0 comments/ 38199 views/ 2 favorites Hotel Amour By: RonRyder It was Janet's idea. "What harm can it do to look around?" she said. Ha! Janet was an inveterate surfer. And you did not have to surf very much to find all kinds of things out there that would have horrified Janet's mother, for one. We had both been brought up in the sheltered cocoon of the 'typical American family', Yes, including church on Sunday. We were not into drugs, booze, high-jinks of any sort, hell, we did not even screw until we'd been going out for three years, and even then we used a condom. Model students, we graduated from High School, then from College, and we both held down uninspiring, but solid jobs. Janet was a librarian. She had always loved books. I am an accountant. With prospects, I was given to understand. Hang around and you'll one day be a partner. That kind of thing. We married young, and we were happy. Well, sort of happy. I guess we both felt we were missing out on something, or had missed out on something. Perhaps this is true of all couples who were High-School sweethearts, who had never strayed from the straight and narrow, never played the field, never experienced the highs and lows of the 'singles game'. What you have, you do not value. What you have not, this you come to yearn for. It began quite innocuously. Well, relatively innocuously. I arrived home one evening in a foul mood. My boss had 'ripped me a new one' and it was not my fault. It was his mistake, not mine, and he did not have the balls to come clean. So, you will understand, when I put my key in the latch and entered home and hearth, I was looking for a scotch and water, or two, some TLC, and a ball-game to occupy my mind. I was not looking for what I received. "Look at me," Janet had said, in a playful tone. "D'you see something different?" In the process of pouring my own scotch and water, I glanced across. "Different? What do you mean?" "Well, just different." I looked then, and I did not see anything different. She stood in the center of our living room dressed in blouse and skirt and, true, her feet were bare, but this was not different. She often walked around bare-footed. I'd warned her about it. You never knew. But she did it anyway. Liked the feel of the pile, she said. Cosy, intimate. I turned back to the cabinet to finish preparing my drink. "Look now," she said. Wearily, I turned my head. And, Yes! That was different. She had raised her skirt above her waist. Beneath she wore nothing. No panties. Janet had been blessed with long legs and a firm torso. The good Lord had also granted her her fair share of pubic hair. Which was now absent. Her pubis was as naked as on the day she was born. "Notice now?" she said, coquettishly. "Hell, Janet!" was the best I could manage. What was I supposed to do? Fall on her and fuck her on the spot? Apparently, Yes! "God! You're impossible." She ran upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. Later, much later, I wormed it out of her. She had read it on a website. '36 things you can do to please your husband.' Number 5: 'Shave your pubes.' Number 7: 'Try a day without panties.' She was as horny as a rampant rabbit, and though we did eventually make love, it obviously was not the way she had envisioned it. As usual, I came too soon, and she was too inhibited to allow me to get her off, even if I had known how. Maybe she got herself off, in the bathroom, behind a locked door. "Let's face it, Ron," she said next day, "Our sex life sucks." Usually I looked around the paper when Janet spoke to me at the breakfast table, but this time I put it down. I stared. This was not language Janet used. 'Sex life sucks?' Where the hell? Of course, I knew. The web. Where else? 'What to do if your sex life sucks' was probably one of the top entries Google generated if you typed in 'sex+life+improve' and let it loose. "What do you mean, our sex-life sucks," I said indignantly. "We have a perfectly normal, healthy sex life." Whereas the 'normal' bit may well have been true, the 'healthy' was a bit of a stretch. In fact, if the truth be told, we did not have much of a sex life at all. Mind you, I say in self defense, not having sex that often is not necessarily unhealthy. "Well, whether you're right or wrong, Ron," she replied, "it still sucks. There must be more than this." "Look, Janet," I said, adopting the condescending tone that she detested, that I knew she detested, but that I could not prevent myself from adopting, "if you are mad at me about last night, I understand. I'm sorry at my lack of response. I was in the wrong frame of mind. You just picked a very bad night. I explained that to you." "All right. I accept that my timing was off. How was I to know? You come home in this mood, you come home in that mood. What is it that I can do that turns you on? Hell, for that matter, what turns you on, period!" Which left me somewhat at a loss for words. In fact, what Janet had done the previous evening would normally turn me on. Like hell. Well, it would have turned me on if a woman had done it who was not my wife. Somehow, the act had clashed with the image I had of my wife, that had grown over the years, and was not compatible with a raised skirt, no panties and a shaven pubis. "God, you're so inhibited, it's pathetic," she said, when I did not answer. "And you?" "At least I tried. I spent the whole day in that library smoothing down my skirt, terrified that someone would ask for a book on the upper shelves and I would have to go fetch the ladder." "Let's face it, Ron," she said, over my silence. "We need therapy." "Therapy!?" "Yes, that's what I said. Therapy. We need to improve our sex life. There has to be more than this." Over my humming and ha-ing, she continued, "What harm can it do to look around?" I didn't tell Ron. It had anyway become a habit, not telling him things. Probably he did not tell me things either. Maybe he jacked off as often as I did. Which had been not often, but became a daily occurrence when I gave up underwear. I made sure they did not notice at the library, but underneath my prim skirt and blouse was nothing. No panties, no bra. My breasts were small and I could get away with a stiff blouse, and even if my nipples were erect most of the day, anyone noticing would think they was the points of my bra. No-one would dream that Ms Janet Ryder, librarian, went about her day minus underwear, and fantasizing about every man who crossed her path. Well, the presentable ones. And I went up the ladder often, making no attempt to hide anything. Goddam them all! Friggin' gentlemen! Not a single one was man enough to take a peek. Not when I was looking, that is. I got home so horny, I stripped naked, lay down on the bed and frigged myself to as many orgasms as I could manage before Ron arrived from the office. One, two three -- no matter how many, it was not enough. It's all very well for Maureen Dowd and her 'Are men necessary?' She's no doubt had her share. Maybe once you've had your share, men are no longer necessary. But I had not had my share. I needed a man. And Ron was not cutting it. I contemplated an affair, but there were two problems. Researches on the web were universally negative on affairs. Not recommended. Risk too high. Even without kids. Affairs ended badly for all parties, and if for only one party, then the woman. A man could screw around with impunity. Cavalier. In the genes. But when a woman screwed around, she was a whore. This was one problem. The second was availability. To have an affair you needed someone to have the affair with. Negative. The only males obviously available - and they regularly made it clear they were available -- were married to one friend or another. Several had appeal, but I could not imagine having sex with the husband of a friend, no matter what the circumstances. So there I was, stuck in a stale marriage with a guy who was indisputably nice, but equally indisputably unadventurous, especially in bed. He tried. I'll give him that. After the 'incident' he did his best to 'make it right'. Only, his best was not good enough. Because he did not know enough. 