tagInterracial LoveIt's A Slut World, After All

It's A Slut World, After All

byOnnaDare©

A Halloween Costume Contest and a chance meeting with a mysterious Asian businessman awaken a new side to Anna, a pretty blond 30-something with a wild streak in a small Iowa town.

*

Ringgggg. It's...his phone. It's him.

"Yes, sir?" I respond, my voice soft, "You...need me?"

"Indeed, bui," the deep, lightly-accented voice answered back, "I need you. Please be prompt. You know where to find me, and you will...be wearing what I sent you."

"Yes, sir," I answered, "Anything you say."

I suppose... I'd better explain. It started last Halloween, when I met...Sir. It was just another cool, crisp day, the 31st of October, a Friday, to be exact. I was late, as usual, to a lunch meeting of the fundraising committee for our local Animal Shelter.

As I hurried into the chic-est coffeehouse of our small Iowa town, I stopped to organize my papers, catching sight of myself in the mirrored door, and ran my fingers through my shoulder-length blond hair to smooth the fly-aways that the wind had whipped on my short walk from the car. Rushing in, I spied my table, and the meeting already in full swing.

"Sorry, dears," I smiled at the assembled ladies, "I tried to get away from the office as fast as I could -- so sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything?"

We dove right in, discussing our fundraising plans for the upcoming Christmas season, as we poured coffee and gossiped over our vegetarian lunches.

"Heaven forbid an animal lover like myself be caught dead eating meat with this crowd," I thought ruefully as I peered over my cranberry and arugula salad, "They might be against animal cruelty, but I have a feeling that if I started to pound a burger, they'd cut a bitch."

And then I saw him. At the table opposite us, a group of businessmen consisting of three impeccably dressed Asians, two less-well-dressed locals, a pile of papers and briefcases. Most likely, they were supervisors of the electronics factory in town that had just been bought by a firm in Hong Kong. That had to be it.

Let's face it, there isn't too many Asians wearing Burberry around these here parts.

I guess I was staring, but his dark almond gaze never left mine. His eyes were cool, commanding, almost imperious, daring me to look away. I did, my eyes shifting downwards, embarrassed. Had I just committed a...racist act? I think I remember hearing something about direct eye contact and Asian cultures.

"Oh, shit." I thought to myself, horrified, "I hope they don't lay off a bunch of guys because I just did something stupid."

Throughout the rest of the lunch, I scarcely glanced up, but when I did, his mysterious gaze was upon me. I hurried through the rest of the meeting, hoping to beat a hasty retreat. I motioned for my check and made a dash for the cashier in the lobby. I leaned on the counter, grabbing a candy bar from the jack-o-lantern bowl, impatiently waiting for her to appear.

"Excuse me, Miss," a deep, musically-accented voice called from behind me, "Is this where we pay?"

I turned to see the Asian businessman that I had locked eyes with at lunch standing before me, smiling a sly smile. He was about my height, five foot eight or so, but even though expensive tailoring can hide a lot of sins, he was...built. He was really filling out that suit, if I must say.

"Do we call the...cashier?" he asked, smiling, showing even, white teeth, "I'm in a bit...of a rush." He pulled up his sleeve, just a bit, to check his watch. A fucking Rolex,

I shit you not.

"I'm sure that they'll be here...in a minute," I smiled back at Asian Rolex Guy, my elbows propped on the counter, giving him a nice view of my, shall we say, "healthy" upper body. "You can go ahead of me, if you like. I've got plenty of time."

He stepped past me to the counter, his hands idly toying with the Halloween decorations. He turned his head towards me, his eyes dark, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"What is all this...Halloween?" he started, "Do you all...revere spiders?"

"What is Halloween? Oh shit, how can you explain this to someone who doesn't already know? A holiday where we give candy to kids so they won't vandalize our houses? A reason for normally sane adults to dress up all crazy and get sloppy drunk?"

I thought hurriedly, and answered with a hopeful smile, "Halloween? I suppose you could call it a "Festival of the Dead. I'm sure you have a holiday like that...in...where you live?"

"Yes, we do. But it is in April." He smiled back slyly, "We honor our ancestors by decorating their graves and holding family feasts. No spiders. Do you have family feasts, as well?"

"Not really," I stifled a giggle, "But we do like to celebrate with our friends and family -- by dressing up in costumes and having parties. There should be quite a lot of them in our local establishments tonight. Perhaps you'll be able to see for yourself."

