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From: Don Winslow <dwin2001@yahoo.com>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 23 Aug 2002 08:02:55 -0700 (PDT)
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


<1st attachment end>


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