I sat on the edge of the windowsill, looking down at the cars driving by, leaving trails of white, yellow, and red from their headlights. I sighed, leaning my head against the cold stone of the apartment building I lived in. I lifted one of my palms and saw in them the indentations of the stone. Should I do it? I thought, looking down once more. I always found myself at this point and not being able to go further. Chicken, I said to myself. I crawled back through the window and gave a sigh when my bare feet touched the carpet.
"God damn it," I snarled at myself.
Shutting the window, I went to the mini bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took a swig. The liquid burned like fire as it went down my throat and into my belly. I gave an un-lady-like belch and resigned myself to laze on the couch. Taking another swallow, I gazed up at the ceiling.
Here I was, pushing mid-forties, which was apparently "over-the-hill" in accordance to my ex-husband who had left me a week ago for some floozy he was seeing at the office. Cliché but true. The bastard. So what if I was forty-four? Hell, I still looked good, I still could turn heads if I wanted to. I was five foot five, all-natural blonde, brown eyes, and a natural tan. No where on my body was I sagging or decorated with stretch marks. Another swig of whiskey and more fire burn. Men... men were stupid, I thought, all of them. All they did was follow their god damned dicks. Fuck them, who needed them?
I stood up and set the bottle aside. I wasn't all that drunk yet and I didn't feel like getting drunk alone. Going to my bedroom, I flung open the doors of my closet. I looked at the big empty space where Brad's clothing had been and my lip curled in disgust. I had come home early to find him and his girlfriend in our bedroom. He was packing up some things and she had the nerve to be touching my stuff. I thanked god that I'd come home just after the gym, though I knew even if I had been in high heels and a business suit, it wouldn't have stopped me. First I'd gone for the girl, yanking her hair then pulling off the earrings she had on her and the bracelets. Next, I had smacked her in the face then literally put foot-to-ass and got her out of the bedroom. Brad, my husband, had tried to calm me down but I wouldn't hear any of it. I punched him in the nose and as he rolled around on the ground with his stupid whore screaming over him, I called up building security. Since I was the tenant there before him and since they liked me better than him, I had him and his bitch removed from the premises. When I'd seen him outside, I dumped his clothing, which I had cut up with a kitchen knife, right out the window. Including his so-called secret porno collection, one cardboard box full of Hustler, Playboy, Penthouse, and Jugs, shredded into colorful x-rated confetti.
I smiled, remembering the look on Brad's face when he got showered with his belongings. I didn't need him. He had never done anything for me. I pushed him out of my mind and sifted through my clothing, finding each outfit unsatisfactory until I found what I was looking for. It was a skimpy little outfit consisting of a black halter type top with a built in corset, a matching black skirt that had a hem down to my knees and a slit up the right side to my hip, and matching black heels that I deemed my slut-shoes. I had bought this for a girls-trip to Vegas years ago and the memories that came with the outfit were the best I had. And tonight I hoped to make some more with this little number.
I ran myself a hot bath with the works: bath oils, scented candles, mood lighting, and music. This was my night, my night of fun, my night of pleasure. Tonight, I was going to get as trashed as I wanted, and maybe, just maybe, I'd go for a one-night stand with something hot. I leaning my head back against the padded headrest of the tub, I thought of all the things that I could do tonight, things that I hadn't done in years, since I'd married Brad.
My hands drifted in the water and slid over my body, and my fingers unconsciously drifted over my full breasts, just touching my hardening nipples.
Maybe I'd meet up with some Casanova type guy that'd whisk me off my feet and give me the fucking of my life. Brad, why the fuck had I married that loser anyway?
My hands drifted lower.
It certainly wasn't for the sex. Brad was mediocre, at best. Hell, I'd had to fake orgasms for the whole eight years I was married to that incompetent idiot and I thanked god that I hadn't gotten pregnant by him. He'd been stuck as a car salesman for a two-bit auto dealership and if we'd had a kid, I think the baby would have some serious mental problems. Come to think of it, I hadn't had an orgasm since I had married him. Eight years of running dry. Even masturbation couldn't do the job. Brad had just sucked it all out of me.
