The Odd Couple in Room 210 (f/F, sexual humil., foot fetish)

By Don Winslow

Part 1 of 2

"Margo here's a real piece of work. A genuine nympho, aren't you Babe?" The elegant, cool woman in the creamy sundress, kept her proud chin high but averted her eyes, turning to scan the horizon, as though she might remain oblivious to the humiliating words that were burning her ears. "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 sat stiffly upright on the edge of the padded booth; a uniformed waitress in a pert pony tail, invited to sit for a moment as her customers finished their breakfast 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 the guy named Nick was persuasive. 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 all the while eyeing the plastic nametag over her small left breast.

And so young Petra had let herself be persuaded. 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 never let stray very far from his side. He just didn't fit in. He probably knew it, but he just didn't care; paid no attention to the reactions of the other guests.

It was the contrast of this improbable couple that was so striking. That was the thing that made the other guests, and even the well-trained staff, turn their heads to follow the progress of the beefy guy and the beautiful blonde at his side, whose hips were swaying with the easy stride of an elegant fashion model doing the catwalk. And she might have been a model with those devastating good looks of hers: an attractive, mature blonde of indeterminate age, with thick folds of soft wavy hair arranged with casual elegance over a face that was exquisite -- an attractive blond face, neatly sculpted, and perfectly made up. And she was always impeccably turned out; one of those women who could look fashionably dressed even when wearing nothing but a simple sundress that left bare her lightly-tanned arms and shoulders 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 girl. 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, as if she were some trophy wife he had finally won.

Petra saw how, when they entered the restaurant, he'd guide his stately companion with one hand on her waist, and as they made their way through the crowded restaurant, that hand would slowly slide down the sleek curve of her skirted behind till it was fitted to a cheek of her 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 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 disapproval. To the contrary, she moved serenely, head held high, seemingly oblivious of the slow moving hands that took such shameless liberties with her superb, 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, decided she had to leave at once, but as she started to get up, a beefy hand shot out to clamp her wrist and easily plunk her back down into the curved seat.

"No, wait, here Baby. I want you to hear the rest of this. She wants you to hear the rest of it too, don't you Slut?"

Petra, wide eyed with disbelief, looked to the older woman who kept her face turned as though fixated on something at the far end of the room. Then, unbelievably, the blond head gave 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 exposed, suntanned shoulders to hold her in a loose embrace. The thick fingers of that big hand traced down 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.

"And what she really likes is the kinky stuff; the dirtier the better. She wallows in it, the slut! Hard to believe, huh? A high-class lady like her? And she's no spring chicken, either. This cunt's been around the block a few times."

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 working lips.

"Yeah, 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 the man; an agonized appeal in her distraught brown 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 apart the seated woman's legs 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, 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 cute 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, this pretty lady just wants to be your slave, what do you think about that, Petra? That's our Margo's dirty little secret!"

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! And she'll keep at it till you tell her to stop. Just tell her what you want. 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 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, 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 lady around a little. Make her play with herself, or 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 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 money. Petra watched in amazement as he peeled off a single $100 bill, 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 to flee, run away. But she reached out and picked up the hundred-dollar bill, saying nothing. She looked from the bill in her hand to her generous patron who was expectantly watching her with an evil gleam in his dark, laughing eyes.

End of Part 1

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Part 2

The sprightly girl with the bouncy ponytail looked around nervously before slipping into the service entrance to scurry, two steps at a time, up the metal stairs to the second floor. By using the back stairs, Petra hoped to avoid any other staff members who might wonder what she was doing there -- in uniform, while clearly off duty. That she wear her work clothes was something he insisted on: her waitresses’ uniform, the light-weight linen dress in Dreamchaser’s colors -- royal blue, trimmed with pink. He had told her exactly what she was to wear: the uniform dress, but no stockings or pantyhose -- he made that clear. Just her uniform, and a pair of open, high heeled sandals.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror as she emerged on the second floor: a sprightly girl with straight, caramel-colored hair drawn smoothly back to fall in that perky pony tail of hers. Her heart was racing as she paused, took a deep breath, fluffed up her bangs, made one final check of her uniform. Her nervous hands checked the row of small plastic buttons down the front, the flat, open collar. They passed lightly down her modest bosom, smoothening the tapering fit at her trim waist before straightening the loose skirt that fell down bare legs.

