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The rain was relentless. Sylvia sat staring out her office window, morbidly fascinated by the constant, driving intensity of the storm. She had watched it all morning, even skipping her lunch break in an unsuccessful wait for it to let up. The tiny, overworked heater straining noisily behind her had long ago given up any hope of keeping the fog off her window. Now with early evening falling, she could barely see the lights that had been on all day in the buildings across the street.
Long rivulets of condensation were running down the inside of the window. She watched as her misty reflection dissolved in a changing series of abstract designs, each twisting and flowing down the glass. She could feel each drop of water drain away her concentration, like Chinese water torture. She was aware that the beating rain was having an elemental effect on her, deep in her gut.
She felt the familiar, throbbing pressure growing and recognized it as the slow but welcome buildup of sexual tension that always accompanied a steady rain.
Her lover, Brandon, regularly took delight in teasing her about how fortunate it was they lived in the Pacific Northwest.
“Any woman who gets turned on by the rain is sure living in the right place around here,” he would joke. Brandon loved her enthusiastic sexuality and was the first man she ever knew who was secure enough to encourage her to embrace it without being threatened himself.
For what seemed like the hundredth time she twisted in her chair to look at the clock. Only 3:30. She heard her secretary return from coffee break, shaking her raincoat and grumbling loudly about the weather. Sylvia’s concentration was now completely frazzled and she knew any further pretense of working was ridiculous. She had been feeling hormonal all week and was dying for relief. Impulsively, she turned off the computer, took her purse out of her desk and locked the drawer.
“See you on Monday, Stella,” she called into the office next to hers. “I’m outta here. If Brandon calls, tell him I blew off the afternoon and I’ll catch him later at the Davenport.”
Brandon had been out of town all week on business but was due back late this afternoon. Their earlier plans to meet for an after-work drink had been loose, but their Fridays were routine enough that she wasn’t worried about missing him. She knew he’d either call or just show up sometime after six at their favorite bar. The old Davenport Hotel was only four blocks away and had become their regular meeting place for the three years they’d been living in Spokane.
Putting up her umbrella and facing into the driving rain, she felt somewhat like an escaping prisoner. She walked quickly down Post Street, empty except for one forlorn-looking woman standing in front of an abandoned pharmacy. It was faster to walk than wait for a taxi even if she did get a little wet and cold, and she knew the Davenport’s famous fireplace would be roaring its usual welcome when she arrived. Then a nice hot Bailey’s Irish Cream with coffee in the Peacock Room Lounge would have her feeling back in sorts in no time at all.
The bricks on the hotel entryway were slick and shiny in the glow of the overhead flood lights. A doorman she had never seen before stepped into the rain to greet her. He reached for her umbrella and ushered her quickly through the door into the lobby.
“Welcome, Miss,” he smiled coolly.
His greeting was courteous rather than welcoming, but Sylvia knew he had carefully checked her out. The practiced eye he used when he looked her over had been professional and subtle. Most women probably wouldn’t have noticed, but personally she always felt annoyed that an unescorted woman couldn’t walk into a nice hotel without feeling suspect. The Davenport had a reputation for keeping a close watch on the hookers that flourished nearby and as a result they were rarely seen here.
Sylvia hurried into the practically deserted Peacock Room. Lightly perfumed votive candles on each small table flickered softly, the only direct lighting in the intimate room. Classical music enhanced the warm, inviting ambience, reminding her of old money and a bygone, musty elegance. She and Brandon had commented that the few call girls they occasionally did see here were very high-class and expensive looking.
She looked around the lounge and was immediately cognizant of being the only woman in the room, except for Laura, the cocktail waitress. As she took off her coat she smiled and waved, giving Laura a ‘thumbs-up’ to signal she was ready for her usual drink before settling into an overstuffed leather chair. Her skirt was drenched and she stretched her legs out toward an ornate old radiator, kicking off her shoes and wiggling her toes against its warmth. Greedily sipping the hot drink Laura sat before her, she quickly jerked it away when she painfully burned her tongue. Embarrassed, she looked around the room to see if anyone had seen her. A tall, slender man sat watching her intently from the bar. She followed his eyes and canlı bahis realized he hadn’t noticed her discomfort because he was instead staring at her long legs stretched out before her.
