Slowly, you realize that the shape of your mysterious lover isn’t as slim as it looked from afar, and as you walk across the bedroom towards her (at least you’re pretty sure the shape is female) you try to remember what happened last night. You can’t, it’s just a haze of neon lights on a soundtrack of slot machines. “Slut machine,” you can’t help thinking every time. “Slit, slut machine,” the words cross your mind, dangling and jingling in your brain, beginning to hurt and now your thought is “I need Aspirin.” Still, you climb in bed, curious and aroused. You’re quite good looking yourself, surely this mysterious vixen was a selective and well-pondered choice.
Her face is buried in the pillow under a mass of jet black hair. You join her under the sheets, your clumsy hand making its way to the sleeping beauty’s body... you wonder how many times you came last night. Surely you were careful. Your hand reaches her body, her lower back, just above her ass... but instead of warm skin, you feel something cold and plastic.
Something’s wrong.
Your heart skips a beat. Despite the buzz in your ear you tell yourself not to panic. You remove your hand and delicately pull on the sheets, uncovering a fleshy mass wrapped in black latex. You know it’s a woman, but you can’t see her face or boobs, all buried in the mattress. A feeling of disgust fills your heart and a metallic taste lingers in your mouth. She moves.
“Ohhh Hi Honeyyy,” the mass yawns at you.
You jump back, afraid. She is a witch! You brought back a witch with crazy black hair going in all direction. Her red lipstick smeared over her thick, pouting lips, one fake eye-lash stuck to the pillow. She looks at you with her red eyes still half-closed. Her weird latex outfit, with holes through which her heavy, saggy breasts are hanging, is stained with cum. Omg it’s probably yours. “Wtf, wtf,” you think as you walk backward until your back hits the wall.
“Okay, sugar, now you order us breakfast, hum?,” she tells you, reaching for a silver cigarette case and a lighter on the night stand. “My husband never wakes up before 11 a.m. and Grenda needs to eat now, baby.”
“Who.. who are you?,” you ask, tears in your eyes, ashamed of yourself. Who is this woman? Is she Russian?
She laughs. Devilish.
“What, you don’t remember? Aww, baby. You lost, last night, sugar. You lost a lot, poor baby. Your house and your car and all your bitcoins. My husband is not good in bed, but he is very good at cards. And you lost and you had to sleep with me. Mmmm, baby. I had a good time last night. Didn’t you? Now Grenda is hungry. Get some food for Grenda, won’t you?”
You sit on the floor, your back to the wall, your head in your hands, your eyes filled with salty tears, and a loud drumming in your ears. But, hey, don’t worry, baby. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. ;)
Sorry, too easy, had to write it.