Wrong Turn Right Hallway

Wrong Turn, Right Hallway

A Wade Wilson Story

by The Preve

Based on the character and story created by Wade Wilson, and illustration by Lechono

The Author wishes to thank Wade Wilson for his permission in writing this story (and no, it's not

that

Wade Wilson :D).

Conclusion

The Old Lady, The Walk of Shame, and What Came After

Wade lay on the lounge chair by the pool. He'd taken several laps. It was a sizable pool for the top of the building, and now he lay, drifting into and out of light sleep.

The day was overcast, but warm. He could bask in the warm breeze, slick and wet, pondering the last twenty-four hours.

Nothing he'd ever imagined in his wildest dreams could describe his experience. An embarrassing nightmare turned erotic fantasy, far surpassing any locker room talk from his friends and colleagues.

They wouldn't believe me if I ever got the courage to talk to them.

Wade hardly believed it himself. If not for the fact of his slick nudity, by a luxurious pool, he'd think it a hallucination. He looked, languorously, at his cock. The problematic instrument barely used before yesterday.

Hands, mouths, and pussies played symphonies and concertos with it, these past twenty-four hours. The memory stirred a response. Wade did not say "Down boy," this time. It was still confusing for him. Being an object of desire was still too fresh to process.

Am I letting this thing use me, like that guy warned?

It had been used, certainly, and so had he. Used by some of the hottest women on the planet, including the Old Lady.

The Old Lady.

Wade's hardness twitched as he remembered.

He'd woken, late last night, to her hands on his ass. She'd complimented him, but he barely heard.

The Old Lady! It's the Old Lady!

Hours earlier, if she had appeared with the others, Wade would not be so shocked. The day long orgy had numbed his mind somewhat.

"I guess my mind sort of reset while I slept," he thought.

His body was aroused. His cock went hard against the mattress, so he moved to turn on his back.

"No," said the Old Lady, "Keep that pose. I want to admire your ass some more."

"Yes, Ma'am." Wade's response was automatic.

He knew her name, of course. Everyone did. The unspoken rule was you never said it, even with a Ms.

So he lay while the Old Lady stroked her hands along his spine and ass.

"Hmmm," she purred, "Good curvature along the spine. A firm, round ass. You have good legs, too. I thought young Anne was exaggerating. She tends to over-enthuse on male looks. So, now, your name is Wade Wilson, and you're one of my office boys?"

"Um . . . yes Ma'am."

"Mmm-hmmm. Anne told me an interesting tale. I'd like to hear it from your mouth. The girls embellish sometimes."

Wade told his story, up to the office. He left out the bawdy stuff. It didn't seem appropriate, even in the current circumstance.

"Heh! Heh! Heh!" chuckled the Old Lady. "I must say, you are definitely in a pickle. Young Robert certainly did you a number."

Wade's head kept spinning, still not believing he wasn't in a wet dream. Laying nude on a bed, while the Old Lady massaged his ass.

In her case, "Old" might be more a metaphor. Yes, her hair was gray, near white in fact. Her face held some wrinkles, especially with crow-footed eyes, and around the cheeks. It was a strikingly attractive face. A strong, classic New England matron. The epitome of graceful aging.

He'd never seen her in person, or even at a distance. She rarely came to the areas he worked, and then, only on his days off. He only knew her through photos.

In person she looked different. The dim light and low lamps softened her strong features. She wore the kind of dark blue DKNY one might expect of upper class matrons, complete with pearl necklace.

Her looks contrasted with her actions. One expected upper class women like her to be more comfortable in garden or cocktail parties, coffee klatches, or sipping Earl Grey and eating lemon cake, while chatting the weekly gossip with colleagues.

Not running her surprisingly strong, and manicured, hands over the body of a nude nineteen-year-old man.

Wade gasped and moaned, and his pre-cum soaked into the mattress. He gave no thought about yet another powerful woman using his body.

The Old Lady finished with his back. "You may turn over now, young man."

Wade turned on his back, obediently. His cock hard and straight.

The Old Lady's eyes widened.

"Very impressive," she said, "The girls weren't exaggerating there either."

She rose and began to strip, draping clothes on the chair as she spoke.

