Chapter 9
"I'd like the bill for 801, please." The man looked past the vertical grille of the cage directly at the provocative contouring of Julia's cashmere sweater.
When she returned with the Kardex tab of his room charges, he clucked softly at the long list on the invoice. "That's all mine?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Julia smiled at his pained expression. "I think so, sir. Just a minute." She glanced quickly down the columns that spelled out the story of a man who had enjoyed all the services of The Buccaneer during his stay. All but one that his brazen appraisal said he thought he might have had. Again his stare was on her breasts as she bent to check the invoice. She made a private wager with herself that the man would blush when she looked up.
"It seems to be all yours, Mister Anderson," she announced, smiling as she pushed the bill under the grating. "I'll check your phone account," she said, turning to the wall panel with its mass of tiny recording boxes.
"Only one call this morning," he grumbled after her.
A moment later she was back at the counter. "We register five calls this morning, sir. Washington, D.C., and four local calls." Julia looked trustingly at the flushed face. "Could we be wrong?"
"Mmmmm ... no!" He scowled down at the bill. "Forgot, I guess."
While Anderson checked each entry, Julia pressed button 801 to alert Housekeeping to a room check. The attempted dodge with the telephone bill was one of the things her tutor had stressed as a warning of a cheap guest or a possible thief.
"Don't understand this fifteen-dollar item at all," he complained looking up from his scrutiny of the sheet. "It says 'Restaurant' and I ate in the Coffee Shop night before last."
Julia looked at the date before the entry. "It was three nights ago, Mister Anderson. I'll be glad to get your dinner check for you for that meal."
"Hell, no! Sure, you're right."
The switchboard operator slipped a note onto the clipboard at Julia's elbow: "Scream! Eight-o-one has a missing TV!"
"Would you excuse me a minute, Mister Anderson?" Without waiting permission, she hurried down the short corridor to the manager's office, knocked, then stood tapping her toe impatiently.
"Come in!" called the booming voice inside.
"Mister Reichard, the maid reports a TV gone from eight-o-one, and the guest is checking out!"
"So? What are you going to do about it?" His smile was bemused as he watched her worried bubbling. It was the way he had handled every question she had asked him since coming three months before to front desk operations.
"I'd better call our patrol car," she answered. "That's the worst I ever heard of."
Kurt leaned back in his chair and waved her to silence. "You're going to have the man arrested, is that it?"
"Don't you think he should be?"
"What's your book say? You know, about guest relations and all that?"
She could almost recite page and paragraph of the Motel/Hotel Management Manual. "The word is 'finesse' when the guest is in violation," she said with a grimace, turning toward the door.
"Use it!" he called after her, grinning. "I want a report on what you do as soon as it's over," he added.
"Yes, sir." She closed the door quietly behind her and headed back toward the cashier's cubicle, considering the alternatives as she walked. It was the way Mr. Anderson had visually X-rayed her sweater that decided the strategy: save a color TV for The Buccaneer, and maybe even have the skinny little thief go away wanting to come back next vacation.
"Harry, will you cover Checkout for me while I go out?" she asked the middle-aged desk clerk.
He turned a beatific smile on her. "Sure, hon, anything at all for you."
Julia grated her teeth as she turned back to her cage and to the challenge at hand. One type she couldn't stand were the eternal Joe College Harrys with their red desk-clerk jackets, their pot bellies and their roving tails whenever she passed behind them on an errand along Front operations.
"Guess it's all right," grumbled the waiting Mr. Anderson. "Goes on my Master Charge."
"Very good, sir," Julia replied, taking the white plastic rectangle. She turned to the credit slips and flipped the pages of the Masters' Bad Card catalogue to see if the man was something else besides a TV thief. There was no record of his number.
"That's three hundred twenty dollars we are reporting," she said, slipping the gray, translucent sheet across the formica top for his signature. "Would you wait just a minute, Mister Anderson?"
