Naked Poop

Around 10 pm, Marin leaned back with his legs wide open, way too relaxed, kind of cocky and overconfident, "Let's take this upstairs." That was the signal that we'd meet his boss. I had a sense that this whole conversation was simply his boss letting him play. There was a text from his boss that signaled going up. Marin never texted his boss about how things were going. Some bosses let their underlings play god to boost their egos. That meant that Marin missed out on a bonus or promotion. He was probably unpromotable. So, I was his consolation prize. Go toy around with the hottie for a few hours. There is a pain and consolation of knowing your place in the world.

We walked to the back exit of the Cosmopolitan Hotel. There was a throng of people. The air was electric. Men were dressed so smooth that suave oozed out of them. Women were dressed in high end brands that most cities never even got to see. Skin was bared to an extent that would have shocked in any other city. Everyone inhaled that competition that drive to step up to a-whole-nother level. Even Marin held his spine more erect. His eyes were straining to avoid looking at every ass and tit passing. He struggled really hard to keep his eyes up, so hard in fact that his mouth dropped open. He looked like a middle aged family man.

When we sat down in the cab, we got one of those chubby women who don't give a fuck. She didn't wear a seat belt. She made the tires squeal. She barreled down on the hotel worker that was stopping cars to let pedestrians pass the driveway safely. The hotel worker whistled like a helpless pig on the slaughter table. Everyone's eyes turned. The hotel worker jumped out of the way in the last minute. A co-worker blew a valve and threw a shoe at the cab. Vegas, baby!

On the strip, the cab had to idle in gridlock like the other ten lanes of traffic. Marin put his hand on my bare thigh. I bit the reflex back to shake it off. After all, I had put my hand on his lap. I couldn't by a hypocrite. I couldn't unhinge the deal. I let his hand rest. I felt the sweat on the palm. He was nervous about doing the move. His hand was shaking a little bit. He didn't know how to relax his hand to the curve of my thigh. His hand felt stiff like he wasn't used to handling female bodies.

"Do you have a boyfriend? You obviously don't have a wedding ring," asked Marin.

I laughed congenially, "I dumped my boyfriend yesterday and came out to sin city today."

His face got even more excited, "you are one in a million. You are a woman who actually knows her job and is drop-dead gorgeous. How could a guy like me ever hope to land one of you?"

He had that look on his face like he was looking for a serious answer, actually he was looking for a step-by-step plan on fucking me tonight. He never had a chance. The way how he treated that gay guy had sunk his chances to never in hell. Heck, I would have worked that gay guy if I had the chance even though I knew I'd have no chance. I smiled at him, "Just be super cool."

"No, like seriously. That's not a concreate actionable and measurable task," complained Marin. "What makes a woman like you soaking wet and drop her panties?"

This conversation had turned into awkward sexual harassment territory. I visualized the BMW in my driveway. I visualized the Aire Ancient Baths spa and my pampering visits there. Those are the reasons why I not only put up with these advances but actively encourage them. When I was a kid, I wanted to study law to bring fairness to the world. Ha, kids are so delusional innocent.

I leaned forward to his side. I let him slowly and deeply glance down my two boobs to see the bottom of my underwire bra. Then, I breathed into his air, making sure that my moist air caressed his cheeks, "I love big black cocks." I let the image of a big black cock ramming into my tight Asian pussy marinate in his brain. I lingered my cheek next to his and let the next rumble of the cab over a speed bump knock me off balance to brush my cheek against his. I let me hand flick across his lap to steady myself on his hip. On the way, the back of the hand brushed across his hardening erection. I let his small brain get overwhelmed by all the sexuality and fantasy. "If it's not super huge, I let them stuff it in my ass."

I've never done such a thing, but I know peanut sized male brains. He was almost whimpering. He was breathing so hard. My body was fully in front of him emanating sensuality. He knew that he couldn't have me, yet he was so badly turned on that all he could do was focus his entire willpower to restrain himself.

"That's our secret. Do you promise?" I asked him pretending coyness.

"Fuck, your secret is safe with me!" Marin sounded like a deflated air balloon.

