Dirty Erotic Oneshots, Mistress_ Red [autobiographies to read txt] 📗

she was sitting and then my mind returned to the main task at hand. That drink.

 

"Six hours tonight, right?" I asked Courtney. She nodded.

 

"I'll write you a check in just a second," I told her. "But first, I really need to pour myself a little something. It's been... you know... one of those days."

 

She let out a little laugh, a sharp, cynical laugh. "Oh yes," she said. "I know."

 

"You too, huh?"

 

"You have no idea," she said.

 

I left it at that and walked over to the wet bar in the corner of the family room. I took off my suit jacket, draping it over one of the bar stools and then took off my tie, draping it over the suit jacket. I unbuttoned the top button on my dress shirt and then took down a bottle of imported Russian vodka and a martini shaker. I poured a triple shot of the vodka in, added some ice and some vermouth, and then began shaking. As I was straining my concoction it into a martini glass Courtney walked over to watch.

 

"Breaking out the big guns tonight, huh?" she asked.

 

"You know it," I replied, opening the small refrigerator and pulling out a jar of green olives. I used my finger to swipe one out and dropped it into my drink.

 

"So... that's like a martini?" she asked.

 

"Well, a purist would say that a true martini contains gin instead of vodka, but basically, yes."

 

She chewed her lip nervously for a second. "Do you think that... you know... maybe I could have one too?"

 

I looked at her pointedly. "You just turned eighteen, right?"

 

"Two months ago," she said. "It's not like I haven't drank before."

 

I sighed. "And if I do make you a martini," I said, "you're not going to be coming over here every day asking me to buy booze for you, are you?"

 

"No," she said. "I wouldn't do that."

 

"And you're not going to go home and tell your parents that Steve, the respected deputy district attorney with the ninety-seven percent conviction and/or plea rate got you drunk?"

 

That got a little giggle out of her. "No," she said. "I swear."

 

I shrugged, knowing that I was treading on slightly dangerous ground here, but figuring, what the hell? At the very least I might get another look up her shorts. Maybe I'd even get to see what color panties she was wearing. "Okay," I told her. "You talked me into it. But why don't you taste mine first before I make you one. I have a feeling you might not like it too much."

 

She picked up my glass, smelled it, and then took a drink. Her face contorted instantly into a grimace of disgust. "Ewww," she said, breathing through her mouth to try to flush the aftertaste. "That tastes like gasoline."

 

"I warned you," I told her, amused. "Martinis, like fine wines, are an acquired taste." I reached down into the bar and pulled out a bottle of apple schnapps. "Let me make you something that's probably a little more to your taste."

 

"Please," she said.

 

I poured a double shot of the vodka into the shaker, added a shot of the apple schnapps, and then put in some more ice. I shook it and then strained it into a martini glass for her. The resulting mixture was a pale emerald color. I handed it over to her. "Try this," I said.

 

"What is it?" she asked, giving another careful sniff.

 

"An apple martini, also known as an appletini, although no self-respecting male would ever be heard saying that term. It's supposed to have an apple slice in it for garnish but I'm fresh out of apples at the moment."

 

She took a small sip and her eyes lit up. "Hey, that's good," she said. She took a bigger drink. "It's really good."

 

"And it keeps the doctor away," I said. "Shall we go grab a seat?"

 

"Sure," she said, seeming to cheer up the smallest bit.

 

She turned and walked back to the couch. As she did so I had opportunity to get a good look at her ass. Her cotton shorts were of the kind that had a word printed across the butt. That word was: ANGEL. Protruding from the bottom of her angel shorts, the barest beginning of the swelling of her buttocks was plainly visible. "Wow," I mumbled to myself, as I watched said buttocks rise and fall with her movements. I wondered how angelic she really was and then cursed myself for having such a thought.

 

We sat on the sectional couch, her on one side, me around the L from her, about four feet separating us. She took another drink of her appletini, a much larger one this time.

 

"I think I found myself a new drink," she announced.

 

"Just be careful with them," I warned. "They pack quite a punch."

 

She giggled. "That's just what I look for in a drink."

 

We talked of easy things as we sat there: her part-time job at the local pet store, her plans to go to college "some day" after she secured a job that allowed her to move out of her parent's home, the "overprotective" nature of her parents. Gradually, as the drinks went into our stomachs, the awkwardness as a result of the condom wrapper discussion faded away, allowing its emergence as a topic.

 

"I'm so embarrassed, Steve," she told me. "About everything. You finding the wrapper, having Carl in your house, trying to lie to you about it." She shook her head in disgust at herself. "Will you ever trust me again?"

 

"I trusted you today, didn't I?" I asked.

 

"Well... yeah, but you still must've been wondering and worrying the whole time about me having him over again." She hefted her now-empty glass. "Can I have another one?"

