The Business Trip

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Eileen was starting to sweat seriously now. It had been chilly in New York, even colder on the plane. Her little white ribbed turtleneck had been just right. But now, in the middle of the Arizona desert, she was dying.

"I thought it was your idea," Tom countered. Actually, it had been the two of them. They had found the place, mysteriously, on the hotel list for Phoenix. No singles, it had said, and she had given him a long, appraising stare. And then he had told her, and she had giggled, and here they were.

"You were the one who noticed it," she countered. The air conditioner in the little sub compact they had rented (they needed to save every penny this trip) was running at full blast, but it wasn't doing much good. She opened a window, briefly, only to be rewarded with a scalding blast of sand.

"Don't do that," he muttered.

"Don't do what?" She was squirming to get the turtleneck off. It was glued to her body by the sweat and heat.

"Don't open the window."

He hadn't even noticed. His eyes were fixed, it seemed, determinedly on the road ahead. Not that there was anything much to see. Brown, flat desert, punctuated by scattered clumps of scraggly green. Tumbleweed? "We're fucking lost." It wasn't a question, the way she said it, just a statement of fact.

Just at the moment the GPS broke its silence.

"We are not," he paused for emphasis, "fucking," he lingered over the word, relishing it, "lost."

The car slowed, slightly, and veered left onto a crossroad. They were heading directly into the sun now. She hadn't ever comprehended what hot really could be. Peasant under glass -- she remembered that old joke, but it wasn't funny now. The car was hotter than any oven.

"I thought you said this place was going to be close to the convention," she whined.

"Half an hour."

"We've been on the road for more than half an hour."

"From the airport," he sighed. "The convention is on the other side of town."

"I hope you're right." Even on her lap, the sweater was too hot. She squirmed around to toss it into the back seat. It was already full of luggage; the tiny trunk had barely held one of their suitcases. That move should have attracted some attention, but his eyes were still fixed on the road. Gay, he'd told her, and she had only half believed him. Actually, she'd been hoping he was just stringing her along. But now she was beginning to think it might really be true. Too bad. Tom was really buffed up, big chest, big shoulders, biceps that strained his short sleeved shirt. Wasn't it true gay men took more pride in their bodies? Little peacocks, strutting around showing off their pecs and abs.

She'd gone down into the Village with Rick a couple of times, and she'd been drooling -- and the guys she'd been drooling over had been eyeing her husband. Unsettling. Of course, there had been the ladies -- spiked hair, tattoos, piercings any place you could see and most likely lots of places you couldn't. She'd seen them on the beach, when they went out past the wildlife refuge, where everyone was naked, she'd seen them kissing, she'd seen, once, a lot more, going on back behind them, in the taller grass. Rick had decided to go off for one of his little runs, and she'd gotten bored, and wandered back, shyly, embarrassed, desperate to see more. She'd come around a bush, and there they had been, a man sitting looking as if nothing were going on, a woman, his wife perhaps, beside him with her legs pulled up, and another woman's head buried in her groin. The sitting woman had smiled calmly in greeting, perhaps in invitation, and she had fled.

Just as well. Rick had jogged into sight at that very moment, cock jiggling comically, that little rim of fat just above that no amount of running could seem to keep from expanding jiggling also, and they had run laughing into the ocean to cool off. She had wrapped her legs around him, bobbing neck deep in the waves, and he had done his best to fuck her. Maybe he had never actually gotten in, but they had both come. And the whole time she had been thinking about the two women in the grass. Why couldn't it be Rick sitting there nonchalantly while that unseen face was pressed against her cunt? No, that was not what she wanted. She knew very well what it was like to have a tongue caress her. Male or female, what was the difference? She wanted to be on the other end. How many times, after she had finished shuddering, had her husband brought his mouth up to meet hers, and she had plunged her tongue into it, tasting, probing, savouring? But it was not the same. She wanted the real thing.

What if Rick hadn't been there? Would she have asked for a turn? Well, now he wasn't. And she wasn't going to let Tom cramp her style. This place was going to be full of pierced clits, and she was going to find out what each one tasted like. The anticipation was making her sweat even more.

"I hope it's not this hot in the morning," she muttered. "I'll be soaked by the time I get there."

"Wear something light. Wear a sundress. Maybe we'll get more customers."