She stepped to the switchboard and left the copy of the bill with the charge card number on the operator's desk-another of the necessities Kurt had refined. The check with the central control of all credit card users was done unobtrusively at the resort. But it was done for all charges over fifty dollars.
"What'za matter?" He eyed Julia suspiciously as she stepped from the cubicle and circled to the front of Checkout.
"I have a very nice surprise for you, Mister Anderson," she enthused, slipping her arm into the crook of his bony elbow and steering him toward the lobby door. "You're our one-hundred-thousandth guest and there's something we want you to have," she whispered confidentially, winking at a bellhop who watched her bend to whisper in the little man's ear as she passed.
"I'll be damned!" muttered the nonplused guest. "Where is it?"
"It was supposed to be delivered to your room before you left, and it must have come right after. Is your car out in front."
"Yeah ... but ... "
"Let's run down together, shall we?" She angled his room key. "You can just scoop up our gift and be on your way."
"Sayyy ... how about that!" The man whistled nervously as he steered Julia to his Fleetwood.
When they pulled up to the diagonal curb guard, she slipped her hand across the seat to his knee to keep him from leaving the car. A quick glance told er that the south wing parking area was empty for the moment.
"I don't know how to tell you this without getting you mad." She looked directly at him. "There isn't any hundred-thousandth-guest prize, I got you down here so we could talk alone." Oh?" The man's eyes were beady-bright with curiosity.
"See, no one in this whole place has to know this, and they won't, if you help me." Whazzat?"
I know what's in the trunk behind me and I know what's missing in this room in front of me." He looked pleadingly into Anderson's shocked face. "Please?"
For several stunned seconds the man sat motionless, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that Julia could see his knuckles whiten. Then, very slowly, he slumped against the wheel, his forehead pressed against the back of his hand, his shoulders convulsing as he fought the sobs which tore him.
It was more than Julia had bargained for. She had guessed Ray Anderson was a hardened thief who would have a slick and immediate answer for the stolen TV. Instead, for the first time in her life, Julia was seeing a man cry.
"Please, Mister Anderson ... don't ... " she tried and then abruptly broke off the attempt, knowing nothing to say except "don't".
An agonized moment later the man groped his pants pocket for a handkerchief, and, looking at her with the most hopeless expression Julia ever had seen, he dabbed jerkily at his reddened eyes. For some inexplicable reason, Julia felt an intense pity for the man. She was certain now he was something more than a common crook, and in spite of the ugliness of his face, she felt an intense desire to put her arm around his shoulder, to draw him to her and to comfort him.
It suddenly occurred to her that the man might be far less a thief and more an emotionally ill person. Just the week before, in the management study course, she had been reading of the weird kleptomania that some motel guests have. A drive to steal whatever they can, without really needing what they take. A man with a Caddy could hardly need a TV, she reasoned. Raymond Anderson was a perfect case study of kleptomania-run-wild.
"Come," she said, pushing open her door and sliding across the sleek black leather of the Fleetwood seat. "Let's take it back."
Before she reached the rear of the car, Anderson had pressed the trunk release and the first thing Julia saw as she peered into the dark cavity of the trunk was the canvas-wrapped rectangle which obviously was the missing TV set.
"I'll do it alone, thank you," Anderson said snappishly when she bent to help him lift it. Without a word, Julia trailed him into the room, then dropped to the edge of the bed and watched as he carefully unwrapped the canvas. Without looking at her, he lifted the heavy set to its place on the elevated wall rack. When he had restored the antenna connection and replaced the plug in the socket, he turned dispiritedly to face her.
"Can I go now, or is The Buccaneer going to press charges? "
"I told you I'm the only one who knows yet, except for the one in Housekeeping who called. You could run, and I couldn't do a thing." She looked steadily into his face and his cheek muscle twitched nervously.
"Why?" he demanded. "Why did you do this? You could have just called the cops."
