Siren's Garter: Issue One August 2016 Read online

  “You called about the TV?” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said. Her name was almost certainly Rachel. I’m pretty good at remember guests’ names. “It’s down there.”

  Rachel pointed a skinny hand to the pool. Sure enough, it was down there. I hopped in and dove to the bottom, entirely unsure how I was lifting this thing out. I couldn’t quite do it, and needed air.

  When I rose to the surface, Rachel was standing on the edge, and I got a good view of the bottom half of her bikini. “Need help?” she said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  She dived in, and I met her at the bottom. Between the two of us, we got the TV to surface.

  “I’d like to pay for the TV,” Rachel said.

  “Why?” I said. “Did you throw it in?”

  “How dare you accuse me of such an immature act?” she said, grinning like a child with a naughty secret. “Of course I threw it in.”

  “But… I’m confused.” Behind my back, I crossed my fingers, hoping this ruse was a weird, though original, way of getting me into her room. Seriously, she could’ve just called for towels or something.

  “Come back to my room,” said Rachel, winking. “I’ll write the check. So we don’t have to take care of it at check-out.”

  I followed her. Either she was an axe murderer, or she wanted sexual favors. Or she was tweaked in the head. Or a combination of all three. I was soaking wet, wearing nothing but swim trunks and a goofy smile. What did I care?

  Sure enough, the TV was missing from the room. As soon as the door slammed shut, I wondered what I was doing. I had never had sex with a guest. I’d fantasized about it, but I took my work seriously and wanted to maintain the good reputation my hotel had.

  But Rachel cornered me with her arms around my neck, and my stomach twisted in anticipation. She was beautiful, and eager. And it’d been far too long.

  I put my hands on her waist, and pulled her close. She smelled of suntan oil, and tasted like roasted coffee. The kiss lasted for just short of eternity, and then I pushed her away.

  She had the look of animal lust in her eyes. My cock throbbed, fully erect and ready for play. I could’ve left, just told her no, maybe forget this ever happened.

  My mistake was to kiss her again.

  Somehow we ended on the bed, which was turned down already. Rachel got on top of me, and stripped my trunks off. Straddling my torso, she slipped off her top, and then wiggled out of the bottom.

  Rachel grabbed my dick in a white-knuckle fist and pushed me into her. Her pussy walls were soaked, and not from the pool water. I grabbed both of her breasts as she rocked back and forth. Twisting her nipples with my fingers, I talked dirty to her.

  “You like how I talk dirty?” I said.

  “I like it better,” Rachel said, “when you shut up and fuck me.”

  I flipped her onto her back and sank my rod into her twat. Right when I thought I was about to blow my load, I pulled out. Then I sucked on her nipples, driving her even more crazy with lust.

  At four-thirty, I couldn’t take anymore and I needed to go back to work. So I straddled her torso and jacked off fast and hard until I splooged all over her pretty tits. Rachel licked up the remainder of my come off my cock.

  I leaned down to her ear, and said the stupidest thing I could’ve thought of at the moment. “Rachel, I think I love you.”

  “What?” She pushed me away.

  “I… I love you, baby.”

  “Get out! Now!” Rachel pushed me off of her, clawing and scratching me.

  “But, what’s wrong? Wasn’t it good for you?”

  “My name isn’t Rachel, dude! Get out!” She was screaming. She pushed me out the door butt naked, with my swim trunks in hand.

  And that was the last time I ever saw Rachel—or whatever her name was—at my hotel.

  The Door to Door Pitch

  Tom is a really good friend, who’s been with me through a lot of businesses. He’s good friends with my husband Ryan, plays lead guitar really well, and damn fine looking to boot. I’ve joked half-seriously with the hubby that I should invite Tom over for a threesome. Ryan isn’t quite on board with that yet, but has given me permission to play.

  So when Ryan was out of town on business, I invited Tom over to listen to my latest business venture pitch: door to door encyclopedia sales.

  He sat on my living room sofa with a cup of joe, and scratched his full head of curly black hair, and nodded.

