Montana stood, climbing up on the chair, and I sat back on the round table, my face now close to being between her legs. She reached down and grabbed the bottle of Cristol that had been chilling next to us. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she cheered - holding the bottle high in the air. The crowd and I instantly responded - holding hands up in the air in celebration. Then she told me to lean back. I did, resting on my arms and arching my back, my br**sts held up to the sky and in full glory of the fifty-some men who were surrounding us, some standing on chairs in order to see better. Montana let the champagne rain and it hit me, cool and sweet, splattering my neck, hitting the swell of my br**sts, and running down my stomach. My skin instantly responded to the cold liquid bubbles, puckering and standing at attention. Montana laid me back and began to lick it off, her tongue making magic happen on my skin.


Rule 4: Her pleasure is the most important objective.

I woke up in a strange bed. I lay there, the room dark, and tried to figure out where I was. I felt out, the sheets covered in a heavy down comforter, feather pillows underneath my head. I felt skin - a hand, big. Brad.

I sat up, the quick movement causing a sharp pain in my temple. "Ohhh…." I groaned. Brad's hand twitched under mine, and I moved my hand off his quietly, slowing pulling the covers back and sliding out of them. My mouth felt like dry cotton, and I felt my way quietly through the suite till I got to the kitchen. I opened cabinets till I found glasses, and filled one with water from the tap. I padded to the bathroom, where I reluctantly turned on the light, wincing against the searing brightness. Fumbling through my toiletries bag, I found the small aspirin bottle I had packed, and shook out two pills. I stuffed them in my mouth and took a big swig of water, then turned out the light. Padding back to the bedroom, my eyes adjusting to the dark, I saw an outline of Brad, sitting up in bed.

"That you?" I whispered, stupidly.

"Yeah. You feeling okay?"

"Not really."

He chuckled and patted the bed next to him. "Lay back down." I chugged the rest of the water, ignored the water that missed my mouth, and shakily set the glass down on the nightstand. I crawled into bed and turned away from him, curling into a pitiful ball. He reached his hand out and cupped me, dragging me until I was flush against his hard body. He curled around me and kissed the back of my neck. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

"I hate alcohol," I mumbled.

"Shhh…" he said. I didn't hear anything else after that.


I woke up hot and sticky, to an annoying high pitched screaming sound. I looked around groggily, the only light coming from the TV, which was on. A yellow square cartoon was screaming incessantly, a loud feminine sound interrupted by short pauses. The video seemed to be stuck on some sort of repeat, the sound went on and on until the screams were finally interrupted by another character. I flopped over and tried to go back to sleep. Then the same annoying cartoon started laughing, a continual braying laugh that scraped at my subconscious. I scrambled through the covers and grabbed the remote, pressing buttons until the screen, and the room thankfully went dark. Ugh. I did a self-analysis and found that I wasn't that bad off. I was hot, but that was easily fixed, sticky *where did that come from*, and my head was pounding, but not at an intolerable level. I went in search of Brad.

I found him, eight short steps later, in the dining room, the phone to his ear and the paper spread out in front of him. I gave him a half-hearted wave and collapsed in the closest dining room chair. He stood, still on the phone, and poured me a glass of orange juice, which I grabbed and gulped with glee. Fresh-squeezed and ice cold.

He looked shower-fresh and gorgeous, and not at all suffering. Damn Man. He wrapped up his phone call with a few more uh-huhs and okays, and then hung up. He tapped his cell on the phone and looked at me. I swung my legs and looked everywhere but at him. I felt like I had done something wrong, but wasn't sure what.

"So…." he said, drawing it out. "Are you hungry?"

I frowned, pondering the question. I felt thirsty, but not necessarily hungry. "Depends."

"On what, pray tell."

"What the plan for today is."

"Well," he consulted his watch, a Patel Philippe. "It's 10am now. I have an errand to run off the Strip that will probably take a few hours. I thought maybe we could grab breakfast, then I could do my stuff and you could do whatever you want to do, and then we could meet back up, around 2:30. Our flight leaves at 6 - we should probably start heading to the airport around 4pm."

"What kind of errand?"

He fixed me with a steady look. "A personal one."

"Can I come?"

He tilted his head, thinking. "I guess so. It won't be all that exciting. Let's eat and then you can decide."

Not exciting was starting to sound pretty good to me. I felt like I had been here a month, with all that had happened. I stood up and headed to the bathroom. "I'll take a shower and get dressed."

I walked into the bathroom and turned on all of the jets in the shower. I was wearing a pair of worn pajama pants and a tee shirt - the most modest of the nightwear I had packed. I frowned, looking down at it. I didn't even remember putting it on last night. I pulled it off, turned off all of the lights, and stepped into the shower. Sometimes I love showering in the dark. For one reason, it helps my hangover headache to not have a blaring light shining down on me. But it also leaves me alone with my thoughts and just lets me think. I stepped forward, under the railhead, and let the hot water hit my face, the tiny streams feeling like heaven on my face. I tried to let my tension and stress flow out of my body with the water, and to focus on my thoughts and try to remember last night, but I could only think of one thing. Brad.


I tapped my fingers on the wall and tried to think. I was horny. Dammit. Talk about rotten timing. I thought for a moment, then opened the door, a wave of steam blowing out and cool air hitting my naked skin as I left the shower. I walked, soaking wet, to the entrance to the living room. I took a deep breath and stepped out.


Brad was on the phone again, trying to explain custodial rights regarding relocation to one of his paralegals, when Julia appeared from the bedroom. Dripping wet, her skin tan and perky, her body flush from the shower's heat - she looked like every wet dream he had had as a teenager. Her hair slicked back and her face make-up free, she also looked very young, and innocent. His dick twitched in his pants, and he felt it start to grow.