The Pact

by Justine Elyot

  I gripped Mavis’s butt with one hand and stroked her off with the other. I went back at her nipples, sucking hard and fast while Warren gave my clit the same treatment. I came so hard I couldn’t move, except my mouth, which devoured one firm breast almost completely.

  After one orgasm came another, and I built it up by grinding my pussy all over Warren’s bristly face. His body shook beneath me as Mavis howled above me. They were coming in the dust of my orgasms. They were coming hard, and together, and I felt surrounded by this huge cloud of love and desire. I rubbed her clit harder and licked the nipple I’d mostly ignored and she pulled my hair so hard I ended up in some weird contorted yoga pose. Then collapsed.

  We all did, except Warren. He’d pretty much been in collapse position all that time, lying back and letting it happen, letting two women work him over and getting each other off along the way.

  At one point, I was lying diagonally across Warren’s chest with Mavis posed across me. A human asterisk. Too bad we didn’t have a camera on the ceiling. It must have looked amazing.

  That’s what I was thinking about as I struggled to catch my breath: how great we must look together, all three of us. Because I sure knew how great it felt when we met body to body to body.

  Mavis eventually left the room, but she came back with a wine bottle and glasses.

  ‘If you drink any more, you’ll end up passed out in our bed,’ Warren said.

  We shifted apart so she could get in between. I guess we knew without saying that we both wanted one arm. We both wanted to cuddle up with Mavis.

  I asked her, ‘Do you think anyone at the office will notice if you show up tomorrow wearing the same thing you wore today?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, handing out glasses and pouring more wine. ‘But who cares what they think? It’s our party … and it’s not over yet.’

  If I hadn’t already been crushing on her madly, I would have totally fallen for Mavis in that moment. And I bet Warren would tell you the same thing.

  ‘To agreements and exceptions,’ he said, holding out his glass.

  ‘Agreements,’ we all said. ‘And exceptions.’

  Into the Blue

  Willow Sears

  Today, she decided, she was feeling horny enough and nasty enough for it to be one of their Game Days. He wouldn’t mind, that’s for sure. He was always game. He had a cock that was always up begging and simply wouldn’t play dead. In combination they were a pair of insatiable fuckers who had no qualms about taking their antics beyond their bedroom walls. They didn’t even think their rudeness had to stop at them alone. Others were definitely invited, even though they had a passion for each other that could burn like wildfire. Others were just props for them, living sex toys. In this respect they were selfish and single-minded, but neither would ever find their conscience troubled by it. Pleasure was pleasure and anyone who missed any chance of it deserved all the short shrift life gave them.

  You wouldn’t necessarily know it to look at them, especially not before they had dressed for the part. They didn’t exactly have ‘voracious sexual predator’ written all over them. She was a curvy redhead with what might be lazily described as a certain MILF-ish quality to her, but she could look somewhat plain without make-up and a touch severe with. He was tall, wide and solid, with a penchant for body-building befitting someone who mainly worked in security. His head was shaved stubble-close and he had the deep lines, nicks and scars of a man with a lived-in face. However, his eyes were deep brown and they drooped a little at the corners to give him more of a kindly, almost sad look, which is why he preferred to wear shades when aiming to be assertive.

  Their games, when others were to be involved, always had them assuming dominant roles. It was the best way to retain control and it suited their true selves. Most of what they did originated in her mind. She was the cunning one, the creative one. However, never before had she dared to try anything with a complete stranger somewhere outside the regular clubs or likely venues. This was a bold step up even for her, always the fearless one. It was one she was not likely to feel truly comfortable in taking until she was dressed and in character. Even then she thought it might require more balls than perhaps even her partner could muster.

