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Bed-making and room tidying was not exactly the job description that Vicki envisioned for herself, when she looked for ways to sustain herself during her junior year of college. But it was less stressful than trying to explain a three dollar late charge to a redneck video store customer, or waiting tables at the local TGWGA (Thank God We’ve Got Attitude) restaurant. What might seem like domestic tedium to some actually gave Vicki the opportunity to let her mind wander, an appropriate exercise for an English major with a bent toward creative writing. And after all, no self-respecting aspiring writer would be satisfied with a job title like “housekeeping associate.” No, Vicki preferred to think of herself a something of a modern chambermaid, without the short skirt uniform, feather duster and faux French accent.
The Stay-A-Week Residence Inn was within walking distance of campus, and featured a nice stable clientele of business professionals that needed something more than a two or three night accommodation. The regular maid service was limited, compared with standard hotel/motel operations, but instead of antiseptic, tiny rooms there was a more homey touch that appealed to the nomadic consultant/contractor class and dot com refugees.
She was cleaning a suite that had been the home of a web consultant during the earlier part of the month, and had newly been vacated by a convention event organizer whose stay coincided with the monumentally dull gathering of philanthropic executives. During the week, the room had been the responsibility of Inez, who wasn’t exactly known to be a paragon of detail when it came to maintaining guestrooms. Reliability was the hallmark of Inez’ employment, which made her a good candidate for the day to day cleaning of occupied guest rooms. But once the guest had checked out, the head housekeeper preferred someone with a more discerning eye to clean and prepare a room for it’s next occupant. That ability to observe may have been what spotted the book in the first place or maybe it was her basic interest in literature that led to her to its discovery. It must have been there for some time, as it left a dust-bunny-free zone on the carpet when she retrieved it.
There was something different about the book, something unique. Nestled in her grasp, it practically caressed her fingers with a leather binding that was rich and sensual. Embossed in gold on the spine, the title “Chain of Fantasies” seemed more intriguing than any of the paperbacks or video tapes she’d found in other rooms over the past months. She couldn’t resist the opportunity to leaf through the pages, taking in the incredibly erotic Victorian style illustrations.
From the first story of a young shopkeeper named Elsie, detailing her deflowering at the hands of a much older man; to a chance encounter of two strangers in a book store, and another two on a bus, each episode offered a new look, new passions. An hour passed before she realized she’d been lost in its pages, and she resolved to relax a bit before (if ever) she turned it into the hotel’s lost and found collection. With a slight sense of larcenous glee, she hid the volume among the linens on the housekeeping cart, until she was able to transfer it to her backpack.
Her shift ended with a lecture from the weekend supervisor, on the merits of completing tasks in a timely manner. Vicki assured her that this was just a challenging day for getting things right, and promised to make beds and clean bathrooms with greater dispatch from here on out. Meanwhile her thoughts were with the illustrations and stories she’d newly discovered, silently resolving to “get behind my own door. As if I really want to read those stories amid used towels and God knows what!”
The walk back to the dorm was pleasant and mercifully quick. No chance meetings or spontaneous gossip sessions conspired to create any serious delays. In fact, the only person to speak to her was a handsome blonde guy, standing at the entrance to the dorm, looking slightly befuddled by the security system. With the realization of some anticipatory wetness between her legs, Vicki couldn’t help but think “oh baby, would you like to share my new pillow book with me?” But she checked herself and inquired with a more formal “Are you looking for someone?” With just barest trace of a Nordic accent, he responded “yes, I’m here to visit my friend Monica, I understand that she lives on the fourth floor.”
“Lucky Monica,” thought Vicki. But then Monica was always lucky, thanks to her raven black pageboy haircut, slim waist, provocative wardrobe and the type of bust line that inspired questions along the lines of “are they real?” Vicki always consoled herself with thoughts that she was just as good looking as Monica, only that she was not quite as brazen as her acquaintance “the little slut!”
“I can’t let you go beyond the lobby,” she smiled politely, “but I can tell Monica you’re here, her room is just a few doors down from mine.”
“Would you please? That would be so nice of you, just tell her that Eric is a casino siteleri bit early.”
“Not a problem” while in her head a little voice said “and if Slut Girl doesn’t answer her door, maybe he’d like to cuddle up with you and a good book.” The only thing missing from her imagination at that moment were the miniature angel and devil having a spirited moral argument atop her shoulders.
