A Daring Chance

I couldn't help but stare down at the empty glass that mocked me on the table, the spiraled bamboo skewer that once held three olives abandoned beside it on the coaster. It seemed to just grin at me, taunt me to take more, taste more. I was on drink number two now, but the alcohol was taking effect quickly. Perhaps I should have eaten before I decided to venture out. Perhaps I should have forgone the temptation of my latest, favorite drink: extra dirty martini for the extra dirty girl, with extra olives (please), but tonight was not one of those nights I could have easily dismissed my craving.

I sat there in the open hotel lounge facing the lobby of the grand entryway, watching people stroll past with their luggage, some struggling with their items, others struggling with a child on one hip or a wandering teen. And here I sat, struggling with my inner-self control and the name of the waitress's nameplate. Sharon? Shanon? She looked more like a Sharon, with her dyed red bob and the oversized glasses that perched at the tip of her nose. As much as she posed as the friendly hostess, I could see the disdain in her eyes as she looked over the short fabric that composed my dress — a gray comfortable cotton t-shirt style dress that came just above my knee, with an open v-neck cleavage allowing full view of the black strapless push-up bra beneath.

What's the matter, Sharon?

I thought.

You're still getting my money.

"Another drink?" Sharon asked, her voice a pleasant tone through her strained smile.

I raised my glass to show I still had a good majority left and smiled in return, shaking my head. "Thank you," I responded, "but I believe I'm okay for now." With a nod, Sharon, or maybe it really was Shanon, left me to my peace.

I shifted where I sat, my free hand smoothing the soft fabric of the contemporary couch I had chosen for my evening's perch. The rest of the bar was packed solid with travelers, and colleagues that laughed raucously at lame jokes as they stared down into the depths of their own empty bottles. Thankfully a large wall blocked the majority of the noise and I was able to sit there, concentrating on my own thoughts, and at the woman's ass who sat a few feet away at a table, her white pants teasing my imagination as I debated whether or not she wore panties.

Holding my martini in my right hand, I toyed at the skewer that held three plump green olives with my left, mixing my drink nonchalantly as I continued my people watching. Once I believed my olives were vodka soaked enough for my tastes, I drew one into my mouth, the stick poised between my lips as I savored the flavor co-mingling on my tongue. It was then that I saw him, and for sure he saw me, because his lips curved into a mischievous grin as I felt his eyes locking onto my lips, pursed and paused with the olive between them. I glanced away, drawing slowly the sour fruit into my mouth and biting into it, grinning my own coy grin. I don't know who he was, but you could certainly guarantee I'll be watching him tonight.

Taking a chance, I looked over toward where he was last, and found him as he wandered around a large pillar toward the bar. He was tall, easily six foot, and good looking. He was also one of those types that knew he was good looking, and kept himself meticulously clean and styled; what with his brown hair tousled atop his head and his designer jeans that hung low on his hips. The first thought that came to mind was 'metrosexual' — I mean, we're talking a dead ringer here, but that's okay. Surely everyone has a label. I can almost bet that Sharon had even a few for me.

I found that I could not stop staring. At least, up until he disappeared around the large wall that now served as a barricade to my eye candy. I pouted there on that couch, staring down into my drink as I took a hefty swig and chomped down into an olive. It would figure that the individual that stood out from the rest of the business attire would only tease me with his presence for but a moment. Such is life.

Minutes came and went, and the glass was surely emptying itself. Not in my mouth, oh no, for my head was swimming with the lone olive that drowned in the vodka, with just enough room for its head to surface and catch a breath. My martini was most certainly evaporating before my eyes, and I had to rectify the problem and quickly! The waitress meandered past and I raised my glass, tapping on the side with a smile. Finally I caught her name — it

was

Sharon, and she nodded back with silent understanding. I do appreciate some classic non-verbal communication sometimes.

I finished my drink and ate the last olive, sliding the glass to rest beside the first onto the table. I shifted to tuck my legs beneath me, lounging back on the couch as I watched people conversing at one table. My eyes kept stealing glances at the wall that separated me from Him, whomever He may be, hoping somewhere inside that he would wander back around. Sharon was back not long after my request, and I smiled sloppily up at her, my vision slightly tainted by the alcohol as I studied the older woman's face.