Julia nodded and looked down at her hands. "I could have, but I didn't, because ... well, because you don't act like a thief."
When she looked up, Anderson's eyes were moist and he turned abruptly to keep her from seeing the signs of new emotion. Impulsively she reached for his hand and drew him to sit beside her at the edge of the bed.
"So tell me," she asked. "Why did you try to take the TV?"
He sat silent and thinking for several seconds, then took a deep breath. "You're probably not going to believe this, but you asked. It all began because of a girl." His head turned quickly and his eyes, which had been reddened seconds ago, now seemed surprisingly clear. "She was a girl who looked a lot like you and I loved her very much."
"Did she love you?" Julia asked, feeling strangely disturbed by the pain she read in his expression.
"I thought so." His laugh was cynical. "But she really suckered me. Hell, I've told myself a million times I should've known." He stared at Julia and grunted. "You've looked me over. You can see I'm ugly as sin. I've always been scared around females, but this one made me feel special-like I really rated the attention I'd never had."
"What happened?"
"Well, it was beautiful for almost a year before she put the bite on me. Just a short-term twenty thousand for her brother's business. She walked out of the bank and out of my life. like that! That's all it was from the start, a money grab. She didn't give a damn about me. Nobody ever has!" Anderson snorted disgustedly and looked toward the window and out to the sleek Cadillac.
"You're right. I don't act like a thief and I've got lots of money, but there's a hundred motels that would tell you I do steal."
Julia stared in astonishment at his admission. "I ... I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," he agreed. "But you're young and beautiful and the world's your oyster. Me, I'm just a skinny little wart the world wishes would get out of the way. You don't know what real hurt is till you discover that not one soul cares whether you're alive or dead."
"And this is why you steal things from motels?"
He grunted and nodded. "Call me nuts, I don't care. But you see what happened when you caught me. You paid some attention to me. I'm alive for you. I'm your most important person for a few minutes. Oh, you'll forget me in the next five, but right now I'm a real, live somebody to you."
She looked closely at his face and there was only sadness in the expression. "So these other places r have caught you, too?"
He shook his head. "Not with a TV, and not red-handed like you did. But they've trailed me through my bank and through the mail and made me pay for what was missing. And it's worth it, when you're that kind of alone. At least, I'm someone worth paying attention to while they're on my tail."
"And this is all because of one girl?" asked Julia.
Anderson shrugged. "I suppose so. Can you i imagine me ever having more than one female give ! a damn about me, anyway?"
That was it! Suddenly Julia was sure she understood Raymond Anderson and his compulsion to steal. Attention was what he wanted, and even attention from the victimized motel people was better than, nothing. But, way-down deep, this lonely little man hungered for love-woman love-a female to let him know that for all his plainness and smallness, he was really important to her.
The certainty that she was right burst around i Julia like a spraying rocket. And with the certainty came the inspiration of a way to help a man in big trouble with himself and his masculine pride. '
"I may be wrong, as you say." She slipped from I the edge of the bed and stood facing him. "But I think it isn't only young people who are foolish.", He raised his head and looked resignedly at the irritation in her face. "Go ahead," Anderson said. "Give it to me. I'm stupid, and sooner or later I may wind up in jail for petty larceny."
She turned her back on Anderson and marched to the room door, kicking it shut with a resounding smash. She stood facing the window, staring at the base of a palm tree near the parked Caddy.
Inside her head, hesitant thoughts were being brushed aside. It's for him, she told herself. No one else might understand, but she could-and right now she was the only one in the world who could help Raymond Anderson. Help him in a special way that could send him back on the trail for the right kind of attention. She felt driven to aid this human-this special way.
"I ... hate ... selfish ... men!" Julia said deliberately, stiil staring through the window at the palm. "You say you're ugly, but no one ever told you that. It's just what you've told yourself, after some girl hurt you. Have you ever tried to meet another girl?" She snapped the drape closed, turned and walked slowly toward the man still perched at the edge of the bed.
