to not ruin the chances of a good tip.

"I'll text him that you're there, I'll let him know to look for the beauty in blue." Marie sighed. "Too bad, Maruf. Wait! Give him your panties. Are you wearing any?"

"I am," Amelia replied unevenly. "I'm... going in now, bye hun." She hung up on her friend, paused a moment; then she shrugged, and lifted from the seat to pull off her black thong. "Thank you Maruf, five stars," she whispered, dropping the undergarment on the shocked man's shoulder. "God is great," she added, carefully stepping out of the car so as not to flash passersby.

A half-smile on her lips, she imagined the driver touching himself and thinking of her later; she swung her hips a bit wider than usual in her stride, hoping he was still watching the show. The heels she wore didn't make this the easiest, but it was a well-practiced maneuver. The shoulder-length braid of light brown hair swung as she turned to blow Maruf a kiss; he was indeed still watching, but at her action he said something she couldn't hear, turned and drove away. At the door she took one last look at her phone, giving the promised five-star rating and a decent tip, before inserting it back in the pink clutch.

After explaining she was meeting someone, a hostess allowed Amelia to pass to the bar, where the server quickly noticed her, asking her order. "Shot of Patron please," Amelia said evenly, mentally preparing herself for her mystery date.

But it wasn't a mystery for long. "Make that two, on my bill," a low voice behind her intoned. "Assuming your name is Amelia. Hell, even if it isn't." She turned and looked up. The voice belonged to a large, broad-shouldered man -

not so much a man as a massive side of beef. Appropriate for a steakhouse,

Amelia thought. His dark brown hair was graying at the sides, and though his smile was warm, it was interrupted by a deep scar running from his left cheek to right jaw, making already rugged features almost something scary. For half a moment Amelia considered turning him down, but his deep blue eyes had a gleam of something strong and sad that brushed the thought away.

"Yes indeed, that's me," Amelia beamed. "You must be Morgan, then. Marie wasn't kidding, she said you weren't cute."

The smile fled and his brow furrowed. "Really," he uttered almost under his breath; Amelia immediately regretted the jibe but hoped the follow-up was worth it.

"Yeah! I asked her if you were cute, and she said no he's not cute, he's

handsome

."

Morgan laughed. "Well, aren't you the smooth talker," he grinned. His voice was far-left-of-the-piano deep, a timbre that was sending little flutters through Amelia's skin. She looked him up and down: smooth dark slacks, maroon dress shirt that fit his bulk quite well, clearly tailored to accommodate his size.

Dare's on,

she decided, glancing at the clock on the wall as the server deposited two shot glasses of tequila before them. "And all she'd tell me," Morgan continued, "is that you're a lot of fun."

Oh, you have no idea,

Amelia chortled inwardly. She lifted the shot in a toast. "To fun! In all its forms," she cheered with a wink - mistimed as it turned out, as he was reaching for his own shot and didn't see.

"To fun, indeed." He tossed the shot back, before carefully replacing the glass on the bar. "They're holding a table for us, actually." He waved at the host desk with a thumbs-up, and with preternatural quickness a host was before them ready to lead. "Shall we?" He extended his elbow for her to take. There was that scar-interrupted warm smile once more.

"Oh yes we shall, if I have any say in it," Amelia replied lightly. The thought of seducing this man - not a boy, not like her past lovers - was suddenly all-consuming, and she hoped the look on her face was less a perverted leer and more of a welcoming, I'd-love-to-fuck-you invitation. She threaded her arm through his and allowed herself to be guided to a small booth at the rear of the restaurant.

The host motioned with one hand for them to sit, waving to a server with the other. Seconds later the wine steward approached, displaying a bottle. Morgan nodded, and the server poured a bit into his glass. Lifting it to his nose, Morgan inhaled deeply, then took a sip. "Delicious, yes." Even at a low volume, his voice seemed to boom like thunder. "I hope you don't mind, but I've ordered for us," he said half-apologetically, as the steward filled their glasses before departing. "I've got, uh, kind of a thing about wasting time."

"I don't mind at all," Amelia replied airily, "I was hoping we wouldn't be wasting any time at all." She lifted her glass and sipped the wine. "Wow, I like this," she gushed. "Tastes... Expensive."

"A tad," he agreed. "I like this varietal a lot; it's a shiraz, from Australia."

"Never had it before," said Amelia. "I've been down under a lot, but I've never been to Australia." She winked again.

Morgan blinked at her, clearly off his guard. But he seemed to shake loose the momentary confusion, and pushed forward. "And for our dinner, I ordered the porterhouse for two. I asked Marie what you liked, and she said I couldn't go wrong with good meat."

"She knows me well," Amelia answered breathily, "I do like some good... meat." She repressed the urge to wink again. But if he caught her entendre, he didn't react.