'Fifteen things to do to satisfy your wife.' I read it a dozen times. I even contemplated e-mailing it to him, anonymously of course. But nice girls don't do that. And I was a nice girl, wasn't I. Anyway, he would know. He'd been as negative about therapy as he was about anything. It was the word. 'Therapy'. It sounded as if something was wrong and needed correction. Well it did, didn't it? Maybe there was another way. A way that did not imply 'correction', rather 'embellishment'. Inexorably, my search turned to 'Swinger' sites. 'Invigorate your sex life'. Hell, there were millions of them. How many were scams, how many, if any, genuine. That was the trouble with the web. You never knew where you were at. I persevered. And finally I stuck oil. Exploratory mails were exchanged. Every query was answered satisfactorily. There was no hype, no pressure. 'Hotel Amour' was ideally positioned. Neither therapy nor 'swinger group'. The hotel catered to every couple. Perfect. All I needed was a strategy. To convince Ron. I had an idea. Surely, I was not the only woman in this predicament. Ergo, if the people in this 'Hotel' were who they said they were, they would know. How to bring a reluctant husband around. Hell, if they didn't know, who would? I knew she was up to something. I decided to take the bull by the horns. Better choose the moment myself that have her catch me again in a bad mood. We were relaxing after a pleasant dinner a deux. Half a bottle of Zinfandel -- well, if you insist, three quarters - had me nice and mellow. The cognac was icing on the cake. "OK. Let's have it." "Er..!" "Come on. Don't be coy. You've been itching to tell me something for days. I can see it written all over you." "That obvious, eh?" "Yep!" "Well, you know we agreed a couple of weeks ago that I would look around, you know.." "Correction. You agreed. I don't recall agreeing to anything." "I just said there was no harm in looking around, that's all. I thought you were fine with that." "Acquiescence, my dear. Passive, not active. Anyway, you were going to 'look around' whatever I said, so let's have it. What have you come up with?" "Well... It's a hotel." Pause. "A hotel? Does it have a name." Cough. "Hotel Amour.: "Ha! I knew there'd be a catch. Love Hotel, indeed. And what would be the unique attraction of this particular establishment, I wonder." "Ron, stop being .. well, you know what you are being." She was right. I did. She constantly accused me of being negative, not always unfairly. "OK. Ron will sit quietly while you explain to him what is special about your Love Hotel." "It's designed for people like us. Ordinary couples who just want .. well .. to add a bit of spice to their lives. Different atmosphere, sort of thing." I sipped my cognac, listening conscientiously. "I researched it very thoroughly, Ron, and it's absolutely legitimate. It's run by a couple who wanted to add some spice to their own lives, but did not know how. Just like us. So they started Hotel Amour. Apparently it's been a roaring success." I held my peace. I must have been feeling really mellow. "Just a night in a hotel -- or a weekend. They have special weekend deals, arrive Friday, leave Sunday." "And in between?" "Whatever you like. If you want, it's a weekend in the country. You can walk, drive to a lake, swim ...." "Or?" "No or. If that's all you want to do, that's what you do. But... If you want, if you're in the mood, there are other possibilities. On a strictly voluntary basis, Ron." "What sort of possibilities? If you mean porn, hell, you can get that at the Holiday Inn down the road." "No porn. That's strictly forbidden. They have regular tv in all the rooms. That's it." "So? If not porn, then what?" "Well, like, if you feel like some company...." "Aha! Group sex!" "Well, Yes! But only if you want it. They have all the facilities of a regular hotel," she hurried on, "a restaurant, a bar. Absolutely normal. And then they have other rooms. Very discrete." "I'll bet!" "Honestly, Ron. You are such a damn stuff shirt. It's perfect for us. But forget I mentioned it. If you're going to be this damn negative, it wouldn't be worth the effort." This focused my attention somewhat. I was being negative. For one thing, the thought that our sex life needed 'spicing up' was, well, mildly insulting. I have a normal male ego. It does not like being pricked by the thought that one's wife does not think one is cutting it in bed. Still, I had to admit she had a point. The attempt to be 'upwardly mobile' was absorbing. It consumed more of me, possibly, than was healthy. Perhaps a weekend away from it all was not such a bad idea, even at such a place as the Hotel Amour. Besides, the thought of 'group sex' was not of itself unappealing. Hell, I'm a regular guy. Of course, it would depend on the girls. Right? "It's your first time here, isn't it?" Penelope said. Penelope was the female half of the couple that ran Hotel Amour. Unwittingly, I straightened my skirt, suddenly self-conscious. To be honest, my vagina had started to juice up so much during the drive I was terrified my skirt was stained. "Yes," we said in nervous unison. "Well, let me explain the house rules," Penelope continued. She was middle-aged and comforting in appearance, if not downright dowdy. I had expected neither this, nor the pronounced English accent. I had picked up the accent in our calls, but, live, it sounded much more -- well, prudish. I felt deflated. "First of all, I want to assure you that there are no professionals at our hotel. Gentlemen will sometimes try to slip them in, but I can smell a professional the moment she comes through the door and, believe me, she turns around and marches right back out again." "So, please be assured that we cater only to regular couples, just like yourselves. Couples who wish to enjoy their own company, and each other's, if they will, exactly as they choose. Everything emanates from our guests and everything that happens involves free will by all parties at all times. There is no coercion, there is no titillation - you will find your room tastefully decorated, as is proper for a couple, but there are no ceiling mirrors, or other exotic furnishings or devices and the tv is tuned to the regular satellite channels and only to these channels. There are no 'special channels', if you understand what I mean. Pornographic movies, you know," she continued in the manner of a schoolmarm, "are designed solely with men in mind. For women they turn off, not on." She looked at us from one to the other. God knows what our expressions said. "Yes, well, to continue, the grounds, unfortunately, are not extensive. There is a rock garden -- it's just rocks, actually. And there is an arbor where one may sit in the shade - though no-one ever seems to. We toyed with the idea of installing a swimming pool, but decided eventually against. You can probably imagine why we decided as we did." "But there are many interesting places within easy driving distance and you will find brochures in your room that provide all the information you will need. If not, then please consult a member of the hotel staff, or me. I am, of course, at your disposal at any time if you have questions. Or if not I, then my husband, James." 