Sylvia instinctively slithered deeper into the chair, feeling her damp skirt slide further up her slippery, nylon-covered legs. She knew she had a great pair of legs and liked having them looked at, especially by such a handsome man. As she more carefully sipped her drink she peered over the cup, studying him obliquely. She glanced around the room, pleased with the knowledge that men still found her attractive. She took a deep breath, enjoying heat radiating toward her and began to feel the best she had all day.
Laura soon appeared before her with another drink. She placed it on the table and was grinning broadly as Sylvia looked up at her in surprise.
“But, I didn’t order this . . . ” she started to say.
“It’s from the gentleman at the bar.” Laura winked knowingly, nodding her head at the man who had been admiring her legs. Sylvia turned to look at him and he smiled, toasting her silently with his drink. Sylvia smiled back, flattered by his confident gesture and watched as he stood up, tucked his tie into his jacket and walked toward her. Laura discretely slipped away, a smug look on her face.
“Mind if I join you?’ he asked politely.
Sylvia felt the familiar flush of excitement that always accompanied a man’s first attentions. She was no stranger to being approached and always enjoyed the flirtation and game playing. The instant chemistry between a new man and herself was one of her greatest enjoyments of being a woman. She looked at him approvingly, noticing that his expensive business suit and tie were the latest style. He was younger than she had realized, but was even more attractive close up.
Taking her silence as acquiescence, he lowered himself gracefully into the chair next to her.
“Thanks for the drink,” she said.
His smile was boyish and charming, and Sylvia was struck by his strong sense of presence. “You looked a little cold and wet,” he grinned. He held out his hand and waited patiently until she finally extended hers. “My name’s Brad.” He took it and squeezed softly.
She was surprised at how soft and gentle, almost feminine his grip seemed coming from such a large man. His eyes sparkled playfully as he settled back into his chair and then leaned attentively forward when she finally smiled at him.
Sylvia was aware of his subtle cologne faintly hanging in the air between them. “Mine’s Sylvia,” she offered. “And thanks again for the drink, even though my poor tongue’s so burned I don’t know if I can handle it.”
He laughed softly. “I thought you might appreciate another warmer-upper. It’s really been nasty out today, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, but actually I love the rain, even if my shoes got soaked coming over here,” she answered. “In this weather it doesn’t take long.”
Sylvia watched him as he looked down at her feet and then deliberately ran his eyes slowly up her long legs to stop at her breasts. She was hotly aware of her nipples filling under his inquisitive gaze. He took his time inspecting her and made no pretense about what he was doing or his pleasure in doing it. It was obvious he liked what he saw and Sylvia could feel herself shiver involuntarily with the enjoyment of having his eyes rove over her.
Abruptly, he looked up into her eyes and smiled. “I’ve got some fluffy towels in my room you could dry off those pretty feet with,” he blurted. He leaned closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold now, would we?”
Sylvia caught herself smiling back at him without thinking. She found his manner and words amusing as the realization slowly began to dawn on her. “Christ, he thinks I’m a hooker,” she thought. “He’s been surveying the merchandise and now he’s tendering an offer.”
Instead of feeling insulted, she felt a rush of excitement and realized that she found his assumption flattering. He was, after-all, handsome and sexy and certainly quite charming even if a little too forward for her taste. And without knowing it, he was playing directly into an old recurring fantasy of hers.
She looked down at his hand, noticing the heavy gold band on his ring finger. He caught her look and smiled again.
“It’s okay,” he said. “She knows how lonely I get on the road.” He looked wistfully down at his ring, an unreadable look clouding his eyes. “Her name is Sarah and we’ve been married for two years.”
Sylvia felt a twinge deep inside and tried to visualize the woman he was talking about.
“She’s blond and young and very pretty,” he said, as if reading her mind. “We love each other dearly, but we’re apart so much . . . ” his voice trailed off.
“Doesn’t she, uhh, Sarah, mind that you see other women?” Sylvia asked softly, absently twisting her own wedding ring.
