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Gifted Grifter Ch. 01

By: DrSqueaky



Gifted Grifter: The Beginning

For reasons that will soon become clear, I cannot tell you my name. 

At one time, I was a research scientist. I had started out thinking I would be an engineer, but became interested in psychology along the way; my work combined both. My specialty area was the electromagnetics of mental activity. I was hired after graduate school by the Department of Defense; my boss was an old cold warrior with a fondness for dream weapons. He had hopes that my experiments could lead to thought-controlled weapons, like the super-MIG from the old movie Firefox, and had given me all the resources I needed to try to harness the power of thought.

II was working on a device to magnify and transmit the micro-magnetic magnetic impulses that neurons generated when active. I also had built a receiver for the magnified signals; it could pick up radio stations 500 miles away, but outside of that I wasn't getting far. The problem was that I couldn't determine for sure that there were meaningful patterns in the micro-magnetic impulses, and if there were I sure didn't know how to convert them into a meaningful output. My data were promising insofar as test subjects thinking different kinds of thoughts produced radically different magnetic fields, but I couldn't even begin to guess how I could ever relate them back to what underlying meaning they might have. With billions of neurons and neural connections in the brain, it wasn't like I could just proceed with trial and error. But I also didn't have any better ideas.

During the last six months that I worked for DoD, I had a graduate student working with me. Jessie was her name, and her area of expertise was neural imaging. She was collecting data for her dissertation while assisting me with my transmission experiments. She was also taller than I at 6'2—her straight blonde hair was nearly three feet long—and had played Division I Volleyball as an undergraduate. She was always very professional at work, in demeanor and dress, but when you're that tall, shirts that are tailored to just meet the top of a skirt tend to come up a bit short, and skirts tend to fall a higher above the knee than intended. As a result, she was constantly flashing bits of enticing flesh when she didn't mean to; I spent way too much time keeping an eye on her because you never knew when the next show would start. She was in a relationship, though, so other than my straying eyes I too stayed within the guidelines of appropriate professional behavior.

We had spent all week trying to calibrate our latest experiment. She was going to do PET scanning of a test subject doing specific cognitive tasks. I was going to try to use my magnetic amplification helmet to try to reproduce the images remotely using my receiver, then correlate magnetic impulses with neural activity on the PET scan. She was wearing the amplification helmet while I worked with the software in the receiver to sharpen the three-dimensional recreation of the magnetic activity in her brain. Even though it was Friday, we had put in a long hard day, and it was well after five before it finally started generating sharp images. 

"Finally, we can go home!" she sighed. She started to pull of her helmet; her hair got caught up in it from having had it on for so long.

I laughed and said, "OOO, that's a nice look, hey, what do you think of this one?" The receiver unit consisted of three thick tubes running front to back and left to right, welded together to form a half-sphere; it looked like the framework you might use to construct a globe, but with an open bottom. I put it on my head, which made it look like a hollow helmet.

Suddenly this thought flashed through my head: "mushroom." A split second later, Jessie said "You look like a mushroom." Mushrooms? I don't even like mushrooms, and certainly didn't see myself to notice that perhaps I looked like one. Then a split second later she had said mushrooms. Huh?

"Hey, Jessie, that thing on?" I asked. Again a rapid succession of thoughts flashed across my head, but with a distinct quality of apartness, like they were coming from somewhere outside my head: the ideas of distrust, tiredness, frustration, and "here we go again." "Yes, I turned it off" she said testily. It was as if I was getting her thoughts transmitted into my brain. 

"Got big plans for tonight?" I asked, testing further. More flashes: boyfriend, frozen pizza, TV junkie, loser. 

"Nah," she said, "gonna go home, grab a bite and just veg in front of the TV." More flashes: be polite, ask back "You?" she asked.

"I think I'm gonna stay here and keep working," I said.

"Suit yourself" flashed across my mind, a second before she said it. 

I took off the helmet and held it in my hand. It had never occurred to me that with a strong enough receiver the micromagnetic fields associated with thinking could be picked up from a distance without amplification. And it had never occurred to me that the brain could react to micromagnetic fields, relating them back into concepts. But that seemed to be what was happening; my receiver was finally calibrated right, and was basically snatching a snapshot of someone else's brain activity and relaying it back to my own brain, which then interpreted the meaning of that activity for me. It appeared that I had created a machine that could read minds.

------------------------

I hadn't thought out the implications of having created a mind-reading machine were, but it seemed pretty obvious that there could be a lot of applications. As a result, I had instinctively kept my discovery to myself. But I needed to test it out. Would it work on other people, or had being connected to Jessie for hours resulted in a person-specific calibration? Given that every person's brain is organized slightly differently, this was certainly possible. And was there anything special about the specific design of the receiver? Or could I possibly design a smaller, portable version—one that I might be able to field-test. 

I ran out to my car, grabbed an old baseball cap that I remembered was in my trunk and took it back to my office. Fortunately, I had built several prototypes of the receiver, so I had many half-assembled pieces already available. I spent about 45 minutes assembling pieces of a receiver and duct-taping them to the inside of the hat. Then I loaded in the software and began the calibration program, ran out to the nearest drive-thru, then came back and ate while the program finished up. By 7:30, I had a portable, baseball-cap receiver to test. I put in some cotton stuffing so the electronics wouldn't be so sharp and pointy on my head, put the cap on, and headed out to test it out.

But where? I got in my car and started to drive. One of the first things I saw was a convenience store. Perfect. I drove up and walked in to the store. 

There was a woman behind the counter, mid-twenties with too many tattoos, talking on a cell phone. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I kept getting flashes of ideas: marijuana, boyfriend, sex, movie, Doritos. That could very well be what she was thinking; certainly I wasn't thinking it. I went to the cooler and grabbed a six-pack. I noticed that when I wasn't looking at her, I was no longer "hearing" her thoughts. Either it had something to do with aiming, or additional visual information was needed for the brain to be able to interpret the signals. I went to the front to pay, and as soon as I looked at her the signals started in again. What a bother; hold on; check ID; screw it, this guy is way old; ring it up and get him out of here, $7.44. 

"That will be $7.44," she said without the slightest hint of courtesy. 

I gave her a ten, and the thoughts came: cash, change, I hate math, $2.66, is that right, I don't know, I don't care, whatever. She handed me my change and started talking on her phone again. Girlfriend, cheating on her boyfriend, going to be a fight...the cap was telling me much more than I cared to know about the life of the minimum-wage clerk at the convenience store.

I was shaking with excitement when I got to the car. It worked! It didn't need to calibrate to one person for long periods of time, and it could be taken anywhere.

So now what do I do with it?

I started driving to nowhere in particular, pondering. I may have worked for the Department of Defense, but I did not agree with their politics or policy. I had strong reservations about revealing my discovery to my employers, even though they had financed my research. But what would I do with it if I didn't give it to the government? I certainly couldn't just sell it to the highest bidder, that would be worse—I could imagine some Podunk dictator taking over the world with it. OK, I thought, so...why don't I take over the world? Easy—too much hassle.

But I might be able to make the world my oyster.

Then by chance I drove past a sign for a Gentleman's Club. Now, I have never been big on strip clubs, because I always felt like: why should I pay for the buffet if I wasn't allowed to eat it? But who doesn't dream of taking the stripper home and screwing her brains out at the end of her shift? Maybe my new invention would be just the ticket—I could read the girls thoughts and find out which strippers might be reacting to me, focus my efforts on them, and maybe get lucky. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Instead, all it ended up doing is showing how little I understood about strippers.

I paid my cover charge and sat at a table off to the side. There was a brunette on the main stage in a schoolgirl outfit, except of course the shirt was extra-tight and tied up just below her bustline to show her belly, and the skirt just barely reached to the bottom of her cheeks. I watched her for a few minutes, then realized I wasn't getting any thought signals from her. Uh oh, what was wrong...well, the first thought was that I was just too far away. So I got up to go to the bathroom, and passed close to the stage on the way, gazing at her the whole time. When I got to within about ten feet of her, I started getting signals from the device in my hat. While she was dancing, she was thinking: "Come on, you pathetic losers, where's those dollar bills?" Then "How much longer is this song?," "How much money have I made tonight," and "How long til the end of my shift." OK, I got the hint.

I went to the bathroom and returned to my seat. A number of other girls were going around offering lap dances. The first a blonde came up to me; she was thinking "Nice hat loser," "I bet you're gonna be too cheap to buy a dance"—she wasn't entirely wrong on that one—and "I hate men." I passed.

I started watching other girls. The closest one to me, giving a lap dance to a guy a couple of tables over, looked a little older perhaps but was in great shape. Suddenly, I got thoughts from her: "Only six thousand more dollars and I can pay for Jimmy's operation." Holy shit, a girl with a sick kid at home—major buzzkill! But I also realized that she was more than ten feet away from her, yet I was still getting signals. I looked back at the main stage; the schoolgirl was done now and a new girl in a short blonde wig dressed like a secretary was starting her dance. I wasn't getting signals from her. Then I looked all the way across club, and there was a redheaded stripper sitting at the bar, alone, downing a drink in a short break before going and looking for another lap dance customer. To my surprise I picked signals from her too. "Redheads, my favorite flavor" I thought. Then her thoughts came to me: "I need some blow." Ugh, an addict. No thanks. But I was still pondering why I was getting signals, when the bartender came over to her; I imagine that he was asking if she wanted another drink, but as soon as he was close to her I wasn't getting signals anymore. Then he walked away, and they resumed. A ha! Distance wasn't the problem; interference was. When more than one person was close enough together, the electromagnetic radiations of their brains must interfere with each other, so that I couldn't pick up their thoughts. If I wanted to read a girl's mind, I would have to get her away from close proximity to other people.

I stayed there for another half-hour or so, but the story was the same: every girl that went past was either thinking about scoring drugs, hating men and/or their job, and who might be an easy mark for a big tip. So much for any fantasy of taking home a stripper!

I bought a lap dance from the girl with the sick kid and gave her a nice tip because I felt bad for her. But watching her dance knowing she was trying to finance an operation for her kid made me feel guilty, so really didn't enjoy it. When I paid her I said something vague about "here's to good health for you and yours," then I left the place.

I got back in my car and started driving towards my apartment. So far, my invention was working great but it wasn't helping me with the ladies. Still, my tests had made me realize I could use my invention to make a lot of money; this was my ticket out of the DOD. But I was still feeling kind of down because I had had high hopes of having sex that night, so rather than go straight home I wandered over to a bar nearby that usually attracted a university crowd. I figured I'd drown my sorrows a few times before heading home alone—device or no device, I had never come home from that place anything other than alone. But for some reason, I left my hat on—just in case, I guess.

I walked in; it was crowded as usual, and consequently even if I had wanted to read a girl's mind there was too much interference. I grabbed a beer and started looking around, as I'd done dozens of times before; many of the girls in the place were pretty drunk by now, many holding on to men around them or each other to keep from falling down. Most were too young for my anyway. I turned back toward the bar and looked down to the end; usually the bar was filled with couples, the girl on a stool and the boy watching over from behind. But way in the corner, in the second last seat before the waitress station against the wall, was Jessie, my graduate assistant. 

"What is she doing here," I thought, "she was gonna chill at home?" 

I noticed that the last seat at the bar was empty, and there was no man watching over her from behind. Most likely scenario: he went to the bathroom. I figured I'd sort of hang back and watch for a few minutes until whoever she was with came back. 

I noticed that she was still dressed from work: white sleeveless blouse with a v-neck, yellow suit jacket over. Thinking back to earlier in the day, I remembered that she was wearing a matching yellow skirt that was a bit too short and black pumps. 

No one came to join her. Further, she was looking straight down at the bar, into her glass, like someone who's down and is drinking to get drunk. I saw a guy come up and say something to her; a second later he turned and walked away like a puppy with his tail between his legs. When he left, however, there was momentarily no one in close proximity to her, and my hat started reading her mind.

"Loser. Never wants to do anything. I gotta get a better boyfriend."

Well, that explains why she was sitting here drinking rather than at home watching TV. That empty seat was still there; I figured there wouldn't be any harm in my taking it. 

I went over and started to sit. I could sense her recoiling, contracting to avoid any "accidental" physical contact that a potential suitor might induce, expecting to be hit on again and that she would need to deflect it. But when I said "Fancy meeting you here," she recognized my voice, and instead she turned to look at me in surprise.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, "you come here a lot?" What she was thinking was, "Oh, no, my boss is seeing me drinking...now he's sitting next to me...I hope I don't say anything stupid."

"Hey, aren't I supposed to be the one with the cheesy pickup lines?" I laughed, then I motioned the bartender to get refills for both of us. 

Her thoughts were: "Dammit, I already said something stupid...what does he mean, he's supposed to use the cheesy pickup lines. He's not gonna hit on me, is he? He's my boss, for god's sake."

I turned to her and said "I'll buy...I make more money than you do. For now, at least. Maybe you'll take my job when I'm gone."

"What do you mean, when I'm gone?" she asked. Her thoughts echoed her words, but also flashed panic, and fear that she needed me to stick around long enough to get her dissertation data.

"Jessie," I asked, "if we were to shift our focus to getting your dissertation data, how soon could you be done?"

She was doing mental arithmetic, I didn't need my hat to tell me that although it confirmed it. She came up with a number; if all we did was collect my data, she could be done in three weeks. Then she asked, "Well, what do you mean shift our focus. Do you mean if all we did was collect my data?" 

"Yeah," I said, so that she could say out loud what I already knew but wasn't supposed to know.

"Maybe as little as three weeks," she said, "why?"

"I have had an...opportunity...arise," I said, "and I'm going to be quitting. You know the DoD; everything is top secret, the minute I quit I'll be stripped of security clearance and escorted out the door. I want to make sure you get the data you need before I do that."

Her thoughts were filled with relief. They also started to turn more personally positive towards me; I didn't have to wait until she was done with her data collection, I was doing this just to be a nice guy to her, and she knew it. "I would really appreciate if you did let me finish before you leave, because I won't be able to continue without the subject pool that only you have access to. I would hate to get so close and then have to wait or even start over."

"Yeah, I know," I said, "a nice girl like you deserves better than to get screwed like that." Good thing she didn't have a thought helmet, because I was thinking "You deserve to get screwed in a completely different way." 

"I'm willing to hold out until you finish—but let's finish as soon as you can." I continued. I put my arm around her should to give her a buddy-style hug, just intending to start physical contact in a safe fashion. When I did, however, I picked up an interesting signal: "Please don't touch the neck...please don't touch the neck..." Now why would she not want me to touch her neck? Did she have an aversion to it, as some people do? Except that she probably would have reflexively recoiled, turtle-like, when I put my arm around her if that were true. Maybe...it was because her neck was a very sensitive erogenous zone for her. I would have to look for an opportunity to test that hypothesis.

"So, why are you here anyway?" I said, changing the subject; "I thought you were going to be home watching TV?" All of the negative thoughts about the boyfriend resurfaced.

"I decided I didn't want to just sit around all night," she said, half-lying.

"So you decided to come and just sit around here instead? Hmmm, sounds to me like there's more to that story." I felt her negative boyfriend thoughts surface again; she considered telling me about them, but she didn't want to be telling her boss about her home troubles.

"I know, I'm your boss, you don't want to say...that's fine. But I'm not going to be your boss for long, the only reason I'm staying is so you can finish up your degree." My thinking was that I would give her permission to not talk about it, knowing that part of her wanted to, while reminding her that I was doing her a huge favor. I hope that this would make it feel safe to talk to me about it.

My prediction panned out; she started talking like I was her father-confessor. The number of drinks she had downed before I got there helped, I'm sure. She spilled all her frustrations with her boyfriend. I ordered another round and listened; he was boring, didn't want to do anything, she wondered if he liked anything about her other than having sex with her, he was an underachiever...the whole nine yards. I listened very sympathetically; I was a researcher, but in school I had taken some courses in psychotherapy and I knew how to be a good listener. Man did I ever appreciate those course now!


Gifted Grifter Ch. 01



As I hoped, the more she confided in me, the more she trusted me, and the more vulnerable she became. That made me feel guilty for a moment. I was purposefully trying to get her to become vulnerable to me so that I could successfully seduce her. But then again I had just agreed to delay my great experiment for her, the way I looked at it, she owed me a little of what that commitment was going to be making it harder for me to get for the next three weeks—pussy! 

When the well of frustrations started to run dry, I reached over and put a sympathetic hand on her. Rather than reach for her shoulder as otherwise I might, I reached for the back of her neck.

Her reaction was immediate and dramatic; you'd think I had just touched her nipples. She immediately closed her eyes and pushed back into my hand; she had the look of a woman masturbating. Excellent! 

I let my hand linger for a few seconds, then dropped it down to touch her hand as if I had no idea that would happen. Her thoughts were confused; part of her was aroused now, especially in her well-served condition; part of her was recoiling, as I was still her boss.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have just touched you like that...Its just...well...I've wished for a long time that I wasn't your boss, because I would really like to get to know you." I made and held direct eye contact, signaling my honesty and seriousness; I didn't have to lie about wanting to boink her! 

"Well, I..." she stammered. Her thoughts indicated that hadn't noticed me in that way before, but neither did she signal any inherent aversion to the idea. "I just have thought of you as my boss..."

"And you need to stop thinking of me as your boss, because I am not." I said. "Until you get all your data, all we're going to work on is your stuff; you call the shots. You may as well be my boss." I reached for the back of her neck again, and said "OK?" 

She didn't answer. Apparently the neck was a MAJOR erogenous zone for her, because once again all she could think about was how good it felt to have my hand touch her there, the way I was touching her. She was becoming aroused quickly. Hoping I wasn't jumping the gun and blowing it all, I took the next step.

"Please forgive me," I said, then stood up and kissed her, keeping my hand gently stroking her neck. She had a flash of momentary resistance, then gave in to the increasing arousal and kissed be back. My tongue found hers and we explored each other with them. I held her kiss for a long time, before becoming conscious that we were still in a bar and were starting to attract attention.

I broke the kiss, but kept my hand on her neck, and said "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." Then I dived in and kissed her again. 

After a few more minutes, her mind suddenly remembered we were out in public. I broke the kiss and said, "Geez, I completely forgot that we're in public. Can I buy you a drink somewhere more private?" 

She was turning red as she realized a number of people had been watching us French; she wanted to get out of there at all costs. Thus she quickly agreed, without even thinking through all of the implications.

I put my arm around her, rubbing her neck as much as possible, and walked towards my apartment. I don't even remember what we talked about on the short walk; my focus was on keeping the fire stoked.

I brought her to my apartment.

As soon as I got in the door, I turned on her and grabbed her face with one hand and her neck with the other and pushed my tongue into her mouth again. An instant's hesitation was replaced with avid reciprocation. 

When I finally broke the kiss, I said, "Geez, I should at least let you in and show you around. Plus, I promised you a drink."

I walked towards the kitchen. She walked in and looked around. "I always wondered what your place would look like," she said. She wasn't stupid; she knew where this was headed, and while she hadn't necessarily decided to go through with it, she wasn't resisting. She took off her jacket, then sat on the sofa. Fortunately, the sofa was clear; I hadn't expected company when I left the house in the morning, and my apartment was looking lived-in. I am not a slob, however, so I didn't have to worry about turning her off with dirty underwear lying on the floor. She crossed her legs and sat back; I think she knew that her legs looked good, that this called attention to her heels, and that it made her skirt ride up. I say I think I knew, because while I was in the kitchen I ditched my hat; it was time to "fly blind" the rest of the way. 

I came out with two glasses of a fancy aperitif that I had gotten as a gift and never drank; I hoped it would be good. It didn't matter, we both took one sip from our glasses and put them down so we could kiss. I kept touching her neck whenever possible; she started to run her hands up and down the safer parts of my body. 

I decided to try kissing her neck. Yup...I could feel her involuntarily curl her hips up when I started to kiss her there. She LIKED that. So I kept doing it; I would kiss her on the mouth, then I would kiss her on the neck, and back. She was into it now.

While I was kissing her neck, I started to let my fingers run up and down her still-clothed breasts. On the second pass I could feel nipples rising in response. As I kissed her mouth, I reached for her buttons and undid two of them. Then I returned to her neck, and slipped my hand under her blouse and bra and touched the skin of her breasts.

They were amazing.

Her breasts were just larger than my hand could hold and firm, the firmness of youth and physical conditioning. Her nipples were wonderfully erect and responsive. 

I went to kiss her mouth again, but she uncrossed her legs and slipped back onto the couch; I slipped over on top of her. She reached around me with both of her arms and held me to kiss me; I had just enough freedom of movement to be able to continue playing with her breast the whole time. 

She then began to run her hands around my head and my back, and she started to kiss me on my cheeks and neck. Then she started to unbutton my buttons. 

I pulled back for minute, and we both looked into each others eyes, calmly, consensually, while we undid each others buttons. I was done first (head start) and waited for her to finish. She then pulled my shirt off entirely. I then reached around behind her to undo her bra; she helpfully lifted up so that I could reach more easily. Then ran my hands along the tops of her shoulders, catching the fabric of her open shirt as I went, and slid them along the length of her torso so that the fabric wouldn't obstruct any of her body. Then I lifted her bra up so that it lay above instead of over her breasts. They were beautiful. I reached down and began to kiss them, then ran my tongue over them and sucked her nipples. I looked up at her for a moment to see if I should maintain the neck stroking, but one look at her closed eyes and the faraway look of someone enjoying pleasurable sensations told me that I needn't concern myself with her neck anymore.

She began to run her fingers over the front of my pants—just the legs at first, but then allowing increasingly lingering passes over the middle. She pushed me off her for a second so she could use both hands to unzipper and unbuckle my pants, then lay back down so I could continue to enjoy her breasts while she slipped her hand into my boxers and began stroking my penis. 

Taking this cue, I let my hand slide up and down her thighs while my mouth kept working on her breasts. Each pass, I pushed up a little more on her skirt so that I could reach that much higher up the next time. Eventually I was able to reach the delicate V where her legs joined. I began to stroke the outside of her panties. They started to accumulate dampness, and her hips started to gyrate in rhythm with my stoking. 

Again she initiated the next step. She pushed me gently to signal she wanted me to get off of her, which I did. Then she slipped off the couch onto the floor, pushing the coffee table away to make room, and took my pants (and shoes) off completely. She kissed me while she stroked my cock, then she knelt down and took it into her mouth. From time to time she would stop and run her tongue up and down its length and lick my scrotum, but mostly she would run it into and out of her mouth, like a vagina with a tongue. She surprised me with how much she was able to swallow at once without effort, and she used her tongue on it while it was inside her; this girl KNEW how to give head! I just lay back and enjoyed the sensation, trying not to pop off already. And the whole time she sucked, she was vigorously rubbing her clit through her underwear to maintain arousal. 

I stopped her when I sensed that just a little more of that amazing blow job and I'd be done for the night—well, for a few hours anyway. I simply said "my turn," and led her to sit on the couch. Then I reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties off. She pulled up her skirt so it wouldn't get wet, but thankfully she moved it out of the way rather than taking it off. Then she spread her legs wide apart and watched me.

I started by touching her pussy with my fingers, stroking it, pulling it gently open, while moving a few stray pubic hairs out of the way. I just wanted to see it. Then using two finger to help me open her up, I began to lick her clitoris with my tongue. As I continued to lick her, I slipped one finger into her vagina, while I let the other one tweak her left nipple. I peeked up at one point, which confirmed what her body language told me she was doing; she was laying back, eyes closed, in an advanced state of pleasure, just enjoying my stimulation of her genitals. She had one hand gently resting on me, perhaps to encourage my continuation, while the other was dropped over her head, bent at a right angle, in a pose that suggested "sweet submission."

I was determined to keep licking her until she came. I started to speed up my oral ministrations, and I felt the tempo of her grinding hips increase. Then after a few minutes I felt her body stiffen, and then felt ripples of contractions, accompanied by moans, spasm across her body. Success!

I stopped licking when I felt her orgasm start; as soon as it ended she popped up and reached for me to embrace and kiss me deeply. Then she dropped one of her hands free of the embrace and stroked my penis with it, in case it needed additional stimulating before I entered her. It didn't, but it didn't complain, either.

Then she let go of me and lay back on the couch, legs open wide, and gave me a naughty little smile. I smiled back and leaned towards her, still on my knees, and slid my dick into her now dripping wet pussy. 

I stroked in and out of her body. I started leaning in to her to be close to her face, but then I knelt straight up so I could see what I was doing. Wow. Long blonde hair, straight but now sprawled out in several directions. Beautiful face. Clear pale skin, now pink from sexual flush. Perfect, firm breasts. Dark pink nipples, standing erect. Flat stomach. Gentle curving inward at the waist, then outward towards the hips. Yellow skirt, scrunched up into a band of fabric just a few inches wide near her waist. Blonde pubic hair, bikini waxed. Athletic, shapely, legs, one to each side of me, ending in four-inch black heels somewhere behind me. And my penis sliding in and out of her pussy, which was had turned almost angry red as it was flush with blood from her her orgasm. I soaked that in for a few minutes, at which point I could feel the excitement was about to put me over the top. 

I leaned in towards her so I could kiss her again; she reached to put her arms around me again. I stepped up the pace of my thrusts. She could sense what was happening, so she spread her legs apart farther still and tried to reach for me with every thrust, helping me push deeper inside her. As soon as she started that, I reached my climax, and came deep inside her.

I lay on the couch next to her. We kissed a little and made small talk. I asked if she was going to be missed at home.

"Are you throwing me out?" she asked, sounding hurt.

Dammit, no hat! What was she thinking? "No! I just don't want you get in trouble with your boyfriend for being gone." I stammered.

"Fuck him," she said.

Whew, that was close. "I'd rather you fucked me," I said smiling.

"Again?" she giggled.

"Okay, I accept." I smiled. I held her hand led her back to my bedroom and we made love again before falling asleep. 

------------------------

The next morning, Jessie was a little weirded out by waking up in bed with her boss. Its not that she regretted or didn't remember the night before, its just that the way she was feeling last night, the fact that I was her boss wasn't as important. Now, with the thought of going back to work on Monday a little more salient, it seemed to matter a lot more. She started trying to explain her discomfort, but didn't know what to say. Even without my hat, I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking.

"I understand, having a relationship on the outside will complicate things at work." I said. "Tell you what...how about we agree not to meet like this again until after your data is collected and I leave DoD. Then, if we still feel this way, we can decide what comes next. OK?" 

Her facial expression suggested relief and that that seemed like a good idea to her. 

We got dressed and I took her out for breakfast. I wore my hat, just so I wouldn't screw up anything too badly; I had come close a couple of time already. I subtly suggested that she dump her boyfriend, not necessarily to be with me but because he wasn't good enough for her. That resonated with her; I knew that she would do just that. Good for her; she was going to make some guy extremely happy, and if the jerk she was with now didn't appreciate her he didn't deserve her.

After breakfast, I walked her to her apartment. I gave her a peck on the cheek and said "Okay, that's it for three weeks. Until I am no longer your boss, we are just coworkers. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, although she and I both knew that it wasn't so simple. Its not like either of us would forget that we had had sex, and pretty damn good sex at that. She turned, gave a little wave, and headed up.

As I walked home I thought about my trusty little hat and all the opportunities it might afford, perhaps with a little refining. Then I thought about Jessie. She was pretty hot, and she sucked a mean dick. I actually might contact her again when the three weeks were up. But I kind of doubted it...I was expecting to have a lot more options available to me by then...



Gifted Grifter Ch. 02



Gifted Grifter #2: The Traveling Salesgirl

I was anxious to take advantage of the possibilities I was afforded by my new mind-reading machine, but I had promised my student assistant, Jessie, that I wouldn't quit my job at the Department of Defense until she finished collecting her dissertation data. I didn't want to get screwed over by my leaving before she was done, especially after the great sex we had. 

She had asked for three weeks to finish up; part of the deal was that we agreed not to have any further sexual relations until I was no longer her boss. The weekend after the third week, I had made arrangements to stay at my family's cottage in the lake country north of the city, thinking I might take Jessie (who had recently dumped her loser boyfriend) up with me. But on Thursday of the third week, Jessie told me that she wasn't quite done yet; it was going to take her until the following Tuesday or Wednesday at least before she could wrap it up. That was fine, I wasn't really surprised, but it meant I was going up to the cottage alone. I was a little disappointed, but I had spent a lot of good times up at that cottage; if nothing else I would get some nice relaxation. But I tossed my mind-reading hat into the car, just in case.

I arrived late Friday night. I turned on the main power switch and started airing out the musty smell that accumulates when the cottage goes unused for a week or two. I opened the liquor cabinet and saw that we were quite low on Canadian Club, my drink of choice. I poured a couple of drinks with the diet Sierra Mist I had brought along, gazed at the stars, listened to my IPod a bit, and went to sleep.

I slept in late Saturday morning, so the noise of outboard motors revving up to tow water skiers was already echoing across the lake when I got up. I looked out the windows and saw a couple of boats pulling skiers, and a couple more towing inner tubes, running in circles around the lake. It was hard to tell from as far away as I was, but it looked like at least one of the skiers was a shapely young woman in a teeny bikini; at least I hoped it was a woman, I was going to have to be careful not to start hitting on underage teens around here. Either way, it seemed that the best course of action was to head to the beach with my hat and see what I might find.

I went back inside to look for some breakfast, and realized that besides drinking up the CC the night before I had no milk or breakfast food; whoever had last been at the cottage hadn't left much behind for the next person. I was going have to run to Poser's right away that morning for supplies.

Poser's was the center of activity in the lakes region. There were three lakes in close proximity, with a major highway intersection between them, and right on that corner was Poser's. It had started out as just a gas station and mini-mart, but the family that built it had the foresight to buy all of the other available frontage at the intersection. Thus assured that no competition sprung up nearby, and with the next town of any size 20 miles away, they had done very well with their mini-monopoly on the region. Poser's was now a mini-grocery store, liquor store, video store, bait shop, and boat shop all in one. Thus, anyone that needed anything went to Poser's, and most of the time they would have what you wanted. Whether you wanted to pay the price they were charging for it was sometimes another matter.

I had to dress to go to the store, of course, and was planning to come back and change for the beach. I don't really like running around in a swim suit when I'm not at the lake, however, so I grabbed my clothes from the day before, which were still lying around the cottage, and threw them on to run to Poser's. What happened next only came to be because, by chance of laziness, I was not dressed like someone who was about to spend their day at the beach.

I drove to Poser's and parked my car. I had been listening to my IPod through my car's stereo system—no good radio stations in the middle of nowhere—and so I stopped to unhook my equipment before running in to the store. As I was pulling wires, I became aware of a red Grand Prix pulling up in the spot next to me. I looked over and saw that the driver was a young female, with blonde hair cut right to shoulder length, wearing a long-sleeved blouse made from a silky-like material. She wasn't dressed for the beach, either. 

She opened her door and got up, but rather than walking in she lingered by her open door and started fumbling for something in the back seat of her car. I saw now that she was wearing a tight, pencil skirt that ended a good six inches above her knees. And because her skirt was so short, I noticed her thighs—her thighs were REALLY skinny. She had to be really young—no more than 22 or 23 I figured—because thighs that straight and thin are extremely rare, and most of the girls that have them are really young and haven't fully grown into their adult/post-childbirth bodies yet (fortunately). 

Then I figured out what she was doing; she had driven the car wearing comfortable flip-flops, but now was putting on heels before proceeding into the store. She had to be there on business of some sort; I thought. A girl that young, driving around in the middle of nowhere, my guess was that she was a traveling sales rep. It was the kind of job that a girl might take right after graduating from college, needing to start somewhere, and abandon as soon as a better job came along. It was only weeks after most colleges held their commencements; in might very well be her first month on the job. And she was so skinny and cute, my mouth was beginning to water. 

Remember my hat, which I had conveniently left on the passenger seat of my car, I donned my mindreading machine and looked over in her direction. I quickly learned that she was working for the alcohol distributor that supplied Poser's, and was going to meet with someone named Frank to try to talk them into picking up a new designer malt beverage they were selling. I also saw that she had three more stops to make that day, even though it was Saturday, and that she was none to happy about it. 

Impulsively, I got out of my car and waved in her direction.

"Hey, you look like you're working too," I said. "Are you supposed to be meeting with Ed now, too?"

She turned towards the sound, not expecting that someone would be talking to her, and with her second heel still not completely on right. "No, I'm here to talk to Frank" she said. I could feel her curiosity as to who or what I was, but she was being careful, being a woman traveling alone.

"Frank, is that the liquor guy?" I asked. "I'm Rick", I lied, "with Lakeside sports; we're the bait and lure supplier." Damn, I thought, this could be bad. Yeah, it's plausible that a bait salesman might be here, but I don't know very much about fishing and I certainly couldn't be sure that any other places on her list would sell any. I wasn't sure I could keep this story up. I definitely HAD to remember that I had told her that my name was Rick (it isn't). 

"Hi," she said, slamming her door and walking around to the front of the car, waiting for me to come alongside before walking in. She was thinking she would rather go in with someone else than have to initiate contact in the store alone. "I'm Lauren from Northwoods Distributing. We supply beer, wine, and liquor."

"Ooh, excellent," I laughed, "I bet you get much better samples than I do!"

"Not so much," she laughed back, "I can sell it, but I can't drink on the job!"

We walked in together chatting breezily. She went to the service counter to meet with Frank; I excused myself and headed over to the fishing section, saying I was looking for Ed. I saw her go to a back area with Frank, at which point I ducked into the fishing aisle, picked up a couple of colorful-looking lures and a pocket knife, and quickly paid for them at the back register. These would serve as my samples. Then I wandered out to the main floor, and nonchalantly poured myself a cup of coffee from the self-service bar—which was strategically placed just in front of the door. A few minutes later she came back out, shook hands with Frank and started heading out. 

I headed for the checkout line, and called out "Hey Lauren, can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

She may have forgotten about me; I could see her thoughts were about her next stop, 15 miles away in a place called Northport (not its real name, either). But she stopped when she heard me. My hat told me that she had felt less uncomfortable initiating the cold call when she was with another, she thought, sales rep; again, probably meant this job was new to her.

"No, thanks," she said, "I've had two already today. Any luck with Ed?" 

"Not so much," I said, pulling a lure out of my pocket, "He said they don't have shelf space for my new Red Jigglers." That sounded like a lure name, didn't it? I just hoped that the checkout girl minded her own business and didn't expose my bullshit. She did. I paid for my coffee and I walked out with her.

"I've been doing this circuit for five years now," I lied, "so let me guess, you're next stop is Northport..." I paused while her brain responded; as I had hoped, it gave away the next stops on her itinerary; "then Big Marsh, and finally Culvers City, right?"

She looked at me dumbfounded, and stammered "What..how..."

"I'm telling ya, Lauren, it doesn't matter if you're selling snow plows or cigarettes, it's the same route." I kept laying it on; "These towns out here are so spread out, it's the only way that makes sense to hit 'em without backtracking 20 miles out of your way every time."

"Really," she asked innocently, "everyone runs the same route?" Her mind retraced the route she had taken the day before.

"Yup, just like---" and I repeated back the route she had thought about from her previous day. "All the same."

We were by our cars now, and I could tell that she was interested in any other wisdom I might have to impart on how this traveling sales gig worked. I hoped I could lie well enough long enough to pull it off. 

"Tell you what...with gas over three bucks a gallon, and you probably have to head back over this way anyway, why don't we carpool the last three stops." I said. "I'm sure you're smart enough not to get into a car with a man you don't know, so I'll let you drive. What do you say?"

Her thoughts told me that she actually wouldn't have had to stop back over this way, because she lived in Evans Point, but it also told me that she really wanted to know any inside tips that I could give her on how to service her territory. And she figured that if she was driving, she wouldn't be in any danger...unless I had a gun of something.

"Umm, how do I know you are who you say? Can I see your card?" she asked.

Uh oh. Of course I didn't have a card. I laughed as convincingly as I could "A card? Lady, you obviously don't know anything about fishing guys. I used to give them all cards, and they all just went into the wastebasket. You gotta get to know 'em by name, then they remember you. A business card is just too office-like, and a lot of these guys left office jobs to run these little shops and go fishing as much as possible." I put my arms up in the air like I was under arrest. "But you're smart to ask. You're welcome to search me if you like," I smiled, then reached into my pocket and pulled out the knife, saying "All I'm carrying is my fishing knife."

She was a little nervous, but I was doing a good job of portraying the down-home quality she expected of a fishing lure salesman, and feeling confident because she was driving—and realizing that I hadn't expected to run into her, either—she decided to let me ride along with her.

As she drove, I made up stories about selling lures in the region while subtly probing for information. One thing you should understand about how brains work: your brain stores all sorts of ideas, which have connections of varying strengths to each other. When you activate one idea, you usually see activation of ideas closely related to it. That's why you can't tell a child having nightmares to not think about the bogeyman; saying so reactivates the concepts associated with bogeymen. You need to tell them to think about something else, preferably something specific, for them to start thinking differently. 

It also so happens that language activates ideas, which means that you can evoke certain thoughts by asking certain questions. For instance, if you ask a girl any question about her boyfriend, she will involuntarily also think those concepts that most closely associated with boyfriend. If the word boyfriend leads to thoughts of love, marriage, and kids, I'm wasting my time. A lot of girls, however, even if they love their boyfriends, harbor some degree of belief that they can do better. My success often depends on whether I am able to exploit that belief. 

Over the next hour and a half, I learned a lot about her; some of it she volunteered, some of it I picked up using my mindreader. I learned that she had indeed just graduate from college; that she had had a boyfriend in college but right now they were in different cities and their future prospects weren't good; that she was living alone; that one of the reasons she had taken this job was because she loved water skiing and this kept her close to the lakes; and that she had hoped to finish up her runs by 1:00 in the afternoon so she could go waterskiing with some friends of hers that had a boat; in fact, she was already wearing her swimsuit under her business clothes! Unfortunately for her, it was 1:30 when we finished the last stop of the day, and she still had to take me back to my car over at Poser's. 

She excused herself and called someone on her cell phone; using my mindreader I discerned that her friends were anxious to get going to another lake and didn't want to wait another 45 minutes to an hour for her to join them. She was very disappointed at not getting to ski today.

She didn't talk much as she began to drive me back.

"So you're a skier, huh?" I asked, building on something she had said earlier in the day.

"Yeah, I was hoping to go today, but these stops took too long," she said. "My friends left without me.

"That's too bad," I said, "but these stops always take too long. Rule number one: it will always take you an hour longer than you think it should to do a circuit." I paused for a moment as if I was thinking. "It's too bad you don't have your suit with you, I could tow you with my boat."

I could see her interest piqued. "You have a ski boat?" she asked.

"Well, it's my uncle's, really. He has a cottage on the lake right over by Poser's; I usually live in Middleton" I lied "but I am staying up at the family cottage this weekend. There's a nice ski boat up there, I used to drive while my cousins skied all the time." That part was at least half true, which is why my car had a hitch on the back.

She was thinking that we probably didn't have a swivel ski and release line, since most people don't, so my offer wasn't that compelling—but she was wrong. "My one cousin used to ski in the show; I would always drive her while she practiced her swiveling." That was half-true—I had sometimes done the release line, but someone else was always driving. 

Now she was thinking. She would normally have at most a half-hour of time on the swivel when sharing turns with friends. Here, she could possible swivel for the whole afternoon—if we had the ski.

"I swivel, too. Do you have a swivel ski?" She asked.

I told her the truth: "I would think so, my cousin lives on the coast now and only skis when she's here. All the other skis are kept in the shed, I don't know why that one wouldn't be." 

"Well...actually..." she was thinking that she would tell me she had her suit on, but starting to feel a little adventurous after all the risk she was taking with a man she just met, she instead loosed a few buttons of her shirt and pulled it open to flash me a glimpse of her suit. "I'm wearing my suit right now." She glanced over at me with a little smile on her face—in part, to see how I reacted to her flashing me her bikini.

I was suitably impressed. I was getting her to trust me, but I wasn't getting her to like me yet. This was my chance.

"Well, why didn't you say so," I said. "I wasn't gonna put the boat in just for myself, but I'd love to have someone to tow. I'll get my car, we'll go get my boat, you can help me put the boat in, and you can ski until you can't stand up anymore." 

Her love of skiing, plus a little anger at her fickle friends, outweighed her common sense, and so that's exactly what we did. Because it was easier to have two people doing it, one to drive the boat off the trailer while the other backed up the car, it was easy to convince her to jump into my car while we went to get the boat. In her excitement, she wasn't thinking ahead to possibly being stranded later.

I hitched up the boat and quickly changed while she loaded up ski gear. Then I drove to the launch, and got ready to back the boat in. She stripped off her work clothes to reveal a tiny bikini, with bright colored stripes at a funny angle. Her breasts weren't very big, which I had expected, but she was wonderfully skinny; her thighs were amazing, and her flat belly and curved waistline were wonderful too. I parked the car, got into the boat, and hooked up a line. 

She started with regular skis first to warm up. I could tell right away she was GOOD. After a half-hour we switched to swivel. This required a lot more work on my part; to swivel, you hook the tow rope onto your foot, which means if you fall you will get dragged by the boat. Thus, you have a release on the line itself, but as the driver I had to be both watching where I was going with the boat and watching backwards to know when to release the line. But the payoff was having a legitimate reason to stare at Lauren in her tiny bikini all afternoon.

She swiveled for almost three hours, which is an amazing feat of stamina. Even if you don't fall a lot, you get really beaten up in the water. At last she was too tired to continue, and I helped her into the boat.

I gave her a hug when she came on board, even though she was wet, and said "You were great! You must have been doing this for a long time."

My hat told me she was a little taken aback by the hug, but was eating up my compliments. That was fine, I had broken the first ground.

"Come on, I'll grill us up some dinner," I said. She was starving from being in the water that long, so she didn't even protest. She helped me pull the boat out of the water, then we went back to my cottage and I started the grill. 

She had grabbed a ski bag from her car when we switched cars, and from it she produced some dry clothes to wear. She went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, then came out wearing a green halter top and black shorts, plus flip-flops. With her wet hair combed straight back, and her shapely waist and belly out in the open, she was really hot. 

She came out and leaned on the railing to talk to me while I grilled some chicken breasts. I had poured two CC and soda while she was in the shower, and now gave her one, saying "Have you ever tasted Canadian Club?"

"I don't usually like whiskey," she said, refusing it.

"Well of course you don't, if you haven't had Canadian Club. Nothing else is worth drinking. Try it; I even made it with diet soda." 

She was very thirsty, and I wasn't offering her anything else, so she took a sip. I could tell with my hat that it wasn't her favorite, but she it did taste much better than whiskeys she'd had before and could at least drink it. Being that thirsty didn't hurt, I'm sure. And if she was unfamiliar with drinking whisky, she wouldn't realize how fast it could get her drunk. I did. 




Gifted Grifter Ch. 02



She practically gulped downed the first glass because she was so thirsty. I made her a second, but I also brought her a bottle of water. She made short order of the water, then started drinking her second drink at a more normal pace. But I could see it was starting to have its effect, especially on an empty stomach. I surreptitiously turned down the heat on the grill slightly to slow the cooking. She had two down and was starting a third drink by the time dinner was ready. On her empty stomach, she was already starting to buzz, and the bulk of the alcohol hadn't hit her bloodstream yet. Soon, driving home would be out of the question even if she wanted to.

She sat on a two-seater rocking chair with her plate to eat; I sat next to her. The alcohol was starting to make her giggly, which was OK because it was giving me excuses to touch her. She would start laughing at something and bend over; I would respond by laughing along and, when it wasn't obviously inappropriate, putting my hand on her bare back. 

After we ate, I took her empty plate and got her another drink. I started to pour them thinner—she was two ahead of me, and I was worried she would get so drunk that she would get sick or something. When I handed it to her, my hat told me she suddenly realized that she was in no condition to drive, and that asking me to take her to her car didn't make sense anymore. I quickly started talking about the lake and the cottage before she processed that thought any further.

As I continued talking with her on the rocker, getting increasingly touchy-feely as she got increasingly inebriated, I had the original inspiration for what would become a common technique in later days. I waited for a pause in the conversation, then I sang (badly, as always) a line from a pretend country music song:

I like the things that you do to me, But the pill won't protect me from an STD

The idea was to evoke her connotations to the key words pill and STD, to simultaneously test her birth control and STD status. Her thoughts seemed pretty clear to me to indicate that she was on the pill and didn't have any social diseases. OK, I thought all systems go.

When I had an opportunity, I put my hand on her head and stroked her hair. She looked at me in a kind of knowing fashion when I did that. I moved in to kiss her. She kissed me back, although not with great conviction. 

I worked a couple more kisses into our conversation, then suggested that we move inside to avoid mosquitoes. 

I sat on the sofa, hoping she would sit next to me, but she didn't. Instead she looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and knelt down in front of me. She reached to untie my swim trunks, then pulled them down to my feet. Then she gently picked up my not-yet-fully-erect penis and gently licked it. Gotta love them Millenials; a lot of them don't even consider oral sex to be sex! 

Once she had my penis erect, she started to move it in and out of her mouth. She was not as accomplished at giving head as Jessie had been, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in enthusiasm. Her head bobbed up and down above my crotch like a piston, with her hand moving in synch to ensure constant stimulation. 

Being so skinny, I was able to reach around to her back while she had me in her mouth and untie the back of her halter top. When she felt the top slacken off of her breasts, she look up at me while still sucking, then let go for a second to slip the top off of her head before continuing to suck me some more. I rubbed her nipples between my fingers, one nipple in each hand, while she kept sucking. Her thinking...I still had on my hat...was telling me that she was thinking this would be her thank you for the skiing, the dinner and all that. OK, I thought, I'm fine with that but I still wanted to go all the way with her. But at this point her thoughts coming to me through my hat were beginning to distract me from enjoying the moment, so I took the hat off. 

She was definitely persistent. My dick started to get that extra-hardness that sets in shortly before orgasm. She must have been waiting for that signal, because she responded by increasing the tempo of her sucking. I was not going to be able to hold back against this pleasurable stimulation for long. But the, as more alcohol entered her bloodstream, the additional head bobbing must have made her dizzy. She suddenly reeled backwards and had to catch herself with one hand to keep from falling the rest of the way to the floor. 

I seized the opportunity. I quickly grabbed a couch cover, threw it on the floor, and then moved towards Lauren and nudged her to the floor. Her breasts may have been small, but her nipples were substantial and at last I could put them in my mouth. At the same time, I rubbed by hands over the crotch of her shorts. She may not have been expecting to be the recipient of such attention, but it must have felt good enough that she didn't protest. 

I switched over to put the farther breast in my mouth, and at the same time I untied her shorts and started to slide them down. She lifted her butt to help, so I guess she was on board with it. With her pants off, I now slid my finger along her thighs without letting up on my nipple-sucking. I snuck a peek at her face; she was lying back with eyes closed, just enjoying he pleasure sensations I was giving her. Good.

Those slender thighs...I still think of how soft and silky the skin on them felt, while at the same time not having an ounce of flabby flesh attached. The skinny thighs also made it easier to slip a hand in-between, and in short order I was touching the warm spot between her legs. 

At that point I did finally let her nipples slip out of my hungry mouth and slid further down. I don't know that she knew what to expect, but she parted her hips to accommodate whatever it might be. I started running my tongue over her labia, which were still closed. Shortly thereafter her clitoris began to rise, and I concentrated on it. I held one of her butt cheeks in each of my hands and used them to help guide her pussy to my tongue. Because she was so skinny, I was able to reach my thumbs around and part her lips with them while I was licking her. Once I did, I ran my tongue along the insides of her as well. I heard her say "Ohhh" a few times after that.

I started to feel her hips gyrate rhythmically. I increased the speed and firmness of my administrations. Then I felt her have her orgasm.

While she was still spasming, I slipped up to be eye level with her, and slid my penis into her now-ready vagina. I was thrusting in and out of her before her orgasm was even finished. She reached her arms around me and kissed me, as many women seem to do after orgasm. Then she loosened her grip and lay back, because I was pumping her for all I was worth. The lovely little thing did her best to hold on. I felt her try to open her legs wider, but then I saw her wince; I'm sure they were sore from all that skiing. 

"It's OK," I said, and she relaxed her legs again. I had plenty of room to work between her skinny thighs. 

I felt my orgasm coming. I shortened my thrusts while pushing my penis as far into her as I could reach. And then I came.

She embraced me again once she felt me come, and I collapsed on top of her.

"Well, that was a nice surprise," she said, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Man, you can say that again," I grinned.

We lay there holding each other for a few minutes, then she got up to go the bathroom. When she was up, I picked up the couch cover. I waited for her outside the bathroom, then led her back to one of the bedrooms rather than sleep on the floor. 

I lay next to her, and she played with my face and giggled. Then she curled herself around my one arm and pushed her back into me to snuggle. I just lay there for a few minutes, letting her hold me, then I felt her grip go limp. I guess I'll never know if she passed out or simply fell asleep, tired from all the skiing.

With her asleep, I realized that I hadn't really thought about how she would eventually get back home either. It really wasn't that late; I decided I would fetch her car from Poser's. I found her keys in her bag, wrote a quick note in case she woke up, then grabbed one of the old cottage bikes and rode it to the store. Then I opened her trunk, threw the as much of the bike into it as would fit, and drove her car back to the cottage. She was still sleeping when I got there.

-----------------------------------------

The next morning I awoke before she did, so I got dressed, put on my hat, and started to make coffee and breakfast. The smell probably woke her up. I had put her clothes in the bedroom for her; she dressed and came out. 

She wasn't very happy. 

Her thoughts were angry—mad at me for taking advantage of her, mad at herself for getting so drunk that I could.

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked.

"That wasn't a very nice thing you did last night," she said, cutting right to the chase.

I stopped cooking and turned to look at her. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I really enjoyed last night. I guess maybe you drank more than you meant to, but I had just as many as you had." That wasn't true. "That's the other thing we do up here—we use the lake and we drink." That part WAS true.

With my hat on, I could tell that she knew that I was right—a big part of having a cottage is drinking. Her thoughts told me that had had previous experience drinking at cottages, and even that it wasn't the first time she gave a guy a blow job after drinking with him at a cottage. But this was the first time it had ended with full intercourse, and certainly the first time with a guy she'd just met that morning. 

"You tried to get me drunk so that you could seduce me," she accused. She was right. I had purposefully manipulated my behavior in order to maximize my chances of getting her to have sex with me. I was being a con man, a swindler...a grifter. A grifter with a very special tool that made things possible, which was at the moment perched loosely on my head. That's when I first started thinking of myself as the Gifted Grifter.

"Surely you don't think it's odd that a guy would want to sleep with a beautiful young girl like yourself? Look, I'm sorry if you regret it now, I sure don't." I said "But if all you want to do is get out of here, you can; I went and fetched your car last night, and it's parked outside." 

She was relieved that she didn't still have to negotiate for me to take her to her car. Although she was mad at me for taking advantage of her, the fact that I had fetched her car led her to entertain the thought that maybe I wasn't all bad. It made her get even more mad at herself for getting that drunk—I watched her think "I'll never drink whiskey again"—but she certainly didn't want to spend any more time with me. I didn't bother offering to let her ski again; I just told her how to get back to the main highway. In five minutes she was gone.

I ate the food I made, then quickly packed up, closed up the cabin, and headed back to the city. I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could, lest she come back to confront me again, perhaps with backup. 

Along the way I did a lot of thinking. In some states, having sex with a girl whose drunk enough constitutes statutory rape. I don't think she was that drunk, and even if she were it was a matter of he said-she said. I had seen in her thoughts that she had started to blow me willingly, she just hadn't expected to end up having intercourse. She didn't know that I knew she was protected, among other things, and while I knew she didn't have any diseases she didn't know that about me (no, I don't). It was too bad that she was so angry about it in the morning; neither of us had had complaints while it was happening. 

I felt a tinge of guilt, knowing that most of what I had told her was a lie, tailor-made to make me appear to be her sort of person. But I hadn't coerced her into having sex with me, and I hadn't forced her to drink those drinks. Aided and abetted maybe, and definitely not coerced. But the experience taught me that I was definitely going to have to be a lot more careful about these kinds of situations in the future. I had used a false name, but I had taken her to my actual family cottage. All anyone would have had to do is call the property's owner of record, and they would quickly have found out who I really was. If I didn't want to end up in big trouble or even dead, I was going to have to be much more difficult to trace from now on. 

When I got back to the city, I did a number of things. I purchased several sets of phony identification on the Internet. I purchased several prepaid cell phones; I topped off with cards that I had purchased with cash, so there was no credit card connected to them. I obtained a couple of prepaid Visa cards in other names. And I resolved that in the last few days before I quit my job, I would try to devise an even smaller version of my thought reading machine. 

Later that week I left my job at the DoD. The moment I left was for all intents and purposes the last time I used my real name. From that point on, 24/7, I was...the Gifted Grifter. 



Gifted Grifter Ch. 03



Gifted Grifter #3: Viva Las Vegas

In my last few days at the Department of Defense, I worked on perfecting the secret discovery that would transform my life: a receive that could read people's minds. Recognizing the opportunities my invention would afford, I had wanted to quit immediately, but I had promised my graduate assistant, Jessie, that I would wait three weeks so that she could finish collecting her dissertation data first. I would have honored that promise even if I hadn't seduced her with help from my mindreader. But it was now week four, and I was running out of patience. 

The extra time did serve me well, though. While my original mindreader, which I concealed by building it into an old baseball hat, worked fine, I wanted something even more portable. Scrounging micro-components from various departments, I was able to embed a mindreader into the frame of a pair of glasses. I actually build two mindreading glasses, one with clear lenses and one pair of sunglasses. The eyeglass version had a couple of differences from the hat-sized version besides size. For one, I only had space for a tiny battery, so I added an on/off switch hidden on the earpiece. This way, I wear them all the time but save battery by only turning them on when I needed them. Second, I had added a tiny message recorder circuit, like an answering machine might have. I knew that I would be using a number of different names and identities in the future; this feature would allow me to leave reminders for myself at to whom I was supposed to be.

On Wednesday morning, my mindreading hat told me that Jessie had finished collecting her data—but didn't want to tell me that she had. See, after we had sex the first time we had agreed to a moratorium on sleeping together again so long as I was still her boss. In the interim, she had decided that while she like me and all, I wasn't a good prospect for a long-term relationship—and she was much to serious and goal-oriented to invest time in a man that she didn't perceive to be a realistic marriage candidate. Too bad, because she had a great body and gave awesome head, but she was right; monogamy was not in my future plans.

My hat told me that her plan was to tell me at the end of the day Friday and have somewhere else she needed to be that night—although she wasn't sure what that was, having recently dumped her boyfriend. That was just two wasted days to me, so I decided to press the issue.

"OK, Jessie," I said, "I said I'd give you three weeks, but now you're over time. Are you gonna be done soon?"

"Uh, yeah, I hope to be done by the end of the week," she said.

"HOPE to? You'd better be!" I said in a joking tone. "Look, as soon as I quit here, I'm off to Vegas, and I want to book a flight for this Friday. Do you think you can be done by then?"

As I intended, this gave her the "out" she was looking for; she wouldn't have to deal with the sex moratorium if I was taking myself out of the picture. She had no idea that by the weekend, she wouldn't be even able to find me. "Well, I'll be sure to find a way," she said, knowing that she was actually already done. "You've been very nice to me to stay on just so that I had time enough to finish."

"What can I say, I'm just a nice guy." I said. I had recently met a girl named Lauren that probably would not have agreed. 

I spent the rest of the morning booking my trip to Vegas. It wasn't as outrageously expensive as I feared, booking so late. I decided that I would stay at Planet Hollywood (I had always liked it when it was Aladdin). I then spent the afternoon scrounging around for spare parts, personal documents, copies of software I had written—anything that I thought I might want once I no longer had access to the resources of the DoD. I took home two boxes worth of potentially useful supplies—security might be tight as to who got in and out of the facility, but we were all research scientists and a lot of us worked on stuff at home, so nobody paid too much attention to what we took out the door with us. 

First thing Thursday morning I went to find Jessie —wearing my mindreading glasses for the first time. I told her I was booked for a 7AM flight the next day; if she was ready, I wanted to turn in my resignation so I could go home and pack. I watched her do some mental arithmetic and decide that if I was escorted off the premises before the end of the day, she should be able to avoid me and the question of renewing intimacy until I left for Vegas. Thus she came clean:

"Yes, I am finally done!" she said. "Thank you so much for letting me finish before you leave. I..." 

I had to work hard to refrain from laughing out loud. I knew from my glasses that she was thinking "I don't know how I can ever repay you," but of course the obvious answer would be that she could start by sleeping with me again, and she didn't want to do that. I decided not to make her squirm.

"Well, you're not done yet," I said. "It will take you longer than you think to do the analysis and write it up. But I'm confident you will do fine. Good luck on your final defense."

I felt her wonder whether I would come to her final defense; she was torn between being genuinely grateful for the favor I had done her and wanting to avoid being around me so the sex question couldn't come up again—that's the biggest problem with sleeping with your advisor, its hard to reject them on a personal level when you are indebted to them on a professional one. 

"Well, I'm off to turn in my resignation," I announced to break the silence. "Who knows if and when we'll meet again," I and shook her hand, "but you've been a great assistant and I wish you nothing but the best." I paused for a second, then added "In your career...and in your life."

I saw that my speech had left her wondering. What did I mean if I'll ever see you again? She hadn't considered that she might not see me again. And what did I mean by "in your life?" Was I trying to give her the hint that I didn't want to screw her again? Funny, but that actually ignited a twinge of competitiveness in her, something like maybe I didn't want to have sex with her again meant I didn't think she was good enough, which made part of her want to prove otherwise. I didn't have time to exploit that little opening in her psyche, however, so I just wanted her to not have to worry about my pursuing her. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to jump her bones again. But in all likelihood, once I went underground, she and I would never cross paths again.

I went up to my boss' office, turned off my mindreading glasses—I didn't want to know what HE was thinking—then marched in and handed in my resignation. He called security and stripped me of my clearance right then and there, as I knew he must. Then security escorted me to my desk with a box, and watched as I put all my personal belongings into it, making sure that I didn't take anything but what was mine. (I had left all my personal things at my desk so that it wouldn't be as obvious that I had already cleaned out the good stuff the day before). Once I announced I was done, I was walked out to the parking lot and locked out of the building.

