Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Friendly Traveler's Inn: Room 303
Part: 1 of 4
Universe: Friendly Traveler's Inn
Summary: A visit to a hotel with a unique matchmaking system leads to some
gentle assignations for a group of surprised guests.
Keywords: MF rom MFM ir oral
Keywords for full story: MF rom MFM ir oral anal
Friendly Traveler's Inn: Room 303
Copyright © 2004 The Thinking Horndog
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction for profit is
forbidden. Any distribution must include this note and the author's email
address. Don’t be caught attempting to make a buck off me!
Warnings and disclaimers:
This is adult entertainment! Be warned! If you’re not into graphic
depictions of sex, this is the wrong story for you! If you’re too young to be
legally reading this, move along!
This is a work of fiction. It is not intended to reflect any particular
person or persons, and the incidents portrayed exist in their current form
solely in the writer’s imagination. You get the idea.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1
Alan Hamilton nosed his car into the traffic headed north from the
city. He'd flown in an hour before, but he had deliberately arrived early; he
wasn't due uptown until the next morning. Now, following a secondary road
that wound alongside the river, he began to second guess the reasons for
avoiding his usual downtown hotel...
"Man," Jack Travers had insisted, "It's the greatest! You check in,
make yourself available on the system, and wait for some lonesome chick to pop
up. Then it's simple sex, anonymous, no hassles; she wants it or you wouldn't
be there, so you don't have to play stupid games. Worst case, you get a
really good hooker - apparently, they cull out the losers..."
Alan shook himself out of his reverie - he had to be getting close...
It took another two miles, but the place was hard to miss - a big sign
proclaiming "Friendly Traveler's Inn" situated before a modern building. To
the right of the lobby enclosure, the front windows were steamed - a sure sign
that there was a pool. Well, Jack had said there was - two, actually, one for
families and one for more intimate gatherings...
Alan pulled up and parked, not bothering with the limited portico
parking; he was too much of a traveler not to know that using the place meant
an extra trip to re-park the car. His travel case settled on its wheels, and
he grasped the handle and turned for the entrance, the carry-on's wheels
bumping across the lot's decorative cobbles.
Inside, the lobby was very nice, without being absolutely posh; Alan
had stayed in Hiltons that were less well-appointed. The clerk was attentive,
and the only indication of the hotel's odd and theoretically seedy nature was
a small, tastefully lettered sign beside the registration desk that said, 'New
in town? Not looking forward to another night alone in a strange place? Try
our unique Guest Hosting Service! Channel 22 on the in-room television.'
Alan collected his key and made his way to the elevators behind registration,
veering to the right to do so in order to collect a glance at the facilities
en route. As he turned to his left to circle back to the elevators, he looked
to his right, through the steamy glass door at the kids frolicking in the
swimming pool. The size of the pool left him dubious as to the supposed adult
facilities, but as he followed the short hallway back, he discovered a sign
that said 'Adult Facilities - Adult Guests with Key-Cards Only' at the end of
the hallway. Again turning left, he planted himself before the elevator bank.
After a moment, the doors to the left elevator popped open to emit a
heavyset brunette in her late thirties or early forties in a terry bathrobe,
flip-flops, and obviously nothing else. Even if Alan couldn't see the huge
quantity of bare skin she was displaying through the gaps in the loosely
belted robe as it draped over her heavy breasts, the aura of embarrassed
excitement she was exuding or the look on the face of the balding black man
that followed her from the elevator was a dead giveaway. "We're going to try
out the Jacuzzi!" she gushed, then colored brightly and dashed on. The black
gentleman just smiled, and he and Alan shared a knowing nod. Alan entered the
elevator, reflecting that she'd have done just fine handling HIS action -
maybe this place WAS the ticket, after all! Even money said the fellow had
been mauling those jugs of hers in the elevator...
Alan's fourth floor room was nicely appointed; it managed to be a step
up from motel standard, for which he was grateful. He settled in, unpacking
his bag and deploying his shaving kit in the bathroom, and then sat down
before the TV, collecting the remote.
The first oddity was the fact that the TV was situated on a desktop,
rather than the bureau or a simple table. Alan had seen them enclosed in
armoires, too, but this one sat on a single pedestal desk, the drawers to
which were unaccountably locked... Alan used the remote to turn on the set,
and turned to Channel 22. The screen depicted a fairly standard web page
setup, announcing:
"Welcome to Guest Hosting, the Friendly Traveler's Inn's unique Guest
Matching service! There is no need to sit in your room alone; through
Guest Hosting, you can meet another guest for dinner, conversation,
group and family activities, or more adult pursuits. Match yourself
with another guest with similar pursuits in mind, having selected this
person anonymously in the comfort of your room. Guest Hosting removes
the uncertainty and confusion from the situation - you know in advance
what your guest or host is interested in doing - no need to beat
around the bush; you can go right to enjoying one another's company!
Our menuing system allows you to select the activities and
hotel facilities that pique your interest, then view a selection of
guests interested in the same things. When you have selected one or
more candidates, the system notifies these individuals of your
willingness to meet with them,anonymously, saving you the
embarrassment of 'hit or miss' contact."
Below this were instructions on using the system, including which
buttons on the remote unlocked the lap drawer, revealing a keyboard to be used
to navigate the menuing system. There were several headers, including
'Safety'. Alan used the remote to select the item, and the following message
appeared:
"Guest Hosting is anonymous - whether you share your name with the
other guest(s) involved is totally up to you. You enter a name into
the system, and a random number is attached to it - this is the name
used to identify you to the system and other guests. However, WE, the
staff, KNOW who you are, and have other identifying information
regarding you, such as credit card and driver's license data - in the
event of an incident of some type, the staff, while they will not
release your personal information to another guest, will cooperate
fully with law enforcement officials to see that illegal activity is
properly dealt with. This allows a finely balanced combination of
safety and anonymity for your Guest Hosting activities. Relax and
enjoy yourself!"
Alan pursed his lips, scratched his chin, and executed the key
combination on the remote. The lap drawer popped open, revealing a mouse and
keyboard, and the prompt, "Enter a first name to be known by:" appeared on the
screen. Alan shrugged; he was divorced, and had no real reason to hide his
identity, so he keyed in "Alan" and hit the Enter key. The screen responded
with "You are Alan 136! Press F1 to continue." Alan did so, and was presented
with: "Do you want to (1) Host, (2) Visit or (3) Either one. Select a
number, or hit Esc to leave Guest Hosting." Alan shrugged, and hit the '3'
key.