"Yeah, and freeze in the air conditioning. Goosebumps are not very sexy." Still not so much as a furtive glance. Defiantly, she stripped off her bra and sent it back to join the sweater. That, at last, got his attention.

"Don't you think," he tried to keep his voice even, "that it's a little too soon for that?" Keep cool, he told himself. He was hoping desperately she wouldn't notice how his pants were starting to bulge. She wasn't so much sweating as steaming, filling the car with her musk. How long had it been, two years at least, he'd been getting glimpses of those breasts? And now they were all there, out in the open, bobbing up and down as the car careened along the side road. He could see how dark her nipples were, small -- and hard, in spite of the heat. No tan line. She had not been bullshitting him, she really was a nudist. He just hoped that the emergency application of tanning cream to his butt and balls would get him by.

"What? You think it's bad form to arrive at a nudist resort nude? Who the fuck cares?" She opened her jeans and tried to pull them down, but there just was not enough room between her and the dashboard. The heat had cemented them to her skin. God, she was going to spend the rest of her life trapped in her jeans!

"Stop squirming," he growled. "We aren't there yet." But then, all at once, there was a little sign, a very little one. If the GPS hadn't been urging them to turn, they probably would have missed it.

They were heading down another road, more of a trail, unpaved, full of potholes. The car was not designed for these conditions; it was jouncing up and down alarmingly.

"Slow down?" It was more of a suggestion than an order. She had put her hands over her head to keep it from hitting the roof as they bumped along. She was regretting the loss of her bra.

"I'm going ten miles an hour," he grumbled.

"Go slower. Are you sure this is the right road?"

"Look. There's a sign. Sunnyside Ranch, two miles."

"Two miles! This car is not going to make it two miles on this fucking road!"

But actually, it must have been two tenths of a mile, because they went around a bend, and there it was. No fence to shelter it -- what need was there? No one was going to wander in by accident.

There was not much to see, just a lot of one storey concrete block buildings, low and flat roofed. They barely made a dent on the desolation around them. One of them had a sign on it that said "Office." Tom pried himself out of the car. His shirt was soaked. He draped it over the antenna and went inside.

There was no air conditioning, that was the first thing he noticed. If possible, it was even hotter, with no hint of a breeze. There was no one at the desk, no one in sight at all. No cars in the parking lot. The place has shut down, he thought in a panic. But someone had answered his email, someone had taken his reservation. There was a little bell on the reception desk. He rang it.

"Just a moment." A woman's voice came from the back, and then she followed it, a typical looking middle aged desk clerk. Except that she was naked.

She wore her body so casually that it was no big deal. But he was staring, anyway. Huge breasts, sagging onto an ample stomach. Fleshy thighs that met to hide the details of her sex. No hint of pubic hair, or any body hair at all.

"I have a reservation," he stammered. He tried to keep his eyes on her placid, matronly face.

"You're Tom?" He nodded. "Okay, we'll need to see your driver's license and a credit card. Here, you'll have to sign this waiver."

"Waiver?"

"That you'll abide by our rules."

"Rules?"

"Is that your wife out there? She is quite a looker." He thought at first she'd said hooker, and it would not have been that surprising. Eileen had turned up at the airport sporting a bright red highlight in her dark brown hair. She had shed the blue jeans at last, and he could see that there was a matching flare of red pointing to her lower lips.

He hesitated, then said "associate."

"Associate," the desk clerk mused. Tom realized that about the only thing Eileen was still wearing was a huge wedding ring. "Okay, she's going to have to fill out this one as well. Can you come in here?" she yelled out the door. "I don't want to go over this twice."

Eileen came sauntering in. She had almost dried off in the shade of the porch, but as soon as she hit the inside air she was glistening again. The desk clerk took her driver's license, and handed her a water bottle on a holster.

"First rule. You wear this except when you're in the pool. You keep drinking. We have taps all over the place -- keep it filled up. Understand?"

They nodded.

"Do you understand? Take a drink, now. You too." She handed a second bottle to Tom. "I don't want dead guests messing the place up. Now, rule number two. That's the only thing you wear."

"It's not clothing optional?" Tom ventured.

"It is not clothing optional. We don't want casual visitors, if you know what I mean."

"What if it's the wrong time of the month?" Eileen complained.

"You use a tampon. Or you stay home." The clerk seemed irritated by the question.

"If it gets cold?"