At last, my new life was set to begin.

----------------------

Las Vegas had long been one of my favorite vacation destinations, but it wasn't going to be the same this time. It was early Friday evening, and at last I my turn had been called for a seat at the highest stakes Texas Hold'em table open at the Luxor. The idea was simple; play high stakes poker, use my mindreading glasses to know my odds of winning a particular hand, and bet accordingly. The execution was going to have to something I worked at, however. Obviously, I couldn't just win every hand, that would get suspicious fast. Also, I had to be careful not to give away any tells while I was considering my odds. So I had decided to try a specific plan of attack: I would keep my glasses turn off and play straight-up most of the time, turning them on only when the stakes of the hand got high. I was not a particularly good poker player, so I figured I'd lose enough when playing "blind" to not attract suspicion. I knew that by either winning or avoiding losing the big pots, I would come out ahead; it would just appear that I was getting lucky as to when I would get my winning hands. But I had to be sure to touch the frames of my glasses on every hand, or I'd give away when I was turning them on. 

Even with all that forethought, pulling it off turned out to be a more delicate balancing act than I had imagined. A couple of guys quickly didn't like the vibe they got from me and left the table shortly after I arrived. A dumb-luck inside straight draw and better-two-pair were all I had to show for my first hour of play, and I had taken a hit when I couldn't match my pocket kings and lost to three-tens. And while I was consciously touching my glasses every time, I hadn't even turned them on yet.

In the second hour was the first time they came in handy. I had A-8 suited in my under cards, and after the turn there was A-A-K-3 showing. I figured my three aces would be pretty good, but one of the players ahead of put down a bigger bet than I expected. "What is he thinking," I thought, and when I put on my glasses I learned he had A-K under. I saved a boatload of money folding there.

In the third hour, a young guy who thought a lot of himself came in and after a few hands suddenly started betting big. He scared away the rest of the table; he might have been bluffing, but we didn't have a good read on him yet. My glasses confirmed that he was bluffing, and my two pair were plenty to beat him. Having started down the path, he felt he had to stick to it, but I of course reraised him every time. I cleaned him out.

The big score came about an hour later. On the table were the 8, 9 and Jack of hearts, Jack of clubs, and four of diamonds. A guy across the table was betting on his nut flush, A and 3 of hearts. It never occurred to him—I know, I was reading his mind—that I could have the 10 and Queen of hearts, which amazingly enough I did. That win put me in the neighborhood of 10 grand ahead for the night; I had promised myself that I would quit for the night if I managed to get that far. I decided to play a few more hands for politeness sake, then cash out. 

Now that I wasn't concentrating on making money, I suddenly became aware of my surroundings again. I noticed that behind the rail that separates the poker room from the rest of the floor, a number of people had been watching the game. I realized this was trophy wife's row. Three guys' wives were watching their husbands play. One had medium-length blonde hair and augmented breasts, much of which were visible in the cleavage of her black, satiny halter-style top that she wore with black three-quarter length pants and heels. A second was Asian-looking, wearing a very tight, short red dress with cutouts above the breasts and at the waist on either side to allow more skin to show through. The third was the hottest of the bunch: long brown hair, wearing a vest-like top that exposed three inches of midriff, including a large diamond navel ring, and a tight mini-skirt. There was a long expanse of very tan leg between the bottom of her skirt and top of her heels. Not a one of them had hit 30 yet—or else, they had excellent plastic surgeons. I even overheard one of them telling the others about having taken the Stripper 101 class at the Desert Passage earlier that evening, and that she had a surprise in store for her man. Fuck!

I was envious of these guys, having these girls waiting for them while they played. I was going back to my room alone—obviously, I didn't have time to pick up for women and earn my living at the same time. I consoled myself that I would have plenty of time to prowl for pussy once I was back home with my three months or so of money in my pocket, but that didn't help me feel envious of the guys that would be getting fucked by these dolls tonight. I know I wouldn't have kept them waiting—course then again I hadn't already fucked them every day for however long they had been together, either. One thing I had going for me was the availability of variety—the spice of life.

Still, I was feeling sorry for myself after I cashed out, so instead of heading straight back to my room, I went to the bar nearest the high roller area. Most of the people there were in couples or groups, but four were not—three amazingly hot women and one man, who I watched sit down at the bar next to one of the women but whose body language indicated he did not know her—yet. I was too naïve yet to recognize what I was looking at, and I was wondering how three girls so hot could still be sitting by themselves at this bar, with no guys around hitting on them. I turned on my glasses and got a quick education: all three were scanning the crowd for potential customers. They were all high-price prostitutes. 

The one closest to me was wearing a blonde wearing a red cocktail dress, short and with a plunging neckline; sexy, but not revealing enough to stand out from the rest of the Las Vegas late evening/after-show crowd. 

The second was wearing what appeared to be a blue dress, with a similar neck and hemline, but when she bent from time to time her skin would peek out from her midsection; it must have been two separate pieces. And she had red hair, my favorite, although a little darker than ideal.

The third, the one talking to the guy, had her back to me, although I could make out much of an attractive face in the mirror behind the bar. I noticed she wasn't looking at him while she talked to him; she was assessing if he might be a customer or if he didn't realize she wasn't free. She had long blonde hair and wore a white, tank-like top that stopped a couple of inches short of her short, black skirt. 

What he was thinking was: is my microphone picking this up? He was a cop.

People think that prostitution is legal in Las Vegas; it isn't. Prostitution is legal in Nevada, but only in counties with a population under 400,000. Obviously, Clark County does not qualify. That's not to say there aren't prostitutes in Vegas; its just that they're just as illegal there as in any other city in America. And because there is big money in Vegas, there are high-end prostitutes there as well, hookers of a price and caliber you won't find in middle America. 

Now I had never in my life, up to that moment, even considered securing the services of a prostitute. There were a lot of reasons: I couldn't be sure she wasn't going to give me an awful disease; I couldn't be sure she wasn't setting me up to rip me off (a common occurrence among Vegas escort services); I couldn't be sure she wasn't a cop; and I wouldn't have had the money to afford a woman of this caliber. But suddenly, all of these issues were non-issues: with my mindreader I could find out for certain whether she was a cop, diseased, or a con artist, and I had ten grand in my pocket. Was there any reason NOT to rent a working girl for the night? Didn't I just complain about not getting laid tonight because I had spent my time making money at the poker table? Now I could use that money to rectify the situation—plus, I could (within reasonable limits) order whatever sexual experience I wanted. That in itself intrigued me greatly. 

Now, normally I would have gone up to the redhead, because, well, redheads are my thing. But for some reason, I didn't want to watch this cop haul the cutie at the bar off to jail, and she was getting close to falling for his bait. He was sitting on her lefthand side; I made a beeline for the chair to her right.

I sidled up to the bar and announced "Man, I could sure use a drink." This interrupted their conversation, so I continued "But not here, I'm sick of this place." I pretended to have just noticed the guy. "Oh, sorry friend, I didn't see you there—you aren't like married or something, are you?" While I was saying this I slipped a couple of Franklins into the girl's shirt under her arm, so that he couldn't see me do it. 

He kind of hemmed and hawed, but she piped right up, "No, we were just sitting here talking; we actually just met," she said, with emphasis. While she was doing this, she nonchalantly crossed her arms in order to surreptitiously retrieve and identify what it was I had slipped there. Her fingers immediately recognized the feel of US currency; she didn't know how much money it was, but she knew I had just slipped her some scratch.

"Well, then what would it take to get a girl like you to join me for a drink over at Planet Hollywood?" I said.

"You just have to ask," she said smiling and turning towards me, gathering her purse. Her mind, however, said $3000. She turned to the guy with a light handshake and said, "It was nice meeting you." 

He was a little perplexed, but responded in kind then got up to look around for another working girl to try to entrap. 

As soon as he was out of earshot, I whispered to her "That guy was a cop you know."

She was not new to this line of work; she coolly betrayed no response whatever to my statement while whispering back "Are you sure?"

I nodded. Then she gave the other girls a sign of some sort. I have no idea what the sign was, as I didn't see her do anything unusual, but somehow she had tipped off the other two girls about there being a cop in the bar. I peeked back briefly as we filed out; both of the other girls were collecting their things and preparing to move elsewhere.

"Nice." I said.

"What?" she asked, not knowing what I was talking about.

"Whatever signal you just gave the other girls. I didn't even see you do anything."

She smiled, "That's what makes it such a good signal." It was pretty clear that I knew she was a prostitute, so she didn't have to play coy. "How did you know he was a cop?" she asked.

"I saw him bust another girl last night at Mandalay Bay," I lied. "Or at least, I saw her go up the elevator with him, then come back down five minutes later in handcuffs. Not too hard to figure out."

She nodded knowingly. "Well, I guess I owe you one," she said. "I'm Heather from LA." My glasses told me she was really Julie from Oklahoma City. 

"I'm Tom," I lied, "and you never did answer my question. What would it take to get a girl like you to come up to my place for a drink?" 

She looked at me carefully, trying now to decide whether I might not be the police. 

"C'mon, surely there must be a way for a guy like me to have a drink with a girl like you," I said. While I was talking, I put my arm around her in an exaggerated fashion, then subtly wrapped my hand around and placed my hand squarely on top of her breast, lingering my finger over her nipple as I let go before causing a scene. This achieved the desired effect; she decided that no undercover officer would cop a feel in public before making a bust, so I must be legit.

"Well, usually 3," she said; I guess I was supposed to know she meant thousand, although I wouldn't have without the glasses on. "but since you just saved me at least $500," she continued, "I'll consider that as a down payment."

"Not to mention..." I said, referring to the bills I had slipped her earlier.

"I didn't forget," she said. She was smooth; she had been carrying those Franklins in her hand the whole time, and I had no idea. She finally looked to see that there were three of them. 

"Hmm, you're not going to cause me any trouble, are you?" I asked. The word trouble triggered thoughts of getting busted, but didn't trigger thoughts of disease or a man with a gun waiting in hiding somewhere. Good, she was clean.

"I promise," she said.

"OK, one more question. Is that a one-shot deal? Or, for that price, will you stay and have breakfast with me?"

She looked at me like I was from Mars. Her thoughts really didn't know what to make of me; for a lot of guys, the best part of hiring a pro is that you can kick them out when you're done with them. The last thing they would want is for her to stay the night. But I wasn't the law if I was copping a feel of her tits in public. She concluded that I was just naïve—she was right, really. 




Gifted Grifter Ch. 03



"Um, no one has ever asked me to stay before; I'm used to leaving hotel rooms at 3 in the morning..." she said.

"Yeah, I know, but I've been sleeping alone for a long time now, and this way I'll have you there first thing in the morning...AND I won't have to eat breakfast by myself. That is, you will let me buy you breakfast at Paris, the best breakfast in the world? It's not like there isn't enough room for four in that friggin' King bed." I could tell she wasn't quite comfortable with the thought. "Tell you what, I'll give you an extra grand to cover your time." I had an ulterior motive of course; after I fucked her brains out, I planned to pick them (her brains) for what she knew about the best places to find big money poker games. At her going rate, she would know where the money was to be found.

She said she had to make arrangements first. She called someone—not a pimp, at her price she worked for herself, but rather a lawyer she retained to make sure she didn't suddenly disappear and to bail her out when she got busted. My glasses told me she was telling him that she was staying at Planet Hollywood for the night and to start looking for her if she didn't call him by 10AM. Then she hung up and said, OK, she'd give it a try. 

That was good enough for me. I grabbed a cab to take us to Planet Hollywood.

------------------------

Up in the room, she put down her purse, ran fingers and their long, red fingernails through her hair, and took a seat on the sofa.

I called room service for a couple of outrageously overpriced Martinis. "I promised you a drink," I said, "and a drink you shall have." While we sipped them, she asked me what I liked. Good thing she didn't have mindreading glasses on, I generated quite a lengthy list of ideas. I did have my mindreading glasses on, and they told me what she wouldn't do: no bondage or anything kinky that might make her feel unsafe, anal sex an extra two grand. Her thoughts gave me an idea.

"Oh, I'm pretty boring I guess," I said, "certainly nothing involving pain. But I do kind of like to be in control; I have an idea, if you can do a little playacting..." I had finished my drink and was walking towards the room safe. Screening her with my back so she couldn't see the combination I picked, I pulled out 3K and put the rest in the safe. I also took off the thick rubber band the cashier at Luxor had used to hold my wad of bills together.

When I turned back to her, she was finished her drink, thinking "that's what they always say before they ask for the really weird shit." She was already a little nervous about being asked to stay the night.

"OK, here's the scoop. I'd love to handcuff you to the furniture and make you do whatever I want. But that would be asking you to take an awful big chance to trust me like that, and it seems I'm already asking for things that are quite unusual. Not to mention, I don't carry handcuffs with me everywhere I go. So here's my idea: see this rubber band? Do you think you could PRETEND they were handcuffs? If you get uncomfortable with the way its going, just pull your hand free and I'll understand."

She was thinking this was pretty silly, but then again she'd seen a lot of strange requests. Besides, it was a novel way to play out a domination fantasy without her having to actually be physically restrained and risk getting beaten up. What was concerning her most, actually, was that I was going to get emotional on her, that I was confusing paying for sex with having a girlfriend. She certainly wasn't used to a john giving any thought whatsoever to what she might be thinking or feeling during the transaction.

Nevertheless, she decided to play along. She put down her glass and offered me her hands. She put on a pouty expression, and said, "Have I been bad, master?" 

"Yes, you have," I smiled, then took off my glasses. I took her hands in mine, pulled her to her feet and walked her to the middle of the room. Then I gently helped her hands gather behind her back, and "cuffed" them together with the rubber band.

She stood there with downcast eyes, playing the part of the repentant servant. Excellent.

"I am displeased," I began, slowly walking in a circle around her, touching her here, there and everywhere. "that you have forgotten your training." 

I stopped right in front of her and pulled her top up over her breasts. It was tight enough that it stayed there, fortunately. I took one of her nipples between each thumb and forefinger and squeezed them until they were erect, but not so hard as to cause pain—I was only interested in control. 

"Now you know that when I come home, you're supposed to be kneeling on the floor, waiting for me," I said.

"Like this?" she asked, kneeling down on the floor. 

I grabbed a pillow off the couch and threw it on the floor in front of her. "It is acceptable to kneel on a pillow," I said, nodding that she should kneel on it rather than on the hard floor, "but otherwise yes." She scooted forward so her knees were on the pillow.

"Like this master?" she asked, acting like a slave eager to learn her duties.

"And what are you to do while you are kneeling?" I asked. I figured she could probably guess, but just to be sure I rubbed the side of her cheek with my first knuckle.

"Open my mouth, sir?" she asked, forming her mouth into an O-shape.

"Yes, open your mouth," I answered, unzipping and unbuckling my pants and letting them fall around my ankles, then pulling my shorts down too. She looked up at me while holding her mouth open for my penis; I slipped it in between her lips. She sucked it like a pro (of course she did, she was a pro). She used her tongue to entice my dick while it was in her mouth, and was able to take almost all of it in at once. I held her head lightly and pushed my penis deeper, fucking her face—but not to the point of forcing it down her throat. Who the hell decided that making a girl gag is sexy anyway—it isn't! As far as I'm concerned a penis is a guest in a girl's mouth; it should be mindful not to wear out its welcome. It doesn't matter that I was paying good money for this, hooker or not she was still a person and people don't like to have things forced down their throats until they gag.

She didn't know how I feel about gagging, of course, so she tested me a little by pushing back against my hand to see if I would let her take her take my dick out of her mouth. I think I surprised her that I immediately let go, letting her disengage from my cock and letting her breathe. She then put it back in her mouth, deeper this time, apparently willing to suck it deeper with the knowledge that I wasn't going to force it in farther than she could take it without triggering her vomiting reflex. 

Man it felt good. She was taking it as far as she comfortably could, so I let go of her head, reached down and grabbed her nipples with my fingers. I let her suck for quite a while, playing with her tits the whole time. 

Finally, I pulled my dick out of her mouth and indicated she should rise. I stepped out of my pants, took of my shirt, and walked her over to the bed. I undid the rubber band, reached under her skirt and pulled off her thong, then motioned for her to lie down. When she was lying on her back in bed, I took her hands in mine gently guided them up over her head, on one either side of the post of the headboard, and then "handcuffed" her to the headboard with the rubber band. 

I straddled her hips and ran my hands up and down her torso and her breasts. Then I slid beside her and pushed her skirt up to her hips. She was completely shaved. She let her legs fall slightly apart and I put my finger in between them. I realized she wasn't wet; not surprising, this was my fantasy not hers. I supposed she would normally masturbate to get herself ready while doing whatever her customer asked for, but with her hands "tied" she hadn't been able to do that. Easily fixed, I thought. 

She started to pull her hand out in order to manually prepare herself, but I instead moved forward, straddled her shoulders, and thrust my penis towards her face. She reached for it as best she could; she could lick it and put its tip just into her mouth, but she couldn't take it deep at the angle I was at—because I was arching over backwards, reaching back with one hand and rubbing her pussy. 

"You must be prepared before you can receive the master's special gift," I declared with false pomposity. 

"As you wish, sir," she mumbled between slurps of my junk, spreading her legs wider to allow to me to better reach her. She closed her eyes, but rather than closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation like a lover might, she closed her eyes to fantasize about something that got her hot, helping her get wet faster. It must have worked, because I started to feel the dampness growing. 

I stood up next to the bed, laying my penis lengthways across the length of her lips. She kissed and licked it; I rubbed her clit a bit more. At that point she did slip her hand out of the rubber band, reached for the nightstand, and took a condom out of her purse. She sat up, stroked me a few time for maximum erection, then slipped the condom on my dick. Then she lay back down and put her hands back where I had put them. I slipped the rubber band back onto her wrists, then announced "Make ready to receive the Master's special gift." She spread her legs far apart for me.

 I knelt between her legs, put one arm on either side of her, and slipped my penis into her. The condom took away a little of the feeling, although it would have been worse had they not been ultra-sheer. But she didn't get to charge 3G a night for nothing; she contracted her muscles so as to squeeze my penis while it was in her, making her vagina feel much tighter than it actually was. A nice trick, I thought, wish I could teach that to other girls I've laid. Her breasts bounced just the right amount with every thrust her body absorbed. She kept her eyes closed now; I supposed it helped her concentrate on maintaining excitement while a stranger was lying on top of her. Nevertheless, she was beautiful, and I enjoyed just watching her body under mine while I screwed her. Eventually I exploded inside the condom.

I collapsed on the bed next to her for a second, then pulled off the rubber and rolled over. She had pulled her hands back and was lying on her side next to me, just kind of looking at me. 

"Are you sure you still want me to stay?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "and I had bigger plans for tonight than that, but you're so good I'm spent after just one." 

She laughed at me and ran her finger down my nose. Then she got up and went to the bathroom to wash up. After a time, she came back to bed. She had ditched the tank top, skirt, and shoes, but had put her thong back on to sleep. I smiled at her as she slid under the covers. Then I turned out the light on my side and went to sleep.

------------------------

I woke up before her, but my stirring awakened her almost immediately after. The bed was so big, neither of us had affected the other's sleep in the slightest. She turned towards me now and reached for my penis—I had slept naked—under the sheets.

"Ooh," I cooed, "that feels good."

"Does it?" she teased. She kept stroking it until it was fully erect, then whipped the covers off the bed. She knelt on the bed, made a show of playing with her own nipples until they were hard, then bent over and took my penis into her mouth. I let her do her thing this time rather than dictating. I put my hands under my head at first, then realized my right hand could reach one of her tits so I played with that, letting her blow me all the while. She sucked me to orgasm with great efficiency.

Satisfied, I grabbed a quick shower and dressed. She passed on the shower—I was sure she preferred to save that for when she got home. I realized she only had her clothes from last night, which were not normally the kind of thing someone would wear first thing in the morning, plus they were now somewhat wrinkled from my having scrunched them up while I was screwing her the night before. I offered to take her to Lucky at the Desert Passage and buy her some casual clothes for breakfast, but we would have had to wait until they opened at 10. She preferred to go right to breakfast. I gave her $3200 and we headed to breakfast. She checked in with her lawyer/protector on the way.

As I promised, I took her to the breakfast buffet at Paris. I wasn't surprised to see that she didn't eat very much—if you livelihood depends on your body, you can't afford to get fat. She did seem to like the fresh crepes, though. She was worried that I would ask her stuff about her personal life during breakfast; she was all too happy to tell me about where to find the guys with the biggest money and the best high-stakes poker tables instead. 

After breakfast we parted ways in the walkway that connect Paris to Ballys. Inspired by my surroundings, I bid her adieu with a kiss on each cheek, like the French do. She asked if I wanted to exchange phone numbers in case I was lonely again sometime; I had hesitations, but I knew that I would be keeping a phone number for no more than three months at a time so there didn't seem to be much harm. After we exchanged numbers, she headed one way and I the other. 

As I strolled back to the main casino floor, I had no idea what I was going to do with myself all day. When I went to Vegas for fun, I would hit the tables as soon as possible and work on tying on the biggest buzz I could. But I needed to be sober now that I was basically playing professionally, and I wasn't willing to blow the money I had just earned on a game where the house held the edge—I'd already blown almost half my winnings on Heather. It wasn't worth playing yet, there wouldn't be big money at the tables until the evening, and the less time I spent at the tables, the less time that someone might start to eye me with suspicion. 

As I walked by the base of the "Eiffel Tower," I heard a commotion erupt from the race and sports book area. With time on my hands, I idled over to see what the fuss was about. A couple of bettors were very happy; apparently a 25:1 shot had come in, and one of the guys even had the trifecta—paying out about $800 on a $2 bet. 

"I told ya so!" the guy was crowing. "I'm telling ya, Idle Passage is a horse to watch!" That's when it struck me that maybe I could find a productive use for the daytime hours too.

I turned on my glasses and idled over to the crowd. There was a lot of talking—and a lot of jealous thoughts. A couple of guys started turning their attention to a race that was starting soon at Santa Anita. About three of them were thinking of betting the same horse, so I put five dollars on him too.

He came in sixth.

"Well, not off to a good start," I said randomly to the guy next to me. "I wish I had a good tip on some of the horses."

When I had said "good tip," the guy suddenly thought "Mirage Cloak in the fifth at Pimlico." 

"Yeah, don't we all," he said noncommittally. 

I figured it wouldn't hurt to put something down on Mirage Cloak, who was showing at 13:1. I lost a couple of small bets waiting for the fifth race at Pimlico, but put $20 on Mirage Cloak. Sure enough, he came in, so I was up over $200. 

I spent the next couple of hours doing the same thing. Some of these guys knew their stuff; they had contacts, did research; some of these guys were here every day because they were able to make living betting the ponies. I would just pay attention to their thoughts as they chatted or chat with them myself; their minds couldn't help but give away their best inside information. I still lost more often than I won, of course, but I later hit a nice trifecta and a few smaller wins too. I also ran into a guy who had inside information on a key unannounced injury on one of the nights games; I bet against that team. I was up two grand before I even entered the poker room.

I knew the big money would be at Caesar's, but I expected to rely on that facility in the coming months, I didn't want to ruin it while I was still learning the ropes. I chose Bellagio instead: just as much money, not as much skill. Being Saturday night, of course, the place was jammed with guys eager to give me their money. I sat at a table at 6:00, and I was up 15K when my phone rang at 10:00. 

I had to fold my hand to answer my phone, which was fine because I had just been dealt 9-5 unsuited. But I couldn't imagine who would even have my number to call me, so I looked inquisitively at the display. It said "Heather."  Now why would she call me?

"Hello?" I asked, not knowing what to expect.

"Hello, Tom, this is Heather," said the voice on the other hand, trying to sound as breathy as possible. "You'll never guess where I am."

"Please tell me it's not District Police HQ," I said.

"No, thanks to you. I was sitting in the bar at Caesar's when that same guy from yesterday came in," she explained. "So now I'm walking down the strip, but I don't have any destination in mind. So I was thinking—are you going to want a companion for breakfast tomorrow? No extra charge for the morning." 

I now had plenty of money to rent Heather again, and the thought of having a nice warm pussy to stick my dick into was sounding real good right about then. So I did some quick thinking, and came up with a plan.

"OK, meet me outside of Jet at the Mirage at midnight. We'll talk." I said.

"That gives me a couple of hours—do you have any special requests?" she asked.

"Yeah...actually, I do...I think I'm in the mood for a sexy schoolgirl tonight." I said.

"All right then," she said, "I've got a little outfit that I think you're gonna like. See you then," she said, then hung up the phone.

I figured that gave me 90 minutes to make as much more money as I could before I went to meet Heather. Luck was with me; I ended up cashing out at 11:15 with 25K more than I started. Good thing that Bellagio, Mirage and Planet Hollywood were all easy walking distance from each other. I stopped by guest services at PH and for a fee arranged for them to transfer 20K into a debit card account for me, then I changed into better clothes and headed to the Mirage.

I got there about five minutes early. Heather wasn't there. I went and got a CC and soda—at least now I could drink too—and sat down to wait for her. When she wasn't there at midnight, I got a little annoyed—but girls sometimes take time to get prettied up, and often the ones that take the longest are well worth the extra time. It was almost quarter-after when she arrived, and as soon as she did I knew that she had been late on purpose: she hadn't wanted to stand around waiting outside the club wearing the outfit she had put on for me, and I didn't blame her. 

Heather's sexy schoolgirl outfit was right out of strip club fantasy. She had on a plain white shirt, but it was tied up together right below her breasts to expose all of her flat tummy. None of its buttons were buttoned; she had on a fancy, meant-for-external-viewing black bra underneath in order to avoid arrest for indecent exposure. With is, she wore a red plaid, pleated skirt that was maybe 8 inches from top to bottom; her butt cheeks poked out the bottom when she walked, and you could catch glimpses of her thong too. The best part was the white thigh-highs she wore, ending a good six inches below the bottom of her skirt. Black, clunky shoes with high heels completed the look. My erection went from zero to sixty in 0.2 seconds.

She spotted me and headed my way. Every man within 100 yards of her turned to stare. 

"So what's the plan?" she asked, exaggerating the huskiness of her voice.

"How about a dance?" I asked. "I'd like to take you to with me to Jet over there...if that's all right with you. I don't know if that's somewhere where your friends might hang out, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you by being seen in there with me if they were."




Gifted Grifter Ch. 03



I still had my glasses on, so I saw her imaging me being a clod and stepping on her feet. But I could also see she loved to dance and almost never got the chance to. "None of my friends live in Las Vegas" was all she said. That was probably a good plan on her part.

I paid the cover and got us both a drink. While I was waiting in line, I noticed that every single guy around me also stared at her at least once. I realized with that outfit on, she was going to get a lot of attention. When I came back with out drinks, I slipped her a wad of bills. "A retainer," I whispered, "with the attention you're getting in that outfit, I'm afraid someone's gonna snatch you out from under my nose."

"I doubt anyone else here can afford me," she said matter-of-factly, taking a sip.

"C'mon, lets go to the second floor," I said, and she followed. The beat was driving, and I was set to dance. I grabbed put my drink down on a counter, grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her onto the dance floor.

She could DANCE. And I don't mean like a stripper dances, such that when they go out to civilian clubs everyone in the world knows they're a stripper. I mean she danced like a raver, but she was on it. I'm sure she spent a lot of her daytime hours in the gym, and as a result I could have spent hours watching her move her hips and pump her abs. I did, actually. What surprised her was that I could dance a little bit, too. I had spent a lot of time in clubs when I was in school, and while I wasn't up on this particular style of dance, I just watched her for a little bit and soon I was able to keep up. 

We must have been something of a sight, I suppose. She, a hot blonde in a scandalously skimpy schoolgirl-style outfit. Me, an older guy trying to keep up with her on the dance floor, and doing an OK job of it. And as far as either of us was concerned, nobody else was in the club. Don't get me wrong, its not like either of us was falling in love or anything. But she was here because I asked her to be, I was here with her, we both liked to dance, and neither of us knew anyone else so they may as well not be there. Sometimes we danced face to face; sometimes she would turn her back to me and grind her ass into my pelvis. She could feel my hard-on, which made her grind it even more. But either way, we were both enjoying ourselves. 

I kept up with her until 3AM, at which time I hit a wall. She had been so into dancing, she had almost forgotten that she was with a customer and had work to do. She latched onto my arm as we walked out of Jet, out of Mirage, and into the Vegas night. We walked across Las Vegas Boulevard, up the street and into my hotel.

It had been HOT in there. And dancing for all those hours, we were both soaked with sweat, but neither of us really noticed. Now, when she got to my room, she saw herself in the mirror and freaked. "Oh my God, I'm sorry Tom, I'm a sweaty mess. Give me ten minutes so I can clean up and look presentable..."

I put my finger over her mouth to shush her. "Stop," I said. "Yeah, you're sweaty, but I like it—its real. Besides," I said, slipping my fingers under her tied-up shirt, "I don't think I can wait that long to get a hold of these."

She gently pulled my hands out of her top. "Well, at least let me go to the bathroom first," she smiled. As she went I kicked off my shoes and socks and reclined on the bed. When she came out she still glistened with sweat, but she had combed her hair—and she had taken off the bra that had been under the white shirt. Sweaty as it was, it was almost sheer—I could easily make out the form of her nipples under the fabric. And they were already erect.

"You were right," I said, "I DO like that outfit. I've been carrying this thing around all night," I said, pulling my erection out of my pants. 

"I thought you would," she said, joining me in the bed and swallowing almost my whole penis at once. While she bobbed up and down sucking me, her tits bobbed up and down, peeking out of her shirt. I shoved my hands under the fabric and held a breast in each hand while she sucked me. She was masturbating with her free hand. I fumbled for the knot in the shirt and untied it. Once her breasts were free I held them again while she kept sucking. Then I flipped her over. 

Her short, pleated skirt was easily flipped up to reveal her thong. This time, I simple stretched it over to one side, out of the way, and entered her. It wasn't until I was already in that I remembered I was supposed to use a condom, but she wasn't insisting; she was letting me do her bareback. I suppose since she wasn't a legal prostitute, she didn't have to follow the rules, but I knew she must not do that very often or she wouldn't still be disease-free—even if only the richest of the rich could afford to fuck her. As if I needed additional fuel for the fire, knowing that I was getting special treatment made me ragingly hard. I fucked her hard and fast; it was all she could do to spread and hold on—and squeeze me with the walls of her vagina. I felt myself go rigid; I thrust my penis in as far as I could and held it there while I exploded in orgasm.

I pulled out and lay on my back. She lay on her side next to me, looking at me.

"You are a dynamite dancer, you know." I said.

"Thanks. I used to love to dance, but I don't get much chance to anymore," she replied.

"That's too bad," I said, "it looks like you really have fun doing it."

"I'm usually working when the dance clubs are hopping," she pointed out. 

"Yeah, that's too bad too," I said, "you have so much of life ahead of you. Much as I have liked being with you, you should be enjoying your youth, not wasting it on old farts like me."

"Well, I go back home sometimes to visit my friends and stuff. In fact, I'm flying back home tomorrow for a week," she said, "so I won't be able to come back tomorrow, in case you were wanting me to."

"I'm flying out on a red eye myself," I said. 

She started absently playing with my chest hair and running her fingernails lightly along my chest. "So what's your story?" she asked. "Why are you using rent-a-girl instead of bringing your own?"

"I don't stay put for long," I said. "I'm having a go at being a professional gambler."

Her response surprised me: "I knew it," she said, "You've been nice to me and treated me like a person even though I am a prostitute. The only customers I've ever had that weren't total douchebags were professional gamblers."

"Maybe I'm just naïve," I said, "but just because you will have sex for money doesn't make you any less of a person."

"That just makes you a nice guy," she said softly, then after a pause added "Nice guys don't usually pick up hookers."

"And what about you?" I asked. "You're too nice of a girl to be turning tricks. You're not a jaded man-hater or a nymphomaniac. It's none of my business, but I would guess that this line of work is very hard on you on the inside."

"Let's not talk about me," she said; I was glad, as I really didn't want to get into what I was sure was a horrendous life story. "But thanks for taking me dancing. I really did have fun."

"The pleasure was mine," I said, "I not only got to dance, but I got to watch you work that beautiful body of yours at the same time. But, if you don't stop playing with my chest hair, you're going to have to go back to work." 

Her gentle attentions had reawakened my penis, which was now nearly erect again; she hadn't noticed in her thoughts. She smiled, slid her hand down to it and gently prodded it fully back to life. Then she stepped over me, took off all of her clothes, and sat on my penis. I held on to her thighs while she slid up and down on my cock. She was arching her back and seeming to actually be enjoying it. I gently slid my thumb between her legs and started rubbing her clit while she moved up and down. She started to speed up, and I could, for the first time, sense her breathing becoming shallower, signifying that she was actually having a pleasurable experience as well. When she felt me stiffen further, she crunched her pelvis down as hard as she could onto mine, forcing my penis in all the way, and held it while I came. She didn't come, of course—I was still a john, not a boyfriend, but she did get at least a little something out of our last fuck.

After I came, she bent over onto me, with my penis still inside her, and hugged me close to her. Kissing, of course, was completely out of the question. 

When she finally sat up, she asked kind of sheepishly if it was all right if she didn't sleep with me tonight, as she needed to get home to pack for her flight. I looked at the clock and said "Clock says its 6AM. Guess you stayed til the morning after all." 

She gave a little laugh then went off into the bathroom. She came back out wearing sneakers, shorts and a runner's top that again showed those wonderfully defined abs. "Off to the gym?" I asked. 

"I was going to," she said, "but I think I need to sleep before my flight." I gave her another 3 grand to go with the one I had given her in the club. She didn't want to take the extra tip, but I insisted. Then we kissed on both cheeks, she gave a little wave, and was gone.

Fortunately, I had paid extra for late checkout, so I was able to sleep until noon. Then I went to sports book for a while and a little more poker before taking a cab to the airport at 10pm. For the trip, I made better than 40K, but after paying Heather I had about 35K left.

--------------------

Friday of the week after my Vegas trip, I got a text message.

LEAVING LV QUITTING BIZ
MADE ENUF $ 
GOING BACK 2 SKL
THX 4 REMINDING ME 
I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HAPPY TOO

HEATHER

A couple of minutes later I got another:

IF UR EVER IN OKLA CITY (NOT LA)
LOOK ME UP
I OWE U 1 (AGAIN)

JULIE (AKA HEATHER)

I laughed; one, I had no interest in going to Oklahoma, and two, like there was only one Julie in the whole city. Still, I was genuinely happy for Julie reclaiming her life. 

I made some phone calls to check in with my family until I had used the prepaid minutes up on the phone. Then I removed the battery and put it in a plastic bag with the date written on it. In 90 days, all voicemails and records associated with that phone number would be purged; after which I could reactivate the phone. It was time for the Gifted Grifter to become someone else for a while.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 04



Gifted Grifter #4: Rental Property

After my trip to Vegas, I had enough cash to last me a couple of months—so, where should I go to spend it? I needed some time to myself to think about where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do—besides seducing women, of course. 

The place where I often went in the past when I wanted time to think was the family cottage in lake country, but after my encounter with Lauren, the traveling sales rep, I definitely did not want to stay there. But, I thought, there are three lakes and lots of cottages; maybe I could rent one. I looked up lake country real estate and found four different firms with offices in the region, all of them offering sale or rent. I gave them each a call and inquired about renting a place for a week or so with immediate occupancy; all said they had timeshares or other options to choose from. It was not yet peak season, so I figured I'd have good odds of finding something. I decided to drive up and see for myself, although I reserved a room at the Lake Inn as backup. 

The first office had three agents; an older guy showed me a listing and offered to take me to see any one I wanted, but I wasn't overly excited about any of them.

The second office was busier, with four agents in it. A reasonably attractive female about my age helped me out; there were one or two places here I might be interested to see, but I wanted to look at the other places first.

I could tell at first glance that the third office was much less organized than the first two. There were papers everywhere, and although there were only three agents there was a din from people talking simultaneously—all three were on the phone at once. A middle aged-woman with excessively high, fake blonde hair looked up from her phone and waved me over, but I wasn't about to talk to her. In the back corner, facing the wall, was a petite femine form with a cascading mass of shoulder-length red hair. She glanced towards the door to see who had come in, still talking on the phone: I could see she was young, no more than 25, and gorgeous. SHE was going to be my real estate agent.

Glancing around the office, I noticed a counter full of property fliers with three business card holders on it. I sauntered towards it and read the names on the cards in the holders: "James Noonan," "Ellen DiNardo," and "Erin McCarthy." Only one female Irish name; pretty good odds on which one belonged to the redhead. Of course, there might be another agent that wasn't here, so I couldn't assume anything; I'd have to let her tell me her name. I grabbed a couple of her cards and shoved them in my pocket.

I strolled to the back of the office, nonchalantly touching my temple to turn on my mindreading sunglasses. The redhead's thoughts had nothing to do with real estate—she was arguing with her boyfriend. I could tell that this was a very common occurrence, and she was fed up with it; she had already decided that she was leaving him was still working out when and how. Oooh, a hot young redhead AND in a vulnerable state. This could work out even better than I thought. 

She noticed me walking her direction and hastily whispered in the phone "I've got a customer I think, I've got to go. We'll deal with this LATER." 

She hung up and swung her chair around to face me, putting on a smile that was friendly but could not completely mask the turmoil inside. She was wearing a green skirt cut well above the knee with a matching jacket and a white blouse with a moderately low neckline—low enough to show lots of skin below the neck, not low enough that her breasts were spilling out. Nuts.

"Hi, is your name..." I paused, allowing her to think to herself 'my name is Erin,' to confirm my suspicion before continuing "Erin McCarthy?"

"Yes, I'm Erin," she replied, wondering how I knew her name.

"A friend of mine recommended you," I lied. 

She was thinking 'who could have recommended me? I've been here almost a year and barely sold anything. Maybe I'm finally getting somewhere in this business.'

"I'm looking to rent a cottage or something for a week or so—I need immediate occupancy, and I can pay cash," I continued, flashing her a wad of bills.

Her mind was off and running. "Cash? Immediate occupancy? That would be a minimum $500 commission, today. Boy could I use that money right now."

"Oh, absolutely, uh," she said.

"Mark," was the name I was using at the time.

"Mark, nice to meet you," she said, standing and shaking my hand. "We have a number of properties to choose from." She went to fetch a big book with pictures and descriptions of properties. WAY too slow.

"Wow, that's a lot. Tell you what: I'm looking for a place on the lake," I said, telling her I preferred the far end of the lake farthest from where we were if possible, "available today for a total cost under $10,000." I actually didn't want to spend more than 3-5K, but since 10K was the threshold for federal reporting of cash transactions, I definitely wouldn't go that high. "Can you pick out three or four and take me to see them?" 

My glasses told me she was a little taken aback—I was disrupting her usual workflow. I also don't know to this day if it was an unusual request to be taken to see rentals like that, but I had seen a Scion xB in the parking lot painted over with the company logo and colors—Scions make kick-ass billboards—so I figured it was possible. 

"Sure," she said, dreaming dreams of a quick commission. "Give me a minute to do a quick search." She sat at her desk and pulled up a property search tool on her computer. Entering a few qualifiers as search parameters, she came up with a list of eight possible matches, which she printed out.

"Would you like to look at these in the book?" she asked. 

I glanced at the printout, asking "These should all be pretty close together, right?"

She nodded, "Yeah, pretty close.

"OK, I'd like to look at these four," I said, dropping the two most expensive and the two cheapest from the list, "and I'll pick one."

"OK, we can do that. Let me get the keys to the car." She went and talked briefly to one of the other agents—who, humorously, was startled that she needed the car—then came back with the keys, picked up her purse, and said "Let's go."

I sat in the front passenger seat while Erin drove. "So have you been doing this a long time?" I asked, "my friend tells me you're very good."

"I've been doing this for not quite a year now," she answered. She was thinking 'it's the best offer I got after graduation from college, even though it's not what I went to school for,' and she was feeling good about my complimenting her skill. 

"So you are just looking for a week of vacation?" she asked qualifying my as a customer.

"Well, actually," I said truthfully, "I'm looking for a week now, but I expect to be in the area somewhat regularly in the future, and I'm going to be needing a rental of some sort every time."

'Multiple commissions!' she thought. 'I've got to be sure to find this guy what he wants.' She already had what I wanted, I thought, but unlike with Heather in Vegas it wasn't for sale. 

"Really? I'm sorry, it's none of my business—it's just an unusual situation" she commented.

"Well, I'm not an ordinary guy," I said. As I hoped, that stirred her thoughts about guys in general and what she liked in them. I saw she dreamed of a mysterious stranger sweeping her off her feet and taking her away from the small town that she hated living in. I might be able to take care of the first part of that, I thought.

"I can't tell you what I do, it's top secret." Good-she was intrigued. "I can tell you I used to work for the Department of Defense," which was true, "but I can't tell you who I work for now." Because I don't work for anyone except myself, I thought. "My being up here, though—it has to be low key. I'm often working undercover, using assumed names. I pay everything cash to avoid leaving a paper trail should someone try to track my movements."

"Wow," she said. She was eating up the cloak-and-dagger talk.

"Erin," I said, looking at her with false earnesty, "I need someone who can keep a secret. Someone I can call on short notice to find me a place and not question if I give you a different name than the one you know me by. I'll pay cash up front every time. If necessary, I'll pay extra commission if I can trust you."

Poor Erin. To use a fishing analogy, she had swallowed the hook. I was a mystery man and a recurring source of much-needed commissions. She didn't know me, but I didn't seem creepy to her (whew). She would bend over backwards to get me as a customer. Perhaps that would be one of the things I would have her do to earn it.

"No, that would not be necessary," she said. "Our standard commissions are fine. And I certainly can understand why a man in your position would require the utmost in confidentiality." As she said that, she pulled the car off the road by the first of the properties she would show me. Now free to look at me more directly, she turned to me with wide green eyes and said "If you pay cash up front, I can guarantee to protect your privacy."

"Thanks," I said, "I knew you were the kind of person I can trust. And I appreciate your trusting me." That was a calculated comment. She hadn't thought about the fact that I was asking her to trust me by keeping my identity secret when she answered, she was thinking about the commissions. But now that I framed it that way, the fact that she had already promised me confidentiality meant that she did trust me, so in her thinking I was now a man she could trust. Good—trust up meant guard down. We got out and she went to show me the place. 

High heels and sandy soil don't mix. The land around the lakes area was very loose and sandy, deposits from what had once been a much larger lake. As Erin walked down a slight incline towards the cottage, the heel of one of her apparently-mandatory-for-female-real-estate-agents pumps sunk into the soil and she turned her ankle. It was a perfect opportunity—I cavalierly reached out and caught her stumbling figure in my arms. I don't think she would have fallen and she didn't seriously injure herself, but her thoughts told me that her ankle didn't feel right. As for me, I was not about to pass up the opportunity. I held on to her, awkward position notwithstanding, like if I let go she would instantly fall to the floor.

"Are you all right?" I said with exaggerated concern. "Looks like you turned your ankle really badly there. Is it sprained?"

She didn't know. Since I was holding on to her anyway, she reached an arm over my shoulders for support her while she tried walking. I put my arm around her slender waist, and nonchalantly held the hand of the arm on my shoulder while she tried putting weight on the foot. She took a few steps; I stepped along with her. She was able to walk and put weight on it, but her thoughts told me it felt strange. She decided she was able to continue with the showing. I pretended not to notice her subtle attempts to disengage from me for as long as I could without it becoming obvious that I was just trying to keep touching her. 

"I'm sorry this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't dragged you all the way out here. Let's go back and get you some medical attention."

'No!' her mind screamed, 'I don't want to lose the sale.' 

"No, no," she said, "I'll be fine. Let's have a look at this place."

"High heels like that are pretty, but they're not very good for walking on sand," I commented. "Why don't you at least take them off and go barefoot"—it being summer, she wasn't wearing hosiery—"you're liable to twist it even worse if you keep walking around with them on." 

That made sense to her, so that's what she did. And although men like high heels because of the way the accentuate womens' legs, for many women bare feet are an erogenous zone. Walking around barefoot would, if nothing else, make being with me seem more homey and less professional. Any my intentions for Erin were decidedly unprofessional.

----------------------

The first place was kind of dump, it didn't take long to reject it. As we headed back to the car, I said "The ankle you twisted was your driving ankle, wasn't it? And you're not supposed to drive barefoot. I know its against the rules, but at least while we're going from property to property, why don't I do the driving and you give me directions."

Her thoughts told me that indeed, it was against all the rules to have the customer drive. But again she couldn't argue with my logic; she had already decided (with my help) that she trusted me, and she knew that with the disorganization in her office, no one else from her company would see her and ever know the wiser. 

"Well, OK, at least until it's had time to heal up a little." she said. Actually, it was likely that if anything it would start to swell after just sitting for a while, but that would just work in my favor. She tossed me the keys and started giving me turn-by-turn directions to the next place.

The second place was pretty close by. Erin got out of the car and walked barefoot; her ankle seemed to be causing her more discomfort now, she was favoring her left—but she refused assistance. She went to the back door and entered a combination on the key vault that was hanging on the doorknob, then with the key that was inside let me into the cottage. It was much better—I'd take it if I didn't prefer one of the others. 

"Okay, let's see the next one," I said.

Lakes often have very irregular shapes, which means that the roads that service the lakefront properties are often snaky, winding ones. If there isn't a circle drive around the lake—and here there wasn't—it can make for some very odd road configurations that make it easy to get lost—and Erin did. I'm sure the fact that I feeding her reams of made up spy-story stuff about myself helped distract her; having spent a lot of time in the area growing up, I knew she should have told me to take three successive left turns, but she missed the third. I of course pretended I had no idea where I was going.

"Wait...Oh my god... this doesn't look right." she interrupted.

"It appears we are heading away from the lake," I observed. 

"We must have missed a turn somewhere; can you do a U-turn? Oh my god, this is embarrassing," she said.

I pulled the car over. "Now, don't get all upset about it," I said, tapping her on the thigh. "These are some screwed-up subdivisions. We'll figure it out." I looked at her through my glasses while I was talking; the thigh is very close to the pussy, especially if the thigh is bare because the owner is wearing a short skirt, and touching a woman there will usually raise her defenses immediately. She did instinctively respond to the fact that I had touched her on the thigh, but I had done it quickly and lightly enough that she had not interpreted it as a grope. Good, another step closer the ultimate objective.

I did a U-turn and went back where we came. Now flustered, she was disoriented and missed the turn again. 

"Wait...oh no, this isn't it. I can't believe this, I'm supposed to be showing you properties, and instead I've gotten us both lost." She put her face in her hands and fought back tears.

Tears are a grifter's friend. I pulled over again, put one arm around her shoulder and with the other held her left upper arm. "There, there, it's OK," I said in as soothing a tone as I could. I saw a few turns we didn't make back there, I'm sure we just need to find the right one. Is there a map in this car?" I asked, leaning over open the glovebox, making sure I lightly made contact with her legs as I reached. There wasn't. "Oh well, let's try again," I said. She just stared at the floor.

I turned around and headed back. When I got to the street we should have turned on the first time, I said "There's a street on the left there, is that the one we want?" 

Erin craned her head to read the sign, mostly obscured by large bushes. "Yes, that's the turn we missed. A left here." Her relief was palpable.

It wasn't far to the cottage once we got on the right road. I pulled off and parked. She got out of the car looking sheepish after having gotten lost. She was favoring her left leg even more noticeably now. 

"You need to wrap that," I said as we walked towards the place, "looks like its swelling. I doubt they'll have ice, but let's at least put a cold water compress on it while I look around."

Even before we were inside I knew I'd take this one—it had what I was looking for, and it was getting late—it was already 4:30 and we still had to drive back to the real estate office to get the paperwork started.

But first Erin. When we went in, there was an old couch against the wall and I told her to sit down on it. Between the physical discomfort and her emotional stress, she wasn't about to argue. I went in the back, checked around the bathroom and bedroom areas until I found a towel, then soaked it in the coldest water I could get. 

I came back out to the living room with the towel. I knelt by her sore foot; she lifted it towards me. I gently touched all around her ankle to see if there was any place where it was especially tender; there wasn't. Then I gently wrapped the ankle of her delicate, slightly-freckled leg with the cold wet towel. As I wrapping the towel around them, I gently caressed her lower calves. I didn't really think that the wet towel was cold enough to do anything about any swelling, I just wanted to appear as concerned as possible. 

"I think I'll take this one," I said. "But I notice its getting late; will your office even still be open?"

"I have a key, that's no problem," she said, "but I should make a few phone calls." She pulled out her cell phone and called the office telling them she would be in after hours to close a deal. That went fast. Then she got up and kind of hobbled towards the back hallway before dialing her next call—the boyfriend, I was sure. She tried whispering at first, but they had been in a fight when I interrupted; I'm sure he wasn't too happy about having been left hanging for this time now. In short order she forgot that I could hear and raised her voice. I heard her say things like "I've got a job to do," "Why are you being such an asshole," then louder she said "If I lose this sale because of you I'll....I'll be home when I get home!" Finally, she yelled "Well, maybe I won't come home at all!" Then she slammed the phone shut and stood there glowering for a minute...and then the tears came.

Poor Erin. First she had been arguing with her boyfriend, then she'd hurt her ankle, then she'd gotten us lost, and now her boyfriend was apparently throwing some sort of ultimatum at her. She put her face in her hands again and started crying full bore. 


"I'm sorry," I said as I walked over towards her. "I feel like this is my fault for making you work late." I put my arms around her and drew her into me so she could cry on my shoulder—what better thing for a woman that's crying than a nice male shoulder to cry on? She had to cry her feelings out—even if she had wanted to pull away, she wouldn't have been able until she had herself under better control. My shoulder must have felt comforting, because when I held her floodgates really opened. After a time I started to gently stroke her soft, lovely red hair and gave her a kiss on the top of the head. 

In time she cried it out and only sniffles remained. But she kept her face buried in my shoulder where I couldn't see it until she had herself under full control—a real estate agent isn't supposed to cry on the customer's shoulder. 

When she felt sufficiently back in control, she stood up, looked up at me and started to say "I'm sor...." That's as far as she got, because as soon as she opened her mouth I had mashed my lips up against hers. She was startled at first and sort of passively accepted my kiss but didn't pull away. I could see in my glasses that she was thinking that I was the sort of mysterious guy she liked, that I was being a lot nicer to her than her boyfriend, and that she had already broken half of the rules of appropriate real estate agent conduct; it wasn't going to be any worst to kiss me, too.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 04



When she decided that she may as well kiss, she started kissing back with vigor, and that started the ball rolling. It's called emotional transfer; the way humans encode emotional intensity is separate from the way we encode the emotion itself. Thus, any strong emotion can produce leftover intensity that can inadvertently become attached to the next emotion that comes along. This is why people that are anxious get angry easily, for instance. Erin was mad, sad, and embarrassed, and fighting to keep her emotions under control; she should have had plenty of excess intensity built up in her bloodstream. I hoped that if I could ignite just a spark of arousal, the excess intensity would attach itself to id, and her arousal/lust would ignite like a single match in room full of gasoline. I was not disappointed.

We kissed eagerly now, and soon added tongues to the mix. We started with arms entwined, but in no time we were rubbing and groping the "safe" areas of each other's bodies though our clothes. Enough of that: I picked her slender frame up and sat her down on the countertop of the island in the kitchen. She held me face in her hands, kissing me, while I blindly fumbled to unbutton her blouse. She helped by pulling out so it was no longer tucked into the waistband of her skirt. When the last button was finally undone, I pulled both it and her jacket off her shoulders; she pulled her arms out of them threw the clothes in the direction of the living room. Then she grabbed my T-shirt and pulled it over my head, throwing it as well. I reached for her bra, but she was there before me, unclasping it with practiced efficiency, letting it slide off her arms and then, whoosh, through the air like the others. She put both arms around me; I kissed her, playing with her nipple with my right hand. Her breasts were healthy, natural C-cups. Her skin was very pale, as most redheads' skin is, with cute, sexy little freckles speckled all over, but more concentrated on her torso than her face or extremities. Her nipples were pale as well, more pink than red. The areola were smaller than average, but compensated by sticking well out from the breast an oversized pencil eraser. 

I broke our kiss and engulfed her left breast like a man that hadn't eaten in a week might attack a steak. I teased the nipple, tickled it with my tongue, tried to such as much of her breast as possible into my mouth. She put one arm behind her to steady herself and leaned back slightly to improve my access to her breasts; she played with my hair with one hand, encouraging me, while locking her legs around me. I put my hand on the right breast, then switched my mouth over to it with the same hunger. I oriented myself more upright so that I could sneak a peek at her face; she had her eyes closed and a hint of a smile on her face. 

I returned to kiss her mouth again, while at the same time feeling around the waistband of her skirt trying to find whether it zipped in back or on the side. She sat upright, reached behind herself to unzip it, then helpfully raised her butt. I grabbed the skirt and underwear together and yanked them off, tossing them with the other clothes. Then I bent over at the middle and buried my face in her red hair between her legs.

She parted her thighs as my tongue reached into her fiery bush, seeking the treasure hidden within it. I felt her clitoris start to rise towards my tongue, and focused on it. Her pussy lips began to engorge and turn a darker shade of pink. I faintly sensed the odor of her juices as they started flowing. She had lain flat on her back on the kitchen counter, arms at her sides, arching her hips upwards towards my flicking tongue. She started making moaning noises, and her skin, especially on her neck and upper torso, took on an increasingly reddish flush. I let up just long enough to let one finger from each hand slip between my face and her crotch, which I used to gently part her labia so that I could lick more of her vulva. I heard her breath grow shallow, and the noises she was making became louder and more grunt-like. She was nearing orgasm, so she put both of her hands on my head to keep it there until she came. I reached one hand up to her nipples while stimulating her pussy with my tongue; I slipped two fingers of my other hand into her now-well-lubricated vagina. She made a loud noise that was half moan and half scream, then I felt the contractions of her orgasm rippling through her torso. 

She lay back to catch her breath, but motioned that I should walk around to the other side of the island she was lying on. With hands over her head, she reached for my belt to take off my pants; I kicked them off to save time. She was still on her back, but now slid upwards so that she could dip her head off the island and below the level of the countertop until her mouth was at the same height as my dick, at which time she swallowed it. Although her head was at an unusual angle, it had the side effect of straightening the usual bend of the esophagus as it moves from the mouth to the throat. With her throat now essentially a linear tube, I was able to fuck her mouth as if it were a pussy. I wasn't as rough with it, of course, but I could slide my dick into and out of her mouth as if it were her vagina—that is, if her vagina had its own tongue, I suppose. 

Throat-fucking Erin was fine, but I could barely see her beautiful red hair as it cascaded straight down towards the floor. That was my favorite of her many fine features, so I pulled my dick out, walked back around to the other side of the island, pulled her hips towards me until they were flush with the edge of the counter, and buried my dick between her thighs. She bent her knees and spread her thin, shapely legs—the towel had fallen off long ago—as far as her hips would allow. She held me lightly with one hand on either side of the buttocks, encouraging my efforts as I fucked her. Pausing to grind my pelvis bone against hers, I soaked in and cherished the sight of this red-haired beauty naked and open before me. Then I resumed thrusting, with gradually increasing pace, until I could hold it no longer and let lose with a massive orgasm right in front of her cervix. 

She sat up, locked her legs around me again, and embraced me while we kissed again. We kept kissing until my now-refractory penis could no longer remain inside of her and slipped out. Then I stepped back and let her jump down off the countertop.

The first thing she noticed was that her ankle was better; "Well, what do you know, my ankle doesn't hurt anymore," she smiled. The orgasm probably let loose endorphins, I thought; it'll start to bother her again later. 

"You should still get ice for it," I replied as I slipped my pants back on. I paused to kiss her on the cheek as she fumbled with her skirt. "That was way more than I could have asked for from an agent!" I said. "I guarantee you that I will bring you all of my business from now on."

"Don't expect personal service like that every time," she laughed, zipping her skirt. "I would lose my job if anyone ever found out."

"And how would anyone ever find out? Certainly I wouldn't be stupid enough to say anything to anybody," I said.

"I guess now we both have to keep each other's secrets," she said, throwing her hands around my neck and giving me a quick kiss, her blouse now on but not yet buttoned or tucked in.

"Promise," I said, "but are you sure I can't get personal service like that again? You were amazing!" 

"You were pretty good yourself," she said. "Lord knows when was the last time my so-called boyfriend made me come like that."

"I'm sorry, my dear," I replied, "but a beautiful young woman like you deserves better. Your man should make you come three times a night if that's what you want."

"Whoa, that would be too tiring," she said, "but at least once a while would be nice. And yeah, you're right, I do deserve better."

"I guarantee you will find better, too," I said, "and I don't just say that because I LOVE red hair." I ran my fingers through her hair as I said it.

Her clothes now on, she just smiled and straightened her hair as best she could.

"If you need a place to stay rather than go back with that boyfriend you were arguing with, you're welcome here," I told her.

"Thanks, but I have some friends in town that have a place I can crash at for tonight," she replied. "I'm a real estate agent, if I can't find a place to go pretty quickly I should quit." She turned to me and said "Our secret wouldn't stay secret for long if the others in the office discovered that the company van was parked all night in front of a rental property that I was showing a customer. Its kind of hard to miss it, you know," she teased.

Indeed, she was right on all counts, so I went with her to the car so she could drive us back to the office. Her ankle no longer hurting, she was able to put her shoes back on and drive us back. Once there, I filled out the necessary paperwork (using the name Mark) and paid her the promised cash up front.

"I hope you get a nice commission out of this," I said. 

"It should pay my first month's rent, thanks," she said, "and, well, my sales totals haven't been what the bosses were hoping for. Just making a sale is probably more important."

"I'll bring you more business, I promise. And if you need to borrow little more while you get yourself settled, don't hesitate to ask," I said.

"Thanks, but I should be fine," she replied. "Do you need directions on how to find the place again?"