Gathering up her courage, she knocked softly at the door of room 210. The door opened a crack; Nick was looking out at her. He smiled that smug, self-pleased grin of his. The opening door revealed him to be barefoot, and wearing nothing but a pair of pants, the fine silky trousers from one of his dark suits. The nervous girl tried not to stare as her eyes quickly took in his handsome physique, the bulky shoulders, thick chest and tight-muscled belly. The guy obviously kept himself in shape! The heavy chain he wore around his neck was embedded in curly black fleece that thickened at the center of his chest and dribbled straight down his front in a wispy trail pointing towards his navel, and beyond. The belted pants rode low on his hips.

Under the full-length windows with their superb ocean view, she saw Margo squatted on a footstool placed before a large red chair. The blonde was still wearing the sundress she had on at breakfast, and she sat huddled over, arms wrapped around her steepled knees, white pumps set side by side on the thick carpet, skirt draped down over her white-stockinged, tightly closed legs. The pale face she turned towards their guest was tense, the big brown eyes anxious, although she did manage a brittle smile.

‘Like a doe caught in the headlights,’ Petra thought, and she wavered in the doorway. But Nick caught her hesitancy, and took the girl by the elbow and swept her along, ushering her into the room. Nick led a suddenly reluctant Petra over to the red chair; Margo stood up to move out of the way.

The two women stood eyeing one another like two wary wrestlers, Margo the taller of the two, the one with the decidedly more mature and feminine figure was having her usual poise tested as she struggled with an acute sense of embarrassment, nervously biting her lower lip. Petra, smaller, more slightly built: a party girl, who wasn’t at all sure just what she had gotten herself into, still thought of heading for the door. Both women were aware of the simmering sexuality, the presence of the bare-chested man, the undercurrent of lesbianism, the awkwardness of the situation they found themselves in, the scary uncertainty of it all. Margo welcomed the girl like a hostess greeting a guest at a cocktail party, although her voice was strained, and she had a hard time meeting Petra’s eyes. The two women actually shook hands; Petra being struck by the absurdity of the situation! The tension in the room was so strong you could cut it with a knife. But if the women were clearly flustered and uncomfortable, Nick was his usual smooth self: a self-assured, cocky male; sly, reckless and looking for fun.

Petra took the big armchair, while the blonde was sent off to get them drinks, with a playful slap on the skirted rearend.

**** **** ****

Once drinks had been served, the blonde stationed herself before Petra’s chair to wait docilely with hands at her sides, downcast eyes studying the pointed tips of her white pumps. Nick sitting across the room, a gin and tonic by his side, seemed totally unconcerned about the tension between the women. Petra watched him take out a cigar and take his time lighting it, studying the glowing tip, before settling back into the cradling curve of his easy chair.

“Come on girls, time we got started. Pet, you’re first. Take your shoes off. No wait!” he hastily added.

“On second thought: the slut’ll do it for you. Just tell her.”

“What?”

“Tell her to take your shoes off. Go on. She’ll do it.” he said, with a mildly impatient wave of his cigar.

“I…I couldn’t. I don’t think I should…”

“Sure you can! Go on, just tell her to take your shoes off for you,” he said with elaborate slowness, as if explaining things to slow-witted child. “ I told you before: the slut’ll do whatever you tell her to. Now, tell her!”

Petra turned to the attractive blonde in the creamy sundress, took a deep breath, and tried the mandated words.

“Take off my shoes.” The words addressed to the lowered blond head, came out in a barely-audible, hushed whisper.

Petra held her breath and waited, every fiber keyed up with burgeoning anticipation. She saw the older woman swallow her own rise of excitement, reach down to gather up two handfuls of skirt and raise the hem out of the way so that once down on her knees, she was kneeling directly on the carpeted floor before the young waitress.

Margo bent over to unbuckle the strap of the left sandal, lifted the foot, removed the delicate sandal with its high heel – a thick wedge of cork. She then proceeded to remove its mate.

