'You b*tch! Let me go!', demanded Stephanie, wiggling her increasingly frozen, damp behind. 'I'm Stephanie Cox!'
'Oh! Stephanie COX', said Glamour Girl. 'I'm terribly sorry - my mistake. You are on my list after all. I must have misheard you. I thought you said 'Stephanie sl*t'. Let her go'.
'Do you have the key?' asked the security guard.
'Darn it, you know, I can tell you exactly where it is. It's on my dressing table at home. Get a hacksaw and cut her loose'.
Glamour Girl then took Amada by the arm and began to escort her away.
'Where are you going? You can't leave me like this!', yelled the squirming Stephanie.
'I've got to take Miss Venturi upstairs to do some routine security checks. The guard will let you go. Bye!'.
'But my panties are all wet!'.
Glamour Girl simply turned, smirking.
'I don't suppose that is anything unusual for you, honey', she said to much amusement, and off she went, hand-in-hand with her prize.
The males watching were entranced by the sight of this lovely female in her scanty, sexy lingerie. The females, some of whom had lost boyfriends, even husbands, to the sultry Stephanie were delighted to see this little man-eater freezing her butt off while she waited on the guard to release her.
Stephanie pulled hard against the railings once more in sheer anger and humiliation. Here she was, bra hanging loosely, squirming in her ice-filled panties, on general display to the amusement of her socialite acquaintances, while her rival was walking off arm-in-arm with the beautiful celebrity that she had set her sights on. Where on earth was that guard!
Eventually, she noticed the guard re-enter the reception at the far end of the room, with a hacksaw in her hand. But a sudden hush round the room alerted Stephanie to a new development. Walking towards her, fastening her coat, on her way out, was the recently dismissed cocktail waitress.
(As you might guess, this is about to get better.)
|