Gemma Woodbourne

If you read any novel, it is highly unlikely you will start at the third chapter. It is the same with this story so, if you haven't read the first two chapters, I suggest you do so before this one. On the other hand, if you are one of the kind Literotica readers who have loaned me a few minutes of their lives to hear of Pamela's adventures, then do please read on.

As always, thank you for your scoring and comments.

Frank

*****

Pamela and I took our seats in the hotel dining room at a nice corner table, overlooked by a rather splendid nineteenth century grandfather clock. The room was of medium size, around thirty covers, and was about two-thirds full, creating an ambiance that allowed conversation without whispering. To the opposite side of the clock was a wood fire set on a large hearth of stone with what looked like an old railway sleeper as a mantelpiece. It was a delightful room, one to savour and enjoy.

"This is nice," I observed, taking my napkin from its wooden ring holder.

"You mean Miss Woodbourne is nice," retorted Pamela with a lovely smile, "or were you actually referring to the decor?"

I laughed.

"Both," I replied, "but I might not have used the word nice to describe the former. She's hot."

"She is," agreed Pamela, resting a hand on mine. "Though she should be, scoring eighty out of a hundred. Listen, just so we understand each other, if this works out how I think it might, we need to agree there will be no recriminations afterwards between ourselves. OK?"

I rested my other hand on hers and gave it a squeeze.

"Agreed," I replied, nodding as I looked into her lovely eyes.

Just then a pretty Asian girl appeared, looking no more than her early twenties, if that, carrying some menus.

"Good evening," she began, standing adjacent. "I am Yuma, your server for the evening. If there is anything you need, I am here to help. Here are the menus, and also the wine menu. Perhaps I can get you something to drink?"

She handed out the menus and stood back, awaiting our order.

"I'd like a gin and tonic, please," replied Pamela. "Thank you."

"And you, sir?" prompted Yuma.

Resisting the opportunity to suggest a blow-job under the table, I smiled before ordering the same as Pamela. With that, Yuma stepped back a step and bowed her head before turning to see to our order, my eyes burning the material of the rear of her tight skirt as she moved.

"Gone off Miss Woodbourne?" mused Pamela with a knowing smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I retorted indignantly, taking up the wine menu and opening it with some interest.

Pamela laughed.

"Yeah, right," she said, opening her menu to peruse the options.

"Chablis?" I suggested. "Or will you be having steak?"

"I think so," she mused. "Although ..."

"I'm easy," I reflected, knowing it was a cast iron certainty Pamela would eventually choose a medium-rare rib-eye with pepper sauce. As she once said to me, she likes the texture of red meat in her mouth, a preference I had attempted to satisfy to excess over the years.

It didn't take long for us to agree our selection and as I heaped up the menus, Yuma reappeared with our drinks and an appetiser of bread, olives and oil with balsamic vinegar.

"Thank you," appreciated Pamela with a gracious smile as Yuma served us, prompting a dazzling one in response.

"My pleasure," replied Yuma, no doubt aware, as was Pamela, of course, that I was mentally undressing her. "Have you chosen, or would you like a little more time?"

"No, I think we both know what we want," replied Pamela, with a glance at me to complement her innuendo. I said nothing.

Yuma took up her pad to note down our order.

"Would you mind if I asked you how old you are?" observed Pamela, prompting another heart-stopping moment for me.

"I am nineteen," replied Yuma with a smile, seemingly indifferent to the question.

"And have you worked here long?" added Pamela in her most persuasive tone, gentle but firm.

"Since Miss Woodbourne took over the hotel, a few months ago," replied Yuma. "She advertised for serving and other staff, and as I had just started a university degree, I was looking for work to help support me. She has been very kind."

"Where is home?" I put in, instinctively. "I mean, back home, where you come from."

Yuma giggled.

"I come from Japan," she replied. "I stay with my sister here in town. She is also at the university."

"Now then," put in Pamela, seeking to change the subject. "We mustn't keep you chatting. To start, I think I'll have ..."

A few minutes later, Yuma left us with our order, probably aware my eyes were on her rear once again.

"Nice girl," I observed, nonchalantly. "Bright too."

Pamela leaned over to get closer to me.

"What was that you were saying about Asian pussy?" she whispered. "She's your main course."