"Perhaps I shall," he said evenly, his gaze fixed on mine, "By the way, my name is Anthony. Anthony Cheung. And yours is?"

"Mine's Anna," I said brightly, offering my hand, "Nice to meet you. Are you enjoying our little town?"

"Yes, immensely." Anthony answered back, his handshake firm, "The people here are so...welcoming. I enjoy...getting to know them."

The cashier stepped to the counter and Anthony took out his credit card -- an American Express Black Card, his mysterious stare never leaving me. I tried not to gape, I mean, who has that kind of money? The kind of guy who buys factories, I guess.

"You can take care of her bill, too," he murmured to the cashier, "And here's something for the waitress."

He pushed a hundred-dollar bill into her hand, the cashier's shocked look mirroring mine.

"I was so nice to meet you, Anna," he purred, "I hope...to see you again."

I watched him, my eyes wide, as he left the lobby to rejoin his table, his shoulders square, his gait, regal. Just as he disappeared from our puzzled view, he turned, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at me, his lips puckering slightly in a little kiss to the air. Or, was it to me? I'll admit, it sent shivers -- good ones -- down my spine.

"Damn, I could get used to those people," the cashier loudly whispered to me as I backed towards the door, "They can come anytime."

"I completely agree, sister," I mused to myself as I exited the shop, certainly intrigued by what had just transpired, "He could come to me...anytime."

Back in my car, checking the umpteen messages that my friends had left me while my phone was off during the meeting, I hurriedly texted out replies. Yes, we were going to meet at the Costume Ball at 8. No, I don't need a ride. Yes, you can borrow my black spike heels. No, I don't want to "pre-game" at your house before I get there. Done and done.

And now just 4 hours left of work before I can - we can get ready. My four best buds and I are going to rock it tonight, to be sure. We're going as a theme for the costume contest at the ballroom at the best hotel in town, and this year, we're going to win!

Last year we went as Sister Nita Man and the girls from "The Immaculate Conception School for Wayward Girls," with our best gay friend Kyle, dressed in a nun's habit, as Sister Nita Man. We were all in plaid skirts, white blouses with neckties, and pillows stuffed in our shirts to make us look pregnant. Kyle played it up to the hilt, blessing everyone, chasing us around with a ruler, smacking our asses, and we had so much fun!

The pose-off was a hoot, and we sang, "Sixteen Going on Seventeen," for the karaoke portion of the contest...with a few somewhat obscene substitutions in the lyrics. And we came in third.

"But tonight, the five hundred dollar bar tab will be ours," I promised myself, "Damn the torpedoes, and the country club set, they're not going to outdo us this year."

Oh, our theme this year, you ask? "It's a Slut World, After All." We're all going to be dressed up as hookers from around the world. Cool, huh?

Liz is going as France, with a black side-slit pencil skirt, off-the shoulder tight striped top, fishnets, come-fuck-me pumps and a beret. Susan's going as Germany, with an authentic dirndl and white thigh-highs, braids, and a beer stein, of course. Alicia's taking Mexico, with a peasant dress, fishnets and a sombrero, and Tiff's got the U.S.A. -- she's wearing her cheerleading outfit from High School, which just happens to be red, white, and blue.

And me? I'm wearing a qi pao, one of those traditional Chinese dresses, the ones like you see in the movies, silk, with a high neck and slits up the sides. I'd had it made for a friend's theme wedding a few years back, and it still fit like a glove, all red and gold and very, very sexy. "It's a Slut World," was my idea this year, mainly because I wanted to wear that dress again.

Coming home to primp, I slid into the hot bath, the warm water washing away the day. I lay back, my eyes closing, as I thought back to my encounter with the Asian executive. He really couldn't be interested in me, could he? His dark, mysterious almond eyes certainly signaled...something.

"Maybe you're just reading into things," my inner voice chided, "He's a sophisticated man, an international executive, probably. He couldn't possibly be interested in a thirty-year-old secretary."

Or could he? My soapy hand lathered my breasts, my nipples firming to the touch His dark, tilted eyes and regal stare haunted me as my fingers slipped between my legs, softly stroking. "You know what they whisper about Asian men, don't you?" I murmured to myself, "They're skilled...in many ways."

