The End
Bed, Breakfast And Beyond
Chapter 1
We were laughing cordially, in the manner of the good hosts that we were seeing guests out, as slowly we closed the front door of our home, waiting until we heard the sound of the ignition rumbling on, and the tires crunching along the pavement until the two of us dropped our more professional demeanors, and permitted ourselves to speak our minds freely.
Fortunately, this had been one of those encounters that left us with very little bad to say about our guests upon their departure, and the only bad taste in our mouths was one of the very best sort.
I thought my husband and I were on the same page as far as our reaction to our guests was concerned, but just to make sure I waded in carefully, “They were a pretty fun couple... Weren't they?”
He smiled at me, and confirmed, casually, “They were.”
I smiled, sighing, and I allowed myself to be wrapped up in his arms, the two of us always disbelieving with regards to the magical life we'd built up around ourselves by the time our guest's stays reached their conclusions. Derrick leaned in and kissed me, and I kissed him in return, putting my tongue lightly into his mouth, enjoying this brief return to our more private intimacy, even though that which had come before it had hardly been lacking in terms of spice or desire.
Our kiss didn't last especially long, though, as I found it was making me horny all over again as I slowly slipped my lips back away from his, peering up at him with bedroom eyes that were almost redundant at this point. “Let's hope that the Joneses make their way back in our direction someday very, very soon...” I whispered.
He smiled, as though in agreement with me, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned in, pecking my mouth with another quick, gentle kiss, and he said, a little bit distantly, “I'm gonna go look for the mouth wash...”
I smiled at him, thinking, as I watched him turn to go, and then, after a moment or so, I chimed, “me too,” and continued along in his weight.
The narrow stairs of our home creaked as we made our way up to the second story, me just a few paces behind my husband, trying to get into his head and figure out what he might be thinking, but my warm lightheartedness following the morning we'd had with the Joneses making me forget largely about his opinion.
I strangely loved the fact that these stairs creaked... In fact, there were several similar quirks about this house that I very much savored, and which, as far as I was concerned, had been a rather significant selling point as far as our selection of this particular home for our business had been concerned.
There was just something... I don't know, exactly... Extremely quaint, cozy, about the condition that our house was in, at least as far as I was concerned and, judging by the positive reviews our Bed and Breakfast had almost universally through online listings, the customers didn't all that much begrudge our home its many special quirks, either. Though of course, I'm sure there might have been a few other contributing factors to why our business proved every bit as well received as it was...
At any rate, it wasn't like the place was worn down or rickety to any real degree. It was just, sort of, I guess “old-fashioned,” “rustic,” “antique...” And for me, those were all qualities that the home of a good Bed and Breakfast should possess.
My husband and I lived on the first floor, sleeping in what might normally be considered a guest bedroom, while our upstairs we rented out to individuals or couples, generally on weekends, treating them to a luxurious stay with a number of benefits, which I'll get into in further detail with very, very shortly...
Derrick and I crested the top of the stairs, and my husband continued absently onward toward the bathroom, apparently eager to refresh his palette as quickly as was humanly possible, and once again, I wondered vaguely whether there might be something more going on beneath his surface, which I, as his wife, had regrettably failed to understand.
But again, I grew too distracted to worry about it in that particular moment, stopped as I was outside the bedroom of our guests, in which I myself had been within an hour's time. I now wanted to inspect the damage done, and I peered slowly into the vicinity as I heard my husband opening and closing the door to the bathroom further on.
It looked like the bedroom equivalent of a war zone in there, I saw, much to my bemusement, and a pretty red smile came creasing up across my lips at the sight of it. The king size bed's cozy quilt was all torn from the bed, slumping on the floor with the corners still clinging on for dear life to the boxspring. The sweat soaked sheets were all twisted and mussed, and the fitted sheet at the very bottom had come slipping out of place in one corner.
It was an absolute mess, but I smiled at the still fresh memory of the rampage that had led to such a thorough unraveling- and the thought of it easily made up for the work that cleaning up the aftermath was sure to entail...
At any rate, I changed the sheets and blankets between every stay anyway, lest I have the Health Department or someone crawling up my ass about it, and in my distraction I forgot about my mission to go and rinse with my husband.
I stepped into the room, and began to ball up the wreck of the bedspread in my arms, struggling not to drop anything as the weight gradually overpowered me, and with a last, concerted effort I stripped the fitted sheet from the bed. Clumsily, I carried the wet, fragrant mess of fabric back to the frame of the door, then plopped it down firmly in the middle of the narrow hallway. I was actually a little bit winded at having done this, either more of a weakling than even I had suspected, or else the force required for lifting such a load underestimated by yours truly.
I caught my breath, and stepped back into the room, heading for the dresser to go and find some replacement sheets, when suddenly something caught my attention, lying on the floor, which had apparently been wadded up in the twisting mass of sheets.
Looking around for a moment as though someone might be watching me and might take offense at what I was about to do, I then turned, stooped my body downward, and reached for the item in question.
