I was a little nervous as my wife Cheryl and I descended the stairs in the morning, leaving our room to go to breakfast in the common area of the first floor of the Bed and Breakfast. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to see the woman from last night or not, the one with whom I'd shared the intimate experience of masturbating each other to orgasm while we sat in the dark after watching an erotic movie on her computer together.
Three other couples were having breakfast as well: a man and woman easily at least in their seventies, a young plain-looking woman with a guy with long hair and a scraggly beard, both wearing torn jeans and sandals, and two middle-aged women whom I assumed were a couple even though I had no basis on which to make that determination. Cheryl and I perused the breakfast foods and made our selections, exchanging pleasantries with one of the staff and one of the two women as we navigated around each other.
Back at our table, we chatted about our plans for the day, which included a city walk and visiting a couple of historical parks. I tried to stay engaged, but I kept thinking about last night, or, more correctly, early that morning, when I was ejaculating into a strange woman's hand before sliding my own down the front of her pants. I felt guilty, sure, but excited and pleased that I'd allowed myself that experience. It would be weird if the woman were down here with us because I wouldn't know whether to acknowledge her, or if so how much, or how to act if she ignored me, or something even crazier that might let on to our spouses what had transpired between us.
And then, weird happened. Cheryl's attention went to the creaky stairs as someone else came down for breakfast. I turned, too, and sure enough, the woman from last night and her husband came into view. It was pretty much the same sight as I'd become accustomed to: he was dressed kind of dumpy in a frayed t-shirt and old jeans, and she was a few notches more presentable, with pretty jewelry, stylish ankle boots, and a loose colorful top tucked into dark slacks that hugged her curves.
I couldn't make out the shape of her breasts because of the cut of her top, but my mind did recall the sight and feel of one of them from the wee hours earlier, and I couldn't help but steal a few glances of that shapely ass as she strode back and forth, making her selections from the foods on display. I began to wish I had been able to grab hold of that while doing her from behind as she bent over our table with her pants around her knees, but I figured I should be more than satisfied with the pussy fingering and tit sucking I did give her, not to mention her satisfying hand job.
She and her man sat two tables away, and I thought I caught her trying to look my way but didn't want to be too obvious about it. When I went back for a few more items of food I had in mind from my first trip, I made sure I faced the woman, with her man's back toward me. While I replaced the tongs, her eyes met mine and she broke out in a wide smile. I smiled back instinctively, then glanced over at Cheryl, whose attention was thankfully elsewhere. Last night's lover and I shared a long, secret look, silently acknowledging that we enjoyed our encounter and didn't have any regrets, though we were aware of the naughtiness of our tryst. I returned to my table, she and I exchanging looks twice more.
The woman at the table got up and then exclaimed in annoyance, subtly and quietly enough so as not to make a scene, but projecting enough to get my attention. Saying something presumably in her native language, she looked down at herself, dabbing at her thigh with her napkin as she faced me directly. Looking up, she feigned embarrassment, addressing Cheryl and me together.
“I am sorry,” she started in her sexy accent. “I have gotten something on myself. I did not mean to draw attention.” There was an obvious splotch on her pants that she scratched at with her nail. “Right here on my pants.”
I almost spit out the bite of muffin I was enjoying. Fuck! That's my cum stain, I thought to myself as I tried to maintain my composure.
“That's okay,” Cheryl replied cordially. As I watched the woman's fake attempt to remove the spot from herself, I had a hard time containing a laugh. Indeed, those are the same pants she was wearing last night, the same pants I had my hand inside, the same pants that received a large stray blob of spunk that she jerked out of my spasming cock while I sat against her in the dark a few hours earlier.
She approached our table and addressed us, smiling, making me nervous as hell that she was going to announce what we had done, my mind scrambling to figure out how to deny it and portray her as a crazy bitch. “Excuse me, good morning,” she said, trying to act shy.
“Good morning,” Cheryl replied pleasantly, beating me to it.
“Yes, good morning.” I managed to stay cool, I think.
“But, may I ask you for some honey?” She had a paper cocktail napkin in her hand and placed the hand carrying it – her left hand, the one with the big ring on it – on the table beside me. “Our table does not have any.”
“Oh, sure, no problem,” I grabbed at the mini jars in front of me, but the honey was on Cheryl's side. As she reached for it, the woman dropped the napkin, evidently aiming for my lap, but it glanced off my leg and ended up on the floor.
“Here you go – we haven't opened this one.” Cheryl handed her the little jar, and my mind went back to the wee hours of the morning when I had dipped my finger into just such a jar and dabbed it on the other woman's succulent nipple to suck off.
