0 comments/ 36096 views/ 1 favorites Mrs. Vale's Secret Ch. 01 By: WilliamsDream 1 Amy stared at the square black envelope, placed conspicuously on the driver's seat of her sport utility vehicle. After a quick scan of the faculty parking lot, the twenty-five year old plucked the envelope from its resting place and climbed into the truck, her tailored skirt sliding up her bare legs as she did so. Her heart beating insistently, Amy pulled the slip of paper from the black enclosure. "Oh, Franklin," she sighed, reading the familiar script. "What shall I do with you?" Amy glanced at the clock on the dashboard, flicked open her cellular phone, and dialed her husband. "Daniel, sweetheart?" Amy ran glistening, dark red lipstick across her pursed lips. "Oh, hi, darling," Daniel replied, distracted. "I actually meant to call you -- I'll be late tonight." She felt a puff of relief. "Oh no, not again, sweetie. It doesn't seem fair." "Well, unless you want your new Range Rover repossessed, I've got to stay." Amy heard the clicking of keys from his computer. Only the flimsiest of alibis would be required, and so that was what she offered. "Well, as it turns out, I won't be home until nine anyway. Holly and I are going to hit the stores to pick up materials for next week's lesson." "O.k., I shouldn't be much later than that," he answered, and Amy again heard the chattering of his keyboard. "I'll call otherwise." Liberated, Amy brought her vehicle's large engine to life, and roared out of the Murray P. Sloan High School parking lot. 2 Unlike many of the abandoned buildings surrounding it, the Lehigh Hotel had at least received something in return for the honor it surrendered long ago. It may not have been prosperity, but it was enough to allow the hotel's continued operation, which was more than could be said of the fire-blackened movie theatre joined to its north wall, or the gutted department store attached to the south. Compared to these failed structures, the Lehigh's shabby maroon awnings, faded sign, and intact windows appeared welcoming. Amy glided past the leering hotel manager, and self-consciously tugged the collar of her blouse together, which although modestly cut, was pulled tight over her full breasts. She hated this ritual inspection by the manager, a fat, balding man whose name she remembered as Lewis. Furthermore, no matter when she was summoned to the hotel, he was there, either reclining on the ripped leather chair behind the desk, or flipping through a magazine, occasionally pornographic. Feeling the slight blush imposed by the manager fading from her cheeks, Amy tapped on the battered door of room 17. "This afternoon's entertainment is here," she announced to Franklin as he swung open the creaking door. Falling into his arms, she detected a trace of the cologne she had recently purchased for him as a birthday gift. "Mmm, you smell nice, baby," Amy said softly, craning her neck to look up at him. "And you look nice, too," she added, stepping back from him and appreciating the way his broad, muscled chest stretched taut his black t-shirt. "Nice-looking for an old man, right?" "Forty-seven is not old," she corrected him, watching him grimace. "You certainly don't act it." "Oh, thanks, that makes me feel a whole lot better," he laughed, and Amy lightly pulled him by the hand into the dim room. It was illuminated only by the glow of candles, and a sliver of sunlight peeking through a crack in the drawn curtains. "Four weeks is too long, honey," he murmured, sliding his hand along the gentle curve of her bottom, still encased in her tight white skirt. Jokingly, Amy slapped his hand away. "Aren't you at least going to buy me a drink, sailor?" She reached for the two glasses of champagne already waiting on the end table. Handing him one of the flutes as he sat down on the edge of the bed, Amy took a sip of the lightly bubbling wine. Its chill was delightful, contrasting with the sticky heat of this late-summer day, for which the room's small, rattling air conditioner was no match. "Oh my god, this is so good." She took another, more generous, mouthful. "Tell me this wasn't expensive, Franklin." "Well, I've saved up - as you know, we haven't spent much on hotel bills," he answered, waving at the cramped, spare room. She smiled, wondering just how much they had spent on the Lehigh's consistently miserable rooms during the last seven years. Despite Franklin's regular pleas to frequent plusher hotels, Amy insisted on their meetings always taking place here. The Lehigh Hotel's unfortunate location in a desolate corner of the city, a highway and a world away from Amy's suburban home, was among the reasons. Although she always felt nervous threading her way through the hostile neighborhood ringing the hotel, it was that neighborhood which protected her secret, at least by anyone she knew. "Oh, I love this song!" Amy gave a quick twist to the volume control of the radio Franklin had brought along, and the suggestive rhythm of a dance track poured out of its speakers. After taking another gulp of champagne, Amy set her glass down, lifted her arms above her head, and began swaying her hips to the music. Franklin leaned back on his elbows, watching Amy's golden hair cascade down her shoulders as she freed it from its ponytail. Moving to the pulsing beat of the song, Amy fixed her clear, blue eyes on Franklin, and slowly undid each button on her blouse. As she moved toward him, Amy allowed the open shirt to fall from her, and then lazily slid the thin straps of her white lace brassiere from her shoulders. Franklin reached for her, but Amy twirled away from him, leaving him staring at her back. "Now, there's not a bit of patience in you, Mr. Franklin Wainwright, is there?" she scolded him playfully, peering at him over her bare shoulder. "It is not impatience, my dear," he replied, amused, "but a profound weakness for you, and I'd like to think of that as a virtue, not a vice." "Oh, my mistake," she laughed, taking a few more steps away from him, and letting the brassiere drop to the carpet. Her large breasts swaying freely, she felt a bit of relief from the room's warmth as she continued to rhythmically weave through the maze of cheap furniture. As she encountered the wall across from the bed, she stopped and reached behind her, her fingers locating the zipper of her skirt. Her hips undulating to the beat of the music, Amy forced the metal tab of the zipper down. Looking back at Franklin, she gradually wriggled out of the garment's clinging fabric, leaving her body adorned only by the delicate strip of a white thong, and her heeled sandals. "You are magnificent, Amy. You don't know how I've missed you." "Why, thank you." Spurred by his compliment, Amy turned and sauntered toward him, permitting him ample time to take in the gentle curves of her body in the flickering, amber candlelight. "Please tell me, darling," she inquired, climbing on the bed to straddle him where he sat, "what is it that you missed so much?" His dark, brown eyes twinkled. "Everything, my dear. Although," he continued, inhaling deeply as he brushed his lips across her neck, "there are some things that I missed more than others." "Oh, is that so?" Amy ran her fingers through his thick, flowing hair, gently guiding him to her breasts. Franklin brought his mouth to her nipple, and lightly flicked it with the tip of his tongue. "Exquisite," he whispered, looking up at her as he began to suck insistently on the hardening nub. His hand reached up to cradle her other breast, his thumb and index finger occasionally pinching its engorged nipple. Amy let her head fall back, enchanted by the sensations washing over her. There was the calming fog of the champagne, peeling each of the day's concerns from her. The scent of jasmine being released from the candles sprinkled