"No, I'm good," I replied, "and its late—I've kept you long enough. Hope you have a nice weekend, and I'll be in touch." I moved to kiss her, but she turned so as to offer me a cheek instead of her mouth. That was fair. I kissed the cheek, waved, got into my car, and drove back to the cottage.

My weekend got off to a great start, filling me with high hopes the week. Unfortunately, it was the only 'tang I got that week—well, not counting the slut that gave me a quickie blowjob in my car outside the bar. 

It would not, however, be my last encounter with Erin.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 05



Gifted Grifter #5: Lake Country Girls

I decided to go up the lake country area for the weekend again. I put in a call to Erin, my red-haired real estate agent up there, and told her what I was looking for and at what price. The first time I had rented through her, I had seduced her using my mindreading sunglasses, but the second time she had been all business. I guess this time would be the tiebreaker.

In order to have any chance at seducing her again, I figured, two things had to happen. One, I had to get her out of the office. And two, I had to get her at the end of the day or, better still, after hours. I guessed she would be more amenable to working late on a Thursday than a Friday, so when I called Erin up I told her I wanted to rent a place, but I made up a story about coming from government business in Jersey (I don't know why I picked Jersey) and that I couldn't get up there until 5:30 or 6:00. I told her to pick a place for me, and I'd pay her double commission if she could meet me at the cottage with the papers at 6 on Thursday. She wasn't real happy about the idea, but she did agree to it because (1) she bought into the cloak-and-dagger stories I fed her bigtime, (2) she needed the commissions and (3) she had in fact dumped the boyfriend that was causing her trouble when I first met her—so she didn't really have anyplace better to go.

"Now, don't get any idea that because I'm meeting you at the place after hours I'm going to be providing extra service," she said; extra service was her euphemism for having sex with me.

"Oh, no, that's the furthest thing from my mind," I lied, "and I really appreciate your going out of your way to get me settled."

Okay, so I had her in the right place and time. But she was pretty adamant about maintaining her professional code of ethics; it was only due to a series of emotionally draining circumstances that I had succeeded in seducing her the first time. How was I going to get around that this time? 

I actually arrived at the address Erin had picked for me at 4:30. I walked around and found that there was a private dock with a bench at the end of it. Perfect. I sat on it, looking out at the lake, waiting for Erin to arrive. I was wearing my mindreading sunglasses and playing with a canister of spare electronics I had brought along.

I heard the car drive up and park. Erin knew I was there because there was a car parked on the grass. "Mark?" she called from far away; that was the name she knew me by. I pretended not to hear.

She started to walk around the property; she knew I couldn't be inside, because I didn't have the combination to the keysafe that held the door keys. She went around the back but didn't see me at first, not expecting me to be, well, in the middle of the lake. "Mark?" she called again. She walked to the other side of the property and looked but did not see me, so she headed for the lake. Only then did she see the back of a head sitting on a bench at the end of the dock, and assuming it was me headed towards it.

She walked halfway out on the dock, and said in more conversational tone "Mark?"

I turned around like it was the first time I'd hear. "Oh, hi Erin, thanks for coming out here with the rental papers. I was just sitting here admiring the lake."

I turned towards the lake wistfully. "It's a beautiful lake, isn't it Erin? Sure would be a shame if it became poisoned, of if the lakefront lands became uninhabitable, wouldn't it?" I turned towards her quickly "Do you have well water where you live, Erin?"

"Um, I'm not sure," she said.

"Drink well water, Erin," I said, looking back out at the lake, "at least for the next three or four days. If you can't get well water, drink bottled water. Oh, and long baths, swimming, or water sports might be better left for next week too." That ought to get her attention.

"You're scaring me," she said. Good; fear, like tears, are a grifter's friend.

"Life is scary," I said, looking back at the lake, "because the world is full of scary people." I wasn't speaking very loudly, and when I looked away I was hard to hear—that was my intent. She walked all the way out on the dock now, and stood by the edge of the bench, facing my side as I sat. She was wearing a black skirt with matching suitjacket and a jewel-blue, satiny blouse (probably sleeveless based on the neckline). 

I was suddenly animated and turned to her saying "But whatever you do, DON'T start telling people what I just told you! We're hot on the trail, unless these guys are a lot more clever than I think they are, we'll get to them before they can do anything serious. But if there's a panic, not only will people hurt themselves doing stupid things, but it'll tip them off that we're on to them. So whatever you do, keep what I told you under your hat! Just for yourself—try to avoid lake water for a few days."

She was suitably speechless. Her thoughts were about fear, wondering what would happen to the water, wondering what my role was in protecting the public from it. Vague senses of gratitude for public service and awe at the spy-stuff; I'd want to build on that.

"See what I mean? I found this," I said, looking away from her at the can of spare parts.

"What is it?" She asked.

I half-turned and handed it towards the empty seat as if I was passing a plate to someone sitting next to me. As I hoped, her curiosity got the better of her and she sat down next to me. I handed her the can, crossed my legs in a way that I was turned 45 degrees toward her, and put my arm around the back of the bench where she sat. 

"It was a delivery device. I found it right by the water's edge—empty. I think it always was empty; probably a test of their delivery system. Makes me wonder if...say, Erin, have any of these other cottages been up for rent recently?"

She looked around. "I can't say for sure, but probably not many. This one is the only one on this street that I can remember seeing in the rental books."

"So did they rent this place, or did they use this piece of waterfront because they knew it was empty?" I wondered aloud. "Has this place rented a lot this season?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's in a great location, so it's almost always booked," she replied. 

"I wonder if...would it be hard to get a list of everyone that has rented this property this year, or any others nearby?"

"No, I could just run a rental history on the address back at the office..." she replied.

"Oh, well, never mind then. I would need to know by tomorrow morning, and I'm already keeping you after hours." I said. 

As I hoped, her sense of wanting to help a good cause and the intrigue I was fabricating were more important than her Thursday evening. "The office isn't too far, I could run back and get that information. Are there names you're looking for?" she asked.

"Maybe—but I can't tell you. It's not like I can just have you call me and tell me what you found out, I'd need you to bring me back a printout. I can't ask you to give up that much of your own time," I said.

"Well, I love the lake, and if it's in danger I'm probably looking at not having a job either. I'll get you the report." She said. She probably shouldn't have given out information like that without a warrant, either, but I had her patriotism stirred up, and she loved the cloak-and-dagger.

"Well, if you're going to run and get me that information and run it out to me when you should be eating your dinner, I insist on making you dinner. I brought food to grill, there's plenty to share." I said. 

"Well..." she said, concerned about professional boundaries again, when clearly she had already offered to exceed them.

"Let's take care of the rental business first, you can take the signed papers and the cash back with you. That way you don't have to go back after dinner." I then added "And since you'll be on your own time, you don't have to keep on the stuffy suit if you'd be more comfortable in a pair of jeans or something. We won't be talking real estate at dinner...we'll be talking national security."

National security—what a great buzzword. High on emotional punch, low on specificity. She agreed to my suggestion, so I got up, she let me in to the cottage; I signed the papers and gave her the cash, then went out to start the grill while she ran back to the office.

She took almost 40 minutes to get back; the steaks had been done for a while and I was working to keep them warm yet not burning them. I heard the car arrive, then steps heading towards the cottage. I was ready.

Erin had taken me up on the offer to get comfortable. She was wearing a pale green spaghetti-strap sundress with brown, high wedges. The skin of her shoulders and upper torso was exposed, showing the wonderful matrix of freckles on her pale skin. But even more stunning, with her hair now flowing free instead of gathered or up in a professional fashion, her cute face was framed with a halo of soft, blaze orange hair. She was pretty in professional clothes, but she was gorgeous dressed casual.

"Did you get the information" I called as she approached. She waved a stack of papers she was carrying. "Great, dinner is ready."

I showed her into the cottage and she headed to the dining area. I'm sure she was expecting burgers and potato chips. What girl has ever been seduced over burgers and potato chips? I had a nice cut of steak to share, two kinds of potato salad (store-bought unfortunately), and fresh lettuce salads in separate bowls. I also had a bottle of wine already open from which I was drinking—yeah, I know you're supposed to drink red with steak, but I like white better. 

"Please, sit," I said, holding out her chair for her like a maitre d', "the wine is pretty good—I'm not a big wine drinker, so if you're into wine you'll probably find it too sweet. I've got a few sodas and stuff somewhere if you'd prefer—but I don't recommend the water." I had already poured her a glass of the wine, so she decided to go ahead and drink it.

I glanced at the papers when I first sat down to dinner, but declared I needed my hands to eat and proceeded to spend the rest of dinner talking about Erin. She seemed much more at ease now that she was, in her own mind, off-duty, and didn't even seem to notice that the majority of the conversation revolved around her and her personal life. I didn't ask anything too touchy, but I learned she was not living by herself after dumping her boyfriend, that she'd been selling more in the last few months (my arrival might have given her a boost of confidence), and she told some stories about her friends and parties on the lake. 

Dinner was good and we enjoyed it at a leisurely pace. We each had two glasses of wine; I was kicking myself for not buying another bottle. Finally, when it started to feel obvious that I was stalling, I cleared the dishes, pulled my chair up next to hers, and we started going through her printouts. I spread them all out on the table we could see them all at once. Then I started poring over the entries; I had her help me search for duplicate renters, unusual or non-specific (like PO boxes) addresses, or multiple renters from the same permanent address. We were both looking this way and that over the papers, it was inevitable that we would end up touching; her hand brushed my arm, my arm would brush her shoulder, and so on. I couldn't find anything that would sound believably suspicious, so finally I just acted like one of the names she read off to me sounded familiar—a name on one of the sheets furthest from me and closest to her.

"Wait, what's that name again?" I asked, putting my hand around her shoulder and craning over to see. She picked up the paper and brought it closer to me, repeating the name. I kept my arm around her shoulder as we held the paper between us, one hand apiece. I pretended to be trying to remember something, then said "Erin, I think this might be it...I think I've seen this name before." I looked right at her with false excitement. "I think you've found the clue we needed."

She looked back at me with a pleased look on her face. I looked her in the eyes and smiled back, but kept looking into her beautiful green eyes as I let the smile fade. She saw the look in my eyes change but didn't look away. I saw her gulp, at which time I swooped in for a kiss. She didn't fight it, but rather responded in kind. I brought my arm down from her chair back to cradle her neck; she put a hand on my shoulder. We kept kissing, with increasing intensity. 

Finally she paused for air, saying in a mock serious tone "Mark, I told you no more special service."

"You're off duty," I replied, "no name tag or nothing. You're not here as Erin, real estate agent; you're here as Erin, dutiful citizen, protector of lakes—and most beautiful woman in a five-county area."

"Stop it," she giggled, so I kissed her some more instead. I let my free hand slip under the spaghetti strap of her dress and slide it off her shoulder. Then I pushed down on the fabric of her dress so that it would slip off of her breast. She wasn't wearing a bra. 

She put both arms around my neck now, kissing, while I touched her tender pink nipple and teased it to full erect excitation. Then I ran my fingers through her hair while I bent over to take the nipple into my mouth. She put one hand on the back of my head. I now moved my hand out of her hair and felt for the zipper in the back of her dress. I pulled the zipper down as far as I could the way she was sitting, then pulled the other strap off and exposed all of her upper torso. I put the newly exposed breast in my mouth while continuing to tweak the other with my left hand. She let out an involuntary half-gasping sound. 

Suddenly she pushed lightly against me to indicate I should give her room. She stood up, finished unzipping the dress, and let it fall to the floor. She put a hand out indicating that I should stand, so I did. When I stood she sat back down and took my penis out of my pants. She kissed it many times and licked the underside before taking its length into her mouth. The view of her fiery red hair and gently freckled, pale skin bobbing back and forth was almost as stimulating as it felt to have my meat inside her soft warm mouth. As her sucking picked up pace, she pulled aside her thong and started to masturbate. I watched her fingers manipulate her red pubic hair. As her excitement grew, the treasure that lie within it grew flush and became easier to see. 

I stepped back and put a hand out to her, intending to lead her back to the bedroom. Instead she stood up, took off her panties by bending at the waist and pushing down, then just lay on her back on the floor. Whatever—she was well worth a few rug burns. I knelt between her thighs and plunged into her depths. She bent her knees and drew them in close, and actually grabbed her ankles in her hands while I fucked her. Her eyes closed, she started to make more pleasure noises. As my thrusting grew more insistent, she let go of her ankles and tried to put her arms around my neck, but I was hard to hold on to jackhammering back and forth as I was. So instead, I reached for her slender ankles and lifted them up towards my shoulders until the rested on my shoulders just on either side of my neck. I was now able to penetrate even deeper into her lovely red snatch, resulting in even more insistent fucking from me and even more audible appreciations from her. I watched the lovely red-haired young thing under me as I fucked; then I noticed how the force of my thrusts was causing her lovely breasts to rock in a particularly pleasing fashion. That put me over the top, and with my dick buried inside her in full missionary position, I had a massive climax. 

I really tried to talk Erin into staying, but she had to work on Friday and didn't have another work-appropriate outfit with her. I didn't blame her for not wanting to have to drive from this cottage to her apartment in order to get dressed and then still get to work on time. I told her to call me when she was done with work the next day, and she told me if she had a chance she would. We both knew that she wasn't going to call me. But I was not two-for-three in fucking Erin. And every time I succeeded in seducing her, the better my odds would be of getting her open up her lovely red-haired body before me next I rented from her.

----------------------

Friday I didn't do much, but Saturday I was again in the mood for a little trim. I decided to try cruising the beach. 

The lake where I was renting had a sand beach that started as private beach club property for owners of land on the lake, then continued on as part of a state park. There were signs demarking the boundary, although enforcement was rarely an issue. The county did ticket cars parked in the private beach lot without the required parking hang tag, though, so the campers on the state park grounds tended to stay on their half of the beach.

State park campgrounds are interesting; there are generally two types of people there. The most common is the family, frequently extended or multi-family groups, but almost always with at least one child under 10—when the kids get too much older, they become part of the second type of person. The second type of person is the young couple, often high-school aged or at least under 21. Sometimes these couples are kids without a lot of money vacationing or even honeymooning on the cheap. Most often, these are kids that don't have regular access to a place to fuck; camping is perfect. You get to play around at the beach all day, enjoying each other's swim-suited bodies (and I have yet to see one of these girls that wasn't wearing a bikini designed to impress). Then you get to play around with each other in your tent all night. Parents get less bent out of shape if you announce you're going camping with your boy/girlfriend than if you just say "hey, I'm taking my girl to a hotel tonight so I can fuck her brains out"—even though the end result is the same.

This particular setup had inadvertently created an unusual dynamic at the beach: trading-up. Anyone who could afford the lake land that was the entry requirement for use of the private beach was at minimum upper-middle class. Many of the people at the state park were not. Boys from the private beach would routinely cross over to the couples at the state park and start hitting on the more attractive girls there. Since the rich boys could often offer things existing boyfriends often could not, like taking a girl waterskiing or an upgrade from a tent to a lake house, this technique could be reasonably successful (once the girl figured out how she would get back home after ditching the boyfriend). Girls from the private beach, of course, resented the girls coming over from the state park. They wanted to upper-class guys too, and being from money themselves virtually responded to advances from the poor guys regardless of looks. They viewed the state park girls as sluts that the rich boys picked up because they were easy—not entirely incorrect, as the girls who could be convinced to ditch their current boyfriend by a stranger on a beach were not going to be the most closed-legged girls you've ever seen. With all of these sexual dynamics playing out regularly, the beach had seen more than its fair share of fights: boy-girl, boy-boy and girl-girl. 

It was a perfect setup for the Gifted Grifter.

While I had the money and the toys (the rental included boat use), I wasn't a kid anymore. I was going to have to overcome a potentially significant age difference to free one of the campground sluts from her companion. I felt pretty good that the unfair advantage I had through the use of my mindreading sunglasses would be enough to make up the difference.

The boat that came with the lodge I had rented was a 90hp inboard SeaRay; that would work. I tossed in a water ski rope and skis just in case, then piloted the boat over to the beach. I was planning on using the boat as the hook to entice some girl to come with me, so I needed to have it on hand. Arriving in a boat also announced that I had land on the lake—instant "rich" cred.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 05



I made a couple of passes by the beach before anchoring it in the shallows by the swimming area, hoping my arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. I then sauntered across the private area and onto state park lands. I saw a number of worthwhile potential partners already there, so I went about starting to talk to them. My early returns were not encouraging, however. There were two blondes in matching black bikinis; I went to talk to them, but even if they had ideas of ditching their boyfriends they wouldn't or couldn't in front of each other. I talked to another in a yellow and black "Corona" bikini, long brown hair and outstanding abs, but she clearly was not open to the idea of being with someone my age. I similarly talked to a girl with dishwater hair and a nice C-cups (or better?) considering her slimness, wearing a purple reflective bikini top with black bottoms, but she wasn't particularly receptive to someone my age and when her boyfriend returned to the scene she quickly decided to stick with him. I disappeared before I ended up in the hospital. 

After lying low for a while, I came back to the beach with a Captain's chair I had pulled from the boat and sat on the grass, watching the comings and goings, looking for someone else that might be more receptive to my advances.

I watched the blonde walk in from the parking lot. She was tall and skinny, wearing green combat pants and a tight red sleeveless t-shirt. Her boyfriend was wearing swim trunks and nothing else, which was too bad because it would have been nice to cover up his substantial gut. They walked together, but not holding hands as many couples did, even though neither carried enough to prevent them from doing so. I figured she was a prime candidate for a girl looking to upgrade. But was she worth MY time?

I watched a little longer. They went to the far edge of the beach, nearest the private beach boundary, and set out towels on the grassy patch above the sandy part of the beach. Then she reached for her waistband and untied it. She slipped off her flip-flops, then slipped her pants off. The graceful and unconsciously sexy manner in which she did that had me sold that she would be a good lay. She then pulled off her red T-shirt. She was wearing a bikini that was mostly white, vaguely shiny, and had some sort of patch of design in blue on the left breast and right buttock. Her tummy was flat and firm; her breasts were not particularly large, but she was also not flat; they were at least a B-cup and in the context of her skinny frame they stood out appropriately. Her legs, however, were especially long and lean, and their exposed length called attention to her. Yup, plenty good enough.

I strolled in their direction, deciding how I would break the ice. Its hard for a single guy to strike up a conversation with a couple, as you might imagine. 

"Man, is it hot today," I said loudly; they both looked at me, so I had succeed in getting their attention. "Too hot to be sitting on the beach—gotta get out there in my boat!"

"Sounds nice," the girl said, "but we don't have one." The guy looked at me with a look that kills.

"Well, I've got plenty of extra room in mine—why don't you two come along for a ride?" I asked. 

The girl started getting up immediately and gathering her things, saying "that would be great." My sunglasses told me she was thinking 'he must have money if he has a boat—this could be a step up in the world.' The guy mumbled something, but didn't have much of a choice now.

I led the two of them across the state park beach and onto the private area. "Don't worry," I said, "my cottage is part of the private beach club so we're good here." My sunglasses told me the girl was suitably impressed. I paused then asked, "so what are your names anyway?" Her name was Shannon. I don't remember what his name was, since I wasn't paying attention to his answer. 

We waded out to the boat. Her fat-ass boyfriend had trouble climbing aboard in the waist-deep water; Shannon put her hands on the deck and lifted herself straight out of the water in a modified push-up. 

I asked them to pull up anchor. Her boyfriend started looking around, not knowing what to do. Shannon leaned out and grabbed the anchor line, then straightened up and pulled it up. Her ass was tight, and the muscles of her back and thighs twitched effortlessly in the process; she was no stranger to the gym. 

I backed the boat out and started cruising around the lake. Since there were only three of us, I let the boat steer itself for a second while I converted the back seats to a flat deck, designed for sunbathing. 

"Hey Shannon, for the best breeze, lay out on here," I said, slapping the deck. She sat on it, knees bent, supporting her torso with her hands, looking a little like an upside-down "W." "Heh, nice...you look like you belong in a boat ad." I told her. She smiled broadly at that.

I figured that Shannon would get into showing off, so I cruised by the beach a number of times and around the lake in sight of the shore. The guy was getting bored, but Shannon was loving this—exactly as I expected.

"I bet you're a skier," I said to Shannon when I had a chance to peek back at her sunning herself on the deck. 

"I've only done it a few times, but I love it," she said. 

"I've got skis and a rope right under here," I said, tapping my foot on door of the hull storage unit. 

"Uh, I've got to get back," the guy hemmed and hawed.

Shannon looked at him and said, "Come on, have a little fun." Her mind was thinking 'you don't ever want to do anything—except maybe have sex.' He wasn't too up on it—he could tell that the more time Shannon spent with me, the less interest she would have in sticking with him. It was a little soon to force Shannon to choose, but the conversation was heading that way and her last thought told me I had a chance to come out on top.

"Not to worry," I said, "if you want I can drop you off on shore (looking at the boyfriend), and I'll take you out on the lake (looking at Shannon). I can drop you back off here or wherever you want when you're done."

"Okay, that's a great idea." Shannon said. The boyfriend liked this even less, but by now my glasses told me he was getting pissed at her anyway. Shannon was thinking 'good, I don't want you around anyway.' 

I pulled up offshore near the beach and dropped off the boyfriend. Then I raced to the far side of the lake—where she would be all but impossible to see from the shore—before giving her a life jacket and putting her in the water.

"Your boyfriend there—doesn't seem like much fun," I commented.

"No, he's not very adventurous," she admitted.

"You are," I said, referring to the fact she was skiing with a stranger. She liked that label, so I added "I am, too."

She was nowhere near the skier that Lauren, the traveling salesgirl had been, but she could get up and stay up and was having a good time. While she was out on the water, her phone rang. Then five minutes rang again. After the second time, I called out to her "your phone is ringing." She waved her hand in the universal signal for "don't worry about it." I guessed it was her boyfriend, and I could see in my glasses she did too—and didn't care. This was the life she wished she lived, and she didn't get the chance to do this everyday.

She was out for a long time by water skiing standards. I handed her a towel to dry off and started reeling in the rope. She went to listen to her messages; I positioned myself so I could see read her thoughts while I coiled. 

Shannon had gotten four calls from her boyfriend. The first asked her to come back. The second said she better come back or else. The third said he wasn't joking. The fourth said "Fuck you, I'm going home—you can find your own way back, bitch." This must not have been the first time she pulled something like this, because I would think a guy like him didn't land a piece like Shannon very often—he must have been pretty fed up to bail. Heck, even sloppy seconds would be well worth the wait from her.

"Goddamn it," she stamped her foot, "that loser left me stranded here." 

"Jeez, we weren't gone that long," I said, "where are you from anyway?" 

She was living about an hour away, in a town that was a popular vacation destination. She worked there as a lifeguard at a water park. 

"Well, I'm sorry you're stranded, I feel responsible—I'll be happy to take you home when I go home tomorrow, it's not too far out of the way." I said. Plus, you'll have to spend the night somewhere, I thought.

"Well thanks, but what I need someplace to go tonight..." she said.

"No you don't—you'll stay in my cottage. There's plenty of room." I said. I could see in her mind that she knew that more than likely accepting my invitation meant having to sleep with me—but that fact didn't elicit much of reaction either way. I guess she really was a slut. 

"Well, I appreciate that—seems I don't have many options left," she pouted, still mad at the boyfriend. I suddenly wondered how old she was—it shouldn't have been that hard to figure out why he left her here. Then again, pretty girls like Shannon can get away with a lot of stuff; all they need to do is show a little skin, bat those pretty eyes and maybe give a blow job or two and most guys will forgive a lot. "From the message, I expect my stuff is strewn across the beach somewhere; can we go retrieve it?" 

"Sure, I said, then maybe we can go catch some dinner at the bar," I said, then my glasses saw her mind react to that: turns out she was only 19. Yummy. "...or, we can make something at the cottage too."

"I'd just as soon just grill out or something—I don't go to bars much," she replied. She wasn't lying; my glasses told me she had a fake ID (no surprise there) but didn't use it much. Good, it might not be too hard to get her drunk then. She also didn't wasn't to let on how young she was. That was fine by me, because then she wouldn't find out how old I was. 

I went back to the beach and she found her backpack and a few loose items piled up on the blanket they had been lying on when I first interrupted them. She gathered it all up and waded back out to the boat. I drove it back to the cottage and tied it up on the dock, then I led her up to the cottage. 

"Just dump your stuff there in the corner," I said, not wanting to assign her a separate bedroom and not yet ready to suggest she put them in mine. I went into the kitchen area and poured two strong Canadian Club and sevens; she accepted hers and started drinking with the gusto of someone who doesn't get to drink much. I also brought her a bottle of water, a lesson I learned with Lauren, but she barely touched it. 

I went outside and tossed some burgers on the grill. She came outside and sat in a chair, since I was the only person to talk to; she had put her pants back on but remained in her bikini top. She was lean and had nice abs. I poured her a second drink. She asked some stuff about me; I repeated a lot of the story I had been telling Erin, and while she wasn't quite the sucker Erin was for a cloak-and-dagger story, she was eager to hear about anyone whose life she perceived to be more "interesting" than hers. 

After dinner I cleaned up, then took the few food scraps down to the lake to feed the fish. When I came back Shannon was standing by the railing of the deck, looking out towards the lengthening shadows of an approaching sunset. 

"Ooh, that's going to be pretty," I said, "let me get you a fresh drink and I'll join you." 

"Thanks," she said, looking distantly. I came back with her drink; I put mine down on the railing, then stood behind her and wrapped my arms around her midsection while we watched the sun go down. She put one of her arms on mine, perhaps to keep tabs on them, while holding and steadily sipping from her drink with the other. My glasses told me her thoughts were becoming muddled as her buzz intensified. She wasn't particularly inhibited to begin with, so once the alcohol reduced them even further she started to get horny; she was actually starting to fantasize about fucking ME. OK, guess I didn't need my glasses anymore.

I kept one arm on her belly while with the other I took off my glasses and put them into their hard protective case—not easy with one hand. The arm that was on her belly wasn't just idle now, I was slowly and deliberately feeling the smooth, textured surfaces of her 19-year old skin. 

When I finished putting my glasses away, I didn't put that arm with the other. Instead, I gently untied the back of her bikini. She felt me do it and didn't stop me. Once untied, I slid my hand forward and held her right breast in my right hand. At the same time, I started to nibble on her left ear. The way she leaned back into me told me that she liked this so far. 

I was pretty sure that even if there were people in the neighboring cottages they couldn't see, but I still felt a little too out in the open to be openly fondling Shannon this way. "Let's go inside," I whispered, and wordlessly she followed me. 

I closed the door and drew the shades. Shannon waited until I was watching her before she pulled her top off completely. With the top in her hands high above her head, she moved in slow motion to discard it, giving me time to get close to her. When I did, she put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I put one arm around her, while I played with her nipple with the other. It was soon fully erect.

Shannon then started to feel for my penis in my shorts—it wasn't difficult to find by now. She gently moved things around so that my penis was free enough for her to hold in her hand. Successful, she began stroking it. 

Suddenly Shannon started getting shorter—or so it seemed. Actually, she was doing a slow knee bend, like a stripper might. She kept going until my penis was at the same level as her mouth. She then pulled my pants down entirely and, after a few introductory licks, swallowed me whole.

Its funny, I got the distinct impression that Shannon was trying extra hard to impress me. I didn't have my glasses on, but it dawned on me that this might be another age thing; Shannon knew I was older, and expected that I would have had lots of experience. She didn't want to let on how young she was—especially after I had served her a considerable amount of alcohol—so she was trying extra hard to appear older and more experienced herself. 

Shannon had seen some porn somewhere, perhaps from a boyfriend or on the Internet, because she was trying her best to deep throat me. I wasn't complaining. But she didn't do very much with her tongue while my dick was in her mouth; I guess she couldn't see that on the screen, so it hadn't occurred to her to do it. For her, sex was still mostly about reproducing physical actions she had seen; learning how to learn from your partner's reactions was still a lesson in progress. But don't get me wrong; she was a pretty young thing sucking my cock, I was hard enough to hammer down the loose nails in the staircase with my dick. And yes, ladies, its sad but its true: her 19-year old body, and to some degree just knowing that she was only 19, makes a man extra, extra hard.

She had moved from her deep-knee bend to a conventional kneeling position, but I couldn't help but think that with all the chairs around, she didn't have to be kneeling to blow me. But kneeling while sucking does have kind of a submissive undertone to it, which makes it that much sexier. Since she had gone down on her knees of her own accord, I wasn't going to stop her.

But if she didn't stop sucking me soon, I was gonna pop off in her mouth. I thought about whether I should, in fact, but decided I wanted to fuck her too—and the amount of time it would take me to be ready to go a second time would be a signal of just how old I was, so I decided I would have to hold my load for now.

With some reluctance I pulled my dick out from between her lovely red lips. With a slight nudge, she got the message to go to the sofa. I went to kneel before her; she took her pants and panties off before I got there. She didn't just drop them, though: she pulled them off her butt, sat down, straightened her legs up in the air, and slipped them all the way up and off without bending her knees. I could barely touch my toes; she could take her knickers off without bending her knees. And I was gonna fuck her!

I knelt now and began to lick her muff. She had a bikini wax; her pubic hair was dark gold, so her hair color must be natural. I also noticed that she had a small tattoo of a red devil near the fold where the legs join the torso, just up and to the left of her mound. It was meant to be only visible when she was sharing her pussy.

Now again the porn thing—I wonder if she did these things just because she was trying to impress me or if she always did them. Anyway, she spread her legs in a wide-open V, but kept them straight. Nevertheless, she was able to grab her ankles and hold on while I slurped at her crotch. Perhaps she had been trained as a dancer or gymnast; or maybe she was just fucking 19. 

I wanted to eat her until she came, but the fact was she was looking so good I was gonna blow my nuts any minute, and I didn't want to get cheated out of feeling her from the inside. She was plenty wet, so I straightened up and rammed my erection into her pussy. She watched me with a sexy, mischievous look on her face while I penetrated her. Her blond hair, mussed from the water, framed her pretty face. Her bare breasts, nipples fully erect, enticed me and responded to my thrusting with gentle rippling back and forth. Her lower torso muscles were even more defined by her stretch, but especially her long, lean legs, splayed out unbent to either side and being held there by her own hands; THAT was hot. As a result, I was thrusting at full power from the moment I entered her. I held off for as long as I could until I had to let go. Waves of pleasure emanated from my groin as I gleefully ejaculated repeatedly inside her. 

After I came we lay intertwined on the couch for some time, talking some, playing some, teasing some. Eventually we headed to bed. She was young, of course, so she was wide awake. Maybe my dick understood that it didn't get 19-year old pussy very often, because it was ready to go again surprisingly quickly. I nailed Shannon again, in the bedroom, before drifting off to sleep. 

I was hoping for some morning trim too, but without the alcohol in her—and perhaps seeing me in the harsh morning light—it didn't happen. I fed her breakfast, closed up the cottage, then drove her back to her place before heading home myself. I gave her the cell phone number I was using at the time and she gave me hers (she claimed; I never tested it). She never called, which was probably for the better. I'm sure she was splitting that beaver for some young stud before the week was out.

Because when you're hot and only 19, you can... 



Gifted Grifter Ch. 06



Chapter 6: Julie Pays the Bills, Part I

For nearly a year I had been living as the Gifted Grifter, and I was getting into an established routine. I would travel to Vegas or Atlantic City under an assumed name, betting horses and sports during the day, using my mindreading glasses to pick up tips from knowledgeable bettors. At night I would hit the poker rooms, using my glasses to know what everyone else at the table had in their hands when the table stakes got big; with those advantages, I could usually net 20-40K in about three days of play. I would then retire that identity for a while and assume a new one, swap out one prepaid cell phone for another, and for the next three months or so I would live off my winnings. I would travel a little, especially up to lake country, but mostly I would cruise for girls, using my glasses to custom-tailor my outward presentation so as to maximize my chances of getting them into bed. I was successfully seducing 5-10 girls a month, but almost all of them were one-night stands; that meant I slept alone two-thirds of the time, and even when I didn't, I wasn't really getting to know anyone. When I started as the GG, I was all pumped about the variety offered by having sex with many different partners. I didn't realize I would still be so lonely.

I was just back from Vegas, so it was time to change identities again. I figured that "Tom," the identity I had used when I first started living as the Gifted Grifter, had probably been dormant long enough that I could re-use it. Just to be sure, I checked Tom's MySpace page. I should explain; when I changed identities, the old one would disappear, right down to the phone number no longer being in service. But I realized I might meet some people along the way that I may wish to reconnect with later, so I had decided that I would create a separate MySpace page for every identity. If someone really wanted to contact one of my old identities, MySpace should be one place where they would look for me. They could send a friends request, and I could decide whether I wanted to be contacted or not. 

I had no reason to think that anyone would want to contact "Tom"—but I was wrong. As "Tom," I had spent a few nights with a high-price call girl named Julie who worked under the name of Heather; she later texted me to tell me she had quit the business. She had moved back to her hometown of Oklahoma City last I heard; although I knew she credited me with helping her decide to leave the sex industry, really I was just a former customer to her. I had no reason to think she would want to contact me—but I discovered that in fact she had been trying to reach me for three months, with increasing urgency. She had even left me her direct cell phone number in several messages; I figured it didn't hurt to call.

The first time I called her, she was relieved that I was finally calling her, but she couldn't talk at the time. She said she would call back later that night. I told her to make note of the number I was calling from, it was my new one. I had no idea what to expect.

Finally she called me back. She filled me in that she was going to school, taking classes at the local community college. She had bought a condo with the money she had saved up as an escort in Vegas, and she was sharing it with a new boyfriend, who was also a student. Even after buying the condo she had some money left, so they had been in decent financial shape—until her boyfriend got sick. They found a lump on one of his testicles, which they removed and he had gone through additional chemotherapy. He seemed to be completely remitted, but as a student he didn't have any health insurance. She had spent all of her remaining savings on his medical bills, and they had taken out all the student loans they qualified for, but they were still $15,000 short—and the medical collectors were becoming aggressive. If she didn't pay them soon, she was going to have to sell their condo; selling quickly in a soft market, she would be lucky to get half of its market value back. She started to sob briefly when she said she had worked hard to get the life she now had; she really didn't want to start over again. She needed to find a way to make $15,000 quickly.

"I'm guessing this is the part where I come in," I said, mildly annoyed. I felt bad for her, but I was not about to become a charity for retired hookers.

She picked up my annoyance right away. "Look, I think you would have the money, but I would never just ask you to give me $15,000. If anything, I already owe you—you were so nice to me in Vegas that you gave me the courage to try to reclaim a life for myself again. I didn't call to beg...I called to propose an....arrangement...where I might be able to work to earn the money."

I had no idea where she was going with this. "What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?"

"I can't go back to Vegas. I really don't want to have sex with complete strangers anymore, let alone having to worry about how my boyfriend would react if it came out what I was doing," she said, "but I don't think of you as a stranger. I feel I can trust you; truth is, I kind of like you, and I think I would like you even more if I got to know you better."

"Well, thanks I guess," I said, still perplexed, "but what does that have to do with your needing $15,000?"

"How would you like to be my sugar daddy?" she replied, turning up the sultriness in her voice. "I can be a real, real good little girl..."

I wasn't sure I was understanding her right. "Sugar daddy? Excuse me if I'm being slow, but what exactly do you mean by that?" I asked.

"It means that you take care of me like you were my rich daddy, and I show you my appreciation by giving you some of that special sugar only I can give." she purred. "I kept a lot of my old tools of the trade from when I was working, I could dig them out again..."

"Wait, I'm confused. Are you offering me sex for money?" I asked. It sure sounded like it. "How is that different from going back to hooking?"

"One, rather than having sex with a complete stranger every night, it would be having sex with someone I know—you" she explained. "Two, I wouldn't have to go out looking for johns, so there's no risk of getting arrested. And three—what makes this a good deal for you—there's no fixed rate of exchange. You pay a prostitute a set fee, but as a sugar daddy, everything is voluntary. I've told you how much I need, but it's up to you what if anything you want to give me. And since I'm dependent on your good will for what I want, it's in my interest to make you as happy as possible so that you'll want to give me what I need." "So you'd basically be trying to earn $15,000 worth of good will from me by satisfying me as much a possible," I paraphrased. 

"Whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want it, as often as you want" she purred.

Hmm. By the sound of it, this was an open invitation to a weekend of wall-to-wall fucking. And one thing I knew from my prior experiences with Julie, she was pretty damn good at giving a man EXACTLY what he liked. I couldn't deny being at least a little interested. I told her I'd think about it.

It was a little after 11 when I hung up the phone. I got in my car and drove down to one of the local watering holes, wearing my mindreading hat. There were a number of girls there that I would have taken home with me, but I was unable to talk any of them into it. That's the thing about the mindreading hat: you can read people thoughts, but you can't influence them. Same thing in poker: it's a huge advantage to know what someone else has in their hand, but you still have to have a better hand to win. 

Having returned alone, I lay in bed thinking about Julie's offer. 15 grand was a lot of scratch; in fact, I didn't have it to spare, I would have to go and make some money first. But it also meant that I would have a weekend of high-quality sex whenever and however I wanted it. I was up for that. In truth, I was having a mental block around the boyfriend. Funny, when I picked up chicks in other places I usually didn't care that they had a boyfriend—course, I usually only talked to them if I could tell that they were unhappy (and thus potentially seducible). She hadn't really said much about her relationship with her boyfriend other than she had spent her saving on his bills, but no matter what she would have to cheat on him to keep her part of the bargain. I envisioned her fighting guilt about cheating on her boyfriend the whole time she was trying to satisfy me, and that as a result she wouldn't be the same expert man-satisfier I had known in Vegas. I didn't think this was going to work.

I called her the next day and told her so; I didn't think I could be her sugar daddy knowing that she had a steady boyfriend back home.

"Once again, you are being the nice guy," she said, "not wanting to be with a girl cheating on her boyfriend. But I wouldn't have made this proposition if I wasn't desperate, and I fully intend to keep my part of the bargain. I know this sounds weird, but it's because I have a boyfriend that I am making this proposition. Like I said yesterday, I couldn't go out picking up johns again. But you...I think of you as a nice guy, someone who I can trust—someone I could easily imagine choosing to have sex with in the right circumstances. Yes, I do have boyfriend and no, I wouldn't cheat on him for no good reason, but its not like we are not married or engaged or anything. As far as I'm concerned, I'm single, and who I sleep with is my decision. You're the only person I know that might be able to help me out of this bind and is also on the list of people I would be interested in sleeping with."

That was kind of flattering, in a way. "I think you may be underestimating your attachment," I countered. "Your feelings about your boyfriend may feel like something you can put aside when you're a thousand miles away, but I imagine that when the moment of truth came, you'd feel guilty—which would make me feel guilty—and it wouldn't work for either of us."

"I thought about that a lot before I called you," she answered. "That's why I couldn't do this with anyone else but you. I think of it like spending time with an old flame, and I am still single enough to have a right to do that. And," she continued, "I think you underestimate the degree to which a working girl has to put aside her feelings in order to be sexy, especially when you're asked to do something that deep down you hate to do. So you needn't worry about that; I can and will be every bit as available to you as when you knew me before. I am making this offer to YOU after all, not the other way around. You should not feel any guilt about accepting what I am freely offering."

That last line made a lot sense. She might have lingering guilt issues once she went back to him, but I needn't concern myself with that. She was making an unsolicited offer to me; on my end, the only question should be whether I wanted to accept it or not. 

"Well..." I said.

"Don't forget, for you there's no risk. If you don't feel that you got what you wanted out of the arrangement, you don't have to give me a dime," she said. "I'm the one taking the risk—its up to me to prove to you that I'm worthy of the money I'm asking you for. If I can't deliver to your satisfaction, well then you'll have gotten a whole lot of free sex."

That convinced me. I didn't have to give her the money just because I knew she needed it—I probably would, but if she came up and just started bawling, well, I wouldn't be out much. No, she was going to be working her hardest to satisfy me for a whole weekend. It really did seem like I couldn't lose. 

"All right, I'll give it a go," I said. There was a long weekend coming up; I asked if she could fly in on Thursday and stay until Sunday. She said she would find a way to be there. I asked her for her last name and email so I could buy her tickets and she would get the confirmations. I told her I would pick her up at the airport and I would take care of everything from there. She agreed. Then in a purposefully naughty tone, she ended our conversation with "Thank you, daddy. You're so nice to me. I want to be nice to you, too."

This could be fun, I thought as I hung up the phone. 

I went online; now that I knew her real name, I looked her up in a number of legal databases. Julie had no arrests in Oklahoma. She had two arrests in Nevada, one all charges dropped, one conviction for solicitation. It seemed she was on the level, so I went ahead and booked airline tickets for her.

First thing the next morning I called Erin, my real estate agent, and arranged for a rental for the long holiday weekend. Being a popular weekend, there wasn't as much available as usual, but she found a small, older lake cottage for us. I told her I'd have to mail her a check this time; I usually paid cash up front for my rentals. I sent Julie a quick message telling her to pack a swimsuit she could actually swim in.

That settled, I rented a car—not just any car, but one with style. I looked at a number of exotics that I figured were a little too fragile for lake country; I finally settled on a brand-new Mustang convertible, red with retro-style black rally stripes to match the roof. I put the top down and started driving. My destination: Chicago. For three days I spent my days in the OTBs of Chicago betting horses. I then would drive to the casinos in northwest Indiana and play the highest stakes poker game I could find. I wasn't the stakes I was playing in Vegas, so it took a lot more time to make much money. Fortunately, I had good luck at the track, and cleared almost 20 grand in the three days. 

I stopped at three banks on the way back; at the first two, I had $7500 cashier's checks made out to Julie (I had to split them up or the feds would start tracking me as potential drug dealer). The third I sent to my real estate broker. The major arrangements now complete, I drove back home. I had a couple of days before she arrived; I spent much of them deciding what I was going to have Julie do to earn her money.

-----------------------

Julie's flight got in at 1:30. With modern airport security, I had to wait in the main terminal area; I couldn't greet her at the gate. I smiled when I saw her coming through the gate; she was wearing tan shorts and flip-flops with a tight, light blue tank top; she had knotted the tank top in the back so that it now rode above her belly button, displaying a new belly button ring. I was starting to understand Julie; I had no trouble imagining her wearing her tank top normally for the entire trip, then just before landing going to the bathroom and tying it up short so as to make a better show when she deplaned. And quite a show she made; as with almost every other time I had been with her, every man I could see was stopping to stare at the gorgeous blonde showing bountiful amounts of skin. She probably knew they were looking, but as always her concentration was fixed on me as if I was the only person there. In many ways, that oneness of purpose was as sexy as her outfits. She had been growing her hair out and was more tan than she was when she was working nights in Vegas, but her flat stomach and defined abs remained. 

She waved and came right up to me and threw both her arms around me in a big hug. I hugged her back, my hands touching the bare strip of skin at her midsection. Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek—not the quick continental hello-goodbye kisses we had shared before, but rather a kiss of affection. I wasn't expecting that. I guess she had meant it when she said she could imagine freely choosing to sleep with me.

I went with her to get her luggage. She had a decent-sized carry-on and not one but two suitcases. At first I thought what can she have in there, she's only here for four days. Then I remembered her telling me she still had a lot of tools from her working days, and I realized she had probably brought along extra goodies for me. Wow. She was serious about this.

I carried her bags to the Mustang like a gentleman, then got in, pulled the top down, and started driving.

"Nice car," she said.

"A rental," I admitted, "I told you I move around from place to place a lot, that's why you couldn't reach me for so long. Renting is much easier when you're always traveling. I've rented us a cottage on a lake for the weekend." 

"Wow, really?" Julie asked. "That was nice of you. Sounds like fun."

"I go up there a lot," I explained, "so I thought it would be nice. I'm sorry, though, because after your flight and all it means we still have a three-hour drive ahead of us."

"Well, with the top down I can work on my tan," she replied.

We made mostly small talk in the car. She ran her fingers through my hair a few times, but not much else happened. About halfway to the lake there was a rest stop and Julie needed to use the bathroom. When she came back she asked if we could close the roof, she had had enough wind for a while. I was actually thinking the same thing. But since I wasn't wearing my glasses or hat, I couldn't tell that it was actually a ruse.

I put the top up and started driving. She now turned around in her seat to face me while I drove. She ran her fingers through my hair a little, but then changed hands and started running her fingers up and down my thigh. My little Tom received the wakeup call. When she saw the bulge start to from, she started to rub it with her hand. I had been racing through the traffic, but now I slowed down so that I wouldn't crash into anyone while driving in half-distracted state. 

She reached over with both of her hands and unzipped my shorts. It took a little finagling to free my hard-on from under my t-shirt and boxer-briefs while I was sitting and seat-belted, but she accomplished the task. She took my penis in her hand and gently, expertly stroked it. In the meantime, she leaned over and put her tongue into my ear (good thing I'm not very ticklish). Then, with a devilish look, she slipped under the top seat belt and bent over so as to take my penis into her mouth. 

I was a captive; I couldn't move much and still drive. Not that I would have wanted to, mind you. She knew I could do little but sit there and take what she was giving. And what she was giving was a first-rate blow job. She was in no hurry; we still had over an hour to go. She seemed to like the feeling of control she had, slowly sliding my dick into and out her mouth, sensing its responding to her administrations. For almost 20 minutes she just played, her mouth and my dick. Then she started to speed up and suck harder, knowing this would bring me to orgasm. In short order, it did. Again she surprised me; she held my penis in her mouth while it was ejaculating, then swallowed my entire load. She then used her tongue to clean my penis off entirely before slipping it back into my shorts. 

"Did you like that, Daddy?" she teased.

"I think we're gonna have fun this weekend," I replied.

I took my mindreading sunglasses out of my pocket for a moment and looked at her to see what she was thinking.

"Okay, that's a start," she thought. "Now maybe he won't be so afraid that I won't keep my end of the bargain. What's next...I know, when he shows me be bedroom I'll strip for him and jump into bed naked right away. We'll have to see what happens after that."

"Eh, I don't like these sunglasses as much as my other ones," I pronounced to explain why I would be taking off one pair and replacing them with another (my non-mindreading ones). It was clear that this weekend Julie was bound and determined to have sex with me every time I showed the slightest interest. I was going to be much happier, for a change, just letting her surprise me.

-----------------------

When we got to the cottage, Julie was good to her word. The cottage was old and small, but had been kept clean. It had a high arched ceiling with a loft, a small open room by the front door, a small bathroom, a galley kitchen, and a single master bedroom. I carried my bag and one of Julie's, she carried the other. We took them to the back bedroom.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 06



"So, how's the bed?" Julie asked after I put down my bags, pushing me over so I fell onto the bed. 

"Hey," I started to say, but as I turned face up I saw she was already pulling her tank top over her head, slowly, making a show of it. I stayed put. She threw it to the floor, then started to undo her shorts. She looked at me and bit her lip (uber-sexy!) while stripping them off, then she dropped her underwear and climbed onto the bed with me (we hadn't even taken pulled back the sheets). She looked into my eyes, licking her lips, while with her hands she undid my shorts and pulled them off. She bent to suck my dick to full hardness—which didn't take much more effort after the show—while rubbing herself. Then she straddled me and fucked me. She bounced up and down on my cock, arching her back slightly. Like I had done with her in Vegas, I used my thumb to rub her clitoris while she bobbed. Her breathing became shallow and her skin became flushed, so I knew she was enjoying it, but I was unable to hold my own orgasm long enough for her to have one too. I decided right then that I would not let the weekend end without her getting at least one, too. 

After I came, she stayed on top of me with my softening dick inside her. She bent over so that she was laying on top of me, however, and kissed me—square on the lips, without hesitation, without reservation. She kissed me like she was having sex with someone she wanted to have sex with. This was MUCH better than when she was a working girl.

I at least was starving, however, so I suggested we go to one of the local places for dinner. She opened a suitcase and pulled out a black miniskirt and shiny, silvery top with a halter neck—although this was waist-length, and her wonderful midriff only peeked out when she would bend in certain ways. However, given the lake country atmosphere and the sandy ground all around, she opted to keep the flip-flops on instead of putting on FMPs (fuck-me pumps). Once again, every guy in the bar stared at her at least once: long blonde hair, back showing through the halter-neck top, legs that didn't stop and that were largely on display in her skirt. Once again, she didn't pay attention to anyone but me. I noticed I was getting some jealous stares, too. I had a couple of beers and a steak; she had a healthy chicken dish and, when I insisted she drink whatever she wanted, a Cosmopolitan—which they served in a highball glass. I figured they didn't have martini glasses at a lake country bar and grill, and may well have never made a Cosmo before. She didn't let on whether it tasted OK or not, but she didn't order another. At dinner, and for about an hour afterward, we talked about more personal things than we had to that point. Although she was from (and lived in) Oklahoma City, I was surprised to find that she had big-city tastes—in music, fashion, even housing. This was no country girl.

On the way back to the cottage, Julie asked me if I had any specific requests for the night. I said I had some, but that I wanted her to surprise me that first night. 

"I've got it covered," she smiled.

At the cottage, Julie asked me for help locating a boom box (most cottages have one, to listen to the radio in case of bad weather); we found one on a bottom shelf. Then she told me to get comfortable and sit tight on the ugly, old golden sofa in the main room. I poured myself a drink and did as I was told.

When Julie came out from the back bedroom, she was dressed like a hot-ass secretary or business woman. She was wearing a white blouse with a scarf tied at the collar, a tight knee-length red skirt, and business pumps. She had put her hair up and even had a pair of faux glasses. I imagined myself splashing those glasses with my sperm. I just sat and watched. 

She went to the boom box and put in a cassette. She took a second to rewind it, then started it up. Once the music started, she started to strip to it. She chose a great song too—"Battle Flag," by Low Fidelity All-Stars. Lots of heavy bass, to which she would scrunch her abs and writhe her hips back and forth like a snake coming out of a charmer's basket. 

She would come up to me and kick her leg in a semi-circle right over my head (she had to pull her skirt up first). She started by undoing her hair and letting it fly free. Then she untied the scarf and the top buttons of the shirt far enough for cleavage to start to show. She put her hands down next to me and bent way over so I could look down her shirt, then flipped her hair around in front of my face so I couldn't lean in for a better look—what a tease! She also untied the string on my shorts; since we weren't at a strip club, we didn't have to observe any no-touching rules! 

Then with a skirt hike and another leg kick over me, she pulled back and stripped some more. She ditched the glasses (awww) and started unbuttoning the shirt. She was wearing an orange bikini top with fringe handing off of it underneath. When she took the shirt off, I wriggled my shorts down to stroke my fully-erect penis with my hand. 

She smiled when she saw me do that. She came closer and put her hand on my penis, stroking it while putting her face and cleavage close to my but backing away if I tried getting closer to either. Arrgh! Then she stood up with her side to me, and started to unzip the side-zipper of her skirt; she motioned for me to finish the job, which I did. Once it was free, she let it slide down her legs and kicked it aside. She was wearing a g-string that matched the bikini top. 

I started jerking off again. She put her high heel on the top sofa just to right (my left) of my head, and she bend inwards so that her crotch was right by my face. She was trying to let it rub my nose; she was wanting me to smell her. Mmmmm. Then, just before she stood up to strip some more, she pulled her g-string aside and with both of her hands pulled her pussy lips apart for me to see all the way inside her. I lunged for them with my tongue, but she knew that would be coming and ducked away before I could taste her yummy juices. GodDAMN she was hot. 

She pulled her arms out of the straps of her top but didn't take it off. I noticed that a different song was playing now, one I didn't recognize, but with the same general throbbing beat. She stood in front of me with her legs far apart, and bend over to grab her ankle, showing me her fine ass—gave it a spank, even. Then she did something that would never happen at a strip club: she turned around, bend similarly over, but made my dick disappear into the depths of her throat. She pulled her hair to the side and looked at me, giving my dick a few introductory sucks. Then she stood up, sliding her cleavage over my face and mouth. This time she let me get in a few licks as they passed by.

She stood up and backed away again, looking at me, reaching behind her back, and unclasping her top. But she didn't let it fall; she held it over her breasts by keeping her arms tight to her side. She put her heel on the couch next to me, slid across so that her breasts were over my head—I of course was looking up at them—and let the bra fall onto my face like a bomber. 

I quickly shook it off my face, by which time she was standing away from me again, using her fingers to play with her nipples and get them erect. When they were, she came and put her tits in my face again, letting me lick the nipples briefly, and stroking my penis with her hand. Then she put her heel on the top of the sofa again, pulled her g-string away, and rubbed her wet snatch on my face. I could tell by the wonderful smell she was getting off on getting me off. 

I couldn't wait any more—I had to fuck her. I started to get up, at which point I finally interrupted her routine. I got up to quickly kill the music, then told her to sit on the couch. She did, and I pulled off the G-string, then I buried my face in her shaved snatch. Once I felt her clit rising, I pulled her vagina open with my hands and licked everything. I could feel her reaching for my penis, wanting me to put it in her, but I wasn't in a hurry to do that yet—I wanted to lick her to orgasm. I don't think she expected that, but when I resisted her encouraging she got the hint, lay back and relaxed, and let me work my tongue up and down her genitals. Face-deep in her, I freed a hand and used it stimulate her nipples at the same time. She started to breathe heavily at first, then started making pleasure noises. It took a while—perhaps ten minutes of continuous licking—but eventually I felt her curl up her back, and then I felt rhythmic contractions emanating from her torso. I guess I can't be certain, but with any other girl I had been with that meant she had an orgasm.

She responded like she had had an orgasm, too: she held me tight with both arms and kissed me hard—and for the first time, we shared tongues. While kissing me, she reached for my penis to stroke it, but I like giving head, so I had lost little of my erection. She was certainly wet enough now, but just to be sure she sucked my dick a few times. Then I gently guided her to sit back in the chair, rotated her hips towards me as I knelt before her, and pushed my penis into her. 

She was the wettest I had ever felt her. She still, however, did that magical squeezing thing with her pussy while I slid in and out. I bent over her and we kissed while I fucked her. Then I knelt straight up and just fucked her. I bent over to ask if she could hold her ankles; of course she could. She grabbed each ankle with the corresponding hand, creating a wide-open "V" for me to fuck. She was almost too beautiful to be real in that position. I fucked like a madman; she closed her eyes and enjoyed the ride. Eventually I felt that extra-rigidity building; she did too, and opened her eyes to watch me cum. When I came it felt like I had dumped a beach pail full of cum into her. Amazing girl that she was, she continued to hold her ankles for me until she felt the last spasm of orgasm subside. Then she let go of her ankles and locked her long legs around me while locking her arms around me as well. My penis was still inside of her, but shrinking fast. She kissed me and again we shared tongues. 

With effort, I stood up, and as I expected, she was locked onto me so that I was now carrying her. Latched onto me by arms, legs and crotch, I carried her into the back bedroom. She lay next to me, one leg still wrapped around me, kissing me for a long time until we both drifted off to sleep.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 07



Chapter 7: Julie Pays the Bills, Part II

I was awakened the morning by my dick. More accurately, my brain was stirred to alertness by sensations being transmitted to it by my dick. Julie had woken up first, and decided that she would wake me up with a blow job. If I could invent an alarm clock that could do that, I'd be richer than Bill Gates. 

She looked up at me when she realized I was awake. She was curled up next to me, with my penis in her mouth and her one hand helping out. She looked at me with a look like a boarding school girl might give when she was doing something as naughty as sucking dick. I rested one hand on her naked shoulder, to acknowledge my receipt of this attention really, and otherwise let her do her thing. Now awake, I got harder, to which she responded by sucking harder, and soon I was exploding in her mouth. Just like in the car, she swallowed my entire load, then licked my penis clean with her tongue. I now reached for her and pulled her next to me and kissed her, full tongue. I could still taste traces of my semen in her mouth, but I didn't care—it was my cum, if she could swallow it the least I could do is put up with the taste.

When we stopped kissing, she looked at me mischievously and said "Good morning, Daddy. Did you like that?"

"Baby girl," I said, "you need to eat a more nutritious breakfast than that. You're a growing girl," I said, patting her naked breasts, "you need some vitamins and stuff, too." I kissed her again and hit the shower. She came in and joined me, but I wasn't ready to get up again just yet. Still, I got to soap up her entire body. I loved sudsing up her tits.

Out of the shower, I explained that we would have to run to Poser's for supplies for the weekend. She put on shorts and a short halter top, we put the top down on the car and ran to the store. I bought food to grill and, of course, picked up a liter of Canadian Club. I asked what she wanted to drink this weekend; she said CC was fine. I put the liter back and grabbed a 1.75 instead. I was going to make breakfast, but we opted for coffee and a Danish instead. I noticed that she was eating more like a normal person than she had in Vegas. She hadn't put on any weight, though; if anything her muscles were more defined. She must be putting in even more time at the gym.

Back at the cottage, we took a tour of the grounds. There was a shed; we found the key inside and discovered it contained boating and fishing gear and two old ten-speed bikes in decent shape. I decided that I would take her for a tour of the lakes region by bike; I could see she would have no trouble, I just hoped I could keep up. 

She put on an exercise half-shirt and we went riding. I led for the first half, as I knew where to go. She led back. I had to work hard to stay on her rear wheel, but the sight of that strip of skin between the shorts and shirt kept me going.

We were hungry by the time we got back, more than two hours later. She was sweaty and jumped back in the shower to freshen up. I just took off my sweaty shirt and started warming the stove to make us some pudgie pies for lunch. I felt her squeeze behind me and go to the bedroom, but I was working on lunch and didn't pay attention. A couple of minutes she came back out. I suddenly became aware of very, very soft gently rubbing up and down my back. She had come out wearing a bikini bottom and the white shirt from last night, unbuttoned, with nothing underneath. She was now rubbing her breasts up and down my back. My dick got very attentive very quickly!

I wanted to fuck her right then and there, but lunch was ready. 

"Dammit," I said, "lunch is ready. Now I'm gonna be unable to sit right all through lunch." She just smiled and took the plate I offered her. 