'Hotel Amour'? Penelope's manner reminded me of a hospital matron Where was the 'Amour'? One thing, at least. My vagina had dried up, totally. "Now, first the main communal rooms. The restaurant, if I do say as I shouldn't, is excellent. The chef is Swiss and the cuisine is international. I'm sure you will find many items on the menu that titillate your taste buds. The bar is well stocked and very cosy. There's a log fire lit day and night. It's a perfect ambience for a pleasant chat a deux, or with other guests." I could hear the question forming in Ron's head. Why the hell are we paying three times the going upmarket rate for this? I turned to him, ready to frown him down if his lips started to move. I had to reserve a whole month ahead. There was a list, I was told, with priorities. Repeat business was the rule, and the more regular the customer the higher the ranking. Newcomers came last. A novel idea, I thought at the time. Quaintly un-American. Now I was wondering. Why? "Now the peripheral communal rooms," Penelope continued, in the same tone, as though she were referring to Ward 9. "If you look carefully, you will notice in the far corner of the bar an entrance way. It is very discrete, and protected by a curtain -- those beads, you know, oriental sort of thing. We call it the 'Green Door'. This is the entryway to the 'peripheral communal rooms'. We say 'Behind the Green Door', you know..?" She looked at us again from one to the other as though expecting recognition. I looked across at Ron and made eyes. His expression was clear. 'Behind the Green Door' meant nothing to either of us. "Now behind the Green Door," Penelope had continued, "guests are free to enjoy themselves as they see fit. The tone is set by the guests. What happens there is solely and alone the business of the people who occupy those rooms. There is, of course, hotel personnel present, and the rooms are arranged ina a certain way, but they are extremely discrete and their only purpose is to ensure that the primary rule of the establishment is adhered to - no coercion. Otherwise, guests are free to enjoy the peripheral rooms and the facilities therein in any way they choose. You may stroll through them, exploring, as it were, as observers. Or you may - well, the rooms are at the disposal of all guests, whatever their inclination. There is, as it were, something for every taste." Penelope looked across at us querulously. "Do you have any questions?" I looked at Ron and he looked at me. We shook our heads. Simultaneously. . "Ah! One other thing," Penelope said. "Your room -- 112, as I understand, it's on the ground floor, near where the pool would have been if we'd installed it. But of course, you don't care about that. You have a patio room, but I should warn you that, though we take every precaution, we cannot guarantee the absolute privacy of your patio. Some people are very inventive. So if you want absolute privacy, close your patio doors, draw the curtains and make sure the door is bolted. Now..." She glanced at us as though over a pince nez. "You will be familiar with the usual 'Do not disturb' signs in hotels. Our system is a little different. Your room door has an electronic gadget sort of thing with three lights, red, amber and green. Now the reason for this is that some guests, sometimes, do not necessarily wish absolute privacy. This is a matter for the discretion of the guests. If you wish absolute privacy, bolt the door and activate the red light. It will show red in the room and..." "You may like to make sure...." she continued, in a more intimate tone, as if she were conveying a trade secret, "..that it also lights up without. We have had the very, very occasional malfunction." "Now the amber and green lights signify that you do not necessarily seek absolute privacy. An amber light, for instance, suggests that your door is unbolted and that, were other guests so inclined, the door may be opened for viewing purposes, if you understand what I mean. An amber light means that other guests may enter the hallway, discretely of course, and watch. It is not an invitation to other guests to, as it were, join in. That is what the green light is for. The green light, and an unbolted door means, well, carte blanche. Come in and pile on, sort of thing!" Hotel Amour She said it with such gusto and it sounded so odd coming from her lips I believe my jaw dropped. Ron's did! "Now, I have to warn you that some guests have not entirely taken to our red, amber and green system. They have evolved their own system and I'm afraid we have not entirely been able to convince them to, as it were, mend their ways. I hope you will use the lights for the purpose they were intended. It cost an arm and a leg to put them in and it's annoying that some guests seem less than appreciative. Ah well, the guest is king and queen. So, if you see a door left slightly ajar, this is the equivalent of an amber light. You may push the door aside, enter the hallway and watch. If a door is wide open, then, well it's the 'pile in' signal. 'We're up for anything', sort of thing." "Now," Penelope said, as though talking to herself, 'have I covered everything? Yes! I think so. Do you have any questions?" A mutual shaking of heads signaled a solid negative. "Well then, you have your room keys. Your luggage has been taken to your room. I can only wish you a pleasant and enjoyable stay at Hotel Amour. It's your first, so it may take you a while to adjust to our ways here. But I am quite sure it will not be your last." What could you do but shake a hand when it was proffered? And was it my imagination, or did Penelope draw me to her as we shook hands and whisper in my ear 'There's a separate entrance in the Ladies Room." It was probably my imagination, but it would be easy to check. "I thought you said they'd established this place so they could spice up their sex life?" I said, safely in the room, the door bolted, the red light on. I'd checked. It worked from without as from within. "That's what it said on the website," Janet replied. "That ...person? Has a sex life?" "I know." I was madder than a squad of hornet who's nest had been trodden on.. Six hundred bucks, for this? Hell, you can get a season ticket to the Raider's for that. "I hope you're not in the mood for 'Amour', Janet," I said, striding across to check the patio doors were closed and the curtains drawn, "'cos if you are, you're on your own." It was eight o'clock on a Friday night and I was stuck with this until Sunday. All sorts of recriminations crossed my mind, but, fortunately, not my lips. She'd be kicking herself. No need of help from me. I threw off my shoes, sprawled out on the bed, grabbed the remote and channel-surfed. There must be some kind of a ball-game on. "We could