Anderson's eyes were staring as she neared him and he gulped as he shook his head.
"I know something about you, Mister Anderson, and if I know it, other girls must know it too."
"What?"
"I know that you stared at my breasts very rudely when you came to pay your bill this morning."
"I'm sorry."
"You know, girls are people, too, and they like attention. Maybe especially to their breasts ... and ... and other places." She felt breathless at her directness. "But they don't like to be stared at like ... things!"
"I ... I am sorry." Anderson's glance dropped to her cashmere sweater. "Maybe I was bold because it was my only chance to look and ... and I felt I had to. It's no excuse, I know."
A shiver traveled down Julia's spine. "You know that kind of look bothers a girl and you'd be surprised how many girls would like it at the right time."
"Would you?" Anderson pushed from the bed and as he stood, Julia saw a fierce tenting at his crotch. She felt a momentary uncertainty, knowing what she planned to do would be considered utterly shameless, even wanton-closing the last door on the standards and virtues of St. Mary's. But the look on this man's face! The need he had for love-of someone willing to give him sympathetic attention. It could start him on a whole new way!
Her fingers found the edge of her sweater. "Would you like to really see what you were looking at before?" She pulled upward and for a brief moment Anderson's look of total incredulity was hidden as Julia tugged the cashmere over her head. When she turned her back, he caught her meaning and groped with trembling fingers for the bra snaps.
Bare-breasted, she swung to face him. "Feel!" she commanded. She drew her shoulders back and the stiffened centers of her outspoken globes invited his touch. "Feel!" she repeated. "I want you to, and so would lots of other girls."
His hands closed over her twin hillocks and he gasped at the touch.
"You're too beautiful," he choked.
She shook her head. "Not too beautiful, Raymond Anderson. Just beautiful enough to make you-like this!" Her hand shot to the bulging of his pants and a moment later she held his aroused naked penis in a tightly clenched fist.
She moved close to Anderson's front and whispered in his ear, "I want to do something-but only if you promise me..."
"Promise what?" he gasped. "Anything!"
"I want you to promise never to steal another thing-ever!"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise," he gagged.
"And something else."
"What? What?"
"I want you to promise me to believe that what we are doing is beautiful for lots of girls-girls who won't be like that other one."
"You?" His voice sounded strangled. "Is it beautiful to you?"
Julia nodded and let him ease her to the edge of the bed with an arm at her back while his other hand teased across the dramatic thrust of a breast.
She caught his hand as the tease moved to a determined massage of a taut nipple and drew the fingers to her lap. "I can't," she whispered. "I had to show you that girls would like you, if you tried. But I can't go all the way. I'm promised."
There was a desperate look in Anderson's face, as though he understood, yet he didn't fully understand. "You're one in a million," he moaned, looking down at the very feminine fingers which still circled his cock shaft.
"No, I'm not," she replied in a halting whisper as she fought the surge of hunger for the man's hardness in her body. "There are lots like me who aren't taken yet."
"How far then?" Anderson demanded hoarsely.
"Let's help each other this way." She began a gentle frigging motion and an instant later watched his fingers creep to the hem of her skirt, then prowl beneath the edge of her panties and find her moist cleft.
Kurt Reichard, watching from his picture window, saw Julia wave to the driver as she stepped away from the Cadillac. "Come back and see us," she called.
"Damned if I might not!" he heard the man at the wheel call back. "And thanks!"
He turned away from the window as Julia bounded up the steps toward his office. It was going well for a very talented management prospect, Kurt decided. And for the hundredth time in ninety days, he wondered if he could take the self-imposed torture another hour.
"Sadist!" he hissed under his breath as he buttoned the white linen blazer and dropped into the chair behind his desk. A closed jacket and, as much as possible, the separation of his desk, were necessities when Julia was around. The fever for her was worse every day.