I laughed, recalling my hypothetical three course meal of Eastern delicacies, the main being from Japan.

"I think you and Miss Woodbourne will take away my appetite for Eastern goodies tonight," I quipped, raising my gin and tonic to salute. "Here's to Miss Woodbourne."

Pamela laughed, copying my actions.

"Cheers!" she saluted, our glasses chinking before we drank.

Nibbling our appetiser, I realised I was hungrier than I thought. Still, as they say, man cannot live on bread alone, so I was glad there was more to come. We chatted about things in general for a while, noting the room was filling gradually. Suddenly, Pamela changed the subject.

"Dana was pregnant," she said without emotion, "when I first met her."

"Who?" I asked, lost for a moment until I recalled Pamela mentioning in passing that she had met someone called Dana before Nico had 'traded her in for a younger model'. "Oh Dana. Yes."

I waited as Pamela just looked down at the table, reflecting.

"She was beautiful," she mused. "From Munich. She was my hairdresser. She was recommended by Nico. I would sit in the chair and she would run her hands through my hair, making me tingle all over, especially my nipples. We talked endlessly. She was about twenty-five and had a long-standing boyfriend whom she had come over from Germany with and she seemed so happy. Then one day, almost before I sat in the chair, she gushed that she was three-months pregnant. She was glowing with well-being. It was so wonderful, I was so happy for her."

She paused, and I knew not to interrupt.

"Just after that, Nico dumped me, though I was OK with it," she continued, "and I had saved enough, mainly from the money I earned 'house-sitting' for Nico, to put down a deposit on a small one-bedroom flat in the village, giving me independence at last."

She paused and took another sip from her drink.

"I next saw her again at my next appointment about six weeks later," she went on. "By now, her 'bump' was visible. I sat in the salon chair and listened to her going on and on about the preparation for their new arrival. She seemed absolutely full of it but then she said her boyfriend had had to go back home to Germany as one of his grandparents wasn't well and wouldn't be back for a few days. I suggested, without really thinking, she might come around and see my new flat and maybe I could cook her dinner that evening. She was really appreciative so we agreed she would come round after she had had the chance to get changed after work, say, around seven. I was delighted and spent the rest of the morning shopping before going back to the flat to prepare."

"So you didn't have any designs on her at that time?" I put in quietly.

"Not really," she replied, "and in any case, she was attached, not to mention being pregnant. I remember thinking about her one night in bed after she had done my hair but I put her to one side, and in any case, I had been with Nico at the time and she was enough for anyone!"

I laughed.

"What was she like?" I asked. "You know, to look at."

Pamela smiled.

"Well, you know me," she replied, taking my hand on the table. "Fabulous breasts. She wasn't voluptuous like Nico, more classically sculpted, if you understand me. An hourglass figure with lovely legs. Oh, and before you ask, she was a natural blonde, eyebrows and everything with blue eyes."

"She sounds amazing," I observed.

"Oh she was," agreed Pamela, nodding her head.

"So what happened?" I asked, just resisting an obvious question, an image forming in my mind's eye.

Just then, Yuma returned with the wine and iced water. The image of Dana prompted a comparison in my mind. Yuma was shorter, naturally, but similar, how did Pamela put it: yes, 'classically sculpted', an hourglass figure with lovely legs. I shuddered at the thought.

"Would you like to try the wine, sir?" she invited, starting work with the bottle-opener.

"Yes, please," I replied, watching as she effortlessly drew the cork.

"What are you studying at university?" put in Pamela with an appealing smile as Yuma dribbled a few drops of Shiraz into my glass.

"Mathematics, madam," she replied. "We both are, my sister and I."

"Very wise, my subject too," I trumpeted, with a glance of triumph at Pamela, sipping. "Yes, that's lovely. We'll serve ourselves. Thank you."

Yuma smiled and placed the bottle on the table.

"Your first course will be ready shortly," she announced, collecting the appetiser relics and glasses. "Is there anything else?"

"No thank you," replied Pamela, and Yuma retired once more, my eyes following her arse.

"So what happened?" I repeated, pouring out two glasses of wine.

Pamela knew what I meant, taking up her glass in both hands, resting her elbows on the table.

"I cooked something with pasta," she continued, "hoping she would like it. Then I cleared up, which didn't take long as my flat was so small, then took a shower, and it was in the shower that I first thought about what might happen."