try the restaurant," Janet said timidly. "We're here. Let's at least try to make the best of it." "How about order in pizza," I replied, thornily. "There must be a Domino's brochure in that pile." There wasn't. Neither was there a phone book. Nor a phone! "Who ever heard of a hotel without a phone?" "I could try on my cell. If you really want pizza." Frosty pause. "Well I suppose we could try the restaurant," I said. Maybe they would have some decent wine. I hoped so. There was no minibar in the room. It was the first thing I'd looked for. I couldn't blame Ron for being mad. Hell, I was annoyed myself. Also confused. Had Penelope really whispered in my ear that there was a 'separate entrance in the Ladies' Room'? And if so, why? Was there also a separate entrance in the Men's room? I had to assume not. Otherwise, why whisper surreptitiously to me and not come out with it to us both? To my intense relief, the restaurant was all that Penelope had said of it. I ordered the sole menuière and Ron had the veal 'cordon bleu'. Both were exquisite, as was the Bordeaux that Ron had chosen from a wine list that seemed to have no end. I hasten to confess that I am not a connoisseur of wines. But Ron fancies that he is and the mere fact that he ordered a second bottle comforted me. The weekend would not entirely be a 'bust'. Of course, a bottle and a half of wine was highly likely to catalyze slumber the moment we hit our room, but that was a small price to pay compared with late night movies and constant bitching about the squandering of money that was enough 'to get him a friggin' season ticket to the Raider's'. About us, couples similar to ourselves dined, sometimes a deux, sometimes a quatre, and occasionally in larger groups. But they were all, as Penelope had said, regular couples. They spanned the spectrum. Naturally, I concentrated on the guys, and some were cute. But none would have been out of place in an upmarket restaurant anywhere in the Bay. "I have to say," Ron said for the third time, "that this wine is divine." "I'm real glad, Ron. Are you feeling more relaxed?" "Yep! Your lady was not exaggerating. This is a truly excellent restaurant." I had noticed Ron's eye roving. Sure, it was natural. He was casing out the ladies, as I was casing out the guys. On an impulse, I excused myself. I didn't need to go, but I had to find out. God! I hadn't eaten well so long, I'd forgotten food could taste like that. What a wine list, too. It wasn't often that I'd had to guess. Maybe they were all that good. And the cognac -- out of this world. OK. So it was over priced. But hell, what isn't these days that is worthwhile? I drifted effortlessly into sleep and dreamt of tomorrow, when I would have the steak au poivre with a vintage burgundy. And maybe, this time, an Armagnac. I'd heard it was good, but never in my life had I tried an Armangac.... I knew it. The goddam bastard hadn't even bothered to undress himself. He lay on his back in his shirt and shorts, snoring like a blast furnace. I was at 'Hotel Amour' for this? The hell I was! I could frig myself off at home. I was damned if that was going to be it for my first night at Hotel Amour. I slid off the bed, slipped into a loose dress -- nothing underneath -- and tiptoed barefoot for the door. There I looked back. Comatose. I knew him. Wive's do. He was out for the count. I slid back the bolt, hastened out of the room and stepped hesitantly into the corridor. I checked each door as I passed by. No red lights. No amber or green ones either. But the door of 103 was - ajar? I paused, scarcely breathing. Ajar meant amber, and amber meant ...! Dare I? Did I want to? Timidly I eased the door open and peered around its edge. A hallway. I tip-toed forward, my bare feet soundless on the plush pile. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the light from a single, flickering candle. I stood transfixed, a steadying hand on the wall. The scene came slowly into focus. A woman lay on the king-sized bed, her legs splayed out wide. At the foot of the bed a man was kneeling. His arms were outstretched, caressing the woman's breasts. His head was embedded between the woman's thighs..... I felt suddenly uncomfortable, an intruder. A loud moan from the woman did it for me. As silently as I had entered, I left the room. My heart was pounding. I wanted to watch, but I had to leave. Hell, maybe Ron was right. Maybe this was not 'our scene'. I paused, undecided. I looked back along the corridor towards our room, cosy, secure. It was not too late. I could steal back, lock the door, switch on the red light, slip into bed. No-one would know. Almost, I lost my nerve. But it returned. I had not booked into the Hotel Amour to masturbate while Ron snored beside me. Hell, I'd done enough of that at home. The Green Door. I had to get behind the Green Door..... God! My mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage. Too much wine. I rolled off the bed and felt my way around it in the dark, heading for the bathroom, where I realized that I was still half dressed. Cursing, I discarded the remaining garments and spent a while in front of the cabinet. I looked like a wreck. A lot of wine, then. Janet would not be pleased. I felt ashamed. She had taken so much trouble. And where was romance? Drowned in red wine! I splashed cold water on my face, grimacing at the image in the mirror. No amount of staring improved what looked back. A shower? Maybe that would liven me up. It did. I stood under the shower, watching rivulets of hot water coursing down my body. Life slowly returned. I examined my torso. Not bad, I thought, for someone whose life consists of sitting at a desk all day. OK, so no James Bond, but it could be a lot worse. I thought of Janet, lying asleep, disappointed, no doubt, because her plan had not worked out. Well it was not too late. I would surprise her. Drying myself thoroughly, I shaved my face, and on an impulse, took the razor down to my genitals. Hell, if she could shave her pubes, then so could I. Gingerly, I shaved the hair off my balls and around the base of my cock. It took forever. Which man would want an accident around those parts? But as I worked away it began to feel good. It turned me on for sure and surely, well, if this didn't turn her on, what would! She would see I had made a real effort for her. Then I drenched my body with various sprays I found in the cabinet behind the mirror. I felt true desire. For my beautiful wife, whose needs had brought us to this place, and which I had neglected. No more. What a turn on, to be woken gently by a husband, buck naked, sporting a full erection, and raring to go! I worked so hard on my erection I damn near came. But I was determined. There would be no drooping. When she woke, 'he' would be there, in her face, as it were. Nervously I eased the beads in the 'Chinese door' at the far end of the Ladies Room apart and peered through. It was dark 'Beyond the Green Door'. Stage-fright hit me again. It was still not too late. I glanced around. I honestly could not say what I would have done if someone had not entered the Ladies at that precise moment. That was it. I was not about to be caught peering through the Green Door like a frightened doe. As silently as I could, I slipped through into the corridor and stole stealthily along it. I could see that the corridor opened out and recognized