This is the completion of a dare to write a story based on this thread:
http://www.kristensboard.com/forums/index.php?topic=16246.0It's relatively light on sex; I found it more fun to write about the lead-in. A very different story for me, but I very much enjoyed writing it.
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It wasn't the cleanest club and it certainly had its troubles, but it was the one place in town Sam could unwind and forget about the outside world. He had found plenty of work over the years, and many places still remembered his face and name. Familiarity was usually followed by trouble, and he wanted a break for a night. The jazz trio was playing softly, keeping the mood of the place quiet. In a little while, their singer would be joining the trio for a set. She had a voice that could have set her in higher places but, like Sam, she was a creature of this world, a part of the underbelly of the city.
The last job had gone surprisingly well. A simple tracking assignment quickly proved that a politician was cheating on his wife. She paid him well for the photos - as she should; the inevitable divorce payday would leave her loaded for life. In an odd twist, the politician paid him, too. He wanted to assure that Sam would stay silent and keep from wrecking his career. That was fine with Sam. He hated politics and would have left them alone for free. Sam felt fortunate; the guy was only a councilman and had limited influence. A mayor -or worse, a judge - could have made his work difficult for years.
Seated alone in his favorite seat in the far corner of the club, Sam took a sip from the cheap beer in front of him. A part of the last payday paid for a vacation for his secretary. The lady deserved it; for years he was on the verge of defaulting on her paychecks, yet she still kept his clients in order and managed the office well. She and her husband now had a break, and Sam was finally alone. Another sip, and he could hear the soft sirens in the background. He knew the sounds by heart; this time the police were headed to the South District, likely to settle a domestic dispute, or perhaps a bar fight at the Lime Parrot. In 20 seconds, the sirens would cease; in a few more minutes another set of sirens would replace them. The city never did sleep, but for the first time in years he could afford not to care.
The city still cared about Sam, though, and didn't seem to like him disappearing. As the singer took her place in front of the microphone, the front doors began to open. Out of instinct, Sam watched the doors to identify the newcomer, instantly knowing he'd regret seeing her. She was high-class, with a tailored satin green dress, matching heels, deep red hair flowing to her shoulder blades, and a beautiful, brooding face that must have taken an hour to prepare. She didn't belong here, yet seemed perfectly comfortable in the dusky surroundings. Her appearance suggested money, and lots of it, but the gaze in her eyes belied something else. Anxiety? Defiance? Perhaps both. At any rate, she was as out of place as a porcelain doll in a playground. Sam knew she brought trouble with her. A few others in the club catcalled their approval, but Sam returned to his drink. This was his night; trouble could call somebody else.
Sam had danced with trouble for too long, however, and trouble was a jealous companion. He heard the approaching clicks of her high heels, not needing to look up to know she was headed for his table. The staccato of her heels fell into the lazy rhythm of the first number of the jazz set. As the singer began to woo the microphone, the heels stopped in front of Sam. "Hey there, Partner," she intoned.
"Nobody's called me Partner in years, lady." Sam never took his eyes off his drink. His former partner, Charles, had died in a mishap long ago. Sam always felt a twinge of guilt over the death and hadn't considered working with another person since.
She shifted her purse in her hands and the weight on her feet, allowing one hip to sway to the side. "I'm afraid it's all I know to call you, unless you have a better name now." Her easy sultriness belied confidence, Sam noted. She knew his name - how could she know his nickname otherwise? - and she was just playing for now.
"The name's Sam, sweetheart. What interest is it of yours?" So far, he had no reason to believe his first day off would end well.
A slow smirk crept across her face. "Could be plenty of interest to me, but I'm a little too thirsty to be sure."
His instincts fought a civil war as he debated between shutting this conversation down and figuring out why she was interested in him. It was his time off and he just wanted solitude, yet he didn't like to leave questions unanswered. "Have a seat, lady." He motioned to the cocktail waitress, "her first is on me." As the auburn beauty slid into the opposing seat and the waitress brought by the martini she requested, another siren wailed distantly in the background. An ambulance this time, also headed south. Domestic dispute, Sam figured as he took another drink from his almost-empty beer.
The lady thanked the waitress and enjoyed her first sip, her eyes lighting up a bit at the taste. "Oh, that's much better Sam. You know exactly what this woman needs." The band was just finishing their first number, and the familiar introduction to
A Night in Tunisia stirred from the piano. This was one of the singer's better songs; they never failed to play it.
