This is the fourth in a series of stories about the sexual awakening of a young couple, Beth and Rich series. It isn't essential to read the prior stories but some of this one will make a bit more sense if you have read the others, especially the first one posted.
When Rich stepped out of the secure area at SFO his vivacious red-haired wife was waiting for him. She had called him before he left LA and told him she would meet him. She was taking him out for the evening to celebrate his 30th birthday.
Beth wore a skirt he had seen before, a Scottish wool plaid that reached to her knees. The plaid was predominantly a dark green that contrasted beautifully with her thick red hair. The garment was really a wrap more than a traditional skirt, with a fastener at the waist and a second at the hem, a large gold pin. Without the pin he knew the skirt would flare open nearly to her waist when she spun or sat casually.
She wore a simple white blouse that, while not sheer, still clearly revealed the lacy bra she wore beneath it and the bulge of her large breasts restrained by the bra. The blouse was buttoned demurely to the neck where she wore a simple black choker with a cameo at the base of her throat. Her long thick red hair was piled atop her head. She wore simple gold studs in her ears. She finished the outfit with four-inch stiletto heels—much taller than he had ever seen her wear. They were black with a gold heel. The heels were a new acquisition. It had taken Beth a week to learn to walk in them. She did a quick pirouette to let Rich see the total effect. The hem of the skirt flared and showed off her strong shapely legs to mid-thigh. Rich was stunned, as he often was, with his wife's beauty.
When she slid behind the wheel of their car she reached down and released the lower catch of her skirt, letting it fall open to reveal a long shapely and muscular leg. As they exited the airport she turned north on the 101 heading towards San Francisco rather than their home in Palo Alto.
"So what's the plan?' Rich asked.
"You'll see. Just sit back and enjoy your ogling of my leg for now, you dirty old man."
"Old?"
"Well, you turned thirty today didn't you?"
"That's not old!"
"We'll see," she said as she reached across and slowly stroked his dick through his trousers.
"Oh so it's going to be that kind of night, eh?"
"That's the plan. Sit back and enjoy it."
After a quick drive up the 101 Beth smoothly guided the sedan into San Francisco, pulling up before the St. Francis Hotel. In the brief moments before a doorman jumped out to open her door she rolled the window down and quickly released three buttons on her blouse. When the young doorman reached her car door and she turned towards him he could see a good deal of her breasts threatening to spill out of the lacy bra she wore. She handed him the car's valet key and told him to park it for the evening, giving him a room number for the charge. The young man was busily filling out a claim check form when she swung her long legs out of the car, letting the skirt fall away to both sides of her legs, causing him to ask again for her room number and whether there was luggage. She repeated the room number and told him the luggage was already in the room. Then she stood and strutted quickly towards the door of the luxury hotel, swinging her hips as she walked like a runway model. The doorman stared, and Rich watched in amusement, thinking that his wife was giving new meaning to the term "shock and awe."
As they approached another doorman, manning the door to the hotel, Beth whispered, "Rich, be a darling and tip the doorman with a twenty. Otherwise he may not let you bring your hooker into the hotel." The release of the buttons on the otherwise conservative blouse and the clasp at the bottom of the skirt in combination with the stiletto heels had dramatically changed Beth's appearance.
Rich crossed the doorman's palm with the twenty and received an almost jealous look along with the polite, "Thank you sir."
Once they were inside the hotel Beth walked rapidly through the sumptuous lobby, swinging her hips as she had practiced all week. As she strode forward the unfastened fabric of the skirt fell away from the forward leg on each step, exposing a length of beautiful thigh. The looks she was getting from businessmen as she passed them were delicious. They were all jealous of Rich.
"We have a room?" Rich asked, still trying to catch up with her both physically and emotionally.
"Yes, it's in the old part of the hotel. Much nicer than the tacky new tower they have behind it. I checked in this afternoon."
"Oh, I didn't know." Rich was stunned by the combination of his wife's tacky dress and assertive style.
"But I think we need a drink first, don't you. The view from the bar at the top of the tower is stunning."
"Ah . . . sure." Rich was worried now. His wife, dressed like a high-class hooker, was going to take him to the bar in this classy hotel for a drink. What if he ran into one of the partners from his law firm here?
"This way," she said as she strode purposefully through the lobby to the tower elevators leading at the back still swinging her hips like a hooker in search of a john. Beth couldn't decide which she was enjoying more—playing this slutty out of character role, or watching her husband's obvious discomfort with her dress and conduct.