“Thank you,” the woman said, smiling. “I just love to put honey on… many things. And for my tea. Enough even to ask strangers for some.”
“No problem,” Cheryl said.
“You're very welcome. Enjoy,” I added, trying not to squirm in my seat.
My conversation with Cheryl progressed without incident, as I was apparently able to hide my nervousness and excitement from her, as well as my attempts to scoot the napkin on the floor closer to my feet while I figured out a way to pick it up. I wondered if it was a signal, maybe with something written on it or contained inside. I was just irrational enough to fear seeing a ransom note threatening to expose my infidelity, with covert photos as proof, if I failed to pay a large sum.
We finished our breakfast, and when I pushed my chair back, I 'accidentally' dropped my cloth napkin. Stooping to pick it up, I gathered the paper one into my palm, stashing it into my pocket as I rose so I could inspect it later. We bid good-day to the other couple just as I saw the lady dipping her finger into the pitcher of cream. Sneaking a final look at her, she gave me a wink, licking that finger, while the others were looking elsewhere.
For the few minutes it took for us to climb the stairs and muck about in our room getting ready for the day, all I could think about was the napkin in my pocket. It sure would be a letdown if nothing was on it or contained in it, and the uncertainty of it, together with the mixture of fear and excitement, consumed me. I wanted to open it but couldn't risk Cheryl catching me looking at it if there was something written on it or falling out of it. Finally, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, giving me the opportunity to dig out and un-crumple the napkin, excited to see the pretty handwriting penned on the inside.
“Marshland Room. Midnight tonight. Do not be careless.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On our way out of the B&B to get a ride to our first destination, Cheryl called my attention to a couple getting into a little silver Nissan sedan on the side of the building. A chubby guy and a short-haired lady with a colorful top. “I guess she changed out of her pants,” Cheryl observed. Sure enough, the lady was wearing a stylish white skirt now instead of those soiled dark pants. “I felt bad for her. That's the worst, getting stuff on your pants like that while on vacation.”
My day with Cheryl was a typical vacation day, taking in the sights of the city, walking a lot and stopping in a café for lunch, a gelateria for a midday treat, and a few shops to look for souvenirs and small gifts.
Typical except for the stealthy mission I was tasked with. I tried to figure out how to interpret my tryst partner's note, determining that the part about not being careless was a reference to the conversation we had downstairs in the dark. I had said something like, “we can't be careless,” as we pretty much told each other we wanted to have sex but not without protection. Difficult as it was to believe that I'd actually have sneaky sex with a stranger I had just met, I convinced myself the possibility was actually real enough – I mean, we did make out pretty heavily, engage in tome titty play, and have our hands in each other's pants all the way to the finish. And she did write me the note, so going all the way and actually fucking didn't seem that far-fetched at this point. Was she really staying in the Marshland room? Was her husband leaving or going to be otherwise away tonight? Were they one of those weird couples where the man wanted to watch his wife fuck someone else? Did she rent that room for tonight on the sly to make sure she'd have a place for us to hook up? My mind was distracting me from enjoying the sights, but I tried to act as normal as I could.
So, my mission, which I gladly chose to accept, was to secure a condom, just in case round two with my sexy companion was really going to happen tonight. At least two of the stores Cheryl and I went into had nothing interesting for me, so later in the afternoon, it was no surprise to her that I looked to entertain myself while she browsed yet another store. I told her I was going to the café a few doors down for a coffee and would meet her back here in a few minutes. Little did she know, I was really darting into the pharmacy next door to secure some 'protection'. I found a suitable three-pack of condoms, popped into the café for my coffee as well, and met Cheryl back at her store without her suspecting a thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My sneakiness continued when we got back to the B&B in the late afternoon. We wanted to rest before dinner, and I told Cheryl I wanted to look around the place a bit, so I left the room in search of Marshland.
Crowlett was across from us, Biermann and Fairchild on either side. Emerson's door was tucked into the corner, and Abney right by the stairs. I had thought that the other couple's room was on the floor above us, so, no surprise that I didn't see Marshland. Going up the stairs, I passed Holtzclaw, Johnstone, and Lawton before reaching a windowed door at the end of the hall, and Kingsley, Ingraham, and Gladstell completed the third floor. There were no stairs going up any further. I tried the windowed door just in case it was for a stairway or something, but it was locked; besides, it was apparently an office or something, judging by the desk and shelving I could barely make out in the dark through the tiny gaps in the blinds.