The next menu said, "Please describe yourself. You are a:" followed
by a series of radio buttons marked Male, Female, Transgender, Couple, and
Other. The 'Other' option had a text box next to it, presumably to allow
people in whatever odd status might require it to explain their unique
situation. There were also fields for age, height, and weight, and radio
buttons for race, smoking and drinking preferences. Alan shrugged and clicked
on 'Male', filled in his age, height and weight, ( at forty, he was six feet
tall, and right at two hundred pounds - not big at all for his height),
selected 'Caucasian', Non-Smoker', and 'Light-Drinker', and the system
continued, presenting a new menu, this time with check boxes: "You are
looking to meet a:" The options this time were Male, Female, Transgender,
Couple, Group, Family, and Other. There was also a second box of checkboxes
for age, organized in five year ranges, from twenty-one to eighty-plus. At
the bottom of the screen, the following appeared in a box marked 'Help': "You
may make more than one selection. The system recognizes that you may be open
to multiple things; for instance, you may want to Visit a Female for Adult
Pursuits, but would be willing to Host a Male for Dinner. When you have input
this scenario, the system will ask you if you wish to input another." Alan
was somewhat bemused by the selections - Transgender? Amazing... He chuckled
and limited his selection to 'Female', and selected the four age ranges that
set his target ages from thirty to fifty, clicking the 'Continue' button
displayed on the screen.
The next screen displayed a plethora of activities, grouped in three
columns, 'Private', 'Group-Adult', and 'Group-Family'. Sex wasn't mentioned
specifically - the closest the system came was 'Intimacy', but 'Nude Sauna',
'Nude Bathing' and 'Nude Jacuzzi' appeared under both Private' and Group-
Adult'. Innocuous items like 'Dining' and 'Conversation' appeared under all
three headings, and 'Party or Function' appeared for both types of groups.
Alan found himself wondering if merely selecting 'Intimacy' was too limiting,
so he selected the nude activities under both the 'Private' and 'Group-Adult'
columns, just to see what would happen. A notice popped up to indicate that
private use of the facilities must be scheduled and that preference was given
to group activities, for obvious reasons. There was also a notice that the
presence of children in the room made the adult columns un selectable; the
hotel couldn't be responsible for adult activities in the presence of minors -
but the notice went on to read, "Child care is available, and concurrent with
it is a release on these restrictions. Contact Guest Services for details."
When Alan selected 'Continue', there was a click, and the drawer in the
pedestal unlatched. On the screen appeared the following message: "Selection
of ‘Intimacy' enables the availability of a selection of birth control devices
and adult toys from the pedestal drawer. Prophylactics are complimentary, and
their use is encouraged - other items will be charged to your room. These
items are stocked in bulk and are thus reasonably priced according to the
following list:" Alan perused the list; the assertion that the pricing was
fair was more than accurate - a surprise, since the hotel industry had
irritated him on more than one occasion by charging him $3.00 for a can of
soda from an 'honor bar'. At the bottom of the list was the entry "Other
items, including adult party games, are available upon request, but may have
special requirements; restraints, for instance, require a signed release."
Alan shook his head; the stuff in the drawer - rubbers, contraceptive foam,
two different vibrators, a couple of dildos, anal plugs, a selection of
flavored and unflavored lubricants, and apparently edible panties - was MORE
than enough! He clicked the 'Next' button.
Next, the screen depicted a small picture of him in the upper right
corner of the screen and he was presented with the following prompt: "You now
have the option of having a still picture or a short introductory video
created for other guests to examine during the Guest Hosting Guest Selection
process. Only guests participating in Guest Hosting may see the picture, and
only then if your description meets their basic criteria. Double-click on the
thumbnail picture to present a larger picture, and select the 'Still' or
'Video' option, then click 'Enter' to take a still picture or the 'Start'
button to begin recording a short video. The microphone for video recording
is embedded in the monitor before you and adjusted to pick up clear speech
plainly when you are seated at the desk. You may re-do either option by
hitting 'ESC' or the 'Cancel' button. Save your picture or video by selecting
'Continue'. You MUST provide a visual depiction of yourself to continue with
Guest Hosting."
Looking closely at the TV, Alan discovered the camera lens in the
control box atop it - it wasn't exactly obvious. It led Alan to wonder if it
could be remotely activated. There was a door in the control box - it hadn't
been exposed before; if it was, Alan figured he could assume it was
working.... Shrugging, he double-clicked on his image, combed his hair with
his fingers a bit, and hit 'Enter'. The resulting picture didn't appear to be
too horrible, so he clicked 'Continue'.
The next screen was titled "The Hosting Process", and presented the
following description:
"The next screen presents three areas: Hosts, Visitors, and Groups.
It presents statistics regarding the number of Hosts, Visitors, and
Groups that meet your criteria, as well as totals in each area. You
may discover that your criteria are either too loose or too
estrictive. If this occurs, select 'Change My Scenarios' to return to
your scenarios and edit them. The Guest Hosting process proceeds as
follows: Visitors examine Host pictures and interests, and request an
Invitation from the Host. Hosts examine the pictures and interests of
Visitors requesting an invitation, select a compatible Visitor, and
issue an Invitation. The Visitor then chooses from among the
proffered Invitations, and Accepts one. Upon Acceptance of the
invitation, the Visitor is provided with the Host's location and the
Visit begins. You remain active on the system until you select 'End
Guest Hosting'; however, unless the Host is hosting a Group, the
ost's status will be indicated as ‘unavailable’."
"Clicking the 'Hosts' button will cause the Hosts window to expand to
full screen, depicting individual Hosts and how many Visitors are
requesting an invitation from each Host. This allows a prospective
Visitor to gauge his or her chances of success with a given host.
Double-clicking on a Host's picture will present an enlarged view of
the Host's photo, along with the Host's description and interests. If
the Host has created a Video, a 'Video' button will appear, and may be
used to play it. To request an invitation, click 'Request'. You will
be returned to the Hosts view and the Host's picture will be
highlighted. To cancel a Request, double-click on the Host's picture
and click 'Cancel'. Again, you will be returned to the Hosts view."
"If a Host responds by proffering an Invitation, their picture will
begin to flash. Double-clicking on it will present the Host's details
nd the options 'Accept', 'Decline' and 'Cancel'. Click 'Accept' to
Accept the Invitation; at this point, the Host's room number and
telephone extension are displayed, and you may contact the Host, or
just appear at the Host's room, if you prefer. Any special
instructions that the Host wishes to leave will pop up in a Chat
window; if you need to communicate with the Host, the 'Chat' option is
available from this screen, 'Decline' retracts your 'Request' - the
Host will be notified that you cannot Visit. 'Cancel' merely returns
you to the Hosts screen."
"If you are Hosting, the Visitors screen depicts Visitors that
meet the criteria of your Interests. Visitors posting a Request are
highlighted, similar to Hosts proffering Invitations on the Hosts
screen. Double-clicking on a Visitor's picture displays the Visitor's
description and Interests. You may Invite a Visitor by clicking on the
'Invite' button in this view, or got back to the Visitors screen by
clicking 'Cancel'. If the Visitor Accepts your Invitation, the
Visitor's telephone extension will be provided. You may provide
special instructions to the Visitor using telephone, or by using the
'Chat' button. You may proffer more than one Invitation, but if you
do, and more than one Visitor Accepts, you are creating a Group and
your information moves from the Hosts screen to the Groups screen.