Once they were in the elevator Beth ignored the fact that it was on the outside of the tower and its glass walls exposed the riders to the view of anyone below or in nearby buildings that was paying attention. She threw her arms around Rich and kissed him hard, snaking her tongue into his mouth while she rubbed her tilts against his chest. When she felt the elevator slow as it reached the top, she backed away and pulled out the handkerchief she knew would be in Rich's breast pocket. As she neatly wiped the lipstick smears from his face she said, "We can't have you looking tacky can we dear." She tucked the handkerchief back in the pocket of his suit coat while using her other hand to stroke his partially erect cock through his trousers. Then she walked away from him still using the slutty gait she had been practicing all week.
Rich was stunned. He stood watching her walk away until the closing elevator bumped his shoulder. Jumping forward just enough to clear the elevator, he continued to watch his wife until she disappeared from view through the door to the bar. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to tackle her and fuck her right there in the lobby to the top floor bar and restaurant or run for his life. What had come over his wife? Even at the nudist camp they had attended with their parents the prior summer she hadn't acted this brazen.
When Rich finally got it together enough to follow Beth into the bar he found her sitting on a bar stool sideways to the bar, her long legs together, with her knees pushing against the thighs of a man standing between her and the next bar stool. She was leaning forward, the open neckline to her blouse obviously affording the man a view of her barely constrained breasts. The cloth of her skirt, no longer fastened at the hem, had fallen away so that the lower half of one thigh was exposed nearly to the hip to everyone in the bar who cared to look. The remaining side of the wrap sat precariously atop her thighs covering the top of her legs and lap. Rich couldn't hear her conversation with the man, but he quickly guessed the content as he stood watching the pair. As Beth spoke she put her hand on the man's arm and then lifted it only to replace it again in moments. She's flirting with a guy who's trying to pick her up, he thought!
Beth glanced quickly towards Rich and smiled, raising a hand signaling for him to rescue her from her suitor, who by now had placed a hand on her thigh. Hah, Rich thought. I'll just let her sit there and see how she does at fending this guy off. He leaned against the wall knowing he could rescue her with about three long strides across the bar, but choosing to wait for now.
Beth watched Rich from the corner of her eye as he leaned against the wall declining to rescue her. So that's how he wants to play the game, she thought. Okay, I can do that, she decided. She reached down with her left hand, and instead of pushing her suitor's hand away, she placed hers atop it. When he realized she wasn't going to let him slide his hand further up her leg, he began to use his fingers to massage her thigh through the soft wool fabric of the skirt. He and Beth were talking, but neither was paying much attention to what the other was saying, focused instead on his massage of her thigh.
"Hmmm. That feels really good," Beth told herself. "I wonder how far I will have to let this guy go before Rich rescues me?" She glanced quickly at Rich who was leaning against wall with a soft smile on his face.
"She's got herself trapped," Rich told himself. "The guy isn't going to take no for an answer, and I'm not going to rescue her—at least not yet."
A waitress approached Rich, asking, "Do you need a table sir?"
"What? Err . . ." The waitress had surprised Rich, interrupting his focus on Beth's predicament. He looked down at the short buxom waitress with the top of her boobs prominently displayed by her outfit. Now he was distracted by the woman's breasts. Finally getting it together he said, "Umm . . . No. I prefer to stand. Bad back. But you could bring me a double scotch. McCallum 12 straight up."
The waitress dispatched, he returned his attention to Beth. She and her new friend were continuing to chat. Her hand not occupied with controlling the lecher's hand on her thigh continued to waive in punctuation of her words or occasionally flirtatiously press his arm. When he was talking she paused to sip a drink that sat alongside her on the bar. Her knees remained pressed against the man's thighs, or was it his thighs pressed against her knees? Rich couldn't decide, but it didn't matter because Beth was obviously doing nothing to change the arrangement regardless of who had initiated it. Wait, he thought. She has a drink. Where did that come from? Did she let this guy buy her a drink? He felt a flash of jealousy.
Just then the buxom little waitress returned with his drink. He went through the same routine he had earlier of having to tear his attention from his teasing wife and then from the waitress' chest before he could accept the drink and mumble a thank you. The waitress wanted to talk, so he found himself struggling to discuss his bad back and her uncle's bad back while trying not to spend so much of his attention on her tits and their mindless conversation that he couldn't keep an eye on what his wife was up to.
