“Okay,” he sighed. “I give up. What makes your martini dirty?” he asked.
She finished eating the olive, and placed the sword onto a napkin. She eased her middle finger into her drink, stirred the gin inside with it, then pulled it out and slid it delicately inside her mouth. She removed her finger from between her lips with a slow reveal, skin wet and glistening. When she arrived at her fingertip she released the finger with an almost inaudible pop.
She traced a path down her chin and neck with her fingertip, clawing at her flawless white skin of her neck with her middle fingernail, leaving a wet and reddened trail in its wake. She continued down, between her tits and the subtle shadow of her hardened nipples, down her stomach and between her legs. She lifted the edge of the dress, pulling it up for him, showing him a peek of her hallowed thighs before sending her fingers disappearing under the hem of her skirt. He could see in her face the instant her finger insinuated its way into her pussy, the way her eyes widened and lost focus, the way her mouth grew slack. He watched her as she took her wet length inside, as deep as the length of her finger would allow, every inch.
She met his eyes frankly as she explored the depths of her pussy. He wondered if anyone else was watching this raw display, but was unable to take his eyes off her long enough to check.
After an endless moment, she pulled her finger almost shyly from under her dress and made the same deliriously sexy journey back up her body, except instead of returning her finger to her mouth, she slid it back into her drink. She stirred the clear cold gin with her scented skin, the taste of her pussy mixing with the liquor. After several swirls she took her finger back into her mouth, licking her finger not with her lips but with her tongue, from the base of the finger to the tip. Again, the almost inaudible pop.
“Me,” she said. “That’s what makes the martini dirty. I do.”
– from Dirty Martini, by J G Cain