"What’ll it be?" he asked, tossing a cocktail napkin down in front of the new customer.

The reply was quick and to the point. "Emergency cabernet”.

The bartender stifled a laugh and smiled. "Hmm, sounds serious. Glass or bottle?"

Still standing, he took off his long, charcoal-gray topcoat and draped it over the back of the empty bar chair next to him. A quick survey around the bar returned confirmation that the hotel was far from sold out. No one in particular caught his eye, and that was fine. He was in no mood for fighting through a crowded bar for a glass of wine. It was also nice not to have to stand and smoke half a pack of cigarettes from those who chose to partake in that nasty habit. He just wasn’t in the mood.

"Bottle, and yeah, it’s serious. It’s 6:45PM, and I’m just now having a glass of wine. My boss is a prick and my Ex wants more money than I make. That combination is grounds for an emergency. Don’t you think?"

"Def-Con 3, my friend," replied the bartender. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Nope. I would like a glass of J. Lohr. If that’s not an option, then a Rodney Strong will do."

"Sorry, my friend. You’re oh-for-two. I have a ’90 Guenoc that can handle most emergencies quite handily however, if you’re up for minimal risk."

"Do it," he said. He was in no mood to argue either. "Do you have an extra paper back there someplace?"

"Only the Journal."

"That’s fine. Thanks!"

The bartender sliced the seal from the top of the bottle and twisted the corkscrew home. With an expert flick of his wrist, he levered the cork from its resting-place of over 15 years. The resounding pop had a crispness to it that spoke of reason enough to anticipate fine wine. He poured two clicks into the glass, rolling the last drop to completion, and then stood back, waiting for his charge to sample his selection.

The man swirled the rich ruby liquid around, chasing it up the sides of the glass, and admiring the cling before tipping it toward his nose to sample another attribute. A deep breath confirmed that the bartender had every reason to be smiling. He tossed the mouthful across his tongue and allowed it to linger in and around his mouth before swallowing it. Yes indeed, he had every reason to be smiling.

"Awesome recommendation," he said and placed the glass back onto the napkin.

"Never met an emergency I couldn’t diminish to some degree," said the bartender with quiet confidence.

There was a nice fire burning in a massive stone fireplace tucked in what would have been a corner in the dimly lit hotel lounge. Several love seats and comfortable easy chairs were scattered about, huddled around low coffee tables. Table lamps sat adjacent to the armchairs on rich cherry tables, perfect for reading and relaxing while good wine distracted away whatever was distracting. A high-back leather armchair caught his attention, looking like the perfect place to settle in and enjoy the peace and quiet of his newspaper and what had a very good chance of being the best bottle of wine he’d had in a long time. He was in the mood for that.

"I think I’ll settle in over there by the fireplace," he told the bartender. "Should I just leave the bottle up here?

"Done! I’ll be out when I see you need another treatment."

"Thanks," he said, gathering coat and newspaper to head for the leather high-back chair and the inviting fireplace.

The lounge was just below street-level; windows high along the adjacent wall rendering an upper view of buildings across the street and anonymous legs of sidewalk traffic walking by outside. Street noise was squelched completely by the thick glass, rendering the hustle and bustle of the outside world to a distant existence. His eyes turned to the newspaper, scanning through Market News searching for headlines with implications to his world. Neither further emergency nor opportunity presented itself, releasing his eyes to drift back to the high windows. His timing turned out to be impeccable.

The poster girl from the great, gilded book of perfect calves and ankles walked into view and stopped right in front of him. He couldn’t see much of her, but what he saw riveted his eyes to the window, creating a stage for perfect legs to perform. The Wall Street folded slowly over his fingers like a wilting flower. From the bottom edge of her overcoat he saw sculpted calves fully involved with the high heels she wore. Muscles flexed alternately in both calves, as she turned from right to left, shifting her weight. A fine strand of gold ankle bracelet told him this woman knew she had fine legs. He agreed in focused silence. Her wicked spiked heels with dainty little ankle straps screamed ‘fuck me’ through the heavy glass window. He was in the mood for that.