"Can't say that I do, sugar. You haven't told me anything yet."
She took another sip from her martini, relishing the parlay between them. "For not knowing, you certainly get off to a great start. But since you're curious, why do you think a girl like me is haunting this spot?"
Sam eyed her intensely as he finished off his beer. "Well, sweetheart, it's pretty simple. A high-class broad like you, dressed to the nines, coming in here and accepting drinks from a stranger. The way I see things, you're either running from trouble or running toward it. I just can't figure out which."
A light laughter departed her lips as she leaned forward, allowing her low-cut dress to fulfill its design. "Let's just say I'm here for a hushed conversation." The embers in her eyes flickered with a wink.
"You can have hushed or you can have conversation, lady. I don't do both." Dammit, he thought to himself. Why couldn't he just let this one go for once?
"Decisions, decisions... I'm not sure if I'd rather listen to you or just look at you, sugar," she intoned as she reached over and grabbed Sam's cigarette from the ashtray, lazy rolling it in her fingers and dragging a fingernail across its length before returning her attention to Sam.
Sam gave her a slow, intentional gaze down and then back up. "If we're just looking, I'm getting the better end of the deal. If we're conversing, you'll have to talk more than that dress. What's your story, anyhow? Why the hushed conversation?"
She leaned back in her chair and gave her attention back to the cigarette in her hand, wrapping her lips around the pleasure end and enjoying its offerings before allowing the dusky fumes to dance on her tongue and slowly releasing them to join the rest of the haze in the club. She glanced at the ashes, now spent and wilting on the end of the cigarette, and tapped them to their final rest in the tray on the table. Satisfied with her efforts, a carefree smile sprawled over her face as she leaned back over the table.
"Honey, I'm a good girl. Good girls don't talk to strangers unless they have secrets. It's a matter of how much these secrets are worth to you."
"Let's start with a name, lady. And if I'm to buy another round to loosen those lips of yours, I'll at least need to know what you want."
She pouted, "Oh honey, I haven't told you my name? How unbecoming of me. The name's Cassandra. As far as a drink," she purred, "you should know by now I like things hard and strong. And the secrets will be well worth your time, I guarantee."
The waitress had sensed an impending round and fluttered by the table. Sam ordered two single malts - what the hell, he was on vacation - and thanks the waitress when she brought them by.
"Cassandra, huh? You picked a strange bar to have a quiet conversation. If you want a bit more privacy, you can hardly be across the table. Sit over here beside me."
Her eyes lit up as she slid into the booth next to Sam. She tucked her shin underneath his calf and lowered her voice, "I'm in your debt, honey. Ask away, I'll tell you dirty truths." She gave him a low, sultry stare out of the corner of here enflamed eyes.
By now, the drinks had loosened Sam's caution and he was growing more comfortable with this parlay. He slid his arm around her, resting his hand on her hip and whispered, "Let's start with the trouble you're running toward. The past ended once you entered the door. If you're looking for trouble, give me a kiss and we'll see what kind of trouble follows you." He emphasized 'kiss' with a light squeeze on her hip. Sam figured that if she was just playing a game, this ought to shake loose the facade.
The grin grew uncontrolled on Cassandra's face. She once again reached for the cigarette, its embers rejuvenated by the rest. After slowly filling her mouth with its offerings, she released the smoke into a cloud in front of them and leaned in to kiss Sam, sliding her tongue into his mouth to caress and entwine his own.
The boldness of the move confirmed to Sam that this was no tease. As the band's song wound down, he lowered his hand onto her ass and squeezed the cheek. Once the kiss ended, he signaled the cocktail waitress for the check. "Cassandra, I don't know what you're running from, but you're certainly running toward all the trouble you want. The next number's going to be a slow one. How about we take this party to the dance floor to continue this "conversation"? The way I figure, there won't be much talking or looking." Sam paid the bill and left a handsome tip for the waitress. The girl was good at her job and didn't spread rumors; she deserved the gratitude.
Cassandra gave him a kiss on the cheek as she squeezed his thigh. Taking him by the hand, they made their way to the dance floor. As the band resumed, Cassandra pressed her body tightly into Sam, bringing her lips excruciatingly close to his yet not making contact. Teasing the hair at the nape of his neck, she asked, "So, Trouble, how about you lead?"
