Busted Bracket

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Redhead falls victim to the madness of March.
6.5k words
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I sat on the high-backed stool in an irritated huff, blowing a strand of ginger hair away from my face and raising the fingers of my right hand to grab the bartender's attention. Not that I needed a lot of help getting noticed in my sleeveless, body-skimming sheath dress with a hem that stopped a few inches north of my knees. The garment clung to my hips and butt, and the red and grey squares of the wide gingham pattern warped as they rode the large double swells of my breasts. I set my delicate clutch on the bar and opened it as the bartender - a fit, good looking guy in his early twenties whose nametag read "Harold" - approached.

"Seven and seven, and if you could turn the Pittsburgh Regional game on this screen, please." I handed Harold a twenty, thanked him, and told him to keep the change. He quickly returned with my cocktail, then left to wait on two men a few seats down, leaving me alone to watch my game. My argument with Dan in the hotel room upstairs had caused me to miss the first four and a half minutes of action, and my team was already leading by six as the game went to its first commercial break.

I held the straw of my drink delicately between my thumb and forefinger and pursed my lips to suck in a mouthful of whiskey and soda. My heart, still beating rapidly with the adrenaline of the fight, pumped the alcohol into my bloodstream and I felt a faint tingling in my face and fingers instantly. My mouth tightened in a slight grimace with the sting of the booze and unpleasant thoughts of the spat.

We (my boyfriend, Dan, and I) were in town for the weekend for an industry conference at which he had been invited to speak. He had asked me to travel with him a few weeks ago, making it sound like it would be a "fun" trip and we'd be able to spend time together, save for a few mandatory short events. Instead, I had spent all day Friday reading alone by the hotel pool, and Friday night sitting by myself in this same hotel bar watching the tournament. Meanwhile, a cheery Dan was ushered from panel to panel, none of which I was permitted to attend. Saturday had been worse, as torrential rain had kept me inside, reading and watching TV in the room all afternoon while Dan gave his speech on looming regulatory changes.

The importance of this weekend to Dan and his career was obvious to me and I wouldn't have minded, had I not felt he'd mislead me when inviting me along. I was further miffed by the fact that I'd traveled with him rather than going to Pittsburgh with friends to watch our alma mater play the first two games of what we were sure was to be an historic march through the tournament. It was tonight's game that had set off the argument.

"You've been away at meetings since we woke up Friday morning, and now the only two-hour block of the weekend that I want to do something is the time you're adamant about spending together?!" I'd held back a lot in stating my case, but my frustration was threatening to boil over.

"I'm sorry that I had more work to do at this conference than I expected." I couldn't tell whether to believe him. "This weekend is really important for my career. I thought you'd want to be together when we could, but instead I guess you want to watch basketball." I should have smelled this cheap play coming, but he wasn't the only one who could lay a trap.

"Why don't you watch the game with me? We could spend time together, have some drinks. The bar menu is pretty good, and after the game you could tell me about your presentation." Sitting on the bed in my underwear, part of me wanted him to agree, but another knew it would be more pleasant to watch alone - and that he would never accept anyway.

"You know I hate basketball!" he spat. Dan's peculiar disdain for sports bubbled to the surface as I'd expected. "And I'd rather have a nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us, if I'm going to discuss my work from this afternoon." He reached out and touched my arm, his fingertips brushing softly across my smooth, pale skin. Dan sat on the bed and inched closer to me, kissing my bare shoulder. "Then maybe after dinner we can see what this hotel mattress can do..." The night before I'd been asleep before he returned to the room and this morning had awakened to the sounds of him getting out of the shower and dressing in the bathroom.

"Dan, if you want to have dinner together, make a late reservation at the restaurant." I stood from the bed, took my dress from its hanger and slid it over my head, straightening the clingy garment as I checked in the mirror that the blue lace of my bra and thong didn't show through the fabric. "I'll be down in the bar watching my game if you want to find me." With that, I grabbed my clutch and left the room as quickly as my four-inch black patent heels would allow.

The entire elevator ride from the tenth floor, my irritation simmered, and as I marched across the marble tiles, past the entrance to the hotel restaurant the muted background soundtrack of strings further annoyed me. By the time I reached the bar, my pulsing aggravation was punctuated with each click of my heels on the polished wood floor.

