by Liz Adams
“You’re quite the magician.”
“You ain’t seen nothing, yet.” He moved down to her feet and stole his hands underneath her dress. His hands were warm as they made their journey up her thighs.
Helping him out, she raised her hips as he tugged down her panties. She realized he was one of those guys that liked clothed sex and wanted her to keep her dress on. That was okay with her, though she preferred the feel of skin against skin.
“Abracadabra.” He tossed her thin, red garment over his shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to be the magician’s assistant.”
“And such a beautiful assistant you are.” He slid his hands up to her waist. She felt him press his rod against her leg the whole way.
“Is there anything of yours you’re going to make disappear inside me?”
“As much as I want to, I have to play fair.” He took out a coin from his pocket. “Heads you give me head, tails I sit on your tail and give you a back rub.”
He flipped the coin. She watched the coin spin in the air. On the one hand, getting him to come would finish him off quickly and she could get back to the task of snagging his winnings, but on the other hand, that back rub sounded too seductive to pass up. She’d been working hard casing the casinos this last week for a one-way ticket to Chicago. All that work wound her muscles tight. She could take the time to untie those knots.
He clapped the coin to the back of his hand and checked to see who won. “Tails.”
“Yes!” she cheered.
He smirked at her and climbed off of her. “Turn over.”
She spun onto her stomach. He sat down on her butt. Those smooth hands now found their way under her unzipped dress and caressed her shoulders. The caresses became gentle squeezes. Mmm. He was indeed good at giving massages. But then, was there even such a thing as a bad massage?
His fingertips etched circular designs of release down her spine. She moaned. His hands felt so good. The plan of stealing from him brought a drop of guilt down her throat, but didn’t last. She knew that like other guys, he’d just blow it all the next day at cards. Whether he lost his money to the tables or to her, the result for him would be the same. For her, the result would be vastly different. The buzz she got after a job, that buzz of feeling in control and independent, it was the best part of living the way she did. She was no longer the helpless, poor girl she was when she was growing up. She was no longer associated with the mud-crusted homeless people on the streets. By taking what she wanted, without anyone getting in her way, she took control of her life and the way she wanted to live it.
His hands weaved their wonders back up to her shoulders and he ground his crotch along the valley at her hips. Pretty soon, Goldie knew, all the blood from his head would be rushing to other places and he would be too distracted to focus on giving her a great back rub. Sure enough, she heard him unzipping his pants and he raised the hem of her dress. While one of his hands remained tacked to her shoulder, his other dipped down her cleft and found her folds.
At first, his fingers were clumsy and a fingernail pinched her. She opened her legs a bit to help his blind fingers feel their way. That did it. She felt him rub her in spots that stirred sensations deliciously unlike a back rub. Arousal, not relaxation. Her wetness could attest to that. She writhed on his hand, ready for him.
He put his length just through her entrance. The way her legs were still mostly closed, his cock had to force a wide enough passage to squeeze in. She flattened her hands on the bed relishing the penetration.
He put both hands back on her shoulders, one of them moist from her wetness, and squeezed further in.
She clenched her fists, bunching up the sheets, moaning a little at the delicious entry.
He squeezed in.
She mashed her face into the pillow and muffled an ecstatic cry.
He squeezed in.
She bit the pillow. It felt so good. Surely he couldn’t go any further.
He pressed down on her ass and opened up her entrance. He squeezed in.
She pounded the bed, her muscles grabbing around his rod to stop him from pushing deeper. Clenching her muscles just made him feel bigger inside.
Her reached around her waist and found her clit. In a short while, his fingertips massaged, then circled, then rubbed at a frantic clip. Her pleasure was almost at a peak, already.
He squeezed in to the hilt.
She arched her back yelling a winning cry. He helped her unlock a treasure chest of desire. Her body shook out a victory dance. Still impaled by him, she wiggled and writhed with the remaining spasms that rippled through her.
When her body relaxed heavy into the bed, she realized it wasn’t over. “You haven’t come yet, have you?”
He laughed. “I haven’t even starting thrusting.”
She eyed him over her shoulder, and slapped her ass. “Go to it, Mr. Magician. Practice making your wand appear and disappear until you get it perfect.”
He slid out from her narrow pussy and squeezed back in all the way. As his movements quickened, a fresh heat washed along her chest. Grabbing her fleshy rear, he leaned on her, opening her to his thrusts. She snuck a hand down beneath herself and found the nub between her legs to carry her to another orgasm. He had never asked her for her name and that was how she wanted it. No relationship, no ties, just a chance to have fun. Like friends-with-benefits without the friendship, just the benefits.
She shut her eyes and felt her skin sizzle. He jack-hammered into her. The painful pleasure she enjoyed more than she thought any normal person should ricocheted through her like a mad, delicious bullet. Something about the pain fired her up more than usual. Her entire body bounced on the bed with the intensity of his thrusts. He shouted out, burying his cock deep inside her. Her muscles contracted and quaked from head to toe, and she tensed around his pulsing rod feeling him release, splashing and spraying.
In a moment, he moaned his gratitude, slipped out of her, and collapsed on the bedcovers beside her.