Group Hosts are provided additional options as discussed in the Groups
screen below."
"The Groups screen depicts active Groups; the Host is not identified -
a Group number is assigned and that is the Group's sole
dentification. Groups may meet in the Host's room or in Public
locations, as they are available (See Scheduling). Clicking on a
group's number on the Groups screen opens a window that provides
information and the shared Interests of the Group members; if the Host
chooses, pictures of Group members may also be displayed. Groups in
Adult Public locations may also choose to allow Visitors to view their
current activities at the discretion of the Group Host; if this option
is selected, a 'View' button appears in this view. The Group's Host
ay continue to issue Invitations all through the duration of the
Visit. Adult Public locations include special facilities to allow
this."
Alan pondered this information - it was quite a bit to absorb, but it
appeared to cover most cases. There were some pretty interesting options,
especially for groups! He read on....
"Scheduling: A Host or a Group Host may Schedule the use of an Adult
Public location, (these locations include the Adult Pool, Jacuzzi,
auna, Fitness Center and an Adult room in the Restaurant, where bar
service is available). Preference is given to Groups, but if an Adult
Public location is not scheduled by a Group, a Host may schedule it
for a private Visit. A Visit may occur in a Family Public location at
any time; however, Adult activity is prohibited in Family areas. This
should not present a limitation as all Family Public locations are
duplicated for Adult Public use. The Host may schedule an Adult
location by selecting the 'Schedule' button, which will open a screen
depicting available locations and times. Family locations cannot be
scheduled in the Guest Hosting system as they are in use by the entire
uest population. Please be courteous - do not schedule an Adult
location if you do not plan Adult Activity."
There was a 'Continue' button below this information; Alan clicked on
it and the three-part screen opened. Alan clicked on 'Visitors', and was
unsurprised to discover that none of the female visitors depicted had
requested an invitation. Well, it was early; besides, maybe this wasn't the
way to do it.... He backed out of the Visitors screen and clicked the 'Hosts'
button. There were three female Hosts displayed, one rather heavy,
unappetizing white female, a narrow black woman in leather and holding a whip
(!) and a shy-looking Indian woman identified as Deepti 376, who had 37
requests pending. Things weren't exactly wild...
Alan didn't bother with Deepti - he was virtually certain to be
outgunned. Instead, he backed out and clicked the Groups button. Hmmmm,
Group 686 was in the Adult Jacuzzi... The description said one woman and two
men. Alan clicked on the group number and the window expanded to display the
heavyset brunette and the black man from the elevator, and another fellow,
white, late thirties, balding, insincere smile.... 'Loser,' Alan thought.
'The woman is better off with the black guy.' There was a 'View' button; Alan
clicked it, grinning. A new window opened, obviously a webcam view; the
woman, a beatific smile on her face was raising and lowering herself on the
black gentleman's lap, while the white guy suckled at her huge left breast,
holding it steady in both hands. Alan chuckled, wondering how much fun one
woman could have; apparently, the group was still capable of proffering
invitations... He watched a moment, but figured that he'd wait a bit before
succumbing to temptation and becoming just another member of her male harem,
no matter how sweet-faced she was.
Backing out to the main Groups screen, he noted that most groups were
dining, and currently limited to more social pursuits. So much for wild and
crazy fun, although, to be fair, it was early, and a Monday night. Back to
the Hosts screen, where Deepti 376 was up to 39 requests, but the black woman
in leather was now unavailable; well, THAT was no loss! Alan shuddered.
Being beaten wasn't on his top ten list of salacious activities....
There was a blip, and a new Host appeared, a Pam 887. Alan double-
clicked on the thumbnail picture and expanded it to display a thin, fortyish
woman with gray-streaked brown hair pulled into a bun, dressed in a high-
necked white blouse and a skirt....
Pam 887 was Pamela Langston. She was a relative local, who worked in
the city, but lived less than fifteen miles from the Inn, where she shared a
house with a heavyset brunette named Margot whom she had met at a previous
job. Currently, Pamela worked in the accounting department of a rather stodgy
insurance firm which, more than anything else, explained her librarianesque
outfit; between the firm's rules on behavior and conduct and the long hours
she spent there, she really had little need for a more modern wardrobe.
Pamela had never been a fatal attractor of men; serious care and support of a
sister and two younger brothers from an early age had painted lines of
responsibility on her already unremarkable face (well, aside from the sharply
pointed nose - she'd have been better off TRULY unremarkable) and imbued her
with quantities of caution guaranteed to see to it that she never did anything
the least bit exciting or adventurous. Men were... out - they didn't even
see her. Add a little bit of perfectionism, which is seldom endearing on the
personal front, and you have a woman thoroughly lacking in male companionship.
Margot had been a big help. Soon after they'd met, in the billing
department of a local hospital, they'd hit it off and become fast friends, to
the point of sharing the rent on, and eventually buying, a house together.
Margot's size made her horizons as limited as Pamela's in general, but she was
a much braver soul, going out to the local bars every weekend and occasionally
bringing home a live one, usually some worthless sod that Pamela could
laughingly deprecate while Margot suffered through her Sunday morning hangover
- which didn't keep her from masturbating vigorously while listening to the
moans and the bedsprings squeaking in Margot's room. It was Margot who would
frequent the local adult video store, coming home tittering and lugging the
latest adult toys and a couple of rental videos that she would subsequently
allow Pamela to 'borrow' before she took them back - and it was Margot who had
discovered the Inn in a local adult paper.
Truth to tell, without Margot, Pamela would never have even HAD a sex
life; she'd dragged Pamela out to the bars on a number of occasions using the
excuse that she needed someone sober to drive her home. And on more than one
occasion, she'd gotten Pamela drunk enough to get brave and crawl out of her
shell. At least once, a dozen years before, which had resulted in Pamela
enjoying a sexual relationship with a man - but the discovery that he'd
actually deflowered Pamela at the ripe old age of twenty-eight caused the
miscreant to fear for his freedom and he slunk off into the shadows, never to
be heard from again. There had been a couple of other incidents, but the
quality of barflies was never good enough to meet the standards inculcated in
cautious Pamela by her early upbringing; they never lasted once she could
reflect upon them in sobriety. The adult video store trips were a sham;
Margot, despite the fact that her sex life wasn't exactly healthy, was getting
several times what Pamela was, so she would go out and collect the movies and
devices almost solely for Pamela's benefit. It was an act of true friendship;
Margot never let on, and Pamela had no idea that when she 'borrowed' a video,
it was likely the only viewing it got.