Now I sat at the bar, having nearly drained my first beverage as my blue-clad boys clung to a three point lead in the waning minutes of the first half. My phone buzzed inside my purse with a text; Dan had made a reservation for us at nine. He hated eating that late, but that was still earlier than I expected the game to finish and I smugly decided that it would do him a bit of good to wait alone. On the screen above the bar, the teams trotted into their locker rooms tied at halftime, and I reached the bottom of my cocktail.

Without the preferred distraction of the game, I composed my reply to Dan. "Ok. I'll see you when I'm done." There was a little over an hour before our reservation, and I thought my phrasing sent a nicely ambiguous message. His refusal to do something so small as to sit at a bar with me - after abandoning me for the last day and a half - pissed me off all over again. I pictured him alone at the table at quarter after, agitated and checking his watch every thirty seconds, and my lips bent into a mean-spirited grin.

The second half began and I leaned forward on the bar, setting my elbows and forearms on the counter with my heavy breasts resting atop my arms. The fabric of my dress tightened around my lower back and glutes, and I swung my legs - crossed at the ankles - bouncily beneath my stool as I tried to enjoy the game. A panning shot of the crowd almost spoiled that effort, as I caught a brief glimpse of the friends with whom I should have traveled to the game. I sucked the last water from the bottom of my glass in annoyance at their contrasting good time.

Harold appeared with a fresh drink, calling my attention to the pair of guys at the end of the bar who had bought my cocktail.

"They want to know which team's costumes you think are prettier." He said, trailing off and backing away from the intensity of my scowl. I turned to face my approaching benefactors and sized up the soon-to-be assault victims. They were both tall, well-muscled and clean shaven, dressed in button down shirts and slacks. As they arrived at my stool, they split to either side of me, but I returned my gaze to the television while irritatedly sipping their drink.

"Are you wearing red because you're rooting for the Eagles?" The one on my right asked with a patronizing tone. I looked at him from the corner of my eye as he set his glass down on the bar and pulled a stool within a closer-than-friendly radius of my bare legs.

"No, but thank you for the drink. The Eagles' big men are too young and inexperienced to counter the Dogs' size down low, and when their wings have to collapse in to help it's going to free up looks for our outside shooters." I wrapped my lips tightly around the straw and turned to stare him down as I took a long sip for emphasis. He was impressed and slightly taken aback by my show of competence, but the guy on my other side chimed in to keep the play going.

"Uh huh. Well, don't look now, but your shooters aren't exactly lighting it up from three. I'm Adam by the way, and the guy sitting in your lap in Greg." Adam pulled up his own stool and sat only a hair further from my bare thighs than his partner. I unenthusiastically shook their hands as they explained they were in town for the convention as well. I mentioned Dan's name and they replied with a ringing endorsement of his speech, but didn't give me any extra room to my visible irritation.

The score had crept in the wrong direction, and the Eagles now led by five. I pushed my knees together to create separation and tried to focus on the game. Greg noted the score and made a proposal.

"Okay sweetheart, how about whoever is trailing at the under-twelve buys shots." He grinned. My team had been hot to start and I was confident they could regain their early shooting form to help me out.

"Don't call me sweetheart, and does this mean you guys are rooting for the Eagles?" I looked from Greg to Adam, then took a sip as I returned my gaze to the TV above the bar.

"Won't it be more fun if we are?" I could hear Adam's smirk riding in his words.

"That's not how you're going to make friends with me," but I smiled with my straw playfully clasped between my teeth as I spoke. It was nice to have company, even if that company was blatantly trying to get in my pants.

"Well, how do you treat your enemies?" Greg winked at me and I giggled in response as the Eagles hit another three-pointer. The broadcast went to a commercial break and my Dogs trailed by four. I ordered a round of Jameson and Greg led a toast "To new experiences" which felt a bit strange, but I went along with it. The whiskey burned going down my throat and its warmth spread through my body, relaxing my tensed shoulders and thighs.

As the game restarted, Adam ordered another round of drinks as Greg continued his routine of flirty trash talk. With ten minutes remaining, Greg bet ten dollars that the Eagles' star guard would hit both of his free throws, and I joyfully tucked his money into my purse as the first shot ricocheted off the iron. Momentum swung my team's way, and at the under-four TV timeout, we clung to a two point lead.

