Loading...The Gold Lounge was about half-full. It was a Thursday night, the first night of the convention that brought her to Vegas. Her co-worker, who was also a good friend, had taken a taxi to the Barry Manilow show, and Joy had opted out. On account of her being Manilow-Intolerant, although she had simply feigned a deep desire to relax and explore their hotel.
One does not openly ridicule the musical tastes of a friend.
Instead, knowing her friend would be out for hours, she’d dressed in leggings and thigh-high leather boots with a stiletto heel, a body-skimming chrome-colored shirt unbuttoned to the navel over a breast-popping corset. She slipped her wedding ring off, not to be dishonest, but simply because it would spook the norms. Stripper hair, long dark lashes, dark, shimmery, glossed lips, and a few cigars into her bag. A quick note left on her friend’s suitcase letting her know she might be out late, and she was out the door. A taxi from the Hilton to Aria took just a few minutes, and just minutes after that, she was reclined in a cozy couch in the back corner of The Gold Lounge, a nod to her husband at home.
She pulled out a long, thin Romeo et Julietta and toasted it. She then lifted it to her lips and finished lighting it. She hoped she wouldn’t be asked to put it out, and she had hoped that The Gold Lounge was the type of place that would be cigar-friendly. Not a particularly perceptive person, she struggled to focus her attention on others in the bar; she tried to see other people the way her husband could see people. He had missed his true calling as an FBI profiler. He’d have been a natural at that. She knew it was a long shot, what she was here for tonight, but it would all be worth it later, no matter what happened.
What was she really hoping for tonight? The answer wasn’t easy. She’d love to have everything fall into place the right way, and go home with an amazing story to tell him. Still, a part of her was so deeply scared of the prospect that it would be a relief to do her best and go back to the hotel room …clean. Mostly, she wished she were here with him instead. She’d love to have him sitting here, staring at her like a predator, watching her smoke, and her entire chest ached with missing him and hating being in “their” town without him. Maybe she should go back to the room right now. No! She desperately wanted to make a fantasy of his come true. She was staying.
She lifted her own eyebrow at her internal dialogue. Sometimes she wished she could get out of her own head.
Once again, she struggled to pay attention to others in the bar. She lifted the cigar to her lips and drew deeply, rolling the smoke around in her mouth before letting it slowly leak out and up along her cheek, visually appraised the pretty waitresses in the skimpy uniforms… very sexy. She watched some nearly-bare bottoms, and stared openly at large, plump breasts, as they all bustled about the bar attending to the patrons in the lounge. Not what she was here for, but oh-so-delightful to watch. Cigar smoke tangled in her lashes like a gossamer web, before dissipating, as she looked at the male patrons. She tried to assess them the way her husband would. She saw a group of douche-bag early-20’s guys, clumped up together like this was a high school dance. They were drinking fast, laughing raucously, trying to flirt (badly) with the waitresses… amateurs. The servers smiled at the boys as they took orders and delivered drinks, but as soon as they turned their backs, they exchanged annoyed eye-rolls and angry glances with their co-workers. It was nothing new to them, and they were here for the tips, but they didn’t have to like it.
One of the pretty young things came over and welcomed her, and asked if she’d like a drink. “Bacardi and Diet, please,” she ordered, and asked if the cigar was okay. The girl flashed a white, toothy smile, and said “Of course. And, you might find it’s extraordinarily welcome by some.” She bustled away, and Joy enjoyed the view as she went.
There was a group of men at one of the cozy groupings in the far corner. They were here for business, all of them of indeterminate age. Lucky bastards, men, she thought. Once they were mid-thirties they started becoming interesting, coming into their maturity and sophistication around forty, and, as long as they took reasonable care of themselves, it was difficult to determine age until they were nearly sixty. This group was in that range. She sighed. They were drinking serious liquor, talking amongst themselves with intense focus in their eyes. They didn’t see the staff, they couldn’t care less where they were, and she knew she wouldn’t be on their radar. She watched them for a while, liking the way they were dressed, that they were clean-shaven, appreciating their focus; she drew on the cigar as she appraised them as though at an auction. One of them glanced her way and saw her drawing on the long, thin cigar. She tipped her head back and let the smoke pool in her mouth, French-inhaled. Let the smoke drift around her like a mist, and saw his forehead crinkle up. What was that? Perhaps disgust… hates the cigar? She quickly averted her eyes to her iPhone and pretended to be busy, and didn’t look back.
