The Reckoning Read Online Free PDF Page A

ample), and used it to her ultimate strategic advantage.
    “Ouuweee!” Tony squealed. “This bitch is right out of the Fredericks’s of Hell catalog.”
    “A sex machine,” were the words raising havoc in Royce’s mind. His eyes devoured her as she pranced and preened in her fire engine red lingerie: sheer baby doll top (now cast off), bikini panties (peeling), g-string (minuscule), fringed bikini bra (chockfull of cleavage), and those shiny boots with spiked heels that made his phallus pulse every time she stomped down on the linoleum. The dancer’s effect on him was visceral, resolve-sapping.
    Her face? Did she even have one? Features too sharp to be called pretty. And that hair, teased and frizzed in a wild mop, dark roots at the base of it all. No, Melissa’s face and hair were throwaways.
    His wanton stare went back to her bra. Yes, please take it off. Could they really be that big? He sucked down some beer.
    MC: “Don’t be shy, Melissa. Show us those boobies!”
    Melissa’s red gloss fingernails teased at the front clasp of her bikini bra. Her hard-edged face feigned frustration as she struggled at the clasp, her tongue sticking out wet, shocking pink.
    “Take it off!” a porcine-faced customer demanded.
    “Oh yeah!”
    “Bitchin!”
    “I wanna help!”
    “Come on, boots!”
    MC: “We know it’s hard, Melissa. But do try!”
    The bra whipped off, unleashing huge breasts that swayed briefly before regaining their wondrous shape. Even from ten yards, Royce could tell they were firm and no doubt inflated and sculpted to jumbo perfection by the plastic surgeon’s art.
    “What incredible tits…at least forty-four double D.”
    Tony smiled at the birthday boy, shocked by Royce’s sudden vulgarity. Royce shot back a sheepish grin.
    “Tony said, “I’m glad you’re loosening up, getting the big bug out of your ass.”
    Royce raised his bottle to make a toast.
    “Here’s to having fun.”
    “To fun,” Tony agreed, tipping his bottle against Royce’s.
    Royce pulled his billfold from his back pocket, spread its leather lips to assess his financial status: three twenties, two tens and a fiver.
    Tony seemed to read Royce’s mind. He said, “Maybe you should break one of those for some ones.”
    But Royce bounded from the table, pushing his way into the crowd ogling Melissa. The dancer had spread-eagled her plush body at the foot of the stairs, the needlepoints of her heels hooked around rail stanchions. Now, with a simpering smile on her face, her luscious legs spread wide, she pumped her voluptuous hips as if in the throes of coitus.
    “Sweet Jesus!” wheezed a cowboy standing beside Royce.
    Pink smoke spewed from the ceiling, intensifying the sleazy garishness of the scene. Melissa quickened the pace of her body strokes, her buttocks rubbing against and splaying apart on the stairs.
    But it wasn’t the blonde’s hips, thighs and ass that Royce was concentrating on. It was her lustrous boobs.
    MC: “Don’t forget, gentlemen, those tips are appreciated!”
    Those tits. Not a ripple in them.
    Yes, so lovely. He squinted, just to be sure. Yes, they were there, the tiny, telltale incisions. Whoever engineered the augmentation should have gotten a Nobel Prize. Although Melissa’s body was jerking violently, her breasts only heaved slightly; the blush colored nipples erect with arousal. Those healthy nipples were a hopeful sign. Some girls, after implants, lost all feeling in their bazooms, as if their tits had gone to sleep. More often the glands ended up incredibly sensitive, making the gyrations Melissa was now doing too painful to attempt.
    And sometimes the plasticized tits became rocks.
    Tony elbowed his way next to Royce.
    “Hey, bud. It’s almost seven. Leslie will be antsy.”
    “Just a minute,” Royce said urgently.
    Melissa’s dance had concluded. Men pressed at the stage, eagerly offering their rolled dollar bills, jostling for the blonde’s attention. Royce failed at forcing