Message-ID: <5325eli$9710312236@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/5325.txt>
From: "Mark Bastable" <markb@aboy.demon.co.uk>
Subject: Alphabet Stories: H - Requested Repost
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <878342710.27933.1.nnrp-05.9e982592@news.demon.co.uk>



     Hotel
     -----



I was working in Southern Germany, in a University town called Freiburg,
which nestles in the middle of the Black Forest. It's Germany as
Disney envisaged it - all cobblestone streets, oompah bands and
wonky little houses.

I was living at a hotel called The Black Lion - and over the four
months I'd been there, I'd pretty much got to know all the staff.
I'd fallen into the habit of taking a drink late at night with
the restaurant workers. They'd close up at midnight, and we'd
gather at the bar, knock off some beers and Schnapps, shoot the
bilingual breeze. I was generally three-parts drunk by the time
we started these sessions, but that's about what Continentals
expect of the English.

I was getting pretty friendly with the manageress, Greta. She
was tall, broad-shouldered; wore black, winged glasses. Her hair
was deepest brown and wavy. When she was working, she kept it
pinned up, complementing the uniform of white blouse, long black
skirt, unremarkable shoes. But after hours, curls cascaded over
her shoulders, way down her back. She had a fondness for tan
leather trousers and simple t-shirts, set off by pointy little
ankle-boots.

When I say I was getting friendly with her, that's about all it was.
There was undoubtedly a flirtatious frisson, but not enough to
justify a straight-out pass - and that was fine by me. There
was a waitress - about seventeen, blonde, so slight she was
barely a handful - who was giving me serious come-on. The
only reason I hadn't acted upon it was that she was so young.

I mean, I have moral scruples to consider.

Moreover, by the time she was ready to get blatant, it was
usually gone-three in the morning and I was totally incapable.

I also have performance standards to maintain.

It might have gone on like this for the whole of my time in
Germany - many units consumed, nothing ever consummated -
had I not bumped into Greta one Saturday in the town square.
We smiled, helloed and ended up going for lunch.

I looked at her as I followed her to a tucked-away table
in some woody, dark cafe. She was wearing a black miniskirt,
dark tights - I tried to believe they were stockings - and
a short fur jacket. Pretty good, I thought - and made
better by the knee-length leather boots. As she took her
seat, she shucked the jacket to reveal a cerise blouse
that she must have picked up in a sale. There was no other
excuse for spending money on clothing that was so obviously
two sizes too small.

This may seem unlikely, but I had never before really thought
about Greta in terms of her individual body parts. She'd
always just been this woman I flirted with. Now, however,
in that blouse, a couple of her body parts pretty much
stood up and demanded individual attention. She had a
cleavage that was like standing on the lip of the Grand
Canyon. I felt quite dizzy. I was glad I was sober.

I'm not sure how the conversation got around to bondage.
With a certain kind of German woman, these things tend
to just slip in. Greta, it turned out, metronomed between
dom and sub. 'A little of S and a little of M,' was how
she phrased it.

We talked awhile, and I tried to look knowledgeable about
her area of sexual interest - but frankly, outside of the
slap'n'tickle of garden-variety horseplay, I've not ever
got involved in sub-dom stuff. Still, I bluffed it pretty
cool until we started talking about the people at the hotel.

"Beatta," Greta said in accented English, her eyes shining,
"you know? The tiny blonde girl, vid so small tits? She I
can maybe want very bad."

I was a little taken aback, but covered it with a weak joke.

"Excuse me, fraulein!" I protested, in mock-British shock,
"You are speaking of the woman I intend to marry!"

She laughed it off.

"Nein, you make a joke, ja?" Not stupid, then. "Vith her,
I make a big sado play. I make her bend over, and I feel
to her cunt. She has a... rasiert.. in English?"

"Shaven," I told her.

"Ja, exactly. A shaven cunt, I hope. Or perhaps I will
myself shaven her little pussy."

You'll understand that it was impossible for me not to
picture this. And, having pictured it, it was impossible
for me not to order more port, as there was no chance of
me standing up to leave.

The liqueurs worked a treat - we both became increasingly
indiscreet.

"And, so, umm, what would you want to do with me?" I asked,
flushed with alcohol and imagination.

She regarded me with her head on one side, her unruly
locks falling over the hand she held against her temple.
The tip of her cigarette flared unnoticed in the brown
curls, and the smell of burnt hair was trippy, intoxicating.

"I see you now in your clothes for the weekend," she mused,
eyes unfocussed. "But I like when you come to the hotel
after you are in your office. When you wear your Englisher
suit, vid your tie, it is so... So 'papa'. You know?"

I knew. But acting dumb seemed the best bet.

"No - sorry. Not with you, old love."

She pulled herself ramrod straight - an upright,
shoulders-back gesture. "So like a father, like vith
rules you have in your head." She tapped her temple.
"Like you will think, Who is this naughty girl in the
restaurant? Like, So vhat shall I do vith this so
naughty girl?"

