Party Girl 6

(c) 2004, Delia Green. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is strictly coincidental. No part of this work may be reproduced or distributed, in print or electronically, without prior written permission of the author, who reminds everyone to practice safe sex and not try to emulate the activities of characters in stories who do not.

*****

[Dear Reader: This story is about a wife; but you can relax, it's probably not about your wife. I'm calling her Angie, although that's not her real name. All the other names are made up too. The woman in this story lives on the East Coast and is flying to California for the weekend. She told her husband that she's visiting a girl friend because that's what she wants him to believe, but he knows it's not true.]

PART ONE:

In my ticket envelope was a letter from Charles. I must have read it a dozen times on the flight to San Diego. Without the letter, I was just another tourist or a businesswoman on her way to an important meeting; with it I was neither. The letter painted me in a whole different light. It could have been Exhibit "A" in the case of Fidelity vs. Angie Crawford, but I had postponed that hearing indefinitely. Now the letter was nothing more than a piece of paper with handwritten words on it that made me squirm in my seat every time I read it.

Dear Angie,

I am so delighted that you have accepted my invitation to attend my party. The party is to commemorate a major milestone in my firm's history, an exciting time in and of itself. Your presence, however, will make this one of the most memorable times of my life.

I regret that I cannot greet you at the airport (scheduling conflicts).

I have reserved a room for you, in my name, at the Four Seasons. The hotel is about a one-half hour drive from the San Diego International Airport. A company car will be waiting for you at the airport.

I will contact you after you have settled in. I am looking forward to spending time with you.

Your good friend,

Charles

PS. Feel free to travel light, Angie. You'll find several changes of clothing in your room.

A well-groomed man in black, holding up a sign reading "Angie," greeted me at the airport. He escorted me to a Lincoln town car, and true to Charles' word, thirty minutes later I arrived in Carlsbad, more specifically, at a five star hotel called the Four Seasons Oceano.

I was half-expecting to find Charles waiting for me when I opened the door to my hotel room. My heart was pounding.

I had been traveling for hours and had done a lot of thinking during that time about my outrageous willingness—make that

eagerness

—to fly across the country to be the guest of a man I knew very little about, other than the fact that he was great fun--in and out of bed. Then, of course, there was the devious subterfuge I used with my husband to permit me to get away in the first place. I wish I could have just told him:

honey, I love you, but this trip—even though it is all about having sex with another man—in no way diminishes my love for you. The trip is only about sex, nothing more

. Of course, Kevin would never have been able to understand that. He's been so agonizingly faithful to me. Oh, well.

I opened the door and looked around for Charles. The room that he had reserved for me at the Four Seasons came with a beautiful little balcony that looked out over a picturesque, blue lagoon. Did I say room? It was more like a small apartment. There was a kitchen area—complete with a well-stocked liquor cabinet, a sitting "room" with a sofa and arm chair, an oversized bathroom with a separate vanity, and a raised bedroom area with a dresser, a big, beautiful, mahogany armoire, and a gigantic four-poster bed. Original oil paintings of desert scenes were everywhere. Charles, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.

I ended my tour of the room with a visit to the sleeping area where I collapsed backwards onto the oversized bed, only to discover an envelope--addressed to me, lying right there in the center of the bed. Anxiously, I sat up, and ripped open the envelope.

Angie,

Welcome. I hope your air travel was pleasant and that my driver, Richard, made the car ride pleasant for you.

In the bathroom, you'll find a selection of aromatic herbal bath oils. Choose one you like and soak in it. It'll help you relax after your long trip out here. Also, please feel free to order room service for anything you want.

I'd love to meet you for a drink—and dinner if you're still hungry. I'll be in the Lobby Lounge as close to 7:00 as possible.

In the armoire, you'll find, among other things, a white silk dress, which, I think, would be perfect for a cocktail (or two). There are shoes in the closet that go well with that dress; and in the dresser, you'll find all sorts of lingerie options. My choice, in case you're curious, would be the lace thong and matching bra. You'll find some white thigh-high stockings in the bottom drawer with the other stockings. Of course, sweetheart, whatever you decide to wear is fine with me. You'd look great in anything.