  “You don’t think I can do it?” I said.

  “Well,” said Tom. “Does anybody buy encyclopedias anymore? From door to door salesladies?”

  “From this one they will!”

  “Okay. Let’s hear the pitch.” He was all serious now, a cute expression he does when listening. Sort of a whatever look, but with full eye contact.

  I wore a blue pinstripe pencil skirt suit, with a pink blouse, which I had buttoned to the neck. I completed the ensemble with a cute paisley scarf. I was dressed to the nines, compared to Tom’s simple t-shirt and jeans.

  I gave the pitch about the great need for more information available in the home for the whole family, and the fantastic value of owning leather bound encyclopedias.

  Tom sipped his coffee, listening patiently, nodding at appropriate times. After my pitch, he set the cup down. “Lose the scarf,” he said.

  I untied the scarf and tossed it playfully at Tom. He smirked with the corner of his mouth, and sniffed the scarf before setting it aside.

  “That all?” I said, hand on my hip.

  “Just a suggestion. Maybe unbutton the blouse. You know, one or two buttons.”

  “Eat bacon much? That’s a rather piggish thing to say.”

  “Just try it,” Tom said, winking. “You have beautiful breasts. They might help you sell more encyclopedias.”

  “Oh?” I undid the first button. Slow. Feeling confident, I went one more.

  And then another.

  Tom stood up straighter, blushing.

  “You think my breasts are beautiful?” I grabbed them, pushing the girls up for him to get a better view. “How much do you think I’ll sell if I go one more?”

  He shifted in his seat, the bulge in his pants painfully obvious. “Try it and see.”

  I undid the next button, giving Tom a peek at the lacy bow in the middle of my push-up bra. He rubbed his thighs, trying to look away but failing miserably. I walked right up to him, boobs in his face, hands on his shoulders.

  “Would you like to buy an encyclopedia set?” I asked, in the sexiest voice I could muster without laughing. It almost worked.

  He laughed with me. “Perhaps we can make a deal.”

  “Oh?” I messed up his hair, running my fingers through his thick curls.

  “Take off that suit, and I’ll buy whatever you’re selling.”

  I pulled my suit jacket to the elbows, and turned around. I felt a pinch on my ass, just a little friendly feel. I let it slide, and dropped my jacket on Tom’s lap.

  Next I pulled the pins from my hair, letting my locks roll down my shoulders. I spun around on my heels, unbuttoning even further, one button at a time. I could tell Tom was exciting, watching me, wanting to touch and holding back. The sensation of stripping for him thrilled me, pushing me onward.

  At the last button I held my shirt closed, turned away from Tom, and opened my shirt wide. He moaned, and I heard him rustling about with his belt and zipper. He had his legs wide open, and I stuck my ass to his crotch and grinded him. His hard pecker stabbed me.

  I wrapped my blouse around me again, turning one more time, and stripped the blouse off entirely for Tom. Then I unzipped my pencil skirt and let it drop to the floor. I straddled Tom, pressing his face against my bosom.

  “You like my pitch?” I said.

  “I’m just not convinced yet,” he said.

  “You are one tough customer.” I got off him and went down on my knees. I ripped his jeans off. Next came my panties and bra. I was too excited to tease him more. I
just wanted him to fill me.

  And when I straddled him again, his cock practically slipped inside me of its own accord. We made out, kissing and teasing one another with our tongues. I kept getting wetter and wetter, and I rotated my hips on his member, edging him closer and closer.

  When Tom bucked against me, I took the hint and rode him like he was the best ride in the carnival. Up and down, up and down. He grabbed and squeezed my boobs. I clutched at his hair, moaning ever louder as I got closer.

  Tom rolled his head back, yelling he was about to lose it. I pulled him out of me, and stroked him until he blew his load all over his chest and stomach.

  I licked up every last drop.

  “So,” I said between licks. “You want to buy an encyclopedia?”

  “I’ll take five of them,” he grinned.

  NEVER MARRY THE FEMME FATALE

  Chapter One

  The rough dirt crunched beneath Elsie Turner’s sandals. She tossed her black, lace bra onto the small pile of clothes under the pine tree.