The cab came to a squealing stop. The cabbie yelled at us, "The card machine is broken. I don't have any change. Pay up!" Marin handed her a fifty dollar bill for a nine dollar ride and left it at that.

We walked into the Cromwell. The atmosphere was very dark and a little dingy. I had set up Marin perfectly. I could titillate him until he exploded in his pants, yet I had also set the boundary that he was the wrong ethnicity. So, I wrapped my arm around his, and we walked in interlocked. The club entrance was a long hallway with photos of mostly naked people underwater. Their loose clothing was floating around them to reveal nipples and butts. We walked past the line to the table service entrance. The security guard in a black suit stamped our wrists and pulled the velvet rope back. We went into a packed elevator with partiers who were already screaming with excitement. I had the awkward subtle touches of bodies swaying against mine. I don't have to feel that too tight JC Penny skirt butt pressing against me. I don't need that lifeless dude hand hanging around next to my thigh. Sometimes, I'll step on a guy's shoes with my heels not because he did anything but out of general annoyance about the whole experience. They always say "sorry" anyway. I can flick those club guy's penis, and they are so hungry that they still say "sorry"!

Marin was busy starring at the boobs of a two feet shorter, busty blond college girl. He hadn't even changed his clothes. He was still a slob. That's the privilege of paying thousands of dollars for a table. No questions asked.

Doing business deals in a club has always felt strange. All the boys want is sample meat. Somewhere, I have to switch in a split second from serving up seduction to talking hard numbers. The client is like the pitcher on the mound. He can throw the ball into any direction, and I have to instantly run to catch it. In the world, there is a hierarchy. There are the women that go to college and work their way to a six figure job. There are the girls that strip and haul in six figures right off the bat. The next level are the girls that realize that what guys really want is not sex but a caring ear. Those girls don't sell a dance at a time. They really hook the guys for months until they are drained. Well and then there is me. If you had brains to sell seven and eight figure projects, you haul in even more money. If you get good, you never even have to take off your clothes.

The elevator door opened. The club was pumping: lots of skin, lots of smug faces, lots of bitchy faces, lots of jumping, drinks in every hand, balls flying above the pool, water splashing in the air, the open night sky above, the balmy 90 degree desert air on the skin, the easy life floating in the music, palm trees on a roof top, and huge view on the strip.

Marin's boss had rented out a futon mattress with a canopy. Bottles were inside of silver buckets. Jean had a double sized body. He was the fat man with balding hair in the middle of the mattress. His eyes looked excited. His cheeks were red. There was a lot going on inside of his head from seeing all the girls in bikinis strut around. His hands were folded over his belly like he wasn't going anywhere.

"Hi, I'm Clair," I offered my lips to kiss him on the chicks and give him a petit hug like it's normal in warm club language.

Marin started shouting into Jean's ear immediately. I could tell that Jean wasn't really paying attention, yet enjoyed the feeling of importance from being briefed and making me wait. I excused myself to go to the restroom. Instead I made a direct line to the first bouncer that was out of sight from the clients.

"I need to talk to your boss," I told him sternly.

"Sure," he said without moving an inch or even looking at me.

I put a twenty dollar bill into the inside of his jacket pocket. He pointed at a skinny guy in a silver jacket with a captain's hat. I pressed my way through the crowd to the end of the dance area. A shorty in a golden bikini and bottoms was talking to the captain. Her bottoms were pushed so low that they barely covered her pussy. She had put her arms around the captain to charm him. He was enjoying it, yet completely knew his power that he could enjoy for free.

I stepped up to her, put my hand on the side of her head and pushed. She fell with a big splash into the water. The captain guy laughed out loud like it was the best joke ever. He smiled at the dog with the wet hair coming up for air. She realized that she had to play it cool. She smiled back at him and waved her arms like she was just having a prank with a good friend. He knew how much she was struggling and a bitter smirk ran over his lips belittling her desperation.

"I want you to ensure that my clients have a good time," I pulled a bundle of brand new one hundred dollar bills out of my purse and pressed it into his hands. "Don't fuck this up," I hissed at him without a hint of a friendliness. He mentally seized up the three thousand dollar cash in his hand and jumped to attention with his hand for a formal greeting at his captain's hat. I walked away to find the restroom.

