The Vegas Job

It had gone wrong, very wrong. But she'd adapted, improvised, and persevered. And won. Tia Street shook her head to dispel the hot, edgy tension eating at her, said to herself, "C'est la guerre," and sent the text.

She dropped the snoring man's phone on the bed beside his naked body, picked up her stylish Louboutin bag, and, after grabbing the chic floppy-brimmed hat, she left room 8533 in Caesars Palace. Carefully staying clear of Cat's beam - the one projecting the image of an empty corridor onto the lens of the hallway security camera - Tia removed the hairnet and surgical gloves, dropped them into her bag, pulled her hat low on her head and walked quickly to the elevator. After she entered, Cat turned off her laser and punched the Lobby button.

Taking care that the brim of her large hat hid her face from the camera in the elevator, Tia raised her head just enough so Cat could see her face and smiled at her assistant. She was the boss and had to exude confidence and élan. Always. They wouldn't speak until they were safely away from Caesars, but Tia's nod communicated that, despite the far longer duration than anticipated, the mission had been a success. As the elevator whisked them to the lobby, to distract herself from the skittish, anxious energy coursing through her, Tia thought back, remembering how everything had come about.

***

Bart Johnson was an ass. A real estate tycoon of the lying and cheating variety, his despicable nature became crystal clear when Tia read the prenup he'd coerced his far younger second wife, Alice, into signing. It was a monstrosity. Even if he treated her like dirt, had blatant affairs, and kept her on an impossibly tight financial tether, Alice would get but a pittance if he divorced her, and next to nothing if she filed against him. Though the contract could be broken only if Bart committed a serious crime, he could end the marriage anytime, just on a whim. Or when he decided that Alice had become too old and wanted to trade her in on a newer model.

As was now the case.

So Alice Johnson had done what any self-respecting, still-gorgeous-at-40 woman would do. She called TiaTec. Based in Kansas City, it was the only all-female private detective agency in the country. Not only were all 8 operatives women, strikingly beautiful women at that, but the firm took only female clients. Those who were being screwed over by their bastard husbands.

Alice had flown to KC after the phone call and met with Tia and Cat, her right hand. She was a bit aghast at the fee. Like class-action law firms, TiaTec took 25% of all that was "recovered," plus expenses. Alice was reassured, however, when Tia explained that payment was contingent on success. It would come due only upon completion of the mission, when the prenup was successfully terminated.

In that case Alice would get half of what Bart was worth, and though he was totally worthless, he was filthy rich. Even after the firm's 25%, Alice would get eight digits of dollars, and the first number would not be a one. Or a two. It was a win-win, as long a TiaTec delivered.

The odds were it would. Clients, who heard of the firm through murky backdoor channels - bridge clubs, health spas, sororities, women's clubs, garden societies, all word-of-mouth - knew TiaTec was famous for righting wrongs inflicted on aggrieved women.

As they listened to Alice give as many details as she could about her husband, especially his sordid sexual quirks, Cat sat back, taking notes. And smiling at how, like everyone else, Alice was completely in Tia's thrall, charmed and awed by her boss.

Tia's long, luminous dark brown hair flowed to the middle of her back and framed a noble, classic face. A natural blush alluringly tinted the creamy, flawless skin on her concave cheeks as they tapered to a narrow chin, and inverted Nike-swoosh eyebrows pulled attention to her mystifying eyes. Because they seemed to change hue with the light, no one could quite pin down their color. Cat thought they could best be described as the color of wheat, just as it began to ripen, turning from green to amber. Regardless of their tint, everyone surrendered to their beguiling power.

The most kissable mole adorned her left cheek just above luscious lips that began paper thin at the edges and blossomed to a voluptuous pucker. When those lips smiled the room lit up, and the dimples thus formed were so captivating that everyone found themselves trying to be clever, striving to provoke another ray of sunshine.

Tia's body evoked the statues and portraits of history's most beautiful women. Perfect breasts with small areolae were capped by markedly large, lovely nipples that flushed to hot pink and hardened to eraser firmness when cold. Or fondled. Broad shoulders tapered to a high, narrow waist which ripened beguilingly to surprisingly voluptuous hips and a derrière that just cried out for caresses. Her yoga and aikido-toned thighs and calves were as shapely as they were appealing, and her dance background lent her a grace and poise that made her irresistible.