  “Small” being the sleeveless orange sundress she wore up the climb to the top of Mendota Bluff, her panties, clutch purse, and a thigh holster for her compact Smith & Wesson pistol.

  Anywhere else in the world, she would’ve left the holster on. But in the dog days of summer in small town, Minnesota, no assassins or arms dealers were chasing her up the bluff. Nothing ever happened in sleepy Wenakaga, the boringest town on Earth.

  Elsie walked to the edge. The humidity clung to her skin like a silk wrap. Flies, bees, and pesky mosquitoes buzzed about, filling the empty air with their tiny music. Massive pine trees, older than the state of Minnesota, rose high above her head, and sheltered her from prying eyes who might be on the main dirt path fifty yards away.

  A deer path led her to this place, a little sanctuary high above Wenakaga. She had discovered it as a child, and came here often to get away as a teenager.

  Below, the Mississippi River cut through the canopy like a lazy blue ribbon. A barge floated down the water, blaring its horn, heading south-southeast, to Saint Louis or Memphis or perhaps to New Orleans. The massive boat fit beneath the King Avenue Bridge, which crossed over into the Wisconsin.

  Wenakaga, the so-called “Peninsula City”, was surrounded by water on two sides and was far too small to be called a town. The cute, early twentieth century homes looked like cardboard dollhouses from up here, stacked in neat rows around a ten block bustling downtown filled with bars, coffee shops, and the kind of cute stores one can only find in a small American town.

  Scattered about the dollhouses were grassy parks with fountains and swing sets, larger apartment buildings empty of college students gone for summer, and more church spires than any town needed.

  Near the shore of the river was the Kumonalaya Casino and Hotel, where her bridal suite and future husband were.

  Elsie raised her arms in a V, closing her eyes to all of the people and cute houses below. Only somebody with high powered binoculars and a lot of time on his hands could spot her, high up in the bluffs, hidden in the pine trees. Maybe if she shouted.

  She didn’t care anyway. She had to come back to her home, treading through old family skeletons. Her old haunt called to her, high above the river and its small-town people.

  Far away from the happiest day of her life. Which was supposed to be tomorrow.

  This was was her “Howard Roark moment”, which she hadn’t done since moving away from home. Elsie never cared for the book, or the characters really. She just liked the image of the man communing with nature in the buff. The sex scene was hot too, at least the way she remembered it when first reading the book as a seventeen-year-old girl.

  In plain view for everyone to see, yet hidden in the smallest corner.

  Up here, on the Mendota Bluff, the wind whipped hard across her body, blowing her mid-back length black hair in her face, sweeping her problems away. The sun cut through the forest chill, warming her skin tenderly. Elsie breathed in, breathed out. So close to the edge, if the wind blew wrong or too roughly, she’d fall off.

  Almost perfect.

  She was above her problems, which shouldn’t have been problems at all. At least, according to her mother.

  She let her arms fall back to her sides. Rubbing her fingers on the diamond ring on her left hand, Elsie knew she’d have to face the music soon and get on with the damned ceremony.

  The concept of marriage appealed to her. The reality was something else. Something Elsie wasn’t comfortable with.

  Was it Kevin? Did she still love him like she thought she did?

  He was still the same man. Tall, close cropped blond haired with thick brows, clean shaved most of the time, with green eyes that shined in the sunlight. Kevin was a good man.

  Too good for Elsie. She’d done terrible things.

  No, Kevin hadn’t changed since she’d met him that one fateful night in New York City.

  Elsie had changed.

  And he’d been the catalyst for her growth. She was a new woman because of him, and she’d be forever grateful.

  When he’d gone down on one knee, diamond ring in one hand, her bare left hand in the other, the Eiffel Tower on the other side of the Seine River, what else could she have said?

  No?

  Fuck no. Elsie said yes, and meant it. He was her equal, and he adored her even with her many flaws.

  She loved him.

  But to marry the man?

  Could she ever marry?