"Fifty bucks the Dogs hold on." The fabric of my dress strained as I puffed out my chest boastfully.

"Make it a hundred for the Eagles." Adam slapped a bill on the bar. I bit my lip as I twisted to face him, uncertain at the escalating bet as my memory flooded with my team's early-season free throw woes. Pride (and liquor) conquered my conservatism and I agreed. The Eagles responded by hitting back-to-back baskets after play resumed and my odds shrank.

"Aww, too bad! Here, have a shot." Greg pushed the nip of clear liquor into my palm, closing my fingers around it inside his large hand. He again led us in a toast "To new experiences", then grinned and winked at me as he downed his liquor in a smooth gulp. The tequila stung my mouth, and I struggled not to gag as I swallowed, chasing it with a long pull from my strong whiskey cocktail.

Ninety seconds remained in the game, and the Dogs hit a critical field goal to pull within two. As I gritted my teeth with tension, the boys toasted over my head. Suddenly, our forward intercepted an inbounds pass and tied the game with a layup! I yelped with joy, raising my arms above my head as my entire body bounced with glee.

"You think the Dogs are gonna pull it out?" Adam rested his hand on the small of my back as he spoke.

"Try that inbound play again and it's in the bag!" I hollered, standing up from my seat as his hand slid along the back of my dress, almost imperceptibly plucking the band of my thong as he progressed past my waist. I shifted uncomfortably as I returned to my chair, but his hand's position didn't change.

"Then let's double it! Two hundred says the Eagles win... unless you're nervous about your free throws, like against Tech." Adam slapped another quintet of twenties on the bar next to the original bet. I looked nervously from him to the money, then to Greg, and finally to the game.

"Fuck it! Make it five hundred!" My veneer of confidence was visibly thin as I bluffed; I wilted as Adam and Greg immediately agreed. The Eagles sent a player to the foul line with twelve seconds left, and my heart sank as both of his shots sailed true. Adam's hand maintained its intimate hold on my waist, but I was almost oblivious to his touch as I watched my team's season end. My shoulders sagged and I dipped my head to take the last drag from my drink as the Dogs' coach took their final timeout.

"Aww, don't be so gloomy. Just think of all the fun Adam and I are going to have with your money." Greg rubbed the exposed patch of bare back between my shoulder blades while Adam's hand explored the femininely soft flesh of my midriff. A Dogs' loss always put me in a bad mood, and my body was extra tense in my present circumstance. The obvious truth was that I have did not that sort of cash on me.

"Shut up. I know Coach will draw up something. It's only two points." I fretfully tried my drink again, but the glass was dry. Greg's hand was warm on the bare skin of my back, and Adam's fingers dug lightly into my waist. The teams retook the floor on the screen and at the bar six pairs of eyes focused in two contrary directions: mine on the TV above the bar; theirs on the fleshy bounty of my dress, which threatened to overflow onto the counter with my quickened breathing. On the screen, an inbounds play unfolded with a cross-court pass landing in the hands of our marksman, wide open in the corner. He released a last second three-pointer for the win as I rose to my feet and held my desperate breath...

The ball bounced off the rim, to the backboard, then again struck and spun upon the iron before falling harmlessly to the court as the final horn sounded. On the screen, the kids in blue teared up in disappointment. At the bar, Adam and Greg high fived above my drooping head.

"You just made tonight a very lucrative evening, sweetheart." Greg beamed. The boys at my side seemed happier than the winning players on TV.

"Again, don't call me 'sweetheart', and there's a small problem." Their eyebrows raised in fake shock in anticipation of the obvious excuse. "I only have like a hundred and ten bucks on me, and my ATM card is up in the room." I rifled through my clutch as I spoke, as though I expected to stumble upon some hidden stockpile of cash. The disbelief of a promising season ending was compounded by the stupidity of the bet I had made. "If you give me your room number, I can bring it by tomorrow..." I trailed off as they shook their heads and clucked in faux outrage. Adam's smug smile parted as he spoke.

"In a way, honey, it's more satisfying to just clean you out. Besides, you don't seem like the sort of lady who would sit alone at a hotel bar with five hundred in cash on her."

"Thank you for saying I don't look like a hooker." I handed him my wad of cash with a grimace, and decided that it was appropriate to make Dan pay for dinner.