There was a round table in the common room with old kitchen chairs around it for the eating area. I sat in one, she sat in the one next to it on the right. She sat with her right leg tucked up to her chin, holding the plate with her left hand and feeding herself with the right. When I was paying attention to my food, she would take her left leg and run it up and down my calves; when I paid attention to her, she stopped and pretended to look away. She was also playing games with her shirt; she would lean back, which would allow the shirt to flap open and her breasts to peek out either side of the opening. When I started looking at them, she would pull closer in to hide them behind her leg. What a fucking tease! Damn good thing she always finished what she started. 

We finished and I took our plates to the sink. She stayed sitting coyly, hugging her raised leg, watching me, playing with me, seeing how I would get the fucking started. As I walked back, she cooed "Did you want something, Daddy?" The devil himself lived in her eyes. 

I could have whipped it out and stuck my dick in her face; I think that's what she expected I would do. But her raised leg was giving me another opportunity.

"There's something I want to show you, little girl." I replied. She was thinking I was referring to my dick. Instead I got down on the floor in front of her chair, pulled aside the bikini bottoms, and started to rub her vagina.

"Now, this is how a big girl has a good time," I said. I felt her clit start to rise. "Especially, right here," I said, and started to run my tongue over her clit. I heard her emit a sound halfway between a moan and a coo. Then she slid her pelvis down towards the end of the chair, so that her vagina was more easily reached, and lifted her other leg. She sat there, with her feet on the chair, legs folded in to her chest, holding her ankles for balance, opening her thighs as far as she could without falling while I gave her head. When she started getting more excited, she couldn't hold that position, so she dropped one leg to the side of the chair and slung the other over my shoulder. Then I could really bury my tongue in her muff. It didn't take anywhere near as long as it had the night before to get her to orgasm. 

After she came, she sat up in the chair, held my face in her two hands, and kissed me deeply. She started reaching for my pants; I stood up to help. She sat on the chair and swallowed me. She was masturbating with her left hand while sucking my dick, hands-free, as I stood before her. 

I wanted to be inside her. Once I was fully hard, I stepped back and took her hands in mine. Then I threw anything that was left on the table to the floor and helped her hop up onto it. She positioned her hips at the edge of the table and spread her legs; I lunged my cock into her pussy. The table wasn't the most stable thing in the world, so she had to hold on to the edges of the table with both hands while I fucked her. This gave me a perfect opportunity to slide those damn shirt folds out of the way and run my hands up and down her breasts and torso. The breasts were soft and pliable, while her stomach was hard and muscled. What a perfect body she had. She was gorgeous. I took my leisurely time, rhythmically sliding in and out of her snatch but not increasing the tempo. In time I sensed that she was getting more aroused again; then I sped up the action. We were both nearing plateau; I think that she came again, although I can't say for sure because I was too wrapped up in my own massive orgasm.

I ran my hands up and down her body some more; she couldn't sit up to meet me for fear of tipping the table over. So I held the table steady while she hopped off it. We then stood embracing in the middle of the floor, kissing.

After a time, I told her to put on a swimsuit she could swim in; she came out in a different bikini (I imagined that my sperm had run out of her vagina and soiled the one she was just wearing) that was day-glow green, with shorts over it. 

We jumped in the 'stang and I took her to the lake rental place. 

"Have you ever water skied?" I asked.

She nodded no; not a whole lot of water in either Oklahoma City or Vegas for that. "Do you want to try to learn?" I didn't know how that would go, since I don't ski, but she didn't want to anyway. 

I rented a ski boat for the afternoon anyway. We rode around the lake; she took off her shorts and sat on the back deck of the boat sunning herself. She sat with her legs crooked and her torso leaned back, supported by her arms, looking a little like the letter "W." Her bright bikini called attention to her existence and her well-formed body spoke for itself; as always, I noticed guys in other boats craning to take a look at the ornament on the back deck of my boat. 

I pulled up at the dock of our rental, and ran to the shed to get a tow rope and inner tube. She had never tubed, either, but I knew she would like it, and I promised I would be gentle. I was, too—I didn't want her to be too sore from tubing to be able to keep fucking me like a minx! She loved it—although at one point she wiped out and very nearly lost the bottoms of her suit. 

Time flew until it was time to take the boat back. I took her out for dinner at a little place by the dock (where it wasn't out of the ordinary to dine in a swim suit) and then we went back to the cottage.

When we got back, she asked me again if I had any fantasies I wanted to play out.

"Yes," I said, "I've always fantasized of being a porn photographer. I'd like if you would pose for me." 

I didn't have my mindreading glasses on, but I could see that that idea did not sit well with Julie.

"You don't like that idea," I noted.

"Its just...if I let you take pictures of me, how do I know that you won't post them on the Internet, and someday I'll lose a job over it?" she said. "Or that you won't blackmail with them somehow. I'm sorry, I really want to make you happy, but I'm here in secret—you're my rich Uncle Tom so far as anyone knows. I can't risk the secret getting out."

"OK," I said, "but I wouldn't post it them on the Internet—I don't need the money, and without a legal release form I could get arrested for posting them. But we both know that it happens all the time anyway, so I can't blame you for that. But, you do realize," I continued, "that if I wanted to blackmail you, I could do that right now? I don't need pictures—I know you were a hooker, and now I know your real name. All I would need to do is tell someone to look you up in the Nevada circuit court records—isn't that true?"

Julie looked away and kept looking away. I could sense she was tense, and was fighting to keep her emotions under control. Clearly, she had never thought through the fact that I had "the goods" on her so to speak. She had trusted me to be discreet about our relationship in the short run; she hadn't realized she was going to have to trust me with her secrets forever, and clearly it frightened her. 

I felt terrible. I knew I would never sell her up the river—Jamie could attest to that—but she didn't. "Hold on," I said, and went to the bedroom. I came back out holding the two cashier's checks with Julie's name on them.

"Here," I said, "these are for you." She turned to see what I was offering, took the two checks, and glancing at them saw this was the $15,000 she needed. "I have had perhaps the best time of my life with you these last few days. I would never pressure you into doing something you didn't want to do. Now you have the money you need, so if you want you can consider our deal completed. I can you to the city or to a hotel or something if that's what you want." I rubbed her cheek tenderly with the first knuckle of my finger.

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. Funny, I had never noticed just how blue they really were. She stood up and said "Come here," with open arms. I did, and she hugged me—as tightly as she could. Then she turned to me and kissed me, tenderly; an emotional kiss, holding a mixture of gratitude and affection towards me with the fearful recognition that like it or not, we had a permanent bond of secrets between us. 

"Tom, I..." she began.

I corrected her by telling her my real name. She looked at me quizzically, so I repeated it. "My name is Tom in same way your name is Heather. I used to do research for the Department of Defense. Now, I am a gambler by profession, living a life of false identities and rented addresses like a fugitive by choice." She was reading my eyes, trying to determine whether I wasn't just lying to her again. I think she could tell I wasn't. "See," I added, "now you know my secret, too."

She kissed me again, but this time the tension was all but gone. She had inadvertently left herself wide open to exploitation. My response had been to let her off the hook—I had already given her the money she needed and given her permission to leave—but especially I had shared my secret with her, making me vulnerable as well, when I there was no reason to except to balance the scales of risk between us. By sharing my secret, I told her that I was willing to trust her like she no longer had any choice but to do with me. 

We stopped kissing and we looked each other in the eye, at close range. "So, do you want me to take you somewhere?" I asked again.

She started to shake her head no, then switched and nodded yes, saying "Yes...take me to the bedroom."

I held her hand and we went to the bedroom. We kissed again, a kiss like lovers kiss. She freed my penis with one hand, keeping the other around me in an embrace. I ran my fingers along her back; finding the knot in her bikini by accident, I proceed to release it. She paused the slip the fabric over her head. I dropped my drawers and fell into bed. She took off the rest of her clothes and followed me.

She stroked me gently with her nimble fingers. I slipped my fingers between her legs. She didn't take me into her mouth, as she didn't want to stop kissing. But she took my penis and guided it into the wet shrine between her thighs. She opened her legs wide and I made love to her. 

After I came, we lay next to each other and engaged in pillow talk. I told her more about my life—the truth, although some details like the mindreading machine I just left out altogether. She told me her life story. Her father had been a Sooner football player and her mother a cheerleader; she was conceived out of wedlock and her parents had had to get married. It didn't work out, and by the time she was three he was out of her life entirely. For most of her early years, there were always strange men at the house—new "uncles"—as her mother was pretty and had no trouble finding men, but wasn't so good at keeping them. Finally when she was 12 her mother remarried, to a divorcee with two sons about her age. Unfortunately for her she was coming into puberty and becoming beautiful; she was sexually abused by both her stepfather and both of her step-brothers. She finally ran away at 18 and ended up in LA. She was lucky; she ended up working for the madam a high-class escort service a la Heidi Fleiss rather than a run-of-the-mill pimp; the fact that she had never become an addict probably helped with that. She had never walked the streets; from the start she was on-call with the rich and famous. 

Eventually the madam got arrested and her escort service were busted. Julie and a number of the other girls fled to Vegas, where she had set up shop as a self-employed prostitute, and had done that until she met me. 

She had just turned 23.

I felt so bad for her, and I told her so. She told me not to; I was one of the first people in her life that had treated her with dignity and respect, regardless of profession. I had given her the courage to reclaim her life, she said. Many people in her life had taken advantage of her to secure sexual favors. I was one of a very few she gave them too willingly—and that was why she wanted so badly to make sure that I enjoyed them. 

At that, she got a look in her eye like she wanted to prove the point. She reached for her purse on the nightstand and pulled out a tube of something. Then she knelt between my legs and started sucking my dick. She started to masturbate, furiously, like she was racing to get excited. Then she paused, took some liquid out of the tube, and started rubbing it on her ass. Then she started to push her own fingers up into it. 

I had not had anal sex before, but it looked like I was about to get my chance. 

Once she was able to slide two finger comfortably into her ass, she took the tube again and rubbed the lubricant on my dick. Then she crawled to the top of the bed, kissed me, turned her ass towards me, and thrust it up in the air while laying he head down on the bed. 

I had no trouble entering her ass after her careful preparations. It was different; when she squeezed me with her muscles while I was in her pussy, I could feel the pressure for the whole length of my dick. In her ass, there was a narrow region that was tighter than any pussy could be, after which there was nothing to feel. I liked it, although I wouldn't say I liked it better than her pussy. 

She thrust her ass up and her feet together so I had room to fuck her. Looking at her backside, I also had free hands, which I first used on her breasts but soon used to rub her clit just as furiously as she had done. I don't know how much she did or didn't like the buttfuck, but was starting to get off on the manual stimulation of her clit. 

I turned her over onto her back. Then I had her hold her legs up high, re-entering her ass. But now while I fucked her ass I could use both of my thumbs on her clit, and she started to get real excited. I felt her start to come, which of course made her butt cheeks squeeze even tighter. That, in turn, set me off, and I had an eruption in her ass that would have made Vesuvius blush.

-----------------------

On Saturday, I was again awakened by the gentle touch of lips on my penis. Yet it was completely different. A day ago, it had been all about sex, and getting off. Today, we had shared our histories and held each other's secrets; today, we had a relationship. Back when she had been Heather, high priced call girl, she had feared that I would start having feelings for her. Now that she was Julie, my sugar baby, that had finally come to pass—and those feelings went in both directions.

It felt good to have her blowing me awake, but with all of my new of feelings for her, I wanted to be inside her. I assisted her in mounting me; as before, she bounced up and down on my cock, arching her back slightly to correct the angle of penetration. As before, I used my hands to touch her breasts, her torso, and especially her clit as she fucked me. Either I was getting a better sense of how to get her off, or with her new feelings for me it was easier to do, but this time I succeeded in thumbing her to orgasm before having my own deep insider her.

She bent over, keeping me inside her, and we kissed...and kissed...and kissed some more. Suddenly I realized that it was going to be very difficult to see her off tomorrow, back to Oklahoma City and back out of my life.

I made us breakfast. We didn't say much over our coffee, but we spent a lot more time touching each other in non-sexual places. 

I asked her what she wanted to do today. She said she just wanted to chill for the morning, last night had been emotionally draining. She put on her bikini again, and I fetched two chairs from the shed. I set them up on the dock, and after applying suntan lotion all over her marvelous body, we lay out sunbathing. 

After a couple of hours I asked if I could get her a drink. She rolled her head over lazily to look at me, nodding her head yes. She was heart-breakingly beautiful, lying in the sun.

I got us each a cold lemonade. Then I picked up my camera, digital SLR, and put it around my neck as I carried out our glasses.

"Can I take a picture of you?" I asked. 

"Like this?" she asked, "or do you mean like this?" As she spoke she grabbed the fabric covering her left breast and pulled it away, flashing me her left tit, then put it away.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 07



I didn't know what to say—the whole photographer fantasy thing seemed to be a dead issue. "Um, just like you are now," I said, as her clothes were now back in place. She put propped the lounge chair into sitting position, put her arms on the armrests, coyly coiled her legs slightly sideways, and smiled for my camera. I took the picture and put the camera down. 

"I thought you wanted to take pictures of me like this," she replied, putting her legs on the ground on either side of the chair and pulling away her bikini bottom to flash her crotch at me.

"I, um, you said..." I stammered. 

She started to get up, put her arm in mine, and said "Come inside. Let's talk."

When we got inside the cottage, I said "Yes, I had fantasies of playing porn photographer, but you made it pretty clear that you didn't want to do that, so forget it—we won't do that."

"What I said was, I was afraid of what would happen if you had pictures of me," she corrected, "and you were absolutely right that you already have plenty of dirt on me if you wanted to use it. That's why it was so sweet of you to let me in on your secrets; you gave me leverage I could use against you when you didn't need to." She kissed my cheek tenderly. "You also gave me the money I need to get out of a bad situation. I want to do everything I possibly can so that you don't feel like I am taking advantage of you. If possible, I want you to feel like it was worth it." With what had gone on so far this weekend, I would have given her 30K if I'd had it. 

"If you want to play photographer, I can play model. I used to do some modeling for catalogs when I was a teen in Oklahoma, and I knew some girls in Vegas that had done magazines and stuff. But it still seems that a lot of bad things can happen if someone out there has explicit nude photos of you. I've been thinking about this since yesterday, and suddenly, the solution came to me." 

She went to her purse and pulled out her cell phone. "Fair is fair, right? If you want to take nude photos of me, then I should get to take nude photos of you, too, right? I would feel a lot safer that those photos would never see the light of day if I could retaliate by exposing you in all your glory to the world, too. So what do you think? Do you want me to pose for you bad enough to pose for me too?"

She was absolutely right—it would be totally hypocritical to want to play photographer and not be willing to play model. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, I could see how she would feel apprehensive about allowing pictures of herself to be created. But I really did want to play photographer, and thanks to her impeccable logic if I wanted to do that, I had no choice but to play model too.

I hugged her and gave her a kiss—a kiss of appreciation, my appreciation of how her mind worked. Julie was my kind of girl. "Your logic is beyond reproach, Dr. Einstein," I said, "but I ask that you assist me in making it a picture worth taking first."

"What, you're too lazy to do this yourself?" she teased, untying the drawstring on my swim trunks and pulling them down until they fell to the floor. She giggled briefly; "You're not such a tough guy when you're tired, are you?" she said to my penis, which she had never looked at up-close when it wasn't already hard as nails. Then she kissed it a few times—commence erection—and then took it into her mouth. Once I felt the inside of her soft, warm mouth, the process wrapped up quickly; by the fourth time she slid my penis out, only to swallow it again, it was fully erect. She now had to labor to get all of its length down her throat at once. 

"I think that's good enough," she commented, picking up her phone. She flipped it open, and set it to camera mode; I smiled and sucked in a little to help my penis stay pointing straight up. She snapped the picture, looked at it laughed, the showed it to me, saying "Now there's a hunk of man, huh?" 

"How about now?" I clowned, pretending to flex like Charles Atlas. 

"Excellent! Work it baby," she chuckled. I continued to play, and she took a few more snaps of me naked. She thought it was a riot. Then she her mood shifted from levity to demureness as she took her turn. "Now, you wanted some pictures too?" she purred in the lowest voice she could muster, pulling both of her breasts out of her bikini. My penis, which had started to point towards the floor, immediately sprang back up to 11:00 position. 

I grabbed my camera and started snapping. She was posing coyly, licking her lips, closing her eyes, acting like she was in sexual ecstasy—and act I suppose had performed many times when she was hooking. She slowly untied the side-tie of her bikini bottoms, then let them slip to the floor. I snapped away the whole time. Then she crouched down low, moved towards me, and took my dick into her mouth while masturbating herself. 

She pulled her mouth off of me momentarily to say, "You want a few like this?" she asked. I hadn't thought of it, but it sure made sense, she looked up at me and I took pictures of her with my dick completely disappearing between her lips. Then she stepped up the intensity of the blow job, and I just put the camera down; I was too rapt in feeling her suck my snake to snap pictures. Shortly thereafter I climaxed. As I had by now come to expect, she swallowed every drop of my cum, then licked my penis clean. 

I helped her get to her feet and kissed her, as I had before tasting my own semen aftertaste in her mouth. 

"Looks like I need a few minutes," I said, stating the obvious. "Wardrobe change?"

"What would you like?" she asked

"Can you bring back that office girl outfit from the other night?" She just smiled and winked at me, gave me a peck on the cheek, and headed for the bedroom. While she changed, I frantically surfed through the photos on the memory card to delete any I didn't need; I was gonna want all the space I could free up.

"Will this do, Mr. Demille?" Julie asked, coming back out. She wasn't wearing the same outfit as the other night; this was better. She had on the plain white blouse, unbuttoned past her bosom and showing a red bra underneath. She wore it with a black miniskirt, shorter than the one from her suit, and black strappy heels so hot that, had I not had the rest of her there, I might have gotten off on by themselves. 

"Julie," I said quietly, "you never cease to amaze me." I put my hand on the back of her head and started to French kiss her, but she after returning my kiss briefly she slipped away and stood over by the sofa to start posing. She was gonna tease me mercilessly, and I was gonna love it. 

She started with the obligatory sexy-but-fully-clothed pictures. Then she posed standing with her legs wide apart, lifting her skirt so I could see her red g-string. I told her to do one happy face first, then the same pose with a sexy look; I didn't need to tell her again, as she did so for every pose thereafter on her own. She then started to unbutton the shirt, pulling it aside to show her bra. I had her pose with her one leg slightly bent and her arms over her head, slightly sideways. My dick started growing to full length

Now, we could either go with no shirt next or no bra; I asked her if she could remove the bra without taking off the shirt. No sooner said than done, and those wonderful breasts were staring me in the face. I was still naked—it seemed fair that I should. She could see that my dick was now full length and starting to raise upwards; I saw a twinkle in her eye when she watched me involuntarily respond to her like that. 

I had her lean back on the couch, legs crossed to show off the heels, shirt pulled away so that her breasts were completely bare. I had her lean back so that her hair fell straight back over the edge of the couch too. Then without needing a prompt, she lifted one leg onto the sofa and the other out to the side on the floor, sliding the skirt up to show the G-string. Then she pulled the G-string aside to show me her snatch. 

I think the hardest part of getting girls to pose nude is getting them to understand that men want to see them using their fingers to open up their pussys. We want to see as far into them as we can; we want to feel like we could walk right up to them and slide our dick right in, because the pussy is already open (and hopefully wet) waiting for us. I expected to have to try to explain to Julie how to show me her beaver, and I wasn't sure she would agree to do so given her earlier reticence. To my surprise, after the first shots of her with the G-string pulled back, she two the first two fingers of her right hand and split the lips of her pussy apart for me. I wondered if she was lying about never having posed nude before, but I realized that while she may not have posed, she probably had had customers who asked her to show them her stuff—the only difference was the camera. 

As soon as I got the first beaver shot, of course, I was erect like a rocket, and I could see Julie noticed how much my erection suddenly shot up when she had exposed herself in that way. Being Julie, she responded by exposing herself more and more. She pulled off the G-string next, and we took pictures of her with the open shirt, skirt hiked up above her hips, and opening her pussy with her fingers. I suggested she use the first finger of each hand as another way to do it, which she did (and, because the finger weren't connected on one hand, it allowed her to spread her lips even further apart). I had her crouch in a deep knee-bend and do the two-hand split. Holy shit. Then we ditched the shirt and did it again. 

Finally I had her take off the skirt and lay down on the kitchen table. She lay down, looking up at me, holding her pussy open with her hands, giving me sexy looks. Honest to god, if I had kept taking photos like that for another five minutes, I would have cum right there on the floor without anyone having touched me at all. But she was right there, lying on the table, spreading her pussy open for me. I couldn't stand it anymore; I threw the camera onto the sofa, practically ran over to her, and sank my dick deep into her vagina. I think she was expecting that eventually, but still I surprised her by the speed with which I went from snapping pics to thrusting dick—and by the vigor with which I went at it right off the bat. Fortunately, she was a little wet from having fingered herself so much, because I was so close to cumming already I had no time to build up. She held on to me with both arms to keep from tipping the table or being thrown off while I hammered away like a fucking jackhammer. In no time I was ejaculating deep inside her so hard I thought my dick itself might explode. 

I left her room to get up off the table, panting. She stood up, put both arms around me, and kissed me.

"You weren't joking, were you?" she said. "You were REALLY into that."

I nodded, still catching my breath. "And thanks to you, my lifelong fantasy has finally come true."

She gave me a kiss that said "you silly man" and held me softly until I had caught my breath. When I did, I kissed her deeply and said "Thank You." 

"Daddy takes care of baby, baby takes care of daddy," she smiled.

----------------------

After we dressed, I grilled up a fast lunch and then drove to the boat rental dock. I told her I was taking her to the best restaurant in the area for dinner, so she packed extra clothes. I rented us two jet skis, and we spent the afternoon jumping wakes in them. I could see in her face that she was having a blast. 

After we returned them, I drove 30 minutes to the nearest town and took her to the best restaurant they had in the region. Julie wore a red sundress and red high-heel sandals. It was the most modest outfit I'd seen her wear, yet between her beautiful face and the way the way her smooth tan skin was accentuated by the red dress and contrasted with her long blonde hair, she was STILL stared at by every man in the restaurant at least once. 

As I drove back to the cottage, I started to get sad. I would have to take Julie to the airport in the morning, so she could go back to Oklahoma City and her boyfriend. I wanted every day of the rest of my life to be like this weekend—who wouldn't, I had this gorgeous blonde happily fulfilling every sexual fantasy I ever had. And while I hadn't worn my glasses all weekend—which was another think I liked about her, not needing to wear them—I think she enjoyed the lake life, the boating, the jet skis—all new experiences for her. 

We sat up and had a few drinks, talking. I told her a lot more about me and my background; she told me more about hers. I think she had more she could tell, but her life story was such a downer she didn't want to. 

At one point she went to the bathroom, then went to bedroom instead of coming back out. She came out after a few minutes wearing black leather wrist cuffs, a black leather slave collar, black heels that had a thick strap at the top and a iron ring attached on the inside, and a swimsuit cover-up. 

"I brought these especially for you, and we haven't even used them," she said with the twinkle in her eye, then she whipped off the swimsuit coverup to reveal black PVC shorts that could be unzipped for access to the crotch and a black leather bra that framed her breasts but was open where it should have covered them. Yipes.

Two days earlier I would have cuffed her to the bed, made her kneel and stuffed my dick down her throat, then strapped her to the bed and fucked the shit out of her. I still intended to fuck the shit out of her, but treating her like a breathing sex toy no longer sounded anywhere near as fun as being with her and letting her be who she was—perhaps the most accommodating partner that ever lived. 

I stood up, walked over to her and kissed her. Then I cuffed her two armbands to the iron ring on front of her slave collar, led her to the back bedroom, and motioned her to lie down. I could have unzipped her pants to reach her pussy, but I took them off completely instead—with some effort, as they were extremely tight. I decided to readjust her and cuff her arms to the bed so they were above her head and out of my way.

"What would you like to do, daddy?" she asked, in character, still a little nervous about being in such a vulnerable position but trusting that I wouldn't really cause her pain. In fact, my intentions were exactly the opposite.

I took off my clothes; all she could do was watch and wait. Then I lay next to her, and gently excited her nipples with my tongue before sucking them gently. I slipped my finger between her thighs and licked her nipples even more. For a long time, she was on alert you might say, waiting for me to give her orders. It took a lot of stimulation before she finally stopped thinking about serving me and just enjoyed what she was receiving. 

I stopped. One at a time, I freed her arms and then clipped her wristbands to the iron rings on her shoes. Thus cuffed, she had not choice but to bend her knees and spread her legs. Then I knelt at the foot of the bed and stuck my face into her crotch. I licked her pussy and tickled her clit with my tongue, using my hands on her nipples for support from time to time. I didn't stop to look up, but I heard her breathing start to change, and I felt her arching her back to move her pelvis up and down. I didn't stop until I felt her body spasm with the rhythmic contractions of orgasm.

After she came, I undid her cuffs and let her free. She immediately got on all fours and stuck my dick—which was plenty hard from having had my face buried between her legs—into her mouth. She sucked it so hard it felt like she might raise my entire body up off the bed by the Johnson. Then she lay on her back, pulling me onto her, and with her hand guided my penis into her vagina. 

She wasn't cuffed, but she nevertheless grabbed her ankles and spread wide open while I made love to her. Maybe that position increased her pleasure; maybe she just remembered I had liked it from previous encounters. She was so wet she had soaked a large portion of the bed, and I slipped into and out of her easily. As always she squeezed my dick with her pubic muscles, increasing my sensation and encouraging me to orgasm. 

After I came, I lay with her, keeping my penis inside her for as long as I could before it shrunk itself out. Julie held me close and kissed me again and again; it took me a while to realize she had tears in her eyes.

"Julie, my god, what's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing is wrong, honey"—she hadn't called me that before-- "that's the problem. Back home...I've got all kinds of problems. Here, with you—you take care of me. I like making you happy; you appreciate it. My boyfriend—he takes me for granted. He thinks every girl should go out of her way to please him—and he never reciprocates. If I come when having sex with him, its dumb luck. He would never go out of his way to eat me until I come—and I suck him all the time. Its just not fair."

"Oh, honey, stop." I replied. "I don't live here either, don't forget. Even if you didn't go home tomorrow, we'd still have to leave here."

"I know," she said, "but..." she stopped.

I didn't have my glasses on, but I think what she was thinking was that what she would rather be with me than with her current boyfriend. And at that point, I would have loved to be with her more often, too. But what life did I have to offer her? Roaming around the country, a different address every week? What kind of life is that? She should be living happily ever, and I couldn't give her that. But I also really wanted to see her again. 

Then I had an idea. "This Sugar Daddy thing—was this a one-time only deal? Or can I come take care of my sugar baby again sometime?" I asked.

She looked into my eyes, trying to read my intentions. She wanted to say yes, but if she went back to her life the time might come where she would have to say no. But as she looked into my eyes, I think what she saw was that I really cared about her, that I wanted to make her happy—and at the moment, maybe it felt like I was the only person who really did.

"Yes, of course we can do this again," she said. "If I can get away, I'll meet you wherever you want me to."

"In a couple of months, I'm planning to be in Austin," I said. There was a conference there on neuroimaging I was thinking of going to; I was mostly worried that someone else might be getting close to following the path that had led to the discovery of the mindreader. "That's only about 400 miles from Oklahoma City, isn't it? Think you could drive down and meet me?"

"I would love to," she said. "When is it?"

I got up to get my Blackberry—the one piece of me that was real, that didn't change from week to week. I gave her the dates, and she used her phone to email them to herself. 

"Are you sure you're free?" I asked.

"I am now," she said, "one way or another. There's nothing else that might be on the calendar that could possibly be more important."

"Okay, its settled then. I'll meet you in Austin on the 30th. I'll give you details once I have them." I then gave her my real phone number and my real email address. She sent them to herself via her phone, too. Good thing her carrier got signal up in Lake Country—not everyone's does. 

I kissed her. "I'm glad that I know I'll be seeing you again in just a couple of months," I said. 

"Me, too," she said, less tearful. I surprised myself in that I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I had come into the weekend expecting to get bountiful sex; I didn't expect to come out of it with a deep emotional attachment to my sugar baby. But I didn't have the courage to say it at the time—plus I didn't want to make her going back the next day any worse, in case I got the reaction I hoped I would get when I said it. 

She embraced me and we kissed for a long time. Then she took off her bondage gear and curled up in a semi-ball in the bed. I curled up around her. She took my arm and held it in both of hers, clutching it like it was her teddy bear. I kissed her ear and cheek. Thus entwined, we both fell asleep.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 07



----------------------

I awoke first. I just lay there and watched her sleep. We were both naked; the smooth skin of her shoulder peeked out of the top of the covers, and I could just see the tops of her breasts starting to peek out of the sheets. I watched her chest rise and fall with each breast, took in the peaceful expression on her face. I gently pulled her hair back out of her face and just absorbed her loveliness.

She twitched a few times, so I knew she was waking. She opened her eyes—her back was still towards me—and looked at the wall for a second, orienting to time and place. Then she started to roll over towards me, only to find me softly gazing at her already. 

"Sorry, I woke up before the alarm clock," I quipped. 

She smiled and embraced me with her outside arm (her inside arm was tucked in close to me and was hard to move) and we kissed. We kissed for a long time. Eventually, as we held each other's naked bodies close, the soft touch of her breasts on my chest started to awaken the beast. She felt it gently rub her thigh, and started stroking it with one hand. She bend down to start to suck it, but I helped her swing her hips over so that we could pleasure each other in a classic sixty-nine. She swallowed as much of my penis as she could, I licked her pussy with fervor. She gave first-rate blowjobs, as you by now have heard, but while I was aware of intensely pleasurable sensations in my groin, I was concentrating so hard on eating her out and interpreting from the movements of her hips what I should do more of and what I should do less of that I didn't come. I used my hands to stimulate her nipples to add to the sensation; I felt her breathing grow shallow and her hip movements increase. Finally I gently lifted her head off of my penis and encouraged her to sit more upright—and push her pussy more deeply into my face. Holding her onto my face, one hand gently tweaking her right nipple, I brought her to orgasm. 

As soon as the contractions subsided she turned around and kissed me—it was her turn to taste her own sexual fluids in a post-orgasmic kiss—and straddled me, sliding my penis between her lips and into her depths. But she rocked back and forth minimally, gently, stimulating my penis enough to maintain my erection but concentrating on hugging and kissing me. I held her close to me. I didn't want her to go back to her boyfriend and Oklahoma. 

After a long time kissing, she sat upright and increased the tempo of her movements up and down. It felt good with her on top, but I wouldn't get to make love to her for quite some time after this morning, so I flipped us over to my preferred position on top. 

Julie bent her knees and spread her legs far apart to either side. I slipped my penis in and out of her. I was in no hurry; I was enjoying that unique feeling of union, that feeling of part of my body being physically inside the body of this woman that I was, by now, pretty sure I loved. 

I kept slowly sliding in and out when I saw her wince slightly.

"I'm sorry, does it hurt? I'll stop." I said, starting to pull out.

She put her hands on my buttocks to keep me from disengaging. "I'm just a little sore." Gee, I wonder why? I don't suppose fucking four times a day had anything to do with her crotch being sore. "Please keep going, but try to speed it up a little?"

I sped up my fucking, but I was careful not to slam my pubic bone directly into hers. She tried to squeeze me like she usually did, but that must have hurt from all the screwing we had done, she didn't keep it up for long. Instead, she took my hand and started to suck my thumb like it was a dick, looking up at me with lustful, doe eyes the whole time. Yikes. I was so aroused I forgot to try not to directly smash pelvises and fucked her fast and hard. She closed her eyes and smiled faintly as she felt me fuck with urgency, then achieve that extra-hard rigidity before culminating in orgasm.

We kissed again, although this time I pulled out immediately to give her pussy a rest. It sure had seen plenty of me this weekend! 

We lay in bed holding each other for about a half-hour. Neither of us had much to say; we were just being with each other while we could. Eventually the time became an issue; she went to shower while I went about cleaning up and closing up the cottage. We finished packing, I locked the door and slipped the key into the combination keyholder-safe the real estate company provided. We put the top down on the convertible, drove through for some fast food breakfast, and I took her to the airport.

I parked the car at the airport; I didn't just want to fuck her all weekend and then drop her off at the curb like the hooker she used to be. I got her bags out of the trunk and set them down. Then I reached in my pocket and gave her all the cash I had left—about 5 grand worth. 

"What's this?" she asked, "You already gave me the money I needed."

"15K—that was just to break even, wasn't it?" I asked. She nodded affirmatively. "You deserve better than to be flat broke. But I give you this on one condition—you go back to Oklahoma City and put whatever of this you don't need to spend right away in a new bank account with only your name on it. You don't tell your boyfriend this money exists, and you don't spend it on his bills or whatever. This money is Julie money, and its only for Julie to do things Julie wants to do for Julie. Got it?"

The look on her face broke my heart. She shouldn't have had to feel so grateful over a little cash. She had worked her tail off—literally—all weekend to make me happy. But even without my glasses, I soon realized that wasn't it—it was the fact that I had thought of her potential needs and worked to address them without prompting. How the fucking hell did a woman who gave of herself so completely not manage to find anyone in the world but the old Gifted Grifter that gave a thought as to what SHE might need? 

I walked her to the terminal. As when I picked her up, I couldn't go with her to the terminal to wait for the flight. There was a special section, called the kiss-and-cry section, for lovers to bid each other adieu. No one watching us would have thought that we were anything but that—lovers who were being separated for some reason. After a long, soulful kiss, Julie suddenly gathered her bags and headed to the gate. I saw that she was about to start crying, and didn't want to do it here—either because it was so public or, more likely, not in front of me. I was in near tears too. She gave one last peck on the cheek then turned and headed through security. 

I watched her go through. I know she peeked to see if I was watching, and I know she saw me, but she didn't turn to acknowledge me or wave. She went through X-ray, took her bags, and headed to her gate. Halfway down the gate, long after she thought I was gone and was out of sight range, she stopped and put down her bags. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out some Kleenex and dabbed her eyes.

I returned the car, then walked to my apartment. My lease was almost up, and I was going to have to decide soon whether to maintain a permanent residence at all or go nomad full-time. I went in, turned on my computer, and registered for the Austin conference and booked my flight. I also booked the biggest suite available at the convention hotel. It promised to be a long seven weeks until I saw Julie again. 



Gifted Grifter Ch. 08



Gifted Grifter #8: The Return of Jessie

My "sugar daddy" weekend with Julie changed me. I missed her terribly after seeing her off at the airport. Since the time I had invented the mindreader until that weekend, I my primary objective had been to use my device to seduce as many hot women as possible. But now, when I thought of having sex with a hot woman, I always pictured Julie. Simple fact was, everything I liked to do—which was pretty much everything—she did better than any other woman I had ever been with. 

Some research suggests that feelings of love grow out of positive sexual feelings. I no longer questioned it, because love was the only word I could come up with to describe how I felt towards Julie. Sure, I had always liked her, even when I had first met her as a prostitute in Las Vegas. But after spending a long weekend with—much of it inside—her on a voluntary, "sugar baby" basis I found myself loving everything about her: the sex of course, but also the way she thought, the things she did—see, just listen to how sappy I sound! What else could it be but love? 

At least to some degree, I knew Julie felt something too. Our weekend was probably supposed to have been a one-shot deal, but by the end neither of us could bear to think of not seeing each other again. We ended up planning a follow-up rendezvous—but that wouldn't be until a convention that was coming up in seven weeks. Suddenly that seemed like an eternity. 

For more than a week after Julie went back to Oklahoma, I moped around my apartment feeling lonely and sorry for myself. What stuck in my mind was Julie crying at the thought of leaving me, and her vague comments about her problems back home. She said that being with me seemed to much more...is carefree the word? I really wanted to bring Julie back home to live with me, permanently. At the same time, I kept reminding myself that Julie had a boyfriend, which is why she was in the financial mess that led to our weekend in the first place. A different part of me was convinced that spending time with her boyfriend again would lead to a change of heart and she'd cancel out on me entirely. 

I was driving myself insane with all these internal conflicts. I decided I needed to do something to pass the time until the conference, so I put my Gifted Grifter sunglasses back on and headed out to find a new playmate. This would normally be the kind of thing I might do up in lake country, but since that's where I'd been with Julie, I wanted to stay closer to home. Thus, silly as it sounds, I rented an extended stay room for a week in my own hometown. I also decided I wanted to drive something nice for a week, so I went to a car rental and asked about their premium rentals. I was thinking nice...maybe a Ferrari or something. They didn't have any of those, but because they had an agreement with Ford, they could get me a Ford GT (they would have to bring it up from another city). That sounded like fun, so I arranged to pick it up the next day.

---------------------

Early the following afternoon, I was cruising up and down the roads in the largest park in my home city. A nice jogging track wound in and out of the trees off to one side of the road, and it was the most popular venue for runners in town. I was driving around, looking at a number of very fit young ladies working their up and down the trail. Then ahead in the distance I saw one very tall, very fit young woman, running at a good clip. Most girls put their hair in a ponytail to exercise, and the ponytail bobs back and forth as they run. This girl's blonde hair was so long that the ponytail was too heavy to bob but a tiny bit. As I cruised the GT by at 25mph (park speed limit,) I turned to catch a glimpse of the hot blonde jogger.

As I passed her face, it took a second to register that I knew her. The hot jogger was Jessie, my former graduate assistant. I knew she was hot (I had even fucked her once), but running in dark blue jogging shorts and a matching sports bra/half-top, both with white stripes on the side for accents, she was quite the sight for sore eyes. 

Just a few hundred yards ahead of where Jessie was, there was a spot where the jogging track arched outwards and came very close to the road. I stopped the GT at the apex of the bend, opened the window, and waited for her to come into range.

Jessie saw that a racy sports car had stopped on the road just by the part of the trail she had to go past next; she steeled herself for fending off (yet another?) likely pickup attempt. With her mind in full defense mode, she kept running towards the car. With the little windows on the GT and her mind set on rejecting an anticipated advance, she didn't really see who was in the driver's seat. 

She was expecting something like a "Hey baby." It caught her quite off-guard to hear "Hey Jessie, how have you been?"

She stopped running and started walking slowly towards the car. Having not seen me for several months and not expecting to hear my voice coming out of this wonderful piece of Detroit muscle, it took her a second to figure out who was talking to her.

"Dr. 'Grifter'?" she asked hesitantly.

I called out, "I'm not your boss anymore, so please use my first name." Jessie was a good fuck; I wouldn't think twice about re-bedding her should the opportunity arise. Fostering familiarity was a step in the right direction.

Jessie came up to the car, put her arms on the window opening, and poked her head inside.

"I certainly didn't expect to see you running around in a car like this," she marveled, "especially since you've basically disappeared for the last six months." 

It dawned on me that all of Jessie's contact information for me would have been my official, Department of Defense email and phone, which would have been removed the day I turned in my resignation. That, and a cell phone number I had given up long ago. And while I created MySpace pages for my false identities, I had intentionally not created one for my real self. 

"I'm sorry. What I'm doing now is a lot more secret than DoD ever was—I'm not easy to find anymore." That was half-true—what I was doing now was secret, but not in the sense of being classified—only in the sense that there was no way I was going to tell her what I was doing these days.

"I've been trying hard to get a hold of you," she continued. "You know all that dissertation data I collected...I can't use it," she replied.

I had delayed beginning my life as the Gifted Grifter for three weeks just so she could finish collecting her dissertation data. I was not happy to hear this.

"You can't use it? Why not?" I asked.

"All those MRI's—they're like encoded or something. I can't pull them up to analyze them," she said.

Duh. Files copied from DoD computers are automatically encrypted, since they usually contain top secret information. But usually... "Do you get a prompt for a password when you first access the disk?" I asked.

"Yeah," she replied, "but I plugged in my DoD passwords and they didn't work." 

No, they wouldn't—they would require a supervisor's password, namely mine. 

"OK...did you burn those files to CD while I was still working at DoD?" I asked. 

"Yes," she replied.

"Get in," I told her, "it needs your supervisor's password to unlock the encryption—and if you haven't plugged it in to a DoD computer since I worked there, it should still be looking for my last password. Take me to your computer, and let's see if I can't unlock those files with my old password."

Jessie's apartment was in a neighborhood favored by graduate students. She was telling me how she had given up on her original dissertation and was working on a new angle, but would have to spend at least another year in data collection again. She would be ecstatic if I could resurrect her original dissertation—but she had by now been frustrated too many times to get her hopes up. I had expected her to be finished by now; I felt bad that she was delayed in spite of the favors I had done for her.

Her apartment was small but meticulously kept up. On one shelf of the unit that held her books were medals and mementos of her undergraduate Division I volleyball career. There was a small entertainment center; the rest of the room was set up for studying. Jessie was a very goal-oriented girl.

She disappeared down a hall way and came back with a laptop which was already starting up. She put it down in front of me, fetched a CD which she put in the drive, and logged in. 

"OK," I said, "let's see what happens." I opened up the CD-R for browsing and double-clicked on what should have been an image file. It immediately popped up looking for a password. I entered the last password I had used at DoD. The file opened up in a special, high-resolution graphics program used for interpreting MRI data. 

"Oh my god," Jessie squealed like an eighth grader, "you opened it."

"Yes, but now let's save them all to new files on your hard drive," I said, "because it will do the same thing every time you try to read this CD." I handed the laptop back to Jessie and waited while she quickly opened every file, renamed and resaved it. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail; her slender belly as it showed between her jogging bra and shorts gave me something pleasant to contemplate. 

Finally she was done. She was so happy she jumped up and hugged me as I sat in her armchair; "You just saved me a year of work! Now I might be able to graduate next semester after all. How can I ever repay you?" 

Almost as soon as she said it, I could tell she regretted it even without my glasses. In her excitement, she had forgotten about the fact that our sex moratorium had ended, opening the door to our possibly fucking once again. I knew she had decided that I wasn't a long term-solution for her, and she was right. Being Jessie, she didn't want to invest time in me if I wasn't going to lead to anything permanent. But now she had said it, and we both knew that there was something she could do that, while it may not repay the favor, would at least be appreciated.

"I supposed there is something I can do, isn't there?" she said. I hadn't said anything. Her face wore an expression of resignation as much as anything; it wasn't going to kill her to at least blow me, even if it wasn't in her plans. She slid down to her knees, with my feet between her legs, and started to free my cock from its restraints.

Jessie gave outstanding blowjobs—probably the best I had known before I met Julie. She was very active with her mouth, used her tongue to stimulate the penis while it was in her mouth, and could take quite a lot of it at once—I suppose her neck was long like the rest of her, so her gag reflex might be further back or something. 

My dick now free, she stroked it in her hands a few times to get it started. She glanced up at me briefly, as if to say "I hope you enjoy this," then started to suck. It jumped to full hardness once I felt the soft, moist tissues of her tongue stroking the underside of my dick. She didn't take it all the way in at first, perhaps building up to it in some way, but eventually almost all of my dick disappeared when she bobbed her head down. 

I didn't have anything to do with my hands, so I pulled up her jogging bra so that her breasts were free and held them in my hands while she sucked me. She might not have been completely gung-ho about blowing me, but her nipples showed no such hesitation in reacting to my touch. 

She peered up at me, watching my reaction to her work. She stopped sucking to lick my dick, then kissed my balls while stroking me with a gentle hand. Then she pushed my dick as far down her throat as it could go, holding for a moment, before sliding it back out and continuing to suck, faster than before. Her sucking would have brought me to orgasm eventually anyway, but with my hands full of her wonderful, toned yet naturally soft breasts I climaxed soon after I started to touch them. But unlike Julie who swallowed every drop, Jessie pulled her face away once she felt me achieve that extra-hardness and stroked the orgasm out of me with her hand. Fortunately there was a Kleenex box on the coffee table behind her or she would have made me get cum stains all over my own shirt. But it was a darn good blowjob nonetheless.

Jessie hugged me again after I came, but it was a hug of gratitude, not a hug of affection. I found myself having little interest in kissing Jessie even though she just made me cum. 

She stood up and pulled her shirt back down. 

"Mmm, that was nice," I said, feeling the need to break the silence somehow. "And now you're now well on your way to being Dr. Jessie. Since I won't be around to see you defend, I'd like to take you to dinner tonight to celebrate your accomplishment."

"You won't be around?" Jessie asked. Again, no glasses to confirm her thoughts, but I had sensed that she was hoping I'd be around in case she needed help with any part of the dissertation process. 

"Well, I suppose you might luck into me like you did today, but most likely I'll be working underground somewhere and you won't be able to find me." I said. "I wouldn't count on it."

She was torn now. Having me around meant that she might have to put out a little, but it also made her feel more confident in her ability to finish.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll do fine. You know what you're doing." I really did want her to finish, "So, what's the in-place to be in town these days?" 

"Well, the buzz is about a new place called Nick's Martini Time," she said. "Its supposed to have first-rate martinis as well as great food. But I can't afford it, so..."

"So it's the perfect place for me to take you then," I interrupted. I pulled the wad of Franklins that was my current living money out of my pocket and flashed them to her, saying "Money shouldn't be a problem."

If she had had reservations about going to dinner with me, the chance to check out Nick's overwhelmed it. "But I don't suppose I can go there dressed like this. I'll run home and change, then come back—what, around six?" That should also give her a chance to shower and change.

"Okay, six," she said. "I'll call for reservations, otherwise we might be waiting a long time."

"Great, I'll see you then," I said.

"Oh, you should know that they also have dancing," she said.

"In that case, better make it 7," I said. She smiled at the insinuation that she would have a chance to dance there too. I showed myself out.

---------------------

I had never seen Jessie the way that she was when I picked her up. Usually wearing minimal makeup, that night she was completely done up. Usually she would show skin only unwittingly, a side effect of clothes not being tailored for women of her height; that night she showed skin by intent. She was wearing a halter-necked white dress with a plunging neckline and almost no back. She wore a red belt over it with red pumps to match. Her long straight hair was down and radiant. She was dressed for a night on the town, that was for sure.

As I would have expected from Jessie, however, she was all business first. The restaurant was very nice and certainly hopping; we had a quaint little table for two. Jessie was feeling out whether I was serious when I suggested that price didn't matter; I told her to have whatever she wanted. She ordered an expensive entrée and some blue martini-like drink. Then she peppered me with questions about her dissertation for at least a half-hour; our food had been served and mine was half-eaten by the time she finished her inquisition. But it was obvious when she was done, because she sighed heavily and looked as though a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I guess she had decided right then that she could and would get this done after all, so now it was only a matter of getting it done—and Jessie was very good at getting things done.

I had thought that part of Jessie's strategy may have been to monopolize the conversation so that it didn't get too personal and possibly sexual. Thus I was surprised that, once the sense of relief set in, she was actually quite open to discussing herself and her personal life—I guess with all the professional mentoring I had done with her, she trusted my opinions generally, although some would argue that the fact that I had slept with her made me unworthy of such trust. I ordered her a second drink—I didn't ask if she wanted it—and eventually a third. She told me she had been spending a lot of time at school, trying to figure out what to do with her dissertation. She laughed for a second, saying "Actually, one of the newer students in the program is very interested in your area; I know he's read most of your old papers and after he learned I did an externship with you he asked me all sorts of questions about you. I told him that as far as I could tell, you had disappeared off the face of the earth."

"Yeah, its probably better that way," I replied. 

She continued about having dated a few guys since I had encouraged her to dump her loser ex; for some reason she felt it important that I know that she hadn't slept with most of them. I wasn't wearing my glasses; Jessie didn't have any secrets I cared to know. I did remember, however, that Jessie was extremely sensitive in the back of her neck, and you could get her quite aroused if you could get your hands on it. I didn't specifically intend to try to bed her, after all she had just given me a nice blow. But if the opportunity arose, I knew how to take advantage of it.

Whatever she was drinking must have been pretty strong. By the third drink, her tongue loosened up considerably and she started to tell me her opinions on all kinds of things. She may have been my student once, but I had a lot more in common with Julie than I did with Jessie. She wasn't slurring or anything, but it was a good thing she wasn't driving home. 

I suggested we check out the dancing.

I paid our check and we went to a downstairs dance floor. I was surprised to see the dance floor already quite active at that hour. I ordered us each another drink, then after watching for a little I asked her to join me on the floor.

Jessie liked to dance. But she was a serious-to-a-fault, busy graduate student, and she just didn't do it very often—and so she really wasn't very good. She was also so tall, it was probably hard to be graceful. Good thing she was hot, because none of the men watching her cared whether she could dance or not. I did a few steps that Julie had taught me, and once she picked up her jaw from the floor at the fact that I knew the latest dance moves and she didn't, she started to copy them from me. Dancing also made her thirsty; she was now drinking way too many blue things. But since she didn't get out much, she didn't want to waste a minute of it by slowing down.

By midnight it was time to take her home. She was completely inebriated; I had caught her a couple of times having to take a quick extra step to avoid falling over on the dance floor. Then they played a song that was a good one for a girl to grind her ass into her guy to; Julie had done so to me with that same song back in Vegas. Jessie saw a few girls do it, so she turned her back to me and started to lean towards me—but rather than push out with her ass, she pushed back with her shoulders, leaning on me. She tilted her head back, which caused a sudden rush; she now needed to lean or me or she would fall over. I held her up, shifting from side to side in my best attempt to keep with the rhythm while holding her up. Her bare back felt good leaning against me. It was right there, I had to take it: I ran my hand slowly up her bare back and up to her neck. I could tell right away when I hit the sensitive zone; she closed her eyes, made a breathy noise and tilted her head upwards, as if to embrace my hand as it touched her neck. I brushed the hair away from her left ear and gently gave it a nibble while I touched her neck in a way that was half stroking, half massaging. She looked as if I was already inside her; I needed to get her home fast, for more reasons than one.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 08



"C'mon, I'll take you home," I whispered. She said nothing, but grasped by extended hand and let me lead her to the car. 

Fortunately her apartment was very close; in ten minutes I was trying to figure out which of her keys would open its door, since she was having trouble manipulating them herself. At last I opened the door; as soon as it closed, she was on me. She put her arms around me and kissed me with the pure-lust kisses of a drunk girl. I touched her neck; finding the knot holding her dress up, I untied it. I pulled the flaps down to expose her breasts; the whole dress tumbled to the floor with them. Her breasts, extra sensitive, snapped to attention at my first touch. Jessie slipped me her tongue at the same time that she was freeing my penis from my pants. 

Rather than fuck in the foyer, which was where this was heading, I took her by the hand and led her to her own bedroom. I guided her to the bed; she lay down on it, kicking off her shoes and removing her panties. She started to masturbate while I took my clothes off. It would seem that she wanted it BAD. 

I walked towards the head of the bed and started to climb on; she opened her mouth in anticipation of my offering her my penis. I did, but at the same time I lay on top of her and planted my face firmly between her legs. She couldn't suck me quite as effectively with her ability to move thus restricted, but this way I was able to lick the tender areas lying beneath her straw-colored pubes. I started to smell her juices and feel her wetness; in spite of my dick being in her mouth, she made pleasurable noises in response to my work. I wasn't sure she was going to cum given how drunk she was, but I kept trying and eventually I felt her body start to spasm rhythmically. As she came, she released my dick and moaned loud enough that I was sure the neighbors could hear. Eh, I didn't need to face them in the morning.

As she caught her breath, I flipped around to finish the job. She was so fucking wet that I was able to enter her easily without the assistance of either of our hands. She wrapped her arms loosely around my shoulders and spread her legs while I penetrated her. She made noises every time I thrust my penis into her pussy, which of course encouraged me to do it harder and faster. 

I pulled out for a second and gently exerted a rolling push; she understood that I wanted her to get on her hands and knees. She spread her knees far apart and thrust her ass up in the air so that I could easily reach her pussy; again I could enter her with no assistance from anyone's hands. I held her hips and thrust in and out; she continued to squeal. I noticed gravity's pull made her breasts even more round and wonderful; I leaned slightly forward so that I could hold them in my hands while I fucked her from behind. Her squealing grew louder.

I liked holding her tits while I fucked her, but it was hard to hold that position for long—she was so drunk I certainly couldn't lean on her for support. So I pulled out and rolled her back over onto her back. She grabbed the underside of her knees and pulled her legs up and out, giving me as much room as possible while I fucked her. Her knees up and her eyes closed, she just lay there squealing whilst I fucked the living shit out of her. I felt my balls tighten as the first sign that my orgasm was imminent; I clamped my pelvis down hard on hers to cum. I could feel the tip of my cock brushing the cervix at the top of her vagina, then I pumped load after load of semen into her depths.

I was exhausted. I collapsed on top of her; she wrapped her arms around me, but this way I didn't have to kiss her. When my recuperating dick got too soft I pulled it out of her, not changing position. As I had kind of hoped, she was so drunk that she fell asleep quickly after the stimulation ended. Once I was sure she was asleep, I slipped out of bed and got dressed. Lauren, the traveling salesgirl, had reacted very badly the morning after I had fucked her when drunk; while Lauren was a pure one-night stand and I knew Jessie, I figured that it was going to be very awkward in the morning. I decided not to stick around to see. 

I wrote a nice note wishing her well, then snuck out and drove home. As I was driving, I couldn't help but compare Jessie and Julie. I had known Jessie for years, while Julie I had only known for a few brief but intense interludes. But even in the state of post-coital bliss I had little interest in kissing Jessie, whereas I could happily kiss Julie for hours without engaging in any sexual activity. Jessie was a nice girl and a good fuck, but that didn't make we want to hang out with her for hours on end. With Julie, I never wanted to see her go. I had just had amazing sex with a hot blonde, and yet I felt somehow disappointed—and the only explanation for why was that it hadn't been sex with Julie. 

As the Gifted Grifter, this was supposed to be what I was all about—seducing and fucking different girls all the time. Variety is the spice of life. Instead, I was pining for a girl that I would see for several weeks if at all—as I said, part of me was convinced that Julie would back out of our next planned rendezvous. But my experience with Jessie showed me that the Grifter's life wasn't what I wanted anymore. I had fallen in love with Julie—what I wanted now was just to be with her. I just didn't see any way that was going to happen...



Gifted Grifter Ch. 09



Chapter 9: Secrets and Lovers

I was surprised by how much I had missed Julie. I sent been sending her emails and text messages after our weekend in lake country, infrequently at first but increasingly over time. I kept them all pretty generic, since I didn't know how private they were, as in whether her boyfriend might be able to see them. For nearly a year, I had successfully seduced a smorgasbord of women with my mindreading glasses. But after my long weekend at the lake with Julie, she was the only woman I wanted to be with—a point made poignantly clear by the feeling of emptiness that followed my recent liaison with my former graduate assistant, Jessie. 

I can't lie, a big part of the attraction was that as far as I was concerned, Julie was the best fuck in the history of earth. Lots of women are beautiful and hot, but nobody worked as hard as Julie did to give her partner whatever he wanted. The years she had spent as a sex worker, first in LA then in Las Vegas, had provided plenty of training in that regard. But even if that were not true, I would still have only wanted to be with her. The times I had spent with her may have been brief, but they were intense. I had come to know her intellectually and emotionally as well as sexually, and I loved everything about her. Yes, loved: when last I saw her, I knew I felt strongly for her, but I didn't know for sure it was love. Now, having been apart from her for almost two months, I knew.

I had no idea how Julie felt, though. I knew that she had cried when I had taken her to the airport a couple of months ago, and that she was having some problems with her boyfriend back home. But by now, she and her boyfriend could have patched everything up and she might well not want anything to do with me anymore. In fact, for weeks I had feared that she would cancel out on our planned rendezvous at a conference I was attending in Austin. Yet she hadn't done so, and further she always sent some sort of reply to every email and text message I sent. And her last message had said "looking forward to seeing you." I considered these to be encouraging signs.

Nevertheless, the understood basis for our meeting was as a sugar daddy and sugar baby. As the sugar daddy, it was my responsibility to provide for my 'little girl.' I had made a special casino junket to earn enough money at poker to provide for my baby. Unlike last time, she didn't have any specific money needs that I knew of, but in addition to my own spending money I had 10 grand in cashier's checks with Julie's name on them packed in my bag. 

Finally my travel day arrived. I got to the airport more than two hours early, because I was so excited about seeing her again I was just pacing the floors the whole time I was home anyway. There was a bit of a line at security, but I arrived at my gate with over an hour before my flight time—and I still had to endure a layover in Memphis before I got to Austin and my chance to see Julie again. The anticipation made each minute seem like an hour. Julie, I knew, would already be en route, driving the seven hours from her home in Oklahoma City to Austin. 

Needing something to do, I turned my attention to the courtesy television in the gate area. The all-financial news channel was recapping the latest stock trades. When the headlines came around, the top story was about a number of arrests being made for insider trading. Some investor had been getting tips on a company's financials from a junior executive and made millions trading on the insider information.

The discovery of the mindreading glasses had not been a "Eureka moment;" I had spent months working on the idea, and by unexpected dumb luck the project did far more than I had ever hoped. But that day, sitting in the airport, I had a true "Eureka moment." Suddenly, I saw how I could use my glasses to make money at levels that dwarfed my poker winnings. I could establish a permanent address again and stop moving around all the time, living under assumed names. And the best—although also scariest—part was that I would need Julie to be my partner if I was going to pull it off.

-----------------------

When I deplaned in Austin and turned on my Blackberry, I saw that I had missed a call from Julie. Uh oh. My heart sank—my first thought was that she was canceling out on me after all. I pushed the button to call her back. 

She picked up the phone saying "Hi honey, did you have a nice flight?"

That didn't sound like she was backing out on me. I exhaled, which was the first I noticed that I had been literally holding my breath. "It was fine, thanks. I guess you must have called while I was in the air?" 

"Yeah," she said, "I'm on I-35 just north of Austin. I figured as long as I was so close, I could pick you up at the airport so you wouldn't have to take a cab."

The sooner I could see Julie, the better. "That would be awesome, thanks. I'll wait for you at the pickup area."

"Okay, it'll probably take no more than 20 minutes for me to get there," she said.

"What kind of car do I look for?" I asked.

"A red pickup truck. Don't worry, you won't miss it," she said.