I brought it up between my fingers into my direct field of vision, and stood staring at the black, lacy, negligible straps of a pair of thong panties, worn to the place by none other than the Mrs. Jones who'd just left, not to mention, very briefly, by Mr. Jones as well, during the course of the excitement that had gone on during the latter portion of their stay.
I smiled intensely, hypnotized by the memory, and then, judge me a creep if you will, I brought the panties up to my face, inhaling them, and letting the afterimage of so many sensations come rattling through my anatomy. I shivered, hunching up my shoulders and biting my lower lip, thrilled by my own naughtiness, and endlessly grateful to the misses for having left this most delightful keepsake behind.
I paused, then, the goosebumps still throbbing across my flesh, and for a rather strange moment I considered the ethics of keeping for myself a pair of perfectly good panties that had been left behind by my guest over the course of her stay. It was silly, I knew, and quickly enough, I told myself that, more than likely, this keepsake had been left in the room completely intentionally on the part of Mrs. Jones, for me, and/or my husband, to remember her by- as though either of us would have had any trouble in the least in remembering her after the stay they'd had.
Suffice it to say, they had been two of our more exciting, adventurous customers to date...
With a strange tenderness, I pulled the panties up to my breast, pushing them up against my beating heart, briefly closing my eyes. I felt like I was swooning or something, developing a most foolish girl crush, though of course, it was entirely possible that I was more in love with my situation, my circumstances, my perfect life and the happiness it filled me with on a routine basis, than anything else.
I remained like this for a few dumb moments, just letting myself bask in my own contentment and in the light rays drifting in through the curtained bedroom window, until at last I faded slowly back to my senses, aware that I had more tasks to
complete, and I continued on with my day accordingly.
I stepped over to the room's large wooden dresser and opened up a tiny little drawer in the top shelf. I stashed the black panties here for now, until I would get a chance to take them back downstairs and add them to my own private collection, my “snatch stash” as I sometimes jokingly liked to call it (more of our female guests tended to leave their panties behind after the fact than you might even begin to imagine,) then I once again slid the drawer shut.
I stooped a few inches lower, reaching for the far larger drawers down below, sliding them open, and taking out a fresh set of sheets, all nice and crisp and clean. These, too, I inhaled, the contrast of cleanliness with clear and unmistakable human substance refreshing, if neither preferable nor less no, and I moved over to the bed to go and slide them into place.
The mattress, I noted, was inundated with sweat as well, having soaked through the covers on this occasion, and I tweaked my mouth to the side, trying to decide what to do. I didn't really have the resources to clean it just now, I thought, and so I chose to take a passable enough shortcut. I sat the new bedclothes down atop the dresser, and then moved back to the bed. I grunted with the force of effort as I heaved the mattress into the air, flipping it over on top of the box spring, so that the fresh, clean side now angled up and the stains of the previous night and morning's events remained carefully concealed from sight.
“That'll work,” I muttered to myself, and I began to spread the sheets out across the surface, carefully tucking in the corners of the fitted sheet and installing the fresh new covers with the expertise of a five-star hotel staff, until finally the room looked as fresh and as good as new.
I stepped back toward the door, taking a last look around to ensure that everything was in as good a shape as it appeared to be. A few shots of air freshener in here, and maybe a quick dusting and the room would be pristine, ready for new inhabitants and ready for more of the incredible mischief that had taken place within its walls.
I would come back up and get the panties later, when I remembered them, I decided...
I closed the door to the room, and kicked the old sheets out of the way just a bit as I made my way the remainder of the distance across the narrow hallway.
I stepped into the bathroom with my husband. He'd taken his shirt off, and had stripped down to his boxer shorts, just the way I liked him. I stood in the doorway, watching him for a moment like a hawk, feeling even more satisfied in doing so than I had in sniffing the panties back there in the room.
God, I was a lucky woman, no matter how you chose to look at it...
He had switched to brushing his teeth after having apparently, and he scarcely looked upon my entry into the bathroom. This gave me ample opportunity to study him in his vulnerability, his near nakedness.
He had an immaculate body- he worked out routinely, and it very much showed in his features. His strong arms, his sculpted chess, his tight ass...
Jesus, I was growing lightheaded, not to mention getting myself wet all over again with arousal...
It didn't help matters all that much that I could see his cock, plain as day, curling up beneath the fabric of his boxer shorts, his penis and scrotum resting just on the ledge of the sink as he brushed his teeth up against it so that with every pumping of his arm to move the toothbrush back and forth, the surface of the countertop must be grinding up against him, very subtly masturbating him while he cleaned up.
And I was beginning to feel very, very dirty again...
I controlled myself, behaved like a good girl for the time being, at any rate, and did as I said I was going to do to begin with, chugging down a huge quantity of mouthwash, and let it burn away the taste of strange flesh and fluid as I jostled it around between my inflated cheeks.
