June didn't know what she was going to do, and when she didn't know what to do she did what she knew best. Drinking, clubbing and spending what she had on having fun to forget. The plaid miniskirt barely hugged the swell of her bottom, and she had to remember to not bend over too far lest she give anyone behind her a fair view of just how far between her pale cheeks her thong was worn. The tank top, if it could even be called that, as it was more a top to cover her bra, the bit of pink lace peeking over the top of the black tank, below it showing inches and inches of her smooth belly. The five inch heels completed the outfit, which could only be described as making her look like a raunchy slut. But that was the idea after all, because she wanted, hell, needed to get laid tonight.
That afternoon at the bank she'd ended up walking out shaken, still not understanding everything she'd been told by the loan officer. But even a girl as simple as her could understand terms like, default, foreclosure, lien abandonment and criminal charges. It wasn't her fault that Robert had lost his job and was being brought up for embezzlement, and it was certainly not her fault that the bastard had taken off to Mexico with one of the girls from the secretary pool, along with everything that he and June had in their accounts, including the 500k home loan they had taken out, a loan in his and her name. June didn't understand much of any of it, but there was one thing in particular that bothered her. How could the bank sell her foreclosed debt to someone? Was that even legal?
But she wasn't a complicated girl; spoiled, a little dumb and poorly educated, but complicated she was not. It was so much easier when she was young and fresh out of high school. Big tits, apple-bottom ass and legs to heaven and avalon. She'd learned that careful balance between being a whore, and being a cock tease, enough to land herself a husband who had a bright future with an investment firm and liked having a 'dumb but pretty' wife at home, as he had told her on many ocassions. Why he didn't even mind her elaborate spending or the sleeping around she did, after all, he was at the office so much, and sure he was probably banging a woman at work, so that made it alright.
She hadn't cried though, no, that wasn't like her, she'd save those feelings and bottle them up, and then show them other ways, like petty bitching, or taking it out on friends and family. She had a rich husband, a big house and could do whatever she wanted, when she wanted. So that was happiness, right? Only now she's walking the dance floor of a nightclub, easily four or five years older than most of the girls in here, wondering if she's still got enough looks to get by, and trying to get enough alcohol in her to forget that she's got her husbands debts sitting, like a sword, waiting to drop on her.
By about one am she'd already been into the men's bathroom twice, and behind the bar once. She'd sucked off a couple of frat boys, who then, laughingly, tossed a couple of twentys on her. At least the bartender only gave her free drinks for the rest of the night. She wasn't quite sure what she was more ashamed of, that she was being used, that she took the money, or that there was still a part of her that liked it, but wanted to cry. But a little gin to wash out the taste in her mouth, and a little makeup from her compact, and she was yet again back out on the floor, looking for a man with a cock longer than her middle finger, who, maybe, after giving him some head would take her home, just so she didn't have to go back to sleep in her car for the night. But she was angry, sad, confused and well along to getting herself drunk.
So when she felt someone grab her wrist, walking through the crowd, her first reaction was to snap around and slap the offending person. Only as she struck out, June found that her wrist was grabbed in midair, seized by a man in front of her, dressed in a sleek black suit, far too high class to fit in here. June blinked, and he smiled.
"Well that's one way to say hello." His voice was deep and mellow, reminding her of the way that cowboys talked in the old western movies. The man brought her wrists together, pulling them in front of her. "Come and drink with me, you need it." Then he simply takes her, holding both her wrists between the fingers of his right hand, guiding her along with him like an unruly child, not a doubt of expectation of her total compliance in his tone.
June went along, meekly, if only because she was a girl who knew money and power when she saw it, and perhaps, only a little, it sent a shiver down her spine to have a man grab her and take her, even for something as mundane as a drink. The man took her to a table off to the side, one that only had a single chair at it, which he sat down in. Of course she looked around, a little confused as to where she was supposed to sit, before she thought that she had the idea. Moving, she tried to slide into his lap, doing her usual sex bunny act, since that's obviously why he'd pick her out from amongst all these other girls.
