by Mia Ford
“Bruno who?”
“Bruno Mars!’ she said, tugging on my hands. “Jesus, Brad the banker, do you live in a cave?”
“Well, not exactly, but—”
“Then come on, shake that cute ass of yours!”
“You think I have a cute ass?”
She didn’t answer. She just left me standing with my mouth hanging open. She twirled a few times, waved her hands in the air, and started singing along. I had to admit, the song wasn’t half bad. It was catchy. I quickly found myself dancing close behind her like several of the other couples were doing. It almost looked like they were screwing with their clothes on. Maybe this was what they called “dirty dancing” these days. I put my hands on her hips. She stuck her ass out and giggled at me from over her shoulder. I pulled her back into me so she could feel the growing bulge in my pants pressed against her tight ass.
“Wow, Brad the banker,” she said, leaning her head back against my shoulder, bringing her hands back around my waist to pull me even closer into her. My cock plumped in my suit like a ballpark frank. “Is that a big noise maker in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”
I put my lips to her ear and ground into her. “Why don’t we go to my place and you can find out. Or your place if it’s closer.”
She twirled around and put her hands to my cheeks, then pulled my face to hers. She gave me a sloppy, drunken kiss and rubbed her nose to mine. “Later, Brad the banker. Let’s ring in the New Year here, then we’ll have our own little party at my place. It’s just around the corner. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” I said, jerking her toward me, kissing her again. “But midnight better get here soon, Molly the paralegal. I’m not sure how long I can hold out with you doing that.”
She put her hands around me and clutched my ass in her fingers. She ground her crotch to mine and growled in my ear. “Come on, Brad the banker. Show me what you got.”
Chapter 4: Katie/Molly
It was starting to feel like I really was a wild girl named Molly the paralegal, out at a bar on New Year’s Eve, partying, drinking, dancing my ass off, and trying to get laid by the hottest guy in town.
There I was, in public no less, coming onto a gorgeous hunk of a guy who already had a very sizable hard-on just from dancing with me. God only knew what he'd do when he got me naked. I could barely wait to find out.
When he put his hands on my hips and pulled my ass back into his crotch, I nearly screamed and knocked his block off. But then, Molly kicked in and I found myself reaching back to grab his ass. I pulled him into me. I could feel his cock hard in his pants, pressing against my ass, making my juices flow.
He didn’t beat around the bush. He immediately asked me to leave with him and I almost jumped at his offer, but Molly wasn’t finished having fun. Midnight was still a few minutes away. There was more booze to drink and more dancing to do. And more flirting and fondling. I had already kissed him once and he had kissed me back. I liked the feel and taste of his lips on mine. I wanted to feel and taste other things.
The Bruno Mars song ended, and a slow number came on. I was sweating like crazy in the red sweater. When I had gotten dressed earlier in the evening, I had not anticipated dancing my ass off in a hot club. I could feel the sweat pooling between my breasts, sluicing down my spine to the top of my ass. I needed a drink and a napkin—several napkins, in fact—but Brad the banker had other ideas. Before I could walk off the dance floor, he took my hand and pulled me close.
“Uh uh, not so fast,” he said, pulling me into his arms. My hands went around his neck and he put his hands on my waist, then slid them around to the top of my ass to pull me in close to him.
“I need a drink,” I said playfully, our noses touching. His eyes were deep brown, like two dark pools. I could see myself reflected in them. “And a visit to the ladies’ room. I’m melting in this sweater.”
“That sweater will be off soon enough,” he said, putting his cheek to mine and moving us slowly around the floor. “But first, you have to slow dance with me.”
“Okay…” I sighed in his ear. There was no way I could refuse. It felt so good being in his arms. He was wearing an expensive suit and smelled heavenly. I could feel the lean muscles in his shoulders, his chest pressing to mine. And his cock, harder now, was pushing into my leg. I shifted to the side a little, so it could rub against my cunt as we moved around the floor.
“I like the way you dance,” I said, my lips at his ear. “And you smell amazing. What is that?”
“Aramis,” he said, pressing his nose to my hair. “You smell nice, too. Is that lavender?”
“It is,” I said, pulling my head back so I could look him in the eyes.
He pushed his eyebrows up. “What?”
“Are you married, Brad the banker?” I asked.
He smiled. “Would it matter?”
I tried not to look too disappointed. “I’m afraid so. I don’t do married men.”
“What kind of men do you do?” he asked, smirking.
I gave him a scolding look. “The unmarried kind.”
He shook his head. “That’s good to know. I’ve never been married.”
“Swear?”
He held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”
I had already checked his left hand for a ring. He wore a large garnet on the finger, but no wedding band. “Okay,” I said, starting to stroke the back of his neck with my nails. “How about a fiancé?”
“Nope, never been engaged,” he said. “Never even close.”
“Not even close?” I asked, giving him a sideways smile. “How can someone who looks and smells and dances like you not have women lined up around the block to sleep with them.”
