A String of Minor Disasters

Warning: This story contains group sex (two men and one woman).

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I often go to New York on business. I hate travelling, even if I enjoy New York, so I always pamper myself and stay in a nice hotel. Sadly, though, last year my company cut the amount we could spend on hotels. In New York that meant a dramatic change.

I found a nice bed and breakfast in Chelsea which was (barely) under the budget constraint, called Twilight House. Breakfast is thrown in and it's a good breakfast, too. It's yummy. I developed my favorite room there which is the Italian Room.

Twilight House names its different rooms. Sometimes the Italian Room is not available and then I choose the Victorian Room. I've also stayed in the Serenity Room which is quiet since it's far from the street with its ambulances and garbage trucks. I've now stayed in all the rooms but one. The Eros Room is significantly more expensive than the others. It's over budget so I've never stayed there.

This trip seemed to be star crossed. The first annoying feature of the trip was that my phone battery died. It even refused to take a new charge! Basically, the phone was dead. I had planned to listen to music on the plane with my new noise-canceling headphones but without them I had to listen to the airplane's selection. What garbage was available!

I had to change planes in Atlanta and I missed my connection. No problem, I took the next plane. My checked bag however had other ideas and apparently felt an urgent need to visit some exotic locale. I arrived in NY very late and without luggage. I had not been able to call and let the B&B know I'd be late since my cell phone was dead.

Due to my late arrival the bed and breakfast had given away the Italian room and in fact was down to only one room still available, which fortune had saved for me. It's called the Eros Room and it's the most expensive room in the B&B by a long shot, but the innkeeper Beatrice gave it to me for the price of the Italian Room, thank goodness.

The room has a strange name but I understood a bit when I saw the room, as it had pictures of naked water nymphs and centaurs decorating the walls. The artist who painted the centaurs gave them generous endowments, too, I could not help but notice. Whoa.

It was hot and muggy and when I arrived at the B&B I was dripping wet with sweat. That's when I got the news their central air had failed. It would not be repaired until the next day at the earliest, due to the extreme heat and consequent demand for air conditioning repairmen. My clothes were sweaty and my bra and panties probably smelled at this point. I washed them in the sink and just lounged around the room naked. Beatrice, the hostess, had placed a fan in my room and it was a lifesaver.

I got an email about my carry-on. It had been located. Good. It was located in Cancun, Mexico. Bad. I guess it had decided to go on vacation. I would have it in two days. This meant I needed to buy some new clothes for the morrow and my business meetings. Damn. By this time evening was beginning to set in. Some clothing stores would be open another hour at most. My bra and panties were still seriously wet from my having just washed them in the sink, so I threw on my clothes without them. The hair dryer that came with the room had just not been up to the task of drying out my lingerie.

I'm not small breasted so it was a tad outrageous to go without a bra but at least nobody would know I was without panties, even if my skirt was a little on the short side. I rushed out to go shopping. I went to a nearby Zara that was still open (one of the strong points of NY!) and found clothes that would work, trying them on in the dressing room. The curtain did not completely close and I discovered I had inadvertently put on a little show for some other woman's partner who looked through the gap in the curtain. He had the smile of lust on his face, and I had the blush of embarrassment and shame on my face.

I was also curious: Had I looked fat to the man? I laughed at the thought. I was sure all that he had looked at were my boobs and my pussy! He had not the time to evaluate in detail my naked body. I had not been naked for long, after all. I was surprised however because I was turned on at having been seen naked. I had thought I would be embarrassed in the extreme, and indeed I was, but the primary emotion I felt was arousal.

I pretended not to know, smiled sweetly at him, and went to pay. That was when I realized I had left my American Express card at home. I could even visualize it on my dresser. No problem, I had my Visa card. As I stood there paying the man I had flashed was right behind me.

I was blushing constantly with the knowledge that a stranger had seen me naked. It's worse too, because when I was naked I had actually fondled myself just a little in the dressing room, so it was more humiliating than it needed to be. I just could not catch a break! This inadvertent disaster however was so shaming! Shaming all the more so because it was delicious.