Finally, she turned back the way she came and strode off, leaving his field of vision. It wasn’t until she was gone from his sight that he realized he’d been holding his breath. His eyes closed, as he exhaled a long slow breath through pursed lips. He brought the wineglass to his lips and took a long slow draught of rich, ruby nectar. Thoughts warmed him and caused his cock to twitch, thinking privately how attentive he’d be to a pair of legs like that.

He folded the newspaper in his lap and drifted with his thoughts. Eyes closed again, as his head sank back onto the back of smooth leather chair. Images of her standing in front of his chair teased him. The appropriate parts of him twitched again. This time there was movement against his thigh. He shifted slightly in his seat. The feel of silk boxers caressed the slight transition of his cock from its sleeping state. Holding his wine, he thought in deeper detail about how much attention he’d give to legs that perfect. There was no question he was in the mood for giving some attention like that.

"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked softly.

His eyes came open slowly, and he realized it must have looked like he was praying over a glass of wine cradled in his hands. Standing in front of him was a woman in a tailored, dark gray business suit; skirt enticingly hemmed above the knee. She pulled an errant bang from her hazel green eyes and with deliberate, continuous movement tucked thick auburn hair behind her ear. Her other hand held a glass of wine balanced on thumb and forefinger, remaining fingers curled to steady the long glass stem. Owner of the sculpted calves he admired only a few minutes earlier stood before him magically, as if he’d willed her to be there. Her presence caught him totally speechless and flush with a tinge of guilt from lewd thoughts echoing on the edges of silent reverie.

Before he could gather a reply, she follow-up with a second request. "May I join you?"

He stood automatically, remembering manners that were part of his strict southern upbringing. He motioned to the empty loveseat across from his chair just as he regained his voice, "Yes, please. Be my guest."

"Thank you. You looked so relaxed when I walked up, I didn’t want to disturb you."

"No, not at all. I was just enjoying this incredible wine and a small slice of quiet time after a very long day," he replied, purposely avoiding what really lingered in his head. Chances were better than good he’d have earned a slap, and appropriately so, for what his were doing on the insides of her thighs.

She took a small sip of her wine, and he noticed she allowed it to linger on her tongue, a sure sign of someone who appreciates a good wine. She caught his gaze and smiled. "Did he talk you into the Guenoc cab?"

His reply caught in his throat, as she crossed her legs with a single fluid motion; top leg high and bottom leg slipped underneath, coming together tightly – perfectly. The muscles in her calve flexed, as she rotated her bottom leg inward, pivoting on the ball of her foot. Her top leg pulled across tighter, exposing a considerable amount of thigh. His eyes followed her movement, tracking up her stocking-clad leg to a band of lace and what he though was the business end of a garter.

"He? You mean the bartender?" he asked.

"Yes, he’s the best for choosing a good wine for any occasion," she explained.

"I must say I agree with you. And yes, he did recommend the Guenoc; a very good choice, I might add. Your choice as well?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she said. Her eyes dropped to her lap, as she uncrossed her legs to alternate top and bottom with the same fluid motion in the other direction. This time she lifted the skirt of her suit slightly to keep it from inching too high up her thighs, a motion confirming she wore a garter. Her eyes came back to his in time to catch him feasting on her legs with hungry eyes; caught dead-to-rights looking. In an attempt to hide his guilt, he brought his wineglass to his lips only to realize the glass was empty. The rouse to cover his indiscretion failed him miserably and a crimson blush flooded onto his cheeks.

She smiled and did her best to hide her satisfaction that he’d been caught looking at her legs. He smiled back, as private thoughts crept back into his head about how attentive he’d be in the event he found himself nestled between those perfect legs. His cock twitched again as if on queue, agreeing with delicious thoughts. There was nothing on earth he loved more than beautiful legs, short of lingering between them with a very patient tongue.

It was as if she read his mind. Shifting her bottom in the loveseat, she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs again. This time there was even more of her thigh exposed to him. The bottom garter strap was almost visible this time around. ‘She’s good,’ he thought to himself.