across the room. And the soothing repetition of the music's beat. Even the heat of the room, it seemed, had opened the pores of her skin, magnifying the intensity of each of her lover's kisses, nibbles, and caresses. Dreamily, Amy slid her hand down to tug at the zipper of his pants. "Mmm, how's my big boy?" she asked softly, reaching in and wrapping her fingers around the familiar width of his penis. Pleased that he was already hard, she gingerly extracted the thick shaft, and sank to her knees. "He's desperately hungry for you, dear Amy," Franklin rasped, slowly leaning back on the bed. "No," she replied, pausing to moisten her lips, "I'm the one who's hungry, darling." Amy grasped his erection by the base to steady it, and swiftly pushed all she could into her mouth. She delighted in Franklin's gasp as she began to roughly pump the oversized member in and out of her soft lips. Although Amy tried to slow down -- she had meant to tease him, torture him -- she couldn't stop herself. Franklin seemed to sense it, and with his hand, gathered up her flailing hair into a makeshift ponytail and used it to force her head up and down his length. After only a few moments, Amy heard his breathing change to a jagged series of quick huffs, and felt his large body shift. Pulling him from her mouth with a noisy slurp, Amy looked up at him. "Let me have it, darling. Do it in my mouth." Amy glanced down at the swollen penis aggressively pulsing in her hand, admiring it. Impatiently, Franklin grabbed the back of her head, and plowed the wedge deep into her mouth. After only a few, short strokes, the muscles in his 225-pound frame tensed, and soon Amy felt spurt after spurt of his warm, syrupy liquid sprinkling her tongue. She began sucking, her lips hugging his skin, while her hand vigorously milked the twitching shaft. Amy held on tightly, not wanting the slippery, thrusting cock to escape her mouth until she had subdued it. After a moment, when Amy was convinced that she had coaxed the last of his ejaculate from him, she stood up, and slowly ran her tongue across her glistening lips. "There's more where that came from, isn't there, baby?" she asked sweetly, sliding her panties down her tanned legs and onto the floor. -Continued in Part Two- Mrs. Vale's Secret Ch. 02 3 The pleasant effect of the champagne, and her illicit lovemaking, still lingering, Amy pulled onto the freeway linking the city's downtown to her quiet, suburban home. Setting the cruise control, she felt a swell of contentment. How many had what she had? A wealthy lover who lavished her with affection, and money; a magnificent home, purchased with that money; and a husband who was serious, responsible, and not too demanding in bed. The excitement, affluence, and stability that all these things brought made her a happy woman indeed. In fact, it often seemed to Amy, that a woman couldn't be happy without them. Franklin had, in particular, been a blessing. She allowed her mind to drift to the beginning of their affair, a favorite memory. She was an eighteen-year old freshman at Whitmore College then, almost eight years ago, and her boyfriend at the time was Adam Wainwright, Franklin's son. And though Adam had professed his love for her repeatedly during their one-year relationship, he was not confident enough of that love to pit it against his mother's distaste for her. And so, on a rainy Friday night, Adam had told Amy that he didn't want to see her anymore. It had become too difficult, Adam said sheepishly, to deal with his mother's dislike of her. Amy was shocked, and hurt. And she was angry. She raged at Rachel Wainwright's interference, furious that Rachel would suffer no consequences. Amy realized, as does everyone who has had a broken heart, that all things are permitted in matters of love - those who are cruel and dishonest are not bound by any law, or punished by any judge. But as the days passed, Amy wondered why there couldn't be consequences for Mrs. Wainwright. What would happen, for instance, if Rachel were to suffer the same hurt as Amy? If Mr. Wainwright were torn away from Rachel as Adam had been from Amy? Why, nothing would happen, Amy realized, other than the upset that would race through the Wainwright family. All it would take, she mused, would be a seduction of Mr. Wainwright, and a means of making the dalliance known to Rachel and Adam. Amy's thoughts frightened, and fascinated, her - it would be a horrible thing to do, wouldn't it? But what Rachel, and Adam, had done was horrible, too. And they would pay no penalty for their mistreatment of her - unless, that is, someone made them. And it was for that reason Amy stood at the front door of the Wainwright residence on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Amy paused a moment before ringing the bell, her heart pounding, her tiny palms moist. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her finger to the doorbell. "Hello, Mr. Wainwright, how are you?" she asked as Franklin appeared at the door. She hoped he hadn't noticed the tremble in her voice. "Amy?" he replied, staring at her uncertainly. She could tell he was trying to determine the reason for her visit. "Well, this is a surprise. How are you?" "I'm fine, thanks," she answered. Amy nodded her head, a little too emphatically, but she wanted to ease his concern that she was there to start screaming at Adam, or in his son's absence, at him. "I actually came by to pick up something I left in Adam's room. Would it be o.k. to go and grab it?" "Well, sure. Come on in," he smiled, apparently relieved that there would be no shouting. Amy tentatively stepped through the door, passed Franklin, and entered the foyer. "Go right ahead, Amy," he motioned in the direction of Adam's room. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything." And with that, he plopped himself onto the sprawling leather couch, and resumed reading his newspaper. "Um, Mr. Wainwright?" Amy said meekly. "I'd feel better if you would come with me." Franklin looked up from his paper, perplexed. "I just don't want anyone to think that I'm taking anything that's not mine," she started. "Amy, I really don't think that's necessary - " "I would feel a lot better if you did," she interrupted, hoping that he couldn't detect the trace of anxiousness in her voice. "I mean, with the way things ended with Adam and me, I just don't want there to be any doubt." "Well, o.k.," he sighed, lifting himself from the sofa. "But, really, Amy - " "I know, and I don't mean to be weird, but I would really just feel better about it." With Franklin in tow, she gave a quiet a sigh of relief, and walked down the long hall to Adam's bedroom. She glanced back at him a couple of times, hoping to catch him looking at her inappropriately, but his attention remained fixed on the newspaper he had toted with him. Amy tried to suppress her worry. What if he got angry, or worse, didn't find her attractive? Franklin wasn't a high school boy, a pliable little thing desperate to be with a girl just because she was a girl. He was older, successful - and probably had turned down women whose beauty would humble her own. Why would he jeopardize his marriage, as rotten as it probably was, or his stature, just for her? She walked quickly into Adam's room, almost hoping that Franklin would change his mind and return to the living room. But he didn't, so she swallowed hard, went to Adam's closet, and pulled open the door. Reaching to the back, beyond several pairs of battered gym shoes and a pile of crumpled laundry, Amy extracted a medium-sized, brown cardboard box. For the first time, it seemed as though Franklin's interest was piqued. He watched Amy drag the box into the center of the bedroom floor, and unfold the top. Beneath an opened carton of condoms, several Penthouse magazines, and a few pornographic DVDs, Amy found what she was looking for. Her hands were slightly unsteady as she lifted the flimsy black thong and matching sheer camisole from the box. "I know it seems silly," Amy said in a hushed voice, looking affectionately at the lingerie. "But I got this in Paris especially for Adam, and there are some special memories attached to it. I guess I don't want to leave it here, to just be thrown out with the trash." It was what she had worn when taking Adam's virginity, and he had kept it since as a kind of souvenir. "Please don't tell Mrs. Wainwright," Amy added softly. