She was gripping the little black purse fiercely, like she expected it to leap from her hand, frightened of how sexy its owner looked in the new dress. Even though I'd seen her put on this glorious spaghetti strap bodycon not half an hour ago, I was still blown away by the deep cleavage the bodice created with the help of her ample breasts. She was a coke bottle encased in strappy silk the color of pink champagne. Wispy sleeves above the elbows helped accentuate her bosom. It was the kind of chest that, I've told her over and over again, inspired shipwrights.
As the eye followed the brocade down, the brain wanted to say, "Wait, that's not enough dress, it stops *there*?" And I just knew there were eyes on that hemline wondering if they'd get to see a hint of her panties, or better yet, a thong.
I knew they wouldn't, because tonight she wasn't wearing either. Just a buttplug. Which, knowing her, they might indeed get to see, if they're lucky. Or attractive. Trying not to stare, I still saw her eyes move deliberately over and past me as she scanned the hotel bar, walking towards me with determination. The counter wasn't crowded, a few other refugees from cancelled flights commiserating; but she still pushed up next to me. "Do you mind, buddy?" she glared at me. Nice touch, I thought, but still threw up my hands and turned my back on her, as planned. I couldn't see whether she'd decided to leave her wedding ring on or not.
The bartender, who ten minutes ago had taken quite some time to serve me, was instantly available. "I'll have a ginger ale, and two shots of gin please. Super, super cold. Please." I could only imagine her batting her eyes and subtly pressing her breasts together, when she knew she was asking for something she might not get. It was pretty damn cute and irresistible. And surely enough within seconds, the barkeep had his ice and his strainer and his second-rate fancy bar moves, and the young woman with the butt had two shots and a tumbler of ginger ale before her. "Thank you so much," came the purr, and she turned away from me a bit. I felt that butt briefly scrape mine, it was like electricity passing between us. This was our most daring game yet. I watched football on the bar TV and listened as hard as I could.
"Not one, but two shots of gin. That's pretty impressive, I gotta say." A man's voice, too loud, close; out of the corner of my eye in the mirror, I could just see him, a balding and mildly bloated fellow who might've been described as handsome a while ago.
"Always, at times like these. Hi, I'm Beatriz," she lied. "What's your name, cowboy?" Cowboy? I almost burst into giggles here, but curled my toes hard in my sneaker until I regained control. Focus, focus.
"George. George Eckels. I'm, from out of town." I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the inability to rip his gaze from the canyon of tit before him.
"Well, hi George George Eckels from out of town." She chuckled; he tittered. "I'm going to do my first shot. Do you want one of your own? The second one is for me as well, so hands off."
"...Yeah, okay, gin? Sure, I'll do a shot of gin, why not," as if he would deny her. The barkeep repeated the ritual without the moves, and soon it was one, two, three, go. She really liked gin, especially when she's at all horny; she said it gave her the excuse to be the slutty little whore she knew she had inside. I knew the truth, but I wasn't going to remove Dumbo's magic feather, no fucking way.
But gin isn't for everybody, which is part of what she liked about it. The guy sputtered as he bitched about the taste. The smirk I'm imagining on her face is what really made me fall for her, but no, she's asking him about his line of work. We're no longer touching, which I mourned; but I'm locked in, my eyes glazed over as my ears worked overtime.
He's going on about something, I wasn't listening to him much, instead hoping that as she stood at the bar sipping ginger ale, she might rub her ass against me again. It still thrills me like crazy. Then I made it out: he asked her what she does.
"Oh, I'm a hooker," she said.
"... Really? You're joking... right?"
"Nope!" She sounded quite pleased with herself. "I always have two shots before I meet a client. They like me a little... Loose. If you know what I mean."
I think he said something about not in fact knowing. She downed the second shot, slamming it on the bar with authority.