Restrooms can be hard on me. I sit on that plastic ring in a comfortably spaced booths. There is ripped off toilet paper on the floor with footsteps on it. There is piss on the floor because some girl was too disgusted by the seat and hovered only to miss the toilet. There is a red tampon in the back corner from a girl conscientious enough to not flush yet not conscientious enough to throw it in the trash. That's not the trouble.

I can't relax. I feel that pain at the top of my pussy. I feel that fear of pissing my pants in a second. Yet, I can't let go. I know if I get up I might not be able to hold it in because it's so much at the tip yet. Still I can't relax to let it out. Those deals always give me a certain anxiety and tension that I have to armor against. If you'd touch my body, you'd find my muscles tense like armor plates. That's how my Asian parents dealt with the stress of life. Hold it in. Be quiet about it. I was leaning on my knees. My body was shaking from the pain of the urine pressing against the closing muscle.

The worst part is when I clench like that for ten minutes or so. My pee sphincter gets so hurt by it that it'll burn the rest of the night. Guys never see that. They look at my body and get horny. They don't see that there is a struggling human. All that talk about me being on top of the world is simply a way for me to feel good. In truth, I don't know what to do with my life but hold on.

My therapist said to think of something relaxing. I liked patting cats as a kid. I think of myself as a big cat that's getting patted. I think of myself as turning my head into a soft hand to let myself fall on my back and bear my belly for soft fingers to caress. "Make it more real," my therapist said. I let out a purr. I let the soft purr rise from the bottom of my belly and crawl up my skin to where I'm leaning into an imaginary hand that is oh so soft and warm. Then, I let the purr really resonate in my throat. Ugh, the pee hisses angrily out of me. The pool of water in the toilet churns from the jet.

"No touching yourself in there, lady!" yells a drunk party bitch. I shut her out of my mind as I let shivers of goosebumps chase across my body as I curl into that imaginary hand.

I wipe my pussy. I shrug my skirt down. I freshen up my makeup. I step out of the restroom. I walk back into the zoo of twenty somethings drinking and groping each other. Marin and Jean are sitting Indian style ogling party girls. Jean is wearing a checkered shirt and pants that were clearly custom fitted for his big romp.

I go straight up to Jean because he doesn't make a move to talk, "Hey, what do you think about coming to our firm?"

"No business talk," he says sternly waving off. "We are going to a strip club later. Are you coming?"

Okay, so the deal is either already a go, or they are mining me before they cut me loose. Either way, they are not letting me influence them. I could accept my faith and patiently wait. Or I could play hard.

"Are you ready to party?" I ask Jean.

"Yeah, sure," Jean shrugs. I can tell. He really wants the hot young things. Yet, he knows that he has no chance. So, he impotently sits back.

"ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO PARTY?" I yell an inch from his space. The spit is shooting into his cheeks, eyes, and nose in medium sized projectiles.

The anger rattles him alive. He yells, a "HELL YES" back. I step on the futon. Every step, the heels rip a hole into the fabric. I push him on his back. I swing the vodka bottle under my skirt and pretend to piss in his mouth with the vodka bottle. He protests at first. Though, when he realizes that I'm giving him a look at my panties, he laps up happily.

Marin looks a bit shocked and then starts clapping. His face says that he's experiencing Vegas for real. He pumps his hands in the air like the party got to him.

I raise my right hand into the air and snap. The boat captain, exquisitely trained to pay attention to the important in the nightly chaos, snaps to attention. I point the index and middle finger up to tell him to get two girls. Then, I point the two fingers down at the guys. The boat captain nods.

A minute later, he shows up with two girls. They are small bopper, barely taller than five feet. They are a little chubby, yet so young that they look hot. I can tell from their faces that they drink a lot. There is a certain roundness to their features. One of them wears a little net over her bikini to look more dressed up. The other just has huge boobs that require heavy restraining. I get five shot glasses out and poor the vodka across the glasses, spilling a lot on the futon. They knock the shots down. I serve them a second round. I can tell those two girls don't give a fuck about how ugly and old the guys are. They simply want to drink. They are addicts. They smile just enough to keep the hopes of the guys up.