"I will be candid, young Wade. What I'm about to do will hurt a little. I have needs and passions my life and position require me to keep in check. I always welcome opportunities to unleash those passions, but such are rare. Anne has advised me to be reasonably gentle with you, but I hope you will pardon me for exercising some enthusiasm."

"Y-y-yes Ma'am," Wade gulped, not without a little fear.

Fuck! What is she going to do?!

Leaping out of bed and running did not enter Wade's mind. The other women hadn't necessarily been gentle either. His curiosity about the Old Lady walked alongside his trepidation.

One aspect proved shocking when the Old Lady finished undressing, and stood nude by the bed.

Holy . . .! She's . . .She's . . . hot!

If the Old Lady's age showed on her face, it certainly didn't on her body. It was hard, harder than even Ms. Wallace's, with nary an age spot, or wrinkle adorning its smooth, hairless form. Odetta, herself, would struggle to match it. Coupled with her small, but tight, breasts, the Old Lady would well be at home as an artist's model.

"Yes," she said, "I get that shocked look often. It's the benefits of regular exercise, and I also cheat a little."

The Old Lady cut to the chase, climbing on the bed to straddle him, taking his cock to guide it into her slit. She was every bit as warm and tight as the others, but much more effective, owing to her experience and . . . passions.

It didn't hurt a little. It didn't hurt a lot. It hurt just enough to draw a response from his body. Her hands were strong, her nails were sharp, as were her teeth.

She milked him of almost everything, from gasps and moans, to orgasms, sweat, and cum. Her hands played carnal music over his body, and it answered with arched back, quivers and shakes, and a cock and balls set filling her with cum.

She fucked him into unconsciousness, using his body even after he passed out.

When she finished, finally, the Old Lady rose from his still form. Wade's cock slurped out, followed by a gush of cum.

She stood, admiring his sleeping form.

Been awhile since I've had someone like this.

Young Wade had some good, natural instincts, as the girls said, and not even her late husband looked as fine at this age.

Nor performed as well.

The other difference between Wade and her husband was the young man displayed far better character.

Too bad I can't say the same for my son and grandson. Sigh! I hope we haven't corrupted this young man. It would be a shame, really.

She went to the shower and performed her morning ablutions, returning to dress. She wrote a brief note and left it on the bed.

The Old Lady left the bedroom and suite, never to see young Wade again. She kept a wistful memory of that night over the later years, however.

Wade, nude in the warm breeze, thought of that note.

My Dear Young Wade,

Thank you for availing me the use of your beautiful young body. I say, with sincerity, you were the best I've had in such a very long time. If only it were forty years ago. Ah well.

I'm sure Anne has told you, you have full use of the suite for the weekend. I have ordered the company chef to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner for you. They will be placed in the fridge by the Cleaning Crew.

As such, they are trained in discretion, as well to perform their tasks out of sight. However, I would request you confine most of your activities to the pool area, at least from late morning to early evening, for their convenience.

The weather forecast a warm, pleasant day. Well within the limits of comfort for your body. You will not have to worry about voyeurs in the next buildings. The prudence of securing air rights, to frustrate the curious.

I am sure the girls are not quite through with you, some of them at least. They might find a bit of fun in outside activity, ha!

Ah well, I enjoyed myself immensely but, alas, I shall most likely not see you again. My social position proscribes such sport, but maybe in another life . . .

Ta Ta

Wade read the letter, then left the bed and went to the shower. Afterwards, he went to the kitchen, heated his breakfast, and took it outside.

The subsequent hours set the pattern: eat, nap, swim, and eat.

"I feel like a lizard on a rock," he thought scratching his belly. He thought, at one point, of taking a nap in the bedroom, but the Cleaning Crew had taken the mattress. He wasn't surprised. On some level, he might have chuckled, but chuckling implied arrogance, and Wade wasn't an arrogant man.

The office boy knew he should feel something close to it. He was in the middle of the craziest adventure ever. He'd been nude since yesterday, had sex with more women over a day than his friends would in a lifetime, and was most likely getting some more before tomorrow.

He should, by all accounts, be basking in the glow of his feat. He should be preparing to boast and crow about it all over the place. He finally had something for the locker room, the gym shower, the frat house.

"No one's going to know," Wade thought. Not because no one would believe it,

Probably,

but because it just wasn't him.