the flickering of candlelight. My stomach was turning over, but I was here now and I was going through with it -whatever 'it' was. I reached the end of the corridor and hastily stepped to one side, against the wall, fearful that whoever had entered the Ladies was right behind me. I was in a large room, which may at one time have been a cellar. To my left, it was dark. Just the flickering light of the candles. But to my right, spotlights lit brightly an area in the far corner, a sort of raised dais, and on the dais stood a man and a woman. Bold as brass, for all the eye to see, they were stark naked, kissing passionately, he was stroking her breasts with one hand, his other between her legs. Her right hand rested on his shoulder and the left -- was stroking, fondling his penis, erect and proud. I stood transfixed, emotions all over the place. Thrill, guilt, timidity - I swear this last would have won out, that I would have scuttled back through the Green Door and run back to my security blanket if I had not felt suddenly a hand on my shoulder. "They're good. Don't you think?" Penelope's voice! But not the Penelope I thought I knew. Her hair was down, her nude body, golden brown, scented, gleamed up at me. She reeked of sensuousness. "'Exhibitionists' Corner' we call that," she said. Not my cup of tea, frankly, but I do so love to watch, when they do it well." They did it well. There was not the faintest hint that they were performing. They were lovers, loving each other, as the good Lord intended - well, I suppose he would have approved if he'd been there! That they stood in the glare of the spotlights like actors on a stage seemed in no way to disturb the naturalness with which they caressed each other. Their absorption was total. That it was also aphrodisiacal I presume I do not need to recount. Even Penelope's voice now sounded different, hard to sound pompous when you are stark naked! Sensuous. "Asleep, is he?" I nodded, guiltily glancing down. "Men!" she sighed. Then, "He'll come round. They always do. Don't be timid. Wander about. No-one will bother you - unless you want to be bothered," she added, with significance. Another smile, an encouraging hand on my shoulder and she had left me, gliding across the heavily carpeted floor like a gazelle. Ron should see her now, I thought to myself. My eyes were transfixed on 'Exhibitionists' Corner'. I moved towards the spotlight, staying close to the wall, which gave way, leading into an alcove. A quick glance within, hastily averted. The alcove was dim in the candlelight, but there was no doubt what was going on there, none whatsoever. My heart was pounding. I was not ready for this. This was not my scene. I crossed the alcove and reached the next one. I risked a glance. It was empty. Thankfully I slipped into it and sat down on the plush cushioning around its edge. Before me was a table, its top covered with some kind of velvety material, smooth, soft and gentle to my touch. The woman in the booth next door was lying on one of these as her partner pounded into her .... I tried to expel the image. What was I doing here? What did I want? With privacy of sorts, inhibitions returned. Nevertheless, I could not keep my eyes off the couple on the dais. They were like magnets. She was working his penis seriously now, and the hand between her legs probed vigorously. She threw back her head, uttered a monosyllable that reverberated through the room, her thighs closed on her partner's hand and her body began to shake. I found I was shaking too. My hand flew under my skirt in a vain attempt to stem the flow of fluid from my vagina. And when the woman on the dais stopped shaking long enough to lie down on the table there, a table similar to the one in front of me in my alcove, and opened her legs wide ... Oh-Mi-God......... Godammit! Where the hell was she? I tell you, unless you've been there you can't imagine how stupid a guy feels who gets his dick stiff as a flagpole and tries to interest a pillow in sex! A full palate of emotions swept over me. It took five seconds for the light to dawn. Behind the Green Door, that was where she was! God knows what else I would have thought if at that moment a voice had not sounded from the hallway of our room. "Be a shame to waste that, doncha think?" I whirled around to find a woman peering into the room. At her shoulder, a man. Both were naked. Their bodies gleamed in the dim light. Especially her body gleamed. Her eye was fixed solidly on my erection, to which I realized she had referred. "Er, the door was ajar," the man said, catching my confusion. "We weren't sure..." I'm proud to say I recovered quickly. If Janet was behind the Green Door, then what the hell! "Come in, join the party," I said, with bravado. "If you don't mind," the man said with a sigh, staring down dolefully at a limp dick, 'it's been a long night. I do like to watch, though. Shall we light a candle or two?" He was so gentle it took my breath away. He entered her and withdrew slowly, deliberately, on and on and on..... She sighed in syncopation. This was not contrived, no 'show'. Real people, 'a couple just like us', real sex. I thought my head was going to burst. I could not breathe. I could not bear to watch. It was driving me crazy. I had to leave. It was not a rational thought, but it was my resolve nevertheless, at the time: to return to our room, wake the bastard up, suck his dick until the pips squeaked and fuck him stupid. Well, something like that. Feigning calmness, I returned through into the Ladies and hastened along the corridor. The door to 112 was ajar. Wrong room? I checked my memory. No, 112 it was. Had I in my attempt to be so quiet neglected to close the door properly? Nervously I inched into the corridor. What was this? Candlelight? I emerged into the room. It took a while for my brain to register. Was that my husband, lying on his back, beneath a woman whose rump rose and fell in regular rhythm, and with force? And were those her grunts, or his or.... "Ah! The lady doth arrive. What perfect timing!" He spoke as he arose, stroking his erection. Terrified, I ran away. Yes I did. Barefooted as I was, my vagina still drooling, I ran away from that scene out of the room and along the corridor..... Where to go? There was nowhere to hide. This was Hotel Amour. I did it to myself. Janet returned at the worst possible moment. I was only dimly aware of her entry because I was on the verge of shooting a second load into Denise's delightful cunt, this time upwards rather than downwards. I had never in my life felt so horny. I didn't even know one could feel this horny. Denise was also on the edge and both of us were oblivious to our surroundings. We just humped on until our orgasms subsided. I felt bad for George. I could tell he fancied Janet in spite of the brevity of her appearance. But I'm sure Denise made it up to him when they got back to their room. Hell, she had enough gas in her for a football team! Jesus! What a gal! "What was I supposed to do? You brought us here, you sneaked out on me, you left the door open. It was you I wanted to surprise. I spent ages preparing. And then I spring out on - a pillow! You have disappeared, and just at that moment George and Denise appear. Was I supposed throw them out?" I was sullenly silent. Ron was right, but I was damned if I was going to admit it. After all, I'd only looked, he had actually gone and done it. And, far from apologetic, he gave the appearance of the cat who had licked off all the cream. He tried to snuggle up. "Give me a mo' and I'll make it up to you." "Don't touch me," I said testily. Hell, second in line? Which woman wants that? Besides, my vagina was as dry as the sands of the Sahara. At that moment I was sure I would never ever be able to fuck him again. Maybe I would never be able to fuck any man again. He gave up, rolled over and began to snore. I could have killed him. Breakfast was gruesome. "Look, let's at least talk about it," I said. The restaurant was sparsely populated. Breakfast, it seemed, was not popular at Hotel Amour. Quelle surprise! I have to own up. I could not see her point of view. She had snuck off behind the Green Door when I was asleep, and yet I was the one in the dog-house!? I guess I never will understand the psychology of women. "What's to talk about?" she replied. "Hell, Janet. Don't be like that. You know very well. Why did we come here? Hotel Amour. It was your idea. You booked us in. Why?