"May I freshen your wine, sir?" Robert, the bartender, interrupted his trance.

"Yes. Yes, please. Your recommendation was quite satisfactory," he said, commending the smiling bartender.

The bartender nodded, taking credit for another good call. "I take it your emergency condition has passed?"

"I think possibly one’s been replaced by another," he said, glancing at the new arrival and then back to the bartender.

"Indeed it has, sir," he said, delivering a confirming wink.

"Ma’am? May I?" the bartender asked, turning to the woman sitting in the loveseat.

"Not quite yet. Thank you."

It was obvious she’d been to the hotel before. Her recounting of the bartender’s wine selecting prowess was enough proof for him.

"So…I guess you’re a regular," he asked, knowing part of the answer already.

"I suppose you could say that," she replied, taking another sip of her wine, never taking her eyes off of him. "The Ritz is my favorite hotel when I’m in town."

He tried to look relieved by her answer. For a moment or two he thought about being stalked by a high-priced hooker. He’d never paid for sex in his life and was not in the mood to change his principles. She uncrossed her legs and relaxed back into the loveseat. Her skirt rose slightly as she sunk back into the soft leather though not enough to show lace tops of her stockings, but enough to garner his full attention.

"I’m sorry," he said, "but I have to tell you something."

"And what might that be?" she replied almost as if she knew what he had to say.

He blushed as though offering a confession of guilt. "I noticed you earlier."

Earlier? And where was I that you noticed me?"

"Actually, I noticed your…ahh…your ankle bracelet," he said; plunging deeper passed the point of no return.

"I see," she said, showing disbelief in his answer.

"You were standing outside of that window," he said, pointing to the stage where she first displayed the object of his fantasy.

"So…you were peeking up my skirt?" she asked, accusingly.

His blush blossomed into full crimson complete with a stutter of knowing he was caught dirty. "No. Honest...I...I was admiring your...ahh...legs.”

There is was out. She’s either slap him or they’d go deeper into where he felt they both might want to go. His courage courtesy of a glass and a half of good wine on an empty stomach bolstered his momentum. “I couldn’t see very much of them with your overcoat on, and it was the ankle bracelet that caught my eye."

"You mean this old thing?" she asked, lifting her leg to touch the golden strand, and at the same time allowing her skirt to reveal not only garter, but also that she was wore no panties. His breath wedged sideways in his throat. The combination of a growing cabernet buzz and legs that went all the way up were too much for him. His cock began to swell with hot-blooded lust, shifting with greater intent against his thigh and causing a noticeable bulge in his trousers.

"And I suppose you’d like to see more of my legs?" she asked seductively.

"Yes," he replied, not caring if she were pay-per-fuck or not. It was too late to care about such things. He had to be between her legs. There was no stopping now.

"Are you staying in the hotel?"

"Yes." he answered, unable to speak with more than a single word answer.

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward, "how much do you think these legs are worth?"

She pulled her skirt up higher, exposing the lace tops of her silk stockings, opening her legs slightly, all the time watching his eyes. He was drunk with the effect her legs were having on him. They were strong. The thoughts of them crossed behind his shoulders while he licked what had to be an equally perfect pussy acted like a drug on top of his emergency cabernet.

"What are they worth? Or what can I afford?" he asked.

She laughed the laugh that melted him to the core, breaking role. "You are so easy, Grayson!"

"C’mon, Marie! I’ve never negotiated for sex in my life, and you know that," he protested.

He stood and offered his hand to her. "Come up stairs with me, lover, and you can undress for me. I’d like to have a better look at what I’d have been paying for. But...I never pay for legs until I’ve had a taste of what’s between them."

"We’ll have to try this again sometime," Marie said. "I’d love to find out just how much you’d pay to fuck me."

"Don’t kid yourself, my love. We both want it so badly we’d pay the bartender to let us fuck on the floor behind the bar."

"Good point. C’mon," she said, pulling him by the hand, "You have some pussy to lick.”