© 2021, All rights reserved -- mimaster
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A deft repositioning the rearview mirror, Betsy took the cap off her lipstick cartridge. Twisting the bottom, she carefully applied the deep crimson shade that matched her eye shadow. She popped her full, luscious lips when she was done, causing a smile.
Her expression belied what she was feeling inside. She was nervous, her heart racing. Her mouth was dry, so she took a deep, calming breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Opening them, she nodded confidently.
"You can do this, Betsy. But for God's sake, no sex!"
It was such an odd thing to have cross her mind. After all, she'd had sex on her brain for days, and her husband had literally just given her the set of rules that would allow her such an endeavor just hours before. Darren had basically given her the green light.
Add to that how she'd dressed; namely the sexy, blue cocktail dress that Sam had given her. It was a gift given on the pretext of sex; Darren having offered up his wife to him for a weekend in exchange for him signing a lucrative five year contract with Beck Manufacturing. At least that's how both Darren and Betsy looked back on that eventual arrangement. The dress was the final catalyst that convinced her to go through with it, and she naturally associated it with all the nasty things she'd done with Sam once she accepted it.
It was short, backless, and showed plenty of cleavage. She couldn't wear a bra with it, and she'd never considered putting on panties. Her hair was done up, her makeup sultry and alluring. Her heels made her legs look even more magnificent than normal. She looked like she was going out to find someone to fuck. After all, that was what it was designed for in her wicked mind.
But she wasn't.
Stepping out of her car, she walked slowly toward the door. With only one other vehicle in the parking lot, she felt certain the place was empty save for the person she was there to see. Still, she scanned the windows as she passed by, looking for signs of anyone else inside.
The bell chimed on the door, the security feature making sense for an establishment open twenty-four hours a day. She headed straight for the counter, a devilish grin on her face as she saw him standing there.
"Well, good morning Mrs. Thomas."
"Good morning, Anthony. And please, we've talked about this. Call me Betsy."
He smiled and nodded, his curiosity brimming. "I'm surprised to see you. It looks like you're dressed for some fun. Is the Boone's Farm guy still in town?"
"Sam? No. Actually, I'm dressed like this for you," she winked.
"Uh, I'm not sure I follow."
"I've kind of set a precedent with you. And since I'm here
to see
you, I felt I owed it to you to stay consistent."
"Betsy, we've talked about this. Look, if I gave you the wrong impression, I apologize. You're incredibly sexy, and I would definitely jump -"
"There's no need to tell me how much you want to jump me, Anthony. I can see it in your eyes."
"I was going to say I would jump at the chance, if circumstances were different."
"Jump at the chance. Jump me. Kind of the same thing. And as much fun as it would be, I'm didn't come here to try and sway your mind. At least not about sex."
"Okay, well, why
are
you here?"
"I'm hoping to sway your mind elsewhere. Are we alone?"
"Yes," he nodded, looking around the store like it was a trick question and he needed to make sure.
"There's no tactful way to ask, and please don't think I'll be offended if you say no. I'll understand. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to be my distributor."
"What in the world are you talking about?" he laughed.
"When I was in here Saturday, you told me you're a small, local distributor. You also said you knew you didn't sell me the pot I'd smoked that night, and that I'd taken it from Gene's stash. I'm asking if you would be willing to sell to me directly, so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about stealing it from my son anymore."
"Are you serious?"
Tugging the front of her dress to the side, she exposed her left breast. Reaching inside, she pulled out two crisp hundred-dollar bills that were neatly folded and tucked into a hidden clip.
She left her breast out as she dropped the money on the counter. "How much will that buy me?"
He laughed. "Enough to send me to jail for quite a while."
"I'm serious Anthony. How much?"
"I told you, I just sell small amounts to my friends. I'm not trying to make a killing. Just enough to cover the effort."
"Okay. I need to replace what I've taken from Gene," she said as she exposed her other breast, taking out a fat joint hidden on that side. Her tits kept the dress open, her nipples stiffening from the excitement, along with the cold air inside the 7-11.
"Why are you showing me that? And why are you showing me your tits?"
"Complaining?"
"Confused. It's a cruel concept to flash me knowing we're not going to act on it."
"So, you
don't
want to see my pussy," she teased, holding the hem of the dress, threatening to lift it.
"I never said that," he grinned. "But you don't need to entice me. I'm not selling to Gene now that he's staying down at school. I'd be happy to sell you his stake. But that's way too much money."
"Perhaps. But I have particular needs. I want them delivered to me just like that one, already rolled. I need eight to replace what I've taken, and the rest are for me."
"Betsy, seriously, two-hundred is too much."
"I'm asking you to take a huge risk for me, Anthony. I don't think it's too much to compensate you for that risk. You take the money. Call it a retainer. If I need more, then I know I'm at the top of the list to get it."
"Okay. That's fair. Look, here's how it works. I sell by the ounce. We call that a lid. Usually a joint has about a half a gram in it, but from the looks of what Gene is rolling, that looks closer to a whole gram. He much like 'em fat. It's ten bucks for a lid, but that's with stems and seeds in it, so you'll lose about a quarter of the lid with stuff you can't smoke."
Picking up the joint, she asked bluntly, "How many of these do I get for my ten dollars?"
"If you figure a quarter is gone, and there are twenty-eight grams in an ounce... then about twenty-one. But that's not an exact science."
"So it would average twenty."