Part 1 of 2
"Take Margo here, she's a real piece of work. Yeah, a genuine nympho, aren't you, Babe?" The elegant, woman in the creamy sundress, kept her chin high, averting her eyes, as she turned to scan the horizon, oblivious to her companion's humiliating words. "It's really easy to get her worked up, and once she's all hot and bothered, the bitch'll be all over you," he confided leaning over the table. "I mean, she's a fuckin' animal. Can't get enough of it."
Petra couldn't believe her ears! She sat stiffly upright on the edge of the padded booth; a pretty waitress in a pert pony tail, invited to sit for a moment while her customers finished their morning coffee. Sitting down with guests was frowned on at Dreamchasers, of course, but Joey, the manager was nowhere to be seen, so she took a chance. By this time the dining room was almost empty, and beside this Nick guy was a smooth operator. Charming in a way. He smiled his crooked smile, and beckoned her to join them with a folded bill that slid easily into her palm as he introduced himself, holding her hand lightly while eyeing the plastic nametag perched on her left breast.
And so young Petra had let herself be persuaded to join them. The guy was not bad looking, but he was definitely too loud; much too showy for her tastes. Still, she had to admit, he had a certain charm, with his thick black hair slicked back and his powerful physique hidden under one of those dark silk suit he wore. The big guy always looked overdressed for the resort in those suits of his, even though he tried to "dress down" by opening his silvery shirt well down the front to reveal a heavy chain of beaten platinum, showy and glitzy, like the linked bracelet he wore, or that impressive ring of his.
He was much too vulgar for the Dreamchasers Resort crowd, and especially for the sophisticated lady he was with. He just didn't fit in. He probably knew it, but was rich and didn't care. He kept his eyes on the blond woman at his side; oblivious to the other guests.
It was the contrast of this improbable couple that was so striking. That contrast made the other guests, and even the well-trained staff, turn their heads to follow the beefy guy and his beautiful escort, whose hips swayed with the easy stride of an elegant fashion model on the catwalk. Tall and lovely, she had a model's long legs and slender body -- a proud, elegant blonde, with thick folds of soft wavy hair, blue eyes and exquisite features. And she was always impeccably turned out; one of those casual women who could look fashionably dressed even in nothing but a simple sundress one that left her lightly-tanned arms and shoulders bare as she set off in her large straw hat for a day of sightseeing or shopping along the quay.
Some speculated that the big guy might have been a chauffer, or with his husky build, maybe a bodyguard, or one of those personal trainers that all the rich, pampered guests seem to have attached to them these days. She seemed to regard him from on high, with quietly amused tolerance, while for his part, he was openly possessive of the beautiful blonde. He couldn't keep his hands off her, touching her, stroking an arm or a leg, forcing kisses on her, brazenly caressing her in public. Some said he was rich and powerful, a man with a shady past who had finally bought a trophy wife.
Petra watched them enter the dining room, saw how he'd guide his stately companion with one hand on her waist and how, as they made their way through the crowd, that hand would slowly slide down the sleek curve of the woman's skirted behind to shamelessly cup a cheek of the blonde's elegantly shaped bottom. He'd let them be shown to their usual corner table, smiling and nodding cordially at the other guests, while his big hand rested so openly, so possessively on the swaying rump of his woman.
If the aristocratic blonde's found such public fondling embarrassing, or at the least, distasteful, she showed no obvious signs of distress. To the contrary, she always maintained her composure, moving serenely, head held high, oblivious to the slow moving hands that took such open liberties with her expensively dressed body.
It was that same attitude that now both shocked and fascinated the young waitress. Petra sat stunned, not so much by the way the crude way the lecher treated the lady, as by the fact that the lady herself made not the slightest protest. Petra, with rising agitation, felt she should get away from them, but as she started to get up a beefy hand shot out to clamp her wrist and she was plunked back down into the curved seat.
"No, wait!" He held her in a powerful grip. "Stay here -- for just a minute, Babe. It's okay. We like you and we'd like to get to know you better. See we come here a lot, regular guests you might say. And we believe in being generous when we tip the staff, especially the friendly hard-working ones like you. Yeah, we've been watching you. Margo likes you, but you gotta watch out, cause I can tell you, Margo has hard time keeping her hands off the hired help. Oh yeah, especially the young and pretty ones. She likes them...a lot. Don't you, Slut?" He turned to his tense companion, moved closer, his eyes just inches from her blond face.
Petra sat paralyzed, wide eyed with disbelief, looking at the older woman who kept her face turned as though fixated on something at the far end of the room.
