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.