The pair had no sexual relationship - they were friends and roommates,
period. In fact, when the pair had paid their first visit to the Inn a month
before, where they had shared the room and stayed in, purely to examine the
matchmaking system and discover it's capabilities, Margot had thoroughly
shocked Pamela by openly masturbating while watching two black couples go at
it in the sauna. It had taken the pair days to get past the episode - that
and the fact that only embarrassment had kept Pamela's hands out of HER
crotch; the whole scene had been pretty hot!
The intervening month had been a period of slowly escalating
expectations; their perusal of the pictures of hosts and visitors available on
the previous visit had convinced Margot that this was a target-rich
environment, and even in her caution, Pamela had to agree with her outspoken
friend. The businessmen depicted in some of the pictures had been a very
LARGE cut above the average local barflies - even the more working-class males
appeared to have something going for them, usually. Margot began to openly
discuss the fulfillment of a couple of pretty wild personal fantasies as
though they were suddenly imminently achievable, and Pamela found herself
dragged along by this enthusiasm to the point of summoning courage for a
second trip.
But Pamela was under no illusions as to her probable luck in this
adventure; the fact that her appearance was that of an aging wren of a
librarian was all too apparent to her, but she really had no idea what she
could do about it. Margot had probably seventy-five pounds on her (a quarter
of that breast flesh - my God!), but she was vivacious and sweet-faced, as
well as being undemanding in her selection of partners; success for her would
undoubtedly come with a lot more ease.
The pair had arrived an hour earlier, and settled into adjoining rooms
on the theory that they could cover one another - but Margot had rapidly
trashed THAT idea when she got a half-dozen requests almost instantly, one
from a halfway-decent looking black gentleman (a favorite fantasy for her).
When early in the conversation he agreed that group sex was okay, Margot
shifted to Group mode, selected another partner, and booked the Jacuzzi, going
for the gusto and leaving Pamela absolutely speechless. Her parting shot as
she met the black gent at her door wearing a terrycloth robe and nothing else,
was, "If things don't work out, Honey, just meet us at the Jacuzzi - we'll let
you in..."
So here she sat, quaking, fearful of the results of an attempt at
collecting a partner solo, but unready to either participate in group sex or
admit she hadn't tried. Finally, she brought up the interface, worked her way
through the scenario preliminaries. Familiarity wasn't expertise, however,
and she bobbled photo creation, making a video without realizing it and then
fumbling right through the instructions screen and into the Hosts screen by
reflexively clicking buttons, trying to recover. While 'Where am I' was still
cycling through her brain, two Requests popped up. The first looked
remarkably like a drunken sailor, even in thumbnail, but the second... She
double-clicked, enlarging the picture of a relatively distinguished looking
fortyish fellow with a well-trained salt & pepper moustache and thinning hair,
silvering at the temples. Well, she'd give it a bit, and if he was still
around and she didn't get the attention of the pool boy, maybe... The pool
boy joke produced a smile, even in thought; what would she do with such a one?
She reached out to back out of the screen, but there was a 'blip' sound (the
sailor had retracted his request), and she jerked - and sat staring at the
businessman's now-highlighted picture, marked 'Invited'! "Oh, shit!" she
moaned, "Now what?"
The answer was immediately forthcoming - before she could even come up
with a strategy for fixing the situation, the picture's border began to flash,
and 'Accepted' replaced 'Invited' on the screen. "Oh, Lord!" Pamela moaned,
"Now what do I do?"
If you asked Alan just why he bothered to send a request, he'd likely
have been unable to answer you - but it had a lot to do with Pamela's
accidental video. He clicked the 'Video' button and Pamela sat looking at the
screen and announced, "I've GOT to be insane...." then her eyebrows went up
and she erupted, "Oh, shit!" wiggling the mouse. Obviously, she'd just
discovered that she was recording a video, not just a picture. Alan cracked
up. The first comment gave a pretty good insight into her frame of mind, but,
oddly enough, the exclamation was almost as revealing! Truly prim librarian-
type ladies did NOT say, "Oh, shit!" The impression left was also at odds
with his other initial worry - that Pam was a variation on the theme presented
by the black woman with the whip! No, something in his head said, 'Go check
this one out...." He clicked on 'Accept', and got a pop-up that read, "Pam
887 is in Room 303. The telephone extension is 7303. To chat with Pam 887,
click on the 'Chat' button. Your Visit has begun."
Something about that last statement conveyed urgency. Alan couldn't
see much reason to communicate with the woman by telephone by IM or telephone
if she'd already indicated that she was interested in becoming intimate with
him - it seemed like a case of going slow for nothing. He collected his room
key, and headed for the elevator.
Pamela sat frozen before the computer screen, her primary thought
process 'Oh, God! What have I done?' A stranger was en-route, anticipating a
sexual encounter, without a doubt. Well, wasn't that why she was HERE?
'Well, yes, but....' her mind gibbered. She got up to pace, her mind a
welter; part of her was scared to death, and part of her was thrilled to
death! She did a couple of laps, trying to force some kind of mental
organization, and there came a knock at the door!
Pamela approached the door as if the man on the other side was using
the peephole, instead of herself, sidling up and only focusing an eye on the
lens at the last moment. It was him, all right! This Alan... Alan 186! Was
Alan his real name? She examined the figure in the distorted view of the
lens. Well, he still looked okay... Best to make a clean breast of it -
she'd made mistakes with the system - he'd understand! Pamela's fear had her
in full retreat, her only courage evident in the resolution that she must open
the door and face the music...
Alan approached and rapped on the door to Room 303, then stood there,
waiting, certain without any requirement for evidence that he was being
watched. The door flew open, and there stood Miss Prim and Proper, fear writ
large upon her face. Her mouth opened, "I...."
"Shhh," Alan replied. That the woman was having an attack of total
cowardice was obvious, so he just took charge. "We've just gone through this
entire silly exercise in an effort to avoid embarrassing introductions, so
let's just do this: We'll pretend that we're an old married couple, on
vacation. That way, we can both act natural, and only have to really get into
serious discussion right away if one of us screws up! Okay?"
"Ummm," Pamela was totally taken aback. As a result, she stepped
back, and Alan entered the room, removing his coat and hanging it nonchalantly
in the closet. Realizing that she had totally lost the initiative, Pamela
squeaked "Okay," in a distant voice while she watched Alan make himself at
home. He was here, she'd invited him - obviously, she would look like an
idiot if she made an issue of his presence....
Alan's performance at the closet door covered his dithering over what
to do next. According to his proposed scenario, the next item on the agenda
would most likely be a hug or something - but if he was too aggressive, Pam
would likely freak! Could he get away with it? Turning, he found her
floundering, totally lost - and decided that it was better to try and fail
than to do nothing and have the whole thing collapse around both their ears.
Gathering her in gently, he put a hand around her waist and one in the middle
of her back, locked eyes with her and murmured, "How was your day, Dear?"
