Fun little story, with a little 'fun' sex, but nothing hard. Probably unlikely in real life, but what the hell, it's a story. I invented it. It didn't happen in real life.
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"Damn it!" The attractive twenty-eight year old brunette muttered under her breath, as she put her I-phone back down on the bar in front of her. "All dolled up and ready for a great night out, and my damn husband has to stay on at work and finish some stupid project. Why couldn't he have rang me before I left home?"
She sat there silently fuming, the upmarket decorations of the upmarket lounge bar she was sitting in lost to her for the moment. She'd spent half the late afternoon primping and preparing herself for that evening out with her husband, carefully choosing the little black dress that he loved so much; the one that was so short and plunged so daringly, that their golden rule was that it only came out for their special evenings out together.
"All this leg and cleavage on display," she thought to herself. "With nobody around to appreciate it."
But she was wrong!
Oh how she was wrong.
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The man, he was close enough to the standard tall dark and handsome that few but the very fussy would call you on it. Thirty-two years old, well dressed and shoes freshly polished. He's been watching the pretty young dark haired woman since she'd breezed in just five minutes before, instinctively licking his lips as he admired her long shapely, bare, tanned legs, with their dainty little high heeled shoes at one end, and the flouncy, questionable excuse for a skirt at the other.
And such a long tantalising length of leg in between them!
And so damn shapely.
The top, what there was of it, plunged daringly down between the swell of her full breasts, a worryingly fragile looking silver clasp appearing to be the only thing holding the whole thing together.
His mind was working overtime.
You may have been there? I bet yours would as well.
He'd seen and taken note of her reaction to the phone call she'd just taken, and knew that with a girl as pretty as the one sat by the bar, dressed as she was, if he didn't make his move soon, then there'd be a queue. So, raising himself from the shadows of the alcove where he'd been observing the bar from, he stepped quickly over towards the girl, feeling confident about himself, but not sure exactly how his approach would be accepted.
"Hi there," he started, flashing her his number one special smile. "You seem to be all on your own. Can I get you another drink?"
The girl, woman maybe, looked up at him, her surprise registering on her lovely face as she took in quite how hunky her new admirer was. Without answering she glanced up and down at this new man, liking what she saw, suddenly acutely aware of just how revealing her attire was, as she sat there, the skirt of her already overly short dress having ridden even further up her silky smooth thighs, and the flimsy plunging top offering very limited cover to her otherwise bare breasts, as the handsome dark haired man stood there, looking down at them.
Staring at them. Enjoying the view, and making the most of his priveledged position.
He made no pretence that he was doing anything but admiring all the bare flesh she was displaying, and she made no immediate move to spoil his viewing pleasure.
The woman breathed in deeply to steady her rapidly pounding heart, realising too late that the effect it would have, and the increased threat to the little silver clasp, would do nothing to diffuse the situation.
This turn of events had taken her totally by surprise, and she recognised that her evening could well turn out somewhat different to how she had expected.
But what to do now?
Put the man in front of her in his place or go along with it?
She knew that she really ought to remind the man that she was a happily married woman.
"Another drink would be fine," she verbalised her decision, throwing him a smile, wondering whether she'd made a terrible mistake.
"A gin and tonic with ice but no lemon for the lady please bartender," the man called out to the guy behind the bar. The very same bartender who'd been hovering close by, enjoying the stolen views of the sexy woman in the skimpy dress, that was about to be stolen from him by the newcomer.
The drink for her and a new one for the man in front of them, and the bartender sloped off to the other end of the bar, his interest more in the chance of a good tip, rather than hanging round to spy.
"Gordon. Gordon Mayhew," the man introduced himself offering her his hand.
"Lisa," answered the girl with yet another friendly smile, absolutely sure that his real name wasn't Gordon, any more than hers was Lisa.
All part of the game in a bar like this, as she took his large hand in her small one, the pair of them holding on to the other's hand for much longer than good manners would normally require.
