It’s Not Always What it Seems

Dear Reader,

This story was originally published in 2008. Supposed to be the first of a multipart story, until now, the rest of the story never got finished. Why not? Mostly because of the feedback from you, the readers. I suddenly found that I was the spawn of the devil. I was tried, convicted, castigated, excommunicated. I walked away with my “tale” between my legs. Why? Because I published a story of Non-Consent/Reluctance that included non-consensual sex in the Non-Consent/Reluctance category. Hmmm.

There were multiple mistakes that I made. I should have had the entire story finished before I published Part 1, but I was a “young” (read: inexperienced) writer and the personal attacks caught me by surprise. Instead of a response of “Oh My God!” and “So… why was it not what it seemed?” which would have led directly into the following chapters, I took my ego and pouted for a few years. Every once in a while, I considered that perhaps I should finish the story.

And then a few months ago, the time became right. I retired my ego, salved my mental bruises, and here once again, is Part 1 of “It’s Not Always What It Seems.”

Keeping the name in mind, expect that at the end of Part 1 of this story you may want to vomit. You may think I’m the Devil’s Spawn. You may think this is the Worst Story Every Written… but remember, It’s Not Always What It Seems, and perhaps you should check out the remaining two parts of the story…

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It must have been the sudden hush of voices in the mildly crowded hotel bar. Not that it was that noisy, just one of those “something’s happening” drops in the background sound level. The majority of the room was full of businessmen and women, all of us away from our homes on Valentine’s Day. I glanced up, the wrong direction, but saw enough faces glancing toward the door that I knew someone new must be entering the scene. Across the room at the noisiest table I saw one of the young “studs” — at least they thought they were — nudge his partner and immediately stand up heading my way at the bar. It was exactly as I’d figured; a somewhat stunning blonde had been in earlier; they’d bought her a drink but had obviously gotten nowhere as she was gone, and they were still here.

I finished my gaze around the bar, looking up into the mirror behind the bottles where I could see the cause of the commotion. Or, was that sudden decrease in the ambient din, a “lack” of commotion? I nursed my Martini, not really wanting to finish it — just not my kind of drink really — but my buddy Larry who’d left moments before had bought it for me. He was a Martini fan; I was more of a Scotch on the rocks. All that flashed through my mind moments before all thoughts of anything except the beauty standing in the doorway, allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the dim light, left my head.

Long black hair surrounded a picture-perfect complexion which would have been stunning if that’s all there was, however, the form fitting red dress and long shapely legs made her just that much more stunning. I watched her reflection scan the room, and the look of distaste cross her face just as the “stud” reached her.

“Well, helllooo, hot stuff. Can I buy a pretty girl a drink?”

His classless words were barely audible to me from this distance — maybe I just imagined what he said because I’d already deciphered what kind of jerk he really was from his interaction with the blond earlier. But there was no mistaking her retort; “Go Fuck Yourself,” reaching my ears just as I took another sip. The harsh liquid burned my throat as my sip was interrupted by my internal guffaw, similar responses taking place at other spots around the room, tears momentarily rolling into the corner of my eyes.

I slightly shook my head, enjoying the humor of the jet jockey going down in flames, and decided I’d had enough of this shit. Motioning to the waiter I said, “I think I’ve had enough of this — what have you got in a good Scotch?” His answer was pleasing to my ear and, as I awaited his delivery of the goods, my eyes once again caught motion in the mirror. As I looked up, her eyes caught me admiring her from afar. She didn’t look away, so I nodded. Not much, just an acknowledgement that I’d been looking, and she caught me looking. I’d long ago given up on pretending these things didn’t happen. I looked away, my drink arrived, moments later I sensed a presence off my shoulder.

Turning, I found myself eye to eye with those gorgeous green eyes. She smiled, but she didn’t have to. “Buy a girl a drink?” She said, repeating to me virtually exactly what had shot the jet jockey down moments before.

