Mrs. Vale's Secret

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-