My soap-slicked fingers found my clit, sliding between the wet folds as I fantasized about dark, powerful men with tilted almonds eyes and imperious smiles, their golden-tinted hands on my body, ripe for the taking. They would smell of musk and exotic spices, and would whisper in my ear how exciting I was, how forbidden, how...mmm...mmm... I felt my orgasm, warm and soft and sweet, lapping over me like the splashing bathwater.

Sighing, I grabbed the razor, making sure to groom myself to a fare-thee-well. I'll be wearing a thong, and I guess I'd be spoiling the surprise if I told you why I needed to be spotless. It's my -- our secret weapon, so to speak. You'll find out later.

I blow-dried and wound my hair in a French twist and applied my make-up, heavy pancake, dark red lips and thick black eyeliner tilting upwards, china-doll style. I slipped into a red lace bra and red silk thong before sliding on my red fishnet stockings and matching garter belt. I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I crossed my apartment to pour a glass of wine from the fridge.

"Not bad, not bad," I smiled to myself, taking in my full curves highlighted by the risque undergarments, "If I say so myself. And I do!"

I sat to sip some wine and text my girls that I would soon be leaving, I'd meet them in the lobby, and yes, I won't forget the pumps. It was already 7:30 as I slipped my dress over my head, my arms straining to zip the back.

I smoothed it over my frame, feeling the deliciously silky fabric hug every curve. Now that I'd gotten all the tricky little things done with dressing, I glued on my one-inch-long red dragon lady fake nails, waving my hands while they dried, slipped on my shoes, the gold pumps with four inch heels, and stepped in front of the mirror for one last check.

"Smoking hot," I mused, "We're gonna kick ass!"

Clutching my sequined bag and the black pumps for Liz, I stepped into the bright hotel lobby, ducking past the large sign announcing, "Halloween Costume Contest - Groups and Singles -- Cash prizes -- Tonight," relieved that the other girls were already assembled, giggling and preening.

They turned to see me with squeals of approval, Tiff jumping up and down, waving her pom-pom's, "Oh my god! Me likey! You look so hot! Love your nails!"

"We're going to do so good tonight, I think we should start putting a dent in that bar tab right away!" Liz said, slipping on the pumps I'd brought her, "There's quite a crowd, already."

"Ve know," Susan trilled, shaking her braids, "Ve haf already been checking out da competition, ya? I tink ve haf a good chance, no?"

We steeped into the ballroom through the doorway hung with black crepe paper and balloons, our eyes darting, taking in the scene before us, scanning the dark, crowded room for our immediate competition.

There was the usual, of course, cross-dressing guys, two sets of people going as the Wizard of Oz, several sets of people dressed up as classic movie monsters, a few robots and pumpkins and superheroes, and a couple of people in ultra-realistic animal costumes.

"Damn furries," Alicia giggled, pointing, "They live for this stuff, I swear. Those perverts ruin it for the rest of us...perverts."

And... there they were, lounging by the bar, our main competition, six guys in a letter-perfect reproduction of the Village People. Shit. "Look at those guys," Tiff hissed, "We're screwed."

"I think we should get some drinks and start lobbying the room, girls," Liz purred, "A little - Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir -- that'll get them to vote!"

"Agreed," I smiled, "You vote, me love you long time! Let's get a table."

We found a free table and Susan volunteered to retrieve our drinks, "Yust like a good Yerman girl, ya?"

We sipped and laughed, joking with the other partygoers in our outrageously bad accents as they stopped at the table, buying us drinks and asking us to dance.

"We must be making a good impression," Tiff shouted over the booming techno music, "I don't think I've paid for a drink since we got here!"

One of the Village people sauntered over. It was the Construction Worker. Leaning over the table, he grinned at me, pulling down his mirrored aviator shades.

"Nice work, girls," he grinned, "Hope you don't mind second place. But, just to show I'm such a good sport, would you like to dance?"

"Don't mind if I do," I grinned back, "But, hey, shouldn't you be asking one of the Dracula's instead?"

"Very funny," he shot back, "Come on, dragon lady. If you're nice, I just might let you drink off my bar tab, and hey -- we're having an after-party at my condo. For winners only, but we'll make an exception for you girls."

He took my hand, pulling me to the dance floor, where we boogied to yet another round of "Monster Mash." I was really working it, in character, my arms posing prettily in my approximation of Asian dancing, as Construction Worker tried to grind me from behind.

I pushed him away, spinning around and laughing, "This ain't free, ya know! You'd have to pay, and you couldn't afford me. You're my competition! And you're gonna go down!"