You're going to be the hit of the party. I just know it. How excited I am that you are here!

Charles

I took a deep breath and dropped back down onto the bed. It was good to hear from him, even if only through a letter. So, he's excited too? I was happy.

I took his suggestion and took a long, leisurely bath, pampering my skin with cocoanut-aloe bath oil. Afterwards, I perused the cupboards and drawers, marveling at all the fine clothes Charles had provided. One large drawer contained nothing but lingerie. At home, I rifle through my undies drawers as casually as I would, say, the kitchen tableware drawer, simply selecting whatever seems appropriate at the time, but there in that plush hotel, a couple thousand miles from home, I was almost trembling as I picked up each delicate, intimate undergarment and examined it, knowing full well that Charles had not only personally selected each one, but had also physically placed each of them there-- for me.

The all-white outfit that Charles had suggested fit perfectly—including the thong and the little bra. Kevin would have loved the way I looked in the dress. It was conservative and yet still flattering to my figure--not tight, but close-fitting enough to show that I take good care of myself.

Refreshed, I paid a visit to the Lobby Lounge, but there was no sign of Charles. It was barely seven, and, remembering his words, "as close to seven as possible," I found a table with a nice view of the ocean. A waiter stopped by to ask if he could get me something. I told him I was waiting for someone. That's when Charles' driver appeared.

"Good evening, Ma'am, Charles is running late and he asked me to keep you company until he arrived--that is, unless you'd rather be by yourself."

"Richard, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I'm Angie; not

Ma'am

," I corrected him with a smile.

He smiled back, apologetically.

"I'd love to have someone to talk to while I'm waiting. Please sit down."

Richard took a seat opposite me and passed me the drink menu. I declined, but he selected a bottle of wine and ordered two glasses. "In case you change your mind," he said.

Of course I sampled the wine when it arrived. It was

exceptionally

smooth. It must have cost a small fortune. I asked Richard all kinds of questions about Charles and his company, and the company party. I learned that Charles owned controlling interest in the company, which sort of surprised me, but I was more surprised to learn that Charles was married.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I thought you knew that," he said.

"It's not a problem. I'm married too," I told him, realizing immediately, that this was more information than he needed.

I also learned that the company party was scheduled to begin Saturday evening at 7:00 right there at the hotel.

"The company has reserved a block of guest rooms, and two large conference rooms. We are expecting about 200 people altogether," Richard told me, then suddenly produced a pager from his jacket.

"It's Charles. He's here."

I looked around as Richard quickly got to his feet and began excusing himself.

"It's been a pleasure talking with you, Angie. Perhaps I'll see you at the party."

"Yes. Perhaps," I said.

Footsteps behind me caused me to turn around in my chair.

"Charles!"

"Angie!"

Eagerly, I got to my feet. We greeted each other with a hug and a publicly acceptable smooch on the lips.

Charles was dressed in a bold floral-patterned silk shirt and cream-colored linen, pleated trousers—an elegant gold chain around his neck.

"It's so good to see you, Angie. I am so glad you could get away for the weekend."

"Me too," I replied, studying his eyes.

"The dress looks great on you, by the way. Do you like it?"

I nodded. "You have good taste."

"Thank you. So do you," he beamed, holding me at arms' length and leaning back to admire all of me. "So, are you hungry?" he asked.

I told him I wasn't, which was true. I was excited and a little buzzed from all the wine I had "sampled" while waiting for him. Food was the last thing on my mind.

"Do you like your room?"

"It's so

big

! Yes. I like it very much."

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

"I'm sure. How about you?"

"Oh, I'm

very

hungry," he told me--a twinkle in his eye. "For you."

"You once invited me up to your hotel room. How about if I return the favor?"

"I'd be honored," he said.

My room was only a few minutes away from the lounge. Charles and I walked slowly with our arms around each other like lovers. In heels, I was as tall as him. He smelled of cigar smoke and cologne and like my first marital indiscretion, which, of course, he was. Funny how we attach smells to everything.