She was right. She was driving a twenty-year old Toyota mini-pickup; originally red in color, it was liberally spotted with large patches of blackish-gray primer, while other parts had rusted away altogether. A beat-up old truck cap, originally white but now dusty gray, covered the bed of the truck. But there behind the wheel was my smiling blonde sweetheart. I stepped out so she could see me and waved.

She parked in the pickup lane and got out to give me a hug and welcome kiss. She was dressed for driving—flip-flops, tan short shorts, and a yellow cotton camisole top with spaghetti straps that mingled with black straps from a bra otherwise not visible. She opened the back of the truck and I tossed my bag in. She had a suitcase and a couple of large plastic storage containers in it already. We closed up and got in and she started to drive toward the hotel. 

We chatted on the drive, and I could tell right away that something was wrong. Julie was trying to be the Julie I knew, but I could tell that she was preoccupied with something else—something she couldn't stop thinking about.

I tried a little small talk. "So where did you get this truck from anyway? Its like older than you are," I said.

She smiled a little, "Not quite, I have three years on it. Actually it was by stepbrother's. He couldn't bear to part with it when he bought his new one, but he didn't have any use for it, so he gave it to me when I came back to Oklahoma."

"That was nice," I said.

"Yeah, sort of," she said. She paused, perhaps deciding whether she should elaborate, before adding "Actually, he feels guilty now about things he did to me when we were kids, but he can't come out and say it. So now he'll do favors for me, like giving me this truck, as well as keeping it running—whenever it breaks down, which is pretty often, he'll fix it for me for free. He says it's because this truck was his first and it's his baby, but if that was true then he wouldn't have let me drive it. You know, I don't really have a beef with him, he never started anything, he would just sometimes come along for the ride when my other stepbrother was messing with me. It figures that he's the only one who feels guilty about it now." 

Poor Julie—she had a lot going on behind those beautiful blue eyes. This conversation was clearly a downer, though, so she changed the subject by asking me some questions about what this conference was, and when was I going to sessions versus being free. I told her that I had only about three sessions I definitely wanted to go to—I had come to this conference mostly so I could see her. She looked at me and gave me a quick smile. There was definitely something on her mind, and it wasn't her stepbrother and this truck. 

"Julie," I said hesitantly, "something's wrong. By now I know you well enough to know that there's something one your mind."

She grew quiet. There was a lengthy pause before she replied "I'm sorry, honey, I'll be all right. I've just had a lot of things going on back in Oklahoma. Once I've had a little time to forget about those things, I'll be your sugar baby just like before."

"Nuh-uh," I said, "As your sugar daddy, my job is to take care of you in any way that I can—it looks to me like you need taking care of in a way that money can't buy. First thing after we check in, I'm taking you to dinner and we'll talk about it."

"First thing?" she asked, "before I even have a chance to welcome you to Austin?" She glanced at me slyly—we both knew she meant before we had sex for the first of what was sure to be many times over the next few days.

"First things first," I said, "and if my little girl needs help with a problem in Oklahoma then that's what we do first. No sugar for daddy until my little girl is taken care of!"

With that we arrived at the hotel, on the south bank of Town Lake across from downtown. The valet parkers looked like we were joking when we pulled up. We checked in, took the glass elevators up through the open atrium and to the penthouse level, then carted our bags to our suite.

Our suite looked out over Town Lake and gave us a wonderful view of downtown. "Wow, nice," she said. "I was expecting just a room." Now inside the door, she dropped her bags and embraced me.

"Just a room?" I said. "That's hardly good enough for my little sweetheart." We kissed. I was worried that she was having misgivings about this whole sugar daddy thing, but her kisses put my mind to rest some. They felt honest, genuine. I wasn't wearing my mindreading glasses, but I decided that whatever the problem was, it probably wasn't about me. She slipped her hand down to my crotch and started to rub my dick, but I pulled her hand away.

"Sugar later," I said, giving her one more kiss, "baby first."

The hotel had a fancy steakhouse (don't they all?) and a casual sports bar; I have her the choice and she chose the latter, so as not to have to change clothes. As I understand it, in Austin she wouldn't have had to change clothes to go to a fancy restaurant anyway, but the sports bar was fine with me. I found a high, round bar table in the back and sat more next to than across from her. I ordered a beer and told the waitress "but the lady here needs something stronger." She ordered a Cosmopolitan. When they came I ordered a burger and she a Caesar salad, then we had time to talk. Under the table, my left hand held her right, and I prompted her to talk.

"So what's got my sweetheart so worked up?" I asked.

She looked at me, reading my face for clues. Was I just being polite? Did I really care? Should she really tell me the whole story? I really did care, and wanted to hear the whole story, and my face must have conveyed that. She decided there really wasn't anything to lose by telling me what was all going on; I don't know if she had a lot of other choices of people to listen to her. And listen I did, all through dinner.

Her family was a problem. Julie wouldn't go around her mother's house while her stepfather was around, and her mom gave her shit for not coming around enough and not accepting her stepfather. She knew what had happened with Julie, but was in total denial about it. Money was tight, school was frustratingly slow. 

But her boyfriend was the big problem. Soon to be ex-boyfriend, I learned.

"After all I did for that fucking asshole," she said, "he goes and rings up twenty grand in gambling debt! Twenty fucking grand! After I dumped my whole fucking savings into paying his fucking doctor bills and damn near got us both thrown out of MY condo." She was halfway through her second cosmo and still picking at her salad; I was done eating, since I hadn't done very much talking.

"Oh my god." I said.

"Tell me about it," she railed. "I call you up and ask you to help me out because of his bills, and now he does this. You know what he fucking said? He said I should call my Uncle Tom again and ask him for help... Prick."

"In a way, you have," I said, gently patting her bare thigh with my hand, "except that I forbid you to spend a penny on that loser."

"Don't worry, I won't," she said. "The timing of this conference was perfect, I don't have to look at his fucking face for three days. It would be so much easier if it weren't my fucking condo—I could just move out. But I own the place, and I'm not just going to let HIM have it. How the fuck do I evict him? I've asked him to leave, and he gets all condescending, saying 'now honey, you don't really mean that.' Guess what: YES I DO."

"Could you put it up for sale and go somewhere else?" I asked.

"I could put it up for sale, but I don't have enough for a down payment on anything else right now, and between the loans I had to take out and the fact that on paper I haven't held a job in six years my credit rating sucks. I'd have no place to go until I got the equity back at closing." she said, starting to get loud. "Heck, maybe I could go live with my mom, she would like that. What the hell, I may as well let my stepdad start fucking me again while I'm at it." 

She suddenly realized she was being loud, and said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't burden you with this. I'm just so ANGRY. I worked for two years to save up a nest egg, and POW, its gone. All I've got is this condo, and now I'm chained to it. And I don't even want to go back there because HE won't leave." After a pause, she added "I can't believe he turned out be such an asshole."

"As your sugar daddy, it is officially my responsibility to help you get out of this mess," I said. "As it happens, an idea came to me in the airport. I don't know if it's something you're going to be interested in or not, but it might be a way to solve all of those problems. I can't talk about it here, though. Let's get our check and go upstairs—I have something I want to show you."

Her look indicated she thought I meant my dick. "No, not that—at least, not yet. I certainly hope to show that to you eventually, but first I have something else to show you—something you've never seen before."

At that moment I was our waitress and flagged her down to get our check. I signed it to the room, and we went upstairs. 

We entered the room, closed the door, and held each other tight, kissing. Not kissing politely, not kissing as a formality, but kissing like lovers kiss. Not long ago, we would kiss one or twice as a step towards intercourse. Now, kissing each other was an end unto itself, self-sustaining, not necessarily leading to deeper intimacy. Although, truth be told, it almost always did.

"I hear you want so show me something," she breathed when we finally stopped to take a pause. Here eyes were not distracted now; my Julie was back. She was stroking the front of my pants. She leaned forward and whispered into my ear "I was hoping you'd show me this." 

How do you turn that down? "But," I started.

"You can show me other things later," she whispered, pushing me toward a large, overstuffed chair in the living room section of the suite. Sharing my secret could wait.

She nudged me to the edge of the chair, then kissed me sweetly while undoing by belt and removing my pants. She reached into my boxer-briefs and extracted my penis, gently stroking it. When it was hard, she gently nudged me onto the chair. Then she pulled off her top in one quick motion and tossed her bra aside. Now topless, she went to work on sucking my dick.

I love her blowjobs. She slides a surprising amount of my length into her mouth and back out at a steady pace. But the best part is the way she caresses it with her tongue while it's on its way in and back out again. She looked up at me intently, reading my face, making sure I was enjoying her ministrations. I must have looked pathetic, almost paralyzed by the waves of pleasurable sensation racing up my spine. 

She paused to lick my balls for a minute. I reached for her breasts, each one perfectly filling up one hand. I didn't need to pay specific attention to her nipples, they were already totally erect. "Mmmmm," came out of my mouth involuntarily as she swallowed my length again; she was sucking with a purpose.

I could have easily just let her suck me off, but I really wanted to be inside her. I pushed back on her shoulders to give me room and stood up. I followed her example from earlier, kissing her the whole time that I was removing her shorts and thong. Then I sat her down, one leg slung over each arm of the chair, and began to give her oral sex. Now she closed her eyes and enjoyed the ride. I gently parted her sex lips and ran my tongue along the delicate flesh inside. Then I focused on her knob of her clit, licking and rubbing it with my tongue. Her breathing grew shallower and her hips started to rise and fall.

Normally I would have kept licking her until she came, but for some reason she wanted me inside her before that happened. She leaned forward to kiss me, stroking my penis at the same time, then leaning back she assisted my penis find the soft, wet space between her thighs. I leaned into her, moving my penis in and out while carefully not breaking our kiss. She put her arms around me like she was trying to squeeze-meld the rest of our bodies into one. At times I would just freeze, my penis buried deep within her belly, holding and kissing her while savoring the feeling of our bodied being joined as one. 

I was in no hurry, but the sweet sensations of her wet pussy eventually became too strong to ignore. I knelt straighter up, which meant I had to break out kiss but let me increase the speed and intensity of my thrusts into her soft interior. She lay back, looking at me with soft, loving eyes, arms raised over her head and holding onto the seat back on either side, legs splayed apart and resting on the armrests. Sure she was enjoying the final throes of another great fuck, but as much as anything she was getting some kind of personal satisfaction from watching my enjoyment as I partook of her. I was now thrusting into her like a wild beast. The way she looked as she watched me fuck her was the sexiest, most beautiful thing in the whole fucking world. I reached as deeply into her as I could as what felt like gallons of semen exploded from my penis. 

Spent, I fell over onto her. We embraced and kissed for a long time. But finally I got up, as I had something else that I wanted to show her. Since it was still pretty early, we put our clothes on again, in case we decided to go somewhere yet tonight. We sat side-by-side on the sofa, turned towards and leaning in to each other to facilitate serious conversation.

"Thank you for that, honey," I said.

"You don't have to thank me, silly," she said, "I enjoyed it too, and besides it makes me feel good to make you happy."

"I know," I said, "you're so amazing..."

I was getting sidetracked, so she set us back straight. 

"So what is this thing you wanted to show me that I've never seen before?" she asked.

"Right. First, let me make sure I understood our earlier conversation correctly. Your plan is to get rid of your boyfriend when you get back to Oklahoma?" I asked.

She said "As soon as I can figure out how to remove him from my condo." 

"Are you really attached to your condo? More specifically, how would you feel about leaving Oklahoma?" I asked her. At the same time, I pulled my mindreading sunglasses out of my pocket and put them on.

She looked up at me with blue eyes wide open. "I'm an ex-hooker living in the Bible Belt," she replied, "about to have no boyfriend, and family that either abused me as a kid or knew about it and didn't stop it. What do YOU think?" My glasses now on, I could see that she was thinking two things—one, why did I just put on sunglasses indoors, and not particularly attractive ones at that. Two, she was trying to prevent herself from hoping that whatever I had to show her would allow us to spend more time together, because she was resigned in her belief that I never would want to be with her full time. Boy was she wrong.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 09



"Julie," I said softly, taking off the sunglasses, "I have a secret that I've not shared with anyone else until now. I hope to God that I won't regret for the rest of my life what I'm about to do." She looked at me intently, having no idea where I was going with this but giving me 100% of her attention.

"Try these on," I said quietly, handing my mindreading sunglasses to her.

She took them, handling them carefully since they must have something to do with whatever secret I was going to share with her, and put them on.

She was looking down when she first put them on, so nothing happened. Then she looked up at me. I was close enough that even through the dark tint of the lenses I could see her eyes widen in surprise. I realized that I could have a conversation with her without having to say anything just by thinking.

"Yes, you are reading my mind right now," I thought.

"Oh my god," she said in amazement.

"I discovered them by accident when I was working at the Department of Defense. I quit my job and have used these to make a living playing poker—I know what everyone else has in their hand" I thought. "This is also how I knew that guy in that bar back in Vegas was a cop. When I looked at him, he was thinking about his hidden microphone. Oh, and it's also how I knew that you didn't have any diseases and it was safe to have sex with you, even without a condom."

"Ah," she said out loud. "It was really stupid for both of us to have unprotected sex given what I was doing in those days. I guess you had thought more about it than I realized."

"And the best part...," I said, knowing that speech was superfluous, "try asking me a question."

In retrospect, I realize by my asking the question I would have been thinking the answer, and so she knew before she asked that you could use a question to elicit specific information you wanted to know. Her mind was lightning fast, though, and without hestitation seized the opportunity, to some degree in spite of herself, to ask "How do you really feel about me?"

I had no choice but the think the answer: "I love you Julie. You're beautiful, you're hot, but more than that you're smart, sharp, and on the ball—as evidenced by the question you just asked." And unfortunately, you can't screen out your thoughts just because they're tacky. I was also thinking "I think you're a genuinely good and nice person—as the cliché goes, a (former) "hooker with a heart of gold." Maybe at one time I had only been interested in her body, but now I loved her to the very soul.

She looked down at the floor, taking the glasses off. "I'm sorry," she said, "that wasn't very fair."

I took the glasses back, but lifted her chin with my finger so I could look her in the eyes. Maybe she expected I would be mad at pulling those deep, secret thoughts out of me. She hadn't kept the glasses on long enough to learn that was the farthest thing from my mind. I smiled at her like a proud father, and said "That, my dear, was fucking BRILLIANT! Get a chance to ask a question and get the answer with absolute, guaranteed honesty—ask the most important question you can! What could be more important than to really know how I feel about you? And the most impressive part is... you came up with it," I snapped my fingers, "like that!" 

She smiled, obviously pleased at my appreciation of her mental agility—and the fact that she had just learned, with certainty, that I loved her. "Do ME now," she instructed, "it's only fair." I quickly realized she meant ask her the same question with the glasses on. And I really, really wanted to know what her answer would be. I put on the glasses, looked her right in the eyes gently, and asked "Julie, how do you really feel about me?"

Her thoughts said "I love you;" "You're the only person who appreciates me for what I can do, not just what I can do for them;" "You're the only person who's ever been interested in my mind too, not just my body;" and my favorite, "I want to make you happy any way I can whenever I can." In retrospect, this was perhaps even more brilliant. She had asked me how I felt about her, not daring to hope I was in love with her, then learning that I was. This way, she could let me know that she loved me, too, without having the fumble around with awkward words to do it. 

I took the glasses off. We locked gazes; I gulped involuntarily. The truth was out; there was no going back. I loved Julie, and she loved me. Yes, it was kind of a fucked-up love; there was an unbalanced, sugar daddy/sugar baby quality to the things we saw in each other. Some of that might be hard to avoid when one partner is 10 years older than the other. But my confidence made her feel strong, and her youthfulness and sexuality made me feel alive. It was the unlikely culmination of a courtship in reverse: most people like each other first, then fall in love, and then have sex. Our relationship started as a purely sexual one, and along the way we came to first like and then eventually love each other. 

There was only one thing to do: we kissed. "I love you, Julie" I said, because hearing it with your own ears carries its own special significance even if you already know it as fact direct from the source. "I have an idea that would allow us to be together forever—or until you get sick of me, whichever comes first." 

She rolled her eyes a little at my insinuation that someday she might want to dump me for someone else, but if she had still been wearing the glasses she would have known that that was a deep and persistent fear that would surface again. 

Rather than go there, I started to lay out the plan I had come up with while waiting in the airport.

"The stock market," I began, "millions of shares traded every day. Fortunes won and lost. Stocks losing or gaining half their value overnight based on good news or bad news. It's so volatile—and so easy to lose your shirt—that there are all sorts of rules preventing people from taking advantage of it. A corporate VP might know that his company's sales disappointed and the stock is going to lose three bucks a share in the next 24 hours, but he is prevented from being able to take advantage of that knowledge by selling his own shares. Conversely, someone buying or selling that stock doesn't know what the news will be—and if they do find out, it's usually insider trading and someone get arrested. But what if there was another way to bridge that gap?" 

My deliciously intelligent Julie caught on right away. "So if you can read the minds of people that know what is going on inside a company, you can always make the right decision on whether to buy or sell that stock."

"Exactly," I said, beaming at the fact that she caught on so quick; "and that's where you come in. I don't have any way to get an up and coming corporate executive to stop and talk to me so I can pick his brains about what's going on in company..."

"But if little 'ol me was sitting at the bar, all by myself," she finished the thought for me in an exaggerated Southern drawl "he might be able to find the time."

"Right again," I smiled, "and all you would need to do is get him to talk to you for a little bit. That's where part two comes in: I'm not going to let you out of my sight. The rich assholes are used to getting whatever they want, and if I have anything to say about it, they're not going to get their paws on YOU. That's MY job." I held her hands in my hands as we sat, looked right into her eyes and said "Julie, I want you to be with me. Live with me, work with me, travel with me, be my business partner—be my life partner. I was afraid to ask you before because I was so sure you'd say no. I'm an old guy with no regular job; why would a beautiful, delicate creature like you want to spend her time with me?"

"Stop it," she said. "I don't think of you as and old guy, so why do you? I think of you as a NICE guy. As the only REALLY nice guy I've ever met. The only guy who cares about my thoughts or my feelings—everyone else just seems to want me for my body. I mean, I guess the attention can be kind of flattering at times, but I'm so sick of that being the only thing that gets noticed." She kissed me, and said in a sexy tone "Someone that sees me for all that I am—that's a man I WANT to share my body with." 

"I must be the luckiest man alive," I said earnestly.

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, pulling me on top of her. We made out like teenagers in our parents' basement until eventually making love again. 

-----------------------

I got up early the next morning to attend a few sessions at the conference. Julie was still sleeping as I was getting ready to leave. I left her a quick note.

Good Morning honey
Gone to sessions
Call if you want
Otherwise back at 10:30

--I love you 

She hadn't called, but she was waiting for me in the room at 10:30. She had popped out to the coffee shop for a latte and breakfast, which she was finishing while reading the paper—the financial section. She was reading stock prices. 

When she heard me come in, she popped up and ran over to embrace and kiss me. "Good morning sweetheart," she said. 

"Good morning, honey," I replied. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she replied and kissed me again. "Do you have time for a little fun?"

"Actually, there's a couple of sessions I should go to. I wanted to see you first, though, in part to give you this." I said, going over to my bag and pulling out the two $5,000 cashier's checks I had with Julie's name on them.

"Oh good, that's a start," she said. 

"A start?" I said. That wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting.

"I've been doing some figuring," she said. She sat down by her paper, and I now saw that she had filled several sheets of hotel stationary with figures. I was looking at them upside-down, but they looked like power functions. "You should be able to find a stock almost every day that goes up or down by $2 a share. Now, brokers may let you buy on margin with as little as 10% down, but just to be safe I think we should be a bit more conservative—say 25%. We would need 5000 shares to make $10,000 a day; that means we would need enough cash to buy at least 1000 shares outright." She put down her pad and pencil, looked up at me (I was still standing) and said "So the way I figure it, we're going to need about $50,000 in seed money to get this ball rolling. If we can start out making $10,000 a day, we can be making $100,000 a day in just a few months."

I was dumbfounded. "My dear," I said slowly, "you are amazing! I was a research scientist once—like a lot of academics, I guess I'm not so good with practical things. I would just shown up in New York with the money in my pocket. You're figured out how much money we SHOULD have to make this work. I'm glad one of us is on the ball here." I have to admit to feeling a little ashamed at having been intellectually shown up by a woman that, much as I loved her, had still been a prostitute when I met her. I knew and loved the fact that she was smart; but it was still humbling when she was smarter than me.

She popped up and hugged me, then looked at me with concern in her face. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"MAD at you?" I replied. "Why would I be mad at you—you may have just saved our bacon on this whole scheme. I'm mad at myself for not being smart enough to figure out ahead of time what we would need to pull this off before I sprung it on you. Good thing you're smarter than me."

"I'm not smarter than you. Call girls need to have lots of applied knowledge," she said slyly, rubbing my crotch in case I didn't get her double entendre. "Its mostly businessmen that hire high-end hookers; they like to talk about their business because they want to impress us. Its best to just act impressed and nod a lot. But you can learn a lot of useful things if you're smart enough to follow what they're saying. Plus, I took a class in economics at OCCC last semester."

I kissed her. "You're awful smart," I said, "if you had gone to school as long as I did, you probably would be smarter than me."

"Too theoretical," she said, "I need something I can get my hands on." While she was saying it, she had slipped her hands into my pants and was stroking my penis. "Something like this," she breathed. 

It felt real good. She undid by belt and slipped my pants to the floor, then sat down on the coffee table. She kissed my cock, then ran her tongue slowly up and down its underside. She stroked it gently while she liked my balls. Then finally she ran her tongue all the way up to my tip and then took me into her mouth.

She started gently caressing me, using that wonderful tongue on the underside of my flesh while it was in her mouth. But then she picked up the pace, moving my dick into and out of her mouth at the same rhythm that I used when fucking her. At the same time, she stroked the base of my dick that didn't fit in her mouth easily with one hand. She knew I had somewhere to go; she was sucking me in a way that would most rapidly produce orgasm—a quickie blowjob. As I got more excited, she used her other hand to gently stroke my scrotum too. Oh, man. I watched her blonde hair bob back and forth off my knob. Then she looked up at me with her big, blue, loving eyes, and I was done. I got extra hard and started ejaculating in her mouth. Like always, she took the whole load in her mouth and swallowed it, then cleaned off my penis with her tongue. 

I helped her up and gave her yet another deep, semen-flavored kiss. 

It was about time for me to leave. I put my pants back on, saying "Oh, man, that was amazing." 

"I'm glad you liked it, daddy," she said in a sexy, little-girl voice. Cool-even as our relationship changed and grew deeper, we could still play sugar daddy and sugar baby.

"But the real reason I came up here," I said, "was to give you this." I reached into my pocket for the wad of bills I had there. "This should be about $1000. I want you to go shopping. Buy yourself whatever you want—shoes, clothes, I don't care, as long as its for YOU. I'll be very disappointed if you don't spend at least $500 of it."

"But, our seed money," she protested.

"I've got about 10 grand, and now so do you." I said. "That leaves us about 30 large short, so we're going to have to make some money another way before we go to New York anyway. So if we're going to make more, we don't need to save what we've got, do we? I want you to go shopping!"

"OK," she squealed, taking the money and practically bouncing with excitement. "It's been a long time since I've really gone shopping." 

Good-she was excited and happy about the idea like I'd hoped. I said "I'll be done around four, but take as long as you want. We'll go to dinner whenever you get back." Another quick kiss, and I was off to the conference—and she to the shops.

-------------------

That night we ate dinner at a fancy restaurant in the west end. Julie was wearing a tight tan skirt, very high pumps, and a tight white top with a low, rounded neckline, showing lots of beautiful cleavage. Waiting for a taxi to take us back to the hotel, I pulled her aside and said "Julie, have I told you yet today how beautiful you are?" 

"You have now," she smiled.

I gave her a kiss and whispered "I love you" in her ear.

She put her arms around my shoulders and looked up into my eyes, saying "Are you really going to be going back with me tomorrow? I keep expecting you to tell me you've changed your mind."

"Damn right I'm going home with you tomorrow...and the next day...and the day after that. You're stuck with me now," I said. "But I know what you mean—before I flew down here, I kept waiting for you to call me and tell me that you weren't going to be coming down to meet me." 

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too."

Back in our room, Julie was downright giddy about showing me all of her purchases that day. She modeled every one for me as I sat in the couch in the living room section of the suite. She ducked into the front foyer to change in between every item; I suppose she knew that if she changed clothes in front of me, we'd be having sex long before she'd finished showing me her purchases.

A pair of sexy black heels. Nice. "Mmmm, I like those," I said. She smiled and winked, then went for the next item.

A pair of three-quarter length pants. I guess they had their uses. The rode low on her hips; they might pair nicely with one of her midriff-revealing tops. I nodded.

A couple of light summer tops, low-cut with spaghetti straps. Basic, not bad. "Looks comfortable," I said. She knew I wouldn't get too excited about those.

A white flowered short-sleeve top, designed in a wrap-around fashion, that ended slightly above her belly button and let her midriff show. "I like it," I said, staring at the flat, toned stomach muscles they revealed. I never got tired of looking at them. 

A very expensive brand-name purse. If that's what you want, honey, I thought. I nodded.

A green halter top, very tight and also wrap-around, with what looked like two levels of ties in the back, which ended at mid-belly and let even more of her torso show. Yummy. "Now we're talking," I said. "Can I get a close look at that one?" 

"Not yet," she said, "there's more."

A black string bikini with gold metal accents and a gold hoop holding the cups together. I'm liking this. I didn't say anything, but my raised eyebrows signaled my appreciation. "I'm gonna wear this sunbathing tomorrow," she said.

"I made one more stop," she said, holding up a bag from a lingerie store. "Be right back." Now we're talking!

She came back out wearing the black heels again and a hot little pink two-piece negligee. It was mostly sheer, enough so that you could vaguely see what was underneath but obscuring enough that you would want to remove it to get at the goodies. The top had short sleeves and a square neckline that revealed most of the upper torso. It was gathered and tight at the bust, but flowing and loose from top down. Best of all, the only thing that held it closed in the front were two tiny string ties, one right above the breasts and one slightly below. It was designed to tend to tent open at the bottom, so that her navel and belly would peek out. The bottoms matched, although they were slightly more opaque, and had ties on either side at the hip to provide an alternate means for removing them.

She didn't walk so much as glide out from the back. She exaggerated the motion of her legs as she walked in order to appear more sexy. She stopped across the room from me, and nonchalantly untied the bottom string of her top. The then did a spin so that the top would flow out away from her and, with only one string tied, allow me a clear view of the sides of her breasts. She then proceeded to keep walking my direction. 

I wasn't sure how she wanted to do this, so I just waited to take my cues from her. 

She came up to me and stood in front of me, then bent at the waist so that her face was right up against mine. But rather than kiss me, she slowly pulled herself back to standing in such a way that I could look up the opening in the front her lingerie. Then she flipped her hair and strode around to the back of the sofa. She bent over me from behind, tossing her hair in my face. The she lifted her torso, so the loose folds of her top enveloped my head like a curtain. I looked up to look at her lovely breasts again, dangling down just inches from my tongue. But when I went to kiss them she lifted them out of my reach. 

I then reached for the tie with my hands, but she intercepted my hands with hers and gently held them down so I couldn't reach.

"Is there something you want?" she breathed. I answered by transfixing my gaze on the last remaining tie of her bodice. 

"If you want it, you're gonna have to earn it," she teased, dangling the ends of the tie in my face. I realized she wanted me to catch the end in my teeth; I missed at least five times before I finally caught one. When I did, I pulled my head to the side, which successfully untied the string—but the ends remained entwined, so the top remained maddenly closed. She giggled and continued to dangle the string tantalizingly in my face. Finally I lunged up and clenched one whole side of the top in my mouth; when I pulled with my neck it finally freed the laces from each other and her breasts hung free. 




Gifted Grifter Ch. 09



"Were you looking for these?" she teased, lowering her breasts right into my face. I took each one in turn into my mouth and greedily sucked on the tender nipples. She closed her eyes in enjoyment as I did. I tried to sneak my hands up over my head and behind the couch to reach the ties on her panties, but she caught me and again redirected my hands.

"Nuh-uh," she teased. She strutted back around front of the couch, doing another twirl which now of course sent her bodice flying completely open. Then she came towards me but stopped just outside of arms' reach.

"If you want me to come closer," she teased, "give me your hands." I held out my hands; she intertwined her fingers with mine so I couldn't use them to untie the laces on the sides of her bottoms. But she then walked right up to me, standing with her legs apart and on either side of my legs as I sat, and challenged "if you want it, come and get it."

She kept my hands from getting near the ties of her panties, but other than that she didn't prevent me from reaching. I grasped the left side string in my mouth and pulled the ties loose; I then repeated on the right. But like the shirt, the ties were still entwined, and hence the pants didn't fall off. So I clamped my teeth on the front of her panties; this time when I pulled, her panties came off in my mouth. 

"Good work," she teased, "now let's see what you can do with this." She raised one heel up on the top of the couch backrest and leaned forward so that her pussy was in my face. I stuck my tongue between her thighs and started licking, feeling for her clit. She put one hand in my hair and lightly held my head in place while I pleasured her. I felt the heat and wetness on my face, and as she got more excited her intimate scent enveloped my nostrils. As I got her close to getting off, she started to flex her pelvis in response to my ministrations and gently moved my head to direct the action of my tongue for maximum pleasure. Suddenly she pushed her pelvis down hard onto my face, and immediately after I felt waves of muscle spasms rippling her core muscles, accompanied by sounds of "oh...oh...". 

She let go of my head, but I kept my tongue busy between her legs while looking up at her to see what she wanted next. She pulled her leg down off the sofa and now knelt down in front of me. I let her undo and pull down my pants. My dick now out in the open, she stoked it a few times, then ran her tongue up and down its length. She stroked it nicely, but she didn't suck me yet; she was making me wait. It seemed like forever she finally opened wide and took me inside her mouth. It was warm, moist, and soft, and it felt like heaven. She sucked me slowly, looking up at me, watching my reaction; she held me in her mouth, but her sucking was too slow to build any momentum. 

When she was satisfied that I was hard as I would get, she stood up from the floor, then knelt on top of me on the couch, one leg to either side of mine. She reached down to my cock and helped guide it up and into the hole in her crotch. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and started to rhythmically slide her body up and down the length of my dick. Again she started very slowly, rising and then falling, feeling my dick fill her up. She rocked back down, pushing my dick all the way up into her, then stopped to kiss me. I kissed her, then I kissed her neck, down the front of her torso, and finally her breasts. When I reached the nipple I took it in between my teeth and gently pulled on it. She closed her eyes momentarily and made an almost inaudible noise; it must have felt good. 

She started bobbing up and down on my knob again. As she did, she leaned forward so that her breasts would teasingly glance by my face on the way past. I stuck out my tongue and licked whatever part of her breasts I could reach as they slipped maddeningly past my face. She slowed for a second so I could take the other nipple and hold it in my mouth for bit, then resumed rocking herself up and down on my dick. 

She adjusted herself so that now her feet were on the sofa rather than her knees. This allowed her to pick up the pace and at the same time lengthen her strokes. As she sped up, she closed her eyes and arched her back to achieve the most pleasurable angle of penetration. I reached upwards with what little freedom of motion my pelvis had. I also put my hands gently on her hips so that I could further feel her rocking herself up and down. I lay back in the chair, watching and feeling my beautiful, naked little goddess gliding up and down, fucking herself with my dick. Then she picked up the pace again; she was now lifting herself and them practically slamming her pelvis down onto mine, driving my dick into her depths. She was bucking up and down as if I was a mechanical bull. As she did, her lovely breasts would bounce up and down; I tried to reach for them but couldn't with her back no arched away from me. But I could move one of my hands to her crotch, and with my thumb I started playing with her clit again. That must have really felt good, because she started to say "Ohh....ohhh" again, and was driving as hard as she could. I couldn't hold out anymore; my dick took on that extra-rigidity and prepared to empty its load. I kept thumbing her clit, however, and as I was ejaculating, I felt her suddenly draw in and hold her breath, and just as my orgasm was ending hers began. I held her down on what was left of my erection with my hands, still thumbing her clit, until I felt the last ripple of her orgasm subside.  

An hour later found us standing, naked, holding each other, looking out at Town Lake through the picture windows. Julie lay her head on my shoulders; I wrapped my arms around her slim waist from behind. I just enjoyed feeling her warm skin next to mine, took comfort in the reassuring rise and fall of her breath. It seemed such a strange blur how I ended up here, with lovely Julie in my arms, but there was nowhere else on earth I would rather be.

"So," I whispered into her ear, "how would you feel about living in New York?" I asked.

"I'd live on a rock in the middle of the ocean if it was with you," she said, snuggling up to me with closed eyes. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me. I wished that I had thought of it first, so that I could have said it to her.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 10



Chapter 10: A Slight Change of Plans

It was our last day in Austin, and Julie and I were plotting a course through uncharted territory. I had come to Austin to attend a conference and have a rendezvous with Julie, since it wasn't far from her hometown of Oklahoma City—but there had been a slight change of plans. Our relationship had once been purely sexual, but somehow along the way we had fallen in love. Now, rather than each of us going back to our respective homes tomorrow, we were both headed for New York to start building a new life—together.

But before we could really get started on our new lives, we had a lot of old business to attend to: she had a condo to sell and an ex-boyfriend (although he didn't know it yet) to evict; we both had personal belongings to retrieve and get to New York; and we had to come up with at least another 30 grand in seed money for our day trading scheme. But the first order of business was to build Julie her own mindreading machine. So right after lunch I started putting together mindreading machine number four.

The mindreaders I had built into eyeglass frames proved to be the most versatile, so I had asked Julie to pick up a pair of plastic-framed sunglasses for herself. But as I started working with the electronics, it soon became apparent that any frames that were feminine enough for her to believably be wearing didn't leave enough space for all the electronics that needed to go inside them, even if I had been able to hollow them out without the kinds of tools I had access to when I worked for the Defense Department. 

"Dammit," I said, "these women's frame styles are too small. I can't build a mindreader in this small amount of space."

"Does it have to be a pair of sunglasses? Can you build the mindreader into something else?" she asked.

"I can built it into a lot of things, but it has to be worn somewhere on your head, and it has to be something that won't seem odd when you're wearing it," I said. Looking up at her, I joked, "I would gladly build one into a tiara for you, by queen, but I think it would attract attention."

"Could you build a receiver in a Bluetooth headset?" she asked.

Fucking brilliant, and I told her so. Once again, the solution was a stroke of sheer genius—and once again it was hers, not mine. 

She got a little pleased look on her face, like someone was finally recognizing something she knew she had but that no one else seemed to have noticed before. "Why are you the only person who appreciates my ideas?" she asked wistfully.

"Because everyone else is a fucking idiot! I want to hear every single idea you ever have. Ever." I told her. 

She put both of her arms on my shoulders and kissed me lovingly. "There really is no one else like you in the whole world," she said.

I held her and said, "I can only hope you remain deluded like this forever, and thus never notice that you can do much better than a boring old man like me."

"You stop that," she said in mock anger, "no one puts down my knight in shining armor like that" and kissed me again.

This road was going to end up with us both in bed in about two minutes. Julie was wearing a bluish-teal halter top that ended a good six inches above the top of her low-cut, ultra-straight leg jeans, but had blue lacey material in the front that teasingly revealed only some of the smooth skin in-between. In other words, she was hot and gorgeous like usual—but we really needed to get some work done, so not without regret I changed the topic.

"The only problem with this Bluetooth idea," I said, "is that we don't have a Bluetooth headset to use. Would you want to go get one while I work on these electronics some more?"

She was disappointed that we weren't headed back to bed, but she knew that we had to get this done. "Okay, throw me out why don't you."

I grabbed her waist from behind as she was walking away in mock petulance, slipping my fingers under the lacy covering so that I touched only smooth, bare skin. "I will never, ever throw you out," I whispered in her ear, then nibbled on it gently. "I promise I'll make up to you later what we don't have time to do now."

She reached behind her with one hand to hold my head, turned over her shoulder for one more kiss, then pointed her high heels out the door and went in search of a device.

The Bluetooth mindreader turned out better than I could have hoped. There was plenty of spare room inside once I took out the unnecessary blue light circuitry—which also allowed her to be using it without the world knowing about it. It came pre-equipped with its own rechargeable battery, so unlike me she wouldn't have to be replacing watch batteries all the time. With battery life not a problem, it wouldn't have needed an on/off switch like my eyeglasses did, but since there already was one I left it there. I added two tiny additional buttons; one which allowed her to switch to phone function so that she could actually still use it as a Bluetooth headset—and one that would send an emergency distress signal to my Blackberry. Julie could bench-press almost as much as I and had a black belt, so she was probably better off defending herself if needed than relying on me to come to her aid, but it made me feel better that it was there.

I loaded up the software and we got ready to try it out. Julie clipped the headset to her ear and turned it on.

Is it working? Is it working? I was thinking.

"Yes, its working, its working," she laughed. 

I love her laugh—its so delicate. Her laugh got me started thinking about how beautiful she was and how my love for her kept growing. Of course, she was reading these thoughts even as I had them. She smiled but looked away, saying "I feel funny eavesdropping on your thoughts. I mean, I like the thoughts I'm receiving, but it doesn't seem right to be stealing them like that. If we use these on each other, to be fair we should at least both have them on at the same time."

"See what I mean...now that's another great idea by you!" I said, pulling my glasses out of my pocket and turning them on. 

She smiled even broader and turned to look at me.

Everything turned gray. It felt like there were pulses or something running through my head, like it was subject to a deluge of pressure waves. My temples instantly started to ache. If I could have concentrated on what my eyes were seeing, I would have seen Julie grab for her temples as well—but I couldn't concentrate on anything. Probably from the pain, Julie doubled over—and as soon as she did the feeling stopped. It took me a second to figure out what had just happened, but I quickly whipped off my glasses when I did.

Julie was slowly sitting up again; she probably had the same dull headache I now had. "What happened? Did I speak too soon?" She had taken off her headset.

"Feedback," I said. "Just like if you put a microphone in front of a loudspeaker. When the mindreaders were fixed on each other, it must have shuffled the same thought back and forth, with increasing intensity, blocking our ability to think anything else."

"We have to be careful never to do that again," she said.

"I'll say—if you hadn't instinctively bent over and broken the loop, we might have been frozen like that until...well, I don't want to find out," I said.

"I'm afraid to try it again," she said.

"I don't blame you, but unless the feedback blew a circuit—entirely possible I suppose—it should still work fine." I said. "Here, I'll be the guinea pig." She handed me the headset and I put it on, then looked at Julie.

Her thoughts were full of wonder at what this contraption was, and admiration of me for being able to create it. She was also almost embarrassingly grateful to me for loving and accepting her as a person, not just a bombshell, and loved me for it. But she was also now petrified of her mindreader.

I looked away. "Yes, I agree: we should not use these on each other unless we both agree to use them. And, obviously, we'll have to be sure not to have them turned on at the same time. Yours works," I said, pulling off the headpiece and putting on my glasses. I could immediately see she was still afraid of it "and so does mine which is how I know that you're still afraid of the thing."

She took the headset back but was holding it the way one might hold a dead mouse. 

"Please, darling, you know I would never hurt you, right?" I said. "I just put it on, it's perfectly safe." She looked at me, torn—afraid of the device, but trusting of me, and further not wanting to have her fear of the device turn into an issue of mistrust between us. I hadn't meant it that way, but suddenly the device had become an ultimatum on a trust that was still taking root between us, so I quickly reversed field. "Tell you what; it's new, I guess I can't be certain something weird with the Bluetooth doesn't interfere with it. I'll wear it, and we'll go for a walk. If all goes well, I'll test the panic button, which uses the Bluetooth function itself. If it passes all those tests, will you try it again?"

She nodded in relief; she was afraid, but she was also quite reasonable, and recognized my suggestion as such. "Thank you," she said quietly, referring to my not making her choose between trusting me and fearing the device.

"Anything for you, my sweet," I replied and kissed her.

I put on the headset and we started walking up Congress, across the "bat bridge" and into downtown Austin. Julie's ass swayed naturally in her tight, straight-leg jeans as we walked the city; I couldn't see that of course since I was walking with her, but after my mindreader picked up the thought "check the ass on that chick" five or six times I got the message. In fact the thoughts of EVERY man—and a couple of the ladies too—turned sexual when they caught a glimpse of my dear Julie. She knew at some level that she looked good and that men in general liked the way she looked; after all, she'd relied on that to make a living for many years. Still, I'm sure she had no idea just how powerful an effect she had.

We found a nice restaurant in the warehouse district; I turned off the headset so I wasn't reading Julie's mind all through dinner. After a leisurely meal and a couple of drinks, we went back to the hotel. Once upstairs, I pushed the panic button. My Blackberry began to play "Need You Tonight," the ringtone I had specifically assigned to her panic button. Nothing had gone awry.

"So?" she asked.

"Everything in working order," I said, handing it to her "but it's a good thing that its got an on-off switch—you're probably not going to want to have it on when you're just out walking around. Apparently, my lovely," I added, holding her close to me, "you have an uncanny ability to generate sexual fantasies in the minds of bystanders."

Good thing she didn't have anything in her mouth, because she would have spit whatever it was all over the floor as she burst out laughing.

I elaborated "If you had really just given as many blowjobs as I just watched you give in the minds of strangers, you'd have a sore throat for a month." 

She was now more incredulous now. "Really? You saw that many guys fantasize about me in that great of a detail?"

"You generating fantasies in men—no surprise. You generating those fantasies in every single man we saw on the street, plus more than one woman—somewhat of a surprise." I told her. "Guess I'm not the only one who constantly fantasizes about having sex with you."

She smiled and leaned close to my ear to whisper into it "Don't be so jealous. After all, YOU don't have to use your imagination." Then I felt a hand gently exploring my crotch. Oh yeah!

----------------------

Early the next morning Julie and I checked out and put our bags in the back of her ratty old Toyota pickup. We had about a 7-hour drive in front of us, which would give us plenty of time to talk and figure things out. We would take turns driving while the other made phone calls as we tried to take care of what seemed to be a million loose ends. Julie was dressed for driving; short shorts, flip-flops, and a tank top, but the colorful band of cloth around her neck belied the fact that she was wearing a bikini top under her tank instead of a bra. I love that bikini-under-tank look. 

Julie and I had gone back out the night before to go dancing; even "leaving early" we didn't get to bed until two, and of course we had to have sex again before turning in. Since she was young and more resilient to sleep deprivation, she took the first turn behind the wheel. 

We were both a little nervous about the many unknowns in the immediate future—just as we were both excited about the idea of being together long-term rather than just meeting for the occasional sex weekend. Eventually we would end up in New York and would use our mindreaders to pick up stock tips, allowing us to make a living as day traders. But we needed seed money, and the best place I could think of to make 30 grand was to play poker in Vegas. I was afraid, however, to take Julie back there since she had lived there for more than a year, working as a high-priced call girl. If it was going to cause my honey any pain, we would find some other way to make the cash. I should have known that my lovely Julie was too tough to let her past stand in our way.

"So where should we go to get our seed money?" I asked to open the conversation.

"I just assumed we were going to Vegas. That's the best place to make money gambling, right?" she replied.

"Absolutely...but I also imagine it would bring up a lot of memories for you," I said. "Vegas may be the best place, but it's not the only place. If it's going to be hard on you to return to the streets you used to work, then we're not going there. End of story."

She glanced at me and rested a hand on my knee momentarily. "I appreciate your thinking of me and worrying about me," she said. "But I think I'll be OK. When I was working I spent most of my time in the bars or high-end suites. If we stay away from them, I should be fine."

"Are there places where you've never been, or seldom been, on the strip?" I asked.

"I didn't go to the low-end properties much," she replied, "not too many five dollar players have three grand to invest in a rent-a-girl." 

"What if we were to stay in Excalibur?" I asked, as it had been a place where I had stayed many times before the discovery of the mindreader changed my life. 

"That's fine," she said, "I've only ever cut through that one on my way to somewhere else."

I called and booked us a room. They asked if I wanted a suite; I declined, thinking a regular room would be even less like places Julie had frequented when she was a working girl. The less similarity, the better. 

That settled, I now called Erin, my real estate agent in Lake Country, as a first step towards selling Julie's condo. She couldn't help me directly, since she wasn't licensed in Oklahoma, but she gave me a number for her company's office in the city. She asked me whether I would be coming up that way soon.

"Gosh, I don't know Erin," I said, "Some new things have come up and I'm going to be away for a while. If I make it up that way again, you're the first person I'll call, OK?"

After I hung up, Julie commented that real estate agents don't usually ask when you're coming back. 

"Well," I said, "she's not just a real estate agent; I slept with her a couple of times, too."

"Oh," she said, with slightly raised eyebrow, although obviously she had no leg to stand on when the topic of conversation was sleeping with other people. But I saw an opportunity to broach a topic I knew we had to eventually.

"Yeah," I said. "Look, I want you to know I'm no angel. I know a lot of the skeletons in your closet, but you haven't really seen much of mine." I paused; she was listening closely. "That's really what I've been doing with this mindreader thing up to now—picking up girls. I make enough money to be able to live a fancy lifestyle in order to impress girls. With my glasses on, I can see what girls want to hear and what they are looking for in a man. I do my best to pretend that that's what I am. In the last year, I've seduced dozens of girls under false pretenses. I'd still be doing it, if I hadn't fallen in love with you."

She was quiet, not knowing what to say. "I guessed you weren't a dedicated family man, or you wouldn't have picked me up in that bar. But..." she paused as she considered how to put what she was thinking..."I guess I can't help but wonder how much you've lied to me, too."

I turned in the seat so I could look more directly at her and put my hand on her knee. "That's the ironic thing, in a way—I've never had to lie to you. I have almost never used my glasses on you, either."

"I suppose you didn't need to use them on me," she observed, "you could just buy my affection."

"No," I replied, "I beg to differ. Yes, there was a time when I rented your body. But affection cannot be bought or sold, it can only be freely given." She didn't have any reply. "Besides, if you doubt me, you can find out for yourself—just use your mindreader on me."

She protested, but I could see that she really wanted to be able to confirm that I wasn't lying to her right now. "Here, you're headset is buried in your purse somewhere, use my sunglasses," I said, turning them on as I handed them, to her. Her fears go the better of her, and after a slight hesitation she accepted the glasses and read my mind. It took only a few seconds to confirm that I had virtually never lied to her, except for my initial false name of course. She took them off and handed them back, feeling somewhat ashamed that she hadn't trusted me.

"Look, I don't blame you—didn't I just tell you that I've spent a year lying to girls to get them into bed?" I said. "I wouldn't trust me, either...there's a lot of girls out there that I was not very trustworthy towards."

"Do you ever think I'm lying to you?" she asked. Actually, I hadn't.

"No," I said. "You seem so direct. I guess that since you've come right out and said a lot of things that most people would lie to hide, it hadn't crossed my mind that you would. You might choose to omit certain details at certain times, but frankly, there are times I am grateful for that."

"Well, you're right," she said, "after all the things I've done, there's no point in trying to lie about it—a series of lies would all come crashing down like a house of cards. But...I guess I wonder how much it bothers you that I used to be a sex worker."

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have it any other way," I said, "but it is what it is—and further, if you had not been out working the bars that day, I'd have never found you. So in a strange way, it's only because you were a sex worker that I'm with you now, and I definitely wouldn't trade being with you now for anything." She gave me glance of appreciation. "But because I love you and don't want to share you, I find it difficult to imagine you having sex with other men. So while I accept it as having been necessary that you were once a sex worker, I really don't want to hear any details about what it was like."

"That's good," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat. A stray tear rolled down her far cheek. "Because I really don't want to think about it."

"Oh, honey," I said, putting my arm on her shoulder but no daring hug her more or risk careening off the road. She pinched my hand between her shoulder and cheek in reciprocation.

--------------------

There was a rest area about 15 miles up the road. She got off to switch drivers; I gave her a big hug, but the tears had already ended. Back on the road, Julie started working the phone.

She called the real estate company number about putting the condo up for sale. She made an appointment to sign papers.

She called Ryder to arrange a cross-country rental of a small truck.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 10



She called her brother to tell him she was leaving for New York; she told him she would leave the truck at their parents' house if he wanted it back. She also asked if he could keep an eye on her condo and grab any stuff that was left in the place after her now ex-boyfriend moved out. 

Then she called her mother and told her she'd be stopping by in a little while with some news and wanted to make sure she was home.

We got to Oklahoma City; Julie gave me directions to the Ryder truck rental. Then she dropped me off, giving me directions on how to find her mother's house. "Come pick me up once you have the truck, but give me at least a half-hour." Renting the truck was not fast; it was at least 45 minutes before I rolled up in front of the address Julie gave me. The red pickup in the driveway made it easy to find. Julie must have been listening for me—an escape route perhaps—because she popped out the door as soon as I pulled up.

There was no mistaking Julie's mother—the physical resemblance was obvious. Based on what I knew she had to be somewhere around 45, but you'd have guessed something at least ten year less than that. She had natural blonde hair like Julie, but even more she had an amazing body for her age—her legs were still shapely, and while she wasn't muscular from exercise like Julie, she had no excess fat on her body. Secretly, I was very happy to see this, because they say that if you want to see what your wife/girlfriend will look like when she's old, look at her mother. Well, Julie's mother was clearly a MILF (Mom I'd Like to Fuck). Julie's home life may have been hell growing up, but she did inherit a killer set of genes. 

I got out of the cab, but by the time I did Julie had already grabbed everything out of the back of the pickup and turned the keys over to her mom. I opened up the back of the truck and Julie tossed the stuff in; she was clearly trying to control the conversation with her mother. She couldn't avoid a "who's this?" from her mom, though.

"This is Tom," she said, using the false name I had given her when I first met her in Vegas. "He's helping me move. I'll call with more details when I have them. Don't worry, I'll be OK." She gave her mom a hug and a kiss and just like that we were in the truck moving.

"Tom?" I asked as we drove away.

"They don't need to know," she replied. "Maybe this way it will be harder for them to find us and beg for money once we hit it big." 

I didn't know what to say.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up outside of her condo. 

"Will your boyfriend be home?" I asked. We hadn't discussed how this confrontation was going to go.

"Bill? No, he shouldn't be; I told him I was going to Austin for a few days, so he decided to go visit his parents in Nebraska," she said. "I don't expect him until late tonight or tomorrow, and I don't see his car parked in its usual spot."

"So what's the plan?" I asked. This was her condo; I was going to along with whatever she wanted to do on this one.

"With any luck, we'll be in and out of here before he gets here," she said. 

"What do I do?" I asked, as I followed her up the stairs to her door.

She unlocked the door, then handed me keys, singling out the key to the storage area in the basement. "There's a bunch of plastic storage boxes down there; throw them on the truck." She went inside.

After I loaded the boxes, I went upstairs to see what I could do next. I heard noises coming from somewhere down a back hallway, presumably a bedroom. There was a breakfast kitchen counter; I saw that on it there was a note:

Dear Bill:

Since you refuse to leave even though I've asked you to, I'm leaving instead. The condo will be listed for sale at once; you have until the end of the month to vacate the premises or I will have the Sheriff's department remove you. I will make arrangements to pick up anything of mine that I haven't already taken with me. My brother will be keeping an eye on things; if you damage anything you will be sorry. 

You have taken advantage of my kindness for the last time. Goodbye.

Julie

PS Don't bother trying to call me--I'll be living in another state.

Julie came down the hall with a large moving box that was barely staying closed on account of the mountain of shoes it contained. She saw me reading the note.

"So what do you think of my note?" she asked.

"I sure hope I never piss you off like that," I replied.

She put the box down and gave me a quick kiss "And don't you forget it," she added with a smile.

"You realize—he'll probably think you're going back to your old life in Vegas," I said.

"I don't give fuck what he thinks," she replied, "besides, he doesn't know what I did for living there anyway. He knows I made a lot of money, though; I think he figures I was a stripper or something. I'm pretty sure that's what my stepbrother thinks too." 

I wrapped my arms around her and whispered "Hmm, you think I can get a table dance?"

She got a mischievous look on her face and replied, "I'll have to see the size of the tip," touching my crotch when she said the word "tip." She didn't mean money.

But we wanted to get out fast, so play time would have to wait. I helped Julie empty the rest of her clothes into boxes and take them to the van. 

As for the rest, it was hard to decide what to take. We had every expectation of being able to buy new and better almost any practical, everyday thing we might need. But if she left them in the condo, she figured that Bill would take most of them when he left. "He seems to think everything is his—he forgets that most of the stuff here I had before he came." She decided to take dresser that she was attached to, a few pictures, mementos and knick-knacks, and a few of her favorite everyday and kitchen items. Finally there were a few last minute linens, books, CDs and DVDs, software and her laptop, then we closed up the truck and locked up the condo, leaving Julie's old life behind her. She never looked back as I pulled the truck away.

We started driving west, but it had already been a long day so we only drove about an hour or so before stopping for the night in Weatherford. Weatherford is home to Oklahoma State University, so I figured there had to be some sort of nightlife somewhere. I offered to take Julie out, but she was only interested in dinner. I took her out for the best steak in town according to the concierge, then we went back to the hotel. 

Given the lifting and all, I suggested we hit the hot tub. Julie was young and worked out more than I; she would probably be fine, but I didn't want to be driving 15 hours the next day with a sore back. The hot tub felt good on my tired body, and fortunately the pool area was deserted except for us. Julie and I sat side-by-side, each of us in front of a water jet. 

"How are you feeling?" I asked Julie.

"I'm glad that's over," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce you to more of my family; it's just...well, the less time I spend with them, the better."

"Oh, Julie," I said, putting my arm around her while she leaned over and put her head on my shoulder. "Your life...it feels like it's been so...bleak. You deserve SO much better..."

"There's nothing you can do about my past," Julie said. Then lifting her head to look into my eyes, she said "but maybe you can help make the future be better."

"I want to buy you one of everything in the world," I said. "I feel like life owes it to you."

"What that would really make my life better," she said, "you can't buy." She sat down in my lap, facing me, her knees on the submerged bench of the pool, my legs between hers. She put her arms around me. 

"If you mean me," I said, "well, you already have that." I loved the look in her eye when I said that. We locked in a long kiss. 

When the kiss was over, having her bikini-clad body pressed up against mine and sitting on my crotch, I was hard. I wasn't going to fuck her in the public area, though, and besides—sex in a hot tub is a yeast infection waiting to happen. But there was no mistaking the feeling of my dick pressing against her crotch in the pool, so she got up and gave me sly nod to follow her out of the pool. 

We toweled off on the way to the room, but were still quite salty—something that became apparent when we started to kiss, which we did immediately upon entering the room. 

"What do you say to a shower?" Julie asked. 

I say YES! But on the outside, I just gave her a huge grin and stroked her chin. 

She went in first, and started the water to get it up to temperature. Then she started to remove her bikini; she went a deliberate pace, knowing I was watching, wanting to make something of a show out of it, but not wanting to play stripper in her wet and salty state. Me, well, I had my trunks down in a matter of nanoseconds—which left me in the somewhat awkward position, standing there naked with a full hard-on but having nothing to do with my hands, at least until we got into the shower. The humor of my ridiculousness was not lost on Julie; her sexy mood was broken by her inability to keep from snickering at how pathetic I looked. I played along by pretending to pout.

She stepped into the tub, saying "C'mon, get in here... we wouldn't want to be lonely, now would we." The first part was directed at me; the second at my Johnson. 

I stepped in, and we kissed under the shower head like we were naked in the rain. She kept one hand free to keep stroking my penis—perhaps she was already familiar with the negative effect that showers can sometimes have on erections. But between her gentle hands and my running my own hands up and down her back, I wasn't having any trouble staying up, even after soaping up. I started to reach for the shampoo, but Julie didn't let me reach it. She put both arms on my shoulder now, while lifting one leg up on a ledge that was at normal tub height. She was clearly inviting me in.

"Um, are we gonna slip and fall?" I asked. 

She gave a false frown. "Trust me," she said. 

OK. A slight redirection with my hand and my penis slipped easily into Julie's belly. I started sliding myself in and out, but it wasn't the most graceful fuck you've ever seen. For one thing, I was a few inches taller than she, and while she had legs that didn't quit her crotch was nevertheless closer to the ground than mine. Putting her leg up helped, but I had to bend my knees in order to thrust—but the knee bending also tended to push her away from me. For another thing, I was afraid of slipping in the shower, so I was trying to fuck while minimizing my shifting of weight kind of defeated the purpose. 

Leave it to my honey to solve the problem. She moved the leg that was up from the ledge so that it wrapped around my thigh instead. Then with a slight giddy-up, she wrapped the other leg around my other thigh. I clutched her, afraid she was going to fall—silly me, she was more than capable of carrying her own weight. 

Now, her pelvis was at the perfect angle—in fact, gravity pushed her mound down so that my dick was all the way in. I shifted my hands so that I held one of her buttocks in each—and then I started fucking. Julie wrapped her arms tight around my neck to help support herself. She kissed me while impaled on my penis, but then as my thrusting grew more insistent she leaned back and allowed my pushing to bob her entire torso up and down. With my hands on her ass, I had almost total control on where her hips went—and where they went was right down on my cock. And I didn't have to move my feet, so we were in less danger of falling down.

But the water in my face distracted right as I would start really getting into it, and I think maybe it was doing it to her to. So I stopped thrusting; she responded by pulling herself back in close to me. Then, with my penis still enshrined between her thighs and her body still wrapped around mine, I stepped out of the tub. 

There was a relatively substantial counter in the bathroom; I gently placed her ass down on it, making sure that her pelvis was flush with the edge of the counter for maximum penetration. She kept her legs wrapped around me, but now she didn't have to fight her weight in gravity while doing so. This gave me greater flexibility of movement, so I was able to increase the amplitude of my strokes. She leaned back some, so that now she held my neck only with her clasped hands. I kept stroking in and out. We were dripping wet; one pool was collecting on the countertop under her, one on the floor under me. We didn't give a shit. My penis was drinking in the sweet nectar that was my Julie's pussy. I don't know how she pulls that trick where she somehow flexes the muscles around her vagina to make it tighter—I think I read somewhere its kind of the same movement as when a girl is holding her bladder—but I can tell you it feels GOOD. I could feel her walls encircling me, gripping me with every movement in and out.