Dutifully, I remained silent as she reflected.

"I asked myself what was behind inviting her in the first place," she mused. "Yes, she had said she was alone for a few days with her boyfriend away, but that was no reason. And then she had accepted so quickly, not even suggesting we hit a restaurant so I wouldn't have to cook and so on. It started to dawn on me that maybe she wanted more than just dinner. She had seemed genuinely happy to see me when I turned up for my hair appointment and I have to say I felt the same. It was as if, subliminally, I, at least, and maybe both of us, wanted more but it hadn't become clear until then. I tried to recall any other signs from previous appointments. Then I remembered how her touch, flowing through my hair made me shiver and made my nipples react. Then I recalled the hugs when I was leaving that seemed to last just too long for a standard goodbye. Then I recalled she had worn fragrance on my third visit which I had complimented her on and she thanked me in a way that made me feel it was just for me. I suddenly became excited and started to feel turned on which made me turn off the water and get out to dry myself or I know what I would have done had I not."

"Here's Yuma again," I put in, seeing her approaching.

"The goat's cheese for you, madam," she declared, placing a lovely presentation in front of Pamela who reacted with appreciation "and pate with toast for you, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you," I replied, taking a sip of wine while taking in Yuma's classic black and white uniform, imagining with some relish that her legs might be encased with black stockings and not tights.

Pamela just smiled and Yuma retired for a third time.

"If you stare at her arse any harder," cried Pamela in a whisper, "you'll burn a hole in her skirt!"

"Really?" I replied, triumphantly. "What a lovely thought!"

For a few seconds we attended to our starters which were excellent. As I carefully spread some pate on a piece of Melba toast, I prompted Pamela to continue her narrative. She nodded, her mouth full and I laughed.

"Well, that shower put everything into a different perspective," she resumed at last. "I started to wonder whether I should have cooked something more special, you know, personal, but it was too late. I then panicked as I hadn't changed my bed as it had never occurred to me that there might be anyone else in it that night. Luckily, my spare set was clean and ironed so I changed them which made me feel a whole lot better. Then I got to considering what to wear. I mean, I was just going to wear jeans and a top but that just sounded like I hadn't tried. Then the opposite thought hit me. Suppose all these thoughts of mine were groundless. Suppose Dana was coming around as a new friend, nothing more. Then the obvious point hit me: she was pregnant with a boyfriend, possibly to be her husband. Was it likely she was on the lookout for a new relationship? I shuddered at my stupidity, suddenly feeling relieved. But then what if she didn't want a relationship, just sex, just an illicit night that would never be known by anyone else. That seemed more likely, if, of course, there was anything at all. Strangely, having gone through all these vague notions, I started to relax. OK, if she just wanted a girlie chat and a laugh, then she could have it. If she wanted it, or it just happened, then she could have the sex. What I did know was that I was excited, just like on a first date so I hit my wardrobe to choose something that would suffice for both alternatives."

"Let me guess," I interjected. "Red blouse and black skirt, no bra, black panties, medium heels?"

"You know me better than I thought," she replied with a shake of her head. "Yes, that's what I wore."

"No stockings?" I teased with a smile.

"They're just for you," she replied, placing her cutlery on her cleared plate.

"And Miss Woodbourne?" I added, mischievously.

"For both of you," she retorted with a knowing smile.

I refilled our glasses as Yuma returned to clear the table once more.

"That was lovely," commented Pamela. "Is it the usual head chef?"

"No, madam," replied Yuma, shaking her head. "Miss Woodbourne brought in a new head chef not long after she arrived. He is an Italian, Frankie, he calls himself."

"Now there's a good name," I cried. "I like him already."

"Oh, he's very popular with the staff," she commented with a knowing smile at Pamela.

"And Miss Woodbourne?" asked Pamela quietly.

"Oh yes, madam," confirmed Yuma. "Miss Woodbourne seems very satisfied with him."

"No doubt," observed Pamela, dryly.

Yuma left again to return almost immediately with our main courses, steak with peppercorn sauce as predicted. She presented them before standing back.

"Will there be anything else?" she asked, with a slight bow of her head.

We both shook our heads and Yuma retired.

"Go on," I urged, taking up my steak knife. "What happened?"