A couple of hotel guests seemed to take an interest in us—-I guess our age difference may have gotten their attention. Many people say I look like I'm still in my twenties, and Charles, although distinguished looking with his thinning hair and graying temples, looks very much like the 53-year-old man he is.

Once inside my room, we greeted each other with an entirely different kind of kiss. Charles' mouth molded with mine; our tongues said hello and exchanged their own, more intimate, greeting. From behind me, I felt his hands grab the bottom of my dress and bunch it up—all the way up to my ass, until both his large warm hands were on the cool soft skin of my cheeks, left bare by my thong panties.

"Oh, Angie," he whispered, as he squeezed my bottom. "My sweet, sweet, Angie!"

I undid the top button of his shirt, and reached my hand in to cop a feel of his hairy chest.

He smiled and let me undo another button before telling me he'd love to see how I looked with my dress off.

"Still the dirty ol' man, huh?" I said, grinning with excitement. "I'm glad." His eyes told me how glad he was to see me.

Moments later, I stood before him, nearly naked, my tanned parts looking even tanner next to the snow white lingerie that barely concealed my most intimate anatomy. Charles, clearly delighted with his choice of undergarments and how they looked on me, took my hand and walked me out to the balcony. Privacy walls on either side of the balcony were a welcomed sight; I allowed myself to relax, half naked or not. The night was warm and balmy. Charles kept his arm around me as we stood and chatted about airplanes and airports, California weather, and each other, enjoying the night air and the view of the lagoon. Neither of us mentioned a word about spouses.

"Angie, you have no idea how many nights I have dreamed of this moment … of being alone with you … again."

"Did you think I'd come--all this way?" I asked him.

"I wasn't sure. I dreamed you would. I dreamed all kinds of things about us."

We sat down on the small balcony bench. Our lips met again—this time with such intensity that we couldn't keep our hands off each other. I loosened Charles' belt and then reached my hand down inside the waistband of his trousers to find his cock. It was not as big as I remembered, but it was still growing.

He slid my bra straps off my shoulders and bared my breasts, one at a time. My nipples showed their appreciation for the exposure by doing their little sticking-out number. They have a mind of their own it seems, always looking for more attention. Charles responded appropriately, pinching them between his thumb and forefingers, patiently giving each the attention they sought.

I continued fondling his thickening cock, eager to feel his mouth on my breasts. Eager to feel his lips all over me.

"Oh, Angie," he moaned, lowering his face to my tits. I could feel his cock grow longer inside his boxers.

His hungry lips captured one of my nipples and held it prisoner, torturing it by pulling on it and sucking on it.

I reached deeper into his boxers and found his balls—and played with them.

His lips relaxed around the captured nipple, freeing it, only to seek another prisoner.

One of his hands was at my waist, holding me. I took it in mine and pulled it to my belly and then guided it downward. Down to my panties.

We kissed again, fondling each other deliciously.

Within minutes we were back inside—me, minus my bra and panties; Charles, minus his shirt.

Charles sat on the edge of my bed and I got down on the floor, where I took off his shoes and socks and then helped him with his trousers and shorts.

Kneeling between his legs, I admired the size of his dick. It was fat

and

long—the best of both worlds. I let the weight of it rest on the palm of my small hand, like I was weighing a beautiful squash at the supermarket or something. No, not a squash. What I was holding could only be found in the meat section. This was pure, red-blooded, prime cut!

I kissed it. And then I looked up to see his reaction. His face was lit up like a little kid. I kept my eyes on his and tasted him with my tongue.

"Come. Get in bed with me," he said, putting his hand on my arm, urging me to stand up.

I climbed onto the bed with him and we were soon rolling around, hugging and kissing, enjoying the intimacy of each other's nakedness. True, I wasn't

totally

naked; I still had on my stockings and heels, but the important parts---my tits and my pussy—were completely bare for Charles to rub up against, to fondle, and to kiss.

Now, I love oral sex. Can't get enough of it really. But right then, I was ready for more. Expecting more. But it was not to be. There was no intercourse between me and Charles that night. No penetration. Unless you count Charles' tongue. He got me off with his mouth and tongue—and teeth—and now that I think about it, maybe he did slip a finger or two into me. I don't remember. I was eaten so thoroughly I can't be sure of all the details.