Monica was waiting as Vicki exited the elevator, wearing a decidedly un-Monica sweatsuit. Vicki couldn’t resist a little teasing “big plans tonight?” question as they exchanged places between the common room and the elevator, to which Monica responded with flippant response that was lost behind the closing doors.
She unlocked her room, retrieved the book from her pack and sprawled across the bed; reminding herself that it was worth the extra two grand per semester for a room minus the roommate and their potential for embarrassing entrances. “Chain of Fantasies” did not disappoint! It’s stories varied by era, style and composition. The one common thread being that each story detailed an erotic encounter of some kind or another. Whether it was young Elsie losing her virginity in the barn, the woman being ravished by an unknown lover in the bookstore or even the two elderly neighbors who discovered that their libidos were not as dormant as they thought; the eroticism was undeniable.
Midway through the “Passing Kiss” she found herself undoing her jeans, to allow her fingers more room to stroke and pleasure herself. Squeezing her legs together simply wasn’t sufficient, and by now she was soaked anyway. So she read on, delicate fingers spreading her cleft, and playing with her clit; orchestrating a lovely self-administered orgasm.
Prior to beginning “Mr. Atchison’s Surprise” she retrieved the little pocket rocket she kept hidden in the drawer, and was well on her way to something more intense until it’s batteries began to fail midway through “Hours of Bliss.” Not to despair however, she still enjoyed a second cum, it was just a little more restrained than it could have been, leaving her with a Chinese dinner sort of afterglow, one that would probably evaporate all too quickly.
By now it was dark, and the dorm had settled into it’s eerie Saturday night lull, most of the occupants had already left for dinner, dates etc. Later things would perk up as the other girls returned with or without their dates, sober or not. A shower seemed in order before a late dinner, and what the heck, she was already partially undressed. So Vicki stripped off the rest of her clothes, pausing only a moment or so to inspect her ass in the full-length mirror hanging in her closet. Her strawberry red hair cascaded down to the middle of her back in all of it’s thick and curly unmanageable glory, and she allowed herself a little evil smile as she played with her breasts. “They might not be huge, but they’ll be more than adequate for a lifetime. By the time that Monica turns forty, she’ll be playing soccer with her knockers!”
No need for a lot of clothes, the silk robe was sufficient. At this time on a Saturday, you could commit murder with a chainsaw and still not have any witnesses in the dorm. Toting her shampoo, brush, body gel and assorted supplies in a little basket, she padded her way barefoot down the hall to the bathroom.
Like any other group bath/locker room, the dorm facility compensated for it’s lack of privacy with a stunning union of functionality and institutional bland; but Vicki was used to that by now and in any case, thoughts of her recent pleasure seizures — and the stories that inspired them — had left her in something of a contented daze. Luxuriating in the hot water and steam of the shower, she never heard the door open the first time. Her first awareness of other bodies in the room came with the sound of a muted “what are you doing in here?” followed by other less distinguishable noises.
A slight tapping on the shower door, prompted her to sarcastically say, “there’s someone in here…” The response was delivered in Monica’s uniquely languid voice, “don’t you think we know that Vick?”
The shower door opened just a bit to reveal the semi-flushed face of her dorm mate. “Care to join me in my big night?”
Vicki didn’t respond, she simply stood mute under the showerhead as Monica opened the door slowly, revealing first her nude body, followed by the revelation of a very naked and aroused Norwegian. She drew a breath of surprise, that easily fueled the steam-aided flush to her cheeks, and watched as her friend motioned the penis – oops… – Eric to approach.
“He’s never been with a redhead before, Vick. And you’re all he’s talked about since he arrived. Do you have any idea how disturbing it can be to have your boyfriend talk about another woman’s hair while you’re sucking his cock?”
Vicki could barely stammer “no, I can’t say as I have” as her eyes wandered from first his tumescent penis to his wonderfully sexy eyes focused clearly on the auburn triangle between her legs. It never occurred to slot oyna her to cover anything, or to claim some small bit of modesty. It was as if she had been drawn into another story from the book, with only a fervent desire to see how this would all play out.
