Rachel at the pool
Lauren at the cocktail party
Rachel loved Mike. That did not mean that he didn’t drive her crazy at times. He was smart, handsome, kind, funny, and in bed he curled her toes over and over. He also was unambitious - and she was just the opposite. Mike was good at his job - very good, in Rachel’s biased opinion - but he didn’t fight hard enough to get what he deserved. That old fuck Stevens was holding him back.
“You should be a vice president by now,” Rachel said. “You’re the best young exec there. You need to demand to be promoted! If you want something, fight for it!”
Mike laughed and rolled to where he could kiss her stomach. “You need to demand to be tongue-fucked!” he said, mimicking her voice. Rachel had to laugh too. “I do demand it!” she said in mock outrage. He drove her crazy. Later, the sweat of her orgasm cooling on her body, she wondered if it was her ego that drove this, rather than her desire to support him. She was so Type A, so driven - she knew this about herself. Am I embarrassed to be with him? she thought. Do I think he makes me look . . . weak?
She slept poorly after that, which sucked, because the next day she and Mike had a flight to Vegas. He had a national sales meeting, she was taking her first week of vacation in a year. Rachel liked to gamble. She always thought she could beat the odds. Their hotel room was ok. She tried not to think of the suites she was sure his superiors had. Mike loved the room - he loved all hotel rooms. She wanted to go to the pool but he nuzzled his mouth into her neck. She still tingled from their sex when she finally stretched out in the desert sun thirty minutes later. He certainly wasn’t unambitious in that department.
Even by Vegas high-roller standards, Rachel was a striking beauty, and she had brought immodest bikinis. She especially liked the one she had on, athletically sexy. Mike came by, going to golf with buddies. He snapped her photo with a grin. Rachel didn’t keep score, exactly, but she was aware of the other men who passed through the glass-walled lobby over time, the way they paused and looked at her. One of them lingered, too long. She recognized him. The old fuck Stevens. She turned onto her stomach. Let him stare at her ass. He’d ogled her tits long enough.
That night there was a cocktail party, a welcoming gathering. She and Mike mingled. He knew a lot of people, but he talked to the ones he liked; he didn’t schmooze the c-suite. Rachel tried not to be annoyed. Then Stevens was at her elbow. She wore a black dress, with a very low back, and he made a point of putting his hand on her bare skin as low as he could. Her neckline was low too, but he was content with only putting his eyes there. Creepy. But Rachel put on her brightest smile, and talked about Mike.
Stevens was amused by her advocacy, she could tell, even though he only looked at her tits and not her face. It made her furious. She half-expected him to proposition her. Weren’t these meetings hotbeds of hot beds?
“I’d like you to meet my wife,” Stevens said.
OK, she hadn’t expected that. She also didn’t expect his wife to be her age, and icily gorgeous. Her outfit was just a display case for her body. It was a skin-tight skirt and top, with most of the skin of her chest outside of it. Rachel noted two things: Mike was now watching them, and this bitch had man-made tits.
“Lauren, my dear,” Stevens said. “This is Rachel. She wants something from me.”
“Does she,” said Lauren. She was inspecting Rachel’s breasts. Rachel breathed in and arched her back a little. Laren’s eyes finally came up to hers. “What does she want?”
“She thinks I should elevate her husband in the company,” Stevens said. He tilted his head toward Mike as he spoke. His wife followed the gesture.
“Mmm,” she said. “I’d like to elevate him myself.”
Rachel blinked. “Excuse me?” she said. Lauren didn’t even bother to look back at her. She spoke to her husband instead, her eyes still on Mike. “So what will you do?”
“As we are in Las Vegas,” he said, “I thought I might propose a wager.” Lauren’s head turned back. Rachel watched the diamond necklace around her throat catch the light, noticed the slender muscles in her bare shoulders. Lauren was smiling now.
“I suppose, though, wager is not quite the right word - contest would be better.” Stevens said. “Should you win this contest, Rachel, I will make young Mike a vice-president immediately. The sky will be the limit for his career. Who knows - perhaps my job will be his, one day.”
A waiter went by with a tray of champagne flutes. Lauren skillfully plucked one as he passed. “Should you lose,” she said, “I get his cock.”
Rachel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked at Stevens. “My wife - and I - have our own arrangements,” he said. So the old fuck and the trophy wife had an open marriage. He smiled. “We both, she and I, enjoy the contests, no matter what she claims as a prize.”
“What contest?” Rachel said. Something between the two women? She couldn’t help it - she felt heat gathering in her body.
“In three days, this hotel is hosting a boxing match, a championship bout of some sort,” Stevens said. “The ring is assembled already.” He made a modest gesture. “I can get access to this ring.”
Rachel laughed. “A boxing match? Between her and me?”
Stevens shook his head.
Lauren moved close to Rachel.
“Boxing has rules,” she said. “Gloves. A referee.” She sipped her champagne, and moved the final inch needed for her breasts to touch Rachel’s. “I fight bare-fisted. To the finish.”
Rachel stepped back. “You’re crazy,” she said.
The challenge in Lauren’s face turned to contempt. “You’re a coward,” she said. “If you want something, fight for it.”
Rachel turned and walked away. She caught Mike’s hand and pulled him with her. But the ice-maiden’s voice ricocheted in her brain. Rachel had said the identical words to Mike the night before.