"There are robes in the room that you can wear at night." The clerk seemed totally fed up with them now. "Rule number three. Sunscreen. Take your shorts off." That order was directed at Tom. She gave a gasp of exasperation and he lost the boxers as well. Eileen gave him a long, appraising stare. She didn't make any attempt to hide where her eyes were looking. Well, okay, really, there wasn't too much unusual. He had a really muscular butt, nice strong thighs, and a cock that was, well, typical. Hard to judge when he, by the barest margin, did not have an erection.

"Okay, Stand still, both of you," the clerk ordered, "show me your butts." She seemed completely unimpressed by Tom. She leaned over and sprayed them. "Turn around. Close your eyes." She sprayed again. "The sun will burn your hide off, if you are not careful, and you will be very, very uncomfortable. You need some?"

"We brought our own," Tom ventured.

"Well, make sure you use it. Rule number four. We are just barely legal. The county would love to shut us down. The only thing that keeps us going is a 'nude but not lewd' ruling from the court. So, please, please, no public lewdness."

"We can't have sex?" Eileen whined.

"You can't even look like you might have sex." The clerk gave Tom a meaningful glare. "No kissing, even. No hugs. Not in the pool, not on the tennis courts, not on the trampoline. For all I know, the sheriff has cameras set up on the hills, recording everything that goes on here." She paused. "We do have one area, very secluded, that's set aside for outdoor, public sex, if that's what you're into. Just make sure that everything is consensual and no one is underage. Oh, another thing. No spectators."

Tom was going to ask how they were going to enforce that, but he refrained. They were already too close to getting kicked out.

"Okay," the clerk sighed. "Sign these, then. It's a waiver that says that you have read the rules and agree to abide by them. Of course, no one ever reads them, which I why I just went over them with you. Here," she handed an extra sheet to Eileen, "you'll have to sign this one also."

"What is it?" She could have read it, but somehow it was swimming out of focus. There was too much sweat dripping into her eyes.

"It clears us of any liability for the fact you are staying here without your spouse. How about you?" She glared at Tom. "Are you married?"

"No," he blushed.

"Does your husband know you're here?" The question was hurled at Eileen. It was remarkable how much moral indignation a naked middle aged woman could muster.

"Yes." Technically, it was true. She'd given him the address and phone number. She just hadn't explained exactly what kind of resort it was.

"With him?"

"Yes."

"We're on a business trip," Tom explained.

"Business trip," the clerk snorted.

"It's not what you think," Eileen stammered. "He's gay. We're just sharing a room because you won't take singles."

"You want separate rooms?" The clerk gave Eileen a look of sympathy. "I can make an exception."

"Too expensive," Tom broke in. "We're on a budget."

"Okay. I'll give you twin beds, at least. Here," she handed them each a key. "It's down on the left. You probably want to move the car. It looks like you have a lot of luggage." Her tone made it sound like that was not too typical.

"Thanks," Tom sighed.

"No problem. Have fun," the clerk added, without much conviction.

"Well," Eileen fumed, "that really went fucking well."

"You had to wear your fucking wedding ring."

"Who would think she'd be so uptight? If there's anything I can't stand, it's uptight nudists."

"You know some?"

"Way out at the end of Jones Beach, there's this little colony -- they're very territorial. They don't like people walking through and staring at them. I mean, if you take your clothes off in public, what do you expect?"

He stared at her, and she preened for him. She even opened her legs a bit to give him a better look.

"Are you sure you're gay?" She was laughing at the way he was beginning to salute her.

"Maybe," he said, cautiously, "I'd like to try a girl some time." You, he thought, you. I want to fuck you right now, right on the hood of the car. No matter that the metal would burn the skin off her ass.

"I'd like to try a girl too. Maybe," she smiled, "we can try one together."

"Maybe," he said. He tried to put his clothes on to get back in the car. The boxers went on far enough to cover his butt, that was all that mattered, but the shirt refused to slide back over his shoulders. He draped it over the back of the seat instead.

Eileen started to get in next to him, still naked, dripping sweat, and he glared at her.

"What's the matter," she snapped. "It's just a fucking rental car." But she yelped as her flesh came into contact with the hot vinyl. "Damn! Why didn't you get cloth seats?"

"It'll be fine. It will be cool in the morning, and there's a parking garage at the convention center."

