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Old 09-Sep-16, 11:44
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default BOS stories

MIXED VEGAS

By BOS (the poster)


Rogers Norton Smith Jr. said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Samantha eyed him up and down, then said, “Move along, junior. You're out of your league.”

“Aww,” he said. “Now why would you say that?”

She let him wait for her response as she nursed her drink. “For one thing,” she said, “you're so horny for me I could probably pop your cork by just turning like this.” On her barstool, she slowly turned toward him, with her upper thighs not quite touching each other and that fact being visible to him. She was right: that just about did the younger male in. Even sitting in a more ladylike manner, she was breathtakingly hot. Her shoulders and back were bare. Her ample bosom was exposed enough to rivet attention from across the room. Her red dress seemed to be painted on her dramatic curves. And it was slit almost all the way up her fabulous right leg. When, on top of all that, she spread her legs, Rogers' mind was blown. And his body was out of control.

The spreading was not wide enough for anyone else to see. Nevertheless, it was something he was not ready for.

Now her black-gloved left hand was on his right hand on the bar, and she was saying, “If I move this to where you're looking, you're done for,” she said. But she let go of his hand and turned back toward the bar, her legs closed again.

He knew she was right. But he said, with an absurd combination of unsteadiness and bravado, “I think I can control myself.”

“Uh uh,” said Samantha, not looking at him directly, but seeing him in the reflection in the mirror behind the bartender lane. “Not around me. I'm in complete control of you.”

He gulped, and he was sweating, but he couldn't give up now.

He said, “You're really something, that's for sure.”

“I'm easily the hottest babe in the room,” she said. “Why would I settle for you?”

He wasn't bad looking. Maybe a little above average in height. Not much taller than her in the killer heels she had on tonight. He had spent some time in the gym, obviously, developing a physique that wasn’t bad at all. Pleasant, prep-school face. But she was used to more imposing, impressive men, guys who stood above their competition just as she stood above hers. Or at least guys who were monumentally rich. Short of that, she was insulted that a guy like him could think he could get lucky with a girl like her.

The room was the high-rollers lounge in a casino complex in Las Vegas. It was filled with beautiful babes. But, yes, Samantha was the eye-catcher. It wasn't just her physical beauty and her over-the-top wardrobe. It was her style, her confidence. There was something about her. And she knew it.

“Maybe I should introduce myself,” he said. When he did, Samantha recognized his family name and more. Son of a famous billionaire. Mediocre race car driver. Lady's man. Scrapes with the law. Classic spoiled brat. Beyond that, though, there were, as she recalled, also scrapes with the ladies. She was under the impression those were settled out of court. Very suspicious. Samantha was happy to meet him.

“You better be rolling very high, Junior.” she said.

The young man showed her a roll of chips. When she moved her gloved hand toward it, she did it slowly and elegantly enough that he didn't withdraw it. But suddenly she had the roll in her hand. Then it was in her bosom. Gone.

It was worth $250,000.

He said, “Uh, I'm going to need that back.” Dad controlled the money too tightly for Rogers to able to lose this amount without facing the loss of a lot more.

Said Samantha, looking toward the mirror and sipping her drink elegantly, “I don't see that happening, Junior.”

Rogers Norton Smith Jr.: “No, really, I, uh....” He had his hand raised as if he was going to reach toward her bosom, though she knew he wouldn't. He couldn't afford another lady scrape in public. She put her hand on his and twisted, making him grimace. He tried to pull his hand away, but it didn't go.

“Like I say, Junior,” she said. “Wrong league.”

She let go. As he nursed his hand as discretely as possible, she nursed her drink. Not looking at him, she said, “Go away now. I'm not really looking for a guy whose ass I can kick quite so easily.”

He didn't want her to think he took that dig too seriously. But it was a dig, and he had to deal with it. He couldn't just shrug it off as if he was now somehow admitting he was in over his head. He said, “I really think I could do a little better if we were alone.” He meant that to sound like understatement, like it was obvious that if he wasn’t worried about being discreet, he could easily dominate her physically.