He remembered how ideal the strategy had seemed to be when she began formal training under his supervision three months before: carte blanche from Vivien to give this luscious blonde voluptuary a liberal education in all the ways of hetero sex. Every time Julia walked into his office he remembered her mother's urging the last time they were together: ". . . teach her real man-woman passion!" she'd said. It had been a wide-open invitation, and as far as Vivien knew, her daughter's chosen tutor was pounding Julia's sweet ass into every empty mattress he could find around The Buccaneer.
The most casual contacts with the girl aroused Kurt all the more because the designs he had on her were expected by her mother, and there were open signs that Julia herself was ready and wanting. If he had only controlled himself on that very first meeting when he'd played the maniac over her fantastic body!
Now the bid had to come from Julia. Bit by bit, as they met in private evening sessions to discuss her latest study in the training manuals, Kurt could feel the heat building in the girl. The way she dressed for their meetings was a clue. More and more thigh showing at the edge of her skirt, snugger-than-ever material hugging her breasts and hips. Then there was the way she studied his face when he was discussing some point in the AMHA manuals. At first it was eyeball-to-eyeball conversation. Lately her eyes had begun to drift to his lips when he spoke. The girl was really turned on, but his strategy dictated that she would have to beg for it.
"Goddamn the strategy!" he muttered, hearing her steps on the linoleum-covered service stairs that functioned as a back entry to the resort's executive offices.
Julia's heart began to race as she neared the top step and saw the oak door which opened into Kurt's office. "I'm taken," she had told Anderson, and how she wished Kurt would really take her! Even when she was making a brief drop-in report the thought of being near him alone for a minute started the pounding in her chest. He had been a mystery since she began the serious phase of her apprenticeship in management. Whenever she saw Kurt, her first thought was the way he had acted with her that time when he had lost control of himself. So many months had passed since that episode, and she knew that under the surface he was as wild for her now as then. He tried to hide it in their meetings, but the jacket didn't conceal the bulge when he'd have to walk away from his desk. His penis was always hard.
She smiled to herself at the thought of the pressure his excitement over her must put on his pants. If only he'd flip again the way he did the first time. There would be no fainting for little Julia this time! After the freaky hours she'd known since, the thought of Kurt Reichard making a bid for sex was absolutely delicious.
But he'd pushed some kind of button in himself around her. like the HOLD button on his desk telephone, he was delaying real contact. And her body needed real contact! Everywhere around The Buccaneer she saw and sensed other people having sex and more sex and now that she was ripe for it, the one man she had to have wasn't taking.
Kurt had to be respected for his standards, Julia decided after months had gone by and she had been forced to accept the almost impersonal relationship around him. During the work hours, she called him Mister Reichard. After work and in their study-discussion sessions he asked her to call him Kurt, and that helped her to know they were at least friends. Then she'd see his lips and remember how they'd once pressed against her pussy flesh-and she'd see the bulge in his slacks and remember how it looked standing proud and pole-like from his body.
As she knocked on his door, Julia knew that very shortly something had to give.
"Congratulations," he said when she entered his office. "It sounded as if you handled our thief very well. Tell me about it."
Julia took the chair at the side of his desk and perched at the edge as she made her report. But Raymond Anderson was already a million miles away from her real thoughts.
"Fine," he praised when she finished. He glanced at his watch. "Your shift out front is done and I'm cleaned up here. Why don't we have a sandwich and get our review of bookkeeping procedures over earlier today?" He scraped the papers on top of his desk into a pile as he waited for her answer.
"I'd like that," she replied and he glanced quickly at her face. She knew there was something lacking in her usual enthusiasm for their seminar.
"Bet you're sick of National Cash Registers and IBMs and the whole lot, aren't you?"
She shook her head violently and the long, shimmering hair bounced lightly. "Never-I love it!"
Kurt smiled as he reached for the phone to order the food. "You're a glutton for punishment," he grunted, punching the digits for Room Service.