But what really captivated everyone was Tia herself, her keen intellect, easy manner, and remarkably quick and incisive wit. Tia was fun. She constantly saw the paradoxes in life, and always found the perfect bon mots to express her ironic observations.

As Alice continued recounting all of Bart's quirks, when Tia heard that he was headed to Las Vegas the next week to indulge his most perverse sexual cravings with his favorite dominatrix, a plan began to form in her mind. It It was a variation on the one she had created for the caper in Moab, Utah, which itself was a spinoff of the St. Louis job. It was one of her basic modus operandi and had never failed.

Tia briefed Alice on the plan's rough outline, reviewed the details in the contract, and had Alice sign on the dotted line. Standard operating procedure. Though clients didn't need to know the specifics of what the firm was going to do, Alice did need to realize that Tia was going to make it appear that Bart had committed a crime serious enough to void the prenup. As Tia's actions would likely fall just a tad outside the strictures of even Nevada's lax legal code, it was essential that Alice knew enough that she would also be implicated should the plot be discovered.

That, too, was standard operating procedure. Tia could see into the future, and knew that Alice would be grilled incessantly by her jealous friends about how she had managed such a lucrative settlement. Having abetted in the commission of a crime always proved a powerful incentive to remain mute.

After Alice had returned home, the plan was quickly finalized, and Tia, Cat and Anne flew to Sin City. And went fishing.

It had taken three casts before Bart took the bait. That bait was Tia, doing one of her patented boob flashes, adding the Vegas strip to her long list of saucy reveals. Each morning found Anne stationed in the Caesars lobby, waiting to text when Bart went out for his daily morning constitutional.

The first day he'd turned north, towards The Mirage. Stationed to the south where most of the strip's action took place, Tia did the flash anyway and Cat took the pic. As part of her persona, the one that her targets, like Bart, always found so intriguing that they became putty in her hands, Tia bared her breasts all over the country, and, using a catchy alias, posted the results on Reddit. It was another win-win, both fun for Tia and a perfect cover story for her jobs. Just a fun-loving, sexy young woman bent on having a good time.

They had positioned themselves to the north on the second day, but Bart turned south. However, on that fateful third morning, he again went north. Right into Tia's clutches. She had on her favorite flashing dress, the black one with the small white polkadots that buttoned, or in this case unbuttoned, in the front. The one that stayed closed even with the top five buttons undone.

Tia waited until Bart was right behind Cat, then put on her most fun, alluring smile, and popped open the dress. Right on cue, Bart popped open his mouth in surprise and appreciation.

From her long conversation with Alice, Tia had realized that Bart was such an egotist that he actually would believe that a gorgeous, 20-something woman might be attracted to him. Not surprising, really. A quite dapper 60-something multimillionaire, Bart was accustomed to encountering beautiful, willing young women everywhere he went. As anticipated, Bart put on a sly, suave smile and sidled right up to Tia.

"You have beautiful boobs, baby," he said. Tia swooned. Such a clever line! When he asked for another look, a closeup, she gave it to him - it was part of the plan - but closed up quickly when his hands shot towards her.

"You can have one, but only one, very gentle touch, mister," Tia said teasingly as she swatted away his closest paw. "Put your left hand in your pocket. Now." Not perceiving in the slightest either the sudden slickness or slant of the sidewalk, Bart took the next step down the slippery slope.

He obeyed.

Bart's eager face flushed a bit when Tia again open her dress, gave "her girls" a little shake, and they danced happily. His eyes grew even bigger, and lost focus when she took his hand and placed it on her breast.

As his fingers played on her nipple, Tia hid her surprise. Though she was mildly repelled by his arrogance, she had to admit that Bart knew how to fondle a breast. Tia ignored the sensations and played her role, coyly smiling and pushing her tit back against his hand. Her nipples, also good actors, performed their parts, erecting to hot pink hard posts.

Now that Bart was nibbling hungrily at the bait, Tia set the hook. She leaned closer, and her whisper was so soft that it drew him in further. "This dress is the only thing I have on. Want to see?"

Quite taken with the idea, Bart said, "Yeah, I sure would."

"After you buy me dinner tonight, I'll show you."

"But I have a date, I'm meeting a woman and..."

"Cancel it. I'll have to change my plans, too. I have reservations at Amalfi for 7:00 and I'll meet you there. I have some very fun toys and we'll have a great time. If you have any favorite gizmos, be sure to bring them."

