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.

“Well, George George, let me tell you, have you ever been fucked in the ass? Because I’ll tell you, I have. I like it, I like it a lot. But I’ll tell you, it helps to be just a little buzzed before the cock goes in. Ever fuck an ass before, George George? Man or woman.”

The gin’d hit her. She’d told me she thought the hardest part would be getting started, but that once she did start, it’d be okay. The barkeep was nearby cleaning a glass like it owed him money. Did he know it was a game, or did he think she was telling the truth? She was certainly dressed like what she’d claimed, and a body like that, that idea wasn’t far-fetched.

George George Eckels from Out Of Town said something about fucking and asses I couldn’t hear.

“That’s a shame for you, my friend. Believe me, once you do it the right way – tongue, fingers, toys, cock – buttsex rules. And my clients, their wives won’t be nasty like that. But I kinda like being nasty, George George, what do you think?”

I couldn’t hear the reply, if there was one, for a good bit. My eyes kept wanting to steal glances into the mirror, despite my determination not to blow this for her. Completely facing away from me, she was holding her shoulders back a bit. Though I couldn’t see her decolletage, I was aware of how the motion improved the view for her new friend. I heard him say something low and inquiring.

“Hell yeah, I suck cock. I enjoy it a lot. My clients sure do, the way I do it. Because I don’t skip the balls, no. My tongue does a lot of work there. Have you ever had,” she sidled up to him conspiratorially, “a woman press her tongue on your taint, and use some pressure? While she’s stroking your dick? You should try it. Does your wife suck your dick? … Oh that’s too bad, that’s a real shame,” she sounded genuinely sad that George George wasn’t getting his knob slobbed on the daily.

“See, George, that’s why you need someone like me,” the purr was back. “I’m having a little fun blabbing here with you, but believe me when I say I can be… discreet.” I sensed her moving behind me and drove myself mad wondering what George was seeing that I wasn’t, as her imagination and wicked, creative tongue weaved filth into my earholes. “And it’s guys like you, George, that I most like to fuck. And I like to fuck, George. I try to get fucked every day. I’m usually booked, so that’s not hard. Heh heh… hard.”

Goofball. I heard another low question.

“That’s kind of my favorite, actually. With more than one guy, I can really put on a show. Men are visual creatures, and I know this is pretty to look at. You’re looking, I know. That’s okay.” She paused, then said, “It turns me on.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, but still just loud enough to hear; then she continued, talking dirty again in a normal tone of voice for any of us to hear, like the maniac she was. God I loved her.

“Ever do that, George? Spitroast a chick? Eiffel tower? The devil’s threesome, as they say? Or do you prefer two women at the same time, is that more your jam? … Oh George, you poor thing, you simply haven’t lived, have you.” The idea that this young woman, no more than twenty-five, is telling this balding fart that he hasn’t lived, I find pretty hilarious, and I’m crunching my toes again, gripping my drink so hard I realize I might hurt myself.

“So that means you’ve never seen a gangbang either, I guess. … Oh, a gangbang, dear sweet, innocent George… A gangbang is when you have at least three men, for one woman. I tell you though, I don’t call such a small number a real gangbang, that’s like a Sunday get together after chuch. A gangbang to me is more like, seven, eight, ten, fifteen guys. More than fifteen, eh, starts to get a little stupid, you start to wish you had another woman there, or at least a cop directing traffic. Plus, with that many guys, the cum really starts to become a problem. I mean, of course I want as much of it in me and on me as I can, all over my face, my tits, leaking out of all my holes…”

“Goddamn,” I heard him croak. “That’s crazy.”

“That’s a Friday,” she said prettily. “But no, with up to fifteen guys, as long as things are taken care of, it’s great. Like, say, a pillow for my knees when I’m sucking cock, or a designated cunt-licker to eat me out and suck up these guys sperm outta my holes, so they can get used again.” She’s certainly not taking my request lightly, I thought. “Believe me George, when I get going, I really get going, you know? Once I start rolling, I can just take dick like you’ve never seen. Can you picture it, George?”

I felt her moving again and wondered again what she was showing him. I kept my eyes forward, determined to let you play this as long as you want without interruptions, accidental or otherwise.

“Imagine me getting fucked, George, not by just one guy, like what’s about to happen upstairs. No, imagine me getting totally railed by a bunch of guys. They rock me back and forth. These tits look great swaying as I’m getting hammered in my pussy and mouth at the same time. … Yeah, I know. And they put me in a lot of different positions too. They like watching each other fuck my tits.”

His voice made a protest sound.

“George. Really. There’s no way. You’ve never fucked a girl’s tits before, George? Ever? Wow, George, it’s like you’re a virgin. … Let me explain, then,” her voice once again lowering in register. I was sure the moment I moved everyone in the bar would be aware of my erection, but I needed to turn a bit if I wanted to continue to hear her dirty diatribe.

“In the basic way that most guys like it, you’re lying down or sitting, with me facing you. Then I just kind of wrap these boobies around you – it feels better if they’re slick, oil or spit works, some other guy’s cum works great – and I move them up and down, slow at first.” Her voice hung in the air like a painting. “I move them lots of different ways around you, it feels really good, and mine can make your cock just disappear.” I heard the pride in her voice.

“Yes, I’m told my pussy does taste really good actually. … George! That’s ridiculous! Your wife won’t do that at all ever? Ever? Wow George, why do you stay?” She’s laughing. “Yes, I’m sorry… Well of course you could.”

I felt her turn around and then lean forward. My eyes ran to the mirror to see her hands at the base of the dress for a quick moment, to flash her large wide ass at the balding asthmatic, right at the bar. I swear I could hear him wheezing, realizing she hadn’t been wearing underwear their whole conversation.

“I feel so sorry for you, George,” she turned back his way. I imagined she was holding her body like she did when flirting, accentuating her figure with her legs crossed just a bit, pushing her breasts up and out just a bit, looking like God’s own sugarplum fairy. “I tell you what George. Let me send a text,” she said succinctly, pulling out her phone and tapping out a message. My phone vibrated; I looked down to see PLAY ALONG.

“Alright George George from Out of Town… Let’s make a deal. I just texted my client and told him I’d be late. I am tempted to take you somewhere and give you the balls-to-the-wall sex you really deserve. I’m talking fuck my ass, fuck my tits, come on my face, you name it. Hell, call a friend. But I wanna make this interesting. If you have more money than this guy in your pocket, we’ll go upstairs and fuck. Hey, fella,” and she tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned. I pretended I was seeing her gorgeous form for the first time; the look on my face wasn’t hard to conjure, as even after knowing her a few years now, I was still just so damn impressed with what God had made.

“Wanna fuck me?” Her hand on her hip, she stared at me, almost accusatory.

“Yeah!” I blurted, too quickly.

“Take your wallets out,” she said matter-of-factly. “Whoever’s got more cash, gets taken upstairs.”

George’s hands are shaking as he grabs his wallet, moving eagerly. He pulls out several big bills – uh oh – and counts out $572.

I lay down the five hundreds from my billfold, then removed the emergency hundo from its spot behind my license.

She swooped up my money in triumph -- she still had her ring on, the kinky minx -- almost yelling “Winner winner chicken dinner!” as she took me by the arm, firmly walking me out of the bar and into the hotel elevator. She pressed her delectable body against mine on the elevator’s side wall. Her eyes were sparkling as she told me she loves me.

“One question… That was close. What if he’d had more money?”

And that half-smirk I fell in love with was back. She turned her head, pressed the button for our floor, then turned back to me. Taking my head in her fingers, she turned it to the side to whisper right in my ear.

“You’ll never know.”