“I never said I didn’t have women lined up around the block,” he said. I couldn’t tell by his expression if he was joking or not. I was too drunk to notice the little red flag waving in my brain. “I just said I’d never been engaged.”
“Ah, so you do have women lined up around the block.”
He slid his hands down over my ass and lifted me up to my tiptoes. “Other women may be lined up around the block, but I’m here with you.”
I bit my lip and gave him a drunken, horny stare. “Is that supposed to make me feel special?”
Before he could answer, the crowd started the countdown to midnight. Brad the banker and I held hands and chanted right along with them.
“Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one… Happy New Year!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and hollers. The bar filled with the sights and sounds of New Year’s: noisemakers, horns, streamers, balloons, and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing. I turned back to Brad and put my hands to his cheeks. “Happy New Year, Brad the banker.”
“Happy New Year, Molly the paralegal.”
I pulled his face down to mine and gave him a deep, wet, hot, sloppy kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and put my lips to his ear and sighed.
“Okay, whatever your name really is, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Chapter 5: Conner/Brad
Molly and I went over to say a quick goodbye to Andy and Monique, who looked at us as if we had two heads. Andy wasn’t shocked at all that I had been there less than an hour and was leaving with the most beautiful girl in the place. Monique, on the other hand, gave me a hard, suspicious look, like I was forcing her friend to leave against her will. While Monique was doublechecking with Molly to make sure things were cool, I gave the waitress another hundred-dollar bill and asked her to bring my coat. While the girls chatted, I pulled Andy aside.
“Hey, what do you know about this girl?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes at me. He was shitfaced. “What girl?”
“The girl I’m about to leave with,” I said. “Monique’s friend.”
“Uh…” He turned to look at the girls for a moment as if he didn’t have a clue who I was talking about, then turned back to me and shrugged. “She works with Mo
nique at some law firm downtown, I think. Can’t remember the name of the firm. Why? What difference does it make? I mean, did you see those tits?” He cupped his chest with his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Freakin’ unbelievable.”
I rolled my eyes at him and leaned in to lower my voice. “If Monique asks, my name is Brad Smith, and I’m a banker with a small firm downtown. Understand?”
Andy gave me a drunken smile and punched me in the arm. “You haven’t changed a bit, you old pussy hound. Always playing games.”
“I’m a pussy hound?” I asked playfully, nodding at Monique, who was giving Molly a wide-eyed look like she couldn’t believe she was leaving with a total stranger. “I’d just rather not deal with the fallout if she knew who I really was. I have a certain reputation to protect. You understand.”
“Oh, trust me, old pal, I understand.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a shake. “Can’t have Wall Street thinking its golden boy is out slumming with the common folk. Those Victoria’s Secret super models wouldn’t like it if they found out you dipped your gold-plated cock in a little low-class pussy.”
“That’s not it,” I said with a frown. “Jesus, Andy, I forget what an asshole you can be.”
“I’m just fucking with you… Brad was it?”
“Brad Smith. Banker. Small firm downtown.”
“Got it, Brad Banks from downtown Smith,” he said as the girls stepped up to join us. He patted me on the shoulder again and lied badly on purpose. “Great seeing you again, Brad, you old banker from Smith, you.”
I exchanged a quick glance with Molly, who was smiling back at me. She knew Brad Smith wasn’t my real name, and I knew she wasn’t really Molly the paralegal. It was a fun game to play for two people who had no intention of seeing each other past sunrise. I had my reasons for playing the game and so did she. As long as we both woke up and walked away happy, where was the harm?
“Okay, Brad the banker, let’s go,” Molly said after giving Monique a final hug and giving Andy a pat on the arm in an obvious move to avoid giving him a hug. Andy was a leech and Molly seemed to know it.
My guess was that if I hadn’t shown up he would have tried to get them both back to his hotel room for a little three-way fun. Andy was a good-looking guy, but I doubted Molly would have taken him up on his offer. Even though she was leaving with me, a total stranger, for a one-night stand, she just didn’t impress me as the type who did this sort of thing too often. And quite honestly, Andy’s personality was often the best contraceptive.
I put on my coat and helped with hers, then took her hand and led her through the crowded bar toward the door.
“I have a car,” I said after we finally managed to push our way onto the sidewalk. I started searching my pockets for my cellphone. “Just let me call the driver.”
“You have a car and driver?” she asked, a snarky look on her face. She wrapped her hands around my arm and gave me a tug. “Come on, Brad, I live two blocks away. We can be naked in a hot shower by the time your car gets here.”
I shoved the phone in my pocket and l gave her a smile.
“I like the way you think.”
“Just wait till you see how I do other things,” she said, teasing me with her eyes. “Not come on, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
* * *
Molly lived in a sixth-floor walk-up four blocks—not two—from the bar. It was freezing outside, and our teeth chattered along the way. We buttoned our coats and wrapped scarves around our necks and huddled together as we hurried down the sidewalk toward her place. She was more drunk than me. She giggled the whole way, like a giddy school girl sneaking off to do something she shouldn’t be doing, something naughty… really, really naughty.