There was no drain on the floor. Thus, ironically, by coming out of the shower, the puddle of drip I was standing in was now putting me more danger of slipping than I had been in tub. I leaned in towards my Julie so I could put my hands down on countertop on either side of her to help me maintain balance. She responded by curling her pelvis upwards so that my penis could continue to drive straight into her depths despite the change in 'angle of attack' so to speak. When it came to making sex pleasurable for her partner, Julie never missed a thing. 

The other thing that Julie did when I reached over her was not specifically intended to increase my pleasure, but actually had a greater effect. My face was not closer to hers, and she looked into my eyes, her pupils dilated with arousal, her expression a strange combination of physical arousal and internal calm. The message it sent was that she was happy to be looking up at me while I fucked her, a message that said more clearly than words that I was the man she wanted to have inside of her. And there is nothing sexier or more beautiful than to be wanted. 

I was entranced by how beautiful she was as she lay open before me, like a flower opening its petals to the sun. I bent closer to her to give her a kiss; she put her hands around my neck and kissed me. Her lips were almost unbelievably soft, her kiss loving and gentle. Oh my god; how did I manage this? I wasn't just fucking a goddamn goddess, I was fucking a goddamn goddess that was totally into me, giving me everything she had. The feeling was overwhelming, both emotionally and sexually; I felt my dick get rigid, then stood there almost paralyzed by the pleasurable sensations washing over me as my nuts disbursed their payload. 

I collapsed on top of my honey, holding her, dripping onto her. Damn the water; long after my orgasm subsided, I held my Julie, kissing her as she lay in her own puddle on the counter.

---------------------

The next day we had a 15-hour drive to Vegas. She had on short shorts and flip-flops again, but this time she wore a spaghetti-strap camisole top. I don't know what kind of bra she had on under it; I could see that there were straps, but at the same time a LOT of her tits were hanging out on top. I could have easily, at any time, slipped a hand down her shirt and grabbed a mittful of tit. It was very, very hard to resist doing so.

Knowing we would be spending all day in the truck, I insisted we stop and buy a rebroadcaster for my IPOD so I could play it over the truck radio while driving—I could NOT handle fifteen hours of country music. Julie wasn't particular about what was playing, but as I expected she hadn't heard of most of what I had on my nano. She was open minded, though, and some of it she seemed to like right off the bat, especially if it had a dance beat. 

We also had lots of time to talk. I did most of the driving; Julie was fine on wide open spaces, but she got nervous driving the truck through winding roads or anywhere off the Interstate. 

Somewhere in New Mexico I asked "If you don't mind me asking," I said, "how did you end up living with Bill?" She was wearing a seat belt, but she had drawn up her knees to her chin and was hugging them in place. She was turned at about a 45 degree angle towards me.

"I met him at school, at OCCC. He was cute, and he was nice to me. That put him ahead of most of the guys I met. We dated a few times, we had sex," she continued, "it seemed like all the things normal people do. He told me he was having problems with a roommate, so I invited him to live with me. Now, I understand why he might have had problems with a roommate—he probably thought he owned that place, too."

"Did you love him?" I asked her.

"At one time I thought so, but looking back on it, no. It was more like the puppy loves you have in high school, where you think it's going to last forever, but in reality six months later you can't understand what you ever saw in the guy. I guess I've never been in love," she said, laying her head sideways atop her knees and looking at me with a vulnerable look, "at least, not until now."

I really wanted to kiss her, but I was driving a friggin' truck. Not a good idea.

I did take my free hand and stroked her cheek with it. "I love you, Julie," I said. She lifted her head upright, took my hand, and gently kissed it. 

"My feelings for you—they're different from anything I've felt before," she continued. "It makes me afraid—all I want is to be with you, but part of me feels like I should keep some distance because it would hurt so much to lose you." 

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," I replied. "It must be hard to believe, it seems like everyone else in your life has let you down—but I am determined not to be another name on that list."

"Aunt Betty," she said distantly.

"Hmm?" I asked.

"My Aunt Betty—she never let me down. No matter how crazy things were at my house, I could ride my bike to Aunt Betty's house and she'd be there for me," she said. "I don't know how many times I lay in her lap and cried and cried. I don't know if I'd have survived without her."

"She was your island of sanity," I said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Resilient kids...kids that grow up in hellish environments, yet somehow manage to grow up to be decent human beings in spite of it—one of the things they all have is a person somewhere in their life that they can turn to, an island of sanity in their lives," I explained. "I'll bet you grew up wanting to be like Aunt Betty, not like the other crazy people in your life."

It was silent for a while.

"What became of Aunt Betty?" I asked. 

"I don't know," she said. "I stopped calling her when I ran away. I knew she would want to know what I was doing, and I couldn't lie to her. I figured it would break her heart to know that little Julie grew up to be a whore." I heard her sniffle. "I haven't spoken to her in five years." She put her head down in her hands atop her knees, crying.

I put my hand gently on her head. "Julie," I said, "your Aunt Betty is your island of sanity—she's not going to shun you because of things you once did to stay alive. Not to mention, you haven't done that in almost a year now." 

"Okay, let me ask you a question, if you don't mind my asking," she said, trying to imitate my manner of speaking with the last phrase. "You and your glasses, you have the world at your command. Why are you wasting your time on a washed-up ex-hooker?"

"I am more than happy to spend my time," I replied, "with a woman who's much to beautiful for a guy like me, who's too young for a guy like me, who's probably too nice for a guy like me, and maybe even too smart for a guy like me. Look at the faces of people that look at you next time we stop for gas or something—its clear that you, my dear, are completely out of my league, and it is only by dumb luck that you are with me at all."




Gifted Grifter Ch. 10



"Damaged goods is all I am," she whimpered.

"OK, so you're no virgin—that doesn't mean you're damaged goods." I retorted. "It's kind of like a used Rolls Royce. Yeah, it might be nicer at some level to have a new one, but that doesn't mean it's not a Rolls Royce. If you're a guy like me, who never ever imagined that he'd get a chance to drive a Rolls, you're just in awe of the fact that you're in one, period. And the thing of it is...the second you drive it off the lot, the new Rolls isn't new anymore, anyway."

"But I've got a lot of miles on the odometer," she argued.

"So?" I retorted. "You're still so young—all those miles are highway miles. Maybe you've been driven around the block a few times; that just proves that you won't turn out to be a lemon. You don't have all the emotional scars that a string of broken relationships leaves—that's where the real wear-and-tear is."

She hugged her knees silently for a time.

"The only way in which you might be damaged goods," I said quietly, "is in here." I tapped her forehead with my finger. "I really hope that someday you can forgive yourself for the things you did to survive when you were 18 and had few options." 

After a few minutes she sat up and picked up her phone. 

"Who are you calling?" I asked.

"My mom," she replied. "I want to get Aunt Betty's phone number."

----------------------

We were both exhausted by the time we got to Vegas. We had been on the road for 15 hours. Julie was emotionally worn out, too; after our talk, she had called her Aunt Betty on the phone and had a long tearful conversation. As I had predicted, Aunt Betty didn't care what Julie had or hadn't done, she was just ecstatic to hear her voice again. Julie had told Aunt Betty that she was in the process of moving to New York with a new boyfriend; Aunt Betty was very happy for her. Julie had promised to fly her out to New York to visit once things were settled down.

We checked in and trudged across the casino floor to Tower 2. When we got up to the room, Julie dumped her bag, pulled off the comforter, and collapsed face-down on the bed. She put her head in her folded arms and just lay there.

"I'm too tired to take off my clothes," she said, "can you help?"

I pulled off her camisole unhooked her bra, which she slipped off. I then sat on her butt and began to rub her back. 

"Mmm, that feels good," she said. Except that her skin was dry and it was rubbing. I went to the bathroom to find the lotion; when I came back she appeared not to have moved, except that now she wasn't wearing pants—only her skimpy underwear. I applied lotion to her back and rubbed it up and down, working out knots in the muscles as I found them. She got very relaxed.

"Mmmm, you're going to massage me to sleep," she mumbled.

"OK, let's go to sleep then," I said.

"We can't go to sleep YET," she said, looking over her shoulder at me and raising her ass seductively.

"Aren't you too tired to make love?" I asked, since she appeared to be.

"I'm never too tired for you, honey" she said. She slipped one leg out of her panties using as little effort as possible, then without lifting her head from where it was cradled in her arms, she bent and parted her knees, sending her ass up into the air. I got the hint.

I crawled over to her butt and stuck my face between her legs. The ministrations of my tongue had just started to get her wet when she said.

"I want you inside me." She was probably too tired to want an orgasm of her own, but my lovely Julie was offering herself to me so that I could satisfy myself. I entered her from behind and started screwing her dog-style. A faint smile crossed her face as I penetrated her again and again, but she was too tired to be very responsive. I tried to be gentle, as I thought she might be sore too. But she was plenty wet, so screwing was no problem.

I wished I could be kissing her, but I had to admit ripples in her tight glutes when my hips smacked into them was very satisfying to watch. I touched her back, then held her shoulders, then ran my hands along her abs, fucking her from behind all the while. 

I realized that I could reach far enough forward to reach her tits without falling over, so I reached around and held her breasts in my hands while continuing to do her dog-style. The downward pull of gravity of course maximized their size, and they were absolutely perfect in size, shape and heft as they hung in my hands. I tweaked both of her nipples between my thumb and index finger gently, just because I wanted to—they were completely erect and didn't need additional stimulation. 

Her breasts in my hands added to the arousal I was getting from my dick, and I started building towards climax. I was now too horny to be very gentle; without going overboard, I was nonetheless slamming into her from behind. She didn't seem to mind, thankfully, because it was feeling very, very good.

I ramped up the pace yet again, letting go of her breasts so that I could hold on to her hips for maximum action. I missed being able to look at her pretty face while I was screwing her, or to watch her breasts bounce in response to my thrusts—although being able to hold them was a nice consolation prize. However, her pussy was still her pussy, and tired or no she was doing her special squeeze-tight thing. My dick was entirely enveloped with warm, wet, soft flesh, and it was driving my level of excitement higher. Eventually I could hold it no longer; as I climaxed I froze, my dick buried in her from the rear, pulling on her waist to keep her body tightly sealed against mine while I emptied my load inside her. 

Spent, I pulled out and lay next to her. She let her ass slide back to level and put her head on a pillow instead of using her arms as one. 

"Was that OK?" she asked tiredly?

"OK? That was awesome!" I said. Almost unbelievable, really; most women beg off on sex when they're tired. Julie was practically too exhausted to sit up and yet she refused to rest until she was certain that I was satisfied. 

"Do you like it like that?" she asked.

"I like it from you, any way I can get it," I said. "Although I prefer to be able to look into your beautiful blue eyes while I'm doing it." I ran my hand gently along the side of her face.

She smiled faintly, tiredly. "I love you," she said.

"I love you, too," I replied. We kissed, and in minutes we were both asleep. 



Gifted Grifter Ch. 11



Gifted Grifter #11: Julie's Revenge

We arrived in Vegas late after a long day of driving. It was prime poker time, but we were too tired from fifteen hours behind the wheel to do anything but drag our bags upstairs, make love and go to sleep. 

I was up first the next morning and lay in bed anxiously waiting to see how Julie would be. I was very concerned about her emotionally, since the last time she woke up in a hotel room in Vegas she living there as a self-employed sex worker. A lot had changed in a year, not the least of which was having a new boyfriend—namely me. And when I say new, I mean new—it was just days ago that that Julie and I went from being occasional sex partners to being full-time significant others. Our relationship was still fresh and fragile, and I was concerned about how being back in Vegas would affect my sweetheart's self-concept. That was the main reason we were waking up in the brown-tinted, vaguely medieval surroundings of a standard room at Excalibur. I had asked Julie if there was anyplace she had never been on the Vegas strip; she replied that she had never spent any time in the low-end properties on the strip—at $3000 a night and up, only big-money players at big-money properties could afford her services. I chose the castle because I had stayed there several times in the days before the discovery of the mindreader changed my life, so I was pretty familiar with the place. Julie's customers also almost always stayed in suites rather than standard rooms, so although I could easily have booked us in a better room, I opted not to.

Julie started stirring. I gently kissed her bare shoulder (we were both naked from having sex the night before) to help nudge her awake—and to remind her that she wasn't alone in her half-awake state. She rolled her shoulder around in its socket to acknowledge that she felt and appreciated my kisses, then rolled towards me so she was flat on her back. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," I said, kissing her good morning. "I love you."

She smiled slightly, and touched my cheek. "I love you too." Then she stretched, looked around, and said "So this is what Vegas looks like to normal people."

"How are you?" I asked, cutting right to the choice.

"All right," she said. "We haven't done anything yet." Then she opened her arms, inviting me to hold her close. "I'm still not used to waking up next to you every morning...but I sure do like it." We kissed. 

My penis responded to my kissing beautiful Julie and being pressed up close to her body. She felt my erection rubbing against her thigh. She reached between her legs, masturbating briefly and slipping a finger into her pussy to ensure that the passage was clear. Then she reached for my penis and guided it into her. 

She spread her legs to accommodate me, but held me close by wrapping both arms around my neck. We kissed each other while I raised and lowered by buttocks to penetrate the sanctuary of her femininity. I continued to fuck her at a leisurely pace, kissing her the whole time. 

Without warning, she gently pushed me off of her. I was worried that having sex in a hotel in Vegas was like giving her flashbacks or something. Instead, she rolled over on her side, and indicated that I should lay next to her. When I did, she adjusted so that my dick was level with her butt. Then bending her top leg up and out of the way, she reached down and guided my penis back into her pussy. 

I picked up my rhythm where I had left off. I couldn't move fully in and out while lying on my side, but that was offset by the ease with which I could fondle her breasts while fucking. I stopped fondling momentarily while I reached up and brushed her lovely blonde hair behind her ear. Then I resumed teasing her nipples, still fucking, and now I could kiss and nibble on her ear at the same time. She curled up slightly when I nibbled on her ear; it tickled. 

She turned her head towards me; I shift over so that I could kiss her. This bent he leg somewhat awkwardly, however, so I go up off my side and got on my knees. One of her legs was still beneath me, the other I lifted up and over my shoulder. Julie could do the splits, so this position wasn't even a stretch for her. My dick was now rotated 90 degrees from its usual angle of penetration, but now I had full range of motion back and I kicked it up a notch. Julie took my hand, closed her eyes, and began to suck my thumb like it was a dick. I responded by kicking it up another notch. Then she grabbed the ankle of the upraised leg with her arm, further spreading herself open to me. That put me over the top; seconds later I was emptying my nuts between her thighs.


Eventually we got up, showered (together), and got dressed. I offered to take her to Paris for breakfast—something I had done the first time I had met her here—but she said she wasn't that hungry so we opted for something simpler and quicker. 

"Now what?" she asked after breakfast.

"Now we start making money," I said. "The poker rooms won't be worth playing until later, so we start at the sportsbook." I was starting to learn more subtle things about Julie; rather than assuming she didn't know anything about betting sports and horses, I asked what she knew—she had mentioned before that you could learn a lot from johns if you just listen. Sure enough, she understood many of the bets in the sports book and knew horse race betting options I didn't know. But while she knew how to bet them, she knew even less than I what bets were good. 

"Glasses time," I said, turning on my glasses. Julie turned on her Bluetooth mindreader and tagged along. 

I waited until a race ended, then commented to one of the guys standing around the betting counter. "Hey that was a good finish. Someone had given me a tip on that race, and I wasn't smart enough to trust it!" I emphasized the word TIP, because the whole point of that utterance was to get the listener to think about what tips they had about that day's races. This guy had one that seemed promising, so later I unobtrusively bet on the horse the word tip had registered in that guy's mind. 

Julie only needed to see it once to understand exactly how it worked. "Okay, I can do that. And, I have certain advantages," she said, pretending to stretch her back but really calling attention to her breasts, whose curves were easily visible in her tight tank top. "Let's separate for a bit and see how we do." Then she looked at me with a very earnest look, saying "but please don't leave the sportsbook in case I need you."

"You didn't need to say that—whether you wanted me to or not, I'm not letting my precious little girl out of my sight," I said, hugging her. "Don't forget, you have a panic button on your Bluetooth too."

"I remember...I really appreciate it being there now," she replied.

Julie went to the bathroom for a bit, then reappeared having pulled a trick I had seen her do before; she had tied a knot in the back of her already tight tank top so that her midriff and belly button were exposed above the top of the rolled-over elastic of her short-shorts. She then sat down by a group of guys and played dumb blonde. They were more than happy to teach her how to bet the horses.

It was difficult for me to watch her work these guys. I knew she loved me, I had more than just her words to prove it: I had read it in her mind. But it was my own insecurity at what I had to offer, juxtaposed with the obvious and currently flaunted assets of my dear Julie that made me fear that somehow, someone would steal her away from me. As a result, I more watching of her and less fishing of my own that I should have. I did hit a couple of good tips, but after a time I just sat at the back of the room, pretending to watch games but mostly watching Julie. I knew she knew I was watching her a lot, but I couldn't help it.

After working the room for about two hours, Julie came towards me. I stood up as she came near. She came by me, untying the knot that had been holding her shirt up short. "Well, one lesson learned," she said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Don't show too much skin when fishing for betting tips, because if you're too sexy all the guy you're talking to will be able to think about is to fantasize about having sex with you," she said.

I laughed out loud in spite of myself. That was one occupational hazard I didn't have to worry about. "I warned you about that in Austin," I pointed out. 

"Do you have any idea how creepy it is to watch some guy daydream about fucking YOU?" she shuddered.

I gave her a big hug and kissed her. "In great detail?" I kidded. I felt her relax a little.

She rolled her eyes "Is that really the way you guys think?" she asked, looking at me accusingly. 

"You saw it for yourself," I shrugged sheepishly, "minds don't lie, only mouths do. Truth is, I bet that what you saw was just scratching the surface."

"No wonder you guys can be steered so easily by the rudder," she replied, unobtrusively grabbing my crotch when she said "rudder" to indicate that was the rudder she was referring to. 

I held her close again. "Can I daydream about fucking you now?" I whispered.

"YOU," she said, "can do one better." We went upstairs and she let me have the real thing.

----------------------

After a nice early dinner at my favorite international taste buffet (I highly recommend the shrimp tempura) we headed back to Excalibur so Julie could get her first taste of poker. She understood the basic idea of the game, and we had watched some Hold'em on TV, but was still working on memorizing what beat what. She had noticed that the female poker players on TV dressed like they were going to a show or fancy party, and she did likewise. 

"If I dress sexy enough, will I throw the other players off their game?" she asked.

"Only the amateurs who you can beat anyway. The good ones won't notice—and it could be very distracting to YOU to watch as the guys fantasize about you," I answered.

"Yeah," she said, "its only fun to play with guys' tendency to follow the little head instead of the big one if you can't actually see what they're imagining." So she chose a shiny silver top with a halter neck but that only allowed her midriff to peek through when she bent or stretched in certain ways; wide, three-quarter length black pants that looked like a skirt when she was standing; and of course black strappy heels. But whereas she probably would have put her hair up for a party, she wanted to wear it down to help hide the Bluetooth earpiece—just in case some pit bosses might object to her having it on.

We had eaten early so we could get to the poker room at dinner time, when many would be leaving, in the hopes of getting two seats at the same table, which we did. I sat next to her, in part because having to look at her constantly would be distracting to me even if she was encased in concrete. I took care to avoid interacting with her in a way that would bely our existing relationship.

Julie was quiet at first, but as she grew confident she started to work the guys at the table. She pretended her winnings were dumb luck, then made dumb plays on purpose and pretended to be grateful when one of the guys near her explained why. As I read the minds of the guys at the table I understood her motive—she was harvesting good will. There was still the occasional sexual fantasy, but as a man I knew that the queen of spades might trigger a sexual fantasy if it stared at me just right. The guys were liking her, which meant that they didn't mind losing to her as much as they would mind losing to another guy. She pretended to be all excited whenever she won; the guys were too entertained by her excitement to notice that she was taking stacks of chips from them regularly. And she was smart enough to hide her big chips so it wasn't obvious how much cash she had in front of her. I could tell that this was yet another thing where she was going to be more successful than I.

We cashed in for the night after about six hours, having done much better than I would have thought for a first try. As we left the cage and headed up to the room, I heard a soprano voice call out "Heather."

We turned in the direction of the sound and Julie suddenly said "Jenny!" 

A tall, thin brunette with long, curly hair came up and was giving my Julie a hug. I had a pretty good guess how Julie knew her, because she was dressed to appear like a certain famous football team's cheerleaders; she had a blue shirt, unbuttoned but tied in a knot just below her bust, with a short white vest over, white hot pants, and white knee boots. 

"Jenny? Is it safe to call you Julie?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm Heather anymore," she said. Turning towards me, she said, "Jenny, I want you to meet my boyfriend." 

"Nice to meet you, Jenny," I said. Wanting to be sure I had read Jenny right, I turned on my glasses—making sure that Julie saw me do it, since I didn't want to spy on her thoughts without her knowing.

"Shh...better call me Kayla. Don't want any potential customers to get confused" she said. Turning to Julie, she said, "so you're out of the business now, huh?" 

"Yup, almost a year now, actually," she replied. Glasses now on, I learned that Jenny was as close to a friend as Julie had in Vegas. They also used to work together; when clients wanted two-girl action, Julie and Kayla would recommend each other, so you might say they were intimately familiar with each other."

"Well, no wonder I hadn't seen you in so long," she said. "I was worried that something might have happened to you." Not worried enough to actually do anything about it, I thought, but then again, I would imagine a prostitute living outside the law has pretty limited resources for that sort of thing—going to the police is the last thing you would want to do. 

Julie caught my eye, which I took to mean I should point my mindreader at her. She was thinking "Jenny is sweet, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer." I was already getting that impression. "Unlike 90% of the girls working the strip, she actually likes working in the sex industry. You might say it's making use of the strongest of her talents."

They chatted briefly, then Jenny/Kayla excused herself, as she had a set appointment she had to make, but told Julie to call her. When she walked away, Julie whispered to me.

"As you probably already know, Jenny and I used to three-ways together. You know," she continued, "I could arrange a three way for you if you want."

"No thanks," I said without a moment's hesitation.

"No? C'mon, what man doesn't dream of doing two girls at once?" she prodded.

I held her close and said, "When you have filet mignon on your plate, do you go and mix it with hamburger just so you get more meat? No...the hamburger just detracts from the filet. As far as I'm concerned, any attention paid to a woman that isn't you is settling for an inferior cut of beef."

She brightened at my response, but tried one more time. "You're just trying to sweet-talk me. Deep down, you really want to do a three-way."

"Julie, I have one dick," I said. "If I had two dicks, well, maybe that would be different. As it is, I have three times as many places to put it as I have dicks—I have no need for additional orifices."

I must have given the right answer, because that night I got to use all three of hers.

---------------------

The first day went very well, so for the second day we decided to hit a higher-end property, deciding on Mandalay Bay. Unlike Excalibur, Julie had worked this property back in the day, but she was taking to her new role like a fish to water and the thought of going back there didn't seem to bother her.

For her second day at the track betting, Julie dressed appropriately sporty in shorts and a tight cotton camisole. I dawdled around the tables for five minute so Julie would get there ahead of me and it wasn't so obvious we were together. She was already working the guys when I got there.

"So when you get all three top horses right, it's a tribeca?" she asked.

I had to work hard not to laugh; she was betting wheels yesterday, but today she's got these guys convinced that she didn't know what a trifecta was. They were tripping over themselves to be nice to her and help her—she told me that half of them would tell her their best tips outright, she didn't even need the mindreader—but they were all observing proper decorum and keeping their hands off of her. The fact that it was just noon and they weren't drunk yet helped. 

I went about my business getting what tips I could, glancing her way every now and again to see if she was all right. She had a little circle of guys around her, and she had them wrapped around her finger. She was doing fine, and she had scolded me for being too much of a mother hen watching over her the day before, so I got immersed in my work and didn't keep close tabs on her.

Watching the 4th race at Santa Anita, my Blackberry started to play the opening bars of INXS' "Need you tonight." I immediately stopped what I was doing; that ringtone was specifically assigned to Julie's distress signal on her Bluetooth mindreader. I quickly spotted her at the far corner of the sportsbook; her previous crowd had left, and now there was a middle-aged man sitting next to her, leaning in towards her and talking to her. Julie obviously did not like what he had to say.

I turned on my mindreading sunglasses and looked at Julie to find out what was going on; we had to be careful to take turns using our mindreaders, because pointing two of them at each other would produce headache-inducing mental feedback. 

"This guy is a former customer," she was thinking, "and saw us together yesterday. He asked me if I was free and I told him I wasn't, at which time he guessed you were my boyfriend. Now he's trying to blackmail into sleeping with him or else he'll tell me I used to be a hooker."

I turned off my glasses so she could read my mind. "I guess he must think I don't already know," I thought. "We'll have to set him straight."

She touched her headset, my cue to turn my mindreader back on. "I hate this asshole—he's one of these pricks who thinks it makes him tough to be rough with women. He's got a tiny dick and it makes him feel big to make you gag on it. And he likes to slap a girl while in bed—I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. And so does every other working girl in Vegas." 

I turned off my glasses, her cue to turn hers on. "Then let's put on a little show for the man, shall we? When I get there, kiss me like a prom date. I'll ask how you are, you say loudly that he's trying to blackmail you by revealing your secret. From there, just follow my lead and play along. I think I know how we can get rid of guys like this."

She nodded slightly and turned off her mindreader, and I sauntered over in their general direction.

"Honey!" she yelped loudly as I got close. She jumped out of her seat and ran to me, sending her race book flying, wrapped her arms around me and French kissed me. I put my arms on her hips, purposefully sliding them under her shirt and up so they were out of view. 

"How's it going, sweetie?" I asked in an overly loud tone.

"Not so good," she said in a too-loud voice, half turning so she was facing in the general direction of the asshole john. "This gentleman"—she was decidedly sarcastic in her intonation of gentleman—"is trying to make me to have sex with him or else he'll tell you about my secret past!"

"Secret past?" I said too loudly. "You didn't tell me your past was supposed to be a secret!"

"It's not," she said, "but apparently he's under the impression that you wouldn't be my boyfriend if you knew what I used to do for a living."

"Well, then he's not very smart," I said, tongue kissing her again, sliding my one hand that was still in her shirt even further up, dragging the rest of the shirt up with it. As intended, we were attracting a growing audience from the surrounding bystanders. "To try to BLACKMAIL a sweet young thing like yourself with information that isn't even secret." 




Gifted Grifter Ch. 11



The guy was getting embarrassed now, as we were both looking at him and so everyone who could hear—which was all of the sportsbook and some people beyond—knew who we were talking about. He started to get up to leave, so I let go of Julie and took two steps towards him to temporarily block his way.

"Hey buddy," I hissed, as now I didn't want everyone to hear, "the second word of 'call girl' is girl—as in a living, breathing human, with thoughts and feelings. Maybe if you weren't such an insecure needle-dick, you might treat one like a human once in a while. You know what can happen?" I reached my arm towards Julie to indicate she should come over to me, which she did. "You might find out that what a girl does for living does not define who she is as a person. And who she is might just turn out to be the best fucking girl on the whole fucking planet. You missed out bigtime, loser." I turned to kiss her again.

He was too dumbfounded to move.

"Oh, honey," she cooed in a quiet voice, "it's almost lunchtime. Can we please go upstairs and have sex again?"

"Soon, my dear, soon," I replied. "let's see if we win in the 5th race first." 

"Oh please," she said, laying it on thick, "and can you...you know." She made a little twitch with her butt. "You know how much I love that." The intent, of course, was to make this guy feel in his nuts the action he was missing out on. She let her hand graze my crotch, then quickly pulled it away as if she suddenly remembered she was in public.

"Ah, fuck it," I said in a normal tone, "we'll find out who won later. Let's go upstairs." We kissed again, then put our arms around each other and headed for the exit.

Once we got outdoors and around the corner, I dropped the act and my arm and spun around to look at Julie. "Are you OK?" I asked with great, genuine concern.

To my surprise, she put her hands around me for real this time, and kissed me with feeling. She felt soft like warm butter in my arms, like she was completely mine, like she was more than happy to give me anything I might want from her right then and there.

She paused the kissing to look me in the eye. Here eyes were soft and full of love, as if I was the only person in the whole world. "Darling, you were wonderful. That asshole is going to be tearing his hair out imagining the kind of sex you'll be getting tonight while he's pulling his pud to DirectTV." 

"You think we took care of him?" I asked, "I mean, are you satisfied with the way we took care of that."

"More than satisfied," she replied, kissing me for emphasis. "That was my big fear; what would happen when I ran into a former customer. Now I know: it's not a secret to you what I used to do, and I don't give a damn about what anyone else thinks, so they don't have any power over me. When I was working, I always had to keep everything secret because I needed new customers, and of course I didn't want to get busted. Now I have no more secrets to hide. So what if I run into someone who hired me once—I'm no longer available, because now I belong to you." 

Another kiss. I LIKED the way she felt like warm butter in my arms. 

"And," she added, "you came through for me in spades, yet again. I also know that I can trust that you'll have my back if I need you." Her eyes were beginning to tear now. "I've never had anyone have my back like that before."

I kissed her, said, "Julie, I really, really love you," and kissed her again.

If I'd taken her back to Excalibur right then, I'm sure I'd have gotten a mind-blowing fuck. But my psychology background told me that for her sake, it might be good to not have sex just because it might inadvertently raise associations with her previous career. 

"Julie—you're too good for that wimpy room we have," I said instead. "What do you say we look into getting a suite instead?"

She looked up at me and smiled, then rested her head on my shoulders and hugged me. Without my glasses turned on I didn't know what she was thinking, but she was clearly working through some significant issues reconciling with her past.

"C'mon...let's see the concierge," I said. For some reason I was never hot on Mandalay Bay, so instead I got us a mini-suite at the Luxor. Fortunately, they are all owned by the same company, so I was able to transfer hotels without paying a fee and could send a bellhop to fetch our things from Excalibur (for a $20 tip) and bring them over. Even though it was afternoon and we would be playing poker that night, I still bought her a couple of drinks. Maybe I missed out on a great fuck, but I derived just as much enjoyment out of just being with Julie, who now was attached to me even stronger than before. With Julie I was in the fortunate position of knowing that I would always be able to have sex with her later; it's not like I was missing out on a one-in-a-blue-moon opportunity.

Once our bags were transferred, we went upstairs to change for dinner and a night of poker. Julie put on a long black skirt with black mules and a light pink, long-sleeved blouse with a plunging neckline; by adjusting the angle at which she sat, she could allow or deny others at the table from viewing her cleavage. That's my Julie, always thinking. After a nice leisurely dinner we signed up for spots at the Mandalay Bay poker room. Julie still preferred to play at a mid-level table, while I signed up for the highest stakes table open. Between horses, sports and the previous night, we were up about 10 grand between us. 

There weren't seats right away, so Julie and I sat in the viewing area and watched for a while. I noticed that the seats far to the left served as the trophy wives' row here; there were six, gorgeous, young women dressed to impress sitting and watching the action in the pit. I pointed it out to Julie.

"I call that trophy wives' row," I said. "Guys with lots of money attract gorgeous wives and girlfriends who dress to impress. They send them out shopping during the day, and when they finish the come down here and wait for their husbands to be done playing and then they go off and do whatever. You'll usually see a lot of them right before showtime."

Julie glanced over. "Things may not be all that they appear," she commented, "I know one of those girls. Unless things have changed for her too, one of those trophy wives is a rental."

That surprised me. "No way, really?" I said, glancing over again but was unable to discern which of them was a sex worker rather than a wife. "You know, the first time I came to Vegas to play, I was jealous of the guys at the table that had one of those babes waiting for them. If I hadn't been so jealous, I would never have gone looking for a companion for myself that night. And if I hadn't gone looking for a companion, I'd have never run into you and that stupid cop that almost busted you."

She looked at me with eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?" She had no way to know that, of course. "You mean I owe the good fortune of finding you to the trophy wives' row?"

"Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way." I replied. Just then her turn was called and she took her seat at a table. Fifteen minutes later, so did I.

-----------------------

We did well that night. During dealing breaks, I watched Julie and the action at her table nearby. She was holding court, keeping at least five of the guys at the table acutely distracted, not by laying on the sex appeal but just by being a talkative, beautiful woman. She and one other guy who was ignoring her charms were winning most of the money; the eighth player was another woman, who my glasses told me was seething inside at Julie's extraversion but also knew that it was a big reason why she was breaking even.

At my table, pots were growing large with frequency, so while I wasn't getting great cards, my mindreader and the knowledge of when I had a winning hand and when I didn't allowed me to make some nice scratch.

Right about midnight, Julie cashed out. I was a little surprised that she had cashed out so soon. She came over to me during a deal on her way out.

"So how did it go?" I asked.

She flashed me a nice stack of pumpkins (orange, $1000 chips) and said "all right." Then she said "I'm going to go and cash these in go upstairs for a minute, then I'll come back down, OK? I'll be back, so don't leave—I'll come to look for you here."

I was getting cards, so at the time nothing seemed unusual about her instructions, which I might have noticed had I been paying strict attention to her. 

"Okay, I'll be here when you get back," I replied, having gotten the gist that she was leaving and would be back.

I lost that hand with two pair to three of a kind; having my glasses saved me a bunch of money I would otherwise have bet. The hand after that, I had an A-9 hearts under and two hearts on the board with just the river to go. One guy with four to a straight was betting too much for his hand, and the best hand at the table as it stood was a pair of kings. Figuring a heart or an ace would win the hand, I stayed in. 

I was looking at the table and the players at it, I wasn't noticing anything beyond. Then I became aware of a number of players suddenly gasping and staring outwards in the direction of the spectator's area. Something out there was attracting a lot of attention.

I turned slightly to look out towards the crowd. A new girl was walking—sashaying, really—towards the trophy wives area. All of the girls there were hot and showing it to varying degrees, but this one was sex on a stick. She was wearing a skirt that was maybe 16 inches from top to bottom, and further it was wide and loose rather than tight at the bottom; if she needed to bend over for any reason, the whole world would be looking up her ass. There seemed to be a mile of shapely, tanned legs between the skirt and her ultra high-heel, black strappy sandals. Her black silky halter top gathered together by a narrow band of fabric about two inches below the bustline, revealing all of her supple belly below and a good chunk of cleavage from her lovely breasts above. Her long blonde hair framed her face with seductive curls. Her lips and fingernails were dark red, and a dangling piece of silver jewelry hung from her pierced navel, contrasting with the tan of her skin.

It was, of course, Julie. 

Holy fucking shit, I thought. Then it dawned on me—I had told her about trophy wives row, and the fact that if I hadn't been jealous of them I'd have never walked into her life. So, obviously, one way she could make me happy was to be the best, hottest girl in trophy wives' row. And goddamn did she succeed.

I wanted to get up and fuck her right there, but I had a lot of cash in the pot and didn't want to walk away—especially when the river turned up seven of hearts, and the guy who just drew a straight insisted on throwing his perfectly good money into my pocket since I had a nut flush. I simply re-raised every time he did—I wasn't watching the table at all now. I was watching trophy wives row with my glasses. He thought I was distracted by the scenery and was taking my money. Sucker.

I have seldom seen as many hateful thoughts as the girls in trophy wives row emitted when Julie sauntered over to them. Their livelihood depended on their keeping the interest of their rich partners, so they did not take kindly to someone hotter coming along and showing them up. Naturally, they converted that thought into labeling her a slut and a whore—yeah, like she was any different than they were. The only reason any one of them had access to the money they she spent today was because she was a good fuck for her husband or boyfriend, whereas Julie had gone out and earned her own scratch today—that made the other girls actually more like whores than she. 

I now could see which of the girls there was a sex worker, and she was thinking "Heather—what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to get arrested?" Julie sat down close to her, whose street name was Jolene but whose real name was Ashley, and nonchalantly sat and watched the game. I waved a waitress over and gave her a green chip, asking her to deliver a cosmopolitan to the blonde in the black halter top sitting in the spectator area pronto. I'm sure she thought I was a hapless romeo about to be shot down. 

Jolene slid over and talked to Julie; I could read the conversation in my glasses. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jolene asked.

"I'm waiting for my boyfriend," Julie answered.

"Boyfriend?" Jolene asked, trying to determine if she was using the term to mean a real boyfriend or as a euphemism for a john.

"Yes, a real live boyfriend," Julie answered, "I left Vegas a year ago. Now, I'm with him," and she pointed towards me. I gave a little wave.

Finally Mr. Straight was all-in, so the hand ended and I raked in the pot. Then I said, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I really must go. You see, that lovely blonde in the black halter top that all of you have been staring at since she walked in—well, she's waiting for me. And as you can plainly see, she is not a girl to be kept waiting."

Some of the guys at the table literally turned green. If they weren't pissed at me already for having just raked in huge pot, they certainly were pissed at the fact that I was obviously about to go off and fuck the hottest number on the strip. I waved cordially after coloring up and strolled out to meet her, trying not to belie the advanced state of my erection by the speed at which I walked.

She stood up as I neared her, and I walked up to her, put my hands on her bare waist, and stuck my tongue down her throat. She threw her arms around my neck and reached up to return my kiss. If anyone at the table had doubted my claim on her, they were believers now.

When we finally stopped kissing I hugged her so that I could whisper in her ear.

"Julie, love, you are simply incredible," I whispered.

"Do you see something you like?" she whispered back coyly.

"Thank you." I said. "I guess I'll never have to feel jealous about the trophy wives' row again—obviously, I've got the biggest, best trophy of all right here in my arms."

She pulled back to look at me with obvious satisfaction on her face. "I just want to make you happy," she said.

"I am very, very happy," I replied, and we intertwined tongues again.

The walk from Mandalay Bay to Luxor never felt so long in my life. I couldn't wait to get into our suite and pounce on my lovely little sex kitten.

We entered she suite and we embraced and kissed; again she felt like warm butter in my arms. The different from this afternoon was that with her skimpy outfit, everywhere my hands went I felt bare flesh. Julie paused the unbutton and remove my shirt. She then reached behind her, released some hidden closure, and her halter was loose. She pulled her it over her head and giving her hair a sexy flip, embraced and kissed me again—except now I could feel her soft, bare breasts against my chest. I kept holding her with one hand while feeling for her nipples the other; they were erect and waiting for me when I got there. 

Julie abruptly walked away, towards the bedroom, glancing back at me as if to say "so, are you going to follow?" I followed. She stopped at the foot of the bed, which I thought meant she wanted to embrace me again, but as I reached for her she slipped free and used my momentum to toss me onto the bed. She then took off my all of the rest of my clothes. I lay flat on my back, except for my penis which was sticking straight up in the air. She then gave her hair a flip and with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips, walked towards the bedroom door to close it—completely unnecessary, of course, since we were the only ones there, but she wanted me to watch her walk. Door closed, she put the sole of her right heel on the dresser. This caused her legs to open, providing a view she enhanced by hiking her skirt up above her hips. She was wearing some kind of thong, but she took the fabric covering her genitals and pulled it aside; like a pornstar's underwear, it stayed obediently out of the way of her showing me her stuff. She bent her knees slightly and curled her hips forward, trying to maximize my view of her shaved pussy. She then started to masturbate. At first she rubbed herself, then used both hands to part the lips of her sex, lingering with them open so that I could view them. I grabbed myself and started to masturbate as well. Then she started to put finger into herself, darting them in and out while rubbing her clitoris with her other hand. I watched with lust and jerked away. 

She brought her foot down and took a step towards me; I was hoping she was coming for me, but not yet as it turned out. Instead, she slowly did a deep-knee bend with her legs far apart, as a stripper might before she loses the undies but in this case with the undies off to the side and parting her pussy lips for me to see. 

I was now so hard it was actually getting uncomfortable. "Please," I begged, desperate to get inside my sweetie's honey pot. She responded by biting her lip in a sexy fashion and all too slowly rising up from her crouch. I lay there jerking furiously as she slowly sauntered toward me, again with exaggerated hip sway. But rather than get on the bed, she went around to the side of it until she even with my head. I turned to look at her. Next thing I knew a heel whipping over my head and my face was two inches away from her pussy—but she was purposefully keeping it out of the range of my tongue.

Again she split her sex open, looking at herself, then looking up at me and breathing in a husky voice "do you like it?" I nodded yes like I was having a seizure. 

"Would you like to taste it?" she asked, and again I nodded like I was being hit by 10,000 volts. 

She gracefully and with balance I could never duplicate stood back up and brought her leg back to the floor, then lifted the other and lay on top of me in a dual mouth-to-genital 69. My aching dick finally got to feel some warm, wet flesh when she took it into her mouth; I licked her cunt with gusto I didn't know I had—energized, I'm sure, but the teasing she had just put me through. 

I really wanted to make her cum. I parted her lips with my fingers, although I couldn't really see her lovely butterfly because it was too close to my face. But splitting her sex made it easier to focus on her clitoris. I stroked her love button as hard and fast as I could. 

Down below, Julie was working equally intently on my erection. She swallowed it as far as she could, holding it deep into her throat. She used her tongue to stimulate it as she let it slip out and then took it in again. All the while, she gently stoked my scrotum, as if encouraging it to unleash its load. 

Often, I concentrate so hard on pleasuring her that not ever her world-class blowjobs bring me off. But this time, I was so close to coming already from the show my lovely Julie had put on put on that I did cum in my sweetie's gentle mouth. I paused licking while the orgasm washed over me. As always, she swallowed every drop and then carefully licked my penis clean. I, however, latched my arms around her hips so couldn't get up; she wasn't going anywhere until I licked her to orgasm, too. It didn't take too long to clean my penis, and it was now shrinking into dormancy—but on the other end, my licking was continuing firmly and insistently. With nothing to do but receive, she crossed her arms on one of my thighs, lay her head down on her arms, and just enjoyed it as my cunnilingus made her increasingly excited. Her breathing became more noticeable, and she started to rock her hips back and forth over my tongue. She picked her torso up, supported by her arms, and arched her back to achieve the most pleasurable angle. Then, accompanied by the sweetest little squeaky grunts, I felt the spasming of the deep muscle tissues announcing that she had reached orgasm. Only when the spasms ended did I let go of her hips, which allowed her to flip around, embrace, and kiss me. 




Gifted Grifter Ch. 11



After about 10 minutes she got up to go to the bathroom, where she removed everything but her underwear. She came back to bed and we snuggled until we drifted off to sleep.

-----------------------

The next morning we took stock. Counting the cashier's checks, we had over $55,000—we were good on seed money.

"So now what?" Julie asked.

"Let's have a day in Vegas, just for fun," I said. "The tomorrow we can start driving to New York." 

We started with breakfast at Paris. I then took her shopping; I insisted on buying her some extra-tight "Luck" jeans, which she complemented with a loose-fitting half-shirt from "Baby" down the row. She wore the jeans, but ditched the shirt in favor of a cute but full-length halter top—it might show a little more on top, but only a teeny sliver of her wonderful midriff showed above the low-rider jeans.

In the afternoon, I told her that I wanted to spend the day like I used to long ago—sitting at a table and getting as drunk as possible. That is, if she would sit next to me and join me. It would be a new experience for her, she said. 

I have a soft spot for three-card poker; it's a sucker game, but its easy, you win often enough to keep you interested, and you can play it even if you're too drunk to see. Now that we could live using our real names, I even pulled out my old player's card. It must have looked odd on the computer, a career $5 player suddenly playing green on all three spots. The setup was ideal; I had third base, with my darling Julie at my side. We ordered Canadian Club and soda and drank them faster than they could be refilled.

I noticed that Julie was holding court again. There isn't very much to say in three-card, so I had been kind of quiet; it wasn't immediately obvious that Julie was with me—because nobody else could see Julie rubbing my thigh with her hand under the table. As men sat at the table to her right, she would indirectly engage them—she wouldn't speak straight at them, but she would speak out loud in general, and she liked to put on that dumb-blonde routine. Men ate it up. The talked with her, joked with her, made sexual innuendos in her direction. She returned the banter, feeding the fire, although pretending not to understand the double entendres. Somehow she managed to be sexy just in the way that her long, red-nailed fingers handled her cards. I noticed some of them barely even looked at what they were dealt; they stared at lovely Julie the whole time, excepting when she looked in their direction, at which time they suddenly looked away trying to hide their staring—apparently they think sexy blondes don't have peripheral vision. 

Julie was definitely getting a charge out doing this, but I didn't understand why. Just yesterday, after helping her deal with a former customer, she had felt closer to me than ever. Now it seemed like she was having more fun flirting with these guys? Was she tired of me already?

Julie could tell that I was getting annoyed, which she tried to alleviate by paying me more attention under the table. That just confused me more.

After about four cocktails I had to go to the bathroom. When I came, out, Julie was there; she had gone to intercept me. She came up and put her arms around my neck and kissed me. "Are you mad at me?" she asked.

"Mad? At what?" I pretended.

"Don't play dumb with me. Are you mad at the fact that I'm toying with the other men at the table?" she asked.

"I'm just..confused," I said. "I thought you loved me..."

She kissed me before I could finish the thought. "I do love you and I only love you," she said. "I'm not going to leave you for any reason, certainly not for one of those clowns."

"But you seem to really like flirting with them," I replied.

"I don't expect that you'll understand," she said. "But try to imagine what my life was like when I used to work here—every man I met, whether I loathed them or not, I had to be as sexy as possible. I had to give up control of the situation because I was looking for customers willing to meet my price. But now—I AM in control of the situation. I can make them drool for me and trip over themselves, but at the end of the day, I get to say too bad, so sad—I'm going home with YOU. And I'm going to have sex with YOU..." she kissed me, "and only with you..." she kissed me again, "again (kiss) and again (kiss) and again."

I didn't quite understand, but I got the general gist. "So this is kind of your way of getting back at the men you used to have to cater to?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. Consider it Julie's Revenge."

"You can do whatever you like as long as I get to take you home at the end of the day," I said.

"Guaranteed," she replied, kissing me again, and feeling like warm butter in my arms again. 

She the went to the bathroom herself, and when she came back I watched her holding court with a different perspective. I realized there was almost a cruel element to it—she wanted to make these guys desperately want her, because it would feel that much sweeter when she could say, sorry, boys, I'm taken. Given all that she had been through in her life, it seemed a relatively mild way to work things out.

I decided to work more seriously on getting my buzz on. She suddenly fell a drink behind me and kept trying to keep pace with no avail. By dinnertime, having not eaten since breakfast, we were both quite happily drunk. But drunk or not, as we kept drinking I noticed a change in Julie—the more drunk she got, the less she held court and the more she focused on me. By the time it was clear that we needed to leave the table, Julie was hanging on to me—and not just because she might well have fallen down otherwise. But Julie's Revenge, it seemed, required a good deal of concentration, and when she got drunk and uninhibited, she stopped playing games and focused on what she really cared about—and that was me. That made me feel good.

I took Julie upstairs. She was so drunk she could barely walk, and I wasn't a whole lot better. When we got up to the room, Julie staggered in and collapsed in the sofa. 

"C'mere," she said, holding her arms out unsteadily. I came over and she kissed me.

"Are you going to punish me for being a bad girl and flirting with all those men downstairs?" she asked, talking like a repentant schoolgirl.

"Actually, I think I am," I said. "Please disrobe."

"Yes, sir," she smiled, standing up, almost falling down, then steadying herself and staying upright. She started to get naked while I disappeared into the bedroom. I went to where I knew Julie kept the lubricant and came back with it. Julie was just finishing removing her panties. Drunk or not, she saw what I had in my hand and knew what I wanted.

"Now sit and begin masturbating," I said. She got that coy little look on her face, albeit slightly obscured by alcohol, and sat down. She drew both of her knees in close, spread her legs and began to rub herself.

Keeping an eye on her progress, I took off my clothes. Then I walked in front of her with me semi-hard penis in my hand. She didn't need instruction. She put her feet on the ground, still masturbating, and began to blow me. When I was hard, I sat on the couch next to her; she knelt on the couch, sucking my dick, rubbing her clit one hand. I now took the lube and started to work on Julie's ass. As drunk as she was, she was already quite relaxed, so it took less work than I expected before she could dilate two fingers wide. 

I put a finger under her chin and lifted her head up from my penis so I could kiss her. She kept a hand on my dick to keep me stimulated. Then I gently guided her to kneel on the couch, leaning over the backrest, ass up in the air. She pointed her toes together and I slipped my erection into her ass. I felt the ring of tightness move up and down my penis as I slid my dick in and out of her butthole. 

Another thing she did in the uninhibited state of intoxication; she became much more vocal. I still wouldn't call her a screamer, but every thrust of my dick into her ass was greeted with a pleasured groan. If I'd taped it, it would have made great overdub for a porno. Her head was tilted back, her hair tossed over onto her back. I reached for and held her breasts in my hands. They jiggled with every thrust of my dick into her ass, providing a very satisfying sensation in my fingers.

As my arousal increased, I reached my one hand around her hips so I could stimulate her clit while I fucked her ass. I wasn't sure how much pleasurable sensation she got when my dick wasn't in her pussy, and I wanted her to enjoy it too. Her vocalizations got louder, but even if I had been in her box, I honestly think she was too drunk to cum. 

I pumped harder and faster; she moaned louder. I could tell I was nearing climax, so I let go of her clit (left hand) and her tit (right hand) and both of my hands on her shoulders, pulling her towards me. She must have guessed what was about to happen; she arched her back further and pushed back into me even harder. I felt the swelling start in my balls. Accompanied by waves of pleasure, I pulled back on her torso and pushed forward with my dick, dumping load after load of semen into her dark void. 

I leaned forward to reach her face; she flipped her hair to the side and looked back to me with a mischievous look. "Is daddy not mad at me anymore?" she teased.

I had had my fun; I didn't feel like keeping up the act. I just kissed her as best I could reach. Realizing I could reach easier if I pulled my dick out of her butt, I did so, then sat down. She sat sideways in my lap, putting her arms around me. 

We kissed and caressed each other—but she was still noticeably drunk. I needed to get her some food fast, I thought, so I suggested she put on some night clothes and we get some dinner. After dinner I took her to a dance club, and we danced until 3AM, like we had when we first met almost a year earlier. I never get tired of seeing Julie grind those hips and flex those tight abs on the dance floor. By the time we got back, we had sweated out almost all of the alcohol. We had great, considerably more sober sex before hitting the sack. 

The next day, we would begin our trek to New York.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 12



Gifted Grifter #12: Julie Whips Wall Street

Our seed money now in hand, we opened up two online stock trading accounts, one in my name and one in Julie's. To avoid the suspicion two separate accounts doing substantially similar trades might generate if noticed, we set our accounts up with different brokers. For an additional fee, we arranged for the brokers to pay estimated taxes and capital gains out of our accounts as needed, leaving us free to just do day trading. With any luck, they would be up and running by the time we got to New York.

I wanted Julie to control her own portfolio. I knew that was what she wanted, that she relished the challenge of succeeding in a completely different domain. I also knew that she would defer to me if I wanted to do her trading for her. But this was an area where my feelings about Julie were still somewhat paternalistic; I wanted to see her develop her skills and her self-confidence in her abilities outside of the bedroom. I recognized that fostering her personal and economic independence would likely hasten what I considered inevitable; that she would outgrow me and move on to someone better. But because I loved her, I would rather help her grow her own wings and take pride in watching her soar on her own someday than try to selfishly clutch on to something that deserved to be free. 

As soon as the stock trading accounts were set up, we got back in the truck and left Las Vegas. We made it into Colorado on the first day; the second day was even longer but late that night we pulled up in front of my apartment. I was embarrassed by the state it was in; I had left a week ago expecting a two-day rendezvous with Julie. I never expected to be bringing her back with me, or that when I arrived I would have just a couple of days to get my affairs in order before moving on to the Big Apple. 

My situation was a little different from what Julie's had been (see Gifted Grifter Ch. 10: A slight change of plans). She hadn't wanted to just empty her condo out because her ex-boyfriend was still living there (as confirmed by her stepbrother). Me, I was renting and needed to get everything out by the end of the month, when my lease was up. We decided to just box everything up and pack it up on the truck, then dump the nonessential stuff in a storage facility, either upstate or in Jersey. It soon became clear that we would need a bigger truck, so we trade in the one we had been driving for a 16-footer. It was now my turn to face parents disappointed with my sudden decision to move far away. I did, however, introduce Julie to them, something she had avoided. There was a bit of raised eyebrow at my new, hot, young and gorgeous girlfriend; I'm sure they took her for a gold digger and expected her to break my heart after she was done with me. In some ways, I agreed on many counts—but I knew that it was well worth the ride while it lasted. Not to mention, my money-making scheme wouldn't work without her special talents—when eventually she did outgrow me, I would hopefully be financially set for life.

Two long days of driving later, we arrived in New York. For our first home together, we rented a room in nice, relatively unknown hotel just past Verdi Square on the upper west side. It was primarily a residential neighborhood, and the rooms in this hotel were actually mini-apartments with living rooms and kitchenettes that could be rented by the day or by the month. 

We were both nervous about whether our plan would really work in real life. Julie, for her role as the extractor of information, kept worrying about how to dress the part. I told her that she should look like a Wall Street professional that just so happened to also be young and beautiful. A business suit seemed a must, but a skirt cut well above the knee and maybe a suggestive yet not overly revealing neckline would help her gain attention. She didn't really have anything that fit the bill, since pretty much her whole wardrobe was way too revealing, so we hiked over to Fifth Avenue to find her some business attire. 

At one store, Julie was trying on shoes. She was mostly in the market for basic pumps, but she also tried on a pair of those stiletto heels that have the little ankle strap to keep them from falling off. I watched Julie walking around the store in them, getting a feel for them on her feet. Her shapely legs were accentuated by the sexy little ankle strap, and I started to get hard watching her. As discreetly as I could, I adjusted my pants to better accommodate their suddenly-larger occupant. Julie happened to see me adjust myself, looked down at the shoes, and put two and two together. 

"I'll take these," she told the salesperson, "do they come in any other colors?"

She ended up buying three pairs of them, just because they had gotten a rise out me in the store. "Are you sure? Are they comfortable?" I asked.

"They're fine," she said, "I wouldn't want to walk all he way to Battery Park in them, but that's not what they're for." As she said that, she surreptitiously stroked the outside of my pants, forefinger and index finger parted in a V-shape so that one stroked each side of my penis on the way up. In response my dick did its best to break through two layers of cloth and leap into her hand, but fortunately the fabric held. But that, friends, is my Julie in a nutshell. 

-------------------

On day one of our plan, Julie wore a sapphire blue business suit and a white blouse. We took the subway downtown and assumed our positions at the restaurant he had picked as our first target when it opened at 11. She sat at the bar, in a spot people would pass on the way to the bathroom, and picked at a salad. I sat at a single table in the back corner. We both had our mindreaders on.

Julie wasn't wearing a watch. When likely men went by on the way to the bathroom she would ask them "Can you tell me what time it is? I have to meet with my broker about my stock portfolio at..." and she would pick a time 45 minutes from then. The idea was that the keywords "broker" and "portfolio" would make businessmen who had inside information to think along lines of "don't invest in Company X, they're missing earnings" or "if you only knew that company Y is in talks to be bought out by Company Z." It was rather frustrating work, though; most of the people Julie talked to were essentially grunts, people that did the real work and didn't know the kinds of information that would cause stock prices to sway. Over the course of three hours of lunch, however we would usually get one or two good tips.

After the 1:00 lunch, Julie and I took the subway home and logged in to our trading accounts. We discussed the day's tips and what we thought we should do. One broker knew that a major retailer would miss its earnings estimate when it reported at 4:00; that stock was due to come down, but how much? The other good tip was that a private equity firm was looking to buy out a truck rental firm—but we had no idea how soon, or how good the offer would be. They were, however, due to make a quarterly report. We decided to split the different; Julie shorted the retailer, I bought the truck rental firm. 

Four o'clock hit, the markets closed, and news announcements were made. Julie put in a limit order to buy at $3 below what she had short sold in the after-hours market. As soon as the announcement came, the stock dropped a buck-fifty, but then seemed to stabilize. She then put in a stop order to buy at $1 less than she had sold. As it happened, the price never trigged either in after-hours, so she set up to buy to cover at market price first thing in the morning; she ended up clearing nearly $2 a share on 2500 shares. Nevertheless, only one of our tips had come in, and we had cleared almost 5 grand in day one (mine would hit two days later). We were ecstatic.

We went out to dinner to celebrate. Afterwards, we walked around exploring our neighborhood. Still, we were home by 9, leaving us in an unfamiliar position: down time. In our previous meetings, we had either been short on time or doing other things, and usually both. As a result, we usually had sex right away when we got to where we were sleeping that night. But we weren't going to have sex for four hours straight—at least not every day—and it was much too early to go do bed. Thus, we found ourselves with unstructured casual time to spend with each other, time to do something together that wasn't sexual in nature. I'm not much of TV watcher, at the moment neither of us had books, and we didn't have an Internet connection yet. We sat and talked some, but neither of us really had anything in particular to say, having spent most of the last week driving a truck cross-country with nothing to do but talk. Eventually Julie sat in an armchair in the living room watching TV while I sat at the kitchenette counter re-reading the newspaper. We weren't doing the same thing, but just sharing the same room with her had a nice feel to it.

A couple of article I had missed in the financial section caught my attention, so I was immersed in my reading and not paying close attention to Julie. At one point, I noticed the sound on the TV being turned way down, but didn't think much of it. 

I heard a soft grunting noise. I looked up from my paper and over at Julie. She was slunk down low in the chair, one leg resting on each of the armrests; her panties dangling loosely from one her ankles. She had pulled her skirt up, and was playing with herself. Well, playing and displaying; she was opening herself up wide with her hands, giving me a full beaver shot, then stroking her clit or sinking fingers into her pussy. It must be bedtime!

Julie was watching me watch her. I dropped the paper, but I stayed sitting in the chair—this was a show worth watching. Julie bit her lip seductively, spreading her lips open once more. Then she used her left hand to lift her shirt up over her breasts, one side at a time, while masturbating with her right. She watched herself tweak one nipple then the other to make them erect; it didn't take very long for that to happen. Then she turned her attention back towards me, continuing to rub her clitoris with her right hand. 