I can be really dense when it matters.

"And what will I do with this naughty girl?" I asked,
innocently.

She grinned and took a drag on her cigarette, eyeing
me through blown smoke.

"I think you will hold me here" - she tapped her lap -
"and spank me at mein arsch. I think that is good for
me, ja, if I am a so naughty girl?"

I grinned.

"Betcha arsch," I agreed.

Three nights later, I got back to the hotel late, having
worked past eleven. I went straight to the bar without
changing and caught the restaurant staff coming off their
shift.

Musta been the suit. The blonde, Beatta, was all over
me like spring sunshine. Greta, at the other end of the
bar, was jigging about, catching the action. I've seen
less involved spectators at a Cup Final.

The conversation with Beatta was sloshing along like a
flood-tide; we covered various prurient subjects, including
S&M, on which I now considered myself an authority. Though
lubriciously intrigued by the principle, Beatta appeared
dubious about the actual prospect - but I decided to
push my luck. With one hand stroking her thigh beneath
her skirt, I daringly suggested that she went to the
restroom and took her panties off. She shot out of the
seat as if it were alight, and scurried off down the
corridor.

Greta filled Beatta's empty bar-stool so quickly that
it looked like a computer-morph.

"So," she asked eagerly, "we have some fun together
with Beatta, ja? You say to her we maybe go together
to her room, all the three?"

I considered.

"She's just a kid, Greta," I sighed. "It's not fair."

"No, no," Greta insisted, shaking her dark curls. "She
will like when I lick her little cunt. She doesn't know
this, but she will like it."

I shrugged, unconvinced.

"And for you," Greta continued, coaxingly, "you will have
then two girls who lick your cock. Ja? You like that when
two girls will lick your big cock and fuck you with their
two wet pussies. I think you will like that."

She rubbed the front of my pinstripe trousers as she said
this, which I felt was a little unsporting. However, I am
an Englishman, and I hardened, amongst other things, my
resolve.

"No - sorry. Can't do it to the poor girl."

I adjusted my tie, pulling it hard into my collar, and
stood up, gazing down into Greta's depthless cleavage.

"Still, we could, uh, slip away upstairs, just you and I.
Because, frankly, your suggestion was extraordinarily
naughty, and - ahem - it seems to me that you should be
made to see that."

Christ, she was lovely naked. As I tied her to the bed,
a silk neck-tie on each limb, I could barely keep my eyes
on the knots. Her nipples stood hard out from her ripe
tits, reaching for the ceiling like mad exotic buds seeking
the sun. Her stomach was a flat plain of muscle, giving way
to a thick tropical rainforest of damp hair, alive with
saturation and blossoming pink. In the sand-white of her
face, her eyes filled with promising glisten, like oases.

I shifted a chair that was hard by the bed, so that I could
stand with my crotch above her face. Still in my pin-striped
three-piece, I unzipped, and fished out my cock.

In such a situation, I think you will forgive me a
certain forwardness.

"Not bad, eh?" I suggested, bouncing my erection of the
bridge of her nose.

"Not." Bounce. "Too." Bounce. "Shabby."

She was dribbling from every available porthole. She was
biting the air and her hips were fucking a vacuum. She
was thrumming between her fixed joints like a cello string.

"Give it to me! Give me cock! Fuck in my cunt! Fuck it in
my mouth!" she screeched. Then she went through it again
in German.

With a certain amount of contortion, I pushed the faithful
servant back into the underpants, and rezipped.

"Patience," I told Greta, as I left, "is a virtue."

Beatta was waiting in her room, as arranged, fully-dressed,
including panties, and bent over an armchair. We fucked
quick and hard, all popping buttons and cotton tugged
aside. She shrieked and laughed and gasped as I shot
my load deep into her tight snatch. Still flushed and
sweaty, still giggly and loose, we stumbled arm-in-arm
back to my room.

Greta, spread-eagled, was agog with fury and moisture
as we burst through the door. Though not fluent in the
Teutonic tongue, I couldn't but apprehend her displeasure.

Beatta bounded onto the bed, a gangly gazelle, and placed
a foot on either side of Greta's head. As Greta stared up,
Beatta carefully, gleefully, deliberately pulled her panties
to one side of her cunt. I knelt by the bedhead, and watched
a large gobbet of my cum ooze like magic from Beatta's slit,
and hang, and stretch and, finally, drop silent onto the
bound woman's chin.

I glanced sidelong at Greta, who was sizzling with outrage
and frustration.

"Beautiful, huh?" I asked her. And then, nodding towards Beatta's
suppurating gash, I added, "And - whaddya know? - shaven too."

As I write this, it's five in the morning and Beatta is asleep
in her bed behind me. I must remember to set the clock and go
and untie Greta before the maid comes in at noon. I really must.






-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /