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From: Don Winslow <dwin2001@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Odd Couple in Room 210 [Don Winslow} (Part 1) (D/s, f/F. sexual humil., foot fetish)
Date: Fri, 23 Aug 2002 17:10:08 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Margo 1.txt" begin>
The Odd Couple in Room 210 (f/F, sexual humil., foot fetish)
By Don Winslow
Part 1 of 2
=================================================================
Note: The author wishes to acknowledge the f/F stories by "Cowgirl,"
especially her SALESGIRL, for helping to inspire this work.
=================================================================
"Margo here's a real piece of work. A genuine nympho, aren't you
Babe?" The elegant, cool woman in the creamy sundress, kept her proud
chin high but averted her eyes, turning to scan the horizon, as though
she might remain oblivious to the humiliating words that were burning
her ears. "It's really easy to get her worked up, and once she's all
hot and bothered, the bitch'll be all over you," he confided leaning
over the table. "I mean, she's a fuckin' animal. Can't get enough of
it."
Petra sat stiffly upright on the edge of the padded booth; a uniformed
waitress in a pert pony tail, invited to sit for a moment as her
customers finished their breakfast coffee. Sitting down with guests
was frowned on at Dreamchasers, of course, but Joey, the manager was
nowhere to be seen, so she took a chance. By this time the dining room
was almost empty, and beside the guy named Nick was persuasive. He
smiled his crooked smile, and beckoned her to join them with a folded
bill that slid easily into her palm as he introduced himself, holding
her hand lightly all the while eyeing the plastic nametag over her
small left breast.
And so young Petra had let herself be persuaded. The guy was not bad
looking, but he was definitely too loud; much too showy for her tastes.
Still, she had to admit, he had a certain charm, with his thick black
hair slicked back and his powerful physique hidden under one of those
dark silk suit he wore. The big guy always looked overdressed for the
resort in those suits of his, even though he tried to "dress down" by
opening his silvery shirt well down the front to reveal a heavy chain
of beaten platinum, showy and glitzy, like the linked bracelet he wore,
or that impressive ring of his.
He was much too vulgar for the Dreamchasers Resort crowd, and
especially for the sophisticated lady he never let stray very far from
his side. He just didn't fit in. He probably knew it, but he just
didn't care; paid no attention to the reactions of the other guests.
It was the contrast of this improbable couple that was so striking.
That was the thing that made the other guests, and even the well-
trained staff, turn their heads to follow the progress of the beefy guy
and the beautiful blonde at his side, whose hips were swaying with the
easy stride of a fashion model doing the catwalk. And she might have
been a model with those devastating good looks of hers: an attractive,
mature blonde of indeterminate age, with thick folds of soft wavy hair
arranged with causal elegance over a face that was exquisite -- an
attractive blond face, neatly sculpted, and perfectly made up. And she
was always impeccably turned out; one of those women who could look
fashionably dressed even when wearing nothing but a simple sundress
that left bare her lightly-tanned arms and shoulders as she set off in
her large straw hat for a day of sightseeing or shopping along the
quay.
Some speculated that the big guy might have been a chauffer, or with
his husky build, maybe a bodyguard, or one of those personal trainers
that all the rich, pampered guests seem to have attached to them these
days. She seemed to regard him from on high, with quietly amused
tolerance, while for his part, he was openly possessive of the
beautiful girl. He couldn't keep his hands off her, touching her,
stroking an arm or a leg, forcing kisses on her, brazenly caressing her
in public, as if she were a trophy wife he had finally won.
Petra saw how, when they entered the restaurant, he'd guide his stately
companion with one hand on her waist, and as they made their way
through the crowded restaurant, that hand would slowly slide down the
curve of her skirted behind till it was fitted to a cheek of her
elegantly shaped bottom. He'd let them be shown to their usual corner
table, smiling and nodding cordially at the other guests, while his big
hand rested possessively on the swaying rump of his woman.
If the aristocratic blonde's found such public fondling embarrassing,
or at the least, distasteful, she showed no obvious signs of
disapproval. To the contrary, she moved serenely, head held high,
seemingly oblivious of the slow moving hands that took such shameless
liberties with her superb, expensively dressed body.
It was that same attitude that now both shocked and fascinated the
young waitress. Petra sat stunned, not so much by the way the crude
way the lecher treated the lady, as by the fact that the lady herself
made not the slightest protest. Petra, with rising agitation, decided
she had to leave at once, but as she started to get up, a beefy hand
shot out to clamp her wrist and easily plunk her back down into the
curved seat.
"No, wait, here Baby. I want you to hear the rest of this. She wants
you to hear the rest of it too, don't you Slut?"
Petra, wide eyed with disbelief, looked to the older woman who kept her
face turned as though fixated on something at the far end of the room.
Then, unbelievably, her blond head gave just the slightest nod. The
big guy burst out laughing.
Young Petra sat torn by indecision: embarrassed for the silent woman,
yet fascinated. She knew she should go! Just get out of this thing!
Yet even when the hand holding her released its grip, she found she
couldn't move. The smirking man was getting expansive, sprawled back
against the curving leather booth, and the arm that lay along the back
of the seat now casually came down around the blonde's exposed,
suntanned shoulders to hold her in a loose embrace. The thick fingers
of that big hand traced down the curve of a bare shoulder, toyed with a
thin shoulder strap. Nick was clearly enjoying himself, having a good
time at the motionless blonde's expense.
"And what she really likes is the kinky stuff; the dirtier the better.
She wallows in it, the slut! Hard to believe, huh? A high-class lady
like her? And she's no spring chicken, either. This cunt's been
around the block a few times."
