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“Hey man, why don’t you go dance with her?”
He fixed the bartender with a mock look of exasperation, “Do I *look* like I have any rhythm?”
“Now that you mention it, no you don’t but damn man, I’d get some to dance with her.”
“You know her?”
“Nah, but she’s in every Friday night and I noticed her the very first time she came in.”
“Does she always dress so modestly?”
The bartender laughed, “Man, she’s dressed like a nun compared to most Friday night’s!”
“Give me another Jameson’s, neat with water on the side.”
He leaned against the bar, lit a non-filtered Camel, and watched her dance. Her “nun’s habit,” a red floral print sundress that rode high on her thighs, accentuated her long legs. The peasant neckline, pulled down off her shoulders accentuated her elegant neck, strong collar bones and led to the beginnings of her sloping, full breasts.
The bartender arrived with the drink. Jack McCloud nodded toward her on the dance floor, “How tall you figure?”
“Ummm, 5’8″, 5’9″, in her bare feet. I’d say in those heels she’s probably 6 even.”
As the night progressed he stayed at the bar, slowly sipping his drinks and smoking – and watching her.
He marveled at her abandon. She’d dance with anyone; man, woman or any combination thereof.
She came to the bar for a break. She was six stools down. He thought what the hell, buy her a drink. He waved his new friend, the bartender, over.
“Whatever she’s drinking, tell her I’m buying this round.”
The bartender smiled conspiratorily. He went over, took her order then pointed at Jack. She followed the bartender’s gaze, saw Jack, smiled a slight smile and nodded.
When her drink came, a gin or vodka shot, she held it up in a salute to Jack and downed it in one swallow. She turned the shot glass upside down and slammed it to the bar and then wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
And then she was back on the dance floor.
She was dancing with a pair of women.
She gathered her long blonde hair – a thick mane that was damp with sweat – with one hand and held it off her neck. With the other she raised the hem of her dress, exposing a tiny thong.
To the throb of the music she did pelvic “scoots” against the leather clad thigh of of the more masculine of the pair. The leather clad lady’s partner nuzzled the blonde’s throat and not to subtly rubbed and fondled the woman’s breasts.
What Jack found intriguing was who was looking at whom.
Jack got the impression the leather lady would have fucked her thigh humper right then and there.
The leather lady’s partner was nuzzling, fondling and now kissing the blonde and looking at the leather lady in obvious lust.
The blonde had locked eyes with Jack.
Jack took a mental snapshot: Sweat trickled down her long, lean face to her throat where it moved on down in rivulets to the top of her breasts. There it snaked under the fabric to form wet stains under her breasts and on to her belly.
She was nothing short of exquisite, thought Jack. But, all good things must come to an end. Jack took a look at his watch and gave the bartender his credit card.
The blonde caught a glimpse of Jack settling up but then her attention was drawn back to the blood heaviness of her cunt from agressively rubbing against the leather clad dyke. The dyke’s partner was doing a great job of groping her.
A few more minutes of this she thought and she would need some release but Fiona Davis of Pacific Palisades was wondering about Jack. The man who bought her a drink but never tried to come on to her or dance with her.
He looked so out of place among the “beautiful people.” The “beautiful people” were there to be seen. This guy was an out of towner she decided.
From the Midwest she guessed.
Not a business man or some sort of executive. No, she thought, he was some sort of specialist. She smiled. He had that vaguely geeky look about him.
But he seemed so calm in this strange environment and he was clearly there to play the voyeur.
Fiona was not paying attention to her dance partner. The dyke quickly closed distance with her, putting an arm around the small of her back and pulling her chest to chest with her.
The beat picked up and the dyke’s partner had her breasts and belly glued to Fiona’s back, kissing and biting her neck and shoulders.
The dyke produced a large, black strapon from her pants and Fiona felt the material covering her sex pushed aside by insistent fingers.
Fiona let out a loud moan as she was penetrated and then the dyke rakishly pulled Fiona’s dress down to expose a full breast with large areoles and nipples and attached her mouth to one of Fiona’s nipples.
A wave of pleasure spread through her body and for a very few seconds she felt like surrending to the assault of her dance partners. She was soooooo near…But damn it! The man had just disappeared from sight.
She wanted him.
* * * * *
Jack gave the valet his claim check and suddenly Fiona was standing at his elbow.
“Where güvenilir bahis are you staying?” she asked casually, as if they had spent the evening together and she just hadn’t gotten around to asking.
