The Odd Couple in Room 210 Ch. 01

Part 1 of 2

"Take Margo here, she's a real piece of work. Yeah, a genuine nympho, aren't you, Babe?" The elegant, woman in the creamy sundress, kept her chin high, averting her eyes, as she turned to scan the horizon, oblivious to her companion's humiliating words. "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 couldn't believe her ears! She sat stiffly upright on the edge of the padded booth; a pretty waitress in a pert pony tail, invited to sit for a moment while her customers finished their morning 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 this Nick guy was a smooth operator. Charming in a way. 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 while eyeing the plastic nametag perched on her left breast.

And so young Petra had let herself be persuaded to join them. 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 was with. He just didn't fit in. He probably knew it, but was rich and didn't care. He kept his eyes on the blond woman at his side; oblivious to the other guests.

It was the contrast of this improbable couple that was so striking. That contrast made the other guests, and even the well-trained staff, turn their heads to follow the beefy guy and his beautiful escort, whose hips swayed with the easy stride of an elegant fashion model on the catwalk. Tall and lovely, she had a model's long legs and slender body -- a proud, elegant blonde, with thick folds of soft wavy hair, blue eyes and exquisite features. And she was always impeccably turned out; one of those casual women who could look fashionably dressed even in nothing but a simple sundress one that left her lightly-tanned arms and shoulders bare 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 blonde. 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. Some said he was rich and powerful, a man with a shady past who had finally bought a trophy wife.

Petra watched them enter the dining room, saw how he'd guide his stately companion with one hand on her waist and how, as they made their way through the crowd, that hand would slowly slide down the sleek curve of the woman's skirted behind to shamelessly cup a cheek of the blonde's 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 so openly, so 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 distress. To the contrary, she always maintained her composure, moving serenely, head held high, oblivious to the slow moving hands that took such open liberties with her 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, felt she should get away from them, but as she started to get up a beefy hand shot out to clamp her wrist and she was plunked back down into the curved seat.

"No, wait!" He held her in a powerful grip. "Stay here -- for just a minute, Babe. It's okay. We like you and we'd like to get to know you better. See we come here a lot, regular guests you might say. And we believe in being generous when we tip the staff, especially the friendly hard-working ones like you. Yeah, we've been watching you. Margo likes you, but you gotta watch out, cause I can tell you, Margo has hard time keeping her hands off the hired help. Oh yeah, especially the young and pretty ones. She likes them...a lot. Don't you, Slut?" He turned to his tense companion, moved closer, his eyes just inches from her blond face.

Petra sat paralyzed, wide eyed with disbelief, looking at the older woman who kept her face turned as though fixated on something at the far end of the room.

"Well, you are a Slut, right?"

Then, unbelievably, the waitress saw the blond head give 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 suntanned shoulders to hold her in a loose embrace. The thick fingers of that big hand followed 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.

"Yeah, she's a slut alright, crazy about sex; the down and dirty stuff. Would you believe she's really into the kinky stuff. The bitch wallows in it." He shook his head "My horny little slut! Hard to believe, huh? A high-class lady like her? There's nothing she won't do; nothing she won't try."

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 her panted lips.

Petra shot to her feet to escape, but the hand that still held her tightened on her wrist.

"Stay!" The word was an icy threat.

"Yeah," he went on in a lazy banter. "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 tensed up, her upper body going rigid.

"No, Nick. Pleeeease," she hissed, suddenly turning to look at her tormentor; an agonized appeal in her distraught blue 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 the seated woman's legs apart 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, twisting her wrist loose and 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 kiss her a little...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 younger 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, would you like this pretty lady to be your slave, think about it, Petra? That's our Margo's dirty little secret, she wants it sooo bad!"

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! Just tell her what to do. 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 working 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, here's the thing. It's 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 cunt around a little. Make her play with herself, or even 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 toy, a 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 bills. Petra watched in amazement as he peeled off a single $100, 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 this was crazy. She should run away and not look back. But she did none of those things, after sitting there staring at the money for what seemed like long time, she reached out and picked up the hundred-dollar bill, saying nothing. She looked from the bill in her hand to the women who sat with head lowered avoiding her eye and then to the man, her generous patron, who was watching her with an evil gleam in his dark, laughing eyes.

End of Part 1