Brad Harris - Part-time wife

The redhead had been trying to recruit her blond friend for years. The campaign had increased when Carl's job took him on the road all week.

"I mean, after all," Lorraine explained, "You don't need to sit home and be bored all day and all night. This way, you'll meet exciting people and be a part of all sorts of activity. You'll be a more exciting wife for Carl to come home to on weekends."

"If I'm not all fucked out!" Mitzi answered sharply. "Honey, I know what's expected of a convention hostess. You remember, we used to contract for some of them when I was modeling."

"And you never went to bed with any man unless you wanted to fuck him!" Lorraine reminded her. "It's no different now, none at all. It's all up to you."

"And up to how persistent the man is. How persistent, how drunk, how horny, how rough," the blond muttered. "No way, baby. I'll sit at home and go stir crazy before I get involved in that sort of thing."

Mitzi finished her drink and motioned to the bartender for another. She reached in her purse for the money, firmly pushing the bill from the man beside her back toward his glass. She insisted on buying her own drinks. Too many men felt that if they bought a girl's drink, they had just purchased bedroom rights as well.

Mitzi laughed at the thought. Shit, if she put her cunt on the market, she could get a couple a hundred a lay. She had gotten tips of that amount when she worked as a model. So how did the dumb jerks think they could buy two-hundred-dollar pussy for a two-dollar drink? Let him keep his money and go fuck his fist. That's probably worth a couple of dollars.

She shook her head at her bitterness. What had the poor guy done to deserve such hostility? He had merely tried to pay for her drink. It was Lorraine she was angry at, Lorraine and Blake, who wanted her to make her cunt available at their call. No, she admitted. She wasn't really mad at them. She was mad at Carl, at Carl who was probably still fucking away with some broad he'd picked up at the hotel. She glanced down at her watch. It would be past two on the East Coast. Would the unknown cunt be cuddled in bed beside him or would she have dressed and slipped out of his room as soon as it was over?

Mitzi forced herself to watch the couples dancing on the small, cozy dance floor in front of the band. She had to forget about Carl. She had to put that out of her mind. There was no need to let her suspicions, her jealousy tear her up like this. The young blond watched the way the dancers swayed, their bodies pressed tightly together, their shoulders moving to the music, tits pressed into chests, legs sliding against legs. She didn't realize the slow tingling desire that had begun in her body, that slowly pulsed in her cunt. She took another deep sip of her drink and smiled hazily, her body swaying ever so slightly to the music.

She looked up as someone touched her arm. She turned her face up, ready to give the polite refusal she had been giving all night as various men came by to ask her to dance. Her lips had formed the words when, for some reason she couldn't fathom, she rose and took the man's arm. Mitzi smiled up at him as they threaded their way to the dance floor. Her body shivered in delight as he placed his arms around her. Her tits throbbed as they mashed against his chest. She danced against him, feeling his legs move against the soft material of her slacks. Her pussy moved sensuously against his thigh. She felt guilty for the pleasure she was feeling. She felt guilty but excited at the same time.

"John Acton," he whispered in her ear. "You from Los Angeles?"

"Mitzi," she answered, then, "Yes, I live here. In fact I was born here. You?"

"Detroit," he answered. "I'm here for a few weeks on business. This is the first night I've had enough free time to get out for a drink."

John rattled on, telling her about his job and the executive training program that had brought him to the West Coast. Mitzi was aware of his voice, though not of what he was saying. She snuggled against him, suddenly feeling quite secure and content in his arms. They danced until the combo finished the slow ballad, then swung into a rock number. John made no attempt to lead her back to her seat so Mitzi remained on the floor, twisting her body to the frenzied music while he tried to keep up.

His eyes fixed on the way her tits bounced beneath the tight blouse, the seductive V of her crotch, the soft curves of her thighs. He watched her, his cock slowly swelling in response to the beauty of the luscious blond.

Mitzi saw the excitement her movements caused. She was aware that John was not the only man watching her. She had the attention of most of the males sitting about the bar. She shivered under the caresses of two dozen eyes on each curve. She shivered and moved her body more sensuously than ever.

The drinks, the music, the adrenaline released by her anger and frustration, they all united to drive her into a wild, suggestive dance. Mitzi thrilled at the flow of her body, panted from the physical desire which began to surge through her. She waved her ass before John. She shook her tits at him. She weaved her legs for his benefit. Her lips parted, moisture beading along her sensuous mouth as her eyes offered their invitation.

He drew her against himself when the music paused. He hugged her against his body, feeling the trembling excitement that possessed her. His cock shuddered on contact with her soft, pliant thigh.

"Damn!" he whispered in her ear as she pressed her throbbing tits against him. "I'd better get you out of here before the men come after you for a gang rape."

Mitzi waited for him to lead her from the floor. Instead, he took her tightly in his arms as the combo continued with a slow, dreamy tune. He pulled her tighter, his prick warm and promising through the clothing. His chest swelled against the soft fullness of her tits. His hand drifted down her back and rested just at the swell of her ass. Mitzi melted into him, her pussy clinging to his leg as he tried to dance with her.

"Liar," she whispered up to him. "You said you'd take me out of here."

"You'd go?" he asked in shock as she felt his body freeze against her. "You'd leave with me?"

"Why not?" she asked. Why the hell not? Carl might even be still fucking some broad in his hotel room. Shit! Her husband had probably used up one and gone out for another. Carl was that active. Mitzi was past realizing that she could be imagining it all. She was too horny to accept the possibility that her husband might have retired just as unfulfilled as she. She had sipped too much booze to consider that he just may have spent the evening working in preparation for his sales conference tomorrow. She had convinced herself that Carl was fucking some strange girl and was in the mood to get even with him. The only way she could think of was to get herself fucked, just as thoroughly as she assumed he was balling the pick-up.

John Acton stared a moment at the luscious blond woman. He could scarcely believe his cars. The most delicious woman he'd ever seen was calmly agreeing to go with him. His cock pounded against his pants. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He swallowed hard, then took her arm and led her through the bar toward the door.

"My purse," she told him. Mitzi pulled free and walked to her seat at the bar.

He watched her walk away, watched the swing of her gorgeous ass, watched the flow of long, lovely legs. Her soft, blond hair swung lightly about her shoulders and glowed in the dim lights of the bar. He felt a sudden moment of panic. She had used this aw a ruse to get away from him. She had felt his cock swelling large and menacing against her. She had been frightened of him and had told him she'd go with him merely as a way to get off the dance floor and out of his arms.

John stood forlorn as he watched her walk to the stool where he had found her. He fully expected her to climb back up and smile as though nothing at all had happened.