“Only if you’ll join me,” I said indicating the open bar stool beside me. “Hooker” passed through my mind, exactly the look that she’d obviously cultivated. What else could this be? A gorgeous twenty something brunette in a businessman’s hotel on Valentine’s day, allowing herself to be picked up, or rather, picking up on me? I mean granted, I’ve got that same male ego I had when I was a young stud, but believe me, I don’t fool myself. I’m still good looking at 37, even if I am becoming a bit “Folically Challenged.” Not bald, at least not yet, but the forehead is a lot bigger than it used to be and I better not go golfing without a hat or I’ll have a sunburn up top in no time. But I’m not bad looking; I run 5 miles a day (and have for damn near as long as this vixen’s been alive) so I’m still in shape, but still… A terrible thing to think when you first meet someone, but I’m a realist.

“I’d sooner join you than dick wad over there,” her arm flinched in the “stud’s” direction; I didn’t have to look; I knew who she meant. I observed her closer as she slid into the seat beside me. Her breasts were unencumbered by a bra; besides the tear drop cleavage of the stretch dress that exposed clear to the under curve of her breasts, their gentle sway as she moved and the two hardened nipples confirmed that observation. There was no bunching, no panty marks, no indication that she was wearing anything underneath. Despite all my misgivings for this evening, I had to admit she looked, and was, damn sexy, and desirable — even if she was a hooker. She played that role quite well.

“Here on business?” I asked, the words out of my mouth before I realized the double entendre.

“Not exactly.” Her look and slight frown told me she’d thought I’d asked if she was for sale, not exactly on script for the pickup.

Shit, I thought, how’d I blow that so quickly?” What’re you drinking?” I immediately offered, returning to script, and her tension eased just a bit. Negotiating was supposed to be somewhat subtle; we knew that others were in earshot.

“Chardonnay.”

“You got it. Bartender! Chardonnay for the lady.” He’d already anticipated the order, was just steps away.

“Coming up.” He turned and I saw him begin to pull down a wine glass.

I returned my attention to my new acquaintance. Turning towards her, I offered my hand. “I’m Jim” I said simply.

She held out her hand and, her long cools fingers gripping mine. “Stephanie. My friends call me Steph.”

“May I call you Steph then?” Her nod confirmed she didn’t mind.

“How about you?” She asked. “Here on business?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Business just doesn’t seem to think Valentine’s Day is a legal holiday.”

A glass of Chardonnay appeared in front of her, and she took a sip. “So, you’re not here on business?” I asked again, ostensibly showing curiosity about just what her business was.

“I’m not. I’m along with my husband who decided that I should spend Valentines night without him, so I came down here so I didn’t have to be alone,” she answered for the listening ears as much as me. She licked her lips, the shiny wetness accentuating their fullness.

Despite our interaction, my thought process said that anyone watching would think that something just didn’t add up. I heard my cock talking in response to her, exactly as I would have thought, the dance of two soon to be lovers. “I suspect your husband must be an insane man.”

“And why do you say that?” she asked, her quizzical half-smile tantalizing, teasing in response.

“Because you are so incredibly sexy and desirable that only someone suffering from pure insanity would leave you alone on Valentines night.” She gazed into my eyes saying nothing.

“Tell me, Jim. Are you a nice guy?”

“I think so.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Got a girlfriend?” Just where was this going, I wondered. Not the line of questioning I would have expected.

“Not exactly. More like a good friend, with benefits,” I smirked, not saying who this ‘friend with benefits’ was. She looked at me again, holding my gaze, her face inscrutable, her eyes unblinking. She sipped her wine again and then licked her lips before continuing.

“I’m going to stand up in a moment and slap your face and turn and walk away,” she said, totally for the bartender who was standing discretely back and ostensibly not paying attention but who was totally within earshot. “The key card on the counter is for 2404. My husband is away until tomorrow, and I don’t want to spend the night alone. I like older guys, and you seem like a nice guy. Interested?”

I hesitated. Was this for real? I could see the bartender out of the corner of my eye, pretending he wasn’t paying attention. I hadn’t picked up a girl in a bar in years, and here a goddess maybe 10 years my junior was seemingly picking me up? Once again, my cock spoke for me, back on script.

“Yes.” I knew that not only was the bartender discretely observing, without letting it be known that he was observing, but that the bar security camera was doing the same.