When it was my turn to pay I discovered to my embarrassment and chagrin that I had reached my credit limit on my Visa card. This meant I could only buy one outfit, the one for tomorrow. If only I had had my American Express card! Well at least I could buy the one outfit.

Normally I buy fancy lingerie but by the time I was done with the clothes the lingerie stores were closed and besides, I reminded myself, I had reached my credit limit. No problem, I thought. My own lingerie will be dry by the morning.

I grabbed some dinner at a nice little place called Mangia which was very casual. I kept my knees locked together because the seats were such that people could have looked up my skirt. Normally had my legs separated I would have been flashing them my panties, but in my current state I would have been flashing my pussy and I had experienced my fill of that already in the Zara dressing room!

I was already attracting some male attention due to my braless state. My blouse was sort of sheer and hence my nipples would poke at the blouse to say hello and attract attention, and then the careful voyeur would be able to make out the shape of my boobs under my blouse. I did not need to add flashing my pussy to the mix!

I returned to my non-air-conditioned room, stripped off my sweaty clothes, and began to look more carefully at my room, called The Eros Room. It was pretty. It had a small bookcase which was chock full of books. Looking at the titles I saw that they were soft core porn, ranging from Fifty Shades of Grey to the Story of O. (The Story of O they had both in French and in English!) They even had an illustrated(!) copy of Justine and Juliet by the Marquis de Sade (in English only). I also found one of my favorites, Emmanuelle, by Emmanuelle Arsan (also in both English and French). I began to wonder if it the books actually were soft core, or was the 'soft' part missing? Perhaps were they simply just core?

There were also a DVD player and DVDs with all sorts of pornographic titles, even one with the now famous Stormy Daniels starring in it! I figured this must be a favorite room for some kinds of men. One of my former lovers was just that kind of man. He was half French, too. Perfect. Maybe I'd tell him about this B&B and the Eros Room if I ever felt kindly towards him again. That was unlikely.

Getting back to the Eros room, however, the strangest thing about it were all the little lights, most of them green but some of them blue. I could not figure out what purpose they served other than an unusual (and failed, in my opinion) attempt at decoration. Then I had a real surprise.

Where hotels usually keep a copy of the bible (and a Book of Mormon if it's a Marriott), my B&B had a vibrator! There was also a note in the same nightstand drawer saying to contact the front desk, if desired, for a dildo selection. Finally, there were alcoholic wipes to clean the vibrator before use. I was beginning to like the Eros Room.

It's hard to read while using a vibrator, and this was a good one, so I surfed what was on the TV. I was naked once again due to the oppressive heat. The TV selection struck out for my taste so I rose from the bed and checked out the DVD collection. I don't like porn, so I passed on the porn DVDs, even the Stormy Daniels one. I ended up calling the front desk and asking for a selection of dildos. I had never used a dildo before but upon reading the hotel's offer of them I suddenly felt compelled to try them out. After all, they had offered now, hadn't they?

A man brought the dildos to my room so fast that I was still naked when he knocked. I covered myself with a towel and took the dildos from him, blushing furiously. They did the trick and I was able to sleep.

I had strange dreams as I slept. I remember that I had heard soothing voices and when I woke up I was drenched with sweat. I remembered dreaming I had been ravished by a centaur. The dream had been so powerful that when I woke I actually thought it had happened and that I had been centaur-raped in my sleep! In my dream I was not scared but embraced the rape and thoroughly enjoyed it.

I went to the bathroom and checked out my anus, since it felt strange. The centaur had taken me in my ass during my dream, as I guess centaurs are prone to do, and I wanted to see if I looked normal back there. I did not. My asshole was inflamed and not puckered but nicely dilated. Okay, this was strange.

I went to the door. It was still locked, chain still on. The windows were locked. Nothing had been disturbed. I looked at the sheets. I looked again. I looked a third time. Some sort of discharge had occurred during the night. Yes, that could be mostly (but not all) dried cum on the sheets. It could also be something else. Who knows about dried up discharges, anyway? I figured the most likely explanation was that I was hallucinating. Still, what had I discharged?