Inside her own head, she could be completely honest as she continued on, assessing the room. She thought things she’d never say aloud as she sized up each male in the room. That one was too short. As was that one, that one, that one, that one, and that one. It was hard to appreciate men in general after being married to Tall, Dark, and Handsome. 6’5″… 225 lbs… strong arms, defined shoulders… she shivered and felt her pussy get moist as she lusted over her husband. She quickly texted him, knowing he’d be asleep at this hour for that early alarm clock and work tomorrow: “I wish so badly that you were here with me.” It wasn’t original, but it was exquisitely, painfully true. Another sensual draw on the cigar as she hit SEND This one, too ‘gangsta’. Over there, that guy looks like he might be plotting to blow something up. Yechhh. She went back to enjoying her cigar, a leisurely draw, rolling the smoke on her tongue, letting it drift. One more, wishing he were here, across the room, watching her. Oh the hot, sweaty, delicious sex that would ensue if he were here. She finished off one drink, and another, smoking, daydreaming about her husband’s cock.
Focus! She went back to visually cruising the bar. She started on her right, and went around the lounge visually, assessing, occasionally making eye contact and moving on. She saw the group of businessmen begin to break up. Two of them bustled out the door, still talking intensely, and gesturing between themselves firmly. One of their group had wandered up to the bar and was leaning on it, flirting with a young woman there who was with two other women about her age. Girls night out? One of them was about to get plucked from their midst. The other two giggled and gave her a nudge, and just like that, she was out the door with businessman number three. The last, Mr. Forehead Crinkle, remained at his couch, nursing a drink and a…
…and a cigar.
Well, well. Odds are that his earlier forehead crinkle wasn’t disgust, but maybe longing to relax with a cigar of his own. Which is precisely what he was doing now. The suit jacket had come off, tie loose, four buttons undone, and he was kicked back with one leg crossed over the other. He was tall, not as tall as her husband, but tall enough… probably 6’2″. So hard to tell when he was sitting down. He probably had thirty pounds on her husband as well… bulky, probably lifted a little but didn’t count his carbs. That worked, too. Her tongue circled the cigar. She continued her assessment. He had a drink in one hand and his cigar in another, and he was looking directly, uncomfortably, at her. Oh God. And she’d been looking him over like meat. How embarrassing. She fought the urge to look away again, thinking that maybe he’d give her an inviting look, but instead, he stood up and turned around for his jacket. “I mis-read that… he’s leaving.” Feeling like a hunter watch the prey run away, Joy saw the opportunity to bring this fantasy to life slip away, and trying not to feel disappointment, Joy glanced back down at her phone and pulled up Facebook. It was kind of like looking in the fridge …there’s never anything new or interesting, but you just keep going back. It was an escape, and she focused on it and took another pull on her cigar. It was hot. She must have been really working it while she stared at Mr. Crinkle. She set it in the ashtray to cool a little, tapped out a More, and started searching for a lighter, when a flash of fire appeared a few inches away.
She stared up at Mr. Forehead Crinkle with her mouth in a little “O”. He laughed out loud, a good laugh. She blinked a few times, recovered, and let him light her More. Not knowing what to do, she gestured at her couch, and asked, “Would you like one?”
“No ma’am,” he said, “I’ve brought my own,” and he lit his own cigarette.
Joy cleared her throat and smoked. She truly did not know what to say just yet. She wondered if he could be here for the same reason she was, why he had come over to sit by her, and if he could possibly want her for a few hours. She also wondered –if he was interested, that is- how much time she’d have to waste pretending she gave a shit about him… small talk, conversation… blehhh… could they get past all of that quickly? And where they could go to play, and whether they’d be able to get some playtime in before her carriage turned into a pumpkin around midnight? She was, after all, here on her boss’s dime, and the seminar started at 7 a.m… and she had a roommate, a good friend and colleague who was also as vanilla as soft-serve. She sighed. The challenges seemed insurmountable.
“I’d gladly buy you a drink if you’ll tell me what-all is goin’ on in your head, there. I can see you thinkin’ awfully hard.”
“Deal,” I said. He lifted an eyebrow and raised a hand for a server. As soon as she arrived, he said, “I’ll have another scotch, and she’ll have another of whatever she’s having.” She bustled off and he said, “Well?”
“I’m waiting for my drink. And then I’ll tell you.” Joy said cheekily.
“Suits me. Just keep smoking that cigar and we’ll all be fine.” He said quite seriously.
Joy did so, quizzically. Her husband frequently regaled her with tales of men who enjoyed women smoking, who were smoking fetishers, and even men who specifically got off watching women smoke cigars. Joy believed him, but only in the abstract. She had never seen any evidence of them anywhere, and at any rate, it only mattered to her what his fetishes and desires were. He liked for her to smoke cigars, so she smoked them, and she liked it. Life was simple that way. She realized that as she smoked, she was letting her thoughts return to her husband again, and that is not what she had come here for… at least, not directly. She focused back on the man next to her, and realized that he was not only watching her smoke, but that he had a raging erection, as well as a bit of a wet spot right there at the top of his tent. He was cocked back in the chair, not trying to hide anything, and just staring at her like he’d paid for it.