“How do you know I’m not an Angelino?” He was somewhat surprised but cool. And being nonchalant with this woman was a huge struggle; her raw beauty and her physical stature stunned him. Her face was still streaked with sweat and her dress was plastered to her in several places.
“Oh,” she gathered her hair again and pulled it off her neck letting the night breeze cool her, “you have that midwest tourist look about you. Besides, I club a lot on the Strip. I would have noticed you.”
The car arrived. He stepped off the curb and looked back at her as he walked to the door. Her face was passive but her eyes caught his. He was trying to figure out the look and if their eye lock was having the same effect on her as it was on him.
“Besides, this car looks like a rental.”
He tipped the valet and looked back again. She had moved. Another valet was opening the passenger door for her.
Her scent – fresh sweat, cigarette smoke mixed with her perfume and the perfume of her last dance partners plus the unmistakable aroma of female musk – filled the car.
“You were going to tell me where you are staying.” She smiled.
“The Luxe Summit Bel Aire. And you?”
“If you want me, I’m staying with you. If you don’t you can drop me off in the Palisades.”
He pulled the Mitsubishi, rented at LAX, into the night traffic of Sunset Boulevard and headed for his hotel. They drove in silence.
She broke the silence after a few blocks.
“Aren’t you curious as to how I would have noticed you or do you think I’m just kind of nuts?”
“I’m curious but I think I’m afraid of the answer.”
“First, you’re not that attractive.”
His eyebrows raised. So much for her feeling the same about him as he did about her.
“Uh, no offense…”
“None taken. I think.”
“Well, all the ‘beautiful people’ go clubbing. They want to be seen. We are just so vain, you know. Hollywood and all that shit. But you…you’re not a salesman. You’re some sort of specialist or technician.”
“Uh, as a matter of fact, I am; I’m a software specialist.”
She threw her head back and smiled triumphantly.
“Mind if I smoke?” She was already reaching for her cigarettes, lighter in hand. He reached for his pack and turned to her lighter as she lit up.
“Guess not.” She smiled and winked coyly at him as she slowly blew out a pungent blue cloud of smoke.
* * * * *
They pulled into the circle drive of the hotel and the valet opened her door.
She bestowed a smile upon the valet. “Good evening, Enrique.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Davis. Will you be requiring a car later?”
“No, Enrique. My friend will see me home.”
“Very good, Mrs. Davis.”
Jack stopped and stared.
“May I have your keys, Mr. McCloud?”
“Huh? Oh, oh, yeah.”
She was looking at him. She was gauging his reactions and she was pleasantly bemused by it all.
She took his arm to walk into the hotel as if they had been a couple all their adult lives.
Once in his suite, she flounced on the sofa; he leaned against the door.
“Uh, what’s going on here?”
“What do you think if going on here? By the way, my name’s Fiona. I live just up Sunset in the Palisades. My husband’s name is Walter. He’s in Brazil right now. Corporate lawyer.”
“I asked you what you thought was going on here. It’s 3’ish. The night is young and full of so many possibilities.”
She took out another cigarette and lit up.
“Aren’t you going to offer a lady a drink?”
“Yeah, uh, sure.” He pushed his back and shoulders off the door and went to the mini bar. “What’s your pleasure?”
She laughed and slowly blew smoke into the air. “I take pleasure in many things. I thought you were getting me a drink though.”
He looked at her, differently this time. “You don’t boil rabbits when you get pissed off or spurned, do you?”
She laughed, “Mrs. McCloud make you watch ‘Fatal Attraction’ before she let you on the road?”
“Three times. Jack’s the name. Jack McCloud. Her name is Vicki. She’s in Kansas City right now. Homemaker.”
“Ah,” another cloud of smoke, “I was right about the midwest.”
“Sure, straight up. Mind if I get comfortable?”
“Not at all.”
As he poured the bourbon, she stood up and pulled the sun dress over her head and shook out her hair. No bra. The tiny thong. She kicked off her heels and sat back down in time for him to hand her the drink.
“Thank you. You are one cool guy; I don’t seem to have gotten you with my outrageous behavior or my naked body. Jesus, you’re not gay are you?” she asked in mock horror.
He held up his wedding banded finger. “Vicki, remember?”
“Well, she could be your beard, you know.”
“Yeah and türkçe bahis you could have a cock bigger than mine hiding under that thong you know.”