Sam started the dance, leading to his right. "Your perfume is intoxicating," he mused, leaning in for a better sniff and slowly exhaling his warm breath across the back of her neck. No longer caring about the jealous glances of the other patrons, Sam traced a hand down along her dress back to her ass cheek. "No underwear, sweetheart? You're definitely running into trouble." To emphasize the point, he again grasped her cheek and pulled her pelvis into his.
A soft moan escaped her lips as Cassandra gripped Sam tighter. She leaned up into his ear, whispering "Mother always said if I went looking for trouble I would find it."
"Lady, if you really want trouble you'll have to search a bit lower." Sam now had both hands on her ass, lightly lifting her into him as he gave her another kiss. His tongue unsheathed a little from his own lips, threatening to penetrate hers as he ran his tip along her mouth's entrance.
Cassandra slowly began to grind her pelvis into his cock, releasing from his mouth and kissing him softly on his neck as she slowly wandered her fingers down his chest and abs. Playing with his belt line, she moaned into his ear, "You're trouble with a capital "T". Sam moved a hand up to her cheek as she leaned back to stare at him, her eyes ablaze with desire. Cassandra's voice was almost a growl, "Sam, if I'm running towards trouble, I've found exactly what I'm looking for." Arching her back slightly to allow a full view of her cleavage, she asked, "but what about you, sugar?"
Sam traced his hand down from her cheek, past her neck and along the top of her breasts. Lightly hooking his thumb into her plunged neckline, he pulled forward on her dress an inch, briefly exposing one nipple to his view before releasing. "The song's winding down. I think it's time we moved this party elsewhere." Cassandra's eyes flashed approval as she smiled and again kissed him. The song reached its final chords as the two darted out of the club.
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Once outside, Sam watched over the hopeful taxis as they droned by. Cassandra petted his shoulder and cooed at him, "Why the wait, honey? Wouldn't a taxi get you where you want to be?"
"Sweetheart, in my line of work you learn a few things about people. That first driver is too slow; he runs the meter up on you. The second is too reckless. The third's a talker; he'll never let you alone." Sam saw the one he wanted and waved the cab over. "This guy is all business. He'll mind his and let you mind yours." As they piled into the back, Sam leaned forward, "Fourth and Birch."
"301 Ivy, just south of Tilly." Cassandra handed forward an overly generous fare before Sam could object. She gave him that impish smile and patted his thigh. "Relax honey; it's just a little more private than your neck of the woods."
Sam had read the driver right; he sped off down the street and quickly fell into his driving trance, alertly oblivious to the chatter in the back seat. As the car merged on to the expressway, Sam slid his hand back around Cassandra, tracing the line of her underwear on her hip. A part of his brain was screaming that he was being played; the rest of his brain didn't care.
Cassandra seemed to sense the tension in his mind. She twirled a finger into his hair and leaned into whisper, "Just relax, honey, there's no funny business. Let's just say some of your former work has left me in a much better position. Tonight's a night of … gratitude." A nibble on his hear had the intended effect; he let out a nearly inaudible growl as his hand wandered lower, filling its palm with her finely sculpted asset. She was a dancer, he noted in the back of his mind.
"Mmmm…" she cooed, sauntering her hand up his thigh. As if tired by the banter, her fingers wrapped themselves around the bulge in his trousers. "Carrying a loaded gun, I see," she teased.
For once, Sam was without a rejoinder. He turned his head into hers, sealing their lips together in their first kiss of the evening. The faint smell of her perfume was intoxicating; he had almost forgotten the allures of a well-polished woman. His free hand cupped her cheek as he pulled her head back to look into her pleading eyes. "Sugar, it's been a long time since I've felt anything like this. A long time."
"Oh Sam, you'll have so much more to feel." The playfulness from her face had gone; her breath had quickened its pace and the fire in her eyes turned into a blaze. Her lower lip jutted out slightly as she pondered her next kiss when the cab began to slow to a halt.
"301 Ivy" the cabbie intoned, completely devoid of emotion. Sam leaned forward to hand him a tip. The man wasn't a talker, for certain, and deserved a token of gratitude for his silence.
They hustled out of the car and headed up the steps to the manor that Cassandra had led him to. Sam felt that something was vaguely familiar about this place, but he couldn't recall why and he really didn't care at the moment. Cassandra pulled the key from her purse and opened the front door. The two slipped in, tacitly bidding the outside world adieu for the evening.