Jean puts his fat hand on the nearly bare butt of the girl with the netting over her chest. She lets him do it. She smiles and looks at the vodka bottle for a third shot. I calculate in my head her body weight of 100 lbs. and three servings of alcohol gets her at 0.8 blood alcohol level. Jean at 240 lbs. and six standard servings of alcohol is around 0.3 blood alcohol level. He mustn't go above 0.5 before he signs the contract or he can annul it for intoxication.

I get a packet of coke out of my purse, a small square, clear foil with white powder. I dangle it in front of the girl with the big boobs. "You like that," I ask her and let me lips move around lusciously and slowly. She looks between my lips and the packet, not sure which she likes more. So, she is a little bit bi. I turn to Marin, I pull his waistband away from his belly and let the packet drop down. The girl looks at me confused. I whisper into her ear while touching her boobs as if I'm casually holding onto her, "No hands. Let me know if you need help." She smiles at me. I give her courage. She leans forward and starts biting into the waistband of Marin's pants.

Jean is not doing so well. He is silently sitting. The girl realizing that he doesn't do anything starts fishing for the vodka bottle to help herself. Bottle rats! I take the bottle out of her hand. She looks at me with big eyes. She's trapped. Her girlfriend looks like she is enjoying herself and won't leave with her. She doesn't like the fat guy Jean. She wants the vodka in my hand.

"Party train," I yell! I grab the girl's hands and put them on my shoulders. Then, I put Jean's hands on her shoulder. I hold the vodka bottle high, so that she knows what she is following. I walk them through the other partiers to the shallow end of the pool and right in the water with the clothes on. A cheer erupts around us. More people in clothes storm to the pool. The security scrambles to keep them out. A bouncer yells at us to come out but the boat captain taps him on the shoulder and the bouncer goes quiet. We are the only once allowed with clothes in the pool. Well, the girl with the netting was mostly in swimwear anyway.

It turns out the girl can't swim. So, she is holding onto Jean's body tightly, which he loves immensely, being the big guy in the pool at the center of attention of a girl. Some of the younger guys look at him jealously. They realize that Jean is special with a vodka bottle in hand and his clothes on. They know that he is some rich and powerful guy. I hold the vodka bottle to the lips of the girl. She eagerly drinks her reward. I carefully lead her head, so that she smothers his face with her boob.

The excitement kind of leaves after a while. We are back at the table, where the big boob girl is doing a line of coke of Marin's belly. I think Marin has never seen coke before.

I casually turn to Jean, "Let's get the paperwork out of the way, so that we can really party."

His eyes open at the idea what really partying could mean with me. He probably came and expected to be a gold baron for ogling me. Now, he has hope of getting laid. That hope makes men greedy. He signed the contract from my purse without any questions. That was obviously not very thought through on his part. Once the contract was signed, I didn't have any motivation to game harder anymore. I was simply going to keep things going a bit to make it not too obvious.

The net girl started feeling comfortable and began her game. She proposed a drinking game. I should have realized that was her motivation to drink. After getting the deal, I simply wasn't that motivated anymore. The game was stupid. Any time a new song came, we all had to take a shot. The veil of a game over simply drinking away our vodka was so bare. Though, none of the guys minded. Everyone except me was shooting for increasing the alcohol consumption of everyone else.

My memory started getting blurry. At some point a guy came up to me. I just hit him on the head with a vodka bottle. He went down for a second. He ran like a little cry sissy to a bouncer. The boat captain told him something about not groping people and kicked him out. He never groped me. The boat captain told me to reign it in and that he wouldn't stick with the groping story if it came to a court case.

It wasn't much longer and the staff took the bottles away discretely. The lights in the club turned on. Bouncers started herding reluctant partiers toward the exit. The magician turned back the curtain on the magic. We had spent a few hours at a filthy concrete pool and believed ourselves into being special. The hot girls and guys looked all blemished in the full light. The darkness hides so many imperfections and stimulates the imagination.

The elevator was super packed. I tried stomping with my heels on someone's, anyone's, toes. Only a bland thud happened. I was barefoot. I had lost my heels somewhere upstairs. My feet were probably filthy. I passed out on the chest of some guy in front of me for a little while. The guys was really smitten and friendly as he helped me out of the elevator.