Samantha was loving this. It was turning her on, which wasn't difficult. And her expectations were turning her on even more. This was the sort of thing she came to Vegas for. She didn’t have the anonymity back in New York that proved useful here. And her girlfriends back in New York didn’t need to know about it. It was hers.

She said, “So you're saying you want to get me alone and beat the crap out of me? You've got quite a way with ladies, don't you, Junior?”

Before he could answer, she said, “OK, tough guy, I'll tell you what. I'm going to walk away now, taking your money. And you're going to watch me. If you survive that experience without popping your cork, you're welcome to follow me. But I'm advising you not to do that.” She patted his cheek with her elegantly gloved hand. “Cut your losses.”

With that she let his hand go. She slid slowly and elegantly off the barstool, and she straightened and smoothed her dress and checked her appearance in the mirror, raising a bare arm to pat her hair into place. It didn't need that. She wasn't so much fixing her appearance as complimenting herself on it, and letting it drill its way into the young man's psyche. Then she turned and walked away slowly, being sure to make her hips sway dramatically. To Rogers, it seemed like she was pointing her fabulous, tightly-covered ass right at him.

As she walked, she saw a gorgeous hunk of a man standing near a corner. He was avoiding looking at her. That was weird behavior for a man. She suspected immediately – having been around – that he was with Junior. And if he was with Junior, it was obviously in the role of bodyguard and muscle, the guy who did whatever had to be done and didn't ask any questions. She also knew from experience with his type that he had a record a mile long. She wanted to mess with him. She was already fantasizing about that.

She waited at a bank of elevators, knowing the man she called Junior would follow. When he arrived, smiling sheepishly, she smiled back at him and strung her arm through his in a ladylike manner and said quietly, “We're going to your suite. But first we're picking up your friend.” She led him toward the hunk, who just stood there awkwardly as they approached. She wrapped her free arm through one of his, so that she had a man on each side. She said, “You're beautiful, sweetheart, but you're about as subtle as your boss here, with his long rolls everywhere.”

“Take us to your suite,” she ordered Rogers North Smith Jr., and he, still trying to avoid a scene, did.

It was an entire complex of rooms, of course, most of an entire floor of the sprawling building. When they got there, Samantha told the heir to wait for her while she conducted some business with the bodyguard. She pulled the bigger man into a room off the main room, then into another behind it. He could hardly resist. When there were two doors separating them from the young heir, she said, “Guard your own body, sweetheart, because I'm going to take you out of the game now.” He started to indicate amusement, but she shot a pulled, fake punch toward his gut. When he flinched, he was embarrassed. But he decided he couldn’t lose anything by taking her threat literally. That was the way he was wired.

Samantha didn't want to take too long with him. She didn't want to leave Rogers alone long enough for the thought of hiding his money occurred to him. She knew he was right now mainly confused about what was going on behind the closed doors, and she wanted him to stay focused on that.

The bodyguard meanwhile was focused on her fists, knees and feet as attack weapons. But her elbow slammed into the big man's solar plexus as she seemed to walk passed him. And her one bare knee – the one on the slit side – came up into his gut hard. Her movement and his brought her behind him, and her arm came up hard into his balls from behind. She was in a hurry, after all. As he leaned toward the floor, the elegant beauty reached her other arm between his legs from the front and locked her hands together and brought her arms up hard into his crotch. This forced him to the floor on his side, and the lady's bare knee came into his gut again, hard. And again. Focused mainly in the pain in his crotch, he had failed to tighten his stomach against assault. That made all the difference. He was now curled like a fetus beneath her, gasping for breath and moaning, with his hands at his balls.

Needing him briefly unconscious, she put her hand gently on his head and said, “Nighty-night, beautiful.” With that, she jabbed his head against the floor. The first time didn't put him away. The second did. She tied him to the legs of a bed, using pillowcases and a sheet. She tied his hands out of play, and she stuffed a pillowcase into his mouth and tied it around the back of his head.

She stood to admire her work, and she wondered what kind of story he would try to come up with to explain what had happened to him.

For her, this was all sexual. Part of her wanted to stay there and master the man sexually as completely as she had physically. But, no. He was just a toy, a prop. He wasn't the one she wanted most to rearrange and to control. She had to return to Junior, hornier than ever.

