Mickey Finn 1

Mickey Finn. He's a good friend of mine.

I was at a ski lodge with some friends, male. We were there for the skiing and the hunting, our choice of prey being the female of the species.

There was one woman I decided to cut out of the pack. She was gorgeous. She said her name was Cherri and she was a model. At least, she had aspirations of becoming one. She was blonde, real blonde, you know that hair that is almost silver in shade – platinum blonde, she calls it.

She had wonderful boobs, high and firm and touchable. Someone whispered the word falsies and she nearly went berserk. All her own work, she claimed, endowed by a bountiful nature.

Her legs were long and her hips were made for holding, lovely tush and a slender waist and, best of all, the mental capacity of a gnat.

All in all, the perfect prey.

All I had to do was get next to her, pour a drink into her and she'd probably follow along to my room like a lapdog trailing its master.

It was unfortunate that Mike was feeling the same way. When I headed over to pitch my line, he carefully stuck his foot between my ankles. Then he casually stepped across my prone body and fastened himself to Cherri.

He was an instant hit and I was on the outer. But I'm a patient man. I can wait.

Over dinner that night, Mike sympathised with me about my bad luck, tripping when I was about to meet a pretty girl. A real pity, he told me, because she's really something. She'd already let him have a key and he was due to slip into her room late that night.

She'd told him to come late and leave the lights off, as she had a reputation to defend. She seemed to assume that she wouldn't get modelling jobs if she slept around. She wanted to project an aura of sunny innocence.

Well, like I said earlier, I had a good friend named Mickey Finn. He might not act fast, but once he was ready he would hold you in his arms until the last trump sounded. One drink with this mate of mine and you'd sleep the clock around.

So Cherri and Mike and some of the others, with their assorted targets, were enjoying a few drinks before bed, and that's when Mickey came out to play. A few drops in a glass pressed into an unwary hand and the job was done.

So we all retired to our rooms and headed to bed. Soon all you could hear on that floor were assorted snores, the loudest coming from my room-mate, Mike. He was dead to the world and didn't seem like waking any time soon.

What can a mate do? He was due to meet with Cherri, and it'd be a real shame to spoil her holiday by leaving her stranded. So I did the only thing I could do. I raided his pockets for the key and headed off for fill-in duty.

The room was easy to find and I quickly slipped in. I could dimly see the bed and headed towards it, calling softly to Cherri.

"Here," she called, "but be quiet, or you'll wake my roommate."

No problems there. I could be as quiet as she liked. I'd let my fingers do the talking. To start with anyway. I moved over and slid into bed beside her.

Before I could figure out what was happening, she was all over me. She kissed like a vacuum, her hands wandered all over me before glomming onto my cock and playing with it. You'd think she'd never touched one before, she was so eager.

Not that I was all the behind in the action, I have to admit. I was chewing on her big boobs (and they felt even bigger lying loose in the dark) and my hands were getting well acquainted with her hot, wet body.

I swear, I've never been with a woman who was so anxious before. Five minutes after I hit the bed I was riding her. Riding, hell. I was mounted on a bucking bronco who had me clamped in the saddle by tentacles disguised as legs. She rode me to a fast finish and then relaxed for a moment.

But only for a moment. She whispered, "That's was the entrée. The main course is about to start, and then we'll finish up with a nice dessert."

Her hands came crawling back over me, and if my cock had thought that its night's work was over, it was soon disillusioned. Cherri coaxed another burst of life from me, and rabbits had nothing on the way we went to town for the main course. Because I'd been drained once, we had to keep pounding away until my batteries had recharged enough to fire my pistol again.

I was feeling spent, tired and a little sore by the end of the main course, and I have to admit, the thought of dessert was not very tempting.

I apologised, telling her I could come back the next night, but she was having none of it. "You say you can go three times," she hissed, "but when I want the third you cry. Are you a mouse?"

Mentally cursing Mike and his boasting, I explained that I was just a bit tired and needed a rest. She wasn't interested in my excuses.

To my shock, she suddenly sat up in bed and shouted, "Cherri!"

I'm thinking "what the hell?" when the light snapped on, and there was Cherri sitting up in the other bed, barely covered with a baby doll nightie.

Sitting in the bed next to me is this harridan, forty if she's a day, lined face, sagging breasts (now that she's not lying down) and an ugly scowl to match her ugly face.

"You promised me a young stud who would be good for three rounds," she yelled. "This clown is lucky to last two."

Cherri looked at me and shrugged. "Mike said he'd be good for three," she said. "That's why I picked him. That's not Mike. I suggest you just throw him out if he's no good."

She rolled over and went back to sleep. I got out of bed, gathered my dignity about me, and headed back to my room where Mike, the lucky bastard, was still sleeping in the arms of Mickey.

Ok, I'll admit I lied. I left my dignity behind and bolted from that room before that gargoyle could latch onto me for her dessert. If she came looking, I'd be quite happy to feed Mike to her.