Lola Takes Flight

"Okay," he nodded, wiping champagne off his face. "Then fuck you, bitch."

I walked past him, back to the bar. Then, I reached over, grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne.

"Oh, fuck me?" I laughed, stroking the neck of the bottle like the shaft of a long, thick cock. "You wanna fuck me?"

I popped the cork, spraying champagne wildly all over myself, letting the fizzy liquid spill over me. I bent forward, giving him a long, gorgeous look at the champagne-soaked valley between my tits.

"In your dreams, pussy," I giggled, taking a long swing of champagne as I walked past him into the house.

Inside, the caterers were starting to pack things up, but aside from the bride and groom, it didn't seem like anybody had left yet. I took another swig from the champagne bottle, letting the bubbles tickle my tongue as they slid down my throat.

Leaning drunkenly against the wall, I bent down and took my heels off. Then, heels in one hand and bottle in the other, I began stumbling through the house, trying to find somewhere quiet to be alone. But the first floor was crowded with people milling about, none of whom I wanted to see.

I started to walk up the stairs, trying to steady myself with the bannister but nearly tripping anyway. When I got to the landing halfway up, I sat down to rest, raising the bottle to my lips.

"Hey, Lola!" Tim called from the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me with concern. "Where are you going? Are you okay?"

I waved him off with my heels, taking another sip. Hurriedly, he rushed up the stairs, sitting down next to me on the landing.

"Hey, did something happen?" he asked, noticing my champagne-soaked dress.

"It's fine," I said, trying not to slur my words. "I'm fine."

"You maybe want to share that with me?" he said, pointing at the bottle.

"I don't think we should," I said, shaking my head.

"Okay, drunky," he laughed, draping his arm over my shoulder. "Come on. Let's go get you cleaned up."

"You're just trying to get me naked," I said softly, clutching the bottle as I stared off into space.

"Wait, what?" Tim said, cocking his head at me.

"I have a boyfriend, Tim," I said slowly, shaking my head. "Even if he isn't here."

"I know that," he said, furrowing his brow.

"Then why've you been sniffing around me this week?" I said, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ever since you found out Chase wasn't coming."

"Hey, Lola," he said, taking his arm off me. His voice had grown serious. "If you're talking about what happened in the hot tub... you initiated that, not me."

"I was sad because Chase couldn't come," I muttered. "But you were happy about that, weren't you?"

"I missed you," Tim said, crossing his arms defensively. "I've missed you ever since you moved away."

"Because you missed your chance to fuck me," I whispered, taking another sip of champagne. "Back in high school."

"Wow, Lola... wow." His voice broke a little. "You're a pretty mean drunk, you know that?"

"Tim," I said, finally turning to look at him. "I'm not a slut, okay?"

"I never said you were."

"Maybe... maybe I should've let you, back in high school," I said softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Maybe if you'd taken charge a bit more..."

"What?" Tim gaped. "What are you trying to say right now?"

"I was a virgin, Tim," I whispered. "I didn't know what I wanted back then, or what to do..."

"Lola," he said, putting a hand on my knee.

"Maybe things would have turned out differently," I said, taking a sip of champagne. "But I have a boyfriend now."

"Jesus Christ, I know!" he cried in frustration. "You don't have to keep saying that!"

"Yes, I do," I nodded. "I have to keep saying it because he's not here."

"Fine," Tim said, rubbing his temples. "I get it."

"Whatever we had in high school," I said, gently touching his face. "That doesn't matter right now."

"Because you have a boyfriend," he sighed, nodding his head.

"And because I'm not a slut, Tim," I murmured, running my fingers against his stubble. "You know that, right?"

"I know," he said, turning to look me in the eye. "I know you're not."

I smiled at him. Then, I rested my head lightly on his shoulder.

"So even if..." I said, whispering softly into his ear. "Even if I wanted to let you... even if nobody would ever find out... I just can't."

"Lola, what are you doing to me?" he said, standing up in a jolt. He stared down at me, confused and unsettled. "Like, what is this? I... I can't take this..."

"Because you're a good guy, Tim," I said, standing up next to him. "And I'm a good girl. So we just... can't."

"You know... I'm gonna go back outside," he said, sliding his hands into his suit pockets.

