Readers of my first two entries know that I can be a hound, especially on Thursday evenings. Being deficient of skills in some games, I excel in others. My specialty is picking up a stray woman on Thursdays. In the business game, whilst conventions, trade fairs and annual meetings run Monday through Friday, attendees are ready to go home by Thursday. On Fridays, members do their final elevator talks; luggage waits inside the hotel room door. The final meetings (awards, assessments, new assignments, executive decisions) are on Friday mornings. Two things are mandatory: that the final night is a rip-roaring blast and attendance is taken the next day.

Although their suitcases are ready that evening, drooped over my lady’s bag are the little black dress, the neat heels, the push-up bra and sexy panties. All can be squeezed into the makeup kit in the bathroom. She is ready to play and I am too!

My question was, “Who will it be this time?”

I locked onto her. She looked to be under forty, trim, self-assured, a businesswoman who was educated, well-coiffed and, this time, single.

The hotel bar was busy, but I found an eight-seat table with five of the above paragraph and one guy. He must have been new to the game: still in a suit and tie. Eagerness here equals desperation.

“Send me in, coach, I’m ready to play!” may be his motto, but his awkwardness around these ladies showed he was not ready.

I sat and listened, sizing up the table. Contestant Number One was out; she was the manager and dared not show interest in anything outside of work. The table knew Number One was still on duty; she sized up who got raises and who stayed home next year. I sat next to her sycophant of an assistant.

I needed her name, or hometown, or job description. Just enough intel to get things going.

The boss actually said to her, “Number Two, where did you find that bottle of expensive local whiskey my husband asked for?”

She stuttered, “Didn’t find it yet. This state doesn’t sell hard liquor in grocery stores. It has no corner independent stores, either. You have to go to a ‘state’ store and they are far away from this countrified resort.”

“Uber!” The disdain at her assistant’s lack of imagination, in front of the staff, brought a devastating silence.

Another lady started to speak, “I could try to find what Buddy likes…”

Their fearless leader addressed the comeuppance. She coolly stared at her assistant, who was at a loss for words and ideas. Number One was most pissed at the woman who called her husband Buddy.

“Code Red,” the leader responded.

Number Two nodded and took out her phone.

I thanked my lucky stars for my habit of starting out with non-alcoholic beer for a few rounds. That keeps my wits alert while I am still looking. Plus, I was sober and could drive Number Two to the store.

I spoke up. “I live here and understand your predicament. My state does have strict liquor laws. Hell, we didn’t have liquor-by-the-drink until the seventies! In our defense, I’ve been to cities where the liquor stores were as dank as their cheesy auto repair shops. Trade the aroma of motor oil and burned electronics for days-old hot dog water and spilled beer from growlers. Our state stores are sterile, albeit well-stocked.”

The woman in charge announced, “Well, well. We have a local at our table.” In my heart, I heard ‘local yokel’.

I replied with a smile and explanation, “I’m Greg. And you are?”

With that, I reached to shake Number Two’s hand.

Number Two had a name. “Victoria, or Vicky.” Then she asked me, “You know the area?”

“Yes.” I said it loud enough for the boss to hear.

To Vicky, I explained, “And a local, yes. My company maintains a room here for visiting clients and I see to it that the room is well maintained."

To the table, I said, " Welcome to our fair city. Perhaps I may be of service? Ubers out here are not abundant, but I could drive you to a state store and satisfy your boss.”

Ten minutes later, we were underway in my vintage MGB. Below forty miles per hour, we could talk.

I started, “I remember watching a movie about a big shot female captain of industry who pushed people around. Did you see it? What was the title? Something about what the devil wears?”

“That’s her!”

“Yeah. I know the type. Seems like they always end up on top,” I agreed.

I drove back toward town, assiduously avoiding three ABC (Alcohol Beverage Control) stores before settling on a central distribution site store that would surely carry Buddy’s brand. I wanted this to last.

“Tell me a bit about your company, Vicky or Victoria?”

“Call me Vicky.”

I started, “Vicky, did you catch your boss giving your co-worker the evil eye when she volunteered to fetch the whiskey?”

That got Vicky started on a tirade. “First of all, Charlotte had no business calling him ‘Buddy’! The two aren’t friends; she hardly knows them. And even if she were close, she shouldn’t broadcast it to the rest of us.”