As Tia removed his hand, she could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head as he debated what to do. And came to the only possible conclusion. Alice had said Bart was so cheap that he'd cheat his own mother out of her last dime, and Tia knew that his escort that night would cost thousands. Before tip. By offering him a similar adventure for just the price of a Bobby Flay dinner, Tia had him. Entranced. Entangled. Entrapped.

"Well, okay," he said, again wowing Tia with his clever repartee. "What's your name, honey?"

Wowed yet again, Tia said, "You can call me Goddess. I'll call you mister."

***

Using no names had been fine with Bart and dinner had been quite tasty. Surprising Tia again, he proved to be quite charming, attentive and witty, and, despite her determination to carry out the mission, Tia had found herself actually enjoying their conversation. The rose hadn't hurt, either. When, as he arrived at the table, he bowed dashingly when presenting it to her, Tia smiled, and, making certain that her fish was still securely on the line, gave him another quick flash. She then left the top three buttons of her dress undone, ensuring a most alluring décolletage. Especially when she leaned forward.

As she did often.

Those peeks down her dress, and her frequent flirtatious brushes of the back of his hand insured that the hook stayed firmly set. Then, as their entrées were cleared away, Tia reeled him in. While he admired, ogled actually, her Reddit posts on his phone, Tia did the nasty. She fingered herself, then held the savory olfactory evidence under his nose. Bart stammered a bit, losing his otherwise rakish playboy persona, when he asked if she minded skipping dessert. He was eager.

But Tia was in charge.

She had insisted on their sharing a tasty trifle and he obeyed again, cementing their pattern. They split a flan, and, like a star-crossed young lover, Tia teasingly fed him his bites, holding the spoon in her aromatic fingers. After taking the last bite she leaned close, waited until his eyes had reluctantly risen from the V of her dress, and whispered that she didn't want them to go upstairs together. It would seem unseemly. Being careful to hold it only by the edges - she'd wiped it and wanted only Bart's fingerprints on it - she handed him the key card, reminded him to bring his bag of toys, and made him write down the room number.

Room 8533 was registered to a Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Brown of Poughkeepsie, who were at that very moment completing the first hour of their nightly gambling marathon at Caesars. He played poker while she fed the slots. Tonight they were under the watchful eye of Anne, who would text immediately should the Brown's break their habitual pattern, cutting short their excursion to return to their room. Tia, a woman of many talents, had replaced Mrs. Brown's key with one of her own, deprogrammed by a strong magnet, two days earlier. Especially when her current one-armed bandit beau disgorged a flood of quarters, Mrs. Brown didn't mind her handbag as well as she might.

After directing Bart to pay the bill and wait five full minutes, Tia had met Cat at the proper elevator, zipped up to the 8th floor, and Cat had done her magic with the laser. Tia donned flesh colored surgical gloves and a hairnet as she walked to the room and let herself in. With her phone. The program which had copied the key code had been expensive and legally ambiguous, but worth it.

Her preparations - getting out her accoutrement, positioning everything, and stripping the covers from the bed - were just complete when Tia heard the door unlock.

She smiled wryly and thought to herself, "You rascal. You didn't wait the requisite five minutes. Well, no matter."

Bart was all eager hands once inside the room. A blackbelt in Aikido, which emphasizes relaxed movement from one's core just like her favorite flavor of yoga, Tia quickly put her left hand over his right, clasped it to her chest, and sidestepped. Pulled off balance, Bart stumbled, and Tia's Nikyo wrist lock was flawless. As she curled his fingers under hers, Bart yelped, and her immediate elbow spiral sent him to the floor. She kept the wrist, and as her sensei had promised, without injuring Bart in the slightest, she had complete control.

"Hey! What gives, lady? I thought we were going to..."

"You are two minutes early, and you did not call me Goddess. Two grave errors. You need to be punished."

Just the slightest increase in pressure rendered Bart most cooperative, and, after addressing her properly, he agreed to do whatever she commanded thereafter. Just as he would have done with his high-priced dominatrix. He didn't balk in the slightest when she told him to disrobe, nor did he hesitate when she sat in the armchair and demanded that he crawl to the minibar to get her a nice Pinot Gris.

Tia leaned back and sipped her wine as he massaged and worshipped her feet. Once she'd had enough, Tia stood and directed him to crawl to the bed and lie down on his back. Bart obeyed.