Wade wasn't a boaster, or a bragger, and frat boy culture disgusted him. Wade was nice.

He didn't acknowledge it, too nice to admit even that. It was simply, even as he walked nude through the suite, back to the pool to settle in the lounge chair, his niceness glowed like an aura. Boasting or bragging of his sexual accomplishments felt crude.

His innate niceness kept awkward feelings at bay, so when, after drifting to a doze by the pool, he orgasmed awake to Ms. Cooper's mouth on his cock, he found no shock there.

Ms. Cooper sucked him until he came again, then took his cock out of her mouth. She was nude and wet. She straddled him and guided him inside her, looking at his smiling face.

"Most of the girls are busy, but some might pop in," she said while pumping him. "I'm getting a little something before the others. You met the Old Lady, I take it?"

"Um . . . ughn! Yes . . . yes ma'am," Wade gasped and squirted.

"I'd ask how was she but the Old Lady prefers us to be discreet, and it's rude besides."

Tilde fucked him for roughly ten minutes, cumming twice ("Good on your part Wade. You really are a natural.") before releasing him.

She left Wade to doze and went to the shower, leaving afterwards.

The rest of the day became an erotic routine. There wasn't much to say. Ms. Welles, Ms. Moore, and Ms. Robinson visited at various times through the afternoon, sucked and fucked him, and left.

He spent the time between, napping, showering, and swimming, into the early evening. The warm day was overcast, so he didn't tan.

Neither Ms. Parilla or Ms. Wallace visited. Overall, along with the fucking, Sunday was pleasant, leisurely, quiet, and nude.

The Cleaning Crew had returned the mattress, or brought in a new one, so he turned in early.

The next morning, he rose and showered. He finished and came to the living area. Ms. Parilla, Ms. Moore, Ms. Welles, and Ms. Cooper were waiting.

The women were dressed, neatly, in their business suits, Ms. Moore more casually, as usual, than the others.

The women's looks sent a chill of unease through Wade's body. They were smiling, in such a fashion as to give a strong sense of mischief. Wade, a young man with familiarity being the joke's victim, knew those looks. The women were about to fuck him, and not in a good way.

His fears seemed confirmed when Ms. Parilla told him they had good news.

"We found your clothes," she said.

"Oh! Uh, good. Uh, thanks, Ms. Parilla. Um, where are they?"

"They're with Robert Wentworth. He's downstairs, waiting."

"Uh," Wade was speechless.

Bob? Downstairs? With my clothes? What the fuck's going on?

"Um, is he coming upstairs with them?"

The prospect of Robert coming to the suite, seeing him naked with all these women . . . he didn't know what to think about that.

"No," Ms. Parilla strode to Wade, still smiling, "You're going to go downstairs and take them from him. He's on the third floor, in the office, with your cousin, and a few others, I believe."

Wade was stunned. It was past nine, Monday morning, which meant the office was full. Robert and Martha were there, and others (

The frat house?

), and Ms. Parilla was telling him to go down, naked, to get his clothes, in front of everyone.

It was back. The humiliation, the awkward shyness, dormant since the beginning of the two-day fuckfest, crashed back into his body with the power of a sucker punch from Mike Tyson. These women spent two days fucking him, and now they were fucking him. It felt like the moment Ms. Wallace told him Robert stole his clothes.

Anne, knowing the look on Wade's face, took it in her hands, and looked back into his questioning brown eyes.

"Wade, Robert thinks he's got the best of you. You're going to show him he doesn't. You're going to walk up to him, you're going to take your clothes back, and you're going to show him you don't give a fuck. He's counting on you to be humiliated, broken. Don't let him get off on that.

Think about it. You did something these past two days that Robert and his fratboys will never be able to say they did, or ever will do in their entire lifetimes.

If you start to feel the humiliation, think on that. Besides, you have a body people should see, some of them at least. Showing them what they've been missing will make a nice statement, I think."

Wade looked up at Ms. Parilla, mouth open in shock. The act she wanted him to perform was defiance, not humiliation.

It made a strange kind of sense. Robert and the frat could laugh from now until the rest home, but they will never be able to say they spent the weekend fucking six milfs, and one gilf. Wade wasn't going to brag about it. He had a feeling, somehow, his act would strongly imply it.