And then, I turned and saw...him. Anthony Cheung, seated at a dark table towards the back of the room with the other two Asian businessmen from the coffeehouse earlier today. They were wearing designer gear, black, open-necked shirts, thick gold chains at their necks. Anthony caught my eyes, raising his glass to me with a seductive, beckoning smile. The music stopped, and I was drawn to his magnetic gaze, crossing the crowded room to his table.

"Holy shit," I thought worriedly, smiling my widest, "The way I'm dressed. What if I've just committed another racial faux pas?"

"Excuse...me, Anthony?" I started brightly as I approached their table, "I hope I'm not bothering you -- I'd thought I'd stop by and say hello. Are you...enjoying our little party?"

"Yes, tremendously." Anthony said, his voice low and measured, "It has been very...enlightening. Your "Festival of the Dead" is truly a festival."

Anthony smiled up at me, his dark eyes sparkling. "You look very lovely, Anna. Where did you get that qi pao that you're wearing? It looks authentic. Did you know that red and gold are the traditional colors for a bride to wear in our country?"

"It was custom made for me, from Hong Kong, actually. For a friend's wedding," I smiled back, relieved I'd not offended. "We all had a good laugh when we saw what size I wear, in Hong Kong sizes. I wear a size...extra-extra large. It made me feel -- really fat,"

I giggled hopefully, "In U.S. sizes, I wear a size eight, which is small, here."

"You are not fat," Anthony purred back, "You look very...healthy."

Just then, I heard Liz's voice, waving frantically and calling from across the room. "Anna! Get over here! The contest is starting!"

"You'll have to excuse me," I smiled, "The "festival" contest is about to begin. Wish me luck!"

"Gaai hang, Anna," Anthony murmured, his dark eyes locked on mine, "I look forward to seeing you again."

As I turned to leave, I saw his associates whisper something to each other, and clink glasses as they grinned, their eyes fixed on me.

"I hope gaai hang means something good," raced through my mind as I strutted across the floor, swinging my hips to the beat of the music, "Well, at least... I'm making an impression."

I rushed over to join the girls, already queuing up at the side of the stage, scanning the rowdy crowd, as the deejay introduced the participants for the Groups competition, posing and dancing to the music as the crowd cheered for their favorites.

I scanned the groups, five in all, Us, some gothy vampire types, the Wizard of Ozzer's, a group of doctors dressed in surgical scrubs, and the Village People.

"I can already start spending that bar tab," I thought hopefully, "They'll be sure to pick hot chicks over - hot dudes? Come on, we're gonna kill!"

"Good Christ, where were you?" Tiff exclaimed, punctuating her words with a shake of her pom-poms as I swung in beside her, "We're going right after the "Twilight" gaywads!"

We stepped onto the dance floor as the music kicked into 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny," the crowd roaring with delight, as the deejay boomed, "And...the next group of...ladies, is..."It's a Slut World, After All!" Give it up for our own United Nations! Strike a pose!"

We all started doing our little dances, I swung my hips, taking little mincing steps, batting my eyes at the hooting throng, Liz sashaying, blowing kisses to the audience, Susan bouncing outrageously as she waved her stein, Alicia throwing down her sombrero and doing a little Mexican Hat Dance, her heels tapping, and Tiff, wowing all assembled by doing a split jump while chanting, "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" The crowd chanted along, laughing and clapping as the music died down and we fled the dance floor, high-fiving and hugging.

"Just wait until they get a load of our karaoke! We can't lose!" Alicia squealed, twirling her full skirt, "Especially when they see our surprise!"

We anxiously awaited our turn, sipping the drinks that admirers had thrust into our hands as we stood to the side of the dance floor. Finally, our turn was called and we strode onto the floor, waving and smiling to the applause, picking up our mikes as we started to sing,

"It's a world of hookers,
A world of Johns,
It's a world of cash,
And a world of cons.
There's so much that we share,
That it's time you're aware,
It's a Slut World, after all!


There is just one MOON,
And one golden sun.
And a dollar means,
Friendship for every one.
Though the money divides,
And the legs, they are wide,
IT'S A SLUT WORLD, AFTER ALL!"


As we started the second verse, we turned our back to the cheering, hooting crowd, and flipped our skirts up when we shouted the word, "MOON," showing off our nearly-bare thong-clad rear ends, much to the delight of all assembled. We exited the floor, bowing and curtsying, laughing and blowing kisses to their roar. We couldn't lose!

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