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time," she responded, coldly. "So what's changed?" She did not answer. "Who wanted to 'spice up' our sex life, me or you?" "Hah! You call screwing a total stranger 'spicing up our sex life'? Typical! It wouldn't have been so bad if you had not so obviously enjoyed it. I saw you. You never looked like that with me. Now I know what was wrong. I just don't turn you on. Let's face it. Our marriage is a sham." I thought she was about to cry then, so I remained silent. She didn't cry, but it was clear there was nothing I could say at the time that would have made any difference. And if the truth be known, she was not wrong. I had enjoyed sex with Denise in a way I had not with Janet. There was an animalness to it - I can't think of any other way of describing it - that was foreign to me. That George, Denise's 'significant other' was watching by choice had made no difference to me and did not seem to impress Janet. How I would have felt if Janet had succumbed to George's advances, if he had made her come in a way that I could not? This I did not ask myself. I had to get hold of myself. I needed time, space. Ron didn't understand, but neither did he object. He was very patient. I told him I was taking a drive to 'clear my head'. No, he was not invited along. I wanted to be alone. Hotel Amour "Don't do anything foolish," he said. "Don't you do anything foolish," I replied. Pretty stupid when you think of it. This was Hotel Amour, and he'd not yet been Behind the Green Door. What was he supposed to do during my absence? I was tempted, God, was I ever tempted. You'd think a thorough going over by Denise a mere six hours ago would have dampened down the pollen, but I found that the converse was true. I watched Janet drive away, returned to our room, and lay on the bed, feeling hornier than a herd of bulls. I channel surfed but, naturally, there was nothing worth watching on the tube. I left the room and roamed the corridors, but all doors were closed. Mornings, it seemed, were not what people did at Hotel Amour. What was Behind the Green Door? Anything, this time of day? Janet did not return. I had had enough. What did she think? That I would hang around in the room doing nothing as long as it suited her to remain away? Hell, enough was enough. This was Hotel Amour, I had had a foretaste of what it had to offer, and I was champing at the bit for more. As the day evolved, the hornier I became. And I was damned if I had paid $600 to lie on a bed in a hotel room jacking off while my wife was away working off her sulk. I refreshed my shave, also 'down there', re-perfumed my body, dressed myself in slacks and shirt, garments that could be discarded in an instant, and headed barefoot for the bar and the Green Door. As noontime approached I came to my senses. I had parked at a look out point. 'Scenic View', said the sign. I stared at the view, seeing nothing, scenic or otherwise.. My head was a jumble of thoughts. I still felt a sense of betrayal but was coming to understand I had brought it on myself. We were not ready for this, Ron and I. But events had so conspired and each of us in our own way had taken the plunge. In driving away and staying away, what did I think I was achieving? 'Punishing' a husband who had betrayed me? Hell, the longer I stayed away the more likely he was to compound his crime! It was only a matter of time before he went through the Green Door, and what would happen then? I had only scratched the surface. Ron would undoubtedly troll deeper. And what would he find? Whatever it was, more trouble for me, for us, for our marriage. I had set up this visit to Hotel Amour to enhance our marriage, not to destroy it. So far, it had gone in the direction 'destruction'. How could I reverse the trend. I gave this matter considerable thought as I drove back to the Hotel and parked discretely. I had never before seen a couple coupling, as it were, and the effect on my libido was - well I'm sure I do not need to spell it out. Under the spotlight, they were breathtaking, even if neither she nor he would make the cover of Vogue magazine. Their passion for each other was palpable. I rapidly shed my clothes and was grateful that the muted candlelight would be kind to the whiteness of my torso. I had in my youth enjoyed the sun on my skin, but in recent years the pressure of work .... Well, you know. I glanced in each alcove as I passed by, registering couples in foreplay, or actually copulating. I felt a tap on the shoulder, and whirling around, registered that the Venus who allowed her breast to brush my chest so provocatively was none other than the formidable Penelope. That such a transformation is possible!? "Good, aren't they," Penelope said, referring to the couple under the spotlights, who were now fucking like there was no tomorrow. "You could say so," I replied, trying to sound cool. "Would you like to fuck?" I have to confess, this was the first time a woman had asked me this precise question! "Erm...." I must have stammered, because Penelope continued, "The communal rooms are over there." She pointed, and goddam if she didn't give my cock a flick as she drifted away! Momentarily confused, I nevertheless followed her, admiring the grace of her passage. She would never make the centerfold of Playboy, but there was a sensuousness about her that aroused desire. The 'communal rooms' were set off from the main room by a short corridor. I glanced into the first room, a hodge podge of bodies heaving about in the semi-dark, grunts groans, cries, moans.... "This is the 'Rumple Room'. You know, find a willing hole, and you're away. Not my cup of tea at all. But some people seem to like it." We moved on to the second room. "We call this The Train Room,'" she said. "Quite structured." In the dim light, I made out six men lying on their backs in the form of a hexagon. Each was mounted by a woman, who rocked to and fro, or bobbed up and down. All were stark naked, there was not the slightest doubt that cock was joined to cunt - not to put too fine a point on it -- the air was filled with muted moans, cries, call them what you will, and pleasure was being had, twelvefold! A second ring of people lined the walls of the room. Men, mostly, working on their erections. The