Two hours later, he yawned and pushed tiredly away from his desk. Her eyes darted involuntarily to his crotch as he stood and stretched his powerful frame. No sign of any action-and small wonder: they had been shop-talking about the corner of hotel administration that Kurt obviously liked the least.
"I don't see how a CP.A. stays sane," he said, tossing Julia the manual from which he'd been quizzing her. "Had enough? It's eight o'clock."
She fought the impulse to beg him to go on, and, instead, looked at him questioningly. "Whatever you feel like, Kurt. I'm really not tired yet."
"Okay. So let's talk about something besides accounting. I could use a drink and some lighter chatter. How about it? I'm buying."
The Pirates' Chest Lounge was a subdued hush of a hundred low-keyed conversations when they arrived and slipped into a corner booth. Candles in ruby-glass hurricane lamps gave the only light, and after the hours of talking business and office procedures, the decor of the room was intensely intimate.
"Seagrams and Seven and a Coke, Arlene," he said to the cocktail waitress who hurried to their table when she saw Kurt.
"Yes, Mister Reichard. Will you want anything else?"
He winked at the torrid-bodied female and Julia noticed his eyes never drifted from her face. "Not a thing, but you've got a few others who do."
A noisy quartet several tables away had begun to yell for service and the girl threw a disdainful look in their direction. "I'll quiet them down, Mister Reichard."
Julia watched the waitress move with a kind of regal coolness toward the four men and she "oohed" openly at the statuesque bearing of the female he called Arlene.
"She's good, isn't she?" Kurt said, following the direction of her glance. "Those are four peddlers from Baltimore ... been stopping here for years."
Julia gasped at the bold hand of one of the men openly patting the burgundy satin covering the girl's very shapely derriere.
Kurt chuckled, "That's right, I forgot. You haven't been in The Chest very often."
"Doesn't Arlene mind being handled that way?"
He shook his head and slumped back against the soft, black leather of their seat. "She can take care of herself. I imagine she'll be sleeping with that one tonight. He's the one she really-likes."
A moment later the waitress was swaying sensuously back toward their corner with the Seagrams and the Coke and Julia stared at the extremely scanty costume of mini panties that failed to cover the buttocks cheeks and a tiny halter that only concealed the centers of her breasts. When she deposited the drinks and turned from their table, Julia visibly shivered.
"Something the matter?" Kurt asked, noticing the tremor.
She nodded. "I guess it's me. I mean, so much around The Buccaneer just seems to say, 'Sex, Sex, Sex!' And that's what it's all about, I guess ... a resort and everything."
Kurt had been rock-hard aroused from the moment they stepped into the lounge, and when he had the safety of the concealing table he had flipped his erection from the elastic trap of his jockeys. Something signaled inside him when he heard her turn the topic to sex. It was the first mention in their three months of working together.
"So is there something wrong with sex?" he asked, steering a fingertip aimlessly around the top of his glass.
"Oh, no!" Her response was immediate, then she sat silent for a minute and he waited. "It's the kinds of sex I don't understand," she went on. "I can really admire a girl like Arlene. She works around men with practically nothing on; they paw her and she still keeps her dignity as a female. Maybe it's because you just feel she's honest and open about it, and there's nothing dirty."
"There shouldn't ever be anything dirty about it," Kurt replied. "Why? Do you see some that's dirty around the resort?"
Julia nodded. "Sometimes. Out at the registration desk. I get so mad with sneaky couples. I can even understand swapping, if someone has a husband like Mums does, but some of the couples act so guilty when they sign in. What difference does it make?"
Kurt felt a seething excitement at her words. This was a totally different Julia from the girl who had been a frightened doe in his office several months before. His campaign for property rights was in its final phase, and a last little nudge should have her wholly liberated-totally a woman.
"It can go too far," he said, feeling her eyes on his face and aware suddenly that she was expecting a comment.