"Goodnight, Tim," I said, watching him walk down the stairs.

"Goodnight, Lola," he called without turning around.

Well, Marcy, I hope you're happy, I thought to myself bitterly. Because I'm not.

...

After I watched Tim walk out the door, I turned and continued to the second floor, stumbling aimlessly along the richly carpeted hallway with my heels and the champagne bottle in tow. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I wanted to be somewhere quiet to be alone with my thoughts.

Then, without realizing it, I found myself back on the master balcony, looking up at the night sky. I could see the tent out on the lawn and hear the sounds of other people still partying, but it was distant and muted, a kind of peaceful white noise.

I took another sip of the champagne bottle, which was now on its last legs. Living in LA, you forget how beautiful the night sky can be. I decided to sit back and enjoy it, even if I didn't have anyone to share it with.

But after a few minutes, I took one last sip of champagne and set the empty bottle down. Without it, I felt sort of restless, too drunk to just sit and admire the stars.

I glanced over at the hot tub. What the hell, I thought to myself. I was already sticky and smelling of champagne, so how much difference would it make?

I slid the cover off and and sat on the edge, running the tips of my fingers through the warm, blue-lit water.

"You know," I laughed aloud. "You almost got me in trouble the other day."

The hot tub just bubbled, rumbling gently in response.

"It's okay," I said, giving it a friendly pat. "I forgive you."

I stood up, reaching down to grab the hem of my champagne-soaked dress. Then, I pulled it over my head, gently draping it over a chair next to my heels.

All that was left was a lacy, lavender demi-bra, the same color as my maid of honor dress. It was meant to be invisible beneath the neckline of the dress, a cut so low that it barely covered my nipples, its cups overflowing with my full, round tits. Below, I wore a sheer black thong, it's string so thin that I could feel the night air caress the smooth lips of my freshly-waxed pussy.

I arched my back, raising my hands over my head, letting the moon and the stars bathe my 22-year-old body in celestial light. Then, I brought my fingers to my ears, gently appreciating the pearl earrings that Marcy had given me as a gift for being her maid of honor. They made me feel elegant, a touch of class to go along with the set of matching chains I'd bought with Chase's money: the tiny key still dangling from my necklace, its companion lock resting delicately below my belly button, suspended from the chain encircling my slim, athletic hips.

If Chase could see me now, I thought to myself, sitting back on the edge of the hot tub. Or Tim. Or that older pilot from the airport. Or the handsome, aggressive Black guy at the club. Or even that asshole Will.

Such different men, all with the same thing in common.

I lifted my legs over the edge of the hot tub and slid them into the water's warm, welcoming embrace. Then, I lowered my hips, my tiny thong disappearing beneath the frothy surface.

"Ahhhhhh," I sighed, nestling myself into a corner seat, feeling jets of water pulse luxuriously into my lower half. "Who needs a boyfriend, anyway?"

But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Chase. And he wasn't alone.

The whole time Chase had been in Asia, I'd managed to keep the bad thoughts at bay. But ever since our conversation on the phone about how he wasn't coming to the wedding, I'd felt them gnawing at the edges of my mind, worming their way slowly inward. What had started off as fleeting thoughts had now become a full-blown fixation, images that I couldn't shake splashed across the canvas of my imagination.

I knew Chase had a thing for Asian girls. He'd never said, but he didn't have to. It was written all over the way he had pursued me from the start. I wouldn't call it a fetish, exactly, because I knew he'd dated and fucked plenty of non-Asian women. But I might call it a taste, or maybe even a preference.

So I could only imagine that he was surrounded by temptation. He was in Hong Kong, the most expensive city in the world, a city that must have been teeming with young, rich, beautiful women. And if that weren't bad enough, Hong Kong had been a British territory for more than 150 years, a colonial period that only ended in 1997. For generations, the girls of Hong Kong had grown up British control, learning to speak the language of their European rulers. I couldn't help but imagine that they had learned ways to please their British masters with more than just an English tongue.

With my eyes closed, I saw Chase sitting alone at a hotel bar overlooking the city, a tumbler of expensive scotch on the mahogany bar in front of him. He's wearing a gray, slim-fitting suit, athletically tapered around his big, broad shoulders. The workday is over, so he's taken off his necktie, and the top button of his shirt is undone. He has his business watch on, a Patek Phillipe with a brown leather band that peaks out from beneath the cuff of his suit jacket, an advertisement of wealth to anyone discerning enough to notice.