She beckoned for me with her free hand. I engaged all the self-control I could muster so that I just walked over towards her at a normal pace; my insides, racing, would have had me scamper over to her like a lab rat, and that would not have been very dignified—or sexy. I stopped at a 45-degree angle to the corner of the chair, within her reach and yet at an angle where I could keep watching her play with herself. 

She looked up at me with lusty eyes, then bit her lip again and closed them. She spread her sex wide with both hands, then darted the index finger of her right hand quickly in and out of the opening while rubbing her clit with the index finger of her left. She started breathing deeply; I'd never seen her masturbate like this, and I suspect she could bring herself to orgasm in just a few minutes this way. But I wasn't going to wait to find out—if Julie was having to masturbate to get off, clearly I was shirking my responsibilities!

I got down on my knees in front of her chair. Her pussy was open like an altar before me. Rather than interrupt, I joined in; leaning forward, I ran my tongue back and forth between her fingers. She lifted her left hand away, deferring her clit to my tongue, while still darting her finger in and out of herself. I placed my left hand above her pussy, fingers pointed downwards, so I could continue to part her labia with my thumb and forefinger while darting my tongue in and around the tender flesh between. My right hand was then free to relieve hers in penetrating her vagina, except that I used two fingers, sliding in and out slowly and more deeply. Her hands now free, she grabbed her knees and pulled them up to that they were folded up on either side of her torso. Her eyes were closed this whole time, and I could hear from her breath that she was already quite aroused. 

I responded to her arousal by licking harder. At the same time, I pulled my fingers out of her soaking wet snatch and instead gently tugged on her nipples, one and then the other. She started making low "mmm, mmm" sounds, then dropped her legs back over the armrests and ran her hands through my hair. She must be getting close, I thought, and she gently guided me to the points of maximum impact so that I could bring her home. I heard her suddenly say "Oh... oh..." even before I felt her muscles contract in orgasm. 

When her orgasm subsided, I dropped my hands but kept playfully licking her crotch while looking up at her. She finally opened her eyes, but kept her hands resting in my hair, then straightened up in her seat while pulling on me until our lips met in a lusty kiss. When it was over, she whispered into my ear "Stand up."

I stood up.

Julie sat up in the chair and made quick work of my belt, button and zipper. She pulled my pants and boxer briefs down and out of the way in a single motion, then turned her attention to my dick. It was at full length but not yet full erection. She gently lifted my junk and kissed its tip. She followed that up by running her tongue around the tip several times. She now didn't need to support it anymore, but it also wasn't yet completely hard. 

She lifted my penis up, so she could kiss and lick my nuts. Then, making a soft, U-shaped bed with her tongue, she ran her tongue slowly up the bottom of my cock, starting at the balls and working her way up. By the time she got back to the tip and started licking around it again, it was pointing at the stars of its own accord. 

Finally, the moment I was waiting for. Julie opened her mouth, encircled my dick like a sheath to a sword, and swallowed me. If I live to be 100, I swear I'll never get tired of that feeling when she first takes me into her mouth. Its warm and soft, and she is so skilled at using that tongue on me while I'm in her mouth—goddamit, I'm getting hard just thinking about it. 

Anyway, Julie put one hand on each of my butt cheeks, sat forward in the chair, and tried to swallow me down to the nuts. My toes curled upwards involuntarily from the sensation. She got as far as her nose touching my tummy before backing off to a more comfortable depth. Looking up at me now, she began to slide my dick in and out of her mouth at a steady rhythm. She paused to run her tongue around the tip, then sucked me again. I could not believe that this was going to be in store for me every single fucking night (Julie was on the constant-dosage birth control regimen, so she didn't have periods taking her offline one week per month). 

As was so often the case, I realized we were at a choice point. If she wanted to have intercourse, she was going to have to stop sucking me because I was gonna nut real soon if she didn't. Sometimes it's fine with both of us that the blow is the thing, but this was our first night in our new home together (even if it was a hotel) and I wanted more. So I put my hands on her cheeks, pulled her face off of my dick and towards my mouth to kiss her. Now it was I that whispered into her ear: "the chair or the bed?"

"The bed," she whispered back. 

I backed up, she got up, and she led the way to the bedroom. She stopped at the foot of the bed to take off her clothes; I did the same a foot or so behind her. I don't know how, but my clothes were off before hers, so I reached around and held her breasts, nipples tweaked between my thumbs and forefingers. She froze for a second, taking in the sensation, before kicking her skirt off to the side. She reached behind her with both arms; the left she reached above her, trying to find the back of my head. The right she reached straight back with, finding and stroking my Johnson. 

I kissed her shoulder and then worked my way up her neck. Suddenly she lurched forward; next thing I knew, she was on the bed, on all fours, butt even with the end of the bed, offering her pussy to me dog-style. I took one step forward, shoehorned myself into her vagina, then grabbed her hips and started fucking. 

Julie tossed her head so that her hair lay flat on her back, turned her face up, and arched her back slightly. I pushed myself into her and back out again, and again, and again. She started making noises, roughly like "umph, umph." I reclaimed my hold on her tits without breaking stride. 

Again, choice point. I was gonna nut pretty fast this way too—did I want to just do it doggy style? Not really; I wanted to be looking into Julie's eyes when I came. Not without regret, I stopped thrusting and pulled out. Julie turned over her should to see what was up; a minimal gesture told her that I wanted her to be on her back. She crawled up to pillow height, rolled over, and grabbed her legs. Not just any way, mind you; she held her legs straight out in the shape of a letter-V, using her hands to hold them out of the way. Oh man, she was beyond hot in that position. I kneel-walked up to her butt and sank my dick back into her pussy again—aahhh! 

She held her legs open and I fucked for all I was worth—but she had her eyes closed. Maybe because it was feeling good—she was now saying "Oh...Oh..." on every other thrust. But that night I really wanted to be looking into her eyes at the moment that I climaxed. 

I put one arm on the bed next to her to support myself, then softly touched her cheek with my other. I didn't usually do that while fucking, so Julie opened her eyes to again see what was up. I smiled gently—its hard to really smile when you're this close to blowing your wad—and looked at her with loving eyes. She saw the look in my face and knew that I wanted eye contact. She did her best to maintain it, although when the thrusts felt real good she had to close them in what amounted to a prolonged blink. I thrust and thrust, looking at the beautiful face of my honey. She let her legs bend and fall to the sides, freeing her to put her arms on my torso and encourage me. On a whim, I thrust out the thumb of the hand that was stoking her face; she immediately opened her lips in a sexy fashion and began to suck it like it was a dick, all without breaking eye contact. That, sports fans, was what put me over the top. I took my hand out of her mouth and put it on the bed to stabilize myself, then pushed as far into her as I could go. I let out a grunt reminiscent of Tarzan as I systematically emptied my nuts into the depths of her vagina.

I collapsed on top of Julie and kissed her again and again and again.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you, too," Julie replied, gently caressing my back as I lay on top of her. 

I lay on top of her for a while, catching my breath, then pulled out and slid next to her. Making a little pillow with my arm and shoulders, I held Julie close to me. She curled up, facing me, pressing her naked body against mine. She would turn her head up to kiss me from time to time, then she would turn her head downwards to lay on my shoulder. She felt warm, wonderful, alive. I didn't care if I ever fell asleep, I just wanted to lay here with her forever. Unfortunately my arm did not agree, and it did start to fall asleep. I gently pulled my arm out from under Julie, not realizing that she was already in dreamland. I lay next to her, gently running my fingers through her hair, being careful not to accidentally wake her up. She was so beautiful, even fast asleep. How did I ever get so lucky?

I watched her sleep for some time, even as my eyes became heavy too. When they finally were too heavy I closed them, and almost immediately I was sleeping too.

--------------------

Our first two months in New York went a lot like that. We would hit different restaurants at lunchtime looking for stock tips, put in our trade orders, then do stuff around the room for a few hours before one of us initiated sex to conclude the day. Then one day we chanced upon an even better source for hot stock tips: the gym.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 12



I've told you before about Julie's amazing body and what great shape she's in. Yes, she has excellent genetics, but even so looking as amazing as she does requires a lot of work to maintain. So one of the first things she wanted to do when we got to New York was to join a health club and get back into her workout regimen. 15-20 minutes of stretching and agility exercises, 30-45 minutes of cardio, 30-45 minutes of weights, then a shower. I almost always went along, but I couldn't begin to keep up with her. On a treadmill, for instance, I would run about two miles in 20 minutes, while she ran five miles in 30 minutes. When we were done, I looked like I would fall over; Julie looked like she had just walked in the front door. But it was good for me—I was in OK shape before, but I was getting fitter quickly being at the gym with her.

Because going to the gym took some time, and we were always in the financial district from 11-2, getting there took a little planning. One day Julie suggested that we might save time by going to one of the gym's locations in midtown rather than the one closest to the house; she preferred to work out in the morning (Julie has never worked an 8 to 5 job in her life—and now, she won't ever need to, either) and this way we didn't have to worry about getting downtown in time. 

Julie was doing a relatively light workout by her standards that day, as this was a test run as much as anything; maybe that's why she had left her Bluetooth mindreader clipped to her ear. Julie was striding along on an elliptical machine; I was on the machine to her right. There were two men in their early twenties riding stationary bikes in the row in front of us, talking. I was engrossed in watching the TVs; sports news and financial news simultaneously on separate sets. Julie, however, was looking around, getting a feel for the place and its clientele, and that's probably why the conversation just ahead of us caught her ear. I noticed Julie reach for her left ear, but I assumed that maybe with all the activity she had to adjust the headpiece to keep it from falling off. Suddenly Julie was trying to get my attention as urgently yet unobtrusively as possible. She got off her machine, long before her normal time would have been up, and gave me a head nod to indicate I should follow her. I knew something was up, but I had no idea what.

Julie found a deserted corner of the sitting area and whispered to me with great excitement.

"Did you see those two guys on the bikes?" she asked?

"Yeah..." I replied. Reflecting my own paranoia about Julie being too attractive for someone like me, my first thought was that she liked one of them—but then why would she be telling me?

"One of them works for a big software company," she said, "and he was telling his friend that his company is going to be in for a rough quarter. I turned on my mindreader, and I saw that after the markets close today they're going to announce that the release of Grand Larceny XII will be delayed until next year."

"Really?" I asked. "That's a huge seller and will be a big hit on their bottom line. We should short their stock bigtime."

"No duh," she said, not needing me to spell it out for her—she was quite cognizant of the practical significance of that information.

"That's a major tip," I said. "I wonder if there are others out there, too?"

"That's what I was thinking," she said, looking at me earnestly. "I'm going to try trolling a little bit. Get your glasses and keep an eye on what the people I'm talking to are thinking, but other than that pretend you don't know me. Is that OK?" She held my hands now; she knew I was prone to interpreting her friendliness towards other men as being something more, even though she had never given the slightest indication of having a romantic interest in anyone but me.

"Yeah, let's see what we get," I said, trying to convey an enthusiasm I didn't really feel. She gave me a quick kiss and headed back to the fitness room while I headed to the locker room for my glasses. 

The fitness room was pretty empty, including no Julie, so I started wandering around. I found her in the weight room. She was doing some solo lifting, then nodding ever so slightly to acknowledge that she knew I was now in the room, went to the heavy weights and asked a promising looking-guy to spot her. I could tell that she was lifting 20 pounds less than her max, which I presumed was to ensure she wasn't compromised in her ability to chat. It was a very strange experience; I wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, and I was focused on the guy's thoughts so I had no idea what Julie was asking him (I had learned early on that if you can't focus on just one person, the magnetic fields will interfere with each other and the mindreader won't work). But I could watch his thoughts suddenly jump from one thing to another in response to what she had said.

Predictably, the first thoughts he had were about having sex with Julie. She was dressed to work out, which meant short shorts (the kind you wear with the waistband turned over on the outside so that they rode lower on the hips) and half-shirt/sportsbra. But as Julie talked, she got him thinking about his job. Unfortunately, he was not at a level to give us any insider information. Julie moved on, going back and forth between the weight room and fitness room so that it wasn't obvious that she was asking a number of different guys to spot her—that might be misinterpreted. About the fifth person she talked to also had a great lead: a major company about to announce an earning miss and a big one-time charge; another golden shorting opportunity. 

We never did make it to lunch that day. Both of those tips we got at the gym turned into huge money-makers for us; it turns out that a lot of the people that have the kinds of information we wanted work out at lunchtime. After that, we had a new routine, one we still follow. We go to a different gym in a different part of Manhattan every day—we joined every health club we could find, which gives us more choices and lengthened time before we inevitably went back to a specific location. We get in our workouts in-between trolling for information. Julie complains that the workouts aren't as intense, and I'm sure she's right; on the weekend we still go to our local gym just for ourselves, and she can work as intensely as she wants. 

--------------------

Once we discovered that the best secrets are obtained at the gym, we started making serious money. When our net profit hit a half-million dollars, we decided to celebrate by taking a long weekend at an Atlantic shore resort. We stayed in a fancy hotel right on the boardwalk; we could literally walk out of the hotel and right onto the beach. Friday afternoon the beach wasn't too busy yet, as most of the weekend crowd wasn't in yet. Julie and I were laying on a huge towel on the beach. Julie was flat on her back, wearing a striped bikini and oversized sunglasses, eyes closed and working on her tan. I was wearing my trunks and sunglasses, but even putting a baseball cap over my face the sun was so bright I couldn't snooze. Julie could lay on a beach for hours, but I get bored. After about 45 minutes, I was looking for something to do, so I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around. There were a few children jumping in the surf with their parents and a few older teens trying to surf although the waves weren't very good for that. There were all kinds of girls in bikinis, of course, and I carefully evaluated every one. Many were quite nice, but in the end none of them could compare to Julie. Maybe that's why I saw so many guys suddenly turned to look in another direction when I gazed their way. 

I glanced over at her, and the way she looked just lying there hammered the point home. Her hair was pulled back from her pretty face in a ponytail, and she looked amazing in her tiny bikini. But my attention was drawn to her belly. At first glance, flat was the best way to describe it. But at a second look, it was anything but. There were two gently rounded ridges on either side near the bottom, showing where her thighs connected to her torso. Then there was the gentle hint of a ridge down the middle of her belly, differentiating the left side and right side abdominal muscles. Finally, there was the silver ring in her belly button, standing out proudly in contrast to the gently curved flatness. And throughout was the base coat of Julie's tan, with no visible white lines anywhere. I turned so I was lying on my side, stacked my arms on top of each other as a makeshift pillow, and lay my head on them so I could just look at her, tummy rising ever so slightly with each breath. 

Julie became aware that I was looking at her. Shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, she looked over at me. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing." I said, eyes transfixed upon her. I was drawn to her belly like a moth to a light bulb; slowly, as if against my will, I brought my left forefinger close to her and gently touched her. I slowly traced along the gentle curves of her tummy with my finger.

Julie giggled then grabbed my finger, saying "Stop...that tickles."

"Oh, sorry," I said, moving my hand further away but still staring at her perfect stomach. 

"If you're bored, why don't you look around at all the scenery?" she asked.

"I did," I replied, "and right now I'm looking at a part of the most beautiful thing that I can see."

Julie effortlessly crunched those abs, sitting up without assistance of her arms, and kissed me. Then she whispered into my ear "If you keep saying sweet things like that, I'm going to have to kiss you. And if I keep kissing you, I'm not going to make any progress on my tan."

"Sorry," I kidded.

She smiled and lay back down. I put my head back down on my arms, but I kept running my eyes back and forth over those subtle curves. Her suit bottom broke up the landscape of course, but I had not trouble visualizing what I could not actually see. I thought about her shaved pubis and her tender privates, tucked away between her legs. 

Julie glanced my way and commented "You're still staring at me, aren't you?"

"Its just so...perfect..." I said. In reality, I was hard pressed to explain my sudden fixation.

Julie again effortlessly sat up without using her arms and looked at herself. "Oh come now, what are you looking at?

"You can't see it when you're sitting up," I said. 

"That's a convenient excuse," she kidded.

"No, really," I explained, looking at her eyes but not able to see them through her sunglasses. "There's just something about the way your muscles fall into place when you're lying down...its just...perfect."

Julie reached for her beach bag, rummaged around in it for a second, then emerged with a compact, which she flipped open to expose the mirror inside. She took off her glasses, handed me the mirror, then laid back down saying "show me."

I tried to line up the mirror so she could see the subtle curves I did, but the mirror was small and I doubt it would look the same in a two-dimensional reflection anyway. 

"All I see is ordinary skin," she chided, "nothing special."

I tossed the mirror aside, then lay down right next to her, touching along the sides, within easy kissing range. "There is nothing ordinary about YOUR skin," I whispered, "and everything about you is special."

She gave me a scolding smile, but wrapped her arms around me and started kissing me. I started sprouting a woody. I was so close to her, she could feel it pressing gently against her leg. She interrupted the kissing to whisper in my ear "I think somebody wants to visit." 

I agreed, going "Mmm hmmm" in between kisses. 

Julie stopped kissing me, reached for her cover-up, and started to put it on. 

I felt guilty, that I was taking her away from the beach before she wanted to go. "No, wait," I told her, "there's no hurry. We don't have to leave now just because of that...we can stay as long as you want."

"It's OK," she said, tossing things in her bag. "There's always tomorrow. And besides...I want to try out the Jacuzzi in the room." 

So that's what we did. Our suite had one of those big, roughly triangular Jacuzzi bathtubs in it. First thing we did when we got in the room was to start filling it with water; it had to be filled up to within a few inches of the top in order for the jets to work. I decided to just plunk myself down in the thing while it filled; Julie was putting a few things away in the room. 

"Okay, it's ready," I announced.

"Ooo, coming," Julie announced excitedly, kicking off her flip-flops and climbing in. I hit the switch and the jets started sending massaging sprays to my back and legs.

We were sitting at almost a 90 degree angle from each other, both still in swimsuits. We both lay back against the jets; Julie closed her eyes. I adjusted so that the jet hit me in a different spot, and accidentally bumped toes with her. Ah hah! With just a slight turn, I was able to play footsie with her. She opened her eyes, looking across at me, which each of us tried to tickle the other's feet. At one point she splashed water at me in mock frustration. I responded by laughing. But then she had a better idea—she started gently rubbing the inside of my thigh with her painted, pedicured toenails. I started sprouting wood again—even with her toes she could make me hard! She bit her lip with a satisfied look on her face, knowing that she had won the war, because I had just surrendered. 

Julie slid over from the far corner so she was sitting next to me in the tub. I put my arm around her; she teased my thighs with her fingers. I was putty in her hands, and she knew it. 

Suddenly, and I'm not quite sure how she did it without me noticing, her hands was IN my swimsuit. She held me between her fingers, gave me a little grin, then slid over to kiss me while kneading my semi-hard member in her hand. My right hand was around her, but my left was free; I reached towards her and quickly determined her breasts were in easy reach. I untied her top with my right hand, then slipped one of her breasts free from the fabric with my left. I pulled gently on her nipple until it was firm, then alternated between making little circles on her areola with my forefinger and rubbing her nipple between my forefinger and thumb. Now I was fully hard, with help from Julie's continued stroking under my suit. 

Enough of that...Julie rolled over and, with a little help from me lifting my butt, took off my trunks and tossed them over the edge of the tub. I started to reach for her top; I arrived just in time to be no help whatsoever as she pulled it over her head and sent it flying next to my trunks. Then she knelt in the tub with my thighs between hers, so that my dick was standing straight up right next to her pubic bone, but not in a position where I could penetrate her pussy. She held and stroked me with both of her hands simultaneously while bending forward and kissing me. 

At first I just put my arms around her and kissed her back. But as good as it felt, I felt like I wasn't giving back as much as I was getting—at which time I realized I could reach her genitals just as easily as she could mine. So I slipped my hands under her arms and forward until I could feel her bikini bottoms sitting on my thigh. I started by stroking her thigh with my right hand while running my index and middle fingers up and down the outside of her bikini. She kept right on stroking and kissing me. Then I laid my hands flat on her thighs and reached inwards with both thumbs. I could feel where her sex was through the fabric, and used my thumbs to stroke her there. It started having an effect; Julie stopped kissing me so she could sit more upright, but kept her eyes closed and started to gently rock up and down, pressing her pubis against my thumbs. I could feel her breath start to show excitement. 

Julie momentarily released one of her hands from my cock, grabbed her bikini bottoms, pulled them away from her genitals, then got back to the business of stroking. At first I thought that maybe we should get out of the Jacuzzi to prevent yeast infection. Then I realized that this wasn't like the hot tub because it was fresh water we had just drawn, not a shared community tub, and it wasn't nearly that hot, so I kept going. Just by touch I had not trouble finding her labia protruding from her shaved crotch. I pulled them apart gently with my thumbs, followed them to the point where they met, and thus located and began to rub her clit. 

Next thing I knew, Julie was lifting herself up slightly, moving a few inches forward, and easing herself down onto my penis. She put one hand on my shoulder, one hand on my dick to line it up, and then I felt my dick surrounded by her warm, wonderful insides. Once I was inside her, she put her other hand on my shoulder and began slowly, gently rocking up and down, looking at me. I put my hands on her hips to go along for the ride at first, but then my brain noticed that her tits were bouncing up and down just in front of my face. I held them in my hands, squeezing them together, then with just a slight curve of the back was just able to reach them with my outstretched tongue as they went past on the way up and down. 

She was getting more excited, and so her amplitude and frequency increased. Unfortunately the Jacuzzi was not built for this activity, and her knee slipped on the floor. She wasn't hurt, but she just missed banging it on a jet, and that would have done some damage. I suggested that we get up. She stood up, and before she knew what hit her I had turned her around, bent her over so she was holding the edge of the tub, pulled her bikini bottoms down to her ankles and penetrated from behind. She held on while I slammed her from the back; by chance her hand was right by the power switch, and she turned off the jets. That helped, but it was still slippery. As I started to build towards climax, I sped up my thrusting, and suddenly my foot slipped too. 

"Fuck this," I said. There were two large bath towels in easy reach; I grabbed them and laid them both flat on the ground next to the Jacuzzi. Julie climbed out, lay down on the towels, and thrust her legs straight up in the air. I followed her out, knelt by her butt, slung her legs over my shoulders, and entered her again. No slipping this time; I fucked her for all I was worth. Holding her legs in my hands, I thrust in and out of her like a jackhammer. 

I leaned forward a little so I could put support myself with my arms, necessitating that she lift her legs past vertical. As an unintended but pleasant consequence, my strokes must have not been directly rubbing her clitoris, because suddenly her face took on a look bordering on disbelief and she began saying "Oh...oh...oh..." I adjusted my stroke slightly, trying to maximize my sliding action rather than maximize my thrust. It was driving her crazy, so of course I kept doing it. Then I saw her open her mouth and her eyes wide, then close her eyes, and I felt her shudder with orgasm. I slowed down while she was coming, partly by choice and partly because she became squirmy like an eel. When the orgasm subsided, she bent her knees and split her legs out to the sides. Greenlighted, I resumed jackhammering. She ran her fingers through my hair and touched my face, her eyes encouraging me to join her in orgasm. 

I don't know why I looked down at that moment, but I did. And when I did, I saw a very similar sight to what had started this—her abdominal muscles shyly making themselves known beneath her skin, the gentle roundness where her leg muscles attached to her torso. Only this time, not only was there no need to imagine the curves of her crotch, but there was me, planting my flag inside of her and claiming her as my own. That image, lingering, triggered my orgasm. I all but stopped thrusting in favor of reaching as far into her belly as I could reach, ejaculating again and again and again.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 13



Six months after moving in together, Julie and I had adapted to domestic life together amazingly well. For one thing, Julie loved living in New York—the theaters, the dance clubs (I took her dancing regularly), Central Park, the restaurants, and just the variety things that were available. But most nights we just stayed at home like normal people. That might sound pretty mundane, but I think that's where May-September romances often fall apart; the things that interest people born of different generations can be quite different, and the inability to find things to do together on a regular basis can doom a relationship. Julie and I found things we both liked—Adult Swim, for instance—and when we didn't, I would surf the web or play one of my geeky MMORPGs while she would watch TV or play around on Youtube or Myspace. 

The way that we earned a living had evolved as well: we had learned that the best stock tips came not from fancy restaurants, but at the health club. We were doing fine before, but now we were doing very well financially; we were able to move out of the hotel and into a rented brownstone—we wanted to buy, but on paper it looked like I hadn't worked in a year and Julie hadn't held a job since she was 18. It was going to be a while before the combination of down payment and credit the bank was willing to give us added up to enough to buy the kind of place we wanted. 

But as our trading accounts grew, my fears of Julie leaving me increased. I always felt that she was too attractive to stay with someone like me, and now that she didn't need me financially, it just felt like she was slipping through my fingers. One side effect of these feeling was that I didn't always leave Julie enough room to operate; if a guy looked like he was getting the wrong ideas, I tended to interrupt them. Julie was frustrated with me, because she interpreted it as that I didn't trust her. I suppose in a way she was right, but it wasn't because of her; it just reflected the fact that I didn't feel like I had much to offer her anymore.

Then one day the reverse occurred. Trolling for tips at the gym, a young and hot but flighty thing started chatting with me and—perhaps because I was standing around the weight room doing nothing—asked me to spot her. Julie saw that, and this time SHE came over to interrupt ME. It was clear that we both had issues, insecurities about each other that needed to be aired out. We tried talking about them, but somehow it always seemed like something was going unsaid. On my part, I couldn't just come out and say that I was sure Julie would eventually leave me, it was a slap in the face when she was telling me she loved me and didn't care about anyone else. I just didn't feel like that was going to stay that way. And there was something she wasn't saying either, but I had no idea what it was. 

Julie came up with a novel way to get things back out in the open between us. One night she suggested we go to my favorite restaurant. Over dinner, she said she wanted to play a game tonight—a variation on truth or dare, she said, using our mindreaders. We had agreed that we would only use mindreaders on each other if we were both using them; it was a foolproof way of getting the truth out in the open, and we were the only people in the world who could do it. I was all for it—I didn't like the fact that it felt like Julie was pulling away from me on account of our mutual insecurities. 

After dinner she went to the bedroom and came out wearing a lacy lingerie vest and panties. "This game is like truth or dare, but with mindreaders," she announced. She had a stack of notecards and two Sharpies. "I'm going to give you a notecard with a question on it. You don't have to answer, I'll be able to see your answer with my mindreader. Then you get to write a question and use the mindreader on me."

I swallowed hard. This was a darn good idea on her part, but it also promised to end up revealing a lot of intimate thoughts. If any of those thoughts disappointed the recipient, it could be very bad. Part of me wondered whether this wasn't actually a backhanded way of initiating a breakup. 

"I anticipated that you might be bit nervous about how this might turn out, so I have a little extra incentive for you," she said. "What's truth or dare without a dare right? Well, see this little vesty-thingy I have on? It has just three little ties holding it together. And these panties," she continued while demonstrating, "have only two. For each question we get through, I'll untie a string. When we get through five questions, there'll be absolutely nothing keeping my clothes on. I KNOW you know what to do after that. So what do you say—deal?"

I was going to go along with it anyway, but I certainly couldn't pass it up now. I was already eyeing the little bit of cleavage showing above her top, and lusted to see more.

"Okay, who goes first?" I said.

"I'll go first on the first question, you go first on the second, and so on," she said. "So, here's your first question." She took a notecard, wrote something on one, turned on her headset mindreader, and handed it to me. It said: 

What do you really think of me?

Thoughts don't lie. They told her I really loved her, not just as a sex partner but as a person, that I had never been happier than I was, and that I hoped our relationship would never end—but feared that given the age difference, it was inevitable.

She turned off her headset, pleased to confirm that I really loved her, but more hard questions were to come. "Okay, your turn," she said.

Rather than write anything new, I handed the card back to her, put on my mindreading glasses, and said "I think this is a perfectly good question."

Her thoughts confirmed that she loved me too, that as far as she was concerned I was the only person she had ever met that liked—or even cared to find out about—all of her as a person. Furthermore, she was living a life she had never even dared to dream about, and she owed it all to me. I disagreed with the last part, in that it had taken both of our talents to amass the fortune we were continuing to grow, but this wasn't about arguing—it was about discovering. 

Good to her word as always, Julie undid one of her ties—but she undid the bottom one, little fucking tease. Well, at least now her belly button ring was peeking out.

It was my turn to pose a question. I had an idea; I wrote it down on a notecard and handed it to her.

What is your biggest fear or disappointment in me?

She had no disappointments; sure, it would have been nice if I was younger and more attractive, but it also would have been nice if she wasn't a former sex worker; that's just the way it was. She had a strong fear, however, that I would leave her. We were now well-off, and there were always young, attractive women gunning for guys with money. She was afraid that eventually I would find one that was more attractive and/or better able to satisfy me (as if that were even possible) and that I would leave her for the younger woman. 

It never occurred to me that she might have fears that paralleled my own.

I took off the glasses and Julie turned on her headset. She did what I had just done, giving me back the card I had just given her. "I would like your answer to the question," she said.

My thoughts ran to my feelings of inadequacy, of being ten years older and not feeling very attractive. Now that she was independently wealthy, I didn't feel like she needed my anymore, and consequently I felt like it was only a matter of time before she left me for some hot young stud muffin. All I could do was enjoy the time we had while we had it.

She frowned slightly, as my answer didn't give her any credit for being faithful. She may have interpreted that as residual from her past, but it was just my assessment that I felt I brought little to the table. I was learning that she didn't see it that way.

She untied the top tie on her shirt. The middle tie was sufficient to keep her shirt maddeningly closed, but now more cleavage was spilling out, especially when she bent to write on a card. I longed to bury my face in it. But then she sat up and handed me the card. It said:

What will happen when I'm old and not beautiful anymore? 

The flood of thoughts this card generated had Julie struggling to keep up with it all. First off, just because you weren't 25 didn't mean you couldn't be beautiful; since I was already well past 30, I kind of resented this implication. Maybe I wasn't attractive, but that didn't mean she wouldn't be. After all, the best indication of how a girl will look when she's older is to look at her mother, and her mother was still quite attractive at 45. Furthermore, my feelings for Julie went well beyond her physical attributes or our sex life. It was true, initially that pretty much was our relationship. But now, I loved her as a person, and that wouldn't change if, god forbid, she became horribly disfigured tomorrow.

She liked that answer a little more. She turned off her reader and I put my glasses back on. I wrote a question on a notecard and handed it to her. It said:

Why do you stay with me now that you're financially independent and don't need me anymore?

Her thoughts indicated indignation that I thought of my financial resources as the only reason she was with me, while at the same time recognizing that at the beginning, there was a lot of truth to that belief. But I was more to her than money; I was love, I was support, I was someone—the only one as far as she was concerned—that cared and listened to her. That was more precious than money; she would have stayed with me even if we were living on the street.

I gave her a little smile of appreciation. Julie slowly and deliberately undid the last tie on her shirt, but then crossed her arms across her body to keep it from opening up. She knew that if she let me see her breasts now, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else. Dammit, sometimes she was just too smart.

My turn to go first. Hmm...Okay, maybe this was pretty similar to the last one, but I wrote:

What will happen when a young, attractive man starts paying attention to you?

Her thoughts were pretty similar to before; it wouldn't matter who paid attention to her, she was only interested in me. In me she had someone who gave her emotional support in a way that she didn't know from anyone else—why would she throw that away on an unknown quantity in someone else?

I took off my glasses and she turned on her headset. She took the notecard, crossed off "man" and penciled in "woman" above it, and handed it back to me.

My thoughts were—so? I had seduced plenty of women in my first year of grifting; none of them held a candle to Julie. Another woman might be pretty on the outside, but as far as I was concerned there was no chance she was going to be as pretty on the inside, if you will, or that she would work as hard to make me happy.

She turned her hip towards me and made a show of untying one side of her panties. But sitting as she was, untying them really didn't reveal anything new. Then she sat and thought for a bit, as it was her last card. Finally she wrote:

What would happen if you became dissatisfied with our sex life.

My thoughts may have been hard to follow here, because I truthfully couldn't imagine being dissatisfied with our sex life. I would have been wildly satisfied with our sex life even if she worked one-tenth as hard as she did at making it great. But maybe she meant as we got older, I thought. Well, I would always be ten years older than she; the way I figured it, I would be unable to respond to the challenge long before she stopped being able to get a rise out of me—if that were to ever happen at all.

Julie turned off her mindreader; it was time for my last question. My thoughts were racing. I loved Julie, and wanted to be with her forever—but I had always dismissed those thoughts as unrealistic. Suddenly, it was clear that Julie's thoughts were in line with mine; she wanted to stay with me, too, hard as that was for me to fathom. It seemed we were both driving ourselves crazy waiting for the other to leave us for someone "better," when it seemed neither of us had any interest in doing so. 

I started to write "Do you still see us together in 15 years?" Then I crossed off the 15 and wrote in "10." But as I was writing, I was thinking that I could be pretty sure what the answer would be: she would hope that we'd be together in 10 years and even longer. 

It felt like a golden opportunity had just fallen into my lap. I had never even thought about formally committing to Julie because I just expected in time she would find someone else. But it was clear that both of us wanted to be together for as long as we could imagine. 

Marriage is a commitment, a statement of good faith declaring the intention to remain faithful to one partner. Yeah, they only work out about half the time; there are no guarantees in life. But it suddenly clicked that I was again doing something I had done before; I had been too afraid of Julie turning me down to risk telling her how I really felt, how much I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Because I didn't feel like I was good enough for her, I hadn't come out and told Julie I loved her; she read it in my mind first. Now, I hadn't considered asking her to marry me because I didn't feel good enough for her. Yet I had just seen with my own eyes (so to speak) that she saw things in me I didn't. Fact is, what it really looked like is that Julie wanted to marry me, too, but considered it to be a pipe dream because she thought of herself as "damaged goods." It appeared as if we both wanted to commit to each other—the only thing missing was the invitation.

I flipped the card over and wrote something else on the back.

"Hey, you're cheating!" Julie complained playfully.

"Maybe," I said noncommittally. I handed her the card, first question-side up.

As I predicted, her thoughts were that she wanted nothing better than to be with me for 10, 20, 50 years. I couldn't help but crack a little smile.

"I don't think I should read the question on the other side; that's cheating," Julie pretended to pout. 

"Would it be more fair if I took off my glasses?" I asked. I was all but sure that I wasn't going to need them.

She wasn't expecting that. What question would I have written that I didn't need to use my glasses on? But it was more fair, so she said, "Um, OK, I guess that would be more fair."

I took off my glasses and leaned back in my chair. On the one hand I was nervous—what if I had read the whole situation wrong and she turned me down? On the other hand, I was excited with a confidence one can only have if one can read someone else's mind that we were about to share life-changing moment. 

"Should I turn it over?" she asked hesitantly. The rules of the game had changed. I nodded. She turned the card over and read what I had written.

Will you marry me?

Her first reaction was to gasp for breath and put her hand over her mouth. Then she looked at me, unbelieving, tears of joy already welling up in her eyes. Then she jumped out of her seat and knelt in my lap, not noticing that the untied flaps of her shirt parted completely in the process, wrapped my head tightly in her arms and between kisses said "Yes, yes, oh honey, yes, yes, yes." 

She held my face in her hands and said, "Oh honey, I can't believe you really want to...oh, honey, no, I hope you don't think I suggested this game as a way to..."

I quieted her with a kiss.

"There is nothing that would make me happier than if you would walk down the aisle with me and say 'I do.' I've just never asked because...well, because I couldn't imagine why you would ever say yes," I explained. "But in the course of this game it became clear that we have both been afraid of the same thing—losing each other to someone else. So—let's do something about it! I want to declare to the entire world that I love you, and only you, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm just sorry that, like an idiot, I don't have a ring to give you."

"I don't need a ring," she said, kissing me from above. She had that lovely, soft-like-warm-butter feeling in my arms that she gets whenever I've done something that makes her feel especially close to me and she wants to do anything in her power to make me happy, too. 

"Oh yes you do," I smiled. "I don't want there to be any doubt that YOU are NOT AVAILABLE." I put my arms around her, looked up at her kneeling on my lap and kissed her.

Putting my arms around her opened the untied flaps of her vest; from where I sat I swear it looked like her breasts were trying to reach towards my mouth of their own accord. It was only then that Julie remembered that she was, for all intents and purposes, already naked. 

"Hmm-hmm," she chuckled, "it won't take much work to make love, now will it?" She held my face in her hands and kissed me. Then she shifted slightly and placed her left breast right on my lips, offering her nipple to my grateful mouth. She let me suck her tit hungrily, then she shifted back and kissed me some more.

There is something special about sexual first times—first time with a new partner, first time in a new place, first sex as man and wife. But arguably none is more special than the first sex after becoming betrothed. Up to that time, you may have had all the sex in the world—Julie and I did pretty much did—but no matter how much you loved the person, there really was nothing to stop either of you from deciding to move on to another partner without warning. Wedding night sex is special, even if it's not the first time you have sex, because it's the first time you have sex committed to your spouse. But the first sex after you get engaged is special in an even more emotional sense—it's the first time that you know for sure that your partner wants you above all other possible partners in the whole world. You have just agreed to promise that your partner is the only person you will ever have sex with again. That knowledge makes the first sex after engagement a highly emotional experience. 

Any other time Julie would have been happy to blow me, sucking me off if I wanted it. She had stripped for me, posed split-beaver naked for me, teased me, been submissive for me, swallowed every last drop of my cum, and used her tongue on my dick as an alarm clock. Most of the time she was even willing to open her ass for me if that's what I wanted. But on this occasion, the only kind of sex that would do was to couple my penis with her vagina. Face-to-face, body-inside-of-body—sex that was the epitome of intimacy. 

Not only was Julie already basically naked, she was rocking up and down—and she hadn't even taken my dick out of my pants yet. She was, however, so wet that she was leaving a damp spot on them. Kissing me, gently rocking herself in anticipation, she freed the beast. I was pretty hard, what with Julie sitting on me like that. She stroked my cock, coaxing it to become even harder. Once it met with her satisfaction, she lifted herself up higher, guided my penis to her private entrance, and then nestled herself down on my cock. She closed her eyes and wore a face of pure pleasure as she slowly rocked up and down, feeling my dick rise and fall within her.

It was a good thing she was on top. We guys, we tend to be orgasm-driven. That's the point, after all, isn't it? Maybe, but at that time and place, it wasn't the only point for Julie. She just wanted to feel me be inside her, a tangible manifestation of the deep emotional connection we shared. She rose and fell slowly, like ocean waves crashing upon the sand. And she wanted me to be as far into her as possible; she adjusted herself so that her legs were even wider apart to facilitate deeper penetration on the downstrokes. Sometimes she would hold my face and kiss me, necessitating small strokes. Other times she would put her arms on or around me, permitting longer strokes and deeper penetration. But the constant was her being able to feel me deep inside her, fusing our two persons into one at the point of contact.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 13



I watched her revel in the feeling of connection. But, being the guy I am, I was distracted by her lovely tits rising and falling like the tide. I reached out to stroke one's soft, tender flesh as it passed by. Wanting to please me, she again brought her breast right to my mouth, but found that doing so forced her to ride higher such that less of my dick was inside her. That would not do, so she pulled her breast back, kissed me, and drove herself as far down onto my pole as she could go. So instead, I put my hands on her hips, feeling even more the rhythm of her lovemaking. We both just enjoyed the moment, the connection we shared emotionally and physically. 

After keeping a constant rhythm for a long time, I noticed her slightly upping the tempo; she may have been happy just feeling me inside her, but the amount of lubrication she was producing indicated that another part of her was getting ready to cum. Her tempo increased to a more normal sexual rhythm, so my arousal now started to build from the level in had been maintaining. 

Julie will often make noises during sex, but usually demure ones. On this occasion, however, Julie was really letting herself go, and when she ramped up the pace another minute notch, she started to become vocal. "Mmm. Oh yeah. Oh. Mmmm." She was fucking with intensity now, and every stroke brought an exclamation of delight. She had her hands on my shoulders now to maintain equilibrium, as she had her eyes closed and was arching her back to achieve the most pleasurable angle penetration. 

Her tits were now not just bouncing, they were being thrown up and down with force. Her nipples stood straight out pointing at me; I was having a hard time holding on to her hips at the rate she was now going, so instead I grabbed one tit in each hand and held on. Her vocalization got louder again; "Oh. Oh yes. Yes." I could feel her contracting her muscles to close her vagina tighter around my dick. We were both getting really close to climax.

She kept on fucking, and she kept on talking, by now almost screaming. That night she had one of the hardest orgasms I ever saw her have, almost simultaneous with mine. It later struck me that during her orgasm she echoed the words she had said to me earlier, but with completely different meaning, when she called out: "Yes..... Yes.... Oh Honey.... Yes!.... Yes!!!... YES!!!!!"

---------------------

The next day I took Julie to Tiffany's on 5th Avenue; I had been fortunate to be able to get a diamond consultation the next day. Julie wore a sky blue strapless top, skinny jeans, and high-heel wedges. The sales woman was probably around 30 and dressed like a businesswoman, except with a lot more jewelry. She started out by showing us the various cuts available in one-carat sizes. 

"Can we see something in the 2 to 4 carat range?" I asked.

Julie whispered to me "Honey, I don't need anything that big!"

I whispered back "You're worth it. Besides, you're supposed to spend two months salary on the engagement ring. If I did that based on the last two months, you wouldn't be able to lift your hand."

She grasped my arm in a mixture of excitement and disbelief as the saleswoman returned with samples of setting in the two to five carat range. She unconsciously brushed her hair back over her ear with her left hand before putting her finger out for sizing. Then the saleswoman put a two-carat ring on her dainty finger. The diamond was the best in color and clarity they had, and it shone as if a miniature star was floating above her hand. Julie didn't notice that she held her breath while she looked at it, but I did. 

She tried a 3-carat next, but in truth it was too big for her delicate hands; it looked gaudy, and I wanted to go for impressive. The 2.5 carat was better, but there was no question that the two-carat was the right size. We then chose a diamond for her ring from an impressive number of choices and selected our wedding bands. They would make it to order and we could pick it up the next day. She asked how I would pay; I gave her $5,000 cash and put the rest on my gold card. 

As the saleswoman went to process the payment, I rejoined Julie, who was window-shopping in the other cases. She was looking with interest at a case full of diamond jewelry whose function I could not immediately discern from their shape. "What are these?" I asked.

"Belly button rings, silly," she teased. Duh. I felt very old for not recognizing them, but they do look very different when they're not in a belly button. And if you're me, you pay a lot more attention to the belly button than to the ring.

But then she started speaking to me in a low but very serious tone. "Listen, you know that if I'm wearing that ring, I'll have about as much luck at getting good tips as you would."

I hadn't thought about that, but surely Julie would know those tendencies in men. 

"Some girls get turned on by men with rings, but guys tend to stay away. As much as I'm excited about this, I don't want it to put us out of business," she continued.

"But Julie, I want you to wear my ring at all times," I complained.

"Shhh," she said. "And I want to wear your ring too—but what if I didn't always wear it in such an obvious location?

"Hmm?" Engagement rings went on the left ring finger. Rings that were clearly engagement rings worn on other fingers pretty much meant a failed engagement in my experience; that might have just as negative of an effect as wearing it on the correct finger. 

Julie tapped on the glass. "Look at how some of these are made. Don't you think they could make me one that I could clip my rings into it when I didn't want them so visibly on my finger?"

"I get it...when you're fishing for information, you can wear your rings in your navel. When you're not, you can wear them on your finger," I said.

"Exactly," she replied. Yet again, Julie had come up with a brilliant fucking idea.

I called the sales woman over and asked to speak to a jewelry designer. Then Julie explained her idea.

"I have these wonderful rings, but I don't want them to get dirty like when I'm in the kitchen," she said. Oooh, nice cover story, I thought. "but I don't want to just put them down on the counter and not wear them at all. So I was wondering if you could make me a belly button ring that I could clip my rings to when I have to take them off my finger?"

The jewelry designer had never considered the application before, but as he thought about it, it seemed like he had a pretty good idea how to pull it off. "Interesting. We would have to set it up so that the diamond always pointed outward; we wouldn't want a beautiful gem like that pointing at the floor, now would we." He seemed to be talking to himself; he spoke with a slight French accent, although being a jeweler I suspected he was really Belgian. He asked to see Julie's current ring—I wonder if he really needed to see it and measure it like he did, or whether as I suspect he just wanted to see her taut, flat belly. But he did write some stuff down, saying it would take him a few days but he thought he could do it.

"But," he added, "it will not look very pretty if it does not have the rings attached. You would like perhaps something else to attach to it for when the rings are on the finger?" 

That was a good idea. I was all set to buy more diamonds, but Julie put the kibosh on that; her engagement ring alone cost nearly 50 grand, she didn't need more diamonds. Instead she suggested a gentle waterfall of cascading silver hearts, each slightly smaller than the other. The designer smiled in appreciation, saying "Madam has excellent taste." Julie liked compliments from me, but she didn't seem to have too much use for the designer's appraisal. 

We were told that we could pick up our entire order in two days. We left the jewelry store and Julie couldn't wait to get back home; she wouldn't even let us stop for dinner. As soon as we got inside, Julie got naked, helped my penis penetrate her, and insisted I remain there for the rest of the night.

---------------------

The brilliance of Julie's dual-purpose ring idea proved itself just days after we picked them up from Tiffany's. Julie was sitting on a stationary bicycle and had started chatting with a young man on the bike next to her. She quickly ascertained he knew nothing interesting, so she stopped talking to him. He, however, didn't stop talking to her—he had overinterpreted her friendly banter, and was hitting on her—hard. Julie had just sat down at the bike, she didn't feel like she could just get up two minutes later without arousing suspicion. He asked her about where she lived and that sort of thing, eying her up and down like a side of beef on a hook. There was a time when Julie would have been used to that, but she hadn't had to deal with that sort of thing for more than a year, and now she didn't like it. I moved from my elliptical machine to a treadmill in the row behind her, where I could overhear the conversation and step in if I was needed. But I wanted to give Julie a chance to handle the situation on her own.

"So what are you doing for dinner tonight?" he asked.

"I'm busy," Julie replied shortly but not rudely.

"Oh come on, baby, don't play games with me. Let me take you out to dinner, someplace nice. You'll love the view of the city from my condo," he told her.

"I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression," Julie replied, "but I'm engaged. I'm not interested in a date."

"Now I know you're lyin'," he told her, "You ain't engaged, you're just playin' hard to get."

"And what makes you say that?" asked Julie. This guy was a piece of work.

"You ain't wearing no ring, and ain't no way a girl what was really engaged wouldn't be wearing her ring," he said smugly.

"Oh, but I AM wearing a ring. See?" She unclipped her ring from her belly button and slipped it back onto her left ring finger, then turned the back of her hand towards him to show it to him. The guy's eyes bugged out and he was suddenly speechless; dumb as he otherwise seemed to be, he must have recognized that her ring probably cost more than his annual salary. Julie saw him freak out and smiled with excessive sweetness, adding, "It's just that it's so big and heavy, I get a sore finger if I always wear it on my hand!" 

I decided that we didn't need to fish for any more tips that day; I proudly got off the treadmill and went to claim my beautiful prize. Julie, who had seen me from the corner of her eye and knew I was watching what was going on, surmised that I was coming over to get her and she didn't need to keep pretending she didn't know me. 

"How's it coming honey? Almost done?" I asked as I approached. 

The guy was still speechless as he glanced towards me. 

Julie got off the bike, saying, "Yeah, I can be done. Let's go." We don't usually do this, but the circumstances seemed to call for it: I put my arms around her, carefully ensuring that I touched only bare skin and that he could see. She threw her arms around my neck, reached up for me, and we kissed deeply right there in the fitness room. Some people looked away; some others that had not paid attention to us suddenly did. But the guy who had been harassing Julie—he was nowhere to be seen by the time I finally, regretfully, let go. 

We hit the showers and met up again at the front door, but the incident had put Julie in a sucky mood. I should clarify that I don't mean she was in a bad mood—I mean she was in the mood to suck. 

Julie was wearing a denim skirt that came to mid-thigh, heels, and a white strapless top with an irregular hemline. There was subtle lining in the bust of her shirt, because the rest of it was semi-sheer—you couldn't clearly see what was there, but you could tell where what was underneath was flesh and where it was denim. We had Mexican food that night, and Julie ordered a strawberry margarita. The whole time we were in the restaurant, she was teasing me with the straw. She would slowly put her lips around the straw, her face giving the appearance that straw was the most pleasurable thing in the world. She would run her lips up and down the top inch or so of the straw, as if she was sucking a dick, purposefully leaving lipstick marks on it. She would reach her tongue out erotically to catch the straw, nestle it on her tongue, then guide the straw into her mouth. I was hard as a rock and having a hard time sitting comfortably, and she knew it. I would look away, watching the TV or something, trying to get my mind to think about something, anything other than envisioning Julie giving me a blowjob. In the corner of my eye I could see she stopped playing with the straw. As soon as I turned my attention back towards her, she would lick her lips and then gently permit the straw to enter her mouth. 

Then, to make matters worse, she had ordered taquitos. If you knew Julie like I do, you'd know that, without a doubt, she had ordered them specifically because of their shape. So now she play-acting oral sex not just on her straw, but with her entrée. She didn't want to call too much attention to herself, but she would lay her tongue on the floor of her mouth like a welcome mat every time she took a bite of a taquito, and she would slowly slide it into her mouth, measuring the size of the bite with an expression reminiscent of when she was gauging just how far down her throat my dick could go. 

"No, I'm not going to buy you Cannoli for dessert," I said in horny exasperation. She chuckled at the joke and eased up on the teasing; she wasn't going to get her point across any louder and clearer than she already had.

The subway home was moderately crowded. Julie could have sat somewhere else in the car, but she chose to sit on my lap; it wasn't necessary, but it was crowded enough that her doing so wasn't obviously uncalled for. She pushed her butt down onto my staff and wiggled it, slowly, so that you would have had to be staring to see the movement but which my advanced state of erection had not difficulty perceiving. 

"Why are you being so cruel?" I said in a tone of voice that made it clear I didn't mean it.

Julie flipped her lustrous hair over my shoulder and bent over to whisper directly into my ear "It would only be cruel if I didn't follow through." Then she pulled back and flashed her lovely blue eyes at me with an expression that clearly indicated she had every intention of following through as soon as we got home. 

The subway ride felt like it took forever after that. When finally we got back to the hotel I didn't have time to say a word and Julie was on me. I closed the door; when I turned to walk in Julie was right there in my face, pushing me back against the door. She kissed me, but pulled out in order to lick my lips with her tongue. The whole time she was busily unzipping me. When my pecker was free, she dropped to her knees, working me with her hands. She kissed my tip, followed by more kisses down the side. She then looked up at my face, made a soft warm bed with her tongue, and laid my tip on it. She sucked in the first couple inches, but then released me again, running her tongue down the bottom of my dick instead. My dick was straining at the roots, reaching for her gentle throat, but she had me literally pinned against the wall (I could have gotten away, but I'd have had to walk away from my blowjob to do it—I don't think so) and was in control. 

She ran her tongue in circles around my tip, teasing me more. Gripping me with her right hand, she slowly ran her tongue all the way down the underside of my dick, right down to my balls, where she proceeded to kiss and lick my scrotum while jerking me off with her hand. It felt good, but not as good as it was going to feel when Julie started to really suck me. I felt her lick her way back up, kiss the tip, slip just the tip between her lips, then lick it some more. It was like she was experimenting to see how aroused she could get me with her tongue, but without sucking. At this point, I just wanted to feel my dick engulfed inside of any one of her soft, warm openings. I had my eyes closed and was almost wincing at all the stimulation, yet wishing I could penetrate her somewhere. 

I think Julie could tell I was getting desperate for a suck. She had had her fun, now, as she said, it was time to follow through. She made her tongue into a soft bed, cradled my cock on it, the closed her mouth around the top half of my dick. Ahhh...that soft warmth, that gentle but focused pressure...I wasn't all the way in yet, but THIS was what I was waiting for. In her mouth, Julie twisted her tongue around, stroking my dick. Pressing her lips together, she slipped me out of her mouth, then took me back in, a little bit further this time. Then just like that, like someone flipped a switch, Julie started really sucking. She moved my dick in and out of her mouth at a steady rhythm, pressing with her lips, stroking with her tongue. I leaned back, hands flat against the door, eyes closed, soaking in the sucking. 

Julie spit me out and ran her tongue along my tip again; I opened my eyes to look at her. She was looking up at me, waiting for me to make eye contact—and I could see she had a gleam in her eye. She was up to something, but what could she be...suddenly, she looked away from me, squarely at my dick, and swallowed me as far as she could. One second I had nine inches of dick, the next second three-fourths of it disappeared into her mouth. She caressed me inside of her mouth, slipped me out, then slipped me back in, angling her neck so that even more of my dick went in. The thought occurred to me that she was attempting to deep-throat me whole. My butt felt like it puckered up, trying to push my dick further into that wonderful space. She didn't look up at me at all; she was transfixed on my dick, determined to get it all in. She slipped me out, then opened wide and slid me down, down, down, until her face made contact with my belly. I could feel past the soft, open space of her mouth and could feel the narrowing of her throat surround the tip of my dick. It was amazing. I closed my eyes, and my knees started to get weak from how good it felt. Satisfied, she slipped me back out, sucked my lightly, and looked up at me with a look of accomplishment. 

"Oh my god..." is all I could say.

Satisfied, she now changed her approach. She pursed her lips, stroked with her tongue, and sucked me with a steady cadence. She didn't take all of me in anymore, but she used her thumb and forefinger to make a circle to stroke me in synch with her sucking. Before she was playing with me; now she was sucking me off. 

Julie looked up at me again, sucking, and while she did she pulled her strapless top down off of her breasts, down her torso and jammed it down like it was a belt for her skirt. It's funny, she had me going so much with her blow job that I hadn't realized that I hadn't even touched her tits yet. With her inviting mammaries now out in the open and bouncing in response to Julie's oral efforts, I made up for lost time. I held them, tweaking the nipples to get them fully erect, and just holding them and feeling them respond to her bobbing neck. 

I was building towards orgasm; holding her breasts accelerated the process. She tried to swallow me whole again three or four times, then resumed sucking with the cadence that builds to climax. Without thinking, I thrust my hips forward slightly on the downstroke; Julie knew that I was getting close from that, and kicked her efforts up a notch.

I managed to spit out "I'm going to cum..." Julie suddenly stroked me quickly and firmly with her hand while caressing the tip with her tongue, inside her mouth. With both types of stimulation applied simultaneously, I felt my nuts tighten up. I grasped her breasts, winced, and pushed forward with my hips. Julie closed her mouth around me to contain the inevitable explosions. My dick twitched once, twice, three times, shooting loads of semen down her throat. A slight pause, a few smaller twitches, and I was empty. 




Gifted Grifter Ch. 13



"Wow." I stammered.

Julie opened her mouth wide, let go of my dick, and showed me a glob of cum resting on her tongue. Then with smiling eyes she swallowed the load. She licked off my dick, then put it back into her mouth the help clean it off some more. When it was completely clean—and mostly flaccid—she stood up, put her arms around my neck, squeezed me tight, and kissed me with a loving, slightly semen-flavored kiss. 

"Still think I'm cruel?" Julie asked.

"I think you're amazing," I replied, "I still can't believe you actually want to marry me."

Julie held her hand out so her ring reflected the light in the foyer. "I'm wearing your ring, aren't I?" 

"I love you," I said, and kissed her again. Then with a little wink she let go of me, and I was able to actually walk into the room. 

Later that night I was able to return the favor, eating her out until she came, before finishing off the night with one last fuck. In the days ahead we would begin planning the wedding in earnest. But as the plans started to take shape, I received an unexpected message—a message that required an immediate response...

To be continued in Gifted Grifter #14: Passing the Torch



Gifted Grifter Ch. 14



Chapter 14: Passing the Torch

One day Julie was playing around on MySpace. She was doing me a favor, checking all of the pages I had made for myself and every pseudonym I had lived under when I was living the life of the gambler; I wasn't very good about keeping up on them myself. That was much more Julie's thing—a reflection, perhaps, of the age/generation gap between us. 

On my personal page (that is, the one in my real name) Julie noticed that I had gotten a bunch of messages from a girl named Jessie. Not long ago, a girl leaving a lot of messages for me might have led to a suspicious interrogation about who this Jessie was and why she was trying to reach me. But with Julie now wearing a $50,000 Tiffany engagement ring on her finger, it was now just a point of curiosity.

I told her who it was anyway. "Jessie?" I asked. "She was my old graduate assistant at DoD. Twice now I've gone out of my way to help her get her dissertation done. Don't tell me she's screwed it up again somehow?"

"No, doesn't sound like it," Julie chuckled, "sounds like she's relaying a message on behalf of another student who wants to get in touch with you."

"Oh? When last I saw her, she told me there was a new student in her program that was very interested in my work," I said.

"Hmm," she replied, "then this could be a problem. This is what she says: 'He said to tell you that he found something interesting in your old DoD files and he wants to meet you to discuss it." 

"Oh shit, that could be a major problem," I said. "You're not allowed to delete your files at DoD; there's a lot of stuff there that led up to my discovery of the mindreader. I suppose someone might have been able to use that to retrace my steps."

"So what do you want to do?" she asked.

"Reply to Jessie. Tell her to extend an invitation to meet me at a coffee shop here in New York—if he really wants to meet me, he'll figure out a way to get here."

"And then what?" Julie asked as she was typing the response.

"I'll meet him wearing my mindreader," I explained. "If he's indeed made one of his own, I'll get feedback as soon as I look at him. But if that's why he wants to meet me, I'm sure he has lots of questions for me and won't turn his off. So we'll set you up in a corner with your mindreader on. That way, while he's picking my brain, you can pick his and get a read on what we're dealing with." I said.

"Too bad there isn't some way to block a mindreader," she said.