Forty-five seconds passed in this manner, before I spit and rinsed my mouth out with water, yet even after having gone completely through the routine, my husband was still brushing, as though, for the life of him, he simply couldn't get the taste all the way out of his mouth.
I watched him like this for a few minutes, and then crept up behind him in a very feminine manner, laying my head down on his shoulder, and wrapping my arms around his middle from behind, squeezing myself tightly up against him. If I had a cock, it would have pushed up erect between his butt cheeks in my present state of want for him, but given my female smoothness down there, no such occurrence took place, and instead I allowed my hot, decadent breathing against the back of his neck serve the purpose of hinting at my need for him- and indeed, I could spy the hairs back there beginning to stand on end as I continued to harass him.
At last, my husband put his hand on mine atop his shoulder tenderly, lovingly. He turned his neck, and planted a pair of sweet, gentle kisses on my fingers, which made me smile, but did little to rid me of my curiosity as to what was going on in that beautiful head of his.
“Is everything alright, baby?”
“What?” he said suddenly, as though the question, the assertion that things might not be completely fine and okay were completely alien to him, and caught him utterly off guard. “Of course!” he insisted. “Everything's great... I had a really nice time with the Joneses... And, with you, of course...”
I smiled at this, in a hormone induced morning stupor of some kind- had I exerted next to a scrap of effort, I might have detected a strain of denial in his voice, an indication that there was more to whatever it was that was happening in this moment than the words that passed out through his lips. But of course, I was in no mood to investigate further, and I was, as I'd been all morning, giddy with contentment, so it seemed impossible that my husband shouldn't feel the same way, particularly when he'd just said so plainly.
I leaned in, and kissed him on the back of the neck, wet, slow, almost drunkenly, although we certainly hadn't touched a drop of alcohol this early on in the morning, despite some of the other more nighttime specific activities we'd engaged in with the Joneses.
As I kissed him, I slowly let my hands fall from his middle to beneath the fabric of his boxer shorts, slowly working my grip around his penis, and stroking him with my fingers. I smiled lustfully as I felt him beginning to grow in response to my efforts, particularly gratifying seeing as how thoroughly he'd been drained just a short time earlier that morning, and I thought that, maybe, there might just be enough lead in his pencil to carry this lucky girl along once more into ecstasy.
I began to feel the first sticky trails of jizz tangling up between my fingertips by the time I pulled away, content at this small victory as I was, and I moved back from him, slipping out of my clothes, and my skin frigid as it met the cool air of the room around me- I had, after all, been soaked with sweat, and it had since dried on me left me in quite a state of affairs.
“Come on baby... Let's get in the tub and get cleaned up...”
A moment later, streams of hot, scalding water were showering down upon both of our naked bodies, and Derrick was holding me snugly in his arms, kissing me passionately, as he lathered me up all over with soap, from my tits to my clean-shaven pubes, to my supple, glistening ass.
I worked my body just right for him, so that as the white water cascaded down along my form in waterfalls, he was treated to the most pristine views imaginable of the stuff, seeping through my cleavage, dribbling down my butt crack, soaking my tender pink pussy...
And he, accordingly, began to throb harder, higher than ever, his prick fully loaded once more and ready for action, feeling wonderful as it pressed up against my skin during our make out session, sliding across my slippery flesh and getting me so damn worked up for him that my head was fucking spinning.
Whatever sort of distance may have been separating him from me just moments ago appeared all but vanished in the present, as he dedicated every ounce of his abilities to breeding with his lovely, lucky as hell wife, who, in turn, was every bit as dedicated to his pleasure as it was possible to be.
I sank slowly, gradually down onto my knees, a posit
ion I was getting quite used to at this point in my career as this B and B's owner, and I parted my lips wide as sin, slowly bowing my head into his thick bush, and letting my jaws close in around the long, stiff rod of his cock.
At last, at long, long last (my husband, I'll have you know, has a massive, indomitable shlong) I felt him press down against the back of my throat, and it was at this point that I closed myself in around him, grunting, snorting as my tongue twisted around him, tasting his oh so familiar and beautiful flavor. Slowly, slowly, very slowly, I began to dredge my skull back along him, pulling him to his immense, swollen purple tip, and building up an intense suction as I did so. I peered up at him with bedroom eyes and he shuddered as I snapped away my lips, blasting him with cool air, and then promptly closing my mouth in around him once again.
Slowly I began to work my way into a steady, sucking rhythm, my compressed cheeks around his swollen cock causing me to look especially skull-like as I choked myself on his immensity, sliding him in, out, in, out, loving the extent to which I knew I must certainly be pleasing the hell out of him.
“Ooooooohhhhhhhh yeah,” he groaned, closing his eyes, tilting his head back, and weaving his fingers into my soapy hair, directing my speed and motion as I continued to suck him off. It made it seem as though this had been precisely the one thing in the world he'd needed, and God did I feel splendid about it as the tears began to well up around my eyes, though of course they were washed away promptly by the streams of the shower.
The Naughty Collection Page 67