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't," Franklin replied. His eyes were locked on the scraps of black fabric in her hands. And suddenly, Amy felt a bit of confidence. "Thank you," she said, standing up. "You've always been so sweet to me." Franklin paused several moments before responding, and Amy could sense something struggling within him. "It's because being around you is such a pleasure, " he said. Amy's heart began beating faster. "You flatter me, Mr. Wainwright. But I'm glad that I give you pleasure." She smiled mischievously. "Oops, that came out kind of funny." He let out a short laugh, but it wasn't followed by a smile. "Rachel is intimidated by you for a very good reason, Amy." She took a step toward him. "By me?" she said innocently. "For what possible reason?" "Amy, don't pretend as though you haven't a clue. You're a very - " he stopped, acutely aware of the danger. "A very desirable girl." She noticed that his eyes quickly dipped to her breasts as he spoke, and it thrilled her. Franklin continued, quietly. "Even though you're young, Amy, I'm sure you're well aware that you can make men do things they wouldn't normally do." Amy moved closer still to him, inhaling the subtle scent of his cologne. She slowly lifted the small, black thong, smoothing it with her fingers. "Oh? And what types of things could I make you do, Mr. Wainwright?" Franklin didn't reply, and Amy advanced even further, so that she could feel his warm breath on her. "Would one of those things - that you wouldn't normally do, of course - " she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "would one of those things include giving me a nice, hard, fucking?" Amy let the words hang in the air, pleased with their effect. Franklin looked as if a brick had hit him in the face. "I...would be lying if I didn't say I've thought of it," he confessed, an uncharacteristic flush appearing on his cheeks. Amy felt triumphant. It was not, however, for the reason she expected. The attraction of a handsome, older man was certainly appealing, but it was not the source of the intoxicating rush she felt. Rather, it was his confession of that attraction that was responsible. There were so many barriers to his revelation - an undoubtedly vindictive wife, her involvement with Adam, the potential for scandal always haunting a man of his stature - but Amy had seemingly overwhelmed every one, and pulled the truth from him. It was her first real taste of female sexual power. She took a deep breath - there would be no turning back now - and placed a gentle kiss on Franklin's lips. "I've always thought you handsome, Mr. Wainwright," Amy said, slowly running a finger down the front of his chest and letting it come to rest on his belt buckle. "And I've always wondered what it would be like to - " "Take your clothes off, Amy," Franklin interrupted. Surprised by the firmness of his tone, and delighted by its conviction, Amy immediately stepped back from him. Looking directly into his eyes, she slowly stripped every piece of clothing from her body, tossing each garment lightly at his chest as she did so. Franklin did nothing in response, and soon her tank top, jean skirt, bra, and thong were lying in a heap at his feet. Completely naked, Amy smiled suggestively at him, her hands on her hips. Franklin sighed, unable to force his eyes from her body. "You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said solemnly, taking a step toward her, arms outstretched. Amy fell into his embrace, gasping as his large hands slid down her back to cup her firm bottom. "Just perfect," he muttered, joining his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Amy pressed her bare body against him, quietly moaning into his mouth. They continued for several moments, with each kiss spiraling into the next one, until they became lost in each other's desire. The intensity soon drove Franklin's hands to her breasts, squirming hips, and soft thighs, while Amy frantically tried to pry open his belt buckle. Although she felt undeniably sexy grinding against him while he remained clothed, Amy couldn't wait to feel his skin against her. "Let me see it," she whispered between frenzied kisses, still fumbling with his pants. As Franklin cast his shirt aside, Amy finally succeeded in sliding his pants down his muscular legs. "Wow," she said, staring at his penis and backing herself onto Adam's narrow bed, "it's beautiful." "Actually, it's more of a curse than a blessing," he answered ruefully. Amy was transfixed - she had never seen anything like it, in real life anyway. He was nearly as thick as a soda can, and long. A small pearl of semen topped the large, tapered head of his member, which was completely stiff and pulsing with arousal. Amy was excited to touch it, but before she could, Franklin eased her down onto the bed and began exploring her body, liberally sprinkling kisses and compliments as he did so. Breathing deeply, she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his hands and lips on her neck, shoulders, and nipples. His touch was perfect - soft, but firm enough not to tickle. It felt absolutely delightful, and she welcomed the sudden sensation of the fat tip of his penis probing her vagina. "Oh, yes," she encouraged, feeling the cock push aside the wet folds of her flesh, hungry for entry. She parted her legs a little wider, and his first few inches slid tightly in. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" Franklin asked, stopping suddenly upon hearing her sharp intake of breath. "No...just go slow, o.k.?" Amy replied, trying to relax herself. The thickest part of him wasn't even in yet, and she was beginning to worry that he wouldn't fit. "Don't worry, I'm kind of an expert at this," he replied. Their eyes locked as he eased himself further into her, withdrew slightly, and then pushed back in a bit deeper than before. He gently repeated the process several times, stopping every few minutes to allow her body to adjust to him. "Still o.k.?" Franklin asked her, kissing her lightly as a final push squeezed his full length into her. Despite the controlled manner of his penetration, Amy noticed that he was trembling. "Mmm, it feels good," Amy lied, returning his kiss, and flicking her tongue against his. Although it did not hurt, the sensation of fullness was uncomfortable. But she would keep that to herself - she wanted to impress him, to reward him for the risk he was taking to be with her. Wrapping her arms around his muscular shoulders, Amy began slowing grinding her hips upward against him. He responded to her cue, delivering short, gentle thrusts in time with her rhythm. And as he continued, the fullness she had experienced as unpleasant now became intensely arousing. Franklin's repeated forays into her body were wetting his penis more and more, and he began a rapid, firm pounding. Amy closed her eyes, taking in the delightful messages being sent from the soaked area between her legs. Something, however, was holding her back, and she was irritated to discover that it was guilt. As far as Amy could tell, it was rooted in the pleasure she was taking from all of this - wasn't guilt always reliant on pleasure of some kind? - the ease with which she had seduced Franklin, the