"So, uh, how long have you known Marie?" he asked, taking another sip of wine.

"We're both paralegals," Amelia answered, "but at different firms. We met at a seminar a couple years ago. Bonded over booze and bad boyfriends, besties ever since. How about you, how did you two meet?"

"I do some work for their firm," Morgan answered. He was looking down at his wineglass, missing - or deliberately ignoring - the slight lean forward Amelia made, hoping her cleavage would catch his eye. "I'm a private investigator. The firm's a good fallback, when my phone stops ringing once in a while."

"I've never met a P.I. before." She took a sip of wine, swirling it on her tongue a bit. "How'd you get into that?"

He leaned back a bit. "I was Sig-Int in Afghanistan a few tours... Sorry, I mean signals intelligence," he corrected himself. "Learned a lot, not just about electronics but problem solving, attention to detail, analyzing situations."

"A

few

tours, wow," she said, impressed. "Is that where you got that sexy scar?" Amelia tried on her sultriest smile.

But he looked pained. "Uh, no. That was later. I, uh, don't really talk about that."

Shit, stupidstupidstupid,

Amelia cursed inwardly, but before she could apologize a waiter with a large tray of food appeared. Depositing it on a tray stand, he placed small salads before each of them, and then a large steak at the center, followed by individual plates. From a bowl on his tray, he dolloped some mashed potatoes for each of them, before offering pepper, but Morgan shook his head. "Madame?" The waiter inquired.

"No thank you," she said, coming out as almost a whisper. She racked her brain as to how to get back on track as their waiter departed;

He was cute, if this guy doesn't work out, maybe I can still win the dare if I blow the waiter,

she considered. But no, she knew Marie wouldn't count it, the bitch.

Sighing, she picked up her silverware and attacked her salad. Morgan dutifully cut the large slice of beef in two, hefting half onto her plate. "This is too much for me alone, so I'm glad for the company," he said gently as he retrieved his own half. "And I really prefer my salad last, so I asked them to bring them at the same time." He sliced at his steak, took a bite, and closed his eyes. "Yes, they do it right here," he murmured approvingly, before taking another sip of wine. "I must say, I'm quite glad for the company, too. You look, well, 'amazing' doesn't seem a strong enough word."

Amelia beamed as she cut a bit of steak. "Thank you! I was hoping you'd notice, this is a new dress. Do you like it?" She leaned back a bit, taking a breath, hoping it highlighted her bosom.

"Very much," he grinned. "It certainly accentuates your, uh -" He gestured at her chest, before picking up his wineglass.

"My tits," she answered quickly, dropping her fork and grabbing her left breast. He coughed a bit, his eyes wide. "Yeah, the girls look good in this. Helps to be naturally blessed, but a good dress can help a lot."

He paused, regaining composure. "My dear, I'd suggest you'd make a potato sack look good. But I must say, aren't I a bit, uhm, a

lot,

older than you? What are you, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-eight," she retorted as she picked up her fork, daintily placing another piece of the delicious meat in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then looked at him levelly. "Morgan, listen to me. I'm a big girl; if I wanted to leave, if I thought you were too old, I'd've blown you off at the bar." She reached over and patted his hand. "I'm having a good time, hoping to have a better one as our night moves along." She tried to make her words drip with meaning. "Don't worry about it."

He was staring at her hand touching his. A long moment passed, then he smiled, squeezing her fingers. "Thank you," he said, his voice a bit raspy with emotion. "I... haven't dated in a long time."

She traced her fingers against his but suddenly frowned. "And this," she took his hand and pulled it to her a bit, then pointed at his ring finger. "That's a wedding ring indentation." She didn't mask her annoyance. "Women recognize these things. I'm really not a fan of cheaters, Morgan."

He sighed, reached into his breast pocket, and retrieved a simple gold band. "I've worn it for seven years. I met her eight years ago, married her seven years ago, and I lost her a bit more than five years ago," he said softly, twirling the ring in his hands slowly. "In a car accident. That's how I got this, too," he gestured at his scarred face.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," Amelia softened instantly, horrified at her mistake. "I didn't mean to..."

He waved her off. "It's okay," he insisted, returning the ring to his pocket. "Actually, it's probably what inspired Marie to set us up."

"Really?" Amelia was happy to steer the subject away from tragedy. "Tell me, how'd she do that?"

"I was waiting for one of her bosses, she was making conversation as we waited. Asked me what my wife was like. I don't usually talk about her, but Marie can be..." he trailed off.

"Persistent," Amelia finished for him. "That's our Marie alright."

"Yes. Persistent." The warm smile made a brief reappearance. "I usually make up something, but... I don't know, I guess I decided to be honest for once." He returned to slicing his steak. "She asked if I'd seen anybody since then. I thought she meant a therapist, and I told her about mine. But she said no, she meant as in dates, a girlfriend. Which, no." Morgan chewed his steak and swallowed, following it with a long drink of shiraz.

