mesmerized by the roundness of her gyrating ass. She turned from the fridge, full, frosty bottle in hand, just before his eyes snapped up from her ass to her face.
Her smile reminded him of a cat. He couldn’t figure out if he was a mouse or a bowl of cream, but he was semi-disturbed to realize that both had him feeling turned on.
God, how long has it been since I’ve been laid?
“Two things, Mr. Detective. One: I’ve decided you’re going to send me that video. Eva will want to see it, and I’ll be seeing Eva before you will. Two: I’m going to get that video by getting you drunk and fucking your brains out. And I mean a serious fucking. One that will make you hand me your phone after you give me the password to get into it and beg me to send the video to myself.” She started walking towards him, licking her full, pink lips and smiling her Cheshire smile. When she got to the table, she opened the bottle and leaned forward. Really, really far forward. She poured cold, orange-infused vodka into his glass.
He couldn’t stop staring at her boobs.
“Drink the vodka, Detective,” she said. “Now.”
He did as she ordered.
“That’s a good boy. My turn.” She lifted the glass to her soft, pink lips and gulped the entire shot. Then she turned the glass over and, with a finality that somehow reminded him of that bar scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, Bridget smacked the glass down on the table. “Take off your shirt.”
Somehow, Vodka James was beginning to think that doing everything Bridget ordered him to do was an excellent idea. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it behind him.
“That’s a very good boy,” she said. “My turn.”
Slowly, Bridget hooked her thumbs into the bottom of her shirt and, with a sexy little shimmy, lifted it over her head.
She looked down at herself. “You’re part nakie. It’s only polite that I am, too.” With that, she reached behind her and, with a flick of her fingers, unsnapped her bra. She shrugged one smooth shoulder, then the other, and the leopard print bra slithered from her body.
“Wow!” he said, feeling suddenly light-headed as his dick began to throb.
“Wow?” Bridget put a hand on her hip. “Seriously? Just wow? Are you sure you’re not thirty-five?”
James opened his mouth to try to add some adjectives to the wow, but Bridget began unzipping her jeans, peeling them down to pool around her slim ankles so that she stood there wearing only a leopard print thong and that damn sexy smile.
“Jesus, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s better, but let’s keep Jesus out of it. I expect you to cry out to God sometime during the next, oh,” she paused, glancing down at his lap and the erection that was throbbing insistently against his pants, “three minutes or so. But stick with the generic god. The Jesus part always makes me think of the baby Jesus, which is definitely not a turn on.” Then she frowned and nibbled on the tip of one of her pink fingernails. “Enough of this silly talking. Brace yourself. As they’d say down at First Baptist, we are going to fornicate.” With a flick of her wrist and a delicate step forward, Bridget stepped out of her miniscule thong.
James’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak, so when she kissed him, he took her sweet tongue as if he was dying of thirst. Too soon her warm, wet mouth was moving down his neck, sending little sparks of electricity all over his skin. When she reached his nipple, she paused. She didn’t kiss him there. Instead her little pink tongue snaked out, flicking his puckered flesh until he couldn’t stop himself from groaning, “Please! Suck it. Please, Bridge.”
She paused for only a moment to lean back and look into his eyes. “Oh, I’m going to suck it , don’t worry. Just relax and put yourself in my capable hands and mouth and magical vajay. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Her mouth closed around his nipple as her hands unbuckled his belt.
Her smile reminded him of a cat. He couldn’t figure out if he was a mouse or a bowl of cream, but he was semi-disturbed to realize that both had him feeling turned on.
God, how long has it been since I’ve been laid?
“Two things, Mr. Detective. One: I’ve decided you’re going to send me that video. Eva will want to see it, and I’ll be seeing Eva before you will. Two: I’m going to get that video by getting you drunk and fucking your brains out. And I mean a serious fucking. One that will make you hand me your phone after you give me the password to get into it and beg me to send the video to myself.” She started walking towards him, licking her full, pink lips and smiling her Cheshire smile. When she got to the table, she opened the bottle and leaned forward. Really, really far forward. She poured cold, orange-infused vodka into his glass.
He couldn’t stop staring at her boobs.
“Drink the vodka, Detective,” she said. “Now.”
He did as she ordered.
“That’s a good boy. My turn.” She lifted the glass to her soft, pink lips and gulped the entire shot. Then she turned the glass over and, with a finality that somehow reminded him of that bar scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, Bridget smacked the glass down on the table. “Take off your shirt.”
Somehow, Vodka James was beginning to think that doing everything Bridget ordered him to do was an excellent idea. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it behind him.
“That’s a very good boy,” she said. “My turn.”
Slowly, Bridget hooked her thumbs into the bottom of her shirt and, with a sexy little shimmy, lifted it over her head.
She looked down at herself. “You’re part nakie. It’s only polite that I am, too.” With that, she reached behind her and, with a flick of her fingers, unsnapped her bra. She shrugged one smooth shoulder, then the other, and the leopard print bra slithered from her body.
“Wow!” he said, feeling suddenly light-headed as his dick began to throb.
“Wow?” Bridget put a hand on her hip. “Seriously? Just wow? Are you sure you’re not thirty-five?”
James opened his mouth to try to add some adjectives to the wow, but Bridget began unzipping her jeans, peeling them down to pool around her slim ankles so that she stood there wearing only a leopard print thong and that damn sexy smile.
“Jesus, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s better, but let’s keep Jesus out of it. I expect you to cry out to God sometime during the next, oh,” she paused, glancing down at his lap and the erection that was throbbing insistently against his pants, “three minutes or so. But stick with the generic god. The Jesus part always makes me think of the baby Jesus, which is definitely not a turn on.” Then she frowned and nibbled on the tip of one of her pink fingernails. “Enough of this silly talking. Brace yourself. As they’d say down at First Baptist, we are going to fornicate.” With a flick of her wrist and a delicate step forward, Bridget stepped out of her miniscule thong.
James’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak, so when she kissed him, he took her sweet tongue as if he was dying of thirst. Too soon her warm, wet mouth was moving down his neck, sending little sparks of electricity all over his skin. When she reached his nipple, she paused. She didn’t kiss him there. Instead her little pink tongue snaked out, flicking his puckered flesh until he couldn’t stop himself from groaning, “Please! Suck it. Please, Bridge.”
She paused for only a moment to lean back and look into his eyes. “Oh, I’m going to suck it , don’t worry. Just relax and put yourself in my capable hands and mouth and magical vajay. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Her mouth closed around his nipple as her hands unbuckled his belt.
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