Pamela gave him the full 'deer in the headlights' treatment and shook
like a leaf for about five seconds. Her mind whirled, 'What do I do? What do
I do?' But, although he'd casually laid hands upon her, he wasn't groping,
and his question was in line with the game he'd suggested upon his entry....
She forced calm, and muttered, "Oh, fine, fine," working hard at relaxation.
Alan was marveling at the feel of the woman; she was thin, frail,
bird-like - and shaking like a leaf! But then she relaxed a bit and garbled
out the standard answer to the standard question, and Alan did what came
naturally, gathering her in more closely and kissing her neck before
immediately releasing all but her left hand and moving forward into the room.
"Have you had dinner? Why don't we order in?"
Again, Pamela swam in shock. This man - Alan? - had gathered her in
and kissed her on the neck! Then, before she could stiffen in shock, he was
gone, having almost totally released her. She let herself be pulled along,
because she was unable to come up with a reason why she shouldn't, belatedly
realizing he'd asked her a question and made a suggestion... "Um, no,
actually. That would be fine," she murmured, distracted.
Alan seated Pamela on the bed, and went over to the night table and
collected the guest services book that contained the room service menu.
Plopping down beside her, he opened it an offered, "Let's get a look, then.
Perhaps some wine, too? To soothe the nerves?"
Pamela glanced up; Alan was eyeing her archly. Yes, he knew she was
scared to death - and he was going easy on her - but he wasn't going to leave,
either! Well, they'd survived the first minute or so - maybe it WAS best to
play along for a bit and see what happened. After all, she'd been looking for
intimacy and sex, and despite some rather familiar treatment, Alan hadn't
really gone THAT far. Besides, the cuddle and the kiss on the neck had
been... nice. Pamela regained her equilibrium in that moment; it was a
different woman who returned Alan's arch look and replied, "Perhaps. Perhaps
a bit of celebration, too...." With that, she turned her attention to the
menu, leaving Alan to slowly smile. NOW, they were getting somewhere! He
tucked himself in close, reading over her shoulder as she turned the pages.
"Are you much on appetizers?" she queried.
Alan thought about it and shook his head. "Not if they're going to
bring it all at once. I'm not that hungry, anyway - something simple and
quick is fine."
Pamela glanced up, "A sandwich, then? With wine? Surely not a
hamburger..." she disparaged.
Alan grimaced, fully into it now, "No, that'd be tacky. We'll have to
do a bit better than that. Here, how about antipasto?"
"THAT's an idea! A bit of garlic bread?" Pamela returned.
"Red wine then?" Alan smiled.
Pamela smiled back. "Yes, I think so."
Alan stood and picked up the telephone on the bedside table; Pamela
listened while he smoothly handled the order, ending with, "No, bill it to
Room 421. That's right. Fine." He hung up and returned to the bed, seating
himself and wrapping his right arm around Pamela's waist. "Want to watch some
TV while we wait?" he asked, handing her the video controller.
Pamela found herself to be vaguely surprised - no effort at a grope?
But the more she thought about it, the less it made sense; after all, food was
coming. At loose ends, she suddenly remembered Margot. "I need to check on
something," she announced, hopping up, going to the keyboard, and opening the
Groups screen.
"Check out the Jacuzzi," Alan chuckled.
Pamela flashed him an odd look and punched up Group 686. Margot was
standing up in the Jacuzzi, bent over with her forearms resting on the thighs
of a balding fellow, his cock in her mouth, while her black date pounded her
from the rear. Her heavy breasts swung beneath her, their tips just barely in
the bubbling water. Pamela put a hand to her mouth, "Oh, my!"
Alan chuckled, "I met her coming out of the elevator. She certainly
seems to be enjoying herself... Do you know her?"
Pamela nodded, vacantly, as she watched the action. "That's Margot,
my roommate. We came together... but she's a LOT braver than I am, I'm
afraid...." She glanced at Alan to see how he would take that assertion.
Alan merely nodded, unperturbed. On the screen, the black fellow
looked up, "We're bein' watched again, Hon."
"Mmmm?" Margot backed her mouth off the cock she was sucking, just
under six inches of uncircumcised meat. "Who is it? Is it Pamela?"
"Yeh," the black man nodded, "A Pam 887."
"Hi, Sweetie! C'mon down if you're bored! We'll let you in!" Margot
called.
"How do I talk to her?" Pamela wondered aloud.
"Chat, perhaps?" Alan offered. Pamela started the chat window, and
typed, 'I'm busy..."
On the screen, the black gent squinted and announced, "She says she's
busy..."
Margot, who had re-engaged the cock, backed off again. "Oh, goody!
You got a man there, Sweetie? What's his name?" She lipped the head of the
cock she was working, but was obviously eyeing the screen.
Pamela glanced at Alan, then typed 'Alan.' on the keyboard.
Margot backed off again to talk. "Well, Alan, show Pamela a good
time, now, okay? She deserves it, poor thing!"
While Pamela turned red in the face, the cocksucking recipient
complained about the limited attention he was getting, "C'mon, Margot, you
gonna talk all night?"
"Oh, come on, John!" Margot chided, "We both know you don't really
want to cum in my mouth. Don't get all bent out of shape..."
John leaned forward, murmuring, "You're right, I want to cum in your
ass!"
Margot merely giggled, "Well, you'll just have to wait on Vern - he's
kind of in the way, right now. But if it's what you want..." She again
enveloped his cock with her mouth, really turning it on, this time.
Alan and Pamela missed this byplay; John's voice had been too soft to
be picked up by the mikes in the Jacuzzi. Besides, Alan was eyeing Pamela
sidelong, grinning, while typing, 'I will!' on the keyboard. Vern announced,
"Fella says he will!" grinning. Margot contented herself with a wave while
she deliberately pushed John toward an orgasm - if he was gonna do her ass,
she wanted him in there long enough for her to decide whether she liked it or
not! That being the case, she'd collect this one...
Pamela backed out of the Hosts screen, shaking. "Maybe a little
regular TV," she murmured, not looking up.
Alan grinned at her discomfiture and laid his hand on her hip. Small
world... "She seemed to be pretty concerned for your welfare..." he offered
gently.
"Uh huh," Pamela couldn't raise her eyes to his. Margot had pretty
much given Alan the green light - how was SHE going to control him now? "She
doesn't think I, uh, get enough...."
"I see," Alan went poker-faced. "What do YOU think?"
Conversation wasn't necessary; Pamela went fire-engine red. Nothing
she could say would get her out of this one gracefully. Dammit, Margot!
Pamela pretended absorption in the channel selection; Alan contented himself
with caressing her hip. "Let's sit down," he murmured.
Pamela glanced at him quickly, nodded, and turned in his direction on
the way to the bed. Alan allowed his hand to sweep across her ass before
lifting it clear to allow her to move back to the bed, a familiarity that
Pamela could not fail to notice. What now? How long before he got serious
about putting the moves on her, now that Margot had left her totally
defenseless?