  However, what a chance to seize. One so perfect, so seemingly presented on a plate, might never come along again. They had been brought into another hotel of the exclusive chain they worked for – the one with fabulous suites whose balconies looked out across the gnarly vine-clad slopes of the valley and beyond towards the Med. There had been a security breach here just days before a VIP party was due to descend. Dismissals had been made, leaving gaps. They were there to help do a sweep and plug any remaining leaks. It gave them more control and access to certain things than they would normally be allowed. It meant they knew who the hostesses would be and to which suites they would be assigned.

  He sauntered back in from the bathroom with his hair still wet, clad only in tight cotton hipster briefs. He habitually showed himself off whenever possible: his pecs and biceps, the bulge of his languishing yet always-ready-to-spring-to-action cock. The briefs were just for a moment’s show, just a little tease to ensure he grabbed attention as they were slipped midway down his thighs, the slow reveal quickening her pulse more than the sight of him gratuitously naked would have done. He didn’t have to look to know that her eyes were already keenly upon him as he tugged patiently but purposefully upon his cock to open the gate for those ever eager blood cells, to let them rampage through and fill him to bursting.

  She salivated, of course. What else would a cock-hungry bitch like her do? And his so perfect. But he wasn’t yet done, oh, no. He regarded himself in the long dressing mirror as he removed the lid from a jar and used two fingers to scoop out a quantity of opaque, wax-like coconut oil. The stuff is all the rage these days, both as a skin product and for cooking. But how many others daily smooth it into their erect cock, not only from some vain notion about keeping the skin beautiful but also to have there a slight but ever-present lubricant ensuring he was always ready for anything? And of course it was a bonus that it provided an invitingly exotic smell and taste for anyone he might want to cajole into feasting upon it.

  She wanted to, right now. Watching him slowly wank to his own reflection was achingly difficult to resist. However, that made it too easy for him and experience taught that her rewards were best if he was made to work for his. Fortunately, she had a scheme, one involving hotel hostesses. ‘Hostess’ was the name given to the simple chambermaids who were temporarily elevated to look after VIP guests in their suite. Their job wasn’t particularly taxing. They were basically there to keep quiet and look good, a bit of glamour to hold trays of drinks and clean surfaces. It was just a way for the hotel to score a little bit higher in the minds of their guests.

  The girls were all of a type: attractive – that was a given – and young. The latter meant they were often suggestible and eager to please in this perceived role of responsibility. It was a way up the ladder if the job was done well. That was the key. Glitz and wealth overawed most ‘ordinary’ people all the time. It was how the rich and powerful were able to manipulate so many so often. Unwitting innocents propelled suddenly into this world were easily malleable. It was human nature. It didn’t matter what strength of character that person had. They did as they were told. They acted to please and stayed quiet.

  In her role as flying security guru she knew which three girls had been chosen this time. She’d pulled their details, including a picture. She could almost tell from the eyes which one was the most likely to fit their needs. With her plan, if one girl didn’t work for them they could always move on to the next. And the plan was simple: in view of recent security breaches it would be wise to set up a dummy run for a VIP client visit. Send the girls in turn to their assigned suite (such things were always very hush-hush) as if the client was imminent. If the paparazzi showed up within the hour you had the source of your leak, or at least you could narrow down the cu
lprits to a minimum. If the coast remained clear, the hostess passed her test and was clearly trustworthy.

  The woman wasn’t really bothered about how well her test worked. Leaks always came from the top anyway. She just wanted the naïve pretty girl in the sumptuous bedroom, all alone for an hour. She wanted that girl to think that someone very important was about to arrive and that her job was to serve them. She was to think that she was the face of the hotel for that time. Responsibility like that changes a person. It makes them so very eager to please. In that the woman saw the chance of a challenge, and thus it was easy to formulate her game.

  ‘I bet you,’ she said, still watching the man smoothing the coconut oil into his erection, ‘that I can have you balls deep inside some pretty young thing today without you saying even a single word to her. Without you even speaking at all.’

  The man looked her way, his interest piqued by the thoughts of pretty girls and his cock buried inside them. He raised his eyebrows to elicit more information from the woman.

