This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are 18 years and over
*
Watson fell face-down onto the bed, then rolled over and hooked off his shoes. It had just gone midnight. Beck was only a few doors away, but tomorrow was another big day, especially since it was already today, and she'd probably earned herself a night off. Cleaning his teeth while he took a quick shower, he was still towelling himself dry when there was a tiny little tap on the door.
'Rat... tat tat tat... tat tat.' Their secret knock.
Towel around his waist, Watson opened the door a crack and Beck squeezed through like a cat on a date with the fridge. Throwing her keycard on the desk, she reefed her oversized T-shirt off and flung herself naked on the bed. Legs spread, she draped a long, skinny arm over her eyes. "Oh woe is me," she cried, "poisoned by a wicked witch. Oh where, oh where can I find some handsome prince to fuck me out of my slumber?"
Watson jumped up and down on the spot till the towel fell away. "Fresh out of princes I'm afraid. Would a wrinkly old peasant do?"
Kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, he kissed his way upwards from her ankles, parking his torso on the mattress as his mouth came in range of her pink-slitted mound. Her skin was the colour of gold in the glow of the table lamp, her soft belly heaving with pleasure and excitement. "I've been waiting for this all night." she shivered, elevating her hips as a stiff, prehensile tongue began working her groove and Watson said something through a mouthful of pussy that could have been, 'so have I'.
"Dommy?" Beck asked at length. "Do you like Macca?"
Watson squirrelled his tongue into Beck's entrance and she gasped. He nodded. "Uh huh."
"I think she likes you too." Beck replied breathlessly, her pelvis rocking and rolling in response to the old man's attention.
Watson withdrew his tongue and raised his head. "No. She doesn't."
"Uh huh," Beck nodded earnestly, "she does."
"No. She doesn't."
"No, really. She does."
"Well that's tough luck, isn't it?"
"Why?"
"She's been sentenced to marriage."
"So what? Tanya's married. That didn't stop you."
"Vicky's not Tan. End of story."
Beck put a hand on Watson's head and pushed him back down. "Settle petal, I'm just saying." After a few more minutes of Watson's sucking and slurping, she piped up again. "Know what she said?" Watson shook his head with his tongue buried inside her. "She said..."
Worming the tip under the hood of her clit, he gave the hard little bead a good tongue-lashing. Beck grabbed his head in both hands, back straining. "She said... I was lucky... to have someone... who loves me so... so... so... Oh... Dommy. Finger me!"
Pulling back far enough to admire the sight, Watson teased Beck's plump outer lips apart and winkled his finger into her hole. "Oh yeah..." Beck huffed, eyes closed, the ring of pink muscle gripping the intrusion, "do that..."
"So what did Vicky say?"
"She said... I was lucky... to have someone who... who loves me... so much and I... and I..."
There was a knock at the door that made them both jump. Beck propped herself up on her elbows while Watson slid onto the floor and peered over his shoulder. Pulling the old man's finger out, she sat and tapped him on the arm. Frowning, she mouthed, "Who's that?"
Watson's first thought was it was hotel security. The hotel was lousy with CCTV. They would have seen Beck leave her room and enter his. 'Paranoid bullshit' he thought in the very next breath, though his heart was pounding.
"Damon?" a voice called in hoarse whisper. "Are you awake?"
Beck's jaw dropped. "Macca?"
"No." Watson shook his head as he rose to whisper in her ear. "It's flippin' Ally!" This was obviously the little jet pilot's MO. Abandon him at the lift feeling bereft, then turn up unannounced and knock his socks off.
"Damon?" the voice quavered as little knuckles rapped on the door.
"How do you know?" Beck demanded in a harsh whisper.
"I just do." Watson insisted then looked over his shoulder at the door. "Just a minute!" he called, looking desperately around the room for an escape hatch. "You'll have to hide!"
"Are you gonna fuck Ally?"
"Not if she sees you. Quick!"
"Where?" Beck asked then jerked her head in the bathroom's direction. "In there?"
"No, she might need a pee." Watson ripped the slatted door of the wardrobe open and planted his hand in the middle of Beck's bare back. "In here!"
Beck fended him off and rounded on him, glaring. "I am not spending all night in there!"
"Hello Damon?" Another few knocks.
"Hang on," Watson sang, "just getting decent." Looking at Beck he clasped his hands. "Moosh pleeeease! We'll go straight back to her room!"
"Well there'd better be some left for me." Beck whispered angrily as the old man threw her shirt and keycard in after her and shut the door on the room's generous closet. Running around in a panic, Watson finally gathered his wits enough to pull on his boardshorts and T-shirt, taking care to cover the inch or two of stiff dick poking up through the waistband. Giving his scalp a vigorous rub, he swallowed his pounding heart and stepped to the door.
When he turned the handle the door burst open with weight of the body behind it. Clad in a short, dark green silk slip, clutching a bottle in one hand and two Champagne flutes in the other, the visitor stumbled a little, trying to get her balance after the dramatic entrance. Given the dance of her pointy little breasts under the silk, and the way the fabric clung to her contours, there were no prizes for guessing she was naked underneath. Watson stared at her, open mouthed.
"I hope it's not too late?" she slurred, looking at her bare arm. "It's just... I'm not sleepy yet and was wondering if we could talk."
Closing the door behind him, Watson followed her in, stealing a peek at the slatted wooden wardrobe, almost convinced he could hear heavy breathing inside. "No, not at all. It's holidays, after all."
Weaving across the room to the writing desk, she carefully set the bottle down. Closing one eye to focus, she placed the flutes unsteadily beside it, along with her key, then stood back to admire her handiwork. She had tried to bundle her hair up but given her inebriation results were mixed- part dishevelled, part carefree. Nervously licking her lips, she nodded at the bottle. "Nightcap?"
"Why not?" Watson nodded. "Just a splash. So, what can I do for you, Sweetheart?"
The young woman handed him the bottle to do the honours. While there were two comfortable armchairs, one round ottoman and a writing chair to choose from, she turned around and sat heavily on the end of Watson's bed. Her slip rode up and it took every ounce of won't-power to avoid sneaking a peek under the hem. Popping the cork, Watson poured two glasses with a shaking hand. A similarly drunk girlfriend had once revealed a jealously guarded female top-secret: If a girl came into your room and sat on your bed, you were in.
Discretion being the better part, Watson handed her a drink, then dragged the writing chair away from the desk and manoeuvred it into position facing her. Raising his glass, he touched it to hers. "Cheers."
"Cheers to you, Damon." she said then downed her drink in a single breath. Heaving a gassy belch, she swallowed hard against a surge of reverse peristalsis.
"Refill?"
She waved him off, swallowing hard to keep the first glass down.
"Something troubling you, Macca? Or did you just want a little chinwag?"
"Yep!" she nodded blearily, "Nope. What I mean is... well... You wanna know the absolute truth?"
"It's always a good starting point."
"I don't know what's troubling me. A few times today I thought I was going crazy."
"How so?"