Keeping my eyes closed, I slowly turn over in the hot tub, letting my knees rest on the bottom. Feeling the current of the water moving around me, I shift my body to the left, positioning my knees on either side of the pulsating stream.

"Uhhhn," I sighed, barely an exhale, biting my lip as the water gently massages the lips of my exposed pussy.

I see Chase take a sip of his scotch, surveying the hotel bar like a lion gazing across the African savannah. All around him are young, beautiful women, each wearing expensive clothes and exquisite makeup. Each of these women is having her own conversation, but like the gazelle, they are all hyperaware that there is an apex predator in their midst. They may be speaking in Mandarin or Cantonese, but they are listening in English, waiting to see what this young American lion might say.

There are single women, sitting at the bar by themselves, separated from the herd and just waiting to be devoured. But lions like Chase aren't scavengers who settle for the oldest or weakest prey. They're hunters who come after the choicest, juiciest cuts.

I thought about how Chase had come after me that first night. He couldn't have known that I had a boyfriend, but based on my looks, he must have thought it likely. And when I told him I was with someone, his pursuit only intensified, his competition natured aroused by the challenge. Then, once he'd made it his mission to have me, the plot unfolded with remarkable speed.

Beneath the water, my right hand swam in between my legs, my fingers deftly pushing the tiny thong aside to get at the bud of my engorged clit.

Chase wouldn't be looking for a girl on her own. A girl out with her friends, maybe, whose boyfriend was at home playing video games. Or--even better--a girl out on a date with another guy. Not a wife, necessarily, or even a couple. The sweet spot would be a first or second date, where the degree of difficulty would be challenging but still surmountable in a single night.

How would he do it? I let my imagination run wild, urged on by the ministrations of my middle finger.

Once he had set his sights on her, she'd know it. She would have been aware of him already, but once his eyes had ceased to wander, the intensity of his attention would be impossible to ignore. She would feel his eyes on her, and this would drive her to distraction, trying to listen to her date but unable to concentrate on what he was saying. Her eyes would flit past him every few seconds, trying to stay undetected but irresistibly drawn to Chase's gaze.

He would be watching for a sign. It would be subtle, a private gesture, something that her date wouldn't pick up on. But Chase would.

She might run her fingers through her hair, cocking her head to the side of the bar where Chase was sitting. She uncross and re-cross her legs, folding them in his direction. She might move her fingers to her neck, running them casually across her collarbone, showing him that she wasn't wearing a ring.

Once the girl was in play, Chase would escalate quickly, and this is where his genius as a salesman gave him an unfair advantage. He would approach the pair, and the girl would become nervous, flustered that he was about to give her flirtations away. But instead, he would approach the man, engaging him in conversation while practically ignoring his real target.

He was incredible at reading people, but in finding the man's special interest, what he was really doing was finding his weakness. Because as long as the man was talking to Chase, he was neglecting his date. It was almost sleight of hand: once you were paying attention to Chase, you couldn't see what he was doing to your girl.

The girl, of course, is in on the con. Once the gesture has passed between them, she and Chase are on their own wavelength, a frequency invisible to the other man. Speaking from personal experience, it's quite a thrill to behold, almost like watching a crime being committed in plain sight that no one else seems to notice. Except it is even more exciting than that, because you are the thing being stolen.

Before the man has even realized it, Chase would be sitting at their table, laughing and drinking with them. Above the table, he'll disarm the man with wit and charisma, but below the table, his hands will be busy. First, just a grazing touch above the knee. Then another. Slowly, as the other man fails to notice, his hand will come to rest on her outer thigh. Then, he will colonize her inch-by-inch, his fingertips gradually encouraging until he has claimed her inner thigh.

Finally, when she can feel the warmth of his hand against her mound, the last act will unfold.

Her face will be flush from the excitement, but she'll say that she's had too much to drink. She'll excuse herself to use the bathroom, and a moment later, Chase will do the same.