I briefly thought about what Andy had said. I wasn’t worried in the least about what my associates in my firm on Wall Street would say if they knew what I was doing. Most of them were men who screwed whoever they could, whenever they could, I couldn’t imagine them passing much judgment on me for having a one-nighter with a paralegal. Many of them used high-end escort services because the escorts were more trustworthy than women they’d meet in bars or at fancy parties. Normal women liked to talk about the rich men they fucked. Escorts were paid not to.
We were all filthy rich and powerful, and there wasn’t a monogamous one in the bunch, even among the older married partners. Hell, they were the worst. Talk about pussy hounds. The richest men always are. Money and power are better than a bottle of Viagra. If having them doesn’t make a man’s dick hard they’re in the wrong profession.
We finally got to Molly’s building, an old brownstone on a quiet side street. There was no doorman, of course, so Molly used her key to let us inside a small lobby that contained a bank of mail slots on the wall and one door to the stairs.
“There’s no elevator?” I asked, huffing out cold breath. It wasn’t much warmer in the lobby than it was outside. Damn, what had I gotten myself into? I hoped that her apartment had heat to keep us warm until our bodies started generating a fire of their own.
“There is no elevator,” she said, tugging open the stairwell door and hitching her head to the side. “Come on, Brad the banker. A few stairs gonna wear you out?”
“Uh, no, I run marathons,” I said smugly. “What floor do you live on?”
“Sixth,” she said with a smirk. “You can come up or we can just have a quickie right here on the stairs. Up to you. I do have to warn you, screwing on these stairs will get your expensive coat dirty, so…”
I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not until she smiled and held out a gloved hand. I joined her at the door and took her in my arms and kissed her again. She kissed me back hard, shoving her hot tongue in my mouth and pressing her body into mine.
“Now, unless you are too old and out of shape to climb stairs…”
I grinned and took her hand. “You just try to keep up.”
We bolted up the first couple of flights, then the alcohol kicked in and we both slowed down. I wasn’t kidding. I did run marathons, but climbing six flights of stairs in the middle of winter when you’re freezing and drunk was proving to be a chore.
“You okay?” she asked with a smile.
“Yes, just a little drunk,” I said, trying to breathe.
Molly grinned at me and unbuttoned her coat.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my eyebrows arching.
“Giving you a little incentive,” she said with a devious grin.
She opened her coat and lifted the bottom of her sweater to show me her beautiful tits. She was wearing a sheer, black lacy bra that was doing its best to hold the large milky melons. The bra snapped in the front. She tweaked the snap with two fingers and her glorious boobs popped free.
Her tits were round and white, with large areolas and pink nipples the size of my little finger tip.
“Just a few more stairs, Brad the banker, and these can be all yours.”
Chapter 6: Katie/Molly
I know, what kind of good Irish Catholic girl flashes her tits at a total stranger in a freezing cold stairwell? This kind, I guess. It was a fun, silly thing to do. The truth was, I was so drunk and horny by that time that I would have had sex right there on the stairs if that was my only option. Funny, he was in great shape and kept talking about running marathons, but Brad quickly discovered there was a big different in running long distances on level ground and climbing six flights of stairs when you’re drunk.
So, I decided he needed a little incentive.
Actually, Molly decided.
She was a fun girl with great tits. What better way to motivate Brad to get his ass up the stairs. So, I opened my coat, pulled up my sweater, unhooked my bra, and set the big girls free.
The look on his face was priceless.
His mouth hung open and his eyes went as wide as saucers.
“Just a few more stairs, Brad the banker, and these can be all yours.”
“What is your apartment number?” he asked, grinning.
“6-D, last apartment on the right.”
“As in double D,” he said, licking his lips. “Well, Molly the paralegal, try to keep up!’
Brad bolted up the stairs, leaving me standing there with my tits hanging out and nipples rock hard from the cold. I pulled down my sweater without worrying about the bra. With any luck, it would be on the floor in my apartment within the next two minutes anyway.
Brad ran like a man possessed. He made it to the sixth floor well ahead of me. When I pushed through the stairwell door and fell into the hallway, laughing and panting like a whipped dog, he was already standing next to my door. He was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug smile on his face.
“What took you so long?” he asked as I shuffled toward him. I pulled my purse off my arm and dug through it to find my keys.
“You don’t play fair,” I said, shoving my key into the lock. “What kind of gentleman leaves a lady standing in a freezing stairwell with her boobs hanging out?”
His smile made me melt. “The kind of gentleman that will make up for it as soon as this door is unlocked.”
I turned the key and pushed open the door. I put a finger under his chin and stood on my tiptoes to bite his chin.
“Come on in, Brad the banker,” I said, taking his tie in my fist again to pull him inside. “Come show Miss Molly what you’ve got.”