She looked introspective for a moment. “Touche. Wanna find out?”
Without answering, he got up and stood before her. She looked up at him, her finger rubbing the rim of her glass, watching for a sign.
She gasped quietly when he pulled a large folding blade knife from his back pocket. He opened it with a flick. Her eyes were now riveted to the blade, her voice was flat, “Uh, you don’t have a thing for icepicks in bed do you?”
He didn’t answer but bent down and ran the flat of the blade quickly over a nipple, around her breast and down the small, soft curve of her belly and up along her hip.
She drew in a breath; held it. “How in the hell did you get that thing past airport security?” she asked with breath held and teeth clenched at the waves of pleasure the cold blade was spreading through her breasts and belly.
He looked into her eyes. He put his index finger to his lips to indicate quiet and smiled slightly.
With surprising quickness he slid the blade under the cord of the thong and cut it neatly in two.
And that was it.
He went back to his seat, laid the open knife on the table, lit a cigarette and picked up his drink. After blowing out his first drag he smiled at her, “You’re not the only one with kinks here. And no, I don’t do icepicks in bed, but do you think Sharon Stone icepicked Michael Douglas in the last scene of ‘Basic Instinct?'”
Her voice was slow, she locked eyes with him, “I think they fucked like minks and then she soooo icepicked him – and, rubbed her breasts with his blood and then had a massive orgasm.”
“What?” he laughed, “are you trying to out kink me?”
“Hey, I am the jaded Angelino. You’re the guy from Oz.”
“Take off your thong now that I’ve opened it up. Let’s see the goods, bitch.”
“Bitch? Bitch? Why did you call me bitch?” She stood and pulled the thong off exposing a neatly shaven mons.
“Because you appear to be randier than a three balled tomcat but to call you the veternarian name for a female cat in heat – queen – doesn’t really sound erotic, you know?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I see your point. You like to talk dirty to a woman? Demean her while you’re fucking her, right?” She sat down again, legs spread spread provocatively.
“I like to talk dirty but I get no pleasure from demeaning a woman. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it. Giving and receiving pleasure is both a need and an ecstasy.”
“Shit, you’re quoting Gibran to me? You’re awfully literate for someone from Kansas City.”
He held up his glass to acknowledge her back handed compliment. “Hey, I even know how to cypher, multiply by 8’s and do long division.”
“You’re not a ‘double naught spy’ are you?” picking up on his reference to Jethro Bodine of “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
“No. But you need to remember that Jethro was from the Ozarks in Missouri and I am an urbane Kansan.”
She smiled; she liked this little repartee they had going.
She reached for her big bag that she carried and fished a black lacquered box out of the bag, opened it and laid it on the coffee table between them.
“I like little pills. Sometimes needles. Oh,” flicking a brown suppository with her finger, “and I have these little beauties made by a dealer down on Rampart. Mexican brown heroin. Rectally. Very nice buzz.
“I like to get fucked up and have very rough sex.” Her last statement she meant to get a rise out of him; it was time to get high and fucked up or go home.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Then suddenly she broke the gaze, got up from the sofa, grabbed her dress and her drug box and headed for the bathroom.
The door closed.
He sat for a moment wondering what the hell was going on. He smiled, took a sip of his drink, picked up his knife and headed for the bathroom.
He slammed the door open. She was back in her dress, downing a couple of pills. She flashed anger at him.
“Hey cocksucker, it’s rude to break in on a lady in the bathroom!”
He advanced on her without acknowledging her anger. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her to face the mirror. Grabbing a terry cloth belt from one of the robes in the bathroom he looped it around her throat and snugged it firmly under the line of her jaw, pulling her head and neck back back against his chest and shoulder.
He whispered in her ear, “Do you know that with very little pressure from this position, I can cut the blood flow in your cartotids and you will go out like a light?”
She nodded her head slightly her eyes staring at him through the mirror.
He reached down to the box on the counter and pulled out a glass tube with a needle attached.
“A hospital tubex of Morphine? For all your appearance of wild self destruction, you are a little bit careful aren’t you?”
She gave a small embarrassed smile and whispered yes.
He pulled the cap of the needle off with his teeth and plunged güvenilir bahis siteleri a small amount of the drug into the air.
“Have…have you done this before?”
He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Mmmmmm.”
“You…you…you’re very literate for someone from the midwest,” she whispered. Suddenly she felt afraid but suddenly she was also so excited.