***
There was no need to tie him up. He was sound asleep. Thankfully, he snored like a motorcycle. She smiled. His snore would be an alarm system. If he stopped, she’d know he was waking up.
Her next challenge was delicious, like the cherry on top after such great sex.
Once she slipped on her panties under her dress and stuffed her bra in her purse, she padded to the hotel safe inside the closet. The problem with hotel safes was that they’re supposed to be “safe.” But in every hotel, the customers sometimes forgot their own personal code. When that happened, they would contact the front desk and the hired help would ride up to the customer’s room and punch in the default code. The point being these safes often had default codes. Goldie tried the most common default codes: 0-0-0-0-0-0, and 1-1-1-1-1-1. Neither worked.
Damn. She’d have to break in.
With a petite screwdriver from her purse, she removed the safe’s brand name faceplate. Behind the faceplate perched a hole just waiting to be accessed. Now for the paperclip.
Gary’s snoring stopped.
She didn’t move. Her heart drummed hard as she held her breath. The risk of getting caught turned her on more than sex itself, but now was not the time to be aroused. If he woke up now, she’d have to pounce on him and tie him up. Doing that came with the danger of him escaping. It was one thing to have a few screams in a Vegas hotel room, it was quite another for a naked man to run down the hotel halls yelling how there’s a thief in his room. Her nipples peaked at the thrill of danger but some dangers were best avoided.
He grunted and turned over in bed. She didn’t dare move. Within three minutes he was snoring again.
She blew out a breath. After twisting the paperclip to the proper shape, she fed it through the hole. The safe popped right open. God! She was good.
She placed the chips inside her purse, careful to avoid making a sound. Did she feel guilty? Nope. She only felt the thrill of the job and the satisfaction of taking control of
how she’d live her life among the rich and truly free, conquering that muddy helplessness she’d felt every day growing up.
To be generous, she left him the four black chips on the counter. Four hundred dollars was the least she could pay him for the great sex. And he’d have something left to spend at the tables the next day.
***
Two days later, Goldie was eating a bacon and eggs breakfast at the airport diner waiting for her flight. She read the Las Vegas Sun News, enjoying the taste of her success. Living life by her rules and no one else’s. How old was she when she learned the lesson? Sixteen years old? Yes, that was right. She knew damn well when she’d learned her lesson. She’d been a junior in high school when she won the Kepler award for her science project on Improving Binocular Vision in Stereopsis Impairment Using Optical Devices. At the time, winning the award didn’t just validate her hard work and her smarts, it also gave her the glimmer of escaping the bane of being the “poor girl” always wearing the torn, thread-worn hand-me-downs she’d scrounged at Goodwill. The award, $100, would pay for that beautiful golden wrap-around skirt with matching spaghetti-strap top she admired in an Old Navy storefront window, with money leftover for shoes if she got them at the high-end consignment shop.
As soon as the principal awarded her with the First Prize in front of the whole school, she slid the white manila envelope with the certificate and check in her backpack. She made sure to slide the envelope in the pocket that didn’t have a hole. That meant folding up the certificate into eighths, but she didn’t care. What mattered was the check and the promise of escaping her “poor” status.
After school, Goldie felt like she was riding the clouds as she sprinted straight to the nearest bank and waited in line. She’d have to cash her check. She couldn’t deposit it because she had no bank account. Goldie bounced on her feet waiting for her turn. She wanted so much to get the clothes right after going to the bank. There was no way to get the skirt and top that day, though. She promised her mother she would be home every day by four-o-clock to study for school and help with dinner.
At last her turn came up and she handed the folded check to the teller. The lady teller with her midnight hair tied in a bun stood behind the bullet-proof plastic and seemed amused at Goldie’s excitement. Goldie didn’t care.
“I won a science contest.”
“Congratulations. Do you have any plans on how you’re going to spend your hard-earned money?”
Goldie described in great detail the skirt, matching top, and shoes she planned to buy during the weekend.
“That’s great. Congratulations again.”
“Thanks.”
With five twenty-dollar bills in her pocket Goldie ran home, her long locks of hair bouncing freely behind her. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother about the clothes she planned to buy with her own money. Goldie bounded two steps at a time up to the front door.
Her mother wasn’t in the living room. Just her father, slugging down a bottle of beer in front of the TV. That was normal. Her mother usually spent all her time in the kitchen.
“Mom, I won $100! Mom?” Not in the kitchen, either. Goldie went back to the living room. “Where’s Mom?”
“Went to the hospital. Walked into a door.”
‘Walked into a door’ just meant her father hit her mother again. He never hit Goldie, though. Her mother made it very clear that if he harmed one hair on her daughter’s head she’d divorce him.
“Is she gonna be okay?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s your mother. Always bouncing back from anything.” He tried to slam down a gulp from his beer. The bottle was empty, so he let it drop to the floor. “What’s this about winning $100?”
“I won it in a science contest.”
He laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
“You want proof?” She pulled the bills from her pocket and fanned them in front of his face. “See this? I earned it.”