Shit. Really, no Marshland? Was this woman just teasing me, making me want to get all excited about fucking her and then dissing me? It seemed as if she had wanted our sexy encounter the previous night at least as much as I did, so maybe she just made a mistake about the room name? Or, are there other rooms on the ground floor? After all, the guest rooms were named after people, family names like Johnstone and Fairchild, but there's certainly no family named Marshland, so maybe I wasn't looking for a guest room? I went down the two flights of creaky stairs to the common area, but the only doors were to the outside and to the kitchen and behind the check-in desk, none of them labeled.
You know when sometimes you're looking for something and can't find it, then after a while you discover it's right where you looked the first time? Happens to me all the time, so I thought it was entirely possible that I had passed Marshland upstairs somewhere, the door staring me in the face without me realizing it. So, back upstairs I went, starting with my floor. Looking left to right as I walked down the hall, I paid close attention to the names or any other indicators. Abney, Biermann, Crowlett, then my room Dawnfield. Emerson next in the corner, and then Fairchild.
Six rooms. A, B, C, D, E, F. Huh – alphabetical order. Remembering at least Holzclaw and Kingsley from upstairs, I rushed up to the third floor. Sure enough, starting at the stairs, left to right going down the hall, G, H, I, J, K, L. If there was another room, it would be M, but it was just that office door.
I'm not one to admire artwork, especially stuff so obscure as a couple of landscapes hanging on the back wall of the third floor of a nondescript B&B, but I inspected the paintings on either side of this door. One, of a team of ducks sitting in some wet tall grass. The other, of a gaggle of geese flying over a flat, marshy area with trees in the distance. Marshy Land. Marshland.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As I lay awake that night with Cheryl asleep next to me, my biggest fear was that I'd doze off and wake up at 2:00 in the morning, having missed my opportunity for a second encounter with the lady I'd been intimate with the night before. Every ten minutes or so, I checked the clock and cussed as I saw that only two or three minutes had gone by. Finally, at about five minutes till midnight, I crept out of bed and grabbed the clothes I had left for easy access, making as little noise as possible while I dressed. I made sure my computer bag had the condoms in the pocket, pulled the door open as quietly as I could, and stepped out into the hallway on my way to hopefully find my partner in the room she'd cleverly named Marshland.
I did my best to soften my footsteps, climbing the creaky stairs so as not to wake anyone, and crept down the hallway as I made my way to the far door. Grasping the door handle, I twisted. Or, tried to. It was locked. I pushed and tried a second time but was again denied entry. I considered the possibility of my partner having locked herself in the room awaiting me, so I knocked lightly on the wooden door, then again on the glass after hearing nothing for a while.
Finally, I heard a stirring, but not from the door. The shadows moving on the ceiling above the stairs indicated someone was approaching. Sure enough, a woman's neat short hair, and then the rest of her feminine form, rose into view. I waited for her, smiling, almost shaking, as she carefully worked her way toward me, trying to minimize the creaking under her feet. She was dressed in flats, light capri pants, and a powder blue cap-sleeved fitted shirt that buttoned in the front. There was something sexy about her simple outfit that flattered her womanly form.
“Well, hello,” I whispered, greeting her as we reached for each other's hands.
“Hello,” she whispered back, stepping in close. I leaned down to kiss her, and my lips met hers for a few enjoyable seconds.
“Marshland room,” I whispered. “Very clever.”
She covered her mouth while she snickered. “You solved my little puzzle.” That accent was so sexy.
“Yes, but...” Close enough to reach the door handle, I gave it a jiggle. “It's locked.” I drew her close, lips right at her ear, inhaling her delightful scent. “Are we going to fuck against the door? Or did you find another secret hideaway?”
“Who said we would fuck?” she whispered teasingly. She pushed away from me and produced what I assumed was her room's key card from her back pocket. Slipping it in the gap between the door and frame where the latch was, she jiggled the knob, pulling and pushing, prying and twisting. Not ten seconds later, the door popped open.
“Whoa, nice!” I was impressed. “How did you learn to do that?”
“You learn many useful things in boarding school where I am from,” she said mysteriously. She stepped inside, but before I could follow, she turned around abruptly. “Access to this room is forbidden. Unless you have the right... what is it? Token?” She held out her hand, palm up.
The code was easy to decipher. I dug into the pocket of my computer bag and found one of the condom packets, placing it in her palm.
“Thank you,” she said, inspecting the little packet for a moment before tucking it into the bra cup nestled inside her shirt. Stepping aside so that I could join her in the room, she motioned, “You may enter.”
~~~~~~~ to be continued... ~~~~~~~
