Seduction had become a lost art. It wasn't always so. Back in the day, when America was young and innocent, it was the stuff of legends. Movie stars, like Jean Harlow and Mae West made their careers out of it. The thought brought a wry smile to George's face as he stared down at the young beauty who had thought him an easy mark. His mind drifted momentarily, back several centuries to a time when seduction was everything. Full of subtlety and outrageousness, lacking in all the social graces and full of grace, it was an art form to be reckoned with in the pursuit of pleasure. George had thrived in those days.
Nowadays he would go for weeks without. But this night, he had stumbled across a den of iniquity, writhing flesh in the artless pursuit of pleasure. And somewhere in this heated cesspool of passion his satisfaction would be found. He would lure her away with his wit and charm; he only had to find her. He had played it out a thousand times. It was always the same. He would lead her to a private place and use her to satisfy his lust, to satiate his hunger, to throw away. She would stare up at him. He would inhale her perfume as she offered her crimson form. He would fight back his hunger while he played with her weeping breasts. His slow steady thrusts would evince moans from her cherry lips while he played gently inside her. He would tease her, "I would have seduced you. I would have played upon your longing. You would have begged for me. YOU were too easy." And it would make her writhe more in anticipation.
Erika watched her mark from the shadows while he played the room. He seemed intense in his inquiries, dismissing advances made by eager young things. He reeked of old money and schooled manners. No doubt he had a fat wallet. Erika liked men with fat wallets; they were her bread and butter, her high-rise apartment, her Gucci bag, and her Italian shoes. This one was young and quite handsome. "A bonus," thought Erika. She had been with far too many repugnant but filthy rich men in the past. "There's a reason they are called 'filthy'. Doesn't anybody bathe anymore? It's not like they can't afford to." After stalking him in the shadows for the past half-hour, Erika stepped boldly forward brandishing her finest smile.
All the pretty young things fluttered around George like deranged butterflies. Their half-starved slender bodies offered little nourishment and he quickly shooed them away. Cruising about the room only attracted more offers that he felt compelled to refuse. Weary of the hunt, he headed for a nearby table.
A succulent morsel stepped out of the shadows wearing a come-hither smile on her crimson lips; her auburn locks fell carelessly around her hazel eyes. Her dress barely contained her ample cleavage; a nipple popped free when she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Hello lover. I've been looking for you all night."
Uninvited, she took a seat on his lap. George wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his free hand on her lap. Her liberated nipple rested within reach of George's lips. "Ah, yes. The appetizer," thought George as she introduced herself to him. Erika talked about her fascination with the well-heeled and her prowess as a partner. Her heart raced as his attraction to her became more obvious. George slipped his right hand between her thighs and slowly worked it up to her furry mound beneath her skirt. "You will beg for me," he whispered into her ear as he played with her pleasure button.
His agile tongue sought out her exposed nipple; drawing it quickly into his mouth. His abrasive tongue lapped savagely at her tender breast; she moaned quietly in response. "Finally, a decent man," she concluded, "to talk to."
George interrupted his suckling. "So far, you've done all the talking," George said coldly.
She feigned embarrassment as much as possible. "So," Erika ran her fingers through his hair, "tell me about yourself."
"All you need to know," George replied solemnly, "is that I am going to have my way with you tonight."
"Perhaps," Erika teased, "but not here."