fury that his betrayal would certainly spark in Rachel, and even the location of the tryst, Adam's own bed. Amy knew it was wrong, and she even tried distancing herself from what she was feeling, to minimize the pleasure, and the guilt. But try as she might, her mind was soon overwhelmed by the sensations of her body, and her whimpers of pleasure rejoined the sound of his body repeatedly, and loudly, slapping against hers. Urged on by her cries, Franklin's strokes came faster, rougher, less controlled. Against Amy's every effort, her world was narrowing to just one thing - the relentless friction of his sex against hers. If he would stop just for a minute - just for a second - she could reassert control over her disobedient body. But he didn't stop, and her voice wouldn't issue any type of protest. Finally, Amy's remaining resistance collapsed, and she surrendered to him, calling out for him to fuck her, to use her, to make her come. Franklin responded to her acquiescence, thrusting into her with a ferocity that took her breath away. All she could do was to lie there, and offer herself up to his pounding. "Fuck me hard, I want it hard," she begged, her thighs pressing firmly against his flanks, her fingers pulling his flexing buttocks into her. "Please, I can't take it anymore." He kissed her suddenly and forcefully, and as she let out a squeal, an intense orgasm ripped through her body. Amy convulsed and pushed against him, instinctively trying to touch every part of the delicious creature responsible for her rapture. Franklin slowed, and then stopped, his powerful strokes. But Amy, her arms locked around his neck, continued to rhythmically thrust her hips upwards against his, continued to force his distended penis in and out of her. Although she felt faint, she drew herself up to him and whispered, "Don't stop, darling. I want your cum inside my pussy." And at her command, Franklin emptied himself into her, groaning. She marveled at how every muscle in his body tensed at the moment of climax, and how intensely the pleasure washed over him. Amy held him close, digging her manicured fingernails into his back as her buried his spurting member deep inside her. "Oh, that's it, Mr. Wainwright, that's it," she cooed, feeling him spasm, "give it to me." With a final mighty shudder, he withdrew, unleashing a thick flow of his ejaculate from Amy's gaping, soaked vagina. They paused for a moment, not saying a word. "Oh my god, that was awesome," Amy said finally, laughing and raising herself on her elbows to examine the pool of milky liquid gathering on the bed sheet between her parted legs. "And this thing," she added, wrapping her fingers around his slippery, still-swollen member, "is amazing." And, much later, as Amy left the Wainwright home that day, she knew she would be unable to betray Franklin. -Continued in Part Three- Mrs. Vale's Secret Ch. 03 4 "Getting nervous yet? The wedding's only two months away!" Pastor Jenning's voice boomed over the din of churchgoers leaving the Sunday afternoon service. Holly smiled as she guided her fiancé, Greg, through the crowd to approach the grinning minister. "We can't wait!" Holly answered, laughing. "Especially for all this planning and work to be finished." "Let me tell you, I haven't been able to rest for a year, Pastor," said Greg. "First, I had to sew the bridesmaids' dresses, then pick the flower arrangements, then - " "You've done no such thing, Mr. Gregory Stephens," interrupted Holly, playfully swatting his arm. "Anyway, we're all set for the rehearsal, Pastor Jennings. I spoke with Jessica and she's put it on your schedule." "Great, Holly," the pastor answered warmly. "I'll see you then, if not before." As she and Greg moved into the St. John's parking lot, Holly heard someone calling her name. Swinging around, she saw Amy and Daniel Vale, waving for her attention. Taking hold of Greg's hand, Holly pulled him over to the smiling couple. "Hey, guys," said Holly, hugging Amy as Greg and Daniel shook hands. "What are you up to today?" "Oh, nothing much, maybe a movie," said Amy. "Or a nap," added Daniel, wearily. Amy ran her fingers affectionately through Daniel's hair. "My poor baby's been working overtime." "Is that so?" Holly asked, feigning surprise. "Well, it seems worth it, Dan," interjected Greg, looking across the parking lot, "if that's the new car I've been hearing about." He pointed to the sparkling silver Mercedes parked in the far corner of the lot. "I guess I haven't shown it to you yet, old boy. Let's go." The two young men walked toward the car, chattering about horsepower and camshafts, leaving Amy and Holly alone. "Boys will be boys, I guess," Holly said. "They're so cute," laughed Amy. "We're all going to have so much fun at your wedding, I just can't wait." "I know. And you've been the best maid of honor I could've ever hoped for." "That's matron of honor. And it's the least I could do, given everything that you've done for me." Amy's eyes sparkled, and Holly knew what she was referring to. "Speaking of which," continued Amy, her voicing dropping to a whisper, "you and I are going to the mall tomorrow when we're done teaching." Holly gave her a scolding look. "Amy, you just saw Franklin on Friday!" she said, checking over Amy's shoulder to make sure that Daniel and Greg were still inspecting the car. "And listen to this," said Amy, ignoring her protest, "we're going to be in room 69 of the Leland." "Very funny, you little vixen," Holly responded, rolling her eyes. "I thought you didn't do those, anyway." "Oh, I don't do them with Daniel. With Franklin, it's a different story, though. I can't help myself." Holly sighed. "I'll never understand you, Amy." "I told you before, a little prudish behavior goes a long way in reducing suspicion." Amy placed her hand on Holly's shoulder. "Oh, Holly, you have so much to learn." Daniel's car roared toward them, and came to a sudden halt. Greg threw open the door and emerged from behind the steering wheel, laughing. "Holly, you should buy me one of these," he said. "Hmm, no," she answered. "We'd better be going. You've got to get back home to work on your thesis and I've got to clean my filthy apartment." Waving their friends goodbye, Holly and Greg walked hand in hand to his car. "Will I be able to see you tomorrow afternoon?" Greg asked. "No, Amy and I need to go to the mall," she replied, feeling a little thrill from the lie. Although Holly might indeed visit the Mall at Northlake Crossing, Amy would not be with her. Her best friend would instead be with Franklin at the Lehigh Hotel, satisfying her unending sexual needs. Holly had reliably served as Amy's alibi since the two friends were freshman together at Whitmore College, where she had become practiced in assuring Amy's jealous boyfriends that Amy had spent the night with her, not a romantic rival. "All right," answered Greg dejectedly. "I guess I'll see you on Tuesday, then." "Sorry, honey," Holly answered, tempted for a moment to change her mind. But she didn't, and she turned her attention to a review of tomorrow's lessons. 