Alan sensed her tension, however, and let things ride, merely re-
engaging her right hip once they were both seated. Pamela found a sitcom and
asked Alan, "Is this okay?" Alan nodded. There might have been other things,
but he really didn't want to be distracted by television, anyway. Instead, he
began slowly, gently assessing the curve of Pamela's hip, moving his hand
slowly over her thigh and her surprisingly heart-shaped ass.
Pamela pretended to watch television, but no one could mistake that
look of bird-dog attention. Pamela didn't really have the tools for this;
having a real, live man next to her, paying HER attention - while sober -
wasn't a situation she'd really ever been in. What was she supposed to do?
She set herself to tolerate the wandering hand - after all, having it wander
over her ass atop two or three layers of clothing wasn't exactly the same as
having him sink two fingers in her.... She shied away from finishing THAT
though, contenting herself with the admission that while Alan's activity was
fresh, it wasn't THAT fresh!
Alan continued his exploration. Pamela - it WAS Pamela; he was
certain that no one had ever called her 'Pam' to her face, once he'd heard it
from Margot - was tall, and almost painfully thin, but the hip and the soft
asscheek under his hand were well fleshed. Everything that had gone on thus
far indicated that she was high-strung and out of her element; there would be
no quick, easy 'let's get down to business' fuck, here. On the other hand, if
there had been any question as to her ultimate wants and needs, Margot had let
the cat out of the bag. Clearly, Pamela was seriously unhappy over that loss
of control; ultimately, it left her with few defenses short of screeching and
hysterically importuning him to leave. While it was nice to be more or less
in the driver's seat, this wasn't supposed to be a rape; he needed to settle
Pamela down again.
Fortunately, this process was already underway. Pamela was
discovering that 'tolerate' didn't really describe her acceptance of his
drifting hand; it didn't deal with the more pleasant aspects. Her alcohol-
blurred memories of other encounters featured much more demanding hands; Alan
wasn't groping her ('well, maybe a bit, just now...' as he gently cupped a
handful of ass cheek) the way they had - and the net effect was... pleasant.
Alan sidled closer and the hand moved up her side above the hip bone. Pamela
tensed, and Alan both felt and saw it as he watched her from the corner of his
eye, but she carefully did NOT tuck her elbow, closing him off.... 'Is he
going for a breast?' Pamela worried, Her feelings about that were a cocktail
of indignation that he might be moving that quickly, embarrassment at her
limited assets in that area and their less-than-enticing packaging in an
overly-stout brassiere, and (dare she admit it?) anticipation.... But Alan's
hand slid over her hip bone and across her belly, staying low. Pamela had
forgone anything ruthless in the way of a foundation garment; only high-
waisted cotton panties rode over the slight bulge that age was replacing the
solid abdominals of her youth with, to her embarrassment. And that bulge
sloped straight down to - Good God! She'd been worried about him coming over
the wall, and he was going to slide under it! But, no, he seemed happy to
slide his hand over that embarrassing bulge and the shallow depression above
it. She glanced at him, nervous in her embarrassment, and he affected not to
see, pretending, as she was, to watch the sitcom. Funny, how neither of them
laughed appropriately....
Pamela found herself leaning into Alan's shoulder as the hand slowly,
carefully extended her limits, advancing slowly into new territory, but
keeping the threat level below her threshold. Pamela stopped worrying about
it and started enjoying his exploration of her stomach. Yes, he was close to
dangerous territory, but the wool skirt masked quite a bit - including the
fact that at some point Alan's actions, or her fight or flight reaction - had
triggered a wash of dampness in her. Arousal had sneaked in the door
somewhere, and her body had begun to prepare itself for male attention, and
was, willy-nilly, adjusting her mental attitude to suit.
Pamela settled a bit, her head resting on Alan's collarbone, and wisps
from her bun tickled his cheek and ear. He settled himself to tolerate this,
given that it was a side-effect of success, but he didn't know how long he
could deal with it. Perhaps... "Want me to take your hair down?"
Pamela blinked and sat up, instinctively, while she processed the
request. It seemed... innocuous enough... "Okay." She reoriented a bit so
that her back was more to him, and Alan began hunting for hairpins, while they
both wondered what he'd been thinking.
The revealed locks weren't exactly tresses; Pamela had relatively thin
hair that, frankly, seldom escaped confinement, but was currently right at
shoulder length. Silvery gray streaks highlighted a basically muddy brown;
Pamela didn't bother to color it - nobody else cared. Released, it looked -
abused. "Do you have a hairbrush?" Alan asked.
"Yes..." Pamela rose, gracefully, Alan noticed, and crossed the room
to her overnight bag, collected various toiletries and distractedly wandered
into the bath with them. Men did this? Brushed women's hair? Was there a
significance? Oh - maybe they were still playing the old-married game....
She glanced in the mirror, and was frankly horrified - but Alan seemed to want
to deal with it, so.... Gathering up her brush, she stopped a moment to undo
the collar button of her high-necked white blouse without really reflecting on
WHY, and returned to the bedroom.
Alan, for his part, was sitting there, dealing with the situation in
similar confusion. Had he EVER offered to brush Caroline's hair when they
were married? He didn't think so; where had this come from? As Pamela
reappeared, he shook himself from his reverie and accepted the diffidently
offered hairbrush, patting the bed beside him. Pamela settled gingerly, and
Alan, just as gingerly, commenced wielding the hairbrush.
The effects were surprising; more than either of the participants ever
expected. Alan, presented with a task apparently divorced from seduction, let
that go for the moment, concentrating upon the novel effort at hand. And
Pamela, presented with what was, in effect, a scalp massage, relaxed, almost
immediately. Alan was thorough, which wasn't difficult, and gentle. Fairly
quickly, the mass attained a more or less natural look, flow, and cohesion.
And when Alan set aside the brush and gingerly moved up to her, wrapping his
arm again around her waist, Pamela laid her arm atop his, softly rubbing the
back of his hand and wrist. Moments later, she again leaned against his
shoulder, this time allowing him to carry her relaxed weight.
The bad news was that Alan's explorations were inadvertently
curtailed. His exploring arm was, while receiving an attention that boded
well for the future, immobilized. The natural point of attack for his left
hand - Pamela's breast - was, Alan judged, likely to provoke a setback if
assaulted. Now what? He was just setting himself to see if a kiss on the
neck was possible without too much awkward maneuvering when a knock sounded on
the door.
Pamela leapt up as if shot, and Alan took the opportunity to wrap arms
around her from behind for a moment, grinning. "Room service, remember?"
Since she was already up and buzzed, he squeezed her while nibbling her neck
quickly, then released her and strode to the door.
Pamela stood there, thoroughly unsettled, as Alan let the waiter in.
