The door was ajar. It was a nice door, to a nice flat, but with one of those cheap locks added in the end in order to cut one small corner. My knuckles had hardly made contact with the wood-- you couldn't even call it a knock-- when the door swung open several inches. I recognized her right away, standing about twenty feet away and facing left, looking into what I assumed was the living room. Well, I didn't recognize her, but the uniform. During my deliveries, I'd crossed paths with several of the Strip-O-Gram ladies bearing their Valentine's season offerings.
Cupid-- in a tight, sequined blood-red minidress, was holding her small bow and aiming her small arrow at an unseen target in the other room.
"Pow!" She said, and then to me-- "why don't you come in? And close the damn door."
I would have even if she hadn't asked. My shirt was soaked with beer, and it was cold. It was February, and Valentine's Day.
"Ah. Mr. Beer-of-the-Week. Welcome." I was in uniform, too. Although I much preferred Cupid's deep and revealing cleavage. "You guys couldn't be that busy. What kind of Valentine's gift is a subscription for beer?"
"You'd be surprised. What would you give your guy... if you couldn't think of anything else?"
"I don't have a 'guy.' But, good point."
"On the other hand, you're a no-brainer... " I stammered, "I mean giving you, or giving a stripper to your boyfriend is a no-brainer."
"Pow!" Cupid released another arrow, this time at my chest.
I stood beside her and looked into the other room. There was a fireplace, gas log aflame; expensive furnishings including an overstuffed chair and sofa, each inhabited by half of an unconscious couple. Cupid raised her finger. "There--" pointing at a nearly empty bottle of cognac. "And there--" at a small baggie in an ashtray and a half-smoked joint.
"I don't get paid if they don't come to," she said, raising her voice a little. "Although I don't know if I really want them awake. They make such a cute couple passed out. Of course, when I was their age, I could hold my liquor better than they can."
I looked at my companion, toes to head. High heels, glossy red thigh high stockings. Her hem line ended just below her crotch, and she was trim and fit, and blonde. I looked into her blue eyes, and she looked into mine. I judged her to be in her early forties, like myself, and very attractive-- and sexy enough to still be hired to take off her clothes.
"Annie." She held out her hand.
"Dave. And I'm wet."
Annie surveyed my costume. I was dressed as a giant six-pack, but a little battered.
"What happened to you, sweetie?"
"I was chased by a pack of drunks. I fell, and I think think I broke something."
"Yeah. You seem to be bleeding."
"No, I mean I broke a few bottles. Or else they froze and burst. Car trouble. I've been on foot all night."
"You are bleeding, David. Take off your clothes." Annie smiled a wicked smile. "That is, take off your costume, and your shirt. We can drink your costume while I nurse you."
She walked across the room and began opening doors. By the time I'd removed my beer carrier and shirt, she'd located a bathroom and was returning with bandages and a cold compress. I'd have to say that I'm pretty fit myself, and I could tell she was looking me over. Annie pressed the damp towel against my cut-- not a serious wound, but bloody, nevertheless-- and had me hold it in place while she hung my wet shirt near the gas fire.
"Look at this!" The man of the house, still comatose, was dressed in a short silk robe. And nothing else. Annie gently parted his robe revealing first his swollen balls and then a huge erection. "Well, I guess he's ready." She decided to leave his cock exposed and walked over to where his lady snoozed, and peaked under her short robe. "You can see her pussy-- on display, shaved and cream-filled! Mister, over there, must have given her one helluva fuck," Annie whispered , stopping to inspect the selection of beer.
"I guess this is going to hurt a lot," I joked as Annie handed me a cold bottle and began to apply disinfectant cream from a tube.
"Hurt you more than me."
It wasn't a bad cut, and she was finished nursing me after a couple of minutes. I stared at her cleavage and imagined nursing on her generous tits. Annie read my mind. There was music playing very softly somewhere-- radio, cd player-- I couldn't tell. I'd hardly noticed it until she asked me to dance. I told her I'd love to. Annie reached for her zipper, and within seconds her dress fell to the floor. She was stunning in her stockings, red thong, and too small, push up bra. I took her in my arms and we began to move slowly across the floor.
"So what's your story? And by the way, I don't take my clothes off for any guy. You just seem like you could be a sort of soulmate-- no, make that kindred spirit. Maybe soulmates later."
"My wife left me for another guy and stole my computer."
"Community property."
"Maybe. But I need the computer to earn a living. I write."
"Were you mean to her?"