Despite her warning, and that I knew it was coming, her slap caught me by surprise. No sooner had I said yes than her hand came up across my face. Whereas before, the gentle hubbub as she’d entered the bar had subdued, this time it went completely quiet. Every eye in the place watched her sexy little ass departing through the door that she’d come in. The first sound I heard was the underhanded guffaw of the “studs.” My face smarted, but I didn’t turn to look. I really was stunned but realized, just as she had said, that the key card was still sitting beside the almost empty Chardonnay glass. I sat a few more minutes, finished my own drink, then palmed the key card under the observant eye of the bartender, paid the bill and got up to leave.

The underhanded comments from the studs were now openly pointed at me. I just ignored them, never looking back. 2404 she’d said. I pushed the 24th floor, and when nothing happened saw the sign saying I had to use my key to access above the 23rd floor. I tried the key, and immediately the 24th floor lit to my touch. Glancing up at the hidden camera location in the elevator, I realized It was a good thing that I’d never actually been to the 24th floor before. When the door opened, despite knowing there was a reason upper floors were key access only, I realized this was a different level of hotel than I was used to. The doors were few and far between. Even the hall decorations looked more expensive. The second door on the right was 2404, I stopped. Should I knock or use the key? She gave me the key; I shrugged to myself, so I used it. The green light told me she hadn’t lied.

I pushed the door open. “Hello, Steph?” I called as I stepped in.

“Come on in” she answered, and moments later appeared around the corner of the suite carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Right on time, I figured you’d know not to follow me immediately. It’s the only way you know, if I’d left any other way, they’d have known you were following me, and we didn’t want that.”

“You could have told me.” I answered, as she handed me the bottle and a corkscrew.

“Not and had you respond naturally. If I’d told you, you would have had to have acted and not many people are really good actors. By not telling you, just like slapping you before you expected, you had to figure it out, and therefore waited just the right amount of time.”

“You’ve done this before.” Not a question, a statement of fact that of course I had really understood had to happen, but hadn’t thought about or prepared for.

“A few times.”

“So why do you keep with him? Why would a beautiful woman like you need to stay with someone that leaves you alone at night?” I’d finished the cork, and was pouring wine into her glass as she held it out. Finishing hers, I poured myself some, set the bottle down and followed her to the couch in the opulent living room. The drapes were open, showing the dazzling light display of the city below.

“Three reasons,” she answered. “One, I love him. Don’t ask why — but I do.” Of all that had happened so far, her profession of love for him rang the hollowest. She sat down on the couch; I joined her, not next to her as the couch was larger than a love seat, but still not far away. “Two, we’re fabulously wealthy, so for the rest of my life I will have anything I want, when I want.” She paused for effect, stretching her legs, now barefoot, toward me, rubbing her bare feet on my leg, then continued, “And three, we have an open marriage.” Her foot slipped over my leg and into my crotch, her toes searching for my cock. “He’s actually out with a girlfriend tonight, and he lets me have my flings and when we get back together, we tell each other about everything and have a good time ourselves.” Again, she paused after the lie, and then shrugged her shoulders. “It may not be for everyone, but it works for us.”

I sat and looked at her, she set her glass on the end table and rolled around into the seat, leaning forward, reaching for my pants. “When I see him next,” her hands finding my pants and beginning to undo my belt and zipper. “I’m going to tell him all about how I met Jim in the bar, and how I brought him up to the room…” The tear drop gap in her dress in this position was hanging just enough that I slipped a hand through it, caressing her breast, “and sucked his cock; and how he ate my pussy and how we pleasured each other for hours. And while I’m telling him this he’s going to eat my pussy and make me cum some more because he likes to eat cum out of my pussy from my lovers and if that makes him happy that makes me happy.” Her hands had finished undoing my pants and had pulled my cock out and her tongue was beginning to lick me. On her knees know, I began to pull her dress up. It came with no resistance, revealing that as I’d known, she had nothing on underneath. I noticed that her perfect tan said she didn’t often wear a swimsuit; I assumed, this being Washington, this meant time at a tanning salon.

She stopped and stood, taking the dress, and lifting it over her head, dropped it to the floor. I gazed upon her perfect body, slender rounded hips, firm, but not overly full breasts that needed no bra as I’d already witnessed. A piercing in her belly button and a small landing strip, her labia were pronounced with the button of her hooded clit clearly visible. Reaching for my hand she said, “Come on.” I stood, and she began to finish removing my clothes. I helped, and soon we were both naked.