That worthy seemed faintly surprised; there was a couple here, both fully
clothed, despite the fact that there was a private hosting going on. Maybe
that's why the woman looked so guilty? Martin, the waiter, hid a smile as he
laid out the antipasti on the side table and flourished the wine - he'd seen a
LOT worse! - Hell, on the odd occasion, he'd even been offered a very special
tip.... Martin got the wine open, and Alan signed the check, redirecting
charges to his room and tipping at twenty percent. Martin nodded, offered the
standard, "If you need anything..." and backed out of there, leaving Alan
wondering just what he was thinking.
Pamela thought she knew; she was certain she had 'SLUT' painted in
lipstick on her somewhere, visibly. Maybe it was a brand? But Alan was
thoroughly nonchalant as he collected the straight chair from the desk and sat
it opposite the recliner at the side table, and then waved her into it.
As she settled gingerly into place, he poured the wine and perched
himself on the edge of the recliner. "Seating arrangements are... imperfect,"
he observed. "Not much for watching TV, either - we'd have done better on a
love seat...." He stopped, realizing the gaffe.
Pamela smiled. The effort to paper over the remark offered a chance
to forget her embarrassment during the food delivery, "In a place that
supposedly caters to couples, you'd think they would do better..."
"I'll have to look for a suggestion box," Alan chuckled. Each
attacked their antipasto for a moment, but it was time for small talk. Alan
fired the first round, "So, what do you do?"
"I'm a... bookkeeper." Pamela had her CPA, but it was arguable
whether she was really working as one - or ever would, in THIS town. Did
this mean that the old married thing was over?
"That explains the formal wear. I'm in electronics R & D, and can
usually avoid it, but I'm here for a conference demo, which explains MY monkey
suit," Alan hauled at his collar.
"Well, you took off the jacket, and I, uh, opened this thing up...."
Pamela pointed to the neck of her blouse.
"One button?" Alan chided.
"Well, you could pull that tie... "
"Want to help?" Alan challenged her with his eyes.
"I don't know a whole lot about neckties," Pamela stammered.
"You just pull the narrow end through the knot," Alan replied,
"Nothing to it. Married women TIE neckties." Eyeing her for a moment, he
added, "I brushed your hair..."
"Yes..." A playful mood stole over her, and she rose and crossed to
him. Alan rose, and she went to work. Alan settled his hands on her hips,
and, once she was fully engaged, he pulled the tails of her blouse from her
skirt. Pamela, both hands full of silk, stopped and attempted to retreat.
"What are you doing?"
Alan held her in place. "Loosening your blouse. I wanted to feel
skin." But his hands, once settled on her bare hips, didn't move.
Pamela waited a moment, then resumed wrestling with the tie. "One
moment, you do something really nice, and the next, you scare me. Why?"
"I tend to think of it as doing something that scares you, but turns
out really nice," Alan observed. Pamela blinked, comparing it with her
experience, while Alan went on, "Periodically, I see an opportunity to move us
forward into something more intimate - and I take it. But I don't follow up
because I have to give you time to deal with it. I haven't been in a
relationship that operated like this since high school! Fortunately, I know
more now than I knew then...."
Pamela was thinking about it, distractedly drawing the necktie through
her hands. He'd... Then he'd... Hmmmm.... Alan interrupted this with,
"You're not a virgin, are you?"
"Uh, no," Pamela colored, "but I don't remember much about how I got
there..."
"Oh?" Alan's hands on her bare back brought her closer.
"I was crazy drunk, I guess. I remember making out, and kind of
drifting in and out, finding his hands in places I hadn't told him they could
be - and not caring. I remember it was good, but he wasn't."
"And since?" Alan pressed gently.
"A couple of other, similar incidents. It takes a bit to get me to...
let my hair down...." Almost instinctively, she buried her left hand in the
locks at the nape of her neck. A glance up at Alan revealed a smile.
Alan chuckled. "It was unplanned - I surprised myself, too."
Carefully, he drew her forward. She didn't resist; her arms went around his
waist and suddenly, they were nose to nose. Alan quirked an eyebrow, and
Pamela's body betrayed her, flooding her with hormones. Conscious thought
fled; she tilted her head and lifted her lips, and Alan took possession.
It was insane, as if she was sixteen; she seemed to know nothing. But
her arms returned his grasp, and she wasn't fighting.... Alan slowly opened
her lips with his, then slid his tongue along her teeth. On the next pass,
they were open, and a tongue-tip guarded the portal - but the tongue followed
him home, and she melted against him. Pamela was untutored, but enthusiastic;
Alan felt as though he'd gone back in time; he was going to look in the mirror
and discover that he was unable as yet to grow a moustache....
For Pamela, the fear was gone, buried under a tsunami of some other,
unfamiliar emotion. Pamela didn't know what it was, but she knew that peeling
her limbs from Alan’s form might prove embarrassing.... Suddenly, SHE wanted
to feel HIS skin! Alan felt hands at his back, tugging, and cool fingers
slipped along his back. He released her lips, and she murmured, "No fair!
You're wearing an undershirt!"
"It didn't protect me," Alan observed, chuckling. "Besides, you're
wearing a bra!"
"Yeah," Pamela pondered this distantly, for the first time ill at ease
with the fact. The thing was like Fort Knox, too - 'WAY too much protection
for the meager contents. Suddenly, getting it off without embarrassment was a
priority.
But Alan STILL wasn't pushing. They'd covered serious ground - it was
time to consolidate again.... "Want a little more to eat, Dear? Before we
neck a lot?"
"Yeah, well, I guess so." Pamela's reluctance to step back signaled
the sea change clearly. Alan pulled her chin to him, kissed her gently, and
breathed, "We're not done..." in her ear, then, smiling, took his tie from her
limp hand and carried it to the closet, tucking it into his jacket pocket.
Pamela collapsed into her chair, a bit dazed. Her body was clamoring for
attention, driving her mind before it. Fear that Alan would take advantage of
her had been thoroughly supplanted by fear that he WOULDN'T! Alan dragged a
finger along her neck as he passed on his return, and instead of flinching,
Pamela tried to trap it between her head and shoulder.
Alan pulled up short; it was amazing what a little kissing could do.
He left the hand where it was, and murmured, "Eat your antipasto. If your
stomach growls while you're kissing it's... embarrassing." Pamela giggled
like a schoolgirl and picked up her fork; Alan, grinning, shook his head as he
seated himself.
Dinner continued in that vein. Since he didn't want her backsliding,
he worked out of a shoe and initiated a game of 'footsie' under the table.
This worked like gangbusters - Pamela was out of both shoes in a flash, having
trouble eating around the giggles as she tried to put both stocking feet up
his pants legs. Her narrow skirt exposed her crotch to him any time she went
on the offensive; Alan let it go for a while, then ran a foot up her inner
thigh and started to rub. Pamela's eyes saucered, but dropping her feet and
putting her knees together were ineffective at that point; Alan was already in
the door. Alan watched her consider withdrawing, intent upon being gone
before she moved - but she refused retreat, going back on the offensive,
daring him with her eyes.