 

My own glass was empty by this point and I could already feel the warmth in my empty stomach, the swimming in my head, as the triple shot coursed through my system. My better judgment, which was usually quite sound, had taken a hit as well since serving her another drink didn't seem like a bad idea at all. "Sure," I told her, standing up and grabbing both glasses. "Another round, coming up." I began to mix up a couple of fresh ones. "Anyway," I told her as I poured free hand instead of measuring, "I was pretty confident that you wouldn't have your boyfriend over tonight."

 

"Were you?"

 

"Uh huh," I said. "Mostly because you're a good kid and I know you wouldn't blatantly defy me."

 

"That's true."

 

"But also because there wouldn't have been too much time for you to do anything. I mean, the kids go to bed at nine and I told you I could be home as early as 9:30. That doesn't leave a lot of time for indiscretions on the couch, does it?"

 

She laughed. "With Carl it does," she said. "He could've gone twice and still had time to smoke a cigarette between rounds."

 

I looked over at her and saw that she was blushing again. "Oh really?" I said.

 

"Oh my God," she said. "I can't believe I said that out loud. Sorry."

 

"Nothing to be sorry for," I assured her, amused. I finished up her drink and strained it into her glass. I then quickly constructed a new drink for myself. When they were done, I carried both back to the couch. "Here you go, my lady," I said, handing her hers.

 

"Thanks," she said, still blushing. She immediately took a large drink of it.

 

"Anyway," I said, resuming my seat. "I wouldn't be too hard on Carl if I were you. He's still young. What is he, nineteen?"

 

"Twenty," she said.

 

I nodded. "Twenty year old guys don't really know how to... uh... you know... control themselves too well yet. Sex is something that takes a long time to perfect."

 

"So it does get better?" she asked.

 

"Well... it depends on the guy of course. I mean, some guys never learn how to do it right. But, for the most part, the older and more experienced a guy is, the better he will be at making love."

 

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully, a slight gleam returning to her eyes, a gleam that seemed to be directed at me this time. "Very interesting."

 

Now it was me who was embarrassed as it occurred to me that she might've taken my words of advice the wrong way. "In any case," I said, "I was reasonably sure you wouldn't try to bring anyone over tonight and that you won't do it in the future."

 

"I won't," she said. "Besides, I'm not sure that Carl and I are going to be going out too much anymore."

 

"Oh?"

 

She took another large drink of her appletini. "We had a big fight tonight... on the phone that is."

 

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

 

She shrugged. "It ain't no big. I mean, it wasn't really working out with him anyway. The only reason he wanted to be with me was to... you know... have sex with me. That's what we fought about. That's all we ever fight about."

 

"About sex?"

 

She nodded. "He... well... he was going to try to come over tonight." She cast her eyes down. "I'm sorry, but that was before I knew you knew about... you know... the last time."

 

"I understand," I told her. "Believe me, I'm not offended by what you did. Believe it or not, I was a teenager once too and I did it more than once in someone else's house while my girlfriend was babysitting. My concern was not about you having sex—after all, you're a big girl now—but about having people I don't know in my house. And at least I know you're using protection, right?"

 

She giggled a little. "That's a big part of what the fight was about," she said. "Those damn rubbers."

 

"You fought about rubbers?"

 

"Well, that was part of it anyway. When I told him that you knew what we had done the last time and that you made it... you know... clear that he wasn't supposed to come over, he asked me how you'd known. So I told him that he'd left his freakin' condom wrapper in the couch."

 

"Which is better than leaving the actual condom in the couch, I will admit," I told her.

 

She laughed. "That would just be gross," she said. "Anyway, when I told him that, he blamed it all on me."

 

"On you? Because he left a condom wrapper in the couch? How's that?"

 

"Because I make him use the condoms," she said. "He told me if I'd just do it like everyone else and get on the pill or use that whole timing thing, none of this would've happened."

 

"He sounds like a real prince all right," I said and then blurted out something I wouldn't have had I not had a drink and a half in my system. "Why do you use the condoms anyway? Shouldn't you get on the pill if you're going to be sexually active?"

 

She was unoffended. "I'm not that sexually active," she said. "Carl is only the third guy I've ever done it with and he's only the second one I've done it with more than once. If I got on the pill my parents would find out about it and would think I was a total slut." She shook her head. "No, I'm not ready for that yet. Maybe when I get a real boyfriend, one who likes me for me and not just so he can screw me, maybe then I'll think about getting on the pill, but I don't think that's gonna be happening anytime soon."

 

"No?"

 

"No," she fumed. "I'm starting to think that maybe the lesbians have it right. Guys are a bunch of assholes—excuse my language."

 

"You're excused," I said. "And you're right. A lot of us are assholes... present company excepted."

 

Another laugh. "No, you're not an asshole at all. In fact, you're very sweet. When I finally find the right guy, I think he's gonna be someone just like you."

 

"A married deputy DA with two kids?"

 

She slapped at my arm. "No, silly, just a nice guy. A guy who knows how to listen." She downed the rest