Amelia stared at him. "You haven't gotten laid in five years? No way. You're attractive - no, scratch that, hot as fuck. And, judging by your wine tastes, not hurting for dough. Surely you could get some play."

"Oh, I've had a dalliance here and there," he replied thoughtfully. Amelia grinned at the word.

'Dalliance' indeed... I'll dally all over your ance alright.

"But no real spark." He shrugged, pouring each of them the last of the wine.

Unsure where to go next, Amelia ate in silence for a moment, until an idea struck her. "So, private investigator... People come to you to figure out if their wife or hubby is cheating on them, right?"

Morgan nodded. "I get a lot of cases like that, yes." He cut the last bit of his steak and watched Amelia carefully, unsure where this was going.

"So you take a lot of pictures for proof, right? Pictures of the cheating?"

"Yes," he replied slowly, still uncertain.

"So tell me about something you've had to take pictures of. Tell me about some hot action you had to watch. Tell me something that will make me blush." She leaned forward again, gazing at him over her glasses. "Tell me something that will make me

wet."

She licked her lips, a wicked smirk forming upon them.

Morgan gaped at her for several long moments. "I can't," he breathed finally. "Confidentiality and all that." He continued to stare, clearly thinking of something.

"Aww, c'mon," she pleaded. "I can tell you've got something in mind. I won't tell anybody, ever-ever-ever. Please?" She batted her eyes at him; leaning far forward now, her boobs practically squished into the table. Clasping her hands together at her cleavage, with her thumb she pulled the center of the dress down a bit revealing even more. His eye caught the motion, and lingered on her chest; she knew she had him.

"Fuck it, okay," he said finally. "Make you blush, huh? You asked for it." He took a long drink of wine and straightened up to recite the tale.

"This was just last month. Standard start, guy comes and says he thinks the wife is stepping out on him, thought it was maybe her boss." Morgan gulped. "And it was, but he had no idea how far it went."

"Really!" Amelia was pleased she was finally getting somewhere in her quest; she listened intently.

"No idea," Morgan repeated. "Turns out, her and the boss had, like, a dominance-submission thing going."

"Awesome," she whispered.

Morgan seemed not to hear, wrapped up in the telling. "The very first night I followed her, I tailed them to a rest stop on I-40. She'd gotten in the car in a white dress, but got out wearing a black leather miniskirt, a blindfold, and nothing else."

"Jesus."

"I don't think he was there that night," Morgan chuckled. "But a lot of other guys were. And I took pictures of her, as she serviced them all."

Amelia wrinkled her brow. "'Serviced'? Did they have a 'dalliance'? Morgan my dear," she reached for his hands. "Let's not dance around what we really mean. Let's use real words. 'Serviced' is not gonna make me blush. Tell me."

He gulped audibly. "Huh, you are straight-forward all gas no brakes, aren't you," he said in a lower tone.

"You have no fucking idea, baby," she oozed, squeezing his fingers. "Say it, what did she do?"

He withdrew his hands and cracked his knuckles. "She... sucked a lot of cock. Got fucked a whole lot." Amelia's eyes flew wide, but he continued. "Her boss just watched it all. I wondered if it was something he was making her do, like a blackmail sort of thing. But I was close enough to hear her, and she was

really

fuckin' into it. Must've been, I dunno, twenty, twenty-five guys. Bums, random travelers who'd stopped to piss, she did'em all. She was at it a couple hours." He paused. "They came on her face, her ass... She was a mess. After the last guy, boss-man pushes her against a wall and fucks her himself. And I got a lot of pictures, of all of it."

Amelia stared at Morgan, open-mouthed. Her pussy felt warm and tingly, imagining the scene. "Mission accomplished," she finally muttered, before turning inquisitive again. "Did it... turn you on? Make you hard?"

"Fuck yeah it did," Morgan said quickly. "I was thinking, I could go get some of that myself if I wanted, add a bunch of my own spunk to the collection she was making on her face. But, I am a professional. Supposedly." He picked up a fork and seemed to contemplate eating his salad; but changed his mind, returned it to his plate, and leveled his gaze at Amelia.

She squeezed her thighs together, her arousal piqued by his words. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she asked, "What about the husband? Was he heartbroken?"

Morgan considered. "I'm not sure," he said ultimately. "Clients don't often tell me what they do after my work is done and I've been paid. And he paid me. Overpaid, in fact. But, heartbroken or not, I can tell you this much: I was curious, so I checked back and they're still together."

"Holy shit!" Amelia laughed loudly. "Finding out his wife was somebody's cumslut turned him the fuck on. That's hot as hell. Good job," she added, meeting his gaze with a wide smile.