The waitress returned with drinks, he flipped her a Benjamin, and asked if that would cover my tab and his scotch. She said yes, thanked him warmly, and left. He said to Joy, “There’s your drink. You owe me your thoughts.”
Joy figured it was only fair, so she lifted her chin and said, “I was wondering if you would take me back to your room for sex, and whether you could hurry up about it. I have to get back to mine by midnight, and I’ve got a lecture early tomorrow morning.”
He gawked at her for a minute, recovered nicely, and said, “Married?”
“Yes I am, and my husband likes it when I’m slutty. I’m not particularly slutty on my own, but he owns me and I love doing this for him. I’ll be emailing him everything about tonight, less than five minutes after I leave your room.”
“That works,” he said, pushed her drink to her lips, which she gulped. He grabbed her back and put it on her shoulder, and took her by the hand. He hauled her up off the couch unceremoniously, and they were out of the Lounge, down the promenade, past the security guard and into an elevator before she could process what was happening. She was tipsy, pleasantly drunk, but not sloppily so; she’d be able to remember everything with perfect clarity so that she could recall it all for him later. That was important; it was, after all, the entire point.
“He owns you?” he said, placing one hand firmly under one of my breasts and pushing me back into the wall of the elevator. The other hand went under her hair and pulled, so her head tilted back. “Yes,” she breathed. He bit her neck. “You a little submissive around the edges?” he demanded. “Mmmm… not to you. Just to him,” she retorted rudely, trying to assert some control. He reached up and slapped her lightly, eliciting a gasp and some batted eyelashes. He then kicked her feet apart, yanked her shirt up to her waist, and reached into her leggings, found the snapped crotch of her bodysuit, popped the snaps, and slid a finger into her dripping pussy. “Yeah. Bullshit. You either are,” and he pumped with his finger, “or you aren’t,” he flicked her clit, “and I’m betting you are. Don’t lip off at me, bitch,” he growled, but the grin on his face diffused some of the threat. She relaxed a little, but then a little thrill went up her spine, as she realized that no one knew where she was, who she was with. This was against every rule she’d established when she was single and dating… well… sleeping around. She’d been very careful to make sure that someone at least knew a name, an address or a phone number, there’d been rules, damn it, what was she thinking? He leaned back a bit, and apparently saw some of the apprehension on her face. “Hey. You okay for this? I didn’t mean to scare you. We can do this vanilla, if you want.” Joy deliberated hard for a minute, decided that if he truly meant her any real harm, he wouldn’t have backed off. Vanilla… so unappealing… And they were in a crowded hotel. She said, “I’m good. And vanilla? Ew.” He laughed, and the door opened.
They walked down a seemingly endless hall, his hand on the back of her neck, fingers tugging at her hair there. She was nervous now. She hit the button on her phone to check the time, which was 10:47, and the picture of her husband lit up as her wallpaper. “That him?” he asked casually. “Yes,” said Joy. “He likes this?” and Joy breathed, “Very much…” His fist gripped into her hair, and he said, “I’m happy to help out my fellow man.” He swiped his card and opened a door, and a familiar Aria room appeared dimly in front of her. With a wistful sigh, remembering a particularly good time in a similar room earlier that year, she stepped into the room, and excused herself to the restroom. While there, she texted her husband a brief description of the man, and the room number of his hotel, kicking herself for not having asked his name. So much for worrying about small talk, she thought, a quite snort of nervous laughter escaping. Her husband wouldn’t get the text until he woke up, and as long as everything was fine, it would be followed up with another text to read his email. If it wasn’t fine, well, there’d be someplace for him to start looking. She shivered as another frisson of fear crawled up her spine.
She left the restroom and he paced forward, pulling her with him back towards the bed. She dropped her bag on a table and turned to him as he asked her “Do you have another cigar you’d prefer to smoke, or would you like one of mine?” She lifted her eyebrows and replied, “Whatever you’d like.” He produced one from a pocket, clipped it, and handed it to her. He ignited a lighter, and she took a moment to toast the end of the cigar, preferring to have it nicely ready for her first draw. It was… incredibly good. He watched with interest and asked her if she liked it, and she said “Yes. It’s mild and… easy to smoke… and very, very good… thank you.” Her discomfort at not being a sophisticated afficianado was evident, but he didn’t seem to mind. He then asked her why she lit her cigars that way. Joy didn’t really know, so she replied honestly, “Just a personal preference, seems slightly more ladylike than just huffing away on it, and having it come out uneven. Or get hot.”