He looked directly into her eyes and answered very slowly and intently. “No, not anymore. As long bahis siteleri as I’m discrete and careful and don’t get emotionally involved.” He heisted a moment as if searching for just the right words. “I know it must sound like a line, but during the last year or so we’ve developed a, ah, an understanding.”
His voice somehow rang true, and Sylvia found herself hanging on every word.
They were quiet a long time. She sipped her drink pensively, remembering how liberating it had felt back when Brandon had encouraged her to conquer her own jealousies and think more like a man, to unapologetically explore her kinkier side.
“Does she really understand or are you just telling yourself that?” she finally asked.
He took a deep breath and seemed almost to blush as he started talking again.
“No, I’m not,” he blurted, “actually, it was her idea.” He leaned even closer to Sylvia, his voice so soft she could barely hear him. “She wants me to tell her everything I do with the women I meet. Absolutely everything.”
He paused to take another sip of his drink before continuing. “She likes me to share every detail when I get home. What they’re wearing, if they’re pretty, how they strip for me . . . ” He swallowed nervously, ” . . . what special things they like to do. She loves fantasizing about what it would be like if she was right there with us.”
Sylvia uncrossed her legs slowly as he continued to talk, feeling both surprised and pleased at how similar her fantasies were to Sarah’s. She could smell the faint but familiar musky scent of her own heat as she involuntarily squirmed against the leather chair. She wondered if Brad was aware of it too. She remembered how erotic it could be when she and Brandon related their sexual exploits to each other. Brandon loved relating intimate details from his early wild times, playing her masterfully as he watched her become more and more excited by his stories and then growing teasingly vague as he tweaked her imagination about his current business trips.
She would often fantasize herself sitting naked and aroused across a darkened hotel room from him and some beautiful stranger, masturbating as she watched every move they made while making love. She would grow increasingly turned on, encouraging him to bare every act and nuance in almost pornographic detail until she could no longer hold back. Frantic for release and begging him to tell her all, she would mount him and cum at the same time as he and his mysterious lady.
They had spent more than one pleasant rainy Sunday afternoon with Brandon encouraging her to share both the juicier memories of her past lovers and the excitement of their current flirtations. They would lie in bed drinking wine and savoring the perverse pleasure of him stroking himself while Sylvia watched and talked, both of them becoming more and more aroused.
Sylvia’s mind snapped back to the present when Brad put his hand on her leg, just above her knee, and squeezed lightly. She felt the pleasant warmth of his fingers through her thin nylons and resisted the involuntary impulse to pull away. She glanced at his lap and grinned inwardly, pleased to notice a new fullness in his slacks and feeling a rush of ownership of his visceral reaction to her. He saw her eyes on him and made no attempt to hide his erection.
“You can make all three of us very happy, Sylvia,” he cooed. “You, me, and Sarah.” He reached for his briefcase and stood up. “I’m in room 210.”
Standing directly in front of her and obviously aware that his crotch was exactly at her eye level he smiled and reached for his wallet, the motion causing his slacks to emphasize his condition even more.
Sylvia felt his smile penetrate deep into her and knew she wanted to do exactly as he had suggested. She watched silently as he dropped some money on the table.
“Pay for the drinks.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “This should take care of the bar tab and tip . . . ” he said, “and everything else. I’ll see you upstairs in a few minutes.”
His voice was still warm but had a new and excited urgency to it.
“Don’t disappoint us, Sylvia.” He stepped away and then stopped. “Room 210,” he whispered.
Sylvia watched him stride confidently out of the lounge. He went directly to the antique elevators across the hall and pushed a button, revealing his nervousness only fleetingly when he glanced back at her just as he stepped out of sight. Sylvia picked up her cup and drained the last of the now-cold drink, mildly surprised to see that her hands were steadier than she was feeling.
“Ready for another one?”
Startled, Sylvia looked up as Laura suddenly materialized next to her.
“Uhh, no thanks, Laura. I think I’ll slip off, too.” She reached for the pile of money Brad had left and picked two twenties off the top, laying them next to the empty glasses. Her eyes almost jumped out of her head when she realized the next three bills were hundreds. She stuffed them guiltily into her purse before Laura could bahis şirketleri see them.