In the bathroom, she'll splash water on her face, trying to calm herself down. But no amount of splashing will quench the fire burning between her legs, because nothing like this has ever happened to her before. She thinks of herself as a good girl, but in less than an hour, this tall, handsome American has shown her a different side of herself.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Chase will be there, waiting for her. They're alone now, but still essentially in public, and she's not prepared for what he might do. More to the point, she's not prepared for what she might let him do.

But Chase doesn't say anything. Instead, he silently hands her a keycard to his hotel room. Then, he turns around and walks away, leaving her standing by the bathroom with a choice.

By the time she gets back to the table, her date has paid the bill, and he's eager to take her home. He looks disappointed when she tells him she's too drunk and just wants to call it a night. He offers to call her a cab, but she says she doesn't need it.

They leave the hotel together, but after she's said goodbye, she lingers. Slowly, as if pulled by gravity, she walks back into the lobby, her heels clicking smartly against the expensive marble floors.

In the lobby bathroom, she reapplies her lipstick, making sure there isn't any on her straight, white teeth. She retouches her mascara, and adds a touch of fresh eyeshadow, making her beautiful Asian eyes look large and inviting.

She's alone in the elevator as it climbs, floor after floor speeding by yet the journey never seeming to end. It's giving her too much time to think, and that's not what she wants right now.

At last, the elevator doors open, and she steps out onto his floor. The hallway is long, but the carpet is lush, and her footfalls barely make a sound. It's as if the building itself is promising to keep it a secret that she's here.

Finally, she's standing outside the door. His door. She fidgets with the keycard, passing it back and forth between her hands.

"Do it," I whispered, my eyes still closed, my fingers frantically circling my clit.

She's never been with a white guy before, or an American. He's much older than her, at least a decade, but she can't tell whether that makes her more nervous or less. Less, she decides, because he'll know what to do. She just has to do what he says.

"Do it," I whispered again, a high-pitched urgency creeping into my voice.

He's older, but she's still young. This is the time to experiment, she tells herself. Who knows if you'll ever have another chance? She's so tired of thinking about things. She just wants to experience life.

"Fucking do it," I moaned softly, biting my lip. I'm so close, but I need to see her open the door.

She closes her eyes and lifts the keycard.

"Yes, yes," I was panting under my breath, hurtling towards the edge. "You little fucking slut..."

The keycard clicks, and--

"Hello?" a deep voice called out. "Someone out here?" I heard the glass door to the balcony slide open.

Instantly, my hand flew from between my legs, clamping over my mouth as Mr. Richards stepped out onto the balcony.

"Who is that?" he said, his voice stern but not angry.

My hand was so tight against my mouth that I could barely breath. My head was suddenly swimming, and I felt as if I might pass out.

"Is that... Lola?" he said, walking towards the hot tub.

I swallowed hard, but it didn't help. The lump in my throat felt like a wad of toilet paper that just won't flush.

"H--hi," I whispered, practically mouthing the words. "Mr. Richards."

"Well," he said, scratching his chin. His voice had returned to normal, deep and booming but with a friendly warmth. "This is certainly a surprise."

"Yeah," I nodded, my entire body sinking below the water except my head. As if somehow that would prevent him from seeing how little I was wearing.

"I thought you'd gone to bed," he said, leaning against the railing.

"Nope," I managed, trying to summon any semblance of banter. "Just felt like a soak."

"You know," he said, cracking a smile. "I had the exact same idea. Great minds, am I right?"

He reached down and started to pull off his black leather shoes one at a time.

Oh shit, I thought, my mind instantly racing. Oh shit oh shit oh shit...

I knew I needed to get out of the hot tub right now. But how was I going to do that without letting Marcy's dad see me practically naked? I wasn't even wearing a real bathing suit. My thong was so tiny that it barely covered my pussy under normal circumstances. But now that it was soaking wet, it wasn't hiding anything at all. I knew that he'd be able to see everything as soon as I stood up.

"I'm... well--I should go," I stammered, trying to find the words that would get me out of this situation. "I'll let you--"

"Relax," he cut me off, raising his hand. "Stay. You look comfortable."

Now his socks were off and I was panicking. My brain was screaming at me to go, but Marcy's dad was telling me to stay. I was so drunk, and the embarrassment of being in this situation was overwhelming my ability to think straight. I felt paralyzed, caught between the urge to hide beneath the water and the urge to flee.