By now the unrelenting humiliation to which she as being subjected was
definitely getting to the cool, and till now, unflappable blonde. Her
carefully-maintained composure began to crumble with the first
appearance of two pink tinges along the ridges of those high-set
cheekbones. Petra saw the tip of her tongue sally out to nervously
lick working lips.
"Yeah, she might not look it, but once she gets turned on, you can't
stop her; have to throw a bucket of water on her to cool her down. The
Broad looses it; simply goes crazy. And I'm not just talkin' about
getting' in the pants of the first guy that walks by either. This
fuckin' Broad'll hump anything! Man or woman, boy or girl. No!
Wait. That's not quite right, is it Slut?" he asked, fingering a lock
of blond hair while his smirk broadened into a truly evil grin. "What
if we tell our friend Petra here your dirty little secret?" he teased,
allowing his arm to fall down so that he might place his hand on the
blonde's dress just over her thigh which he gave a squeeze. The blonde
seemed to tense up, her upper body going rigid.
"No, Nick. Pleeeease," she hissed, suddenly turning to look at the man
with an agonized appeal in her distraught brown eyes. He smiled at her
and deliberately moved his languorous hand.
Petra, sitting on the other side of the man, was hypnotically watching
that masculine hand move smoothly up and down on top of the linen
skirt, and she saw it casually, audaciously dip between the skirted
thighs, nudging apart the seated woman's legs to take possession of her
lap.
"See the thing is, what this dirty old whore really gets the hots for
is ...," and here the hand moved into the covered crotch, dug in and
grabbed a handful, causing the blond woman to bolt upright, close her
eyes and sway. Her hands shot out, not to stop his crude manipulation,
but to grip the edge of the table, "...other girls, young ones. Yeah,
she likes 'em young. About your age." The pleasuring hand moved on
its wicked foray. Incredibly, he was palming the hidden vulva right
before the eyes of the astonished waitress! "In fact, Margo here, she
really likes you. She's kinda shy, but she told me so. Don't you,
Slut?"
"Oh, I can't Nick, for god's sake. Please!" the hoarse whisper came out
with a rush of strident desperation.
"Tell her!" The hand in that splayed crotch tightened its grip,
causing the woman to suck in a shivering gasp of air.
The blonde turned her agonized face towards the astonished girl.
"I think you're a very pretty girl," Margo Trulane breathed, panting
with the full flush of sexual arousal.
"I gotta go!" Petra blurted out, recoiling in the grip of a sudden wave
of panic.
"Hey, let's not get all excited here. Take it easy. We're not talkin'
lesbo action, at least nothin' that you'd have to do. You don't have to
go down on her, or anything like that. Just a little girlie kissy
action...and then lay back, and let her do you. Easy. You'd get to call
the shots, see? And you can make her stop anytime you want. See
that's the thing." And here he shifted closer, lowering his voice to
let the two women in on the secret: "She'll start or stop whenever you
want. She's such a perverted slut, she just wants to be made to do
things, all sorts of dirty things; loves to be forced to obey some cute
chick, doing whatever that chick wants. That's how the old whore gets
her jollys -- bein' ordered around by another female, the younger the
better. Even the thought of it gets her hot, makes her cunt drippin'
wet. Yeah, this pretty lady just wants to be your slave, what do you
think about that, Petra? That's our Margo's dirty little secret!"
The woman who was the object of this bizarre revelation was holding on
to the edge of the table with white-knuckled fists, head down, eyes
riveted on the linen tablecloth. She swallowed, and blushed a deep
pink all the way to the roots of her hair.
He saw her turning red, squirming in abject humiliation, and that only
goaded him on. "Yeah, see she'll do whatever you want. She'll work you
over you with lips and mouth and tongue, and she'll make you happy,
guaranteed! And she'll keep at it till you tell her to stop. Just tell
her what you want. Who knows? You might even get a kick out of it.
Lots of girls do."
Nick smiled at Petra, totally ignoring the agitated woman's acute
discomfit and the way she was squirming in her seat. Petra was utterly
intrigued. It was obvious what his hand was doing under the table to
the increasingly excited blonde, who now was biting down on her curled
lower lip, to try to stifle a tiny whimper that nevertheless forced its
way out between her tightly-pressed lips.
"See, my job is to keep this rich cunt happy by finding little girls
for her to play with. So here's the deal. You drop by our room after
work for fun and games. Order the old lady around a little. Make her
play with herself, or go down on you. She'll even kiss your ass.
You'd like that wouldn't you? Whatever you want. Think of this rich
bitch as your very own personal slave...a kinda sex slave - cause that's
what she wants to be. So what's the harm? Might even be fun? And
there's a little extra in it for you too."
He removed the slow-moving hand from between his companion's legs and
reached into his pocket to produce a thick wad of money. Petra watched
in amazement as he peeled off a single $100 bill, and laid it on the
table in front of the speechless waitress. "There are nine more of
these Babies just waiting for you, if you show up this afternoon. Easy
money."
Now Petra, who had been serving the rich and famous at this exclusive
resort for several months, had never been tipped anywhere near so
generously. She sat paralyzed, looking down at the money on the table.
A voice inside told her to flee, run away. But she reached out and
picked up the hundred-dollar bill, saying nothing. She looked from the
bill in her hand to her generous patron who was expectantly watching
her with an evil gleam in his dark, laughing eyes.
End of Part 1
2002 Copyright, Don Winslow
Comments: dwin2001@yahoo.com. More of Don Winslow's erotic fiction
may be found at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/Files/Authors/Don_Winslow
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