“Yeah, that’s good. Now, make her kiss your feet.”

“Oh! No, I couldn’t do that!”

“Go on. Give her your foot. Make her kiss it. She’ll do it, I tell you. She really digs it, but the thing is you have to make her do it. Like I told you, she’s kinda shy.” He laughed at this little joke of his.

Petra looked down on the bowed head of the woman who knelt as her feet. Suddenly, a thrill of wild elation shot through her, hard on its heels -- a tremendous rush of power shook her, leaving the girl breathless, tingling with excitement.

Boldly she thrust a foot at the face of the submissive blonde.

“Kiss it!” she hissed, in a clear voice, that was suddenly confident and a harder edge than she intended.

Margo sat back on her heels as she took the proffered foot in both hands. Bending down over it, she obediently brought her lips to kiss the top of the foot and then pay homage to young Petra’s toes. The foot being offered to her was narrow and delicate; long toes curled in the sheerest of pleasure at the first touch of that wet, darting tongue.

Petra sighed in bliss when she felt warm, soft lips engulf her big toe and begin to gently suck. She was elated to look down on this beautiful older woman whose head was bobbing gently as her lips and tongue paid their slavishly tribute to the girl’s stiffened toes. Petra squirmed back in her seat, her hips arching up in instinctive response to the creamy rise of pleasure. The blonde head moved with mechanical persistence, mindlessly making its way from one toe to the next, till the thrills became unbearable.

“Nooooo,” the quivering girl moaned, gently pushing the head away, forcing her groveling slave to give up the extended foot.

Margo shifted back to settle onto her tucked-in heels, there to kneel with head hung low, huddled shoulders heaving; the girl’s bare foot cradled in the lap of her thin dress. She was flushed; obviously aroused.

After a moment she picked up Petra’s foot in both hands and brought it to her bosom. Placing the sole overtop of her left breast, she leaned forward, pressing her breast against the bottom of the girl’s foot.Petra smiled, inanely pleased. She pressed her pointed toes back into the pillow of the other woman’s covered breast. Wiggling toes dug into the pliant, yielding tittie-flesh, playing with the wobbly mound. Then, with her sole placed squarely over the gently mounded tit she pressed …hard, squashing the warm softness she found there under the smooth thin cloth, sending the kneeling woman rocking back on her heels. Margo arched back and moaned, a low shivering moan. Petra grinned and withdrew her foot.

Nick had largely been forgotten by the two women, engrossed as they were in the single-minded pursuit of pleasure. When Petra remembered that he was watching, she looked up to find him sitting there with his fly open and his prick sticking out in an obscene erection! One hand was on his cock. He held his stiffened manhood loosely in curled fingers, and his hand was pumping slowly, languidly as he kept his eyes on the girlie action. He just kept fingering his exposed penis when his eyes met Petra’s, and he gave the girl a big, shit-eatin’ grin.

“See Baby, that was nice wasn’t it? I could tell you really dug it. Yeah, you could really get off on having another chick to order around, making her do you wherever you want. Want some more? Why don’t you get her to take her clothes off?”

Petra, still recovering from the repeated thrills the foot worshiping had subjected her to, basked in a warm afterglow and felt a surprising surge of confidence. Her initial hesitancy had melted away; she felt bolder, stronger, more ready to take command. She looked down at the kneeling blonde.

“Take your clothes off,” she said. A simple declarative sentence.

“No, not like that!” His impatience was growing. “Say it like you mean it! Go on, order her around. Make the bitch strip.”

Petra took a deep breath and tried again, this time more forcefully: “Get up! Take your clothes off…all of them! Now!”

She watched in awe as her elegant slave drew herself up, and rose obediently to her feet, to stand before her young mistress.

“Hurry up, Slut! Strip! I want you bare-assed naked. Now!”

“Yeah, Baby!” Nick crowed, overjoyed.

Petra looked at the man with the naked cock, who flashed her that evil grin of his, and then gave her a huge, conspiratorial wink.

End of Part 2

The End

2002 Copyright, Don Winslow