Nevada Day - Sex Stories

Nevada Day

... like?” “Like?” exclaimed Carla. “I fucking love!” “Seriously, where did you find this?” asked Sandra. “Local consignment shop. I think it was in Winchester or Spring Valley, but it might have been Paradise.” “You’re going to give every straight guy a fucking boner,” said Carla. We all laughed and headed in. Turned out I was the only one who dared to dress like I did. I didn’t care, I was a sexy, single woman living in Las Vegas who was hoping to get laid tomorrow night, and I wasn’t about to buy a special costume for my work. It wasn’t like I was naked. The party was a huge hit. The band was fantastic and the food was amazing. I danced with several coworkers and a few of the accountants, though their wives didn’t quite approve. Oh well. The only person I didn’t see was Mr. Hoskins. I was sure he was there, but other than seeing Hunter, his bodyguard/driver, he was nowhere to be found. I was surprised when Mr. Rocca stepped up wearing a stripped zoot-suit, looking like an old gangster from the Roaring Twenties, and smiled at me. “Well don’t you look sexy tonight?” “Mr. Rocca!” I exclaimed. “Pleased to see you tonight.” “How’s the job going?” “Great! Mr. Hoskins has been a wonderful boss and I can’t even begin to thank you for helping me get this job.” “As I recall, you already did.” “Oh, right,” I giggled. “So, how well do you know your boss?” “What do you mean?” “Have you met any of his family?” “Not that I’m aware of. Why?” “Oh, because he’s got a few skeletons in his ...

... closet.” “Don’t we all?” “Well, he has a surprise or two as well.” That comment about the surprise or two struck me as odd, but I blew it off and said, “Well, he’s a great boss and considering all I’ve been through, I’ve nothing to complain about.” “Well that’s good to hear.” A woman with salt and pepper hair, dressed as a Roaring Twenties flapper stepped up and asked, “And who’s this?” “Morgan, my lovely wife Tatum Rocca. Tatum, this is Morgan Schneider. She was the young lady I rescued from jail when that idiot I hired got arrested.” “Oh yes,” she said, her voice had a clear air of high society. “The secretary you fucked.” I was taking a drink when she said that and I instantly choked. Mr. Rocca didn’t look pleased that I had spit my drink on him, but it really wasn’t my fault. “What the fuck is wrong with you Tatum?” he snapped. “Are you denying you fucked her?” I was still gasping for air when he said, “Yes I am. I told you, Clint was a sleaze-bag and the cop was trying to get this poor girl to sign a confession she didn’t understand. If she had been guilty, she wouldn’t be here now.” I finally was able to catch my breath and said, “Mr. Rocca talked to Mr. Hoskins on my behalf.” Mrs. Rocca looked at Mr. Rocca and me, then said, “You two better be telling me the truth. If I find out you fucked my husband, prison will be the least of your worries little girl.” Did I mention I’m a curvy, petite woman with blonde hair and blue eyes? Tatum Rocca is over six feet tall in her heels ...