5 After Greg had dropped her off at her apartment, Holly's mind drifted to Amy and her plans with Franklin tomorrow afternoon. Amy's life was exciting, Holly thought admiringly. And for a moment, Holly imagined herself stealing away to the hotel, meeting a lover of her own. Immediately, however, she felt guilty and dirty for thinking it. But the thought wouldn't leave her, and she allowed herself to explore it occasionally throughout the rest of the day, enjoying the spike of excitement it inevitably caused. And during one of those indulgences, an idea emerged that set her heart racing. It seemed harmless enough, and would certainly give her the taste of something she hadn't realized she wanted until just that moment. Holly was ashamed for coveting such a thing, but something powerful in her - something of which she was only dimly aware - cast her reservations aside. She had been dreading tomorrow, as she did the start of every week, but suddenly, she could hardly wait for it to come. How lucky Amy was, Holly mused, to feel this way practically all the time. 6 Monday afternoon found Holly lounging on a bed in room 67 of the Lehigh Hotel. As she reached for another magazine from the nightstand, the thin mattress let out a tortured squeak. Shifting her small frame to find a comfortable spot, she wondered how the hotel's management expected people to sleep on something so unpleasant. Holly glanced at the battered clock radio on the nightstand. Where was Franklin? She had heard Amy enter the room next door over an hour ago, but Franklin had yet to join her. The tingle of excitement Holly had felt by checking into this seedy little hotel was almost gone, and she began to feel embarrassed for succumbing to her curiosity. The appeal of listening to her best friend have sex, even with an illicit lover, began to wane. Things had, however, gone better than expected - Holly had located the Lehigh easily enough in the unfamiliar, forbidding neighborhood. And, the room next to Amy's was available, no questions asked. Most importantly, though, Holly hadn't run into Amy or Franklin. That had caused Holly the most amount of worry - there would be no comfortable way of explaining her presence at the hotel, and she winced at the thought of attempting it. But thankfully, she was now safely and secretly tucked away in one of the Lehigh's anonymous rooms. Three hard knocks on the door to Amy's room startled Holly out of her reverie. There was a pause, then two more knocks, and then the rattling of a key in the lock. Holly gingerly lifted herself from the bed and stepped slowly toward the locked door cut into the shared wall of the two rooms. Taking a deep breath, she quietly pressed an ear against the narrow space between the door and its frame, and listened. "Is it still necessary, sir? I promised last time that I wouldn't try to pull your mask off." It was Amy's voice, thin and uncertain. Whoever Amy was addressing did not respond. Instead, Holly heard a strange, metallic sound, like that of a ratchet turning. "Ouch!" cried Amy. "Please, not so tight!" Holly momentarily backed away from the door, confused and alarmed. This was not what she had expected. Nervously, she approached the door once more. "Don't you want me to use my hands?" Amy pled. A man's deep, raspy voice answered. "No, bitch, it's not your hands I want." Holly nearly cried out - whoever had just spoken was not Franklin. Her mind scrambled unsuccessfully to match the unfriendly voice to anyone she or Amy knew. There was the rustling of motion, followed by the sound of a creaking chair. "It's good to see you again, sir," said Amy, apparently ignoring the man's coarseness. "Will you let me suck you off today?" The man answered with a snort, followed by the clinking of a belt buckle being undone. "Oh, my! You must have had a good day at the office," Amy said. And then, after a pause, "You smell like girl." Holly was repulsed, but found herself unable to pull away. What a horrible man, she thought. "Rebecca ain't worth a damn as a secretary, but that little girl sure can fuck," he snickered. "Likes it, too." "Do you mind if I lick her off you?" Amy asked hesitantly. The man mumbled something in reply, but the sound of Holly's rapidly beating heart rendered his words indistinguishable. A few moments of silence passed before she heard a series of wet, slurping noises, punctuated by the man's occasional groan. This continued for several minutes, during which time the sucking sounds became louder and rhythmic, and the man's agitation grew. Suddenly, something - probably the chair - crashed into the door Holly was leaning against. She leapt back in surprise, and heard Amy shriek. The man barked something at Amy, and his angry words were followed by the sounds of struggle. As quickly as it began, however, it ended, with the muted thud of someone falling to the floor. The next sound that reached Holly's ears was that of ripping fabric, followed by Amy's gasp. "Good, you little slut, you did as you were told," the man said, huffing. "That pussy looks nice bare." Cautiously, Holly crept toward the door again. From the other side came a sloshing sound, accompanied by vigorous motion of some sort. "Well, look at that, wet as a prom date," the man chortled. Amy was breathing heavily, and moaning. "Oh! Please put more fingers in, sir, you know I can take it," she whimpered. "You show this little thing to your husband last week?" he said, and the cadence of the squishing sound quickened. "No," Amy replied, panting. "You said not to." He grunted his approval. "How 'bout that big-dicked lover of yours?" "No, sir. Oh, god, that feels so good!" Holly was taken aback - Amy had told her that she had been with Franklin only a few days ago. Had Amy lied to her, or was she now lying to the brute on the other side of the door? "Oh, that's a good girl," he said, and there was again the rustling of movement. "Yeah, get on that dick, baby." "It's yours, darling," Amy said. Holly heard the squeaking of bedsprings. "Yours alone." Holly recoiled from the door, suddenly desperate to leave. I shouldn't be here, she thought, frantically collecting her things. It had disturbed her to witness the perversions taking place next door. The strange man, in particular, disgusted and frightened her. Rushing from the room, Holly slipped quickly into a nearby stairwell, nervous that the wait for the elevator would leave her exposed for too long. Hurriedly skipping own the steps, Holly tried to sort out the thoughts buzzing through her mind. Gradually, she fixed on one. She and Amy had shared everything over the years, even the dark secret of Amy's relationship with Franklin. Why had this been kept from her? Maybe Amy was embarrassed, she thought hopefully. After descending seemingly endless flights of stairs, Holly finally burst into the lobby, out of breath. "I need to check out," she said to the clerk behind the front desk. "Here, I'll pay cash," Holly added thrusting a handful of bills at the somber, gaunt-faced man. "Room number, ma'am?" he responded, ignoring her outstretched hand. "Sixty-seven." The clerk clicked on a series of keys on his computer, and then waited. "Uh, Ms. Hollingsworth?" he asked, a confused look overcoming his face. "Yes, that's right." "Umm, you'll need to talk to Mr. Thackery. He's the manager." "Why? What for?" "I don't know, ma'am. There's just a note here on your room number. Let me get him for you." Holly was becoming distressed. Not only did there seem to be some sort of problem, but also, every minute she spent in the lobby put her at risk of being spotted. "No, wait," she sputtered. "Can I speak to him in his office?" "Sure, I guess. Follow me." Casting a glance backward, toward the still-closed elevator doors, Amy followed him through down a short corridor behind the reception area. 7 "Ah, Ms. Hollingsworth," said the tubby man behind the desk. "Please, sit down." The thin, wooden door behind Holly slammed shut, its glass pane rattling. "Easy does it, Carl!" yelled the man, calling after the departed front desk clerk. "Sorry, Ms. Hollingsworth, I hope he didn't startle you." "No, I'm fine. Thanks," replied Holly absently, her eyes darting around the office. The walls were the faded yellow of an old newspaper, and the air reeked of cigarette smoke. "My name is Lewis Thackery, and I am the manager of this establishment." Holly was surprised, not by his words, but by the manner in which he said them. He had a thick British accent, and his tone was almost regal. She couldn't have imagined anything more at odds with his un-tucked shirt, the bristles of his day-old beard, or the tussle of what remained of his hair. