Menage a Noir

In old movies there's a standard character called "the house dick," a guy who works for the hotel making sure there's nothing illicit going on in any of the rooms. These days the hotels don't give a fuck who or what you do in their establishment, whether you're watching the porn they sell you on the television or reading the book of Mormon they slipped into the nightstand for free. As long as somebody's name is on the room and that somebody has a credit card on file, they're happy.

I told the guy at the front desk there was a key waiting for me, and the he handed it to me. He didn't check to see who else was in the room. It was paid for, and my name was on his list, whether my name made me a) Mr. Stacie, b) Mr. Sarah, or c) none of the above. Which, by the way, is the correct answer: c) none of the above.

It was a long elevator ride, and the elevator was full of mirrors, the kind of elevator Stacie likes best. The kind I like to ride with Stacie. The ride gave me time to think. Thinking helps to clear my head, helps me prepare for what comes next, remember how I got here, where I'm going, and why.

We first met Sarah at a sales meeting. Which makes sense, because it's the only time Stacie and I get to see each other. Sarah was running the first session of the meeting. I stared at her, watching her work, watched the soft lines of her face, neck and cleavage, imagined following those lines with my tongue, opening her blouse, burying my head between those enormous pillow-like breasts. She reminded me of a bed, of Stacie's waterbed, of rolling luxury. Stacie's bed reminded me of Stacie. I looked across the room at Stacie and she glared back. She'd been watching me watch Sarah and she wasn't happy about it.

So I watched Stacie for awhile. She's easy to watch: long, dark and lean, beautiful and openly sexual. But Stacie wasn't looking back at me. She was watching Sarah. So I watched Sarah too. Sarah, and then Stacie, Sarah and then Stacie. I couldn't get past that image of Sarah as Stacie's bed. I pictured Stacie on her back, on top of Sarah, her long lean torso between Sarah's legs, her head back between Sarah's breasts, Sarah caressing her, Stacie's back arching and sliding against Sarah's clit as I entered and fucked her, kissing them both.

Stacie caught my eye again and I raised an eyebrow, tilted my head toward Sarah, in a "you too?" kind of nod. Stacie pretended not to notice.

After the meeting, Stacie was annoyed. Obviously she was upset I hadn't spent more time looking at her. But there was something about Sarah that made me watch her work. There was a contrast to her that turned me on, a softness and luxuriousness, a throatiness, a vulgarity, an absolute control over every salesperson in the room.

Later that night in the hotel room Stacie played with my cock while I talked to my wife on the phone, squeezing it between her breasts, teasing it with her tongue, sucking me deep. The combination of my wife's voice, Stacie's breasts and the mental picture I had of Sarah doing the same thing were more than I could handle. I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and came, spurting all over Stacie as my wife babbled on, probably with her boyfriend fucking the hell out of her as she talked.

I'd been trying to learn to share my sexual thoughts with Stacie, but as angry as she was with me for watching Sarah during the meeting I couldn't tell her I'd been thinking about Sarah as I'd come on her breasts and then licked my come back off her.

Sarah was such a hit the first time that they kept bringing her back. I kept my attraction to her under control. I had to. There's only so much a once-a-year relationship can take. I watched her work. I couldn't help it. But I told myself it was professional admiration, and when I fucked Stacie I didn't think about Sarah at all.

Stacie finally stopped thinking of Sarah as competition, and over the next couple of years they got to be friends. They were very similar people, my kind of girls: powerful, sexual and attracted to both men and women.

The first time I saw Sarah's attraction to Stacie was the day Stacie and I snuck off to the beach in the middle of a boring session. Stacie had her swimsuit on under her skirt. She took off the skirt and jumped in the ocean while I just stood and watched her frolic in the waves. She was beautiful wet, and even more beautiful when she grinned at me, ducked under the water, and came back up with her breasts uncovered. My erection was threating to rip my pants open as I watched her swim half naked. The beach was practically deserted on a hot as hell off-season summer day and I wanted to fuck her right there on the beach, but common sense won out and I gestured that I wanted to go back up to the room. On the way up we ran into Sarah. "How's the water?" Sarah asked.

"Not too bad" answered Stacie, "especially topless."

I couldn't help it. I couldn't get Sarah's jaw-dropped lust-filled expression out of my mind as Stacie rode me on the hotel bed. But this time I told her. She just smiled and kissed me, and my heart melted as she bent over me, all wet and happy and delicious.

Months later Stacie let me know she'd been assigned to work on the agenda for the next meeting , which meant she'd be on location a day early to work out last minute details. A day early, in the hotel, working with Sarah.

I volunteered for a late flight the night before. The company loved me for it. The later flight saved them a ton of money. My wife bitched. But it was all an act. I was sure her boyfriend would be pulling into the driveway five minutes after I left.

The elevator door opens at the right floor just as I finish the narrative in my head. I step out, trying to figure out where the room is. One of these days somebody will design a hotel with an obvious room numbering system, and then we'll all be in trouble.

It's to the right, Right and then left, and then right and halfway down the the hall. I stop outside the door. There's noises on the other side. Stacie noises. Stacie fucking noises.

My bag is heavy. I wonder if I'm really ready. I slide the plastic card through the reader. In the old movies they had keys. Real keys, with tumblers that click. We get little lights, red and green like traffic lights, or Christmas decorations. The light turns green. I open the door and step in. It's a suite. I'm in the first room. The noises are coming from the second room. "Fuck me baby. Fuck me hard." Just that, over and over again. I put the bag down. My shoulder hurts. I flex it. I wonder where I should put the bag. I decide that can wait. I step into the next room.

Stacie's on all fours, her head near the edge of the bed. Sarah's behind her, in control, a massive dildo strapped to her wide, soft, powerful hips, pumping hard, fucking Stacie, fucking Stacie. Fucking Stacie. Stacie fucked, red, gasping, grasping, hand back underneath herself, rubbing herself, rubbing her clit, feeling the dildo in and out. Sarah's breasts, big, soft, powerful breasts, swaying as she pumps, her hands on Stacie's hips, controlling, forcing, holding, pushing, pulling, fucking, fucking Stacie harder than I've ever fucked her.

Despite all the mental preparation I'm almost paralyzed with lust. I unbuckle my belt, unzip my fly, walk to the bed, and stand in front of Stacie. She's too far gone to say hello, but she can never resist a hard cock in front of her mouth. She smiles at me, her eyes glazed with pleasure. She takes me in her mouth, and sucks me hard. God it feels incredible. I stroke her hair, hold her head, watch the ecstasy roll over her again and again, more powerful with each stroke. But then I look up. I look up to watch Sarah. I have to watch her work.

[ home ] [ intro ] [ feedback ]
[previous] [stories] [next]