I tried to eat him too, but he wouldn't let me. He let me lick his balls and his cock, and even suck on him a little bit, but just as he started getting really, really big—like the Charles I remembered—he pulled away.

"Angie, I want to save this for the party, if that's OK with you."

It was kind of a letdown. I was soaring at the time, all sweaty and wet and hell-bent on pleasing him, the way he had pleased me. But I understood. At his age, he probably had doubts about getting it up two nights in a row. I would wait for Saturday night. I fell asleep in his arms, only to be awakened later as he climbed out of bed and began putting his clothes on.

"I'm sorry, honey. I have to go," he said. "Tomorrow will be different. We'll spend the night together, OK?"

I watched him get dressed and wondered if his wife would recognize the scent of another woman.

PART TWO

It was a little disappointing to wake up in bed Saturday morning alone—no Charles, no Kevin-- and even more disappointing to listen to the voice message on the phone.

Charles would be tied up all day. He couldn't see me until party-time:

"In the meantime, Love, I have reserved you a one-hour appointment at the hotel spa. You'll love it. Also, there's a group of people from the company getting together for a visit to the San Diego zoo. You're welcome to join them. Richard has offered to be your escort; he'll call you around noon to see if you are interested. By the way, it's one of the best zoos in the world. If you like animals, you should check it out.

Again, I'm sorry I couldn't spend more time with you today, but tonight we'll have the time of our lives.

Just you and me!"

I got over my disappointment as the day unfolded. The massage at the spa was to die for and the facial left me feeling rejuvenated. I was a little skeptical about the zoo trip, however; but when I heard Richard's description of the place, including lunch in a "tree-house" restaurant, I gave in. It turned out to be a lot of fun.

Of course, the highlight of my weekend was the party that night.

I tried on several outfits before settling on a gown that bore a Frederick's of Hollywood tag. It was black, satin, slinky, low-cut (front and back), and was slit high up one leg. Under it, I went with black stretch lace boy shorts and an underwire bra also made of black stretch lace. Underwire bras aren't my thing generally, but it was the only bra in the drawer that matched the panties. Also, given how low the front of my dress came, this bra was perfect. It was skimpy enough to stay out of sight, and yet thin enough not to show under my dress. I really am partial to the natural look, including a hint of nipple poking through, if the occasion warrants.

I completed my party outfit with naughty black stockings and garter belt, silver high-heeled sandals that laced high up my ankles, and a pair of silver earrings that I brought with me. I had to admit the look was a wee bit on the trashy side, but these were clothes that Charles had picked out, so why not give him what he wanted? After all, he was the reason I was there.

Charles showed up at my room at a quarter to seven and gave me an approving wolf whistle. I put my arms around him and greeted him with a long wet kiss. He slid his hands down my back, all the way down to my ass.

"Hmmmm," I cooed. "I'm glad you're still interested."

"I could never get enough of you, Angie," he said. "But right now we have a party to get to."

Charles had warned me not to eat anything right before the party, and I'm glad he did. The food was excellent and there was plenty of it. Every corner of the main ballroom, featured men in chefs' hats and jackets doing everything from carving ducks to frying crepes.

A magician in the center of the room wowed everyone who crowded around with some unbelievable sleight-of-hand.

Charles was in the spotlight early in the evening. He was up on the stage at one end of the hall and gave a peppy little speech about the good fortune and hard work that had made the company the success that it was.

Right after that, the house lights dimmed way down and a five-piece band sprinted onto the stage and tore into what I would call jazzy cowboy swing--really a fun sound, and easy to dance to. Couples started gathering in the center of the room. I looked around for Charles, but I didn't see him. A man close to my age who I think was up on the stage with Charles introduced himself and asked me to dance.

"Angie, I'm Peter McCann. I work with Charles."

I searched the room for my date, without luck. The room was now so dark it was hard to see anyone. The only place you could distinguish people was the food area and the stage. The center of the hall, where everyone was dancing, was not lit at all.