Just to reassure myself, I checked out my vag, too. I know, only too well, how it looks 'the morning after.' Yes, it did indeed look like that! That could be from the dildos, of course. Yes, that must be the explanation! As for my anus, well, the body often presents little mysteries to us, doesn't it?

Maybe I was about to have a massive bowel movement and my body was getting ready for it, you know? Or maybe my asshole had dilated in response to my dream? That could happen, right? Men get erections and even have wet dreams while they sleep. Women can have the analogous stuff, right?

I could tell somehow that I had experienced an orgasm while I slept and perhaps that had contributed to my feelings of relaxed pleasure upon waking. Gone was my typically nervous, stressed out self. Replacing it was a calm confidence. It was one of the best night's sleeps I had ever had as well as the most erotic dream I had ever had. It was my first ever dream that had caused an orgasm in my sleep. I had never "squirted" in my entire life, but if I had during my sleep perhaps that would explain the discharge on the sheets?

I wore my new clothes with now dry lingerie and went over to the NY office building in deepest, darkest midtown. My work went fine, benefitting from the wonderful rest I had found in the Eros Room and when it came time for lunch my NY colleague Carl asked if I would 'bestow upon' him the pleasure of lunching with him. I knew he had always had the hots for me. It's not really me, per se, but more the fact that I have two X chromosomes and with them two boobs, which seemed to be Carl's main criterion for choosing lunch companions.

Carl was an elegant man. Harmless really, and by this time I had suffered enough and could do with some harmless male attention during lunch. The emphasis here is on the world harmless! I was charmed by his elegant phrasing of his lunch invitation. It's just lunch after all, so why not?

For the very first time I said, "Sure, I'd love to lunch with you." If you're going to say yes, why not do it with style? Do it with enthusiasm. It's always a good strategy.

"Do you have a preferred cuisine?" Carl asked.

"Anything but southern cooking. I get that ad nauseam in Arkansas," I replied. Arkansas is unfortunately where I'm based. "A hush puppy on the menu and I'm outta there." I giggled just a little to soften what I had just said. I remembered Carl hails from North Carolina. That's the deep south despite the 'north' in the name of the state.

"Here in New York we have everything, but our strong suit is Italian," Carl said. "We do have excellent Chinese, Thai, superb Japanese, Korean, Indian, French, Peruvian, New American, Irish pubs, you name it. Close by too there's a nice steak place?"

"At the risk of being too much of a female stereotype, I'd prefer fish or vegetarian food, please, Carl," I said.

Carl took me to a lovely Italian place where I got the roast fish which was divine. I had branzino filets roasted with tiny cut up baby zucchinis, thyme, and a touch of basil. I washed it down with an Umbrian white wine. Even better than the food and wine, Carl turned out to be a charming conversationalist! For once it was not completely up to me to carry the conversational ball. How nice!

"Where do you stay when you're in New York? Is there a hotel you like? I ask because some friends are coming to the city and they asked me to find them a good hotel," he said.

I told him the whole sad story about the budget constraints of our company on hotel expenses.

"So, what do you do instead of a hotel? Airbnb?" Carl asked.

"God forbid, no! That's too risky for my taste. No, I stay at a bed and breakfast," I said.

"A B&B? Here in New York? In Manhattan? That sounds perfect for my friends! Do you like it?"

I told Carl it was called Twilight House. I told him that I liked it and that last night I slept better than ever! We got to talking, and he manipulated me into my agreeing to show him around the B&B that evening. He sweetened the deal by inviting me to dinner with him. Dinner was great as was the wine and perhaps I drank a bit too much.

I met Beatrice, the Innkeeper, with Carl in tow after our dinner around 9:30pm. Luckily, she was still up. She was in the kitchen preparing for the next day's breakfast. The B&B also serves cake and cookies and Port Wine in the evenings. Carl was enthralled.

"Is there a free room I could show to my colleague Carl? He has friends coming to town soon," I said to Beatrice.