She straightened her clothes as she had after getting off the barstool, needing little more adjustment this time. As she reentered the main room, patting her hair in that self-congratulatory way she had, the younger man said, “What's going on?”

She said, “Let's just say he won't be interrupting us.” She guided Rogers Norton Smith Jr. away from the door behind her and said, “Now, where were we?” The young man had little time to wonder whether the middle-aged babe had seduced or bribed or blackmailed the muscle into staying out of the way for a while, Or what.

He said, “Well, I still really need that money back.”

She laughed. “Are you really not getting this?” she asked rhetorically. She took a seat in a big easy chair and folded her bare leg over the other dramatically. Though he waited for it, she did not open her legs.

“You know, Junior, I was insulted downstairs when you thought you had a shot at all this. But now I think I'm even more insulted. I mean, are you really thinking more about the money than about this? I don't think I can let that stand. It would be bad for my ego.” Her hand came up to pat the back of her head again.

“As for the money, obviously I'm going to take it all: Not only what I've already taken, but any more you may have on you or in the suite.” If she knew his type, he might have a cool million around, just to show off and feel like a bigshot among all the high rollers. “You're best off to just forget about the money. It's mine now. There's not a thing in the world you can do about that.” Another couple of pats to the back of her hair. “Let's go back to the sex.”

With that, she did, indeed, spread her legs, so that her thighs were no longer touching. She did it slowly, to the man’s complete attention. The effect was electric. Worried as he was on what his father would say and do about the money if he lost it, he had, nevertheless, never stopped being transfixed by the allure of this incredible woman. He couldn't imagine any way that he could get any more excited without actually getting in bed. But she had just found a way. That forbidden area between her succulent thighs drew his eyes as if by force, and held them.

You know,” she said, “I saw a Japanese movie once where these teen-age girls would spread their legs at boys as a way of making a statement. And the statement was that they held the fighting ability of the guys in contempt. The idea was that the custom of girls being modest about these things stemmed from bygone days when girls had to worry about what would happen if guys got too revved up. Here were the girls revving the guys up out of their minds and not worrying even a little bit. Actually, keeping the boys revved up and frustrated was part of their fun, and they could do it because they could beat the crap out of them. In fact, they could beat them up easily, and they loved doing it.”

Samantha let all that seep in. The man and woman sat across from each other silently as her words hung in the air, as her posture played with his head and bespoke the contempt for him as a threat that she had announced.

When she finally did start to rise, he suddenly shrank back hard, as if he was under attack. She laughed.

“Don't worry, Junior,” she said. “I don't do surprise attacks. Don't need 'em.” She reached behind herself to lower a zipper. That's all it took for that incredible dress to fall off her.

He was transfixed. Her dark nylons were held to her panties by little straps. The upper halves of her milky thighs were bare. Her bra was black and increasingly diaphanous near the top, out of which her boobs virtually blasted. The $250,000 was now visible. Her panties were, in front, no more than a black triangle. She still wore her high high heels. She stood there patting her hair into place, aided by the mirror behind him. She was utterly fabulous. A cliché, a type, but a classic one that he, like other men, could never get enough of.

His eyes gave him away. She said, “Like what you see, Junior? Well, here's a view to haunt your dreams.” She turned her back on him and flaunted her round, high and insistent booty, the sight that had clinched the deal in his decision to follow her out of the lounge downstairs, and that had never quite left his thoughts since. Only this time the dress wasn’t there. It was like a dream coming true. Sort of.

His eyes lingered. His mind wandered a little. Was she insulting him by turning her delectable ass at him? Wasn’t she still on “No”? He lunged at her. He rationalized attacking a smaller woman while her back was turned by telling himself that he had not waited until she turned her back on him to make his move; he was responding to the insult of a turned back.

The attack did not exactly come as a surprise to Samantha. She had invited it. She had wanted to always know that not only had he started the fight, but that he did it with what was intended as a surprise attack. And she thought she could entice him to oblige.