“I really don’t mind sharing, Vicki” purred her friend. “In fact, I’ve always had this fantasy of watching him with another woman.” As for Eric, the message between his smile and his warm eyes was sufficiently reinforced by the casual way by which he caressed his cock.
She wasn’t sure as to whether she ever answered Monica’s question directly, but somehow Eric had joined her in the shower, leaving the door open while his lover settled onto the bench opposite it. Alone… but not alone. On display in the embrace of an incredibly sexy man, Vicki folded into him, her lips meeting his while her hands explored his body. He took the container of bath gel, and squeezed a dollop onto his hand. A nondescript act, to say the least, but one that produced a moan of desire from somewhere within Vicki’s throat. In the mean time, Monica made it clear that HER role was going to be a bit more directive than that of casual observer. Leaning forward on the bench like some type of athletic coach, she began a stream of questions and suggestions.
“I’ll just bet she could use a good soaping Eric. Do you like her? Is she everything you thought she would be?”
For his part, Eric was perfectly willing to play puppet to Monica’s puppeteer. His soapy hands began to glide over Vicki’s body, caressing, exploring, tweaking and pinching wherever he was directed.
“Mmmmmmmm…. show her to me. Let me see her body.”
Eric complied by moving behind Vicki, rubbing his soapy hands over the front of her body, caressing her breasts and pinching her nipples. In turn, Vicki rolled her head back, allowing him to nibble an earlobe and kiss her neck. She reached back and treated her fingers to their first contact with that magnificent cock, stroking it in silent affirmation of approval.
She was becoming more comfortable by the moment now; leaning back against the wall and spreading her legs as she lightly stroked her clean-shaven mound. “Spread your legs for me Vick, yeah… just like that. Mmmmmm…open her Eric, let me see if she’s as red on the inside as she is on the outside. Suggestions became commands. Comments became overt approvals.
“Oh Vicki, you have such a beautiful pussy! Normally I like a nice shaved slit, but that red bush is so fantastic!”
Vicki could only moan her acknowledgment, as by now Eric’s middle finger was buried inside her, while the other fingers entwined themselves in her auburn pubes. She had released her embrace of his cock, as it nestled itself between her asscheeks, and reached back to enjoy the tautness of his ass with her extended fingers. Meanwhile, Eric’s hands massaged and kneaded her body, leaving a blanket of soapsuds to first cover and then slowly reveal patches of shimmering skin.
Having already enjoyed two orgasms without the assistance of another warm body, Vicki was in no mood have Eric bring her off with his hand, and her urgent moans conveyed her desire for something more to both him and their audience of one.
“I think she wants you inside her now, Eric” commented Monica. “Is that what you want Vick? Do you want your pussy stretched by his fat cock?” Vicki’s reply was to lean forward, placing her hands on the small step that held her basket of toiletries. The lucky stud didn’t need the running commentary from his other lover; the invitation was clear enough as it was. Firmly grasping her bottom, his cock aimed itself directly for her labia, sinking deep into her pussy on the first stroke. The entry brought forth not one, but two moans of pleasure as Monica had taken to probing her hole with two fingers, enjoying her own penetration almost as much as Vicki was rejoicing in hers.
“I just love the way Eric’s cock feels when he fuck’s me. You must have a serious bend in that monster to reach some of the places you do sweetie.”
“Oh Gawd… yes” moaned Vicki. “Fuck me Eric, show that slut what a nice hard fuck looks like.” The veiled insult didn’t register with Monica, for now she was too engrossed in her own pleasure to pay much attention to anything as basic as “sound.” But the effect on Eric was noticeable, she could swear that he grew an inch within her as the rhythm of his fucking increased.
Vicki seized the play-by-play role from Monica; giving her a detailed description as to how it felt to have this Nordic Nookster plunging his cock into her depths from behind. “Oh yeah Eric, give it to me. That feels so good, you’re filling me with cock.”
Emboldened by her passion, or perhaps allowing her bitchy side some release, she couldn’t help but look directly at Monica as she accepted each stroke, each sensation. “So why couldn’t you share this before Mon? Did you really think those D cups could keep him satisfied? Or did you just think a girl like me wouldn’t be nasty enough for your boyfriend? Oh gawd, canlı casino siteleri oh yeah… there…there!” The words were punctuated by the sounds of Eric’s ball sac as it slapped against Vicki’s tight ass. Monica was nearing climax, Vicki was on the verge, and Eric was having the encounter of his life!
