"So, how does this work?" he asked, huskily.
"Like this," she slipped her phone out of her handbag, and held it up, grinning a goofy grin that made his stomach do a little flip. He grinned back and deliberately held her gaze as he leaned forward and kissed one of her nipples with a soft, open mouth. She jumped a little, then shook her head in mock severity while she held down a button on the phone. They heard a tiny *ding* and she spoke into the mouthpiece: "Call home."
Their eyes met and he had to laugh. "Seriously?" he said, "Siri at a time like this ..."
She held up one finger, touching his lips, "Hands free, baby ... Oh ... hi, honey! Yes, I'm here. Yes ... I used Siri to call ... you know me too well! I know, I will ... yes ... yeeess ... very nice, very hot ... he's looking right at me." She smiled and traced his mouth, pulling down on his lower lip slightly. "He's gorgeous. Yes, I know, I will ... I promise. Yes, I'll do that, too. I'll tell you all about it later. Now fuck off and let me get my freak on." She laughed. "I love you too." She tapped the phone with her thumb, turning it off. "Now where were we?" She slipped the bag off her wrist and set it aside, cupping his face in both hands, tracing the lines of his mouth and jaw, staring at him.
He swallowed hard. "Something about a freak getting ... on?"
Sam felt dizzy. This wasn't like last year's convention at all. Not one single bit. He had been sitting in the bar after a long day, staring into his drink, passing time before heading to bed. He'd had a nice conversation with the bartender, Ray, about work and conventions and the two types of people who usually attend: the ones who treat conventions like Spring Break, and the ones who have actually moved past college and just want to work, maybe see a few sights, enjoy the new city. Sam was the latter, but he and the bartender had amused themselves for quite a while with stories of past conventions. But, it was getting late, and Ray seemed more interested in whoever he was texting than in continuing the conversation.
Sam finished off his drink, set it down, and was reaching for his jacket when he noticed the woman at the end of the bar. She was staring right at him, a tiny smile on her lips, but it was her eyes that made him stop. They were smoldering. He had heard the term before, but he had never quite got the image until now. Her gaze had weight; he could feel her appraisal -- and approval -- as she lifted one slender arm to touch her strawberry blonde hair to make sure everything was still perfect. It was, she was, and she smiled as if she knew the effect she was having. She pursed her lips for a moment, then came to her decision.
The bartender grabbed his empty glass, "Sure you don't want another, pal?"
Sam couldn't speak.
She smiled and slid gracefully off the barstool, a tiny beaded handbag dangled from one wrist. Her other hand trailed along the counter as she approached, like a bather dangling her fingers in a lake before plunging in. "Hi," she said, "I'm Amy." Sam stared at her, his jacket clutched to his chest protectively.
"Buddy?" The bartender tapped his empty highball against the the bar. It was enough.
"Yes, yeah, sure, I'll have another, thanks ... and, uh ... would you like to join me, Amy?"
She smiled warmly, "Yes, I would, thank you very much."
Sam smiled back, "And another one for my friend here,"
The bartender chuckled, "Good call, my friend. Your usual, Amy?"
Amy grinned, "You know me, Ray."
They smiled and laughed like they shared some kind of secret, but Sam didn't have much time to think before Ray was back with their drinks. He fumbled a few bills from his wallet and slid them along the counter ... "Keep the change," Amy had already looped one arm through his, her other hand balancing her drink as she pulled him toward the back.
"A booth, we need a booth, Sam."
He grabbed his drink, trying not to spill while she steered him through the tightly packed tables. He fumbled with his jacket, shooting one last "can-you-believe-this?" look back at Ray, who was following their progress with an amused smile and a shaking head. "A booth? We need ... we do?" said Sam.
"Indeed! A booth, we need, we do!" she said, laughing "Here we are!" They were in the back of the lounge, in the darkest shadowy part, in front of a small circular table with a deep red wraparound padded fake leather bench. Classic dive-bar décor. She slid in gracefully, her close-fitting dress was some sort of sparkly gray and silver material he didn't recognize, but it slid enticingly up her thighs as she scooted to the back. She patted the seat next to her, and smiled. He sat at the edge of the bench.
"Scoot!" she said. He scooted. "A little closer?" He scooted some more, until his thigh pressed against hers beneath the small round table. They set down their drinks at the same time, smiling at each other, half lustfully, half amused, as the silence stretched out just a little too long. She was toying with her glass as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Sam suddenly wondered if he had completely misread some signals and he was preparing to apologize when Amy took a large swig of her drink, set it down and said, "OK, here's the deal. I think you're incredibly attractive and I want to have sex with you, but, you have to know the rules and the situation first."
Sam just stared at her. He didn't know what to say.