"How?" She stirred the cubes in her coke nervously as she watched him.
"When it doesn't make any difference who the sex is with, as long as it's sex-then it can get to be a really bad compulsion." He thought for a few seconds. "I can show you, better than tell you, what I mean," he said, making his tone a shade resigned.
Her gaze was steady. "I'd like to see that ... I really would!"
Moments later they were walking on the gravel path toward the health spa building. When they had stepped from the lounge, Kurt was sweating, aware of the impossible-to-hide bulge of his trousers. As he unbuttoned the blazer jacket to carry it as concealment, something grabbed inside him and he changed his mind. He reached for Julia's hand as they walked the dark path. "Do you happen to know Virna, the spa masseuse?" he asked.
"I see her once in a while around the employees' dining room," Julia replied. "She's beautiful."
Kurt pulled the key purse from his pocket and fingered through half-a-dozen master keys. "Good!" he exclaimed when he found the one he wanted. "You are about to learn the best-kept secret of The Buccaneer."
"It looks closed," she said when they walked past the spa's main entrance and rounded the corner to the one-story gymnasium and the rambling maze of therapy rooms.
"It does close, like the schedule says, at six. But to Virna's select customers, her after-hours massage is available."
Excitement tingled through her as she watched Kurt fiddle with the lock to the side entrance of the building. All the way from the lounge to the spa, Julia had seen in the light of the moon filtering through the trees what she had only occasionally seen in the past three months. The man was enormously aroused, but for a change he wasn't trying to conceal it. Maybe, just maybe, he was done with penance for that one day he had dropped his cool. Please, Kurt, she prayed silently, try me again!
It was the first open admission she had made to herself of how completely she had changed. Bit by bit she had dissected the things that had happened to her since that day in his office and now she knew herself and knew what she wanted-had desperately wanted for three months.
"In here!" he whispered, grabbing her arm to guide her down a darkened corridor. She wished the hand that held her elbow would wander in the darkness the same way that salesman's hand had fondled the waitress in the lounge.
They walked for what seemed miles, and then they made a last turn and she saw the square of light shining from a distant room.
"Massage room," his voice was lowered and she felt his hand shift from her arm to her waist. He leaned close to her ear as they neared the light. "Get ready. Here's a girl who can't say 'no!' "
He eased to a viewing point out of the shaft of light from the little window in the center of the door. "This is the best we can do," he whispered. "You may have to stand tiptoe to see."
"Brace me," she whispered back, taking his hand from her waist and guiding it to the curve where her hip joined her tail cheek. As she strained toward the window, his other hand found the opposite hip. Then, while she pressed as close as she dared to the glass, her escort's support shifted to a firm pressure directly over her tightly cupped buttock cheeks.
"Ohhhh, Kurt!" Her hand stifled the exclamation before it broke from her lips and she gaped at the mad sight in the massage room.
The curvaceous, flaxen-haired young Amazon they labeled "Virna of Sweden" in the spa promotional material was something else! The dramatically stacked masseuse, who Julia was sure couldn't be more than twenty, was brazenly nude as she treated three male guests. Kurt and Julia had arrived just after she had asked her clients to shift three massage tables side-to-side in the center of the room.
Still affecting the professional demeanor of the masseuse, she had straddled the crotch of the towel-clad male lying in sexual agony on the central table. She pretended to ignore the jutting penis thrusting through the folds of the towel, thumping hungrily against her thighs as she stretched to position the men at her side.
Very precisely Virna placed the outer two so they would face opposite direction from the one in the middle.
Behind her, Julia felt one of the hands that had supported her tiptoe position leave her buttock. An instant later she heard the soft sound of a zipper. A tidal wave of need swept through her. Before her was a swinging sexuality of a type she never had dreamed, and behind her the man of her dreams was doing what her prayers for months had begged him to do.