She let him wrap his arms around her. He saw her smile in the mirror in front of them. She said, “You lose, Junior. Since want to fight me with by back turned, I’m going to beat you up without even turning to face you.” She snapped her head backwards into his nose, hurting him, to the point of tears. She grabbed fingers on both of his hands and bent them back, bringing him to his knees. He was looking now straight at her ass, but his vision was obstructed by his tears. She brought a heel up into his gut and felt his face jerk into contact with her ass. She brought up another heel, and, as she let go of his hands, he slid face-first into the floor. She didn’t move except to pat the bottom of her hair as she looked into the mirror.

She said, “I do have to say you have excellent taste in women, Junior.” She turned her back on the mirror and turned her head to admire her ass in it. She didn’t bother to look at him. “Yes, sir: Excellent. But I also have to say that if you have to wait until a girl turns her back to make your move, something is wrong. And if waiting until her back is turned doesn’t even work, something is REALLY wrong.” Without even look at him, she kicked him in the side, though not nearly as aggressively as she easily might have. Rather than take advantage of his discomfiture, she attended to her lipstick and make-up.

Finally, he was up on his feet. She sort of pointed a finger at him and curled it back toward herself. She pursed her lips toward him in the form of a kiss, and she bent at the waist to show him cleavage. “Or do you need me to do this?” she asked as she turned her back on him and wiggled her ass at him. He couldn’t let himself be treated like that. He came at her warily, watching for her to kick backwards at him. But she didn’t. As he came close her, she bent over father forward, confusing him, and then took a couple of steps backwards, that is, toward him. She ducked under his right arm and came up behind him. She pushed him into a wall and followed him. As he started to push off it, she rammed into him harder, and he banged against it. Then she did that again. The assaults left him breathless. He lacked all strength, and he was hurting in more places than he could count. One was his head, which had hit the wall three times. But she thrust her hip into his back once more for good measure, and he was squashed into the wall again. She wrapped her arms around his torso, and slammed her crotch into his ass. “How’s this position work for you, Junior.” She did it again, and again. She kept banging into the helpless man like that, sometimes so hard as to thrust his head into the wall again. Finally she stopped and said, “I hope that was as good for you as it was for me.” She patted his head and, lest his head be too fuzzy now for him to get the point, said, “Consider yourself raped, Junior.” Once more, for good measure, her hips slammed into him, this time sideways, and he slid down the wall. She patted the back of her hair as he lay crumbled at her feet.

Turning her back on him – something she was beginning to enjoy – she said, “Take your time and make a full recovery, Junior, because next time it’s all about the money.”

She seated herself on a couch looking directly at him, and she spread her legs wider than last time, making the unmistakable point. She spread her arms along the top of the couch, showing her bare underarms, and she waited for him to recover.

But he was not fast. Almost to tease him about that, she stretched out lengthwise on the couch. She thought about turning her back on him and confronting him with that ass again, but she decided discretion was the better part. Who know what kind of weapon he might go for. So, by way of flaunting her sexuality, she settled for bending the leg nearest him like a model, so that her foot rested on the couch. He was confronted with an image of extraordinary allure. It seemed inconceivable to him that this breathtakingly enticing creature -- with the her long hair streaming down behind the pillow she rested her beautiful head on, the breasts that seemed to reach ambitiously for the ceiling, the flat, bare midriff that he wanted to bury his face in, the dramatically narrow waste he wondered if he could put his hands around, the creamy thighs, the queenly elegant leg, the delicately curved ankle and tiny foot in the perfectly sculpted little shoe that seemed to be made for her alone, with the dramatic heel that was so her – was beating the crap out of him. Even in his battered condition, he wanted her bad. And, boy, was he ever ok with doing whatever it took.

“You’re mine, Junior,” she said, still resting, with her hands cupped behind her head in a position that bespeaks – and was designed to bespeak – utter confidence. “I own you. I’m in complete control of everything about you. I can put you in much pain as I want or make you as horny for me as I want. I can make you feel worse than you’ve ever felt in your life or better than you’ve ever felt or ever will again. And, of course, your money is mine any time I want it. And” – here she raised her eye-demanding legs to the ceiling, then swung her lovely, pampered feet to the rug, sat up, crossed her legs flamboyantly and grabbed his gaze, determining exactly where he would look – “it’s all easy for me.” She stood. “Candy from a baby.”