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Thackery," Holly said, impatiently. "May I ask what the problem is? I'm in a bit of a hurry." The smile left his round face. "What was the purpose of your visit to our humble little inn today?" Holly felt something unpleasant in the pit of her stomach. "I'd like to keep that private, Mr. Thackery." "Please, call me Lewis," he replied, leaning forward across the desk. His grey eyes narrowed. "Well, I certainly can respect the need for privacy." Holly exhaled in relief. "Thank you." "And I'm certain," he continued, looking directly at her, "that you feel the privacy of our other guests is to be respected as well." "Yes, of course," she answered. "I don't think that Mrs. Vale, or her guest, would be pleased by your interest in their, ah, affairs." He smiled crookedly at her. Holly swallowed hard. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, a quiver in her voice. Lewis sighed, and a look of disappointment crossed his face. He swiveled his desk chair to face a computer monitor, pressed his fat index finger several times on the mouse, and a grainy image flickered to life on the screen. Holly was aghast. She could see herself, crouched against the door joining her room to Amy's. Although the video was fuzzy, and shot from what must have been a ceiling ventilation duct, there was no mistaking her identity. "Are you going to have me arrested?" Holly asked, wondering if that was even possible. Lewis chuckled humorlessly. "No, my dear. There's no need for police here." "I promise not to do it again," she said, weighing the value of a threat to alert the police. Surely, spying on hotel guests must be illegal. She decided to hold back, for now. "I won't even come back, I swear." "Well, it's not that simple, unfortunately," he said, apologetically. A thought struck her. "Is it money you want, then? I don't have a lot, I'm just a school teacher." Perhaps this was the way out. How much, Holly wondered, should she offer? "No, love, this is not about money. And I am merely a conduit." Holly stared at him, confused. She had the sense that this was happening to someone else, that she was listening in on another person's conversation. "I would like you to meet a certain gentleman, and indulge him with your company." Holly drew back. Despite the delicacy of his words, Lewis left no doubt as to what that meant. She felt the stirring of hysteria. "You can't expect me to do a thing like that," she replied. Lewis grimaced, and shook his head. "I understand, Ms. Hollingsworth. But there are certain salient facts that may affect your decision. If - " "I didn't hurt anyone," she interrupted, weakly, feeling as though her words would have little effect. "If you refuse, the secret that you and Mrs. Vale have protected all these years will be made known," Lewis went on. "And that may cause real harm." Holly was stunned. "How do you know about that?" Lewis waved a hand at the computer monitor. "Franklin Wainwright and Mrs. Vale are frequent guests to our hotel." Something, however, still didn't make sense. "So you have film of them together. But you couldn't have known that I was aware of their...relationship." Holly wondered why she had paused to search for the polite term. "That, Ms. Hollingsworth," Lewis answered, his lips tightening, "is something I cannot share." Holly felt sick, and completely alone. "You can't expect me to do a thing like that," she repeated quietly. Lewis cleared his throat. "Now, then," he said, as if she hadn't said anything at all, "shall we make the arrangements?" -Continued in Part Four- Mrs. Vale's Secret Ch. 04 8 "Welcome to Olive's Boutique. You must be Ms. Rousseau," smiled the young lady behind the reception desk. Holly hesitated. She was still uncertain as to how this could be a dress shop. Located on the 39th floor of the Petersen Building, its lobby resembled that of Roberts and Elkins, P.C., the law firm across the hall. Furthermore, there wasn't a single garment on display. "Yes, I'm Juliet Rousseau," Holly said, using the fictional name that Lewis had provided to her. "How did you know who I was?" Holly inquired casually, hoping that the question did not reveal her nervousness. The receptionist flashed a polite smile. "Oh, we're not open to the public - we see clients by appointment only." "Yes, of course," Holly nodded, trying to mask her unfamiliarity with the workings of such businesses. The woman rose up from behind the desk. "Please, follow me," she said, starting down a long, curved hallway. Holly trailed behind her, dismayed by the realization that this visit to Olive's brought her one step closer to betraying her fiancé. Since her meeting with Lewis, Holly had surrendered hope that something, or someone, would free her from his trap. And so, she had reluctantly kept the appointment that Lewis had scheduled at William's request. William, she had learned, was the name of the man she was to meet at the Lehigh Hotel next week. And he, through Lewis, asked that she wear an evening gown for their encounter. She wondered again what type of man he was. Undoubtedly cruel, she thought. Holly shuddered at the possibility that he might be the pervert that had been with Amy that afternoon at the hotel. "Cassandra will be with you in a moment," the receptionist said cheerily upon reaching a set of French doors at the end of the hall. Pulling them open with a flourish, she motioned for Holly to enter. "After you, Ms. Rousseau." Holly gazed in astonishment at the large, semi-circular room lying beyond the doors. A massive, glass chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, and the walls were entirely covered with huge mirrors. A white couch, flanked on each side by dark blue chairs, was placed at the far end of the room. In front of the couch rested a large glass coffee table, supporting two large binders stuffed with papers and photographs. What appeared to be a fashion runway emerged from a large, curtained door at one end of the room and ended directly in front of the couch and chairs. Holly heard the click of high heels on the marble floor. She turned to see a tall, voluptuous woman, probably in her early thirties, striding toward her. A tight, red business suit strained against the flare of her wide hips and plump breasts. Her hair was long, lustrous and utterly black. "Ms. Rousseau, what a pleasure to meet you," said the woman, offering her hand to Holly. "My name is Cassandra. I'll be assisting you today." Her dark, brown eyes danced. Holly looked at her squarely. "Call me Juliet," she replied, pleased that she was able to say the name with such confidence. It became easier with each repetition, she noted. "Well, Juliet," Cassandra continued, the white of her smile contrasting with her olive complexion, "we are going to find you a fabulous gown for your special evening. What was the occasion again?" she probed. "Our anniversary," Holly croaked, her throat suddenly dry. Lewis had promised her that the staff at Olive's would not know of the arrangement, but she was still apprehensive. How could she trust him when he was the instrument of what would, in effect, be a rape? "Ah, yes, I remember now," said Cassandra. "Your husband's name is William, correct?" Holly nodded. "Well, he has generously supplied us with several suggestions," she continued, glancing down at a note card. "I can tell you this, Juliet," Cassandra whispered, running her eyes slowly over Holly's body. "He certainly has exquisite taste." Holly blushed as Cassandra gently took hold of her elbow, and guided her to the couch. As Holly sunk into the soft, deep cushions, the dark curtain at the mouth of the runway whooshed open, and a petite young woman breezed onto the