The door had no sooner shut and locked before they were fully entwined, their lips sealed and their hands molesting their clothes. "God, Sam, don't make me wait any longer," Cassandra pleaded as she tugged at the knot on his tie. Sam released her long enough to remove his coat and throw it on the rack.
The temporary disengagement gave them pause. Cassandra took the opportunity to lead him to the bedroom, a sprawling chamber with a patio and ample windows opening to the countryside. "Nobody else is here, Sam. I'm yours all night long. This is your night." She turned around to expose the zipper on her dress to his eager hands.
The green satin dress slid off her shoulders, retiring from its duties for the night. As she stepped out of the pile, Sam wrapped one hand around her abdomen and the other on her hair. Pulling her head to one side, he kissed her ear from behind, eliciting a moan from her lips. His upper hand trailed down to her breast, tracing along the erect nipple and dragging his fingernails along the side. His lower hand traced down into her panties, coursing through her finely curled hair and teasing the sides of her outer folds.
Cassandra leaned back into Sam, enjoying his ministrations and opening her body to him. As he continued to tease her wetness, she reached behind herself to undo his belt and release his trousers. Her body writhed in his arms as the belt gave way and his pants opened to her exploration.
With the gun still holstered to his belt, Sam broke the embrace to properly undress. He fumbled with the lower garments and Cassandra made short work of his shirt, deftly opening the buttons and flaring the fabric off his shoulders. In no time, Sam found himself naked and falling on the bed with this lovely creature, stripping off her panties and exploring the gentle curves of the creature wrapped around him. In the back of his mind, he noted that there had been no other sounds in the house; he registered that they must truly be alone. In a final struggle for control, his lusts finally quelled his caution, remanding it to silence for the time.
Cassandra rolled Sam on top of her. "Now, Sam. I've been ready all evening." She pulled his head in to embrace his lips and dug her fingernails into his back. Sam needed no further encouragement; he slowly slid down, dragging his erection along her folds until his head found its mark. With a slow push and a slight adjustment of the angle, he slid into her, amazed at the heat radiating from her sex.
"God, Sam. Ooohh…." The penetration shook her like a jolt of electricity. Instinctively bucking her hips up to meet him, she clenched her legs around his hips and swallowed as much of him into her as she could.
There was no slow buildup. Sam hadn't realized how much he had been wanting this moment and began thrusting away without restraint. He sensed her excitement every time his pelvis hit her clitoris, and adjusted the rhythm to allow a bit of grind. She responded in kind, moaning her pleasure and clamping down hard on his cock.
Words escaped both of them as their climaxes rapidly approached. Cassandra's eyes bulged wide open as her moans gave way to screams of pleasure. As the first waves rippled through her, Sam suddenly stiffened, the rigor of the little mortis seizing his muscles. With each wave of his orgasm, Sam felt years of stress and toil evaporating from his body.
Eventually the two fell silent and still, only their breathing confirming they were still alive. After a few minutes, Sam rolled off Cassandra and pulled her head onto his shoulder. She looked up at him and cooed, "Mmmm... now that was worth waiting for." As she danced her finger along his chest hair, she continued, "I suppose you'd like to know how I know you."
"Baby, I've been curious ever since you came to my table. Something about you is familiar, but I can't place it."
"I'm not surprised," she giggled, "ten years ago I was only fifteen. I've changed a bit since then." Do you remember that obnoxious redheaded girl in the lobby of the Aston Hotel when you and your partner were working the Riley case?"
Sam's eyes bolted wide open. "That was you?!? But I - we - ended up putting your parents in prison for fraud. Why did you do this?"
Cassandra chuckled, "Honey, you did the best thing anybody's ever done for me. They weren't kind parents. After they went away, certain enemies they made ended up killing them in prison. I was sixteen, but the family estate was willed to me. It ended up as a trust and my uncle tended it for me until I turned eighteen. By then, a couple very lucky breaks caused it to double in value. Free of my parents, I have been running it ever since."
Cassandra beamed as she kissed his cheek. "I've been meaning to thank you ever since, but you work so damn much I couldn't ever get the chance. Once I heard that you let your secretary take a vacation, I knew you'd have a night off for once. And I knew exactly where to find you."
"Sweetheart, I don't know what to say."
"Don't, Sam. Not tonight. I'm not stupid; the odds of this actually becoming a thing are slim. You don't sit still enough for a family and we hardly know each other. But for one night - " she reached down and teased his slowly thickening cock, " - for one night, it's just you and me."