“You’ve mentioned that a couple of times now. I’m running out of clever retorts.” Jack’s fingertips came slowly across her chest and she shivered in his hold.
“Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t piss off the guy who could strangle me without a lot of effort, eh? And that felt nice.”
He slid the belt a little lower down her throat and retightened. Her carotid arteries quicky showed blue and were distended and throbbing.
“Eyes in the mirror, Fiona. There’s going to be a stick.”
“Oh, no, wait! Please! I’ve never shot up in my neck!”
She looked panicked to herself in the mirror but she didn’t try to resist and she watched with fascination, almost as if she were out of her body, as he brought the needle to her neck and stuck her.
He slowly pushed the plunger.
“Oh…sweet Jesus…that’s, that’s so…,” a veil was descending across her mind as the drug almost instantaneously hit the pleasure receptors in her brain. Her eyes went glassy and her eyelids fluttered.
Jack smiled and felt his erection grow even more as he watched the bliss over come her in her eyes. Her mouth sagged a bit and a little spittle ran down her chin and hit her chest.
The sensation Fiona was feeling was so sublimely exquisite. Jack didn’t exist, nothing existed and it felt absolutely marvelous.
When Jack removed the needle, blood pumped in a tiny arc from the artery, splashing on her dress.
Fiona saw it in the mirrow but couldn’t form a thought except to think that the blood running down *that* woman’s throat and onto her breasts was so erotic.
Jack put the syringe down and twirled her around to face him. Suddenly reality imposed itself and she thought she might pass out.
“Fiona, jesus, you’re bleeding.” For a brief moment she worried through the narcotic bliss that *she* was in over her head. His tone sounded so psychotically casual to her.
Her gaze drifted to Jack. She noticed again the little arcs of blood.
“That’s, that’s me?”
“Yeah. We’ll take care of that in a minute but first we have to get you out of this dress.”
He used the knife to make a slit in the collar line and then he ripped the dress the entire length. Again she was naked though looking ravaged with fresh blood glistening down her throat and onto her breasts.
“That’s my dress…my dress, uh, Jack…”
“You really think Sharon Stone icepicked Michael Douglas and rubbed his blood on her breasts? Something like this?”
He rubbed the fresh warm blood across her breasts, thumbing her nipples and feeling the wonderful heft of them. Then he took her hands and had her rub herself.
“Fiona, you’re starting to drool.”
He licked a path up from between her breasts to just below her jaw line opposite the little pumping needle wound. Her blood was salty and a bit metallic tasting.
“You know, if you have any blood borne diseases, I’m really screwed.
“Here,” He pressed a wet wash cloth to the site on her throat, “hold this tightly. It’ll stop the bleeding.”
“Jack…goddamn…I…I’ve never, uh, felt…jesus…this way uh, before. And…uh…I really,” she closed her eyes and concentrated on the intense feelings that the drugs and Jack were causing, “I really, you know, insist on being, uh… fucked bareback, so uh like…we’ll be…uh…even.”
He now had another wash cloth and was slowly, gently, cleaning her up, her ass leaned against the bathroom vanity.
Jack held her by the face, “What else did you do before I busted in and shot you up?”
“Uh…,” she tried for a moment to concentrate, her breasts and sex felt so deliriously full and aroused, “just a couple of bees and a tab of X. What’d you, uh, give me?”
“Standard cardiac dose, 2mgs. Shooting you up in your neck, together with the alcohol and the 2c-b’s(?)…”
“…took less of a dose. The X kicking in yet?”
“Oh, god, yeah…”
“Here,” he moved her hand away from her throat, “no more bleeding.” He gently kissed the site and she bent her head to attempt to cradle his. He moved up to her ear, “Turn the *fuck* around bitch…I want your belly and breasts on the counter,” he whispered, part menacingly, part tenderly.
Fiona luxuriated in the feel of the cool marble on her skin. She closed her eyes and let herself sag.
My god, he thought, what a spectacular site: her ass and sex spread before him. Her lips were distended and glistening. Her asshole a beautiful brown rosette.
A hand on her hip, “I’ve been hard since the club. You offer such a tempting array of delights.”
“Nope, not yet my dear. Not only am I literate for a farmer from Oz,” he ran a fingertip lightly from the top of her sex through her lips, lingering at her asshole before tracing up her spine, “I’m patient. You’re not fucked up enough, I think.”
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