They were both standing. She approached him. “You should just give me all your money and run away, Junior,” she said. She was certainly making him angrier than he’d ever been in his life. OK, he thought. Go time. He raised his fists in a fighting stance. It wasn’t the usual way he would fight a girl, but she was asking for it.

“Oh, dear,” the deadly temptress said, raising her hand to her mouth in mock horror. “You’re not going to hit me, are you, Mr. Man. Oh dear, oh dear. And me being so fragile.” Then her voice changed as she kept advancing. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Junior. No, as a matter of fact, you are not going to hit me, not hard enough for it to matter. You going to try with those big closed fists, while I leave my hands open and only use little, ladylike slaps. And I’ll beat you up like you’re not fighting at all.”

Now her delicate, teasing, captivating hotter-than-hot face was close enough for him to hit. But her hands were at her sides and open, while his were raised and closed. “Go for it, Junior,” she said. “There’s certainly no other way you’re going to get this.”

Trying to maintain his cool, he snapped a left at her. She leaned back and smiled at him. He threw a right. She leaned back again and it missed and she pushed it past her face with her left hand. As he was thinking about his next attack, she threw a right slap at him and connected hard. She smiled again.

“Like I say, Junior,” she said, “you are all mine.” She shot two fingers at his neck, connecting. He back up. She came at him with another right slap, this time to his ear, followed by a successful left to his other ear. She was stalking him now, with an evil smile. As he backed up, he stumbled into a chair. As he started to lose his balance, she slapped him with both hands on his chest, and he ended up seated, not on the chair, but in front of it, leaning back against it, with his legs folded awkwardly under him.

The temptress suddenly attacked. She propelled herself to sit violently on his stomach, hard enough to keep him from catching his breath and hard enough to hurt his legs. She had his arms captured under her legs. She felt in utter command of him, like one of those mixed martial arts fighters in a ground-and-pound position. Instead of slugging him, though, she continued her more ladylike slapping of him, with both hands. It felt more right to her, more natural, more Samantha. And she wanted him to be conscious when she started mocking him. She would cock at fist at threateningly, then deliver a slap. And she’d laugh.

“Come on, tough guy,” she said. “Show me what you got. I know you've got some experience in lady scrapes. Or do you just like it when the lady's back is turned?” She punched him in the throat with her fingers, grabbed his nose and twisted it, and put her fingers in his eyes as if she was going to try to blind him, but contented herself with scaring him.

“Come on, Junior,” she said. “I know you're the used to being in my position, because I know a bully when I see one. Didn't you like to make the other kids cry? I wonder if I could do that to you. Are you gonna cry for me?” He was desperately afraid. She was blocking his vision even when she wasn't sticking her fingers in his eyes. And he found himself frequently closing his eyes in fear. The possibility of tears occurred to him.

She said, “I'm going to take the rest of your money now, Junior. There's nothing you can do about this.”

She began rifling through his clothes, starting at the obvious place: the internal pockets of his sport coat. He tried desperately to get is arms into play, exhausting himself. When he got one arm free, but it was no match for her.

She found another roll. “Aha,” she said. “I knew it. It's like a penis for you, isn't it? Makes you feel like a man.” She waved it in front of his face and even rolled it on his face. She stuck it in one of his eyes. She jabbed it into his throat. “You don't really mind if I take this for all the pleasure I’m giving you, do you, Junior?” she asked with a little pout. “I mean, I did warn you that you were out of your league. But you went ahead, anyway, and tried to snag me, without so much as a single quarter-million dollar payment. I think you know that was wrong, and you want to make amends now. You want me to take this one, too, don’t you? Go ahead: ask me to. I’d be more comfortable that way.” There was silence. “Ask me to take it, Shithead,” she said, mashing one end of it into his throat. “That's how this ends.”

He thought he was going to die. He couldn't breath, and he couldn't generate any leverage to fight her off.

He gurgled something. She let up on the pressure and said, “What?”