It was up to the male to begin the final denouement. Triggered by a thrust so hard that it lifted Vicki’s feet off the floor, his flood of semen began gushing with force. His moans and the volume of spunk filling her cavity immediately sent Vicki over the edge, and Monica (who by now had four fingers of her left hand immersed in her own cooze, while the thumb was rolling around her clit) came with a noise that surely would bring some kind of security detail running. Two decidedly feminine voices merged with a masculine one. Just as his jism spurts seemed to originate from deep inside Eric, his groan of satisfaction started from somewhere near his navel. Soap and water mingled with cum, and slowly drifted down Vicki’s leg.
Sated and dazed, Vicki slowly disengaged herself from the manpole that had so wonderfully reamed her. She rotated around to sit on the ledge, with every intention of bringing his cock to her mouth, only to find that Slut Monica was already slurping all over his tubesteak. Making instant eye contact as their faces met by Eric’s recovering flagpole, Monica purred. “Eric, she tastes delightful on you! Let’s take her back to my room and share some more.”
The water dripping from their bodies left a trail on the carpet from the shower room to Monica’s room. Whether it was from one body or more was not apparent to Vicki’s friend Judy as she walked down the hall on her way to pick up some books from “the Vickster.” “Omigod” she thought as she passed Monica’s room, “that slut’s at it again!”
She knocked at Vicki’s, and getting no response tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked; she slipped in and espied the books on the desk. Without a clue, she gathered up the mythology and fantasy books that her friend had promised to set aside for her, never noticing that there were six books instead the five that Vicki had offered to loan her brother to use for his high school English paper.
She tossed them onto the back seat of her car, where they remained until the next day when she stopped by her parent’s house for Sunday dinner and the regular exchange of dirty laundry for clean.
“Her you go lil’ bro” Judy offered as she delivered the cache of books. Considering the fact that he had been hoping against hope that Vicki would deliver the books in person, One sighting of her in the company of his sister had been sufficient to place Vicki in Gary’s pantheon of potential fuck-babes for the next few years. But, denied this vision of American Pie poontang, Gary was as appreciative as an 18-year-old can express. Had he known of the nature of the “Chain of Fantasies” however, he might have been able to muster a more genuine sense of enthusiasm.
As it was, Gary was too busy being oppressed. His mother had volunteered him as virtual slave labor to some lady from her office. “Come on, it won’t kill you to do some painting and get paid for it, so quit your bitching! Tammy’s ex is giving her no end of grief about custody of their son and he’s likely to use the condition of the house against her. Now call her, make the arrangements with her and finish the job by Saturday!” Mom’s tone left little room for negotiation, and even less room for excuses, so if it was Gary’s fate to become a house-painting member of the bourgeoisie then so be it.
Mrs. Harper sounded nice enough on the phone. Since he’d be working after school, she told him that the supplies he needed would be at the back of the house. “Just go ahead and get started. From what your Mom tells me, you can handle this with ease.”
“Oh fine” he thought, “now I have to live up to Mom’s build up.”
After enduring Monday’s classes, he reported to his new “work release” assignment on Hunt Street, receiving the pleasant surprise that it wasn’t going to be all that bad. A split-level frame house – in the classic suburban style – it offered neither a load of challenges or hassle. A little ladder work, a little trim, maybe the $250 negotiated by Mom wouldn’t amount to the indentured servitude that he expected. Still, with minimal enthusiasm he began the job.
At 6:15, Mrs. Harper arrived with her four-year-old son in tow. She wasn’t an entirely unpleasant looking package, for a 38-year-old divorcee’. Moderate length brown hair framed a pretty face that was highlighted by wide brown eyes. Think Gina Davis, only shorter. As they chatted, Gary tried in vain to discern whether or not there was any kind of shape under the woman’s business suit, giving up when four year old Tommy began to get too interested in the open paint can.
“Call me Tammy… please… I’m not ready to have attractive young men treat me with THAT type of respect yet.” Okay, so Tammy was friendly, reasonably pretty and the job wasn’t as terrible as he expected. His life was gaining some quality, if Jennifer Conroy would agree to go out with him sometime, he just might abandon those teen angst-driven suicide plans that kept getting put off for one reason or another.
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