She continued, "I'm married, in case you missed the ring," she waggled an impressive wedding set on her left hand. "And while we're not exactly swingers, and we're not poly either, we are what we like to call ... flexible." Amy smiled down at her glass, tracing the rim with one finger before lifting it for another sip.
"Flexible?" said Sam, "What ..."
"What that means," interrupted Amy, "is we occasionally allow, even encourage each other, to pick up an attractive stranger and just fuck the living daylights out of them. Play time. Fun for all!"
"A -- attractive stranger?" said Sam.
"That's you, in case you missed that part," Amy slipped one hand beneath the table, placing it lightly on his thigh, moving her hand slowly up and down.
"Oh, uh ... thanks? I gue ..." Sam's stopped mid-sentence when her hand moved higher, gently but firmly caressing his groin for an exquisitely long moment before slipping back into its soothing rhythm on his thigh. "Oh ... god ... I ...."
Amy leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "Are you hard?" Sam couldn't help but notice that when she leaned forward that way her breasts got all pushed together in that sparkly dress and bumped up warm against him in the most exquisite way. He could see the faintest outline of her nipples against the sheer fabric of the dress. Her breath was hot against his ear and his neck. "Sam ... are you hard? Did I make your cock hard when I touched you?"
The question trailed off into a long hot exhalation that made his mouth completely dry. But he knew what he wanted to say. He grabbed his glass, took a drink, then another, then set the glass down and turned toward her, moving so his lips were just brushing her temple. He was taller than her. He could see the smooth curve of her forehead, her dark arching eyebrows, and two deep blue eyes that glanced upward through a fringe of eyelashes. Her lips were poised in the tiniest smile.
"Yes, Amy. I am hard as a rock. Tell me more about this deal." He let his lips graze her forehead then, gratified when her eyes closed and she tilted back her head to accept this caress. He reached up one hand to lightly touch her neck, and bent his lips down to hers, kissing her lightly at first, and then more deeply. He felt her pulse flutter on her neck as he pulled away, and he touched it, trailing his fingers slowly down, following pulse to tendon, tracing the cup of her collarbone, then following the line to her arm, down to the hollow of her elbow, her wrist, the palm of her hand. She shivered as tiny goosebumps rose beneath his touch. Her eyes opened.
"I'm glad," she said warmly. And he could see she was. For a moment he saw past the lust and the poise and the sexy silliness of the situation and he saw her as a next door neighbor and a friend. He could see himself happily barbecuing with this woman and her family. He could see them being friends. He shook his head, bemused.
"I'm glad too," he said. They sat there smiling at each other for a minute, until her hand renewed its exploration of his thigh. He saw her eyes darken again in lust, as he felt her fingers slide up again to cup his aching cock. He saw her lips purse in some weird combination of smile and snarl as she carefully traced his length, finding the tender point just under the tip, and rubbing her thumb slowly along the ridge. Sam bit back a groan as his cock pulsed in responses. "Did you feel that?" He asked. She smiled and bit her lower lip almost shyly, and nodded. "Do you feel how hard my cock is right now, Amy?" She smiled even wider, as he leaned closer and placed his lips next to her ear, breathing out as he asked, "What do you want me to do with this cock, Amy? Do you want me to fuck you with it?" his tongue darted out, lapping hotly at her ear for a split second. He heard her gasp. "Do you want to suck it, Amy? Do you want me to bury it in your pussy and fuck you until you scream, Amy?" Yes, her breath was definitely getting quicker, as was the hand rubbing his aching bulge. "Do you want me to spread you wide open with my tongue and eat that pussy, suck on your little clit and shove my fingers inside your snatch until you forget where you end and I begin? Do you want me to suck you and fuck you until you cum and cum and cum and keep cumming so many times you lose count? Do you want me to do that to you, Amy? Do you want that?" He punctuated every other sentence with a gentle nip on her ear.
He knew he was on the right track because her hand had stopped moving on his lap. She was sitting there, frozen, squeezing his cock, eyes closed tight, panting between slightly parted lips. Her body was arched, breasts thrust toward him, nipples poking shamelessly at the slithery fabric. The folds of her dress spilled along her curves like molten metal, pooling darkly in the places he most wanted to explore. She was mesmerizing. Sam pulled back and just looked at her, touching her hair where it had spilled out of its loose knot at the nape of her neck, damp with his breath, giving her a moment to come back to herself. Watching her eyes reopen was like watching her wake on a lazy Sunday morning, knowing they had the whole day to themselves. He could seriously get lost in that blue. He smiled.
She smiled lazily back. "Sam, that sounds lovely. Shall we go upstairs? I know you have a room, but let's go to mine. I rented it just for this." Suddenly full of energy, Amy stood, grabbing his hand to haul him out of the booth.