"Actually, any other magnetic field will cause interference, even another person's brain too close by," I said, "but I don't have time to design a practical device to do that. Besides, if he's got his own mindreader, he will already know the only secret I have that needs keeping; he can find out anything else he likes. And if he hasn't—well, then he won't find it out, now will he?"

"So why do you want to meet him?" Julie asked, sending the reply then getting up from the laptop and putting her arms gently around me, sensing my increased anxiety. 

"If he's got a mindreader, I want him to understand why I've kept it secret. I feel the need to at least try to convince him to do the same," I said. I explained my concern about not trusting and government with it and its potential to upset the world order. I had already told Julie about how I had used the mindreader as a tool of seduction; I hadn't ever explained that I had other, more noble reasons for maintaining the secrecy of my discovery. 

"But you trusted me with it," she said, deep blue eyes piercing me with their gaze. 

"I trust you with everything, my love," I said, "that's why I'm marrying you." We kissed...

-------------------

We received a reply in less than 24 hours, and set up a meeting that Saturday. On the day of the meeting, Julie camped out in a corner of the designated coffee shop twenty minutes before I came in. It was about ten minutes after that that a young man in a baseball hat came in and started looking around. He was probably in his mid-20s, sandy hair, average height, average build—nothing particularly remarkable about him. But as soon as we locked gazes, everything went gray and a massive headache set in. Knowing this could happen, I had one hand gripped on my glasses, and was able to pull them off my face and break the feedback before total stasis had set in. He had indeed created a mindreader of his own.

If he had planned ahead what to say, the unexpected feedback loop had caught him off guard. I waved him over to join me; he came over to my table, looking shaken and confused. I stood up to shake his hand, saying "You must be ----, and I see that you've recreated my....invention."

"What the hell just happened?" he asked.

"Feedback loop," I explained. "Just like a misplaced microphone at a rock concert. You can't point two devices at each other."

"Good to know," he replied.

As I predicted, he wasn't willing to turn off his mindreader, meaning I couldn't use mine. As a good-will gesture (and knowing he would find out anyway) I told him that Julie was reading his mind from the corner. Unfortunately he made a comment about her, so I my thoughts betrayed more than I wanted to about her former life as a high-price call girl—as well as any number of enticing memories her name conjured up. 

He asked me about why I kept my invention a secret. That's what I had hoped to talk about; he could see all of my concerns about governments and selling to the highest bidder and possibly creating a megalomaniac dictator. This was the kind of thing science fiction was made of. 

He asked why I had given one to my fiancée. That led me to thinking about my life as the Gifted Grifter, as well as to my new life as day trader, responsible citizen and soon to be married man. It seemed like he got a gleam in his eye once he read those thoughts. The rest of our conversation centered on how I had lived as the Gifted Grifter: how I had made money, and especially how I used it to seduce women. In the process I thought about a number of women I had used it on, including Erin the real estate agent and Jessie. Poor Jessie—something told me that this punk was going to be making a beeline to her neck, and from what I'd seen that would all but guaranteed that he would score with her. I wished I could warn her, but I of course I couldn't do that without revealing my secret. 

Even without my glasses, I was pretty sure that he was busily plotting how he would follow in the seduction footsteps of the Gifted Grifter. Well, I sure wasn't going to be fighting him for girls—I had the only one I wanted locked up for the long term. I would much rather he use the mindreader to be a womanizing lout, as I had been, than to overturn the entire balance of world power. In fact, he did one better; he promised that before he turned in his resignation, he would "update" my DoD files with false information to ensure that there would be no more Grifters recreating my invention. The society of mindreaders would have a standing population of three. It was a great idea, and I was disappointed that I hadn't thought of that myself.

Having picked my brain for much more than he bargained for, he took his leave. The torch had been passed—while I was getting married and grifting no more, he was just getting started. And something told me he would keep carrying that torch for a long, long time. 

He gave a little wave to Julie as he headed out the door. After he was gone, Julie and I both got up to leave and met by the door.

"I hate guys like that," she said.

"Like what?" I asked.

"He's on some sort of mission to have sex with as many women as possible, and he doesn't care how much he has to lie or manipulate our feelings to get what he wants," she explained. "When he saw how you used the mindreader to seduce women, it was like Willy Wonka giving away the key to the factory: he can't wait to taste everything he can get his hands on. With that mindreader, he's a menace to every woman on the planet."

"Yeah, I kind of guessed some of that—but he still can't force women to do things, he can only deceive them," I said. "I'm going to guess that's status quo for him—only now he's going to be a lot more effective at it." 

"Makes me sick," she said.

"I know, but on the other hand, we seem to have convinced him not to tell the government or sell the device—is that what you saw in his thoughts?" We were now heading down Broadway to our apartment. 

"Yeah—I suppose if he wasn't so intent on extracting some weird sort of sexual revenge on women, he might not have seen the importance of keeping the secret," she conceded.

"I know, I don't feel good about it either," I said, stopping her and facing her there on the sidewalk, holding hands. "But we didn't give it to him; he got it on his own. We have no control over what he does with it. And while I feel bad about the women he's going to hurt, he would be hurting a lot more people if he started manufacturing them and selling them to the highest bidder. And besides...I know one woman he's not going to hurt." I put my arms around her waist and kissed her.

She put her arms on my shoulders, smiled, flashed her lovely large eyes at me, and said. "No, darling, you're the only man in my life, now and forever more."

"I love you Julie," I said.

"I love you," she replied, and we kissed lovingly.

"Get a room," said a typical New York passer-by. We laughed and continued on our way. A stop at the health club to fish for stock tips, then we had an even more important visitor to meet at the airport.

----------------------

"Now announcing the arrival of flight 1441 with service from Oklahoma City," a loudspeaker crackled. 

"Should only be a few minutes now," Julie said. I had never seen her so nervous; usually she was calm, cool, collected and in-control. Aunt Betty had been the saving grace of her childhood, her rock of sanity in an otherwise awful, abusive family situation. Julie hadn't seen her since she ran away, at age 18; she had been too ashamed of her life as a sex worker to face beloved Aunt Betty. But I had encouraged her to re-establish contact, guessing correctly that Aunt Betty wouldn't care what Julie had or hadn't done. Julie had promised to fly Aunt Betty out to New York to visit us once we were sufficiently established—and today, here she was. We were living in an upscale west side neighborhood, well on our way to having a million dollars in after-tax profits in the bank—and getting married in a few months. Aunt Betty didn't know it yet, but Julie wanted her to be the maid of honor.

I heard Julie cry out "Aunt Betty" and go rushing towards someone in the throng coming out of the secure area of LaGuardia. I had never asked, but it was immediately clear that Aunt Betty came from her mother's side of the family. She was probably 50, but still attractive in a mature sort of way. She had the same blonde hair, albeit bound tightly around her head; the same cheekbones and delicate nose; and had the same slim shapeliness that both Julie and her mother had. 

Julie and Aunt Betty hugged each other tight, but were quickly made aware that they were impeding the flow of passengers out of the terminal. Julie put her arm around her Aunt and guided her towards me and out of the way. I was struck by the contrast in dress; Aunt Betty looked very Oklahoma, wearing a white, mid-calf-length dress with colorful flowers on it and white flat shoes. Julie had taken to her new home like a duck to water and now was dressed very New York, in a black mid-thigh length skirt, white tailored blouse, black pumps, and a well-tailored raincoat that was just the right length for her dress. It didn't hurt that she was now able to go shopping on 5th Avenue and not worry about price—she had the money, and her fiancée didn't care how much of it she spent. So what if Julie's blouse cost more than Aunt Betty's airfare? Money spent on things that made Julie look good was money well spent as far as I was concerned. 

Julie walked Aunt Betty over to me and proudly introduced me. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Aunt Betty, I've heard so many good thing about you," I said sincerely, reaching out to shake the hand of the woman whose steadying influence made it possible for Julie to be such an important part of my life.

She didn't take my hand, but instead held her arms open, saying, "Now, you're going to be family, so none of this formal stuff. Give Aunt Betty a hug." I did. She hugged with sincerity.

"Here, let us help you with your bags," Julie said, reaching to relieve her aunt of her carry-on. As she did, Aunt Betty first caught sight of Julie's ring.

"Oh my word...." Aunt Betty said, intercepting and holding Julie's hand to inspect it. "Is that a diamond, child, or a baseball? I have NEVER seen a stone that large—not even in costume jewelry! Tell me the truth, now, that's not a real diamond, is it?" Julie was smiling, but also faintly embarrassed at the ostentatious display of prosperity.

"Tiffany's finest," I interjected, "Julie deserves nothing less. I'd have bought her a bigger one, but they didn't look as nice on her finger." 

"Oh, Julie, I'm so happy for you," she said, hugging her close again. "I worried so much about you all those years. And now you're here, obviously doing well...and you're getting MARRIED."

When Aunt Betty's hug ended, she slid over and wrapped her arms around my waist, squeezing me and laying her head down on my shoulder. "Well, this last year or so has easily been the best my life has ever been." She looked up at me to give me a quick kiss. "But come on, we've got a whole city to see. Let's go pick up your luggage."

I stayed behind, carrying the luggage, letting Aunt Betty and Julie catch up. Figuring we would be wanting to show her aunt the sights, I had rented a car for the weekend—a big black Mercedes. Aunt Betty had never been in one before. 

"Its just a rental," Julie explained, "we thought it would make it easier to show you around town. Where we live anything we need is walking distance, and anything else is easily reached by subway. You'll have to wait and see—it's a lot different here than it is in Oklahoma."

As I drove, Aunt Betty said, "So, Mr. Grifter, what exactly do you do that you can afford to buy all these nice things for my dear niece?"

Julie cleverly stretched the truth, saying "he used to be a defense contractor, but now we make a living stock trading."

"Isn't that risky," Aunt Betty asked, "Couldn't you lose everything you have in a very short time?" Aunt Betty was still looking out for Julie.

Julie answered for me "he's found a secret system, and we make money on well over 90% of our trades."

"We've brought in about $100,000 just this month," I added, "thanks in large part to Julie here. She's the best researcher there is." 

Aunt Betty was even more proud of Julie when she learned that she was helping earn these fabulous sums of money.

"Actually, we share information, but Julie and I each do our own trading. Half of everything we make is hers, free and clear." Aunt Betty was really impressed with her niece now. Julie downplayed it, but I could tell it made her feel good to impress Aunt Betty.

The three of us went to a French restaurant we liked; Aunt Betty almost wouldn't eat because she couldn't get over the prices. Welcome to New York, Auntie. After dinner, we went to see the city from the top of the Rockefeller Center, then strolled around the edges of Central Park. At one point Julie left us to use the restroom.

"Thank you," I said to Aunt Betty.

"For what?" she asked.

"For having been there for Julie all those years. She would have never made it without you, and if she hadn't she wouldn't be the light my life today," I said.

"On the contrary—thank YOU," she said. "Julie has had some hard times—I heard some terrible rumors about what she was doing after she ran away..."

"It doesn't matter what she did or didn't do," I said, "all that matters is what she's doing now."

"I agree completely," she said, "and that was my point—I've never known Julie to be as happy as I see her today. I'm sure that that's all on account of you. So thank you for finally giving my favorite niece something to be happy about."

"Well, I appreciate the thought, but I can't accept any credit," I said, "because I've never been so happy either. You might say I'm being selfish, really."

"No, sir," she said, "I believe that when two people are never happier than when they are together, that's love. I was concerned when I heard that she was living with an older man in New York... she's had a lot of terrible things happen to her, and she doesn't have a lot of experience with love. I was afraid she was being taken advantage of. But I am glad to see that I was wrong—you two really are in love. And you're even that much older, really—I was afraid she was living with someone old like me." Julie was now walking back towards us. "It does my heart good to see Julie like this." Julie slowed up; we were both looking at her and smiling, so it was pretty clear that we had been talking about her. 

Aunt Betty broke the apprehension. "My little niece, all grown up and getting married," she said, holding out her arms. "I'm so happy for you, child. Come here and give your Auntie a hug." 

Julie smiled with relief and complied.

"So, do you have a date yet? And where will the wedding be?" she asked. 

"We were thinking of having the wedding in Las Vegas," Julie began as we resumed our stroll.

"Las Vegas?" Aunt Betty interrupted, "in my day, only people that had to get married went there."

"No, it's not like that anymore," Julie smirked, "we were thinking of the Venetian, which is really quite fancy. We aren't going to have a very large wedding, and..."

"Not a large wedding? How many bridesmaids?" Betty asked.

"Just one couple probably, plus the best man and matron of honor," Julie said. 

"Really? And who will be the matron of honor?" she said, asking the $64,000 question.

Julie stopped, turned towards Aunt Betty, held her hands and said, "Aunt Betty, I want you to be the matron of honor."

That caught Aunt Betty completely by surprise. "Me? Oh child, I'm flattered, but surely you have some friends who would be a better matron of honor."

I stepped in to help. Truth is, we didn't really have good friends that we could ask; given our recent lines of work, we had some acquaintances, but our only real friends were each other. "The matron of honor should be the person who is most dear to the bride in the whole world. Its true that most often that's a longtime friend, but I think I speak for Julie when I say that there's no one who has meant more to her, for a longer time, than you."

Aunt Betty looked Julie in the eye and could see that she was a completely serious, and a little afraid that she might refuse. "A bride should get whatever she wants on her wedding day," she said finally, "and if that's what my favorite niece wants, who am I so say no?"

Julie was immensely relieved, and hugged Aunt Betty. "Now, please do keep in mind that I am an old woman when you pick out the dresses," she fretted.

"I'm not going to worry about matching dresses, so you can have any dress you want—we're leaving that choice up to you. Tomorrow, we're taking you shopping on Fifth Avenue so you can pick one out," Julie told her.

"Don't worry about the price, we're buying the dress," I added. "In fact, because the wedding isn't going to be very big, we're going to pay for everything for the entire party: airfare, hotel, meals, you name it."

"Now, that's not right," Betty said, "the bride isn't supposed to be paying everyone's expenses to attend the wedding!"

"We don't want cost to be a reason why anyone can't attend," I said, "especially when we can easily afford it."

"All you need to do is find a dress—and help me find one, too," Julie added.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 14



"I do declare!" is all she declared.

"Oh, there is one thing about tomorrow, though," I added as an afterthought. Julie didn't know what I was thinking for a change, and they both turned towards me. "You are absolutely, positively forbidden to look at any price tags whatsoever when we go shopping for your Matron of Honor dress." We all chuckled and continued walking home.

------------------

Aunt Betty was equally beside herself when we gave her the tour of the brownstone we were living in. "I thought that living in the city you'd be living in a small apartment! This place is as big as my house! And the woodwork..."

"All original antique," I interjected.

"I cannot IMAGINE how much money it costs to live in a place like this!" she continued.

Julie stood next to me, putting both arms around my waist and sideways-hugging me, telling Aunt Betty "My honey takes good care of me." It made me feel warm inside.

The last stop of the tour was the guest room. I ran down to fetch Aunt Betty's bags; when I got back, she was bidding Julie goodnight.

"Are you sure?" Julie asked, "it's only 10:00, and..."

"And I'm an old lady that's not used to traveling," Aunt Betty interjected, "and I expect you'll have all sorts of things to show me tomorrow. I'm going to need all the rest I can get to keep up with you two."

"OK," Julie conceded, "we do have a lot to do tomorrow. We'll see you in the morning."

After saying goodnight we retired to the master bedroom. Julie closed the door behind us; I think it was the first time we'd ever closed it. Usually it was just the two of us, and any part of the house was fair game for sex. We had, in fact, screwed in every room in the house at least once. We weren't used to having to be low-key about sex in our own house.

I stopped and embraced her in the middle of the floor; my arms on her waist, hers on my neck. After a few kisses, Julie said "I know you're going to think this sounds silly, but I'm a little self-conscious about sleeping with you when my Aunt Betty is in the house. I'm sure she doesn't approves of sex before marriage."

"Would you like me to go sleep on the couch?" I offered.

"NO, I don't want you to sleep on the couch," she scolded, flashing her lovely blue eyes at me. "I want to make love to you tonight—and every night for the rest of my life. I'm just saying—it feels a little strange. It's funny, I've had sex almost every single day of my adult life, yet with Aunt Betty in the house, I feel self-conscious about it."

"So what would you like me to do?" I asked.

"Make love to me," she whispered in a dreamy voice, closing her eyes, and kissing me in a manner intended to serve as an invitation to more intimate activity. At first I kissed her back, just liking the way she feels in my arms when she wants to be close to me. But then she started slipping her tongue into my mouth a few times, and the beast started to awaken. Well, I had my orders—certainly couldn't let the lady down.

I slowly moved my hands up from her hips to the buttons of her blouse, and slowly undid them. She kept her arms around my neck, kissing me the whole time. When I got to the last button I could reach, I had to stop kissing her so I could pull the blouse out of her skirt. One more button, then I was able to gently push the flaps apart so that heavenly body could peek through. I looked up and saw her blue eyes watching me, loving me, simultaneously enjoying the feeling of what I was doing and the happy to be providing me with the enjoyment I derived out of doing it. I still pinch myself that this gorgeous creature WANTS to give herself to ME!

I kissed her again, but as I did I slipped my right hand into her left bra cup. She let one of her hands drop from around my neck and expertly unclasped her bra. Once it was free, I could easily slip her breast out from under the cup and hold its soft delicateness in my hand. My fingers instinctively found her nipples, which responded to my touch immediately, as if they were as happy to see me again as I was to see them. 

Julie was still kissing me, but after undoing her bra she didn't put her arms around my neck again. Rather, she felt for my belt, which she unbuckled; then for my zipper, which she undid. When she finally undid the button of my pants, the slid down my legs and down around my ankles, leaving me standing there in my boxers—as she had intended. She reached under my waistband, and gently cradled my quickly enlarging penis in her practiced hands. There we stood, kissing, my hand on her nipple, her hands on my dick. 

"Come here," she said softly, heading for the king bed. She reached to her left side to undo the zipper of her skirt and slipped it off, kicking it aside. Then she sat on the bed, legs apart, waiting for me to get within reach. 

I came over and bend down to kiss her. Her head tilted up towards me, she nevertheless found my waistband and pulled my boxer briefs down. I straightened up, and Julie found herself face-to-face with my pocket monster. Looking up to watch me, she lay her tongue on the base of my dick and s-l-o-w-l-y licked her way to the top in a single, drawn-out slurp. Having found it, she closed her eyes and drew me into her mouth with a look like she had just tasted the most exquisite thing ever. I could feel her work her tongue on me within her mouth. Pursing her lips to create a seal on my flesh, she sucked me, drawing me in and out of her mouth, teasing me with her tongue the whole time. By now she had blown me hundreds of times, and yet the feeling never became mundane. She liked to suck me, too, because she liked to make me happy and right there in her mouth was tangible evidence that she was being successful. 

"Mmmpphh," came out of my lips involuntarily. Her sucking has caused her hair to fall down around her face; I gently brushed it back with my fingers so I could see her pretty face as it swallowed my sword. She opened her eyes to peek at me, and momentarily we made eye contact. She gave a little smile, spit me out so she could lick me, then went back to sucking. 

Neither of us really needed our hands at the moment, and it was time for Julie's blouse to go away. I put my hands on her shoulders and eased the silky fabric off of her frame. Julie got the message and pulled it off without so much as breaking stride on her sucking. Then she helpfully held her arms straight and pointing downwards so that I could slip the bra off, which I did. When it was on the floor, she reached for my cheeks and started to squeeze my butt while sucking. Now wearing only panties and heels, I held her breasts in my hands, squeezing them while she sucked. 

Without warning, Julie was ready for the next stage. She stopped sucking and started to kick off her shoes. By chance, we both pulled our underwear down to our ankles at the same time, kicked them off, and were naked. Julie moved to her favorite position, lying face-up in the middle of the three-across pillows of the king, arms and legs both open to invite me in. I got in on the side and started crawling towards her south end, intending to lick her like she had licked me. But when I got there, a hand was in my way. She cupped my chin in her hand so that I would face her, and she said quietly "Not tonight. I just want to feel you inside me."

I almost asked her if she was ready, but before I said something that stupid I remembered that she would definitely know whether she needed additional warming up or not and would either have told me or taken care of it herself. So I turned, moved into position between her legs, and pointed my dick between her lower lips. She watched me expectantly, then closed her eyes with a soft moan as she felt me penetrate her inner sanctum. 

I put my fists down on the bed on either side of her shoulders and leaned over her, leveraging myself into her deeper. Her long-lashed blue eyes looked at with a sense of almost wonder, like she couldn't believe that I was here with her and would be with her from this day forward. I was the one that should be disbelieving; her beautiful face, framed in natural blonde hair, looking up at me while my dick nestled inside of her absolutely perfect body, lying open on the bed as she gave herself to me. I slipped my dick in and out very slowly, wanting to feel all of her soft tissues as they surrounded and embraced me. She noticed of course that I was just slowly feeling her, that I hadn't started in to fuck her as usually I do. She raised her eyes in question, as if to ask whether something was wrong. No nothing was wrong—it was so right I couldn't believe it. I bent over towards her face, kissed her cheek, and whispered into her ear "I love you Julie." 

She got a warm look on her face, wrapped her arms around me, kissed me and said "I love you too." Then her look turned devilish. Holding my face in her hands, she whispered into my ear "Aunt Betty or no Aunt Betty...there's no changing what I am...and what I am is a BAD GIRL. And this bad girl wants you to FUCK HER." My back and my dick both straightened up just a little bit more. "C'mon, fuck me, I'm a bad girl and I like it," she said, "show me what you've got." And to accentuate the point, she pulled her knees up high and wide so that they were almost behind her shoulders. 

This was a new twist for our sex life, but one of the things that keeps sex with Julie from getting routine is that she is always coming up with new twists. Because of her past, I would have been hypersensitive to her calling herself a bad girl earlier in our relationship. But now, that seemed like a lifetime ago—she was my fiancée and my business partner, living a high-end life in Manhattan, legit in every way. It was safe now to recognize that yes, Julie was in the way she was meaning it a bad girl—in fact, if being sexually adept is what makes you a bad girl, she was the baddest bad girl there was. It was OK for us to play with it now. 

And if Julie wanted to be fucked like a bad girl, I was gonna fuck her like a bad girl! I still loved her just as much as a second before, but all that tender gushy stuff would have to wait until after I filled her up the eyeballs in sperm. No more gently feeling her; now I was slamming my dick into her pussy, hard and fast. Julie decided she kind of liked this; she kept playing the part, looking me in the eye and goading me on. 

"Ohh, that's it, it feels good. C'mon, give it to me. Harder," she coaxed. I did. She let go of her knee with her right hand and used it to rub her clit. "That's it, give it to me," she said. "Look at what a bad girl I am, I'm opening up my pussy and masturbating while you fuck me." 

I was fucking as hard as I could without hurting at least one of us. And kept at it.

With me fucking so hard, her hand was actually in the way. So she got another idea, and held her tits in her hands. "Look at these tits," she said, "do you like them? Good girls don't show men their titties, now do they?" Then she tweaked her nipples between her fingers until they were fully erect, and continued "And good girls certainly don't play with their own nipples to make them hard, now do they?" As she was talking, I was staring at her stupendous breasts—and she knew it. "Do you like them?" she teased, then stuck out her tongue and tried to lick her own nipple—but they weren't floppy, so she couldn't quite reach. "I can't reach, you try," she said. I collapsed onto her so I could hold one of her tits in each hand, then greedily attacked them, almost like a starving man attacking an apple. I kept screwing, but of course I couldn't fuck her very hard while I was attacking her tits. 

"Mmm, that's nice...but I'm a bad girl and I want you to FUCK me," she said. I got back on my fists and started banging her hard again. "Ooh, that feels good," she said, "c'mon, keep fucking me. I want to feel you cum inside me. I want you to fill me up so that when you're done cum leaks out of my pussy like a fucking water glass." With all this teasing, my nuts felt like they could fill a water glass, too. 

"C'mon, fuck me," she continued, "if you're good, when you're done I'll suck your dick clean. Like this." And with that, she took her finger, cradled it with her tongue, and began to suck on her finger like it was a dick, closing her eyes and making a face like sucking that finger was the most pleasurable sensation on earth. It was also the last straw; I somehow found a little bit of overdrive, speeding up just that little bit more, and it took me over the top. I slammed into her hard and held it waiting for the first tidal wave of cum.

Julie felt it too. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed her pelvis down towards me to help it dig in. The first wave rocked me; I pulled out and thrust forward exactly in time with second, and again for every spurt until I was spent.

I literally crashed onto the bed next to her—usually I only got that much exercise at the gym. Julie, now back to my regular Julie, cuddled up next to me. 

When I got my breath back, I kidded her "I thought you said you felt funny having sex with Aunt Betty in the house." 

She giggled, and said "I guess it kind of made me feel like a bad girl, so I may as well be a REALLY bad girl. Because being a bad girl can sometimes be good, don't you think?"

I rolled over onto my back and held her in my arm. She played with my chest hair, her head lying on my shoulder.

"Julie, my love, you never cease to amaze me," I said. "Just when I think I've seen it all, you pull out a new trick and surprise me again."

She smiled and sort of laughed, but was also perhaps a wee bit embarrassed.

"I can't believe that you really want to spend the best years of you life with me," I continued.

Her face got serious. She sat up a little so she could be sure we made eye contact before answering "If you hadn't come along and pulled me out of the gutter, the 'best years of my life' would have been pretty shitty. If it weren't for you-" she embellished by pointing at my heart- "I wouldn't be having best years of my life."

"You really give me too much credit, honey," I said, "you left Las Vegas on your own—I wasn't even there." (as told in Gifted Grifter #3: Viva Las Vegas)

"Only because you gave me the courage to want better," she retorted, "and who bailed me out when I was about to go under financially?" (as told in Gifted Grifter #6: Julie Pays the Bills Pt. 1).

"That was your idea," I said, "and if it hadn't happened the way it did, I'd have never fallen in love with you." 

"And when I blindly painted myself into a corner," she replied, "rather than taking advantage as most men would, you instead let me off the hook completely. It was that which really made me fall in love with you." (as told in Gifted Grifter #7: Julie Pays the Bills Pt. 2)

"This world is so weird," I replied. "In a completely warped and unfathomable way, it's like we were made for each other."

She gave me a big, beautiful smile, cuddled up to me again, and said "No complaints." I had planned on putting on pajamas—it had taken me two hours to find a pair among the unpacked boxes from our last move, since I never wore them anymore—in case Aunt Betty got up first, she might find us in bed but at least not naked. But my honey felt so good nestled up in my arms, I was not going to get up break up the moment for anything. And so it was, naked and intertwined, that my lovely fiancée and I drifted off to sleep.



Gifted Grifter Ch. 15



#15: The Wedding Present

Julie's choice was to get married on a gondola at the Venetian in Las Vegas. I was a little surprised she would choose to go back to Vegas after the years she spent as a working girl there, but as I thought about it I imagined she might have seen plenty of bridal parties there while she was working and felt some envy, not expecting that she might someday get married there herself. And it was about as romantic a wedding as you could imagine.

It was a very small wedding, as you might expect given Julie's past and the fact that I had spent a year living as a nomad with no name. Julie wanted her Aunt Betty to be matron of honor; Betty didn't want to accept at first, but when it was clear that that's who Julie really wanted, she agreed. Jenny (aka Kayla) also stood up. On my side I had my brother as my best man—"I didn't even know you were seeing someone," is what he said when I asked—and an old classmate from grad school. He was a good guy but not very smooth around women (like me before the mindreader, I suppose); he surely had never been near, much less touched, a woman anywhere near as hot as Jenny. He was also unlikely to pick up on subtle clues; he wouldn't figure out she was a prostitute unless she out and told him. I imagined he'd be dreaming about her for months.

Beyond the wedding party, Julie invited one of her stepbrothers and her mother, but only on the condition that she not bring her stepfather. Her mother resisted that condition for a long time, but eventually the marriage of her only daughter outweighed everything else. Just two days before the wedding we heard she was coming—her second husband was coming along to Vegas, but he would do other things while mom was with the wedding. We met them halfway and footed the bill; money was no longer an issue for us. But we put them up at the Riviera rather than the Venetian like the rest of the wedding; we wouldn't head down to that end of the strip, so there would be virtually no risk of running into him. My parents and just a handful of others comprised the entire guest list.

We flew in on Friday night; my brother had asked if there would be bachelor party. "When you see my bride," I told him, "you'll see that no bachelor party could ever hope complete. You're in Vegas, there's plenty of strip clubs and titty shows; make your own bachelor party if you want." 

We met with the wedding planner the night before to work out final details. She had seen a thousand brides, but even she did a double-take at the size of the ring on Julie's dainty finger. We hosted a dinner at our favorite buffet, then let people do whatever suited their fancy for the evening. For Julie and I, that meant playing a Blackjack then going upstairs and having sex. I know some people stop having sex for a while before the wedding so that the wedding night is more "special," but Julie's feeling was there's other ways to make the wedding night special. That was fine by me. But after we made love that night, Julie went to spend the night in Aunt Betty's room; she did want to observe the old superstition about not seeing the bride the morning before the wedding. I'm pretty sure that superstition came from the days of arranged marriages, so that grooms of ugly brides wouldn't be tempted to flee until it was too late, and there was no danger of me getting cold feet. But if that's what she wanted to do, I wasn't going to stop her. 

My groomsmen and I were standing at the gondola dock at 2:00. Julie and her bridesmaids came down from some hidden room to meet us. Julie was wearing an eggshell colored off-shoulder dress with a very delicate pattern, almost identical in color and thus only visible up close. It was tight-fitting and showed lovely décolletage; it then loosened at her waist and was free-flowing at its base, a couple of inches above the knee. Her hair was up, and she was wearing lovely white high-heeled sandals with the ankle straps we had bought on 5th Avenue. She was absolutely gorgeous—it was almost surreal that we were here to exchange vows with each other.

She and I got on a gondola with the gondolier/justice of the peace; the wedding party stood watching at the dock. A number of passers-by stopped to watch; it's pretty common for people to stop and watch the gondola weddings, mostly women who appreciate the romance. Once they saw my lovely Julie, I noticed that quite a few men were watching this wedding, too. There are a million gorgeous girls in Las Vegas, but even with so much beauty around Julie still stood out. We held each others' hands and looked into each other's eyes as we recited our vows of undying love to each other. When it was time to kiss the bride, we kissed so long wolf whistles started coming from the peanut gallery.

The gondolier then began singing in Italian in a trained tenor voice and began to push the boat forward. We sat down, and Julie cuddled up to me as we took our post-nuptial gondola ride. I loved the times, like this, when she felt like melted butter in my arms. "Oh honey," she said, turning her wide-eyed gaze to me, "I'm so happy. If you'd have told me when I was 22 and working these streets that I'd be coming back to marry a millionaire before I was 25, I'd have laughed in your face."

"Me either," I smiled. "I pinch myself every day; I can't believe that you're not just a dream—and now not only are you real, but you're actually my wife." I missed the rest of the ride, because I had my eyes closed, kissing my beautiful bride.

Our ride over, we rejoined our cheering wedding party. Julie and I led the way to the hall, where we had an open bar reception for two hours before dinner was served. Sure, some of the guests were plastered before the food got there, but hey—its Vegas. Its not like they had to drive home. 

Julie and I made the rounds together, greeting and talking with all of our guests. A number of people on either side were meeting the new spouse for the first time. Servers came around with sushi and cold shrimp cocktails. After making our first rounds, we had a second to catch our breaths. I was on my second drink, but Julie had barely had a chance to sip her first. Suddenly she gave me a look and tugged on my arm; we ducked out into the service hallway and found, of all things, a linen closet. She pulled me into it and shut the door.

"What are we doing?" I asked, keeping an open mind.

She put her arms around me and kissed me. Then she said "we've been married for almost an hour and haven't had a chance to celebrate yet."

"You're right," I smiled, then kissed her, thinking she meant a chance to be alone and kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too," she answered, but then I felt a gentle breeze downstairs. In a flash, a gentle, expert hand was fondling my penis, while the other finished unencumbering it from my pants. That wasn't what she meant at all.

"What...here?" I stammered.

"Shh," she said with a sly look, then slid down the length of my body and swallowed my dick. 

"Ohhh..." is all I could say. She sucked my dick lovingly, using her tongue to stroke the sensitive underside. She pulled her hands away for a second to pull her dress down a bit so her tits would pop out the top—she knew, of course, that I would enjoy looking at them while she sucked me off. And between those amazing tits and her pretty blonde head bobbing on my knob with purpose, it didn't take long before getting off is exactly what I did. Her lips pursed securely around me, not a single staining drop escaped. 

She swallowed my load as she stood up, teasing "Mmm... my favorite appetizer. Now I'm ready for dinner."

"Julie," I gazed wondrously—she was even re-buttoning my pants for me! "What did I ever do to deserve you?" 

"Me?" she protested. "I'm just a little 'ol girl from Oklahoma, marrying a New York millionaire. Whose the lucky one here?" We settled the argument with a win-win outcome; we kissed.

We popped back out and rejoined our party. We had been gone for maybe 15 minutes, but when you're the hosts and guests of honor both, people notice when you're missing. 

"We've been looking for you," people said. Jenny, though, gave Julie a quizzical look. I don't know what the secret response was that she gave her, but suddenly Jenny had a knowing smile on her face. She alone was wise to what had just happened. Course, from what I knew of Jenny, I'm sure a quickie blow job in a closet would not have been a new experience for her.

Just before five we took our places for dinner. Usually, the best man makes the toast at the wedding, but since my brother had never met Julie until yesterday, and the fact that he wasn't great at speaking in public, we again did the unorthodox and I did the toast.

"My dear guests," I began, holding my glass aloft, "Julie and I would like to thank all of you for coming all this way to share our day of happiness with us." Eh, so what if we paid everyone's way. "As we embark on the journey of the rest of our lives together, we want to thank all of you that have accompanied us thus far. Without you, we would not be here today." I paused as the guests applauded. "And so I would like to raise a toast." I held the glass aloft, looking at my wonderful bride. "To my beloved wife Julie. You have been the author of all of the happiest times in my life. This is to us... today... tomorrow... and forever more. If the rest of our days are half as wonderful as our time together so far has been, I shall die the happiest man that ever lived. A Votre Sante!"

There was a cheer and a toast. Aunt Betty got up and said some nice words about us, too. When she put down the mike the servers took that as their cue to begin serving a feast you could only get in Las Vegas. 

After dinner, we invited everyone to join us at one of the major dance clubs on the strip; I had paid admission in advance for the entire party, telling them to admit anyone that said they were with "the improbable wedding party" on me. 

Julie and Jenny excused themselves for a few minutes; Aunt Betty was holding some sort of bag for them. When they came back, they were ready to dance! Julie was still all dressed in off-white, but now she was wearing a white vest-like garment; it had a straight cut right above the breasts and two inch-thick straps helping keep it on; buttons holding it closed down the front—and it ended right at the level the diaphragm. If she was going to dance the night away on her wedding night, she wanted to be free to flex those abs. She kept on the sexy heels, but now was wearing tight white miniskirt with it. She also had let her hair down, but had a white band in her hair to keep it gathered in the back and out of her way while dancing. A sexier bride there never has been. 

Where Julie was all-white, Jenny was all-black. She wore a black halter top that showed ample cleavage and also ended well above her waistline, with almost the same skirt as Julie in black and heels so high she was almost walking a pointe. My grad school buddy wasn't much of a dancer, but when Jenny came over and sat on his lap and said "you're coming dancing right? You're my date!" he agreed. I wonder what Jenny thought of the hard-on I was he had and that she must have felt in the tight little skirt—not that feeling a hard-on was anything new to her, of course. 

With that we hit the club. Both our parents left, as expected; Aunt Betty came out for a little while, as much being curious as to what a modern dance club was like, but left by about midnight. That left me and my bride, Jenny, my groomsmen and just a few others at the club. Julie and I of course danced with each other all night. Jenny took turns dancing with the men in the party, but none of them danced except when Jenny made them join her. They didn't take their eyes off her for very long, though. Eventually Jenny danced with other men at the club that were more in tune with the music. 

Sometime around two AM Julie went to talk to the DJ. She came back with a big smile on her face. We were dancing on a riser above the main dance floor, a mini-floor with room for maybe four couples. I was resting on the railing, replenishing fluids, waiting for her to return. She stopped a few feet away from me and watched me with a gleam in her eye; she was up to something.

"Ladies and gentleman, I would like to introduce to you the new Mr. and Mrs. -------, just married this afternoon," came a voice over the PA system. There was scattered applause. "And now, by special request of the bride..."

Bass started thumping. Julie slithered up to me as the song began, touching my face, dancing as only she can dance. Then the words began and she started to sing them to me:

I just can't get you out of my head Boy you're loving is all I think about I just can't get you out of my head Its more than I care to think about

Every night Every day Just to be there in your arms...

I didn't know whether to dance or let her dance for me. She gave me a little nod to join her, so I did. Her show was meant for me, but we both knew a lot of other men were watching, too—there was a little section of guys congregated near the bottom of the riser, unable to keep themselves from staring at Julie and Jenny, easily the two hottest girls in the club. But knowing that Julie was mine, forever, they made me feel sympathetic rather than jealous or protective—after all, none of them would ever find a woman like Julie, because she was one of a kind. As the song ended, the DJ chimed back in "There, ladies and gentleman, is one VERY lucky man. For the rest of you guys, if you'd like to end up with like that some day, better start saving your pennies—you can buy a pretty nice house for what the lady's rock cost, from the looks of it. A good place to start is our very own Texas Hold'em tournaments, starting daily at 12 noon. Win up to $5,000—don't just stand there, start winning today and maybe you'll end up like lucky Mr.-----."

Julie didn't care, but I'll admit I was a little embarrassed by the attention we were receiving, so we came down off the riser and found a little back table to have another drink. I sat on stuffed leather seat that ran the length of the wall; Julie sat squarely in my lap, her arm around me, and my free arm touching her bare midsection. Now I was the one with the erection, and I know Julie felt it in that tight skirt because she gently rubbed her butt around to tease it. Then she swooped her face down onto mine and we tasted each others' tongues. 

My groomsmen decided it was time to go, and stood around awkwardly for a few minutes while we oblivious to them, waiting for the chance to tell us they were leaving. We thanked them for coming again, and I teased my grad school buddy "You're going home? Aren't you going to stick around and dance with Jenny?" I winked.

"I can't keep up with her," he said with chagrin. I nodded. In a lot more ways than you realize, I thought to myself.

As they left, Julie turned to me and said "Well?"

"I'm ready to go back," I said. "After all, we have a marriage to consummate!" She looked at me with the eyes of the vixen. "We should tell Jenny," I said.

"I will," she volunteered, jumping up and heading back out onto the floor, where Jenny was now holding court with three starry-eyed admirers. I saw Jenny nod, then hug Julie. Jenny went back to dancing, Julie came towards me. I got up and was standing when she got there.

"She's going to stay?" I asked.

Julie nodded. "She wants to dance for a while yet before picking someone to go home with."

"I've already picked mine," I smiled, putting my arms around her. 

"Me too," she said. 

The casinos and the boulevard were no longer jammed; most who remained were very drunk and miserable from having lost unknown amounts of cash, digging themselves deeper trying to get some back. A few other couples returning from clubs and some Asians who had just flown in and were used to this hour being daytime, were all the remained. 

We got up to the bridal suite to discover a chilled bottle of champagne waiting for us. It was a nice touch—even though it was very late, we decided to pop the cork on it anyway. I sat on the oversized couch opening the bottle while Julie fetched two champagne glasses from the sideboard. She held them while I poured. I put the bottle down, and immediately my lovely bride sat her tight-mini-skirted ass down on my lap. 

"Cheers," she said in a husky voice, scanning me with naughty eyes while ostensibly clinking glasses. We both took a sip, then we closed eyes and kissed for a long, long time. For the moment she ignored the fact that my dick was trying to poke through two layers of fabric in order to reach it's favorite place on earth.

"Happy wedding day, darling," she breathed. 

"Technically, that was yesterday," I commented.

"Oh," she said with a mock pout. "Does that mean I missed my chance to have a wedding night?" She per her glass down and relieved me of mine. Then she grabbed my hand and did her very best blow job moves on my index finger. Like my dick needed any more encouragement.

"I sure hope not," I said, reaching to kiss her, in part to prevent her from teasing my poor finger any further. She kissed me back, but at the same time she guided my hand to the buttons of her vest and left it there; clearly she wanted me to unbutton it. Kissing the whole while, I unbuttoned the four or so buttons holding it together and slipped my hand underneath, reaching for the young, soft but firm breasts underneath. The nipples were reaching out for me before I even got there. 

She knew that by then my dick was harder than the diamond on her finger, so with a quick graceful move she swung her leg over and was straddling me. We did our best to keep kissing, but my hands were greedily groping both of her breasts, while she lifted herself up from my lap so she could free my penis. Once out in the open, she stroked it with her hands and teasingly brushed her crotch against it, the latter covered by the merest of thongs, already soaking wet. 

Some nights she would tease me like this for maddeningly long stretches, but tonight was our wedding night—she wanted me inside her. She stopped for a second, pulled up her already raised skirt a bit higher, and stretching the thong out of the way guided my dick into her pussy. It felt so heavenly I let out a sigh in spite of myself. She arched her back and began to slide up and down slowly, concentrating on the sensation as every inch of me rubbed against her swollen, grasping insides. 

"Oh honey..." I began.

"I'll never get tired of this," she finished for me. That's exactly what I was thinking, but I was glad she said it, and meant it—I was just an ordinary dick, while as far as I was concerned she was the best pussy in the history of earth. But her face was not acting—she was receiving intense pleasure from me, too. 

"We should go to the bedroom..." I commented, distractedly, as she fucked herself on my dick. 

She stopped rocking, but didn't get up. "You need to carry me over the threshold," she said, locking her arms around my neck at the same time. I knew immediately what she wanted; she wanted me to carry her to the bedroom but didn't want to let go of my dick. I wasn't sure I could get up with her still on me, but I should have known better; I used my hands to help me get up, and she nimbly assisted with her legs. As soon as it was possible she locked her legs around me, and from then on it was a piece of cake. So I did, indeed, carry my bride "over the threshold" and into the bedroom on our wedding night—only, rather than carry her just in my arms as most people do, I carried her while she was snugly, happily impaled on my rod. 

I laid her down on the bed; she relaxed her grip but kept her arms reaching up towards me. But now I was a man possessed; I slammed into her at a furious pace. She was as vocal as I've ever heard her as I fucked her like a crazy man. Suddenly I felt her tighter her grip around my neck and saw her close her eyes in orgasm, but I didn't even slow down. My lovely Julie, as always, responded to my lust by trying to make it easier for me. She was spreading her legs so far apart I wonder if it didn't hurt, but she was just trying to help me dive as deeply into her box as possible. Her breasts jiggled like an unbalanced washing machine as each new thrust sent them flying before they had time to return to resting state from the last. And in the middle of it all, surrounded by the natural blonde halo, was her face—smiling. While the rest of her body was pounded by my lustful strokes, her face was calmly still and watching me. Her emotions were clearly etched on her face: she was happy, she knew that this was making me happy, and the fact that I was happy made her happier still. For a second we made eye contact and held it in spite of the tornado of activity. But then my intense thrusting, situated so as to rub her clitoris on every stroke, brought her close to orgasm again, and she closed her eyes in the face of the pleasurable sensation. My beautiful bride, even sexier with her eyes closed and in the throes of passion, overwhelmed my senses. I stiffened, then exploded into her like I was one of the goddamn fountains of Bellagio.




Gifted Grifter Ch. 15



---------------------

Next morning, I was surprised that Julie was hurrying us out of bed. I thought that we might lounge around for much of the day.

"Maybe later," she said, "but we have somewhere to go."

"We do?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," she said slyly, "I haven't given you your wedding present yet."

I thought she had...oh, uh, right, my WEDDING PRESENT. What was this going to be? I had a feeling I was going to LIKE it.

Julie was a whirlwind of activity, putting all sorts of things into a bag. A lot of it looked like teeny-tiny articles of clothing. Hmm.

Jenny met us downstairs. Then we hustled to a limo and started off to a location unknown to me. Where we stopped seemed to me to be an unlikely location; it appeared to be somewhere in a warehouse district. Among the many plain doors, we stopped at one labeled "Ambrose Studios." 

"This is the place," Jenny announced. She led us in.

"What's going on?" I asked Julie.

"You'll see," she said with a devilish grin.

We entered a small waiting room area. Jenny was there, and began introductions. "This is Pierce Ambrose. Tom, you go with him and he'll show you how to work the equipment. Julie, this is Danica D'Angelo. She'll do your hair and makeup." 

Julie shook hands with Danica; I did the same to Pierce, but with a look of great confusion. Julie came over to me and held me close. "Darling, remember what you always said was your favorite fantasy—the one we did up at that lake cottage? Well, this is your wedding present. Pierce is a professional glamour photographer. I've rented his studio for the day; he's got everything you'll need to take professional-quality shots. He'll walk you through how to use everything. Danica will get me ready just like a professional photo shoot, too. Then Jenny will escort them off the premises, and you can shoot me for the rest of the afternoon." Oh my god! This was unbelievable! My heart was racing well beyond the aerobic zone. "I've got a number of outfits with me, but there's one special one that I think you'll like." She gave me a kiss, handed me a brand-new 8 GB memory card for the camera, and then went with Danica, giving me a little wave, and saying "See you in a little while, sweetheart." 

Pierce showed me the studio setup; I was going to use one his assistant photographer's digital SLRs. I put in my new memory card while Pierce explained the indirect light stands and how the wireless attachment would fire them when I pressed the shutter. He gave me a brief lesson on the best way to point the indirect lights for maximum effect, as well as the importance of adequate lighting for maintaining the entire model in focus. Jenny stepped in front of the camera while I took a few test shots; they came out beautifully. Pierce pronounced me ready, saying "I'll be back at 4:00 to lock up. Have a great time—from the looks of your model, you can hardly fail."

Pierce headed out the door and I saw his car drive off. Julie wasn't ready yet, but that was good—I went to the studio and started searching, just in case there was a video camera hidden somewhere. Jenny flitted back out, saw me standing on a chair in the corner, and asked what I was doing. 

"Making sure there's no hidden video cameras," I said.

"Ah...a good idea, but Pierce is legit," she said. "He makes his living at this—he's not going to jeopardize that by shooting secret video without signed consents." She was probably right. 

Oh...showtime, no more looking. Julie came out, wearing a bathrobe. Danica was right behind her; Jenny followed her to the door, then locked it behind her. Jenny then went to sit at the receptionist's desk, turned on the computer, and found things to entertain herself while we were in the studio. 

Danica had done nice work with Julie; Julie knew all about the correct use of makeup, but there's still something to be said about a professional doing it for you. Her long blonde hair was gently curled and flowed around the top of her robe. She came up to me, put her finger under my chin, and kissed me. "Are you ready, honey?" she asked with an evil gleam in her eye.

I nodded "Oh yeah!" I was almost shaking in anticipation. She walked in front of the backdrop and I readied the camera. Then, without a word, she untied her robe, slipped if off her shoulders, and tossed it towards me, off camera. 

If my heart had a redline, I would have pegged the needle. When I first met her, when she was still a top-shelf Las Vegas prostitute working under the name of Heather, she had met me at a dance club wearing the sexiest naughty school-girl outfit I've ever seen (as told in GG#3: Viva Las Vegas). My sweet Julie, always one to make a mental note of things that got especially favorable responses, had dug it back out for the occasion—even after a year of living the high life in New York, it still fit her as perfectly as it had the first time I'd seen it. It consisted of a plain white shirt, tied up together right below her breasts to expose all of her flat tummy. None of its buttons were buttoned; she had on a fancy, meant-for-external-viewing black bra underneath. With it, she wore a red plaid, pleated skirt that was maybe 8 inches from top to bottom; her butt cheeks poked out the bottom when she walked. From there it was miles and miles of bare leg until finally arriving at her shoes—the black pair of heels with the sexy ankle strap we had bought on Fifth Avenue (as told in GG#12: Julie Whips Wall Street). 

"Breathe, sweetie," she teased, "the show is just getting started." 

"Wow," is all I could say, eyes wide as saucers as I brought the camera to my eye. She stood with her hands on her hips, pushing her chest out for maximum cleavage.  She smiled , then put a finger in her mouth for pouty, schoolgirl-y shot . She strode over to a sofa that was on the set  and sat on it. She crossed her legs and leaned back slightly, resting her head in her hand, the arm resting the armrest . She ran her hands up her flat belly , closing her eyes  and running them over her bra . Then she lay flat on her stomach on the couch . She folded her hands and lay her head down in them, facing the camera , first with a neutral expression , then with eyes closed like she was experiencing exquisite pleasure , and finally with a look of longing towards me . 

She sat up again, spreading her knees apart; the skirt barely covered her thong . She ran her fingers through her hair , then moved one hand to her bra . She slipped a finger inside, closing her eyes , then used the hand to hold her breast, pulling it out from under the bra . Using her second hand, she now pulled the bra on both sides  until its cups were safely tucked out of the way underneath  and peeking teasingly out from under the white shirt. She bent way over so that the camera could see down her shirt  then sat back up, pulling the shirt loose so that her breasts were completely uncovered .

"Goddamn, honey, this is HOT! Keep going," I encouraged.

She leaned back on the couch, slipping her hands out of view under the bottom of her skirt . Then she lifted them slightly, so her skirt no longer covered her thong . Again  she ran through several facial expressions  before slipping one hand under the fabric and closing her eyes . Opening them again, she took her other hand and pulled the fabric aside ; it was the kind that stayed put when you moved it out of the way. I took pictures as she played with her shaved slit , dived first one  then two  fingers into herself, then made a V-shape with her fingers  and spread her pussy . She adjusted  her fingers  a few times , then used her second hand  to pull herself even wider open . Bending one leg  so it rested on the sofa, she again used one hand  and then two  to hold her sex open for my enjoyment. But her face  was not only sexy , but becoming lustful . Touching herself  and posing for me  was starting to get herself wet . I guess that's the difference between posing before a stranger for money and posing before your new husband to give him the best wedding present ever.

She paused for a second to sit up, reach behind her, and remove the bra entirely. She then carefully adjusted the shirt  so that it called attention to, but covered none of, her wonderful breasts . She ran her hands down her smooth belly again  and to her skirt . Then she reached under and grabbed her thong . Holding her legs straight up in the air in front of her , she pulled it over her ass , slowly  up her legs, past the knees, , and finally to the ankles. 

It's no secret guys like centerfolds, especially split-beaver centerfolds. Looking into the camera creates the illusion that the model is looking at us; a beautiful, naked woman looking right at us and holding open the entrance to her pussy makes it seem like we could walk right up to her and penetrate her, just like that, before even having to say hello. That's what makes centerfolds such great masturbation fodder. Well now, try to imagine, if a picture can do that, how much hotter it would be if you had the real girl holding herself open just a few scant feet from you. And on top of that, can you imagine if you KNEW that in fact, the model WAS holding herself open just for you? That it was no illusion; she really was showing you herself and readying herself, just waiting for the moment when you did walk up to her and have sex with her? Imagine how hard THAT would make you!

Sitting back up again  but keeping the thong around one ankle , she spread her legs wide and adjusted her skirt , first to teasingly hid her pussy , then slowly  pulling it up  to reveal the bald beaver again. The touched herself  with one hand, stroking her clit , then parting her pussy lips with two finger in a v-shaped wedge . She dipped the fingers into herself  and darting them  in and out . Then she leaned back again , and using both hands  opened herself  as wide  as physically possible   . 

I was so hard I was seriously afraid I'd rip through my pants—I HAD to give my junk more room. I took the camera from my eye and, holding it in my left hand, one-button unzipped myself with the right. 

"What are you doing?" Julie purred smoothly as silk, rubbing herself as she spoke. 

"Funny, these pants fit fine this morning," I quipped.

"Why don't you let me help you with that?" she breathed.

Camera still in hand, I took a few steps closer. She sat up and licked her lips in anticipation. Oh my. I took a few more steps until I was standing right before her. Looking up at me sultrily, she undid my belt and the button above my fly. She pulled down my pants and my boxers, and seemed joyous to be face to face with my cock. She gently cupped my balls with one hand and stroked me with the other; she opened her mouth while still two feet away and slowly closed in on my rod. I had to close my eyes and sigh at the sensation of her warm, soft mouth closing around my penis. She sucked my dick at a leisurely pace; opening my eyes, I found her staring up at me, watching the effects of her efforts. Then she started off to the side; I didn't know what she was doing, and followed her vision. I realized she was staring at the camera. Ah...she was right. Bringing the camera back to my eye, I pointed down, and  took a picture of her looking upwards , naughty look in her eyes , mouth stuffed full of my penis . She then looked forward  and kept stroking my nuts , but used the other hand  to continue to masturbate . She didn't need it  to keep my dick safely ensconced in her throat . 

It felt amazing, and I'm sure she could have easily sucked me off at any time—but from this angle, I was missing the best parts of her costume. I put my hand on the side of her head, and gently pushed it back to free my dick. I bent over and kissed her, putting the camera down on the ground. Sensing my intent, Julie turned and lay on her back, stretching her legs high up into the air. I crawled onto the sofa and buried my dick inside her. 

Just as she had been in no hurry to suck me off, I was in no hurry to cum. I stroked in and out steadily, not so slow as to lose arousal, not so fast as to bring myself off. She was as wet as I could ever remember her being. She put her arms around me as I screwed her; at first she continued with the ultra-vixen act, but as she became more excited herself that gradually gave way to a wide-eyed, honest, loving gaze at the man she married and who tried his best to give her back as much of the pleasure she gave him as he could. 



What was that? I looked around rapidly, and there was another . Then, to my surprise, I saw Jenny with the backup camera in her hand  taking pictures of us  making love.

"Don't be distracted, darling," Julie purred . "You can't be both in the pictures and taking them at the same time , so I asked Jenny to take over once your hands were...otherwise occupied." She ran her hands alongside my face, reached to kiss me, but instead teased me by licking my lips when I got close. I hadn't quite stopped thrusting altogether during this confusion, but now my attention returned to the task at hand. Locking eyes with lovely Julie , I resumed enjoying everything my wife had to offer. I pulled back a little so I could better see her breasts  moving in time with my thrusting  and that amazing flat belly . I could feel her squeezing the muscles of her groin to tighten the grip of her pussy on my dick—man, I NEVER get tired of that. I wanted this fuck to last forever, but with her playing in to my favorite fantasy like this, it wasn't going to happen. I couldn't help it, I was so aroused from the whole photo thing , I could feel my nuts tighten up and prepare to launch. All I could do was wince in pleasure  as my dick unloaded over and over again into Julie's depths . 

I collapsed on top of her. She held me gently, stroking the back of my head, kissing my cheek as I caught my breath. "I was hoping you'd really like your wedding present," Julie whispered. 

"Oh man..." is all I could say. 

"That was pretty hot, guys!" Jenny chimed in. I'd forgotten momentarily she was there. Suddenly self-conscious, I got off of Julie, sitting next to her instead, and crossed my legs. Jenny burst out laughing.

"You guys are so funny," she said between howls of laughter, "you want us to sit there naked and showing off our private parts, but as soon as you feel like we're looking at you, you get all nervous."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, uncrossing my legs and tucking my ankle under my knee in a blatant attempt to expose myself, "just not used to having spectators." 

Julie curled up next to me, gently touching my temporarily diminished manhood. "You think he'll be up for another go? We've still got more than two hours of studio time, I'd hate it to go to waste." 

"If you keep touching me like that, it'll be a lot sooner than that," I commented.

That made her happy. "Costume change!" she declared. She and Jenny disappeared into the dressing area. 

I still felt strange exposed as I was, then I spied Julie's dressing gown still lying on the floor where she had tossed it. I took off anything I still had on (not much), then got into the dressing gown—if Hugh can do it, so can I. I picked up my camera again and lounged around, waiting for the second set. "The only thing we're missing..." I thought, then remembered the limo outside. "Honey, I'm running out to the limo for a second!" I yelled out. 

"Uh, OK," called back a voice, uncertain, wondering why I'd do that. 

I unlocked the door, ran out to the limo (surprising the crap out of the snoozing driver, as I was dressed in nothing but a woman's dressing gown), then grabbed the champagne and three glasses from the back. I ran back in, re-locked the door, and returned to the studio just as Jenny and Julie returned. Julie was now dressed as a businesswoman in a crème-colored suit with a very short skirt, matching heels, and a dark blouse with plunging neckline. I held up hands and announced, "I knew something was missing." This was met a positive response, and Julie commented on my having stolen her dressing gown. 

I popped the cork and we all sipped on the champagne for a few minutes before getting back to work. Again I took probably a hundred photos of Julie as she progressively removed clothing and revealed the spectacular treasures underneath. I was plenty hard again by the time she was lying down in just heels and the skirt, hiked up above her hips, spreading her lips for me and the camera. I was now better able to control the pace of my arousal, though, so Jenny got some nice pictures of Julie blowing me, pictures of me licking Julie to orgasm, and even a few of me penetrating Julie's ass while she spread her pussy for the camera, before finally I let myself explode again. 

Unfortunately, by then our time was running short, so Julie went back to re-dress and I gathered our other things. We went back to the limo, headed for the strip, and found a hundred other ways to celebrate the beginning of the rest of our lives together. But certainly none were as memorable as my special wedding present.

I suppose most people have a favorite wedding picture; I have three. The first is one of the official ones we have hanging in our house; Julie and I with our arms around each other, smiling in our wedding clothes, in front of the backdrop of faux St. Marks Square. The second I use as the wallpaper on my laptop and my phone; Julie, lying on her stomach in her schoolgirl outfit, legs bent so her feet are straight in the air, head in her hands, giving the camera a come-hither look. And the third, I keep in a password protected folder locked deep in the directory structure; Julie, giving me a look that says "why are you being so cruel and making me wait to feel your wonderful penis inside me," lying on her back with no bra, her breasts spilling out of the white knotted shirt, legs spread, opening wide the lips of her shaved pussy with both hands.

Chapter 15 marks the end of the principal story arc of the Gifted Grifter—although there may be some sporadic follow-up stories.