"Thank you so much, Sharon," I managed, noticing I had the faintest slur. Two drinks in and I was a champion, I thought, and laughed as she poured the martini into a fresh glass laden with olives. What a good woman. She gave me a queer look, smiled in return and left as quickly as she came — although I'm sure she's used to the likes of people like me. After all, this was a lonely hotel bar with lonely hotel patrons, drinking lonely hotel drinks and wanting lonely hotel company.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of the alcohol, the glass poised between both hands as I drew in a sip. I was in a daydream now, lost in my own reverie of olive branches and rivers of vodka martinis coaxing me into their world. Perhaps had I only been one drink in, I would have felt the air pressure change and the commotion on the couch as someone sat just across from me, but instead, I took another sip and startled when I heard his voice.

"I don't think she's wearing any panties," the voice stated, just loud enough to break my concentration in my debauchery with Osiris — the god of alcohol. My eyes shot open and fought to focus on his face, but soon I found I was staring at Him, the man from before, and I couldn't help but grin like a fool.

"It's funny you should mention that," I struggled, feeling the weight of my tongue mock me as I worked hard at the words. "I was debating the very same thing just a little while ago. I've concluded," I slurred, "she is most definitely not, and she knows I know she's commando."

He laughed, and it was a rich sound, full of humor and mirth. Held in his hand was a rocks glass, filled with ice and some golden liquid. I smiled at his laugh and looked away, forcing myself to pull my own glass from my face and settle it onto the table. Now was the time to concentrate.

"I'm Chaz," he said, causing me to turn and face him again. I wasn't exactly expecting introductions, let alone him talking to me...but here I was, faced with conversation and my heart was

pounding

.

As I stammered to speak, I reached a shaky hand forth, "Veronica."

His fingers were long, smooth, well taken care of at that. Perhaps they played guitar, perhaps they drummed on mechanical keyboards day in and day out from 9-5; either way, his cool hand took mine and I found myself licking my lips. Once he released me, I shifted again, fidgeting with the length my dress and looking around everywhere for something to focus on, everywhere but him, but who was I fooling? I stared right at him.

"Lots of drones out tonight, talking their talk and faking their funk," I managed. His presence was actually sharpening my mind, and for that I was appreciative. The muddle of the alcohol was lifting and I was beginning to relax there, despite how close he sat to me — strangers and all, and personal space, blah blah blah...

"What funk are you faking?" he grinned, turning to look at me. I found myself staring into those large brown eyes, my mind already undressing him as it scrambled for an image of his naked torso. His shirt was a tease in its own — blue plaid button down with a stylish design on the pockets. But the description of it wasn't the tease; what caught my eye was how the front tails just below the last button lay parted, exposing the smooth surface of his tanned skin.

I needed a drink.

It took a second to register his words, as I was already eye-fucking him, but once they made sense in my mind, I went for my martini, lifting the glass and taking a large swig, using this opportunity to eat an olive in order to keep myself from speaking. My brain formed answers, but I scratched each one of them out. They all sounded stupid, desperate, but at the same time — that's how I felt.

Finally, I swallowed and stared as the waitress delivered the checks to the three people sitting at the table not far away, my eyes focusing on No Panties' ass. "I'm not faking any funk," was all I could say, smirking at my own retort and lack of wit. Turning now to look at him, I crooked a brow and canted my head.

"I'm just a lonely girl in a lonely hotel, watching the lonely people drink their lonely drinks."

He laughed at that, taking the moment to pat my bare thigh. I wanted to startle. In fact, my brain was throwing out all sorts of red flags and alarms, bells, whistles... It was as if his touch caused an electric spark within me, but on the outside, I maintained my calm and smiled.

"What? Is what I said difficult to register? I've no reason to bullshit you. What's your story?" I questioned, hiding my grin behind the rim of the glass as I poised it there for a sip.

"To pick up lonely girls in lonely hotels, while they watch the lonely people, and finish their own lonely drinks," he said, shifting a little bit closer towards me, his arm now leaning against my own. He sure did find himself comfortable; I, on the other hand...good lord, I felt like he was fire.

"Touche'," I snorted, popping an olive into my mouth and chewing.

He glanced at me sideways and grinned, giving a half shrug of his shoulders.