"So now that your team's lost and all your cash is gone, what are you up to the rest of the night?" Greg lightly pinched the inside of my arm to regain my attention, which had returned to the TV as I vacantly watched the start of the next game. "Adam and I are going to celebrate our windfall with a drink up in the room, and thought it would be nice if our favorite beautiful welcher would join us." My eyes began to narrow again in irritation as I turned my head to answer, but I made an effort to soften my glare; his teasing was good-natured, and I needed to cheer up.

I glanced at my phone. The Dogs had been efficient in losing, and it wasn't yet twenty to nine. I had time for a quick drink with my new friends, and it wasn't like I was going to sit alone in the bar with no money.

"Okay, but only one. I have dinner plans in a bit." I smiled and accepted Adam's hand as he helped me stand from the stool. I thought it was only a little strange that he continued to hold my hand as we crossed to the elevator bank, with Greg's fingers guiding me by the small of my back. As my heels clicked across the marble, I scanned the restaurant for Dan, but it was too early even for him to show up.

As we got in the elevator, Greg pressed the button for the tenth floor and I remarked that I was staying on the same floor. The doors opened and as they guided me left down the hallway - the same as Dan and my room - I grew nervous that we might run into the notoriously early Dan as he left for our dinner. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, then I heard a lock click and the door to our room swung open.

"Shit!" I hissed and quickly ducked into the vending machine alcove, folding myself around the narrow corner and out of sight. Adam followed me, pressing me against the ice machine as he forced his mouth on mine. My lips parted in surprise, which he took as an acceptance and invitation as his tongue darted into my mouth and his hands roamed the tight fabric covering my hips and ass. As this stranger kissed and groped me, in the hall I heard Greg speaking to Dan as he passed on his way to the elevators.

"Hey there, I'm Greg. I really enjoyed your speech this afternoon."

"Uh, thanks. I'll be appearing on a panel in San Diego, too."

"Cool, I'll be sure to check that out! Heck of a game tonight, huh?"

"I, uh, didn't watch. If you'll excuse me, I have a dinner to get to."

"Yeah cool, man." Greg chuckled and added, "I hope it's with the redhead at the bar."

The soft chime of the elevator doors was followed by Greg's voice in the entryway to the alcove.

"Hey now! Break it up, you two!" He mock-scolded us as he pulled me away from Adam, only to press his own lips onto mine. Startled again, my mouth opened and accepted his kiss. Behind me, Adam's busy fingers unfastened my bra through the back of my dress, and I felt my breasts swell as they were released from their confinement. I softly cooed with surprise as Adam's hands cupped my unrestrained breasts through the plaid fabric. Greg broke off our kiss as he spoke.

"I think we should get to the room."

"But I don't want to let go of them!" Adam playfully protested as Greg led me by the hand back into the hallway and to the door of their room. For a fleeting instant, my haze of confusion, anger, and liquor cleared as I looked across the hall at my own door. However, the lock clicked open and Greg pulled me through the open door with Adam pressing his swelling crotch against my bum to push me forward.

The door shut behind us and both men pounced on me. Greg pawed and mashed my tits through my dress, forcing his wet mouth against mine. Adam brushed aside my auburn locks and kissed along my shoulders and back while tugging the hem of my skirt up to my waist. His hands gripped the pale, round hocks of my ass. Jerking my blue lace thong out of the way, he ran his fingers between the wet folds of my snatch. I purred and bucked my hips against his hand and reached to his crotch to trace the protruding outline of his erection through his pant leg. His fingers sank deeper into my pussy, knuckling past my sodden lips as I gasped and yelped into Greg's mouth.

Greg pulled my dress up my torso, gathering it around my neck and shoulders. My breasts, only half-hidden behind the cockeyed cups of my unfastened bra, heaved ripely with my quickening breaths.

"Shit, those things are perfect." He muttered as he rudely pushed the bra out of the way, shoving it into the heap of dress around my neck as he attacked my tits. Licking, sucking, and nibbling the nipples, Greg cupped my breasts to aggressively feed them into his hungry mouth. I lifted the bundled bra and dress over my head, and tossed them to the dresser. Clad in only my soaked, skimpy thong and patent black heels, my excited utterances grew in pitch and intensity from Greg's mouth on my tits and Adam's fingers in my pussy.

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