"I hope so. Damn!" She slammed the door and started to walk down towards their room. He followed behind, watching her cunt wink from between her thighs. Nice butt, he thought, really nice butt, and he wondered what it would be like to go up between those cheeks, to find her asshole and slide into it. It was a good thing he was in the car, hidden from her for the moment. One stroke, two strokes, and he was spraying all over the steering wheel. Damn! What a fucking waste! On the other hand, he felt a lot better. There was a lot more where that came from, he consoled himself. A few swipes with his shirt cleaned up the evidence. At least, he hoped so.

"Shit!" She had moved on ahead, far enough to get to the door of the room and open it. "Shit and double shit!"

"What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" She gestured in at the room.

"It looks clean enough."

"Of course it's clean. It's been pasteurized." The heat was overwhelming.

"There's an air conditioner," he said.

"There is?"

"Over there." He pushed a button. "See, it'll be fine." He held out a hand. Already, there was a hint of coolness. "See?"

"Yeah, in a day or two."

"Well, we didn't come here to sit in the room, did we? Let's go out and explore."

"Wait." She went into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door, and sat down on the toilet. "What?" She saw him starting at her. "You've never seen someone pee before?"

"Not a woman."

"Well, it's not all that exciting." There was a sudden burst of gas. He closed the door and went over to stand in front of the air conditioner. He realized he still had his boxers on. He pulled them back off and tossed them onto one of the beds.

"Okay," she said, emerging, "your turn."

He went into the bathroom, started to shut the door, and then thought better of it. Let her look, if she cared to. But he kept his attention on aiming. He never knew if she had watched him or not.

"Ready?" She was mocking him.

"What do we do with the keys?"

"Around your neck."

"Oh, okay."

They didn't bother to unpack. The room didn't have a dresser. There was a little closet with the robes the desk clerk had mentioned -- no other hangars. Apparently clothing storage was not usually an issue.

"Wait." Eileen's voice halted him as he started out the door.

"What's the matter?"

"Your butt is burning. Hold on." She bent over to rummage in her suitcase, exposing everything. If she felt his eyes probing her secrets, it didn't seem to bother her. If anything, she lingered, thrust out her ass to spread her cheeks even wider. Not a hint of hair -- she must have waxed to be that perfectly smooth. How could anyone be so beautiful? Even her asshole was a little puckered rosebud. Why not? Why not just fuck her now, get it over with? She wanted it, he was sure she wanted it. But maybe not. What if he was wrong? Raping your boss's wife -- not a good idea. Even if she was naked. Even if she had squatted so that her cunt was spread wide open, dripping from the heat or from desire. Of course, he could ask -- Eileen, would you mind terribly if I fucked the shit out you? No, no. Not now. Not yet. He turned away, managed to calm himself, just in time to feel a greasy hand stroking his ass.

"Not too hairy," she muttered. "Rick was like that when we got married. Now he's a fucking gorilla. Your balls are burning too." With that, she reached forward to cup them. "Oh, sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. No public lewdness, remember? You can't walk around sticking out like that." He had a brief moment of hope that she would offer to fix the problem she had caused. "Forget it," she said, catching the look in his eyes. "That sunscreen tastes awful." That was enough to wilt him.

"That's better," she muttered.

"Do you really think they'd kick us out for getting a hard-on?" It was, perhaps, a bit cooler when they stepped outside. The sun was already beginning to relent a bit.

"You. Kick you out. I don't have that problem. I don't know. She did mention it, sort of. Public lewdness. I know Rick has problems. When we go out to the beach, he's always running around at the ready. He claims it's because I'm with him."

"I can believe that."

"What? Well, thank you, gallant sir. I thought you were gay."

"My lady, you could wake the dead."

"Don't push your luck," she growled. "We're not here for that."

Just why the fuck are we here? It was becoming a more urgent question. Eileen had never explained just why she had agreed to go along with this mad scheme. His boss, her husband -- their fragile little enterprise, her fragile little marriage, all imperilled, for what? Why were they doing this? Well, he was doing it because he was an idiotic asshole who'd had the hots for the boss's wife ever since he'd met the two of them. Even what he'd seen so far was worth it, more than worth it. Whatever he had imagined, the real thing was better. He realized now that he would do anything to have her, just once. And after that? He tried to imagine what it would be like, next week, back in the office. God, better not to think about it.