“I knew you’d have a nice one,” she said, grabbing my cock and pulling me toward the bedroom.

There was no doubt that she was in charge from the beginning. She decided that I was going to suck her nipples; she decided that I was going to lick her clit; she decided that she wanted it doggie; she decided she wanted to be on top. When I’d finally come a second time and was about worn out for the moment, and she’d come too many times to count, she let me rest. Lying on the bed, she was playing with my cock which was still limp, when she said, “We’ll let him rest for a while and then I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What’s that,” I questioned, trying to show a bit of trepidation with her lack of disclosure, but she wouldn’t tell me.

I’d begun to doze off, when she leaned down and took my limp cock into her mouth once again. Soft, she sucked the entire thing in completely, her tongue running completely around the head and her sucking soon had me growing hard again. “Mmmm. It’s always best after we’ve done it for a while, so you don’t come so fast.”

“Why is that?” I questioned, stroking her hair as she worked my cock.

“You’ll see.” She quit sucking and rolled off the bed. Reaching down she came up with a handcuff attached to a rope. “Give me your hand,” she said. I acted leery, but silently agreed. She took my opposite hand and slipped the cuff around my wrist.

“I’m not into bondage or anything like that,” I said.

“Oh, you won’t mind. This is all fun.” She slipped off the other side of the bed, and came up with another handcuff attached to apparently the same rope which seemed to be looped under the bed.

“Now hold your horses, Steph — I’m not sure I want to do this,” I protested as could be expected from someone who had a little bondage unknowingly sprung on them. “Just what is it you’re going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything but suck your cock Jim. I’m going to get you face down so you have to get on your knees for me to get under you, then I’m going to suck your cock until you come in my mouth — and you won’t be able to touch me at all the whole time.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all I’m going to do.”

“You’ll let me go when I say?”

“After you’ve come in my mouth and I swallow you dry I’ll turn you loose.” Her smile was disarming, her beauty disarming, but still — I hesitated. This was it, could I really go along with this?

“Please?”

I relented, and she reached forward clipping the other handcuff to my arm. I was now on my knees on the bed, but not for long. She reached down and pulled the rope which tightened, gradually pulling me forward until I couldn’t stay up. I was now on my knees, my chest to the bed, arms splayed wide.

Steph slid a pillow in under my stomach, then went around behind and spread my legs until she could crawl underneath on her back, her face up to my cock. She adjusted the pillow until she could suck me without straining herself, and said “Ok, that’s good,” and began to suck my still only semi-hard cock.

It was only moments later that I felt the pressure of someone on the bed behind me. With no warning, suddenly hands were on my backside, spreading my cheeks. A male voice said, “Is he a good one, Steph? Her muffled answer from having my cock in her mouth was all I heard. I tried to shout, but with my face buried in the bed, I made only muffled noises. The hands unexpectedly spread some type of lube on my ass, with first a finger and then I suspect a dildo penetrating my asshole. Finally, to my horror, I knew it was a cock that was penetrating me, fucking my ass, for the first time in my life. Completely helpless, I could do nothing.

At first all I felt was the pain, my ass being forced open, more than had ever happened before, by something foreign. Then unexpectedly I realized that my once limp cock, partially aroused again and buried in Steph’s mouth, was growing harder. As Steph was sucking, someone, ostensibly her husband, was fucking me in the ass. Steph was moaning herself, but I didn’t realize why. I was helpless, I couldn’t touch anyone, I couldn’t fight anyone off, I couldn’t do anything except kneel there and take it. The longer it went the more I knew I really was going to cum again, but not before whoever it was behind me came deep in my ass. Soon enough I came myself; Steph as promised, sucking, and swallowing until my cock quit throbbing, vaguely realizing that she too had orgasmed.

Soon I was alone on the bed, and all I could do was listen to their talk. “God, Steph, he was a good one this time.”

“I’m pretty sure he was a virgin. I know how you like virgins. Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.” It was silent for a moment and then her hand was caressing my side. “Jimmy, if you’re ready I’ll let you down now.”