He grabbed her wrist with a bruising squeeze. With his other hand he snatched the money from her hand.
“Hey!” Goldie yelled. “That’s mine.”
“Consider it a down-payment on rent.” He let her go and went to the coat rack to put on his coat.
“Where are you going?” She asked, though she feared she already knew.
“Shopping. We’re out of beer.” He walked out the door.
The painful memory taught her a valuable lesson. Not even hard-earned money could save her. If she wanted to take back her life, the way she wanted to live it, she’d have to do it on her own terms. The skirt, top, and shoes had been the first valuables she ever stole, giving her a victorious feeling of empowerment. And like an addict’s first drink, the risk of getting caught ignited an arousing, heart-pumping thrill that enticed her into the life of a thief.
Now, at the airport diner, she smiled at the memory until she turned the page on the newspaper. She nearly choked on her eggs at the picture of Gary’s severely beaten face in the Las Vegas Sun News. She could barely keep down her breakfast as she scanned the article.
According to the journalist, a good Samaritan saw Gary Wilson’s beaten body lying in an alley and called for an ambulance. Wilson was taken to the hospital. Though he had refused to tell the police who did the damage, the police suspected that a loan shark was involved. The authorities stated that anyone unable to pay off a debt to this particular loan shark was beaten as a warning. No evidence had been found to indict the loan shark, but police said they would continue to pursue the investigation.
Goldie felt the blade of her mistake slice into her heart. She never intended for anyone to get hurt, her marks were supposed to be high rollers who wouldn’t miss what she stole from them. Had she grown up to be like her father? Taking money from those who so desperately need it? She found an airport pay phone and called the police. “Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, can I help you?” The man sounded young.
She adopted a southern twang. “Officer, I’m so worried. I read today’s paper and I think my aunt may be in danger!”
“Calm down, Miss. Why do you think she’s in danger?”
“My aunt has been borrowing money from someone she says is a nice man. But now, after reading what happened to that guy Gary Wilson when he didn’t pay back the loan shark, I can’t help but think that guy my aunt borrowed money from may be the same man.”
“Who did your aunt borrow from?”
“I can’t remember his name, but I’d recognize it. The newspaper didn’t say the name of the loan shark. Do you know who they were referring to?”
“It’s a guy named Edvin Johanson. A real dangerous man. Runs a bar out of Vegas called The Dandelion. Does that sound like the name of the guy your aunt borrowed money from?”
Goldie released a dramatic sigh of relief. “No, officer. That was definitely not his name.”
“Then I’m certain your aunt is under no physical threat.”
“I can breathe again. Thank you so much for your time, officer.”
After hanging up the phone, finding out the address to The Dandelion from the tattered phone book beside the phone was simple. So much for leaving Vegas.
***
Goldie took a taxi in the sweltering hot day to The Dandelion.
“Keep the meter running. Come for me if I’m not back in half an hour.” She left her luggage in the taxi and only brought her backpack with her.
Through the tall front windows, she noticed the tables had tablecloths and the place settings included cloth napkins with five pieces of silverware, not three. The bar and restaurant was the kind of upper-class place people went to celebrate winning a small fortune.
Passing the gold-trim windows, she stepped through the automatic sliding-glass doors. A slap of cool air hit her face. She passed the “Please wait to be seated” sign, and followed the red carpet to the back of the bar. The door with the combination lock on its number pad was helpful. The lock might as well have been a sign that said, “Enter here to meet Johanson!” The act
ual lock itself was merely an inconvenience.
“Can I help you?”
Goldie spun around to see who spoke. It was a tall man dressed in a tuxedo.
She batted her lashes. “You can tell me what the code is.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” His smile seemed fake.
She took his hand. “Please?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
She twisted back his finger and he fell to his knees, his mouth gaping wide at the pain. “Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”
“3227! 3227!”
“Thanks, Sweetie.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, punched in the code, and walked through the door as Mr. Busted Finger ran calling for help.
The end of a narrow hallway led to an office. Among a cloud of cigarette smoke, a wide-shouldered man in a cheap suit stood with his back to her. He spoke to a stocky older man who smoked and sat behind a battered desk.
Goldie nodded to the seated balding man with salt and pepper hair. “You Johanson?”
The man ignored her and asked his friend, “You know this woman?”
His friend shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest.
The seated one took a drag from his cigarette, then said, “How’d you get in here?”
“Are you Johanson or not?”
“I am.”
“I’m here on behalf of Gary Wilson.” Goldie opened her backpack. Wide-shouldered guy must have thought she was pulling out a gun, because he lunged at her. Goldie used his momentum to throw him over her shoulder. He fell flat on the floor.
“Here’s what Gary owes you.” She placed twenty stacks on the table, each stack containing one hundred Benjamins. “You leave him alone, okay?”
The goon got off the floor, a grimace plastered on his ugly face as he cautiously advanced toward her. By Johanson’s nod, he stepped back, glared at her, and rubbed his shoulder.
Johanson casually picked up one of the stacks, flipped through the bills, and set it down. “Gary Wilson. He a relative of yours?”
“That’s none of your business. Does this payment clear his debt?”