few women amongst them watched, stroking their breasts, or tweaking their nipples. At the far end of the room, a bulky individual, undoubtedly of the male persuasion, stood behind a rostrum. A gong sounded, the signal for the 'train' to move on. Each woman crawled forward and planted her rump over the face of the guy she had been fucking. Each penis, the next 'rail', was sucked, stroked or pumped. Penelope's breast brushed again against my chest, now emphasizing the firmness of her nipple. "I quite like this room. I like a bit of structure," she said. How could a voice that prim turn this sultry. "How does it work?" I asked. Hell, it was like I was in a dream, a porno dream! "Surely you can see that. The girls are on-top right now. They'll go round once, then - all carefully timed - the conductor will call for a reversal. The girls will form the track and the guys the train, that sort of thing." "Erm" I knew I shouldn't, but the Rubicon was about to be crossed. "How does one - er - get on board?" "Just give your name to the conductor. He'll give you a number. When it is called, you join the train. Guys don't last long on the train, so don't be concerned if there's a line. Girls, now, they last longer. Interesting, isn't it. We had one once who spent an entire weekend on the train. It runs day and night, you now. As long as there are enough to make 'passengers and track' as it were." Nine tenths of me wanted to proposition Penelope right then and there. Find an alcove back in the 'couples' section and get if off. But the one tenth prevailed. That would do it once and for all with Janet if she found out. The 'Train Room'? Hell, she'd run away from George. She was hardly likely to look in here, was she? I got number eight. Like all the rooms Behind the Green Door, the Train Room was lit by candles. There was also something beyond, a musky scent - an aphrodisiac? I wouldn't know. I was already so horny it was painful to watch the train as it progressed around the oval in units of about ten minutes. The women sucked cock, the men licked cunt. When the timer went off, the women moved along, mounted the cock they had just sucked and fucked it, as the spirit willed, hard or gentle. Next clang of the timer, all change. The woman's cunt was licked by the man whose cock she had just fucked, while she sucked the cock of the next in line. And so the train progressed around the oval. Day and night? Really? I had to wait in line until eight guys retired because their equipment was no longer 'viable', meaning, broadly speaking, that they'd had enough or were not up in time to fuck. Girls could switch out at will. As I watched, one did. Buxom, but hell, who was caring. Around the walls, the ring of guys, myself included checked periodically that when the time came the 'equipment' would be ready. Given the level of stimulation, I assumed number eight would soon be called. I had a lot to learn! How did they keep it up that long? The train went round and round and I grew hornier and hornier. One guy checked out. But he did not leave the room, just picked up a number and joined the rest of us, stroking his dick. Then a second, then a third.... It was much longer than I had anticipated, but when number six retired, stage-fright set in. Horny as I was, when the time came, my dick would wilt. Or it would not, I would come instantly, and I would have to retire ignominiously. There it was. Eight. Holy Cow! As luck would have it, the girls were on track and my first stint had me arrange my groin around a girl's face and lick and suck the succulent cunt ahead. I set about it with gusto. Her legs were spread wide and she accepted my ministrations with enthusiasm. It may come as a surprise, but I had never before licked a cunt. I'm sure Janet would have been receptive. It's just that, well, we didn't get to it. She did not ask me to lick her, gave no indication that this was something she would enjoy, but maybe I should have taken the initiative. Hell, I knew guys licked cunt. And I had read up on the web how one was supposed to do it. I strove now not to appear an arrant beginner, lapping at swollen pussy lips, circling the clit hood with my tongue. They said you were supposed to 'write the alphabet' with your tongue. I tried this, but got hopelessly lost at 'B'. No matter, the reactions ahead suggested I was doing ok. And I discovered one unanticipated benefit. I was so entirely focused on the cunt beneath my face, licking and tonguing, flicking the tip of my tongue across the tiny pink clit that peeped out from its hood, that the thorough oral workout my dick and balls were getting kept me at boiling point, but did not take me beyond. So when the bell tolled, I was still there. At least one rail. Not total ignominy. But when I rose and thrust my cock into a cunt as wet as I can imagine a woman's cunt can ever be, it was a different story. For one thing I could see the girl I was fucking -- firm tits, solidly erect nipples, a pretty face, long blonde hair spread out on the caroed. I tried, Godammt! But I just could not control my thrusts. I came within a minute, in pints. When I came with Janet, it signaled the end of proceedings. Janet would make no secret of the fact that, whereas I had had satisfaction, she had not and whatever mental games I tried with myself, I could not get the damn thing up before her patience ran out. If I tried to massage her, keep her going until I could get my dick up again, she would brush my hand aside and lie there, making no attempt to hide her displeasure. Turned off, there was no chance I would turn on again.. Eventually she would go into the bathroom and, probably, frig herself off. If she would just have let me do it for her.... We had settled into a pattern from which there seemed no escape. I felt helpless, but there was nothing I could do. I don't know whether it was the 'train', the general ambience at Hotel Amour, or the reactions of the girl with the splayed out hair, firm tits, stiff nipples and cute face, but I found to my intense surprise that in spite of just having spewed out pints, my cock did not wilt. She wrapped her legs around my back and drew me deep into her, encouraging me to thrust deeper, harder, faster. She massaged my cock with her cunt walls, contracting and relaxing them, massaging my cock with her cunt, imbuing me with confidence and self-esteem. I swear I would have come in her again, if it were not for that damn gong.... Greedily I lapped my second cunt, and then my third, and fourth. My cock was stiff as a pole, the hormones flowed - I stayed on that train, blonde, brunette, heavy, svelte, everything in between. What ecstasy! I came again and was sure this was it, but it was not..... Heaven on earth! Now I understood what Hotel Amour was all about! It seemed almost as though Penelope had been waiting for me. Maybe she had, maybe it was truly a coincidence. Whatever, as I emerged from the door at the far end of the Ladies room she was standing nearby watching the action on the podium. A different couple -- well, one would assume so since 12 hours had gone by. He lay on the table and she had mounted him and .... OhMiGod I felt the juices flowing again. "You know, my dear, you'd feel ever so much better if you took that dress off," Penelope whispered to me. Self-consciously I did. To my astonishment Penelope was right. Everyone else in the