elevated path. A long, black evening gown clung to her small frame, and a dramatic slit in its side flashed her long, bare leg as she began to strut down the runway. "Emily will be our model today," remarked Cassandra, watching with approval as the girl slowly turned her back to them. The gown was cut to reveal virtually all of Emily's back, with the flimsy trail of fabric resuming just above the gentle curve of her bottom. "This is Versace," Cassandra noted. "It's beautiful," answered Holly, as Emily resumed walking toward them. Holly returned the model's smile, noticing the girl's smallish, upturned breasts jiggle with each dig of her heel into the catwalk. "She'll show several dresses today," said Cassandra. "Decide on the one you'd like, try it on, and we'll take all of the necessary measurements. Your husband has already made the financial arrangements, so you can relax." Emily halted her march upon reaching the end the runway. She then slightly lifted the hem of her gown, uncovering the impressively tall heels beneath. "Oh, thank you for reminding me, Emily," Cassandra said, smiling up at her. She reached up to rest her hand on Emily's slender calf. "We'll also be selecting shoes and a clutch today." "Wonderful," Holly said, feeling as if she were in a cloud. All of this effort, and expense, for one night? She struggled against feeling flattered, and impressed. "He's forcing himself upon you," she sternly reminded herself, "don't be fooled." But Holly had never been in a place like Olive's before, and the experience dazzled her. She wondered if Franklin had ever treated Amy to similar such pleasures. "Oh, how thoughtless of me," frowned Cassandra. "Would you care for a cocktail, or another beverage, while we wait for Emily to display the next gown?" "Perhaps a glass of white wine," replied Holly, after a moment's consideration. And as the crystal glass was handed to her, Holly permitted a little smile to warm her face. 9 "Don't cry, don't cry," Holly told herself, but a warm tear rolled disobediently down her cheek nonetheless. She ached for Greg, her fiancé, but it was the middle of the night in Berlin, countless miles away, and he needed his sleep. Holly clenched her jaw and swallowed hard, and that stopped further tears, at least for the moment. Stepping back from the crooked full-length mirror, she again reviewed her appearance. The fit of the long Versace gown was flawless; it hugged her tiny frame without discomfort. It was the first dress that Emily had modeled for her, and although Cassandra had insisted that she look at others, Holly had known immediately that this would be her favorite. The look of the gown was elegant, but without being dowdy. She turned, trying to catch a glimpse of her bare back, but all she could see were the drab walls of the hotel room. It seemed a shame that such a beautiful dress would be confined to a place as awful as the Leland Hotel. But she would be free after tonight, Holly reassured herself. In only a few hours' time - during which she would have to do god knows what - she would be rushing out of this miserable place, never to return. She heard a door slam, and the sound of movement in the room next door. Her heart jumped, and she looked anxiously at the clock. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and William had arrived exactly as promised. Holly swiftly ran a brush through her long, chestnut hair one final time, glanced again at the mirror, and steadied herself before the door linking her room to William's. She placed her trembling hand on the doorknob, and gave it a slow twist. It was unlocked. Steeling herself, Holly stepped forward and pushed open the door. The room was dark, lit only by candles dotting the end tables and desk. "Hello?" she said, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. "Good evening, Juliet," a deep, tranquil voice replied from the corner of the room. Holly swung around. In an upholstered chair sat a man dressed in a tuxedo, his legs crossed. He wore a mask - a narrow strip of black fabric tied around his head. Dark, watchful eyes peered out from holes in the mask, and his short, black hair glinted in the candlelight. "William?" Holly took a tentative step toward him, teetering slightly on her unusually high heels. He appeared tall, even though he sat unmoving in his chair. He did not respond; instead, he flicked his eyes over the innocent beauty of her face, and, more deliberately, the delicate swells of her slender body. Holly stood before him, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. After a long silence, William said, "I had hoped that you would pick that gown." "You have good taste," Holly said, hoping that flattery would ease his demands on her. "Please, sit down," he said softly. Holly felt his eyes on her as she turned from him to take a seat on the bed. The lumpy mattress creaked as she sat down, despite her grace and modest weight. Facing him once more, she crossed her legs, and the gown fell open along its lengthy slit. As William's gaze fixed on the smooth skin of her exposed thigh, she fought the urge to yank the dress' black fabric back up over her leg. "I understand you're to be married soon," he said. "Yes, in two months." She could see him better now, and was relieved that he was not the wrinkled, overweight slob that she had expected. In fact, his angular jaw and athletic frame appealed to her. But there was still something disturbing about him, something peculiar in his unsmiling manner. "I can't wait," she added nervously. "Did you find what you were looking for during your earlier visit to the hotel?" There was no hint of accusation in his voice, only curiosity. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "I don't know," Holly admitted, the emergence of a strange memory causing her to trail off. She remembered shopping in a convenience store with her mother, when she was seven years old. Alone in an aisle stuffed with children's trinkets, a shiny, gold-painted locket caught her attention. Scanning both ends of the aisle for potential witnesses, she slipped the small piece of jewelry into her coat pocket, rejoined her mother, and left the store. Holly had never understood why she had stolen it. However, for months afterward, she carried it secretly with her. And she found, when being scolded or engaged in chores, that its presence gave her comfort. The thrill of its acquisition, and its secrecy, were reliable antidotes for all manner of childhood ills. "You can call me Holly," she said, trying to change the subject. There was no risk in divulging her real name - Lewis had told her that William knew it already, among other things. He smiled faintly. "You may find," he replied, rising slowly from his chair, "that a new name grants a certain freedom, Juliet." Before she could respond, a soft knock sounded at the door. "You'll want to wear your mask, " he said calmly, motioning to something black on the end table. "I have visitor." He began walking to the door without waiting for Holly to affix the mask, which she hadn't noticed until then. Scrambling to slip it on, she caught only a glimpse of its outward appearance. The shape resembled the outstretched wings of a raven, a perception strengthened by the glossy, black latex from which it had been fashioned. She hoped that the anonymity it conferred would diminish her growing sense of unease. Lewis hadn't mentioned anyone other than William. William disappeared, lost in the short hallway leading to the door. Holly heard the door open, and the murmur of a soft, female voice. After a moment, a woman emerged from the darkness, framed by William's tall figure. "Lauren," he said, placing a large hand on the woman's shoulder, "this is Juliet." Holly rose from the bed to greet her, relieved that William's guest was not another man. Lauren, too, wore