One of the favorite things Martin and I used to do was drive out of the city and stay at one of the quaint bed and breakfasts in the little towns along the river. We liked the old-fashionedness, and we’d dress in period costumes, which we’d bought at secondhand shops or on-line. We liked strolling through the little towns, stopping for lunch at a diner, browsing the various shops. We seldom bought anything, although once at a hardware store Martin bought a hammer and I bought a nail. We giggled all the way back to the bed and breakfast about our purchases. In the evening, we’d call for room service.

Bed and Breakfasts don’t actually provide room service. It was pretend. We’d think up elaborate, slightly naughty meals to order, Pheasant Odalisque with Champagne sauce, for example, or Stuffed Quim of Pork, and while we waited for the bellboy to deliver our feast, I would slowly shed more and more of my finery, until I was completely naked, then I’d kneel before Martin, undo the buttons of his breeches, and suck his cock. “Come in!” Martin would gasp, just before he’d spurt into my mouth.

Martin was a very considerate lover. During the twenty minutes or so it would take Martin to recharge, he’d arrange me at the edge of the bed with a velvet pillow beneath my bottom—B&Bs always have such nice velvet pillows—and he’d caress my button and my petals with his thumb and fingers, teasing me until I was all but out of control. Then he’d kneel between my legs and lick and kiss and suck me into one wondrous orgasm after another. Erect again, Martin would stand between my legs and fuck the bold head of his velvet cock into the hot clench of my greedy cunt.

Long into the night we’d make love.

In the morning, we’d wake up in each other’s arms, and giggle like naughty children, and make love one last time, and laugh with the joy of love and fucking, and then it was time to go.

The velvet pillow, of course, would be thoroughly stained. So much love juice!

“What should we do?” Martin would ask.

“I’d be too embarrassed to leave it,” I’d say.

“So we should steal it?” Martin would suggest.

I’d grin a big yes. “But we can leave the hammer in exchange. And the nail.”

And so it is we have quite a nice collection of velvet pillows, souvenirs of room service.