"What? Like you, I've no reason to bullshit you."

And I believed him. I believed him even more so as his hand rested atop my thigh as he moved to kick his feet up on the table. In fact, I believed him so much that I informed him so. And naturally, he laughed.

From there out, conversation seemed to find itself. He was easy to talk to, with or without the drinks, and it was turning into a pretty good time. He got me to laugh a lot, and it seemed I had a sense of humor too. Sex seemed the staple of our conversation, and the more we talked about it and our adventures, the more I seemed to stare at his hand as it inched slowly upward... and the more I seemed to glance repeatedly at the front of his jeans, wondering if he had a semi, or if he was flaccid behind that denim.

"The sexiest part about that cruise was...they had this room for use, with couches draped in sheets and areas for 'entertainment', and as you were walking in the hallway towards it, you could just

hear

the cacophony of voices, moaning as they fucked. It was hot," he was saying, our latest topic of conversation based on a swingers cruise he attended.

I moaned softly, shifting as the story caused me to get a bit excited. "That just

sounds

hot," I agreed. "I would have just stood outside, listening. I wouldn't even need to go in and look. I totally get off on the sounds of sex, and I can guarantee I would have been sitting propped against the wall with my fingers in my pussy..."

Chaz grinned and looked at me, leaning forward to put his empty glass on the table. "I'd like to put my fingers in your pussy," he teased, dragging his nails along the inside of my thigh. I found myself parting my legs, almost subconsciously, reacting with ease to his touch. Maybe I had one too many, maybe I didn't have enough. Either way, I found myself wanting what he was saying, and I returned his grin and winked.

"Sharon?" I called out, for she only stood not far away, stacking bottles in the cupboards of the lounge. "Check please?"

"Thatta girl," he smiled slyly, stretching out his legs as he shifted to sit upright.

Sharon came by with the check, and he was kind enough to take care of it. With casual conversation continuing between Sharon ringing him out, I gathered my purse, ate the last olive, and stood, adjusting my dress and the heft of my breasts in my bra. When he handed back his John Hancock, he joined me — standing, as well as giving my breasts a gentle squeeze inside the bra. I laughed, blushing wildly and becoming even more self-conscious. I can't believe I was about to do this.

"Let's go get naked," he laughed, already heading towards the elevator.

I quickly followed with, laughing softly from the moment the doors closed to the moment I stepped into his room. It was your typical double queen with crisp white linen and oversized pillows. I put my purse down and began taking off my heels when the lights went out and I heard him settle onto the bed.

"Wow. Are you naked already?" I questioned, grinning into the darkness as my eyes fought to adjust. I couldn't see him; it was pitch black, but I heard him.

"No point in wasting any time. Come on, join me. Nothing to be afraid of here," and I could hear the amusement in his voice as he spoke. I laughed, drawing my dress right over my head and snapping off my bra. I stood there momentarily in the darkness, in nothing but a pair of [extremely soaking wet] panties. "Well?" he asked, patting the bed beside him. I giggled, stripped off my panties, and climbed in beside him.

From the second my back hit the sheets, he was atop me, his mouth finding mine with ease, his lips working mine with skill. I moaned against him, my body reacting as my fingers drew through his hair and along the nape of his neck. He teased my jawline with his mouth, grazing his teeth along the ridge, and suckled down my throat and to my chest before meeting against my mouth with a new found hunger. Those fingers that I so busily stared at and dreamed about found the folds of my pussy lips and parted them, easily slipping inside of me. I was wet beyond belief, and as he withdrew his digits, he found my swollen clit, circling the nub and suckling at my bottom lip.

He broke from my mouth and shifted onto his back, guiding my face to his as we continued the kiss. Our tongues met, intertwining, tangling as we fought with who would get to suck on who's lips. The scruff on his chin scratched at my face, only adding to the heightening reaction my body was procuring.

"I have got to taste your cock," I murmured against his mouth, trailing from his chin to his chest, to his stomach, to the thickened member that awaited my mouth in the darkness. I grinned to myself as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, my fingers moving to wrap about his shaft as my tongue darted out to tease against the slit of his cockhead. I moaned the moment I took him in, concentrating on how silky it felt pressed against my tongue. It was thick, and the head was perfectly sculptured. I forced my face down on it, burying it into the back of my throat for a moment before pulling back, my hand working back around the base as it began to pump in rhythm to my cocksucking motions.