He said, “Take it.” She slapped him on the face with it and said, “Be polite.” “Please take it,” he said. “That's better,” she said. Then she removed the roll from his neck, unlocked his arm from under her leg, sat back and put her hands behind her head.

“Now say it again,” she said. He did.

She patted his face and said. “I don't think I've ever seen anybody transform from an aggressor to a sniveling victim quite so fast, Junior. But I knew you had it in you.”

She stood up, straddling him. She straightened her stockings and other clothing and patted hair again, primping in a mirror as he awaited her next move, her body so cloth he could touch it if he had the nerve.

Samantha then took a seat across from him, giving him a particularly spectacular view of her legs, from the floor, though she crossed them in a ladylike manner. She put the second roll in her bosom, too. And she rested her hands behind her head and said nothing.

At first the man took the opportunity to slump to the floor, flat. Then he very slowly gathered himself. Little involuntary squeals of pain escaped his lips as he merely sat up, resting against the chair, then got into the chair.

Samantha loved this: With a lull in the action, and with her sitting right in front of him in all her feminine glory, Rogers North Smith had to come to terms with the situation. She thought she'd help a little.

“I guess getting me alone didn't turn out to be the solution to your problem, did it, Junior? Neither did attacking me from behind. So you got any more ideas?”

It hurt Rogers to even think about talking. And he didn't see what he could say.

Samantha relished his wordlessness. She was content to watch his eyes watch her legs. Wow, did she ever have him, she thought. He's in a world of hurt, a world of embarrassment, fear and confusion, what with the money issue on top of everything else. Still, he's looking for the cheap thrill of a tiny opening between my legs.

Finally, she said, “The next thing that happens here is I put you about against that wall.” She had been fantasizing about doing that. She loved have a man up against a wall against his will. And telling him exactly what she was going to do just heightened the thrill. “And I'm going to denude you of the remaining two rolls on your body.” She had felt them. “Then I'm going to force you tell me where the safe is, because I know you. And I'm going to force you to open it, just because you're afraid of what my hot little bod will do to yours if you disobey me. I know you'll still desperately resist me for a while, because of the whole Daddy thing. But once I hang you over that balcony rail out there, and show you that I can do it any time I want to, I'm thinking we'll be on the same page.”

“But don't worry, stud,” she continued. “It won't be all bad. I'm going to keep you so horny that I'll still be haunting your dreams – your fantasy dreams, not just your nightmares – when I'm gone. I'm a girl who wants it ALL, sweetheart. And achieving the balance of your simultaneous mental and physical agony, on the one hand, your ecstasy, on the other, is the only challenge left to me here. I'm mean, just beating the shit out of you is WAY too easy.”

She rested, content to let him recuperate and plan his strategy. She even made a couple of phone calls, letting him admire the view and stew in his fear. Then she started to rise, and he rose to meet her. She pointed to the wall behind him as their appointed rendezvous point.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Let's do this your way.” With that, she turned her back on him and waited.


+ + + + +


When Samantha was done with Rogers, she went to retrieve the muscle. He was lying there, tied-up, just as she had left him, just as she knew he would be. With one pull, she untied him enough that he could do the rest himself. She stood back and watched him, leaning against a counter.

He rubbed himself to restore his circulation where needy. He rose to his feet. What he did not do was attack her. Or even say anything.

“Well, well, well,” Samantha thought as she smiled at him. “What have we here?”

She said, “Shouldn’t you be trying to help your little buddy,” she said, indicating the other room.

“I will,” he said. And that was all.

Samantha realized what was at work here: The big muscle man was afraid of her. The thought thrilled her, aroused her. So knew enough to be skeptical of it – as first. But she realized that the man had, after all, had plenty of time to think. He must have pondered how easily and confidently she disposed of him. He must have known she was doing the same to Rogers. He could hear enough. And he knew what it would mean if she came to retrieve him alone. She knew that at first Muscle would have thought her easy victory over him was some sort of fluke. Guys thought like that. But as he lay there so helpless, so utterly defeated and controlled so easily, he had come to realize, no. She could not undertaking this whole project she positively KNEW she would prevail. And if she knew it, there must be some good reason.