  ‘No paying her,’ she continued. ‘No incentives offered at all. Simply from my words. A girl neither of us has ever laid eyes on before. A total stranger just going about her daily business. I bet you I can.’

  The man looked back at his reflection and studied it as if to suggest his looks alone should be enough to have any female silently begging for him. However, she knew the score. She also knew that the idea of the game excited him, despite his poker face.

  ‘If I win,’ she said, ‘we go to the club later, because I’ve a real hankering to have two cocks inside me tonight.’

  Oh, yes, she certainly did. And if she was feeling particularly victorious then he might only get to find himself watching her deeply taking those fabulous cocks.

  Nadia threw open the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony and into the blue, the sun immediately thrillingly warm where her skin was bare. It seems you got given shorter dresses to wear when on hostess duty, ones that belled out a little where they ended above the knee. This one would be precarious in gusty winds but then that was essentially the point. As a hostess you were meant to look more attractive and approachable than the stuffier chambermaids. You were meant to look a little more available even though the management made it abundantly clear that any fraternising with the guest beyond one’s prescribed duties was expressly forbidden. You were supposed to keep your mouth shut and look good. VIPs did not want ugly servants blighting their fabulous suites.

  Of course one could get offended at being paraded about like this, picked primarily as eye candy rather than for any actual hosting skills. However, it was hard for Nadia not to feel a surge of pride along with excitement when she got picked; there were, after all, a fair few young girls working there that she had been chosen above. Plus you got paid double whilst on duty, and there was the chance of a fat tip, and you got to spend all your day in the best suites in the place. The standard rooms were already good but the VIP suites were something else. And the work was hardly exhausting. You served drinks to the guests, packed and unpacked for them, fetched whatever they needed, things like that. Basically you were the link between the concierge and room service, a silent helper to ensure the guests didn’t even have to make a phone call, answer a door or lift a finger for anything. From what Nadia could gather, many of these VIPs already had an entourage to ensure that happened anyway.

  It was the first time she had been picked as a hostess. The hotel she had recently come from didn’t get the VIPs. She had transferred here as part of her plans for a Big Adventure, and so far things were going rather well. She had been lucky to sneak a position as one of the on-site workers. Her package included bed and breakfast as well as concessions on other meals and the use of certain facilities. The deduction for room and board took nearly all of her wages but she could keep all tips and it allowed her a way to work in such an exclusive resort when she could never otherwise have afforded accommodation. It still didn’t mean you could live the high life, but you got to witness it and experience it vicariously. And there were cheaper, lively, welcoming bars for the locals and for all those migrant workers needed to staff the high number of tourist facilities for such a relatively unpopulated area.

  Being resident did mean you could be moved from room to room at any time, depending on the hotel’s needs. Rarely did you even get one of the standard rooms. Often, like now, you could be lumped into a twin with someone else. Her current room-mate was a very pleasant girl, although the language barrier meant they struggled to really get on. So many came across from Eastern Europe, seeking a better life. This girl also seemed to spend a lot of her time whispering silent prayers and crossing herself – although the little sighs and whimpers that could be heard emanating from her side of the bedroom at night suggested that her thoughts and actions then were anything but religious.

  Nadia would never admit it to anyone but temptation was certainly something she was struggling to ignore. She was nowhere near as brazen as some of the girls here seemed to be. It was not in her nature to seek quick fixes from local Lotharios. She thought she had a little more pride than that. Nor in her few weeks here had she yet had to succumb to self-remedy in the way her room-mate did. Perhaps she would have done if privacy allowed. The sun’s gorgeous rays seemed to beam directly onto the pleasure zone between her legs. Her mind was always prone to wander but this heat inspired an uncharacteristic tendency towards rude flights of fancy. It could leave her almost feverish with need and frustration on those days when she couldn’t rein her imagination in.