"Goddamn," he hissed into the air, his fingers entwining my hair as my head bobbed up and down, working the length and thickness of it with abandon. I loved sucking cock, and it showed. I could hear how his breaths caught speed, and surely if he hadn't pulled my face from his dick, I could have had him cum deep into the back of my throat. Instead, he tugged my hair to bring my face to his, suckling back at my mouth. Taking advantage of my positioning, I straddled his lap, my right hand grasping the length of his cock and teasing the head between my pussy lips. I had to feel him, I needed to feel him, and with that thought, I slipped him into the depths of my heat and settled down upon him with a gasp.

"Fuck, you feel good," I whimpered, my nails dragging his chest as I got leverage, grinding my cunt down atop him. The thickness of his cock spread me open, and with a slow rhythm and adjustment, I found myself already building to climax. It didn't take much from me to get me to cum; some would consider it a blessing, but I sometimes considered it a flaw. His hands scrambled at my sides, pulling me forward to kiss him, my body fucking down on him as he groaned against my lips, his hips thrusting up to meet with mine as he began to coax my body to climax.

Pressing my forehead to his, I gasped sharply, the muscles tensing in my body, my knees pressing against his hips as my frame paused, poised perfect atop of him with his cock beating against my cervix and I came... hard, the walls of my cunt clenching and pulsating, involuntarily milking that delicious dick.

I could tell that that first orgasm triggered something inside of him, for he shifted me off of him and threw me on my back. Quickly he moved, his hands grabbing the back of my knees, crooking them into the dip of his elbows as he shifted my hips closer to him, his cock easily burying into my waiting pussy, slick with desire and hunger. I yearned for this, and his body too, as it slammed down into me, the loud sounds of smacking from skin against skin. Neither of us quiet, our voices reverberating through the room as we each enjoyed our carnal pleasures presented.

"Fuck yes, that's right. Take it, you dirty little slut. Get that dick," he barked, my hands finding his arms and grasping as I bucked my hips up into him, half shrieking as a second orgasm rocked my core. He grunted into the air, his fingers digging into my legs as he hoisted me up to get a deeper feel of my convulsing cunt. "Oh yes, that's right. Feel that. Feel that!"

It was hard not to.

I fought to catch my breath and already he was repositioning us, flipping me onto my stomach. His fingers grabbed at my hips, pulling me quickly back as he told me to relax my legs. I did, leaving my ass high in the air as he straddled my legs, his hands digging into the flesh of my ass as he slammed his cock inside of me.

"That's right you dirty motherfucker, fuck that pussy! Give it to me good," I howled, burying my face into the blankets, biting down at the fabric to silence my squeals.

He took a dominant turn, his body hovering over mine as he drove into me. His hands reached around, finding the base of my throat as his fingers wrapped around my neck, pressure given just at the top of my sternum. He used this as leverage, pulling back on me and choking the breath from my lungs as I found myself wildly thrusting back against him. The sheer sensation of being taken over drove my mind into oblivion, and my body tensed beneath him as I shook upon the bed. I could feel the slickness of my pussy growing wetter, coating his cock, his balls, the bed...

Through gritted teeth I screamed, soon finding a pillow pushed over my head. I grinned at this new take, pushing back on the mattress as I shifted my head from beneath, tossing my hair back as I stared through the darkness at the wall. "You're a kinky fuck, huh?" I grunted, an animal within me awakened.

"That's right, and you fucking like it, don't you?"

"Damn right I do, you sick motherfucker. Goddamn, fuck me! Fuck me!" I cried out, hearing the loud slaps of our bodies as he worked his way to the very depths of my body, slamming his thick cockhead against my cervix, bruising it with sweet, delicious pain. His hands groped and gripped at the rounds of my ass, grasping as he used my body as his jerk off toy for his pleasure and amusement, and I was perfectly content to being used, as I was using him too.

His breaths quickened and his voice grew deeper as he rode me. I felt as his legs tensed atop mine, and how his thrusts deepened, fucking harder with force. He was close, and my body was reactant, alive with desire as it coaxed the cum from his balls.