  Elsie half wished an arms dealer would find her, in her sanctuary, and push her off the bluffs she loved so much. The other half knew how that would crush Kevin.

  And if she called off the marriage, that would kill him as if she pushed him off a high ledge. To come back to her hometown, arrange everything with the church and the party planners, order the food and balloons, and then call it off. Yes, Kevin would die a little inside, those eyes wouldn’t shine as much. And that would kill Elsie.

  Soon enough, she’d have to climb back down the main dirt path, get in her blue Honda Civic, and drive to the Catholic church she grew up with. Same building on Center Street a few blocks from Wenakaga State University, same old priest.

  Behind her, a twig snapped. She stiffened her back, alert now.

  A camera shutter snapped.

  Elsie turned.

  A man stepped out of the trees, holding a red smart phone, a big grin ripped across his face. He wore a red jogging suit and white running shoes. His long blonde hair pulled back in a top-knot, loose strands of hair stuck out the sides.

  In his other hand, he held her bra and panties.

  “Damn it all, girl,” he said. The phone’s shutter sound snapped again. “Perfect!”

  “Zack,” Elsie said, keeping her tone calm and in control. “Give me your phone.”

  “Let me think about that. Um, no.”

  Zack Gibbs snapped another photo. He was Heidi’s boyfriend, and she had been a close family friend for a long time. She was also Elsie’s only choice for bridesmaid, since she didn’t have many real friends anymore.

  A royal douche was Zack, but what to do about this loose cannon baggage? Elsie had known the man for years, and traded corporate secrets with him professionally. He’d tried to get in her panties before. She’d turned him down every time.

  “I’m not asking again,” said Elsie.

  “Or what?” said Zack. “You gonna shoot me?”

  “I’d love to do just that.” She looked to her pile of clothes, now diminished to just a thin sundress waded up in the dirt. The gun was missing from its holster.

  Shit.

  Elsie had no issue with Zack seeing her naked. Lots of men had seen her. She used her beauty to extract all kinds of lies and secrets from men. A flash of nipple and a peek under the dress loosened lips every time.

  She wasn’t sure if she cared about the photos he was taking. She had worse blackmail.

  The asshat had taken her gun.

  And that pissed her off.
<
br />   “What do you want?” she said.

  “I got what I wanted,” said Zack. “Unless you want to give more. You know, not how I imagined things, but…”

  “No. Forget it.” Elsie crossed her arms, half covering herself, legs askance, trying to be intimidating.

  And failing.

  “Shucks,” Zack slipped his phone into the jogging suit jacket pocket. “When you want your pea shooter back, meet me in room 312.”

  “Damn it Zack,” Elsie screamed. She was so angry, steam might’ve been coming out her ears. “You’ll pay for this!”

  “No,” he said. “I’d sooner get fucked in the ass. And you know how I feel about that.”

  He winked, turned away, and jogged down the deer path.

  Elsie sighed, slipping back into her sundress.

  Time to face the music.

  Chapter Two

  Room 412 at the Kumonalaya Casino and Hotel, the bridal suite, was dark with the curtains pulled tight, even with the blue glare of the TV. Kevin Kincaid sat on the lumpy, pure white couch he’d slept on last night, the blanket and stupidly flat pillows thrown aside, remote control in hand, bare feet propped up on the coffee table. He pushed aside his laptop with his foot, as if he could shove the problem aside.

  He wore silky green boxers and a white tee-shirt. Mid-morning, and Kevin hadn’t showered yet, nor shaved nor brushed his teeth. The cheap wine from last night still clung to the inside of his mouth, now dry and cotton-ball tasting.

  At least he didn’t have a headache. He had stopped at half a bottle. Brad, his best man and best friend, took the bottle away and retreated to his own room.

  The two-room suite had a clean, new carpet smell. Yesterday, Kevin had checked in, hoping it was a dump and he’d have an excuse to cause a ruckus. He just wanted something to annoy Elsie with. Or annoy Gertrude, his presumed future mother-in-law if things worked out. A reason to give them the wrong impression.