The action of Virna with the man beneath trapped Julia's attention again. As if it were accidental, Virna lowered her saucy ass toward the ramrodding prick while she massaged the man's chest. Both men on the adjacent cots had a clear view as she pressed her cleft directly against the broad crown, then settled slowly onto the impaling spear. It was clear from the sudden wildness in her expression that Virna's professional veneer was cracking.
Her two-man audience gawked as Virna's cute cleft stretched wide to take the swollen shaft of her third client's hungry prick. Lips parted and eyes glittering with sex fever, the nearly overwhelmed Scandinavian beauty leaned across a wriggling male torso and twisted one of the two still-unpampered penises toward her lips. The man whose organ she had picked for her newest play slipped his hand under her animated front and found a ripe, burgeoning nipple as she bent across him in fellatio.
Shocked but delighted, Julia gaped at the animal beauty of the figures locked in mounting frenzies, and, knowing that Kurt had for the first time in months released his own captive phallus, she felt a wild urge to drop to her knees and seize the monumental hardness just behind her.
"You have to see this!" Julia hissed, pivoting to grab his arm before he had a chance to hide himself. He grabbed for his arrogant exposure, but her hand was there first.
"No, please, Kurt. I'm different now." He let her hold his hard-on while they both strained to watch the foursome on the massage tables.
Virna was so fully impaled on the cock of the middle man that her buttocks were flush against his thighs and she held him motionless while she turned her attention to the fellatio. Licking the sopping shaft to the total frenzy of its owner, she began an enthusiastic frigging.
Julia let her hand tighten its grip and began to jerk lightly at Reichard's stem and it was evident that the moment of truth was at hand.
Both watched Virna ease the trap around the cock plunged to the hilt in her vagina, and now in three-way assault she was humping at the man beneath her, masturbating the prick on one side as its possessed bearer arched to thrust more into her hand. At the same moment her suck-off victim began screeching the warning of his climax.
Inflamed, Julia suddenly wrestled free of Kurt's arms and dropped to her knees. She clasped his legs and dragged herself against him and she could feel his whole body trembling. Then her fingers were on his soaring flesh pole, propelling it to her lips and she was tongue-teasing the wild sensitivity of the broad ledge. Groaning, Kurt sank slowly to his knees as she forced his thick cock crown into her mouth.
It was only a matter of seconds. His psyched and super-sensitized penis, was unable to hold its brimming load and with a helpless groan of surrender, Kurt let the ejaculation fly. At the first taste of his cannonading semen, Julia clutched the pulsing barrel with both fists and rocked slightly backward to look up at the man's face as he climaxed. She lifted her face in the soft, half-light and siphoned for every exploding drop of his cum.
As the last of his orgasm raced, Kurt wilted to his side and took Julia's convulsing body into his arms. For long moments they lay cuddled close
Kurt pulled her face to his and kissed her lightly. "Thank you," he whispered. "Let me take you out of here."
It was almost daybreak and a thin line of light edged along the horizon. The two lay with their arms entwined and their bodies tightly pressed, watching the night dissipate.
"Why did you take me to see Virna?" Julia asked softly.
He shrugged a naked shoulder against hers and said nothing.
"Tell me," she persisted. "Were you trying to shock me? You didn't have to, you know."
Kurt chuckled. "Sure, I was trying to shock you. Call it part of your training. Every big resort has its Virna. I was showing you the other extreme from the sneaked sex you were talking about in the lounge."
"I still don't understand," she murmured, nibbling gently at an earlobe.
"You'll be an innkeeper one day," he said. "A damned good one, too. You'll see plenty of guilty sex and plenty of nympho sex. Take either extreme you want."
She felt the sudden thickening of his penis reawakening deep within her vagina and her body began a slow, seductive grind. "I think I'd rather be assistant innkeeper and have this."
"That will require a lot of after-hours training."
"I know," she answered huskily, feeling the ballooning shaft stiffen to love steel. "I'm ready."