Vicky went on, “To answer your question, we work out of Dallas, but my territory is mostly Chicago area. I call on the folks who make the roads, mostly interstates.”

I sounded amazed, “Wow. Nice-looking ladies going out into the field, to construction sites. Do you know how to drive a tractor?”

“I can operate every kind of earth mover, front-end loader, bulldozer and asphalt machine you can name. When something breaks, I know what parts will fix it.”

“How about you, Vicky? Tell me about yourself and how you got into the business.”

She answered, but stared straight ahead as she did. “I majored in engineering, did well academically and got snapped up out of college.”

I sensed something was bothering her. I asked, “You seem to be somewhere else.”

Still staring straight ahead as we pulled into the liquor store lot, she confessed, “I was told to do a Code Red on Charlotte and I did.”

Then, quietly, “I had no choice.”

“Go on,” I pleaded.

“I knew Mrs. Carroll was put out by Charlotte’s intervention, calling Buddy's name.  While we sat at the table, I used my phone to reschedule Charlotte’s flight for tonight. By now, she has picked up all her gear and is on the way to the airport. I intentionally scheduled her from here to Detroit, then San Francisco, finally ending up back in Dallas tomorrow night around midnight. That depends on her hustling herself from one airport to the next. It’s Mrs. Carroll’s (Number One, to us) method of teaching her a lesson. Tonight, I can sleep alone. My roomie will be on her way to Detroit.”

I threw in a guess, “So Mrs. Carroll is insecure about an underling calling her husband anything but Mr. Carroll?”

“Yep,” Vicky said, as we got out of the car and entered the store. “Of course, Mrs. Carroll announced Charlotte’s departure as soon as you got up from the table.”

I asked Vicky, “What do you like to drink?”

She said, “I prefer gin and tonic, with black orange liqueur instead of lime or lemon.”

While Vicky hunted for the right whiskey, I loaded up on Hennessy’s, Solerno and Q tonic.

We met again at checkout. I saw she was paying with her credit card, not a company one. I paid for my order with cash.

Back in the car, I started to ask. She cut me off with, “Yes. I paid for the whiskey myself. She’ll promise to reimburse me, but I would have to remind her and she would get huffy.”

I spoke up, “Vicky, one day you’ll be Number One. Don’t be like her, please.”

She answered, “Let’s take the long way back.”

I gambled, “Only if we can share the G and T's at your place. I have a client I have to visit for just a short while. Meanwhile, you deliver the goods to Number One and I will see that my client is tucked in.”

Vicky agreed, “Room 1216. I’ll slip into something more comfortable.”

In my mind, that statement was a clue or a hint or a promise.

Sure enough, Charlotte had checked out and Vicky had the cocktails at the ready.

Vicky wore a standard-issue hotel terrycloth robe. She served the drinks.

Underneath, I peeked, looking for a push-up bra and maybe G-string panties.

I sat on the tufted chair, shoes off and ankles on the corner of the bed. Vicky stretched herself diagonally across her bed.

Vicky volunteered, "If you are interested, I am single, never married, love to make love with the right guy. Mostly, I relax by golfing, sailing my boat on Lake Michigan and touring the towns I visit in my job."

I sipped and announced, “You have the advantage of me, madam.”

“How so?”

“Why, ma’am. You have two, maybe three pieces of clothing on. I have perhaps three times that many articles.”

She was quick, responding, “But if the game were strip poker, I’d be at the disadvantage.”

I countered, “I insist that we make this an even playing field. Shall I take my own clothes off or should the lady do the honors?”

Vicky responded with a pretend, “Harrumph!”

She took one more sip and got on her knees, mid-bed. She pulled off my socks and said, “Stand up.”

My new lover knee-walked to my corner, leaned in and we kissed for the first time.

For an instant, I remembered that old radio announcement, “This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System.”

If this were a test, we both passed. Her lips met mine and she used her tongue to circle my lips, then I got to do the same. We both had anticipated this and both had cleaned ourselves up, including brushing my teeth and a 'pta' bath in the posh men’s room.

I drew back and addressed her left ear, “Mmm. You taste good.”

My clothes flew off me in a blizzard of fabrics, until my underwear was the only thing I had on.

She whispered, “Let me see the rest. I want to study you, up close and personal.”

I stepped forward and her robe fell off her shoulders. She was braless and panty-less.