Anne placed her hands on Wade's shoulders.

"So, are you going to go for them?"

Wade hesitated, nodded, and gulped, "Yes."

"Then get to it."

Wade nodded and went to the elevator. The other three's mischievous expressions had softened. Ms. Welles' face even showed some concern.

"Good luck, Wade," she said.

"Kick their ass, Wade," said Ms. Moore.

Ms. Cooper gave an encouraging smile.

Wade stepped into the elevator and pressed three. Uncertainty and panic accompanied him most of the way down.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It's going to be a shit show! Everyone's going to see! I'll be a laughingstock!

He remembered what Ms. Parilla said and thought of Saturday and Sunday. It helped. It also caused a reaction, but when he looked down at it, he thought,

Fuck it. Let them see.

He steeled himself. The elevator doors opened. He stepped out.

****

Martha Vandergriff cursed under her breath, walking through the doors of Jansonn and Berkshire. She wasn't the only one. Most of the people with her muttered some profanity or other.

Robert, walking ahead, gave off the most steam. He also carried Wade's clothes. They were clean, very clean, and neatly folded and pressed. Given that Martha, the frat, the sorority, and the hangers on, all personally witnessed Robert throw Wade's clothes into the dirtiest, stinkiest, trash bin on campus, to the cruel cheers of most present, the fact of their restoration to near fresh-off-the-rack cleanliness, meant Robert spent some serious coin to find the best laundry open on a Sunday. No mean feat.

The circumstances compelling him to accomplish it were obviously dire. The frantic look on his face, at her sorority house Sunday morning, drove the point home further. He told her, with no little panic in his voice, to help him contact everyone who'd been at the keg party, or witnessed the prank.

She didn't know what panicked Robert. It had to be serious as fuck. Her first impulse was to refuse. Yes, she'd wanted to hook up with him, but that feat was done. He was less a priority.

The promise of a month's availability from him, including a trip to the Bahamas, helped with her decision. A little social networking facilitated the gathering.

When the participants and witnesses came to the frat house, and heard what Robert had to say, more than a few exasperated sighs erupted. They were college students after all. They had classes to attend, projects to complete.

Robert called in chits, favors, and obligations. He made promises, did a little blackmail, and forgave debts, but he got everyone on board.

It helped that most of the crowd were curious, like Martha. They didn't believe his promises. Most didn't really trust him, and more than a few disliked him intensely, in spite his looks and charisma.

It was just his desperation, very opposite to his usual cockiness, raised questions; questions heightened further in the parking garage.

The faces of the party reflected Robert's sour look. Martha's question was on the mind of everyone in some form or another:

What the fuck would get Robert Wentworth, the Campus King, to dive into the trash, get Wade's clothes, get them cleaned, and gather everyone at J&B, at nine o'clock in the morning?

Martha cared not for her cousin, one way or the other, and she thought Robert's little prank was scrumptious, but she couldn't resist a bit of unease. Whatever it was, it involved Wade.

Something is going on.

Nicki Wallace met them in the lobby, along with Security. Her arms were crossed, her face, severe, and she looked every bit the power-suited Amazon. Most of the scowl was directed at Robert, but part of it flashed Martha's way.

"Phones out! Now!" she growled.

Many took out their phones, some didn't.

Nicki turned to two Security; one, a big, black human tank, the other, a stout matron of the type who loved performing deep, painful body cavity searches on uncooperative prisoners (her specialty before coming to J&B).

Robert, Martha, and the others got the message.

Don't fuck with them.

More phones came out.

"Ben, Edna," Nicki ordered.

The couple moved among the crowd, with two bags. Most cooperated. Some tried to hide theirs. Others complained about rights and property. A glare and a brief word from Ben and/or Edna took care of both problems.

Among the party attendees and witnesses were tagalongs who, while not at the party, or the prank, knew of both, and were just simply curious. The news had spread among the social network, so the larger crowd was not unexpected. Nicki addressed them all.

"Any tagalongs who do not cooperate will be escorted out and trespassed. Party attendees can expect a talk with the company representative, and he knows a hell of a lot about you. Follow me, Robert and Martha to the front. It won't take long, and you'll get your phones after."