Kymberly Marsh checked into the Whispering Creek Resort Hotel two minutes after her room became available, just as she had planned. The convention wouldn't start for another four hours or so, but she had things to do before the mixer that preceded that evening's presentation.
After she confirmed her room and picked up her key, Kymberly walked down the hallway to the elevator. The porter offered to take her small suitcase, but she told him it was no trouble for her to take it. She pulled it on wheels behind her.
As she walked to the elevator, Kymberly appreciated the expansive hotel lobby, with its wide, plank-wood floor and fine-grained oak wall paneling. Heavy, wooden chairs and stained glass light fixtures reflected the arts and crafts style in which the hotel had been built nearly a hundred years earlier. For a time, the hotel had fallen into disrepair, but, in the past ten years, new owners had restored it to its earlier glory. The hotel, consisting of seven buildings that sprawled over lush, verdant grounds next to a prize-winning golf course, now was a favorite site for conferences and conventions. Kymberly, a pharmaceutical representative, had arrived to attend an industry convention for the weekend.
At the elevator, she pushed the up button. Her room was on the fourth, and top, floor. She looked at her reflection in the mirror between two elevator doors.
Kymberly was 44 years old, but she didn't look her age. A life of good eating habits and regular exercise had kept her skin youthful and her figure trim and firm. Dark, thick, long hair framed an arresting face, feminine but strong, with bold dark eyes, high cheekbones and square jaw, and lush, full lips.
Kymberly wore a boat-necked knit shirt and a snug skirt that stopped just over her knee. Trim, shapely legs showed beneath the skirt and ended in two-inch black pumps with chunky, forgiving heels -- her travel shoes, as Kymberly called them. Kymberly had worked as a pharmaceutical representative for over 15 years, and she was skilled at what she did, but she knew that appearance mattered in this job, as it did in so many things. As she waited for the elevator, Kymberly's appearance attracted the attention of two men in sport coats and open-collared shirts standing behind her. She saw their reflections in the mirror. One obviously was staring at her butt, and he was elbowing the other one. They seemed to be unaware that she could see what they were doing in the mirror.
"Men," she thought. "They're so predictable. And so clueless."
Kymberly and her admirers got on the elevator together. The two men were going to the fourth floor as well. She kept her eyes ahead of her on the elevator door, but she knew they were checking her out. Men always were checking her out.
Fortunately for Kymberly, she didn't mind being checked out, most of the time. Kymberly liked being looked at, so long as the men doing the looking weren't being too rude or too obvious.
With a metallic sigh, the elevator doors opened. The two men stood to the side to let Kymberly get out first. Kymberly was enough of a traditionalist to appreciate chivalrous gestures, but she was enough of a realist to know that what they really wanted was to stay behind her so they could look at her butt. She knew it looked good, too, in her form-fitting skirt and in G-string panties that left no line in back.
Outside the elevator door, the hallway forked. Kymberly's room was straight ahead. Her admirers turned down the other hallway to the right.
Kymberly had to walk the length of the hallway to the end of the building to reach her room. Once inside, she wheeled the small suitcase to the bed. Her attention was drawn first to the large window that extended the width of the room and from the ceiling to about two feet off the floor. Thick drapes were drawn all the way back. Outside the window, she could see another building of the hotel, about 100 feet away.
The room was spacious, attractive, and clean. To one side was a small desk with a chair, and to the other side was a queen-sized bed.
A package, with an envelope on top of it, lay on the bed. The front of the envelope bore the words "Open Me" in familiar handwriting. Kymberly recognized the handwriting of her husband, Robert.
When Kymberly had decided to attend this convention, she had thought Robert would come with her. But an important business project on which Robert was working required his participation in several time-sensitive meetings on Saturday, the second day of the convention, so he was unable to join her. She would go to the convention alone. Not long before she departed, however, Robert told her over dinner about an idea he had.
"Kymmie," he had said. Robert was the only one who ever called her that. "I'm going to miss you next weekend when you're at the convention. But I have an idea. A kind of game. Something to keep us connected while you're away. Are you interested?"
"What sort of game?" she had asked.
Robert was serious and meticulous about his work -- it was a big part of why he was so successful. But with Kymberly, he could be playful and creative. Kymberly knew that Robert enjoyed her good looks, and enjoyed showing her off. In the last few years he had begun coming up with ways to dress her in skimpy, revealing clothing when they went out. Six months earlier they had gone on a vacation in the tropics, and Robert had convinced Kymberly to spend nearly all her time on the trip in skimpy bikinis or very short dresses. Kymberly resisted playing the role of eye candy at first, but eventually she found that she liked it. She liked how much it excited Robert, and the showing-off games had led to great sex. Plus, Robert's fetish for dressing her up had done wonders for her wardrobe and shoe collection.
After Kymberly had posed her question Robert stared at her. She didn't know what he wanted her to do, but she could tell he was determined to see it through. It would be hard to resist him. It always was.
"I want to keep it a surprise," he had said to her. "Are you game for a surprise? I don't want to say what it is. I want you to trust me, and tell me you'll go along with it. You will enjoy it, I assure you, though it won't always be easy. Can you do that?"
Kymberly had no idea what he was asking her to do, but so far, she had enjoyed his games. She trusted Robert.
"Sure," she had said. "I'll go along. What do you want me to do?"
"I'm not going to say anything now. You'll know when you get there. OK?"
"Well, that's cryptic," she had said. "But O.K."
He had smiled.
"Good," he had said. "I've got some ideas. This is going to be good. Really good."
Two weeks after that conversation, Kymberly stood in the hotel room with the envelope bearing her husband's handwriting in her hands. She tore it open.
"Dearest Kymmie," it said. "I miss you. I wish I could be there. But since I can't, I have a game I want to play with you while you are away. I think you will enjoy it.
"The only rule of the game is this: do what I tell you to do.
"My first two instructions are these: First, take all your clothes off. Second, text me when you have done so."
Kymberly stared at the words on the paper in front of her. Her heart beat a little faster than it had a minute before. She wondered where Robert was going with this. She was alone in her room, so taking her clothes off wouldn't be difficult or risky. She enjoyed playing games with Robert, and there was plenty of time to play before the convention festivities began. She smiled to herself and decided to play along.
She walked to the window and closed the drapes. She unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. She pulled the shirt over her head. Then she unsnapped the bra and tossed it on the bed and pushed the tiny G-string down and off her legs. When she was done, she picked up her phone.
"I'm naked," she texted Robert.