It was a mistake; in moments, Alan's toes found her crotch. This
time, she DID withdraw, "Oh! You're SO fresh!"
But her eyes were laughing, and Alan grinned. "Your legs are too
short!"
"Trust a man to find a game only HE can win!" Pamela chided.
"Or everybody does," Alan returned.
"Um, right!" She went at him again. This time, he lost no time in
making his response, and the circumstances of the attack brought a flush of
arousal to Pamela's face that took ten years off her apparent age while Alan
tried to map her pudenda through three layers of cloth with his toe. A very
few moments of that, and Alan's sock was wet and Pamela's thighs were shaking.
"Okay, okay, I give!" she squealed.
"Good!" Alan replied. "To the victor goes the spoils!" He quit
trying to insert a toe in her vagina through her nylons and panty gusset and
settled for stroking the top of her mons with his foot. Both got more serious
with their antipasti, it being universally felt that it was time for other
things. In a couple of minutes, Pamela sat back. "Are you done?" Alan
asked. At her nod, he continued, "Then I think it's time for a bit more in
the way of comfort. I'm out of luck, but what do YOU have for nightclothes?"
"Um," Pamela reflected that the pair of lounging pajamas she'd brought
were decorative, perhaps, but were poor for granting access. "Nothing much, I
guess."
Alan didn't believe her; he'd seen the look that flashed across her
face. But perhaps it offered an opportunity... "What about the fuzzy robes
they seem to stock? Why don't you change into one of them? Who knows, maybe
at some point, I will, too!"
"I'll go look." Pamela hopped up and examined the contents of the
closet. Nothing. Where had Margot gotten that robe? Finally she found one,
folded, on a shelf in the bath - one of two. Sticking her head out of the
door, she announced, "I found them!" Alan nodded and waved his fork, chewing.
Pamela collected a couple of hangers from the closet (those stupid ball-topped
things that only work IN the closet) and re-entered the bathroom to change.
Alan reflected that he might have rather had her strip for him, but
you can't have everything. Alan felt that, actually, he was doing pretty
well. He'd been married - and divorced - early; his high-school sweetheart
had been less than impressed with his early earning potential once they'd left
the glory of his local fame at basketball. Funny how high school
accomplishments failed to translate into fame and fortune. Caroline had been
a whirling bitch, anyway. After that, he'd dated in college, but keeping his
scholarship and studying for a REAL profession had kept him from much more
serious than the usual male weekend hijinks. Chance collection of various
unprepossessing females in bars had taught him that they ALL carried large
quantities of baggage; in recent years, he'd had to settle for the occasional
focused massage, escort, or out-and-out hooker. Now, he was too old to go
wandering out to dance clubs - besides, the 'music' and the 'dancing' they
featured looked more and more like something out of tribal celebrations of
some type on National Geographic, despite his rock-and-roll roots. All in
all, this little run-in with Pamela was the closest he'd come to a 'normal'
relationship in some years. If she was nervous as a cat, well, it just said
that she was an amateur, which in his mind was a good thing. Straight sex
from a professional tended to be mere masturbation with a vagina, a mouth, or
(if the hooker could get away with it) a hand. Coddling poor Pamela's little
fears and anxieties was kind of fun - at least it was emotional involvement.
Besides, it took him back...
Pamela removed her blouse and hung it on the hanger, looking at the
crazy woman in the mirror. This was SUCH a totally weird experience! Alan
was being VERY good, all in all; she'd been a total idiot for God knows how
long when he'd first arrived - first standing there, moulting chicken feathers
at the door, then jittering and leaping at every touch. She'd COME here to
meet a man... Well, she'd come here to FANTASIZE about meeting a man, and
live vicariously through Margot, actually. Alan had probably arrived at her
door with the expectation that they'd be finished by now, rather than still
working their way through the preliminaries; he'd been VERY good about
babysitting her, though. Pamela unzipped and stepped out of her skirt, adding
it to the on-hanger stack draped over the edge of the tub, then stood there
with her thumbs in the waistbands of her combined pantyhose and panties. One,
or both? If the evening went as she had now come to expect, panties would be
useless to her, but... Well, dammit, they made her TOO defenseless!
Shrugging, she skinned off the pantyhose. Examination discovered a run, so
she tossed them in the trash. The bra was a no-brainer - why she'd worn that
six-hook, underwire truss to support her little B-cup titties... The thing
was a monster, but it was heavily padded, while fostering the impression that
she needed robust support - of course, now that illusion was going to be
thoroughly penetrated. Pamela wrestled with the hooks and leaned forward to
drop the thing off - the underwire caused the cups to hang for a moment until
her breasts swung free. Shrugging out of the straps, she sighed, gazing sadly
at the reality. She'd never had the occasion to be unhappy that she didn't
have a larger bust, but the shape... The best description, perhaps, was that
they looked like someone had taken two orange-sized, rounded orbs and pressed
them to her chest, flattening them, while dragging them a bit downward.
Despite their small size, there was an obvious, immediate sag to them. The
good news was that the thimble-sized brown nipples that capped them stuck out
from relatively near the center of the flattened curve of the outer surface,
not from a location at the bottom of their curve where they would have
accentuated the droop. Exposure to relative chill had crinkled her areolas
from their usual fifty-cent piece size, further bulking up the nipples, but
they ALWAYS stuck out to a certain extent - big, fat points the hiding of
which was the REAL reason for the padded bra. Looking at her hair in the
mirror, she admitted that Alan had done a good job of combing it out - but she
knew that; he'd taken a LOT longer than necessary. She shrugged into the
robe, belted it tightly, and stepped out of the bath.
Alan had finished his antipasto, and picked at Pamela's; now, he was
sitting back in the recliner, sipping wine. Now, as she approached him, he
reflected on the difference the change of apparel made - or was it his
perception? The robe was longer than her narrow skirt had been, and it's
bulk blurred the lines of her body - but the knowledge that the nylons, at
least, were gone, and probably the brassiere - maybe even the panties - made
him perceive her as being undressed and vulnerable, despite the more complete
surface covering. "There's another," Pamela offered, indicating the robe.
"In a bit, maybe," Alan returned. "For now, you might want further
protection from the lurker in my lap. Besides, I have to wait until you've
reached the point of no return before I expose my hairy chest!"
"I’ll show you..." Pamela began, dimpling.
"Yes, you will!" Alan cut her off, catching her hand. "I haven't
collected those spoils of victory, yet."
"Where will we sit?" Pamela eyed the bed dubiously. It had been less
than comfortable in any position approaching the vertical.
"Here." Alan indicated his lap with his eyes and one hand. There was
a quick tug, and Pamela abruptly found herself seated. Alan pinned her there
with one hand, gently took her chin in the other, and directed her lips to
his. Any immediate urge to escape departed Pamela's consciousness.