a mask, but it was white and sparkled with silver glitter. The color of the disguise emphasized the bronze of her tan, as did the short, white dress she wore. The smooth, supple skin of her pretty face was trimmed by straight, blonde hair, and Holly could tell that she was young, perhaps still in her late teens. "Juliet and I were just speaking of her impending wedding, Lauren," William continued, as the two women exchanged smiles. "Oh, that's so exciting," Lauren replied, and her brown eyes flitted to William before returning back to Juliet. "I just got back from my honeymoon last week - it was so much fun." She kneeled before William's feet, and began untying the laces of his dress shoes, which shone with an immaculate gloss. "Congratulations," said Holly, making a point not to ask the location. She and Greg couldn't afford a honeymoon, and Holly burned with envy whenever other brides' bragged about Aruba, the Canary Islands, or whatever other tropical destination they were to visit. Lauren carelessly tossed William's shoes to the side as she stood up. "Juliet, darling," she said, reaching up on her tiptoes to begin tugging at his bow tie, "could you remove our William's suit coat?" "Oh, baby, I missed you," Lauren whispered to William, engaging him in a deep kiss. "I couldn't wait for tonight to come - thank you so much for this." Holly stepped forward, uncertainly. She felt like she was in a play where she was the only one who hadn't read the script. Awkwardly, she began pulling on William's black coat as he and Lauren continued to kiss with increasing fervor. Holly watched Lauren's fingers expertly unfasten the buttons on his pressed, white shirt. "So, you were caught doing something naughty, Juliet?" Lauren asked, stepping back from William to yank open his unbuttoned shirt. A candle's flicker caused a massive diamond perched atop her wedding ring to sparkle. "Yes, she was," William snapped. "Don't pry, Lauren." "I was too, a year ago," Lauren continued, ignoring him, "and thank god for that." Holly felt a worry tugging at her. Lewis had told her that only a single night would be required with William. Had he lied to her? "Finally," said Lauren, flinging William's shirt across the room. He was now naked from the waist up. "Come here, Juliet," she said, passing a hand admiringly over the twin bulges of his large pectoral muscles. Holly moved closer, tensing as William's hand slid down her exposed back. "Relax," he said soothingly, his fingers continuing to trace the sweeping curve of her spine. Lauren gently took Holly's hand, and placed it on his smooth, hairless chest. "It's o.k. to want it, Juliet," she whispered, guiding Holly's stiff fingers along the ridges of chiseled muscles lining his abdomen. Holly didn't move as William bent over to kiss her, nor did she resist. Instead, she welcomed his soft lips, and allowed her tongue to dance lightly against his. Holly briefly wondered why this was so; she was, after all, crying less than an hour ago. She couldn't pinpoint a single reason; instead, there were many pieces, all shifting about. One was the freedom granted by a choice already made. She was here, in the Lehigh Hotel with her blackmailer, and there was no turning back. The voices within her that had doubted, resisted, and punished her decision had been ignored, and were now silent. Then there was her fascination with William, and his world. Where had his money, and wickedness, come from? And although she knew it wasn't true, Holly continually flirted with the thought that something in her appealed to him, something more than the pleasure promised by her body. Holly's exploration of William's chest became bolder, and hungrier, as did the kisses they shared. Her fingers moved swiftly over him, seeking not only to discover, but also excite. "You like her, don't you, William?" Lauren asked, lowering herself to her knees, and drawing down the zipper of his trousers. "Yes," William replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I do." Holly watched as Lauren pulled William's pants from him, and then his shorts. Out of shyness, she looked away as his erection sprung into the open. But her hand, resting on his stomach, slid downward. She felt his sparse, curled hairs become denser, heard his breath quicken. Impatiently, Holly's descent continued until her searching fingers felt the velvety skin of his penis, and wrapped around its surprising thickness. Holly felt Lauren's hand on her thigh. "Put it in my mouth, Juliet," whispered Lauren, wetting her lips. Holly threaded her fingers through Lauren's golden hair, gently guiding the girl toward William's penis. Her other hand steadied the stiff member at its base, not letting go until its spongy head disappeared into Lauren's mouth. "Mmm," Lauren moaned, taking in several inches before stopping. "All of it," William said sternly, and she swiftly pushed his remaining length into her mouth. Lauren started to bob her head back and forth, her lips noisily massaging his sex. "You're so beautiful, William," Holly remarked, studying his dark, serene features. She felt safe inspecting his face, now that his eyes were closed in pleasure, and his head tilted back. He was younger than she expected - maybe in his thirties - and much more handsome. And his body was impressive; every inch seemed stretched taut by muscle. Excitement rushed through her. He was there for the taking, Holly told herself, and no one would ever know. She would do it just this once - had to, in fact - and then remain forever true to Greg. Her will fortified, Holly sunk to her knees, close enough to Lauren to feel the girl's bare shoulder rubbing against her own. Holly extended her hand to caress William's plump scrotum, swaying vigorously as Lauren continued to rapidly slide his penis in and out of her mouth. "God, what a cock," Lauren gasped, finally pulling away from him. His swollen shaft glistened from her saliva, and Holly watched as it pulsed in excitement. Eagerly, Holly moved her lips toward it as Lauren stood up to kiss William. She ran her tongue back and forth along the underside of the member's small, flared head, pleased to elicit a moan from him as she did so. She continued down the length of the shaft, the rounded tip of her tongue swirling along its dramatically increasing width. That the object of Holly's affection didn't even closely resemble her fiancé's spurred her arousal, and she felt a familiar tingling between her legs. At that moment, Lauren's dress dropped to the floor, collecting in a pool around her white, stiletto heels. Holly briefly looked up, surprised that she had been completely naked underneath. As Lauren and William continued to kiss, Holly watched William's finger slip through one of the thin, silver rings dangling from girl's nipples, and slowly pull on it. Her small breast - about the same size as Holly's - stretched outward from her body in response to William's gentle tugging. "Is she getting that dick nice and fat for me, baby?" Lauren whispered into William's mouth, his hand releasing the nipple ring. Reaching past the twinkling diamond nestled in the girl's belly button, he placed his hand at the juncture of her thighs. She cried out as a finger disappeared inside her, and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, god," she whimpered, and Holly could see William's finger rolling the nub of her clitoris back and forth. Still watching from the corner of her eye, and aching to be touched as Lauren was, Holly dragged the flat of her tongue along the fleshy sack hanging below William's penis. She drew lazy circles across the silky skin, pausing intermittingly to apply soft kisses along the way. "Do you like that, William?" she asked, gently lifting his scrotum to flick her tongue against the flat, sensitive area just before his anus.