“You’re not as stupid as you look, are you, Muscle?” she said. She walked toward him slowly, with a smirk. Her sexuality dominated the room as much as her dominance. Fighting was not the only thing Muscle had been thinking about in his bondage, and she knew it. He lusted after her something fierce. Gently but firmly she pushed him up against a wall. She loved doing that. He didn’t resist. She followed him, her body melting into his, even as he dwarfed her. She just stood there, letting getting a whiff of her perfume, letting her hair brush against him lightly. Finally she brought her hands into play, feeling him up. When he started to put his hands into play, she pushed them back down to his sides, making the statement that she was the boss her. He accepted that. She wrapped her arms around the small of his waist, turning him face sideways, and she pulled her hands toward her, not violently but hard. She knew she was hurting him. And she knew he was afraid to fight back. He was just hoping for the best. She fondled his ass and crotch.

Then she put her hands sensuously into his pockets. He let her. She came up with his wallet. She rifled through it as she stood standing against him, revving him up with a lust he could do nothing about until she was ready. She found that he actually lived in Vegas. She was certain there was more cash there. She knew these guys.

“We’re taking a ride,” she said, not commenting on the possible double meaning. “Go get your little buddy.” She kept Muscle’s wallet and point him through the door, and she followed him. As she put her dress back on, Muscle untied Rogers from the window ledge Samantha had hung him over.

They left the hotel with Samantha walking between the men, each of her arms wrapped through one of theirs. They got to Rogers superhot sports car. She took the wheel, put Rogers in the back. She decided that the one she wanted staring at the muscles and other features of her revealed driving leg as she maneuvered the car confidently through town was Muscle. Let him eat his heart out and pray for the best, she thought.

When they got to Muscle’s impressive bachelor hideaway, Samantha put both the unresisting men up against a wall. It was the first time she had ever done THAT, and gave her a special thrill. And she said, “OK, my boys, here’s the deal: Give me the money. Give me all the money. Give it to me now. Or…” here she stood back and put her arms behind her head and spread her legs so that one showed in its entirety, “Or,” she said, “else.”

The men looked at each other. Muscle took the lead and started walking. Samantha took Rogers arm and followed him. Muscle went to safe, withdrew everything it and, still on his knees, handed it up to her. That, too, gave Samantha a very special thrill. She was certain that that was all of it.

She put it all in her purse as the men watched her. Then she took their arms and went upstairs. She found a big bedroom with a big bed. She sat them on the edge of it and took a seat between them.

“You do like it rough, don’t you, boys?” she said.

















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  #2  
Old 09-Sep-16, 12:20
simplyred simplyred is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Wow
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Old 09-Sep-16, 12:31
sablebomb sablebomb is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Excellent read, very detailed, I could have sworn I could visualize the woman you wrote the story about.
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Old 09-Sep-16, 15:58
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mixfightor mixfightor is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

A very confident and gorgeous woman. Thank you for letting us see inside her mind.
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Old 10-Sep-16, 17:34
simplyred simplyred is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

The question is what happened next. Are you (I mean Samantha) going to continue?
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Old 10-Sep-16, 22:00
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Well, I would say Samantha is definitely going to continue. Wouldn't you?

As for me, I don't know. I write stories built around fights. I think the fighting is pretty much over here. I thought I'd let people use their imaginations about what happens next. That's the current plan, anyway.
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Old 10-Sep-16, 23:38
simplyred simplyred is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Don't get me wrong, pal. I just wondered how could she beat'em up some more. And I wish it didn't end in such a moment. By the way, it's one of the best story here.
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Old 10-Sep-16, 23:56
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Thank you for that, and thank you to the others who have left kind notes and "thank yous."
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Old 11-Sep-16, 19:22
Eurasiica Eurasiica is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Oh man! I loved your old stories on Diana the Valkyrie. It's great that you're back, seems like almost all the great writers who used to contribute to the site have disappeared.
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Old 11-Sep-16, 21:30
cashley216 cashley216 is offline
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Default Re: BOS stories

Thanks for remembering and for the welcome.

Much older, probably not much wiser.

More stories coming.
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