room was naked, so the clothed one felt 'different'. Unclothed, I was not different and even if the juices in my vagina were flowing like the Niagara Falls, they would stain nothing but my upper thigh, and only then if I kept my legs together. "This is the 'couples' area, you know," Penelope said. "It's where couples come who have paired-off, as it were. Sometimes just man and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, enjoying a different ambience. Amazing isn't it, what ambience does for the libido. But as James and I found out, there's nothing quite like 'playing away' as it were, to spice up life at home. We rarely meet behind the Green Door, but, by jingo, I can always tell when he's been down here. Sometimes he gets charged up like a raging rhinoceros. Lovely! Of course, we do have to spell each other, but we've got it down to a fine 'T', as it were. Either he drives me, or I drive him. Either way. Great fucking!" She said this with such gusto it would have seemed disingenuous, were it not for her delivery, which expressed obvious veracity, and, of course, her appearance. Her body glistened in the candlelight and exuded a delicate, but indisputably sensuous fragrance. "What do you like?" she said suddenly. "Girls? Do you like to do it with girls? We have an all girls room. Quite fun, I find, for a change." Obviously, Penelope registered a shudder on my part. "Well, my dear, on has to have an open mind about these things. There's nothing wrong in being bi-sexual. I am a bit myself, I suppose. You'd be amazed how many couples find this out once they've been given the opportunity. She gravitates to the Girl's Room and he is at first amazed and upset, but soon adjusts." "No, Penelope," I said, my eyes fixed on Exhibitionists Corner, where the girl was riding her man like there was no tomorrow. Hell, if I did that to him, Ron would come in seconds. "I don't think that's my thing." "What about two guys?" Penelope continued, unabashed. "You'd be amazed how many girls get off being fucked by two guys. A dick in the cunt and one in the arse, or double vaginal - not for every gal, I'll grant you that." "Er No!" I said, hastily. "I don't think that's my thing." "Well what is. Janet?" Penelope said, pointedly. She had remembered my name. I was impressed. "What do you fantasize about when you masturbate?" Jesus! What could one say? I could not say that! I was tongue tied. "Well how about we toddle over to the communal rooms. See if we can find something that suits." "Where's Ron?" I asked, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "He's not in our room. He's down here somewhere." "Indeed he is, Janet," Penelope replied without hesitation. "And he is enjoying himself. And I'm sure, later, you'll both experience the benefit, as it were. Even if you were to chicken out." "Chicken out!?" I said indignantly. "Yes! You came here for a reason. You sex life with Ron sucked, am I not right? And I am quite sure what he is up to right now, of itself, will improve your sex life together, if you let it. So you can leave it up to him. Just find an empty booth, watch the show and frig yourself. Or you can meet him half way. Mind you, a single woman in an empty booth in the couples area, especially one with your appeal, is rather likely to receive advances, you know. You are behind the Green Door, not in toy-town." Jesus Christ! What had I done to myself? I have no idea where the stamina came from. Years of inhibition, a libido freed, perhaps. What else could it be. The train went around, and whether as engine or rail, I went with it. My dick had settled into a permanent state of erection. I sucked, fucked, was sucked and fucked, I was on cloud 9 and as far as I was concerned it could go on forever. Sure, I thought of Janet. She was my wife. But she was not here. I'm sure Penelope knew where Ron was, but she would not tell. I had to find my own sexual identity, she said, as Ron was finding his. She showed me the Rumple Room -- a heap of bodies, writhing, squirming - but sensed this had no appeal. "Not my cup of tea either, frankly," she said. Then, "Are you into pain?" "I beg your pardon?" I really doubted that I had heard what she had said. "Pain. Lot's of women get turned on by pain. I can show you if you like." "No! Please! I am definitely not into pain!" "Hmmm! Well, we're getting a good read on what you're not into, Janet." I thought about it. Eventually, I said, "I'm sorry, Penelope. I realize how hard you are trying to help me. But it's no use. I'm out of my depth here. I should never have booked in. It was a mistake." "Believe me," Penelope said, with emphasis. "I can assure you, it was not a mistake." I presumed she was referring to Ron, but this gave me no comfort. I had instigated the visit and, wherever Ron was, he was almost certainly fucking women he did not know. I had oftentimes dreamed of fucking men I did not know - the zipless fuck - but when it came to it, I was - well, yes - chicken. I could not do it. I have no idea how the weekend would have evolved if at that moment a man had not emerged from one of the 'communal rooms' and practically bumped into us. "Oh! Hi!" he said, smiling at me. "Er...." I replied in embarrassment. George looked from me to Penelope and back. Whether he received a signal from her or not I will never know, but his next words were, "I'm in sore need of a drink. Would you care....?" At that instant, Penelope released my arm, George took it, and I was swept away. How long had I been on this damn train. One hour, two hours, three? I had no idea. My cock was still stiff and tingling, but the urgency was gone. Basically, I was spent. My cock just had not registered it. Was it honorable to leave the train with a stiff cock? Did this imply insult to whomsoever I had just fucked? God! I felt so green. I willed my cock to wilt, but the damn thing was not listening. I was enslaved by it, to fuck, suck, be fucked, be sucked by these women, train or rail, forever. I recalled Penelope's remark about the woman who stayed on the train all weekend. I had not understood at the time how this was possible, but I did now. Well, all weekend maybe not, but there was no physical reason to cut out and run just now. But I grew worried. What was with Janet? She had driven off in a huff. It was her absence that had driven me behind the Green Door, and even if the result exceeded my expectations rather dramatically, this did not alter the fact that Janet was my wife, I was bound to her, and I did not know where she was or what she was doing. Not my fault. But nevertheless, I worried about her. And this worry eventually transmitted itself to my dick. I had not come for many a round of the train, and I did not come now. But my dick nevertheless began to wilt. I could retreat, I felt, with honor intact. He was so gentle. "Tell me if I go too far," he had said as his fingers stroked my pussy lips. Of course, he was experienced enough to interpret correctly the flow from my vagina. My first orgasm occurred within minutes. George obviously recognized this. I could tell because of the way his finger tips retreated from my clit. But he knew I was far from done and his hand worked on, stroking my pussy lips, exploring gently the opening of my vagina, searching, and finding my G-spot, pressing on it, lowering his head and licking my clit as his fingers ..... OhMiGod.....