"It was almost seven-thirty when the intercom buzzed," continued Pamela, seasoning her fries. "I had got to the point when I didn't think she was coming. I picked up the phone and told her I was on the first floor and unlocked the outer door. I went to open my door and waited. She came up the stairs carrying a bunch of flowers and was shaking her head with apology for being late. I washed that away and we hugged briefly before I led her by the hand into my little hallway and closed the door."

"By the hand?" I asked, cutting through the perfectly cooked medium-rare rib-eye.

"It was so natural," she reasoned. "Dana was very tactile. I suppose being a hairdresser was a factor."

"Sorry," I said, taking a mouthful. "Do go on."

"She handed me the flowers and we went into the kitchen," she continued. "I found a vase and put them in water as she removed her short leather jacket as we talked, mostly at the same time. She was infectious."

"What was she ...," I began, struggling with a button mushroom.

"What was she wearing?" she interjected, anticipating me. "She had on a top that was fairly revealing, not outrageous, but made it obvious she was a big girl, if you understand me."

I smiled.

"Her skirt was long and loose, you know, flowing," she went on, prompting an image. "It was elasticated to cope with her bump which was more obvious than I had thought. She looked so good it was wonderful. Anyway, she asked me if she was to have a tour of the place and reached out a hand to take mine as I moved towards the kitchen door. There wasn't a lot to show but she seemed naturally interested in things, even my old posters on the walls that had to make do as art. We did the lounge, which I quite liked, then the bathroom which only had room for a shower as it was so small, which led to my bedroom. I confess to feeling excited as we entered, still hand-in-hand, as she squeezed mine for some reason. I had a small double bed with lots of pillows with cushions on top and two bedside tables, a wardrobe and a sort of dressing table under the window. She said it was lovely and then she turned to me before stopping smiling and took my other hand and time stopped. We just fell into each other's arms and kissed. It was just perfect. There was silence. Then I sensed her tongue in my mouth and lost all control, easing her back gently onto the bed with her feet on the rug. I moved around to avoid lying on top of her bump and knelt down to be able to kiss her from above. We kissed for what seemed forever, running our tongues everywhere as I used one hand to start to undo the three or four buttons of her low-cut top. She groaned encouragement so I placed a hand on one of her amazing breasts over her top. She pressed her head back into the bed and closed her eyes, giving me implicit access to her soft, perfect body."

Suddenly, as if needing to take a breath, she stopped her story to catch up with her own steak but I didn't dare to say anything. She was clearly re-living the whole scene in her mind's eye. I took another mouthful of Shiraz and waited for her to continue with a hard-on in my trousers desperate for my hand.

"I sucked her nipples for what seemed forever," she resumed at last, "then she rolled me over so she was above me so her breasts hung down into my face. I couldn't get enough of them, licking, sucking and using my hands while we kissed. Then we rolled over again and she undid my blouse so she could kiss my nipples. It was heavenly, just heavenly. It was almost like when Nico first kissed them but this time I knew what to expect. But then, she nipped them with her teeth, just a little too enthusiastically and I yelped. She was so sorry but I asked her to do it again, but harder. So she did and I almost came."

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" said a voice, breaking our reverie. It was Yuma again.

"Oh yes," we replied synchronously, prompting a mutual laugh to which Yuma just smiled.

"I have a message from Miss Woodbourne for you, madam," she said, holding a small sealed white envelope in her hand which she proffered to Pamela who took it. "I believe there is a second envelope should you wish to reply. Here is a pen. I shall return in a few minutes."

Yuma bowed again and swiftly retired, for the first time without my eyes on her rear. I waited as Pamela turned the envelope over. It had no address. She looked at me and I urged gestured with my eyes for her to open it. She used a long finger to slip the seal and extracted the enclosure, a folded half sheet. Opening it, she read it then refolded it before handing it over to me, her face expressionless.

"Miss Hatch," I read to myself. "I was going to write to excuse myself from your invitation to join you and Mr McMahon this evening, having spent the last two hours in torment with doubts as to its wisdom. I confess, however, to an increasing sense of excitement with each minute that passes, and that has rendered me incapable of doing so. At ten, I shall leave my door, which faces you at the end of the passage on the first floor, slightly ajar. The interior will appear dark. I await your arrival in apprehension and anticipation. Please don't be either early or late. Gemma Woodbourne."