Friendly Traveler's Inn: Room 303
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Group Sex, Interracial, Black Male, White Female, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Pregnancy, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, BBW,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Alan is in town for the week; Pamela is a local who has been unlucky at love. The pair discover one another at a hotel with a unique guest-matching service...
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.