"All on your own Lisa?" The man enquired politely. "Not expecting anyone to arrive and demand what I'm doing chatting up his beautiful young girlfriend?"
"All on my own Gordon," the girl confirmed, the use of his given name seeming strange. It somehow didn't suit him. "I was expecting someone, but he's not coming."
"Your date's let you down has he?" He asked, a look of surprise on his face. "He must be mad to miss out on an evening with a wonderful young lady like you."
"He wasn't exactly a date," the girl giggled back at him. "At least not a normal sort of date."
"Business perhaps?" He queried.
"Not exactly business. More a long time arrangement."
"A financial arrangement? Is that what you mean?"
"Sort of," she chuckled, mostly to herself, amused at the play on words that avoided her admitting that it was her husband that she'd been waiting for. "He paid for this dress that I'm wearing for example."
"And the shoes?"
"Yes, them as well."
"And your panties?" The man boldly demanded next. "Did he pay for those?"
"I suppose he did," she replied, blushing at her own daring, her mind flashing back to the tiny thong that she had slipped on just a few hours earlier. The very one, that by then was beginning to get very damp indeed.
"But apparently he wasn't generous enough to buy you a bra," he continued, making a point of staring down at the curve of the inside of her breasts, clearly visible between the gap down the front of her dress.
"Apparently not," she agreed, her own eyes glancing down to where his were, the impossibility that she had a bra on that evening more than obvious.
The pair of them looked up, holding one another's eyes for some moments in silence, both wondering where the hell this was going. Where would it end up?
"It seems that perhaps I have read you wrong then, beautiful young lady," the man took the initiative. "It would seem that you are a woman who expects her 'arrangements' to be of a financial nature. A --- eh --- professional lady should I say. But a particularly pretty and sweet one."
She gasped, trying to hide it. Oh God the evening was going so very different wasn't it. She felt herself becoming flustered, realising that her words had been taken the wrong way. Realising, with a sinking feeling that he was suggesting that she was a prostitute.
She'd have to put him right there!
Or would she?
A real live fantasy and perhaps she'd risk playing him along for a little longer.
What to do next?
She simply smiled back up at him.
"So what would three hundred buy me?" He questioned her, grinning at how his own evening was turning out so unexpectedly.
"Not a lot," she replied calmly, having absolutely no idea what the going rate might be, but feeling that if she had been selling, then she should be worth quite a bit more than that. Not that she planned on actually going through with it, did she?
Did she?
Well, did she?
The guy --- Did he call himself Gordon ---- Whatever, he was awfully cute, and ..... Well ..... Oh God, her panties were becoming awfully damp and sticky. Made thinking clearly, very difficult.
"Well I'm a three hundred maximum sort of guy," she heard the man replying to her rejection. "I've got quite a lot to offer myself honey, and I'm not really used to paying for it. If you weren't so damn pretty and sexy ....."
He left the veiled threat of walking away from it all unspoken, but the message was clear. It was her chance. Her one clear chance. Her chance to smile sweetly at him, stand up, straighten her dress, say goodnight and walk away. Her chance to escape from the situation she'd got herself into without further embarrassment. Perhaps she'd treat the handsome devil to a peck on the cheek. Perhaps he deserved that much.
"Three hundred eh." She heard herself saying. "That's really all?"
"Three hundred," he nodded, taking out his wad of money and counting out notes, away from any prying eyes. "Take it or leave it. But it's a good offer."
"Right," she decided on the spur of the moment. "But I'm not going up to your room, or out to your car. For three hundred you get what you can get right here in this bar. Anything that doesn't cause a fuss, embarrass us or get us thrown out."
She sat there smiling confidently at him, convinced that she'd called his bluff, sure that he wouldn't go for it. What on earth could he demand in a public place like that, that would be worth his three hundred?
"Fine," he said quietly to her surprise, sliding the wad of notes down the bar to her. "Let's see those lovely breasts of yours for starters."
Oh shit!
Oh damn it. What to do now?