My fingers found my pussy and I slid a finger between my lips to find my clit. I moaned when my finger brushed against the sensitive bud and my hips jerked against my hand.
Even if I couldn't cum, it was still fun though.
I rubbed vigorously, grinding down, feeling the jolts of pleasure shoot through me, making my legs tremble. I slid a finger in, pumping it in and out frantically, then I added another, and another till I had three fingers in, my hips humping up and water sloshed around in the tub.
"Oh god oh god oh god," I hissed between clenched teeth. I was so close. So damn close! My hand and legs cramped up and I collapsed back, breathing hard, hot, horny, and dissatisfied.
Letting my hand slide from my pussy, I closed my eyes to catch my breath, feeling the wet heat between my thighs go from a crazy devouring fire to a bearable boil. I finished up with my bath, got out, and dried off. I would just have to settle with what I found tonight.
Perusing through my collection of body oils, I chose sandalwood and opening the vial I poured some into my hand and rubbed it into my skin till I felt warm and tingly. It gave my tanned skin a nice glow. Next I wriggled into a tiny lacy black pair of panties and matching bra that boosted and panties that flaunted. Around the thigh that would be hidden by the skirt, I strapped on a garter belt that I had had specially made for my party years. It was black with some lace and it came with a special clip-on wallet big enough for some cash and a couple of cards. Filling it with what I needed, I smiled, hands on hips. I had a good feeling about tonight.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I grinned. The finished product, I thought, was mouth-watering. My hair, clean and dry, was styled up in a sultry loose bun. My skin had a golden glow to it from the oil. And surprise, surprise, I still fit into my skimpy little outfit, though my breasts were a bit larger and they were very close to spilling out of my top's cups.
"You look good, girl," I said to my reflection, "You look good."
I chose my silvery coat and in a few minutes, I was out in a cab, heading towards the party district of the city.
As I sat in the backseat, I felt giddy, butterflies in my stomach. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, unable to contain my excitement for this night out. I knew that it was going to be awesome. When was the last time I had been out? I wondered. The fact that I couldn't remember was a sign that screamed "YOU DESERVE THIS!"
I was looking out the window, my elbow leaned on the door when I glanced to the front and noticed the cabdriver, a dusky skinned man who looked like he was in his early thirties, was watching me. His eyes, a deep blue and intense, stared hard at me, darting to the road now and then.
"Do you like what you see?" I asked. The cabdriver, Ben Orlov was his name according to his ID tag, was caught off-guard. I knew because he swerved into the next lane. I laughed. "Weren't expecting that, were you?" I asked.
"I-I'm sorry," he said, his voice deep with a slight accent. His eyes darted to the review mirror then back to the road. "I've just never... never seen a woman so beautiful." I cocked a manicured eyebrow at him.
"You haven't, have you?" I asked, feeling flattered by his compliment. I knew that he probably said it to see if he'd get a chance to get into my panties and I debated whether or not to give him a chance. I decided I wouldn't but who said anything about not teasing the hell out of him. But first, I asked, "Are you married, Ben?"
"Yes, I am," he replied.
"Do you go off duty after this?" I asked. I unbuttoned my coat, exposing the banquet of flesh that was squeezed into the cups. His eyes darted back to the review mirror and I gave him a juicy red smile as I eased my coat open, showing off my outfit. I shifted my legs so the slit opened up and showed off my bare legs.
"Yes," Ben replied. His voice sounded a bit strangled.
"Good," I said and began to stroke my thigh, running my painted nails along my skin. I leaned my head back a little, parting my lips and I flicked my tongue out to lick my top lip. I trailed my hand up my body, feeling myself, the soft buzz from the hard liquor that I had downed earlier, and the buzz of actually feeling attractive. My hand reached my breasts, straining to be free with each breath I took. I trailed a finger between my breasts. I saw a bead of sweat trickle down between Ben's eyes. I licked my lips again and arched my back, making my breasts strain even more against my outfit. Lucky for Ben's pants, we arrived at my destination, the White & Black Club, exclusive beyond belief. The owner was a long time friend of mine and I knew I could get in.
.... There is more of this story ...