  Also, there was something about opulence that simply got her blood fizzing. It was the promise of it, the possibilities. Beds like the one in this suite, for instance: massive and covered in the finest silk; a headboard forged from wonderfully crafted metal and almost crying out for restraints to be attached. You don’t look upon it and think only of a good night’s sleep, that’s for sure. Dark fantasies were bound to stir. And the wet room. Surely no one actually needs a shower that big, do they, and that raised seat at one end and all those separate nozzles? It was practically demanding that at least two people use it at once. Same as the bath. Champagne and candles and soft music piped in. Warm jets at the touch of a button, lights dimmed at a clap of the hands. It was clearly designed to give guests the chance to get either as clean as they liked in here, or as dirty. It was bound to make anyone’s imagination whir.

  This view from the balcony was one to die for. Very, very few people would ever get to see it, and here she was. It was the type of balcony where you might expect to come across a Bond girl in a bikini. Its aspect was completely private too, high up and angled towards the valley. She could lean back posing against the railings like some exotic international spy or a fabulous Hollywood actress, framed by the most stunning backdrop. She could picture the life of the lucky girl who could afford to hire such rooms. She could imagine the romantic potential. She knew she would never have anything close to this but that didn’t stop her mind conjuring the thoughts. In the warmth of the sunshine, with little else to do, it was almost impossible not to.

  She’d been given no clue who her VIP guest was, but any minute now they might stride through the door and find her there in her short dress, with instructions to grant them their every wish. Only a high-roller with exquisite taste could afford this room. Only the most powerful – since wealth equalled power – would be here, and such a person would be used to getting what they wanted. They would be charismatic and debonair, a jet-setter who would take any pretty hostess’s bounty with impunity but always keep her secrets. Such people instinctively pleased as lovers as it was innate in them to want to be the best. Was it even her place to refuse any request made of her by someone so dazzling? It certainly wouldn’t be as easy as refusing the usual downtrodden guys who gave her the eye and expected favours for the price of a cheap beer.

  Yes, it was good to dream. It made the hours pass quicker and it enlivened her. Odds were the guest would actually turn out to be some fat banker
in his sixties but if it was anyone even half decent or famous then perhaps it would give fuel for her fantasies. Better still, there was a distinct possibility the guest would go out again, leaving her all alone with no chance of being disturbed by other staff members, and with that big bed or that fabulous shower with all its strategically placed nozzles at her disposal. That would be more than racy enough to count as part of her Big Adventure. It was perhaps a more likely scenario than a seduction. Indeed most of her exploits on this adventure might well turn out to be pure fantasy rather than reality, but being here was still half the battle. You had to be in the right places to get the inspiration for the dreams, and few places could ever better this.

  She drank in the view down the valley once more and felt a little pang at the realisation that she would only know it for one day. She didn’t hear the door opening since it was stealthily done. The first she knew of no longer being alone was the female voice behind her. She spun around, the shock bursting through her. There she saw a redheaded woman striding out onto the balcony, tall like her, power-dressed in a summer LBD and Gucci shades. Nadia didn’t think she recognised her as anyone famous but she looked important enough, although her heavy red lipstick seemed a bit tacky. Behind her was the hulking form of a shade-wearing, shaven-headed man in a black suit, with a crisp white shirt and a thin black tie. He looked like CIA or FBI or some other government secret service. What did she know? She’d only seen such people on-screen.

  ‘Stay exactly where you are,’ the woman said at her, pointing a finger tipped with a long red-painted nail. She went straight to the railings of the balcony, methodically surveying the scene as if analysing it for threats rather than admiring its beauty. Into the space she left behind her marched the man, right into Nadia’s personal space, as if ready to stop her fleeing or going for a gun. He was all she could see before her, a wall of masculinity. His mouth was tight-lipped to demonstrate that he was a silent, no-nonsense guy, fully trained to take zero kinds of shit. Behind those shades his eyes were probably steely. He did smell nice, though. Even in her raging alarm Nadia was able to note this.