This is my first time writing erotic fiction. I hope you enjoy it, as these scenarios have been floating around in my head for a while. Be aware, this series will include a variety of adult situations, including bisexuality, interracial sex, incest, group sex and other taboo subjects that not everybody may be into. If any of these subjects bother you, there's an entire site here filled with things you may prefer more. In any event, thanks for reading.
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Three hours later, after cleaning up the mess in the living room, a power nap, and a shower, I was getting ready to head downstairs to meet Mom for a late dinner. I was starving - I hadn't eaten since the flight. I took a few minutes as I dried from the shower to unpack my carry on, but I shouldn't have bothered. Not only were all the clothes I'd left in storage here, neatly hung up or placed in the drawers that lined one of the walls of the bedroom, the closets were full of new threads I'd never seen before. There were a dozen new undershirts, and hanging in the closet were a dozen pairs of dress slacks, white, blue and black dress shirts, and a variety of sport coats and suits in black, dark grey, blue and light tan. I was glad I hadn't gained any weight this year at school, because clearly Sinclair's staff had used the clothes I'd left behind as a template for these new ones. No underwear, though. Weird.
I wanted to look nice for Mom, especially after I'd appeared dressed like a jock straight from the locker room, so I grabbed one of the black suits with a white button down shirt with French cuffs. I ran a brush through my dirty blonde hair, which was always thick, but had grown a bit longer than I cared for. Hopefully the hotel had a barber shop, because it was getting too long. I found that most of the women (and some of the men) I'd been with enjoyed my hair when it was long enough to run their fingers through, but I didn't want it hanging down or touching my collar. I rubbed a hand over my face and realized I probably could have used a shave, too. The stubble betrayed I hadn't touched razor to face in a couple of days, but I decided to skip it. I knew a little stubble looked good and I was honestly too hungry to want to spend much more time getting dressed. I stood looking at my reflection in my undershirt and socks. Since I didn't have clean underwear, I went without. I noticed I still had a bit of a post-sex glow about me. My mind may have been reeling from everything that had happened in the last few hours, but I could appreciate that I was looking pretty good.
A pair of onyx cufflinks, my watch, a black leather belt, and a pair of cordovan leather loafers rounded out my ensemble. Grabbing the key fob to my new apartment from the coffee table, I headed out towards the elevator. I got to the lobby and pushed the down button. A few seconds later a soft ding sounded and the doors slid open. I hesitated for a moment, because the elevator wasn't empty. Walking out, head down tapping on her phone was a tall, beautiful girl who looked to be about my own age, maybe slightly younger, dressed in workout clothes. She had a blonde pixie haircut, with mocha brown skin, soft lips and a dancer's lithe body. Even fresh from a workout she looked great. She almost walked into me, but I gave a polite cough and she looked up, startled.
"Oh! I didn't see you there," she said. "I didn't realize we had anybody new up here," she offered breathlessly. Her voice sounded both sweet and firm - she knew how to get what she wanted, and being up here in this state of dress, I assumed this was Solomon Sinclair's daughter, Nyla. Mom should have warned me.
She patted me on the chest with a prettily manicured hand, her phone in the other. "Do be a dear and have the restaurant send up my usual tray. I'm in 5, in case you are still getting used to the place. Thanks!"
She walked right past me and turned down the hallway towards my apartment. If I was in 6, she was obviously next door being in 5, so we were neighbors. She also seemed to think I was part of the staff, which I admit did not do wonders for my self-esteem at the moment. I had thought I looked pretty good - then again, everybody in the Elysium had, so far. Maybe I did look like the help. Before I had a chance to protest, she was out of earshot, disappearing down the dimly lit corridor.
I stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the restaurant, shaking my head.
The Elysium had a number of restaurants, but the primary one was Ciel Bleu, which featured French fusion cuisine and some great views of the city. The sun had set four hours earlier, and the early dinner crowd - well, early for Vegas - was flooding in. Fortunately, there were two entrances - one from the main hotel which was on the other side of the building, and one that serviced the bank of elevators from the residences, the one I came out of. There was a small reception stand, much smaller than the larger one that was public facing on the other side of the restaurant, and a older gentleman in a smart tuxedo with a clipped gray beard and salt and pepper hair looked up as I approached him.
"You must be Mister Jack Fisher," he said to me, his French accent betraying he was a southerner, probably from Marseille or another town on the French Mediterranean coast. "Your mother is waiting for you."
"That's me, thanks!" I said. "Oh, I almost forgot - Nyla in Room 5 of the penthouse asked me to have 'her usual tray' sent up. Could you do that for me?"
The Maître D sighed, and shook his head. "She refuses to call room service for her meals, always prefers to importune anyone she sees," he trailed off. Then he smiled. "Of course, sir. We'll take care of it right way. Now, if you'll please come this way," he said, walking me through the main dining room, and then ushering me towards a cozy group of tables that were shielded from view of most of the other tables, but still provided a wonderful view of the city at night. Mom was already sitting at our table, nursing a cocktail and tapping on her phone. She looked up as we approached, I gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and sat down, as the Maître D slid my chair underneath me and laid a black napkin in my lap. "Bon appetit," he said, vanishing as quickly as he came.
If Mom had been embarrassed at all about having watched me fuck the concierge a few hours earlier, she was doing an excellent job covering it up. She was still dressed in her country club clothes, although the sweater was resting on the back of her chair, rather than her shoulders. Her lipstick had left the perfect outline of her soft lips on the cocktail glass.
"I knew this was place was pretty good, but I didn't realize how good, Mom!" I gushed, a little overwhelmed at everything. We were used to nice places to eat, but this was even better than some of the Michelin starred restaurants we'd been to. I would have to look up the joint when I got back downstairs to check the reviews. Hopefully the food was as good as the ambience.
"Sol has done a great job with this hotel," Mom replied, a twinkle in her eye as she mentioned her fiancée's name. "Spared no expense, and there's nothing like it anywhere else in the city. People are clamoring to get in here - reservations are pushing six months these days, and we're filling up the residences, too. I admit I was skeptical at first - I thought leaning in to the 'adult' part of 'adult only' was limiting our potential customer base, but between the Onlyfans influencers begging to get in here to show the place off and the various legal changes the city has adopted over the last decade, we are doing pretty well," she said. "It was all Sol's idea. I have to give him credit, he's a visionary when it comes to this business."