I said, “I like that all-over tan you have, it makes your breasts look natural, as if you love the sun and showing your whole self off. May I touch them?”

I didn’t wait for an answer, just reached out and grabbed two handfuls of luscious breasts. She fell back onto the bed. I lay on her left side. I pulled that tit with both hands toward my mouth. I sucked on her nipple and she jutted her chest forward, toward my face.

Vicky mused, "When I am solo sailing, I can go nude. I love the feel of the sun on my body. Sailing naked puts you in touch with nature like nothing else."

I complimented her, "They are magnificent."

I started to tweak both at the same time and she responded by undulating her pelvis. I put my head between those beauties and listened to her heartbeat get faster. I let a hand wander across her belly. Some people like that spider movement. To others, it tickles. The trick is to go with the direction of the body hair.

I straightened up and we kissed again.

My fingers reached her nether regions, stroking where hair once grew in abundance, now freshly shaved.

I asked permission, “Do you mind?”

She shook her head  “Yes.” Then realized what I wanted and said, “No.”

I took the exchange as permission and we kissed again. This time, two fingers gently combed her outer labia, one on each side.

Vicky thrust upward with her hips, wanting more. I wet my fingers and went back for more. Her moisture and my saliva mixed. I managed to make her whole pussy damp by dipping into her hole, bringing up some juice and spreading it around.

Hearing her heart, I thought to myself, “She’s getting hot, fast.”

I eased myself off the bed and stood next to it, slipping off my shorts and pulling on my dick.

She looked me in the eye from her prone position and said, “I know what you need. I want it as well.”

With that, she scooted around and put the head of my dick in her mouth. She circled it with her tongue, then grabbed my dick with her lips on that sensitive bottom area and laved that.

I  leaned in, giving her more of me. I slipped my fingers into that second set of lips and mined for more of her juices. This dance lasted a long time, with increasing gusto. We were bordering on a climactic bursting.

Of course, by now Vicky’s legs were shamelessly sprawled apart. I crawled between them and kissed the insides of her legs, starting at the knee.

I worked my way up to her pussy and told her the truth, “Your cunt is beautiful. I watched it go from skin color to pink and now it is red, really red. Maybe we need to cool it off.”

My attempts to cool her pussy down with my tongue were fruitless. The more I concentrated on reading her pelvic moves and doing more of what I intuited she liked, the hotter she got.

I climbed up and knelt at her opening and asked, “Can I have one more kiss from those sweet lips?”

“Uh huh. Yes. Please kiss me first.”

Into her other ear, I said, “You know, I have your pussy juice on my lips. You’ll get a taste of that too when I kiss you.”

“Kiss me, now!”

As I did, she reached down and grabbed my dick. With no effort at all, I slid into one of the hottest, slickest, tightest and most eager cunts I’d felt.

Not being greatly endowed, but average, I went all the way in, all the way down until our bodies were literally one.

I started to move up and down. I could feel her cunt contract as I went in, the head of my dick parting the way, almost forcing it into her tight hole.

She yelled, “God damn, you are good. Fuck me just like that.”

Vicky put her hands over her head, reaching way up toward the headboard and grabbing sheets.

Did I care if I was being used as a human dildo? Hell, no!

I knew that those hips of hers would start moving on their own. They did.

My whole body felt the same sensation: fucking with my whole body. That was what she was doing and I followed suit.

I lifted Vicky’s legs onto my shoulders, exposing even more of her sex to my onslaught. Now I was really fucking her, pounding her.

I felt her orgasm growing, as she became more needy and desperate to get off.

I told her, “Fuck me. Fuck me with that slick cunt of yours and beat the cum out of me.”

That was our cue. As good as it was, the friction overcame all.

Married couples might reach a mutual climax sometimes. For two strangers who just met, it was serendipitous, surprising, pleasing, amazing and left us breathless.

In the afterglow, we talked about how much she hated her boss, how much she loved the money. Her greatest thrill was driving her pickup truck to a new job site and being amused at how surprised the men were at her expertise and knowledge of her industry. She’d had a choice, back right after college: typical medium wages, marriage, home every night, a boring existence. Or she could travel, learn and be as good as the mostly male clients she met.

Vicky summed it up, saying “I’m satisfied with most of my life and would rather have a special man at every site. You are now on my list. My next trip down here will be just before Christmas. I want another present like the one you gave me tonight when I get back.”

I asked, “G and T?”