Ringer

"I didn't think so," he went on, overflowing with confidence. "I never understood what you saw in that wimp when you had me to come home to any time you wanted."

"Hell if I know," I agreed sagely, shaking my head.

I was being completely honest on that one. I remember reading somewhere Cassie's husband, Kenny, was a small-time hustler with aspirations of becoming a big-time Rap artist – and had connections with a certain 'family' on the East Coast. He was allegedly insanely possessive of his trophy/breadwinner wife and had punched out more than one guy who had gotten a little too friendly with Cassie in her husband's presence. It's no wonder so many of these laughably-mismatched celebrity couples get divorced so soon. I couldn't figure out why they got together in the first place. I swear, they must hook up in a chat room on CareerBuilder.com. As far as I was concerned, the clock started ticking on Cassie Spire's marriage the moment she vowed "I do." Mr. Muscles here was certainly doing everything he could to hasten the countdown – or so he thought.

I instantly regretted my previous words to him; Dick must have interpreted them as a green light. I didn't even get the chance to go into Damage Control mode (I winced at that choice of words). Dick picked me up, cradling me in his powerful arms as he carried me towards the darkened 'conversation pit' at the back of the VIP room. Cindy had told me stories of the goings-on in that dimly-lit room-within-a-room – mostly from a first-person perspective. The bitch didn't even try to intercede on my behalf. She just waved, winked and blew me a kiss! I hoped she recognized my evilest 'I'm gonna get you for this, Sucka' glare as Dick carried me away.

At least he was gentle with me. He set me down on a cushioned ottoman and stood next to me – which was how I came to be eye-level with One-Eyed Jack. I could tell Mr. Johnson was angry within the confines of his cloth prison; very angry. I suppose I should have been flattered. Okay, I was – a little. In my head, I ran through the permutations of what could happen and decided the obvious course of action – from this perspective – was the best one. I unzipped his fly and gently reached inside…

As I said, I don't hate having sex with men; I'm just very cautious about it. Forget STD's; there is a more obvious and immediate danger for girls like me that must be faced every time we get into a compromising situation. It is best to deal with it from a position of strength – and there are damn few men who are going to complain when your nose is buried in their pubic hair.

Dick certainly didn't. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he and Cassie had played out this scenario before. So much for her publicist's contention that Cassidy Spires was a perfect angel who only played a bad girl in her videos. Dick's dick was most women's dream-come-true; nicely thick and somewhere around nine inches, maybe more. One advantage we have over genetic females is, we know what feels good in a blowjob and act accordingly. I was certainly getting aroused by the intimacy of the moment. Gazing up into Dick's eyes, I could tell I was pushing all the right buttons for him, too.

Too well, I guess. He pulled out and turned me around, pushing me down on my hands and knees on the ottoman. Before I could utter a word of protest, he reached under the hem of my dress and pulled off my pink satin and lace French-cut panties. This was a dangerous development for me. Although I was facing away from him, he could discover my fat seven-incher at any moment.

The next thing I felt was a lubed finger pressing home in my little puckered rosebud. Lube? Where did that come from? Maybe they have it in the vending machine in the Men's Room, right next to the breath freshener and condoms. In all my visits to Showbar, I had never had occasion to visit that facility. My bad! After a fair amount of time wriggling around inside me, one lubed finger became two, then three. Whether it was the champagne or my own libidinous thoughts, I just gazed over my shoulder, smiled and wiggled my butt at him, inviting him to continue. Talk about taking your life into your hands…

I whimpered piteously as the fingers disappeared – only to be replaced by something much bigger.

"Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhhh," I gasped in rapturous delight as he pressed his advantage home.

You remember that scene from Young Frankenstein? You know the one; "Sweet mystery of Life, I have found you." Yeah, it was like that. I was only semi-aware when his hand reached around my hip, under my hem and grasped my erect, throbbing cock…. There was nothing I could do. In my dazed, this-close-to-cumming state, he could have ripped it out at the root and beat me over the head with it and I couldn't have stopped him. Dick did neither; he just kept hammering his rod home while stroking me off. I shot – and so did he.

After a few minutes of shared bliss, my lover did the most astounding thing. He turned me over on my back and sucked me back to full erection, cleaning me of all my fluids in the process. If that wasn't already pegging the needle on weird-ometer, he then bent over the ottoman next to me, supported his weight on outstretched arms, looked at me and grinned. O-kaaaaaayyyyyy… Well, that was unexpected – but if I need to go along to get along… At least he left his tube of lube out for me. I needed it, too; he was tight. Afterward, we both saw the discretion in cleaning up with cocktail napkins. I mean, if I had had the foresight to douche before leaving the house…

I was applying a fresh coat of lipstick, then gloss, as he was buckling his pants.

"You were great, as always, Sweetie," he complimented; then his forehead furrowed.

"Babe, did you… get an implant?" Dick inquired cautiously. "I seem to remember you were… smaller before."

"I get that a lot," I sighed expressively as he escorted me towards my table, my arm looped through his.

I stopped short, then gazed over my shoulder towards the darkened room from whence we had come. Gee, you don't suppose anyone had a camera phone in there, do you? The tabloids ate up that kind of thing. What would poor old Cassie do if her little secret got out? Heh, heh, heh!

At our table, he cupped my bubble butt with both hands and pulled me into him. I draped my arms casually over his shoulders, ground my crotch into his and gave him a scorching kiss. Screw Madeline Kahn; I gave him oodles of tongue! So what if I had to fix my lipstick again? Cindy got an eyeful she would be teasing me about for a month.

"Now, you're not gonna give me a hard time about getting together again, are you?" Dick admonished. "That wimp doesn't deserve to lick your boots. I'm the man you really need; right, Sweetheart?"

"Oh, absolutely," I cooed in perfect agreement, squeezing his crotch firmly. "The wimp has been making noises about wanting to see me with another man. I would love to tie him to a chair and do it right in front of him, then have him lick my sissy pussy clean - and your cock, too! You still have my number, don't you? Call anytime, Lover, and we'll set it up."

Oh, to be a fly on Cassie Spires' wall when that call comes in. Still, he was a good lay, despite all the macho crap. I'm sure I could get his number from someone here if I changed my mind. I guess being a blonde does have its advantages…

I still had a silly little grin on my freshly-painted lips as we walked out the door - signing autographs all the way. It seemed someone in the club had alerted one of the local radio stations of my unannounced visit. There were hundreds of shrieking fans waiting outside, not to mention paparazzi. Our Brad-Pitt-wannabe must have been alerted beforehand, too; the NSX was idling curbside as we approached. I smiled appreciatively and kissed him on the cheek as camera flashes erupted, lighting up the Valet station. It was time to put the nimble little coupe through its paces – and see if the camera ghouls knew the side streets in this neighborhood as well as I did.

"So, Cassie," Cindy smirked. "Where would you like to make a 'personal appearance' next week?"

I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the lights of the paparazzi's SUVs vainly trying to keep pace. I still had a few tricks up my clingy, Shocking Pink sleeve. We would lose them completely after a few more turns. We had gotten away with it this time - but twice?

"Next week, it's Shania Twain or nuthin'," I insisted. "Man, I feel like a woman!"