“Keep the change, Hon,” she stammered.
Glancing at her watch, Sylvia thought about Brandon. He wouldn’t show up for another two hours at the earliest and would likely be even later. She walked quickly down the hall and slipped into the ornate ladies room, listening to her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She stood in front of the large mirror and washed her hands for a long time, carefully studying the reflection looking back at her.
“Wow! Pretty good for an old broad,” she whispered to herself. “Three hundred bucks, up-front. Christ, what a rush!” She grinned and leaned closer to the mirror. “How many women could do that at my age?”
She looked at herself again, more critically this time. Did she really look like a hooker, she wondered? Brandon loved having her dress in clothes that emphasized her sexuality but never in anything that looked cheap. She usually wore modest length skirts with silk blouses and knew she looked great in them. She smiled as she admired the lacy, low-cut brassiere that showed clearly under her blouse, her nipples playfully pushing twin mounds through the delicate material. She was pleased with her image and knew she looked as sexy and attractive as she felt.
She flushed with happiness as she again thought of Brandon and his total acceptance of her sexuality. He loved sharing her beauty with other men and always encouraged her to continue growing in her self-confidence. Now, after her years with him she felt neither guilt nor remorse, just a welcome and confident acceptance of her steadily building excitement.
She carefully combed her hair, enjoying the warm feelings surging through her body. She put fresh shadow on her eyelids and carefully applied a tiny trace of lipstick. As she dropped the makeup into her purse, she saw Brad’s money again and felt her cheeks flush involuntarily. She hesitated, fingering the crisp bills as she looked at herself in the mirror. Suddenly, her decision made, she snapped her purse closed and walked out of the ladies room and up to the front desk.
“May I have an envelope and a piece of paper, please?” she asked.
The man politely handed her a long, beige envelope and stationery with the Davenport logo printed on the corner. On the paper she quickly wrote, “Brad, save this for a special, rainy day with Sarah.” She folded it around the bills, put them inside and sealed it. She pushed the envelope across the counter and smiled sweetly to the young man.
“Could you please make sure this gets to the gentleman in 210 before he checks out?” She watched as he placed it into the mail slot behind him and then turned, nodding politely to her.
She walked briskly to the elevator and was upstairs standing before Brad’s door in minutes. She looked carefully up and down the long hall, and then looked again. She took a couple of deep breaths and smelled the pungent bite of her own fear—or was it her excitement? Swallowing down the tightness in her throat she knocked softly and without waiting for an answer pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dark behind the heavy curtains except for a sliver of light stabbing out through the half-open bathroom door. The now familiar smell of Brad’s cologne hung in the air and she could hear smooth jazz coming softly from a tiny clock-radio. Brad lay in the center of the king-size bed covered only by a pale yellow sheet, the blankets folded carefully in a pile on the floor. His bare chest and arms were nicely muscled and he was propped up on the pillows, looking directly at her. A bottle of white wine in an ice cooler and two full glasses sat on the small table next to the bed, along with several foil-wrapped condoms.
Sylvia stood just inside the door, leaning against it until she felt the weakness in her knees subside. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she watched Brad reach for his wine and sip it nervously. They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time, neither of them moving, both waiting for the other to break the silence.
“Lock the door and take your clothes off,” he finally said. She was surprised at how raspy his voice sounded.
“Slowly . . . very slowly,” he continued. “I want to watch you strip.”
Sylvia heard the hesitation in his voice and realized he was no longer as smooth and debonair as he had appeared in the bar. She was pleased to see the huge bed made him look somehow smaller, more vulnerable, and she felt her confidence surge. She reached behind her and turned the deadbolt, never taking her eyes from his. She put her coat carefully on the chair and began to slowly unbutton her blouse. She pulled it out of her skirt and let it gap open, leaving only the last button fastened before reaching down and removing her shoes and tossing them next to her coat.
Touching herself sensually, she ran her fingers slowly over her stomach and down her thighs, then slipped her hands up under her skirt and began to gently tug down her pantyhose. She turned left and right as she stepped out of each leg with slow, exaggerated poses, allowing her lace covered breasts to peek in and out of his view through the opened blouse.
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