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Next thing I know it’s noon. My head is pounding from the copious amounts of 92 proof rum in it, and I don’t remember eating anything or drinking much water. Sex. Right. That’s why I’m sore. The good news is that it’s only noon, and I have a number of hours to recover before I have to make an appearance of any kind. Despite the pain, I feel pretty good. The excitement of being with 50 bikini models always trumps a hangover, so it’s into the shower after I rattle my brother’s cage a little, and were back in the game.
After some aspirin, a half gallon of water, and some lunchies, we viewed rehearsal for the opening number of the event. Most of the contestants had arrived, and it was a good opportunity to see them without all the battle gear and war paint. Naturally, we were not disappointed. Upon arrival, we were greeted by some whistling, clapping, and flying hug-attack by a couple of the girls I had met at previous events. I love this job. We did some introductions, layed some groundwork, then slipped back to the room to link up with my “gigolo role-model,” Alan.
We greeted our new wingman (and his best friend, as it turned out) with a proper salute and rum beverage strong enough to choke most bartenders. We did some catching up, laughed our asses off about the upcoming activities, and ritualistically prepared ourselves for the evening. The entire squadron was on the runway; sharp, fueled up, and armed to the teeth.
After some pre-game drinks and a couple cases of mistaken identities with a group of college chicks in the casino (whoops!), we casually slipped into the club. Through the dark, smoke, and stobes, we could see the huge group of hotties from rehearsal breakin’ it down adjacent a VIP booth. More introductions, a little talking, a LOT of rump-shaking. No more than an hour into this little excursion, Alan gives me the wave. We’re leaving. No shit? I assessed the situation: He had 5 very enthusiastic young ladies in tow, his friend on his flank, and he was grinning like he just pumped the neighbor’s cat. On my left wing, I see that my brother is deep in conversation with a couple very interested listeners, and he waves me off like he already knows what I’m in for. Fuck it. I’m in!
Within a minute of getting to a room somewhere in the megaplex of a casino we were staying in, one of these little chikies starts talking shit.
“You think you’re all this-and-that, Mr. Stripper-Host or whatever? I bet you couldn’t even handle me!”
Fuck me then.
“No she didn’t!” Alan laughed like he was stoned. “Better show her, B!”
Indeed. I shoved her back onto the other bed.
“Uh-oh!” The other two girls on the bed took up a good viewing position on the opposite bed with the rest of the group. “Should I turn up the music?”
“Actually, no. You’re going to want to hear this…” I said as I looked at my prey like a hungry lion. I turned to our audience, “…all of it.”
“Oh, shit.” One of the girls said quietly. You could have heard a pin drop. I focused again on my challenger as I unbottoned my shirt and let it slip to the floor. I crept onto the bed slowly and deliberately — she was cornered, so I could take my sweet-ass time. She still had that smart-ass look on her face, but I could tell she was beginning to realize the gravity of the situation.
I never actually made skin contact with her as I moved from her feet up her legs, but I could tell by the way she twisted her legs slightly that she could feel my breath on her perfectly smooth skin. When I finally got past her 34-D breasts to her neck and ear, I growled deep and low. She gasped for air. I gently lowered my weight onto her body and slid back down to her blouse. I seized it with my teeth, and pulled it over her head and off. No resistance. I crawled back off the foot of the bed and kneeled down to get my boots and socks off. I stood back up slowly, my eyes locked on hers the entire time. I unbuckeld my belt, unbottoned my jeans, and let them drop to the floor.
Now she’s concerned. Maybe she bit off more than she could chew? Our captivated audience already knew. Live porn, starring us.
My intent? Mate with her. Animal Planet style. Right here, right now.
I crawled back onto the bed, this time sliding my nearly-naked body against her the entire trip, slipping between her legs. She started breathing like she was jogging, then sat straight up.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered in my ear.
“What? Really? Okay — why?”
“You fucked my friend!” She almost whined.
“So?” I retorted “Pretty sure she won’t mind, believe me.” This was true.
“I’m sorry — I just can’t.”
“Boooooo!” The crowd was throwing ice cubes playfully and laughing.
“Well, I only need to hear no once.” I said, standing there in my boxer briefs with an erection big enough to see from space. That information would have been very helpful half and hour ago.
She continued to explain herself as I got dressed, but I reassured her, “no worries, not a big deal,” and continued un-stripping. She wasn’t comfortable doing it in front of people, I guess she decided at the last minute. Too bad — would have been hot. At least it’s still early!
Before making my exit, I stopped short of the door in front of the other bed. I faced the clearly disappointed crowd, and grabbed a beer bottle like a mic:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize sincerely for the inconveniece of an unexpected termination of tonight’s program. We are having some technical difficulties that will take some time to resolve, so unfortunately this concludes our show for tonight. Please see the box office for a full refund of your tickets.”
They roared with laughter.
Fuck me. I finished the rest of the beer, held it out over the trash can, turned it sideways, and dropped it.
“Borra, out!”