He took the cigar from her briefly, and tried it himself. With a groan of approval, he reached forward and undid the buttons on her shirt, just the few that held the shirt together over her stomach, as the top and bottom buttons had been deliberately left undone. This left her long, corseted bodysuit exposed, and with one finger, he nudged her leggings down a bit… to the top of her thigh-high leather boots. Well, now, that may be a problem, she supposed. She preferred the boots on, but asked him if he’d like her to take them off. He shook his head, drew on the cigar, and then held it to her lips and watched as she drew on it as well. With his left hand, he held the cigar, and with the right hand, he traced a line down her jaw, down her neck, along her collarbone, over a pushed-up breast, down her corseted middle, and into her crotch. The snaps were now largely undone, leaving her pussy accessible, and he plunged his fingers into her, this time a little more roughly. He put the cigar in her mouth, moved his hands to her breasts, and pulled them over the top of her corset. He began pulling and sucking on them, and she continued to smoke the cigar. It wasn’t long, though, before he grabbed her by a fistful of hair and pushed her to her knees in front of him. She clenched the cigar in her teeth, and began unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. His fist stayed lodged in her hair, but for the moment he seemed content to let her do things her way. His cock came free, and she was gratified to see that he was painfully erect, a little precum dripping from the tip. She drew on the cigar, and put a fingertip to the drop of precum, then lifted it away, watching the precum string away. She held a mouthful of smoke, and, holding the cigar away from them, breathed the thick, creamy smoke onto his cock. One more mouthful of smoke, and she enveloped his cock with her mouth, smoke drizzling up and out of the corners of her mouth as she started to blow him. She lazily sucked him, alternating his cock with the cigar from time to time, and enjoyed having his fist in her hair. He began to guide her with his fist, and it was only minutes before he started to fuck her mouth in earnest, and she began to taste how close he was to cumming. So she stopped. And smoked. She let a small smile quirk at the edges of her lips as she did so.
He watched her for a moment, his cock teased and abandoned, and he took the cigar from her lips, watching the last mouthful drift away. He stabbed it down into an ashtray, and pulled her up by her hair. One fist in her hair, he slapped her and then surged forward with a hand on her neck and gave a squeeze. Joy sighed happily, letting go of any control over the situation entirely. He pushed her down on the bed, aggressively kneeing her legs apart. He ran his hands from her ankles, up her calves, all tightly encased in the leather boots, and then gave the tops of her leggings another yank so that all of her ass and pussy were exposed. He pushed her legs back up towards her chest and leaned in over her, his face between her calves, and forced his cock into her pussy. She was drenched, her thighs literally dripping, and she played with her nipples with one hand, her clit with the other, as he began thrusting into her. He was fucking her fast and hard, and she knew he wasn’t going to last long, so she tried to match his pace with her busy fingers… she wanted to cum, too, although it wasn’t completely necessary for what she wanted to accomplish tonight. He reached down and gripped her neck as he fucked her even harder. All too soon, though, she felt him tense, and then she watched as his entire body shuddered as he came inside of her with a wrenching groan. He continued to thrust for a minute, and as soon as he seemed to be done, she put her heels on his chest and pushed. He staggered backward a little, and she stood up, pulling her leggings into place quickly. She grinned at him and said, “Thank you… that was …perfect,” grabbed her bag, and was out the door within the minute, as he gaped at her.
She raced down the hallway, down the elevator, out of the hotel, caught a cab, and was back in her room shortly. She wilted with relief to see that her friend was not yet back, and she stripped out of her clothes quickly. She flipped the metal security bolt on the door, so that she’d get a bit of warning if her friend returned before she was done. She lay down on her back on the bed. She turned the lamp so that her dripping pussy was lit up, and began to take pictures of her sticky, wet, creamy pussy. He had cum so much, and it smelled amazing, mixed as it was with her own juices. She took a picture, then admired it, then took another, over and over. In between shots, she would slowly finger-fuck herself, and swirl the cum around on her clit. She was so close to cumming, but held off. As she played with her pussy and their mingled cum, she thought about what her husband would do if he were here, how incredibly turned on he’d be, and how he’d clean her pussy for her, then cum inside of her, and clean her again, and then do it all over. She started to get incredibly turned on, thinking about what he would do… and anticipating his reaction when she got home to him in a few days. So she used the stranger’s thick, sticky cum and her own dripping juices to bring herself to a raging orgasm, and then another. Then she texted, “Guess what I just did…” and began sending the pictures, one after another, to her husband’s phone. She quickly wrote a brief email to him, describing her night, and promising a more detailed recounting later. She unbolted the door, and got in the shower, and grinned from ear to ear, thinking about the surprise he’d find when he woke up for work that day… and wondered how late he’d be for work.