Tia found herself mildly amused by his rakish, almost charming debauchery, by the situation, by everything. She liked being in charge, and this caper promised to be a lark, even entertaining. She immediately admonished herself and sequestered all emotions. She was a professional. This was a job. And it would soon be over.

Bart balked, pouting, when she handed him the water bottle and three blue pills. "They're Viagra. Take them," she commanded.

"I don't need it, you'll see," the suddenly petulant sub asserted. Indeed, his erect penis seemed firm, if small.

His impudence reminded her of several of the worst brats she'd encountered in her teens when making movie money babysitting. Knowing how to handle such twerps, Tia put a look of incredulity on her face and said, "Mister, with all I have planned, tonight you are definitely going to need it."

Bart's face lit up in expectant delight and Tia smiled as he took the pills. Though their appearance was quite like viagra, they were actually Ambien, dyed blue with food coloring. Bart would be out cold in 5 minutes and Tia could finish the job. Piece of cake.

After unpacking his toys - handcuffs, a dildo, lube, and a urethral sound - Bart obediently lay down on his back. Elated and eager. Tia sat on the bed beside him and reached for her first tool. She easily intercepted his hand en route to her breast, and Bart winced when she applied the wrist lock.

At Tia's prompting Bart apologized, but charmingly averred that it was all her fault. She was far too beautiful and way too sexy. He just couldn't control himself. Tia thought to herself, "What a roué," suppressed her amused smile, and continued the mission. When told, Bart put his arms into surrender position, and Tia picked up the feather she had placed under the pillow.

After reminding him that he had to keep his hands over his head and lie still, she began to twirl the feather up and down and all around his groin. As Bart moaned and twitched, Tia ignored his ecstatic writhing and sighing, and slowly, tantalizingly played the feather everywhere except on his penis, stalling, giving the sedative time to work.

When Bart impertinently reminded her that she'd promised to show more of herself, Tia had a quick internal debate. "You are a sassy one, aren't you? I wish I could just cold cock you, but it needs to appear that I was never here. So, lucky you, no physical injuries can occur. OK, I'll give you a little show until the pills take hold."

After telling him, firmly, that he could look but not touch, Tia teasingly, taking as much time as possible, undid the top five buttons of her dress. When Bart's eager eyes widened and his breathing became rapid and shallow as she languidly, tantalizingly eased it open, Tia smiled. Though he was a heel, Bart was a successful and powerful man, used to having his pick of eager young ingénues. Despite herself, Tia found his fawning admiration affirming.

First on one side, then the other, Tia uncovered and tweaked her nipples to full height and firmness. They then did their part, holding her dress open. Hearing his effusive, charming comments - evidently he was very taken with her breasts - Tia mused that she could see how this fellow could actually be appealing. To a certain type of susceptible woman.

Knowing that she had to keep him enticed until the pills took hold, Tia upped the ante, directing the feather to Bart's penis. His oozing pre-cum dampened it a bit when she ran it along his slit, but it made for more acute contact with the special spot where the head met the shaft. As Bart's breathing became even more labored, Tia wondered, "Why the heck aren't you asleep?"

Ignoring Bart's adoring comments, Tia redoubled her efforts with the feather. Bart responded as she knew he would. A maestro of ejaculation control, Tia knew all the signs. Once Bart's toes curled, he started wheezing and gasping, and his buttocks and thighs clamped, Tia dropped the feather and kept her hands at the ready. In case he tried to misbehave.

She'd expected Bart to complain, perhaps even to try to finish the job himself. He surprised her again, when, after his breathing steadied and his body unclenched, Bart sighed and said, "OMG! That was fantastic! You truly are a Goddess! You knew exactly when to stop. That was one of the best edges, ever. Thank you so much."

A shudder of uneasiness washed over Tia when he impishly continued, "Goddess, that was awesome, but you know, you did promise to show me what's under your dress. C'mon, baby, er Goddess, let me see that pretty pussy of yours."

Tia's ensuing internal discussion was a replay of the first, but with more urgency. "WTF, Bart! Why aren't you asleep already? You remind me of Jimmy Jones, the most annoying twerp for whom I sat. What worked with him? Um, that's right, a combination of threats, distractions and rewards. OK, buddy, I'll give you a little dance. Just drag it out, girl. He's sure to pass out any second now."