"I'm afraid we're full. Why don't you show him your room?" Beatrice suggested.

"I'm in the Eros Room, Beatrice," I said and I blushed. "I'm not attracted to him and he might get the wrong idea," I whispered to her. "And he's a colleague!"

Beatrice winked. "I'm sure he'll love it. Don't worry, Ashley," she replied.

I turned to face Carl who had a look of intrigue on his face. "I have to explain. The B&B was full and I took the last available room. It's a great room (Beatrice was listening) but it's a little strange. I've never stayed in a room before quite like it. Anywhere," I said.

Beatrice added, "Yes, I believe it's unique! It's called the Eros Room. Men love it. Women do too, mostly. How do you like it, Ashley?"

"It grows on you, I have to admit. I slept amazingly well last night and woke up refreshed. It's becoming my favorite room," I said. I added, just to Beatrice, "It's just a bit embarrassing to show it to a male colleague, you know," I said sotto voce, hoping Carl would not hear me. He was off pouring himself a glass of port wine and eyeing the home baked desserts so it was possible, even likely, that he did not hear us speaking.

"Pish posh!" Beatrice said loudly. "You go right ahead, young lady."

"I'm 26. I don't feel that young," I said.

"Well you are from where I'm sitting!" Beatrice said. She was probably pushing 50. "You know there's an extra feature to the room you do not know about yet. I'll tell you about it later," and she winked. "Carl looks nice. Everyone should have colleagues like him."

I gave Carl the once over for the first time ever. He did indeed look nice, I realized to my surprise. He had a pleasant face, a little too round for my taste. His small nose and round glasses contributed to a type of owlish look. He had a head of rich brown hair and he was growing a beard. I don't much like beards but when a man is growing one he looks sexy. I knew that as he aged he would get a beer belly, but as of now it was nascent, and while his body was not hard, it was muscular and quite nice.

I gave up the struggle not to show Carl my room. Carl and I climbed the stairs up to the third floor of the Brownstone that formed the B&B and went to my room, the Eros Room. I died as we walked in because there on my nicely made bed, lying across the pillows, was my selection of dildos. They had cleaned the one I had used thank goodness, but still! I suspect I became a shade of crimson hitherto unknown to my panoply of shades of blushing.

"You look quite fetching when you blush, Ashley," Carl said. This precipitated even more blushing as he stared at the dildos, and my bedside reading, "The Story of O." Thank goodness he had never heard of that book. Carl asked me if it was good.

"I've just begun it," I lied. I had finished it in one captivating reading the night before. "It was first published in France and won the French literature prize of "Les Deux Magots." The critics liked it, apparently. It came with the room." I did not mention that it was the Fifty Shades of Grey of its age. It was farther out there than Fifty Shades was, however.

"This room is a hoot! Do the dildos come with the room, too?" Carl asked.

"Yes," I replied softly, looking at my feet.

Carl came over to me and pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I pulled away. I was not at all sexually attracted to Carl, plus I had to work with the man.

"Carl, we're colleagues. This is not a good idea," I said. I did not want to say there was no sexual attraction. That's never a good thing to say to a man. The bottom line was that I certainly did not want to have sex with Carl!

Carl tried again to kiss me. "No, Carl," I said again.

"Why not? You've looked so beautiful all the day and all of the evening. I've loved gazing at your eyes, imagining kissing you not only all day today, but for the last two years we've worked together when you are summoned to New York," Carl entreated.

"It's just not a good idea," I repeated.

"It's just a kiss, Ashley. I would be honored if you were to let me kiss you. You have no idea what your exquisite beauty does to me," he said.

Carl did not understand. When a man kisses me, I mean really kisses me in the passionate way men like to kiss, nine times out of ten it progresses much farther. Much, much farther. I could not take that risk. I could also never make such an admission. I had to be firm.

Even as I had those thoughts the soothing voices I had heard in my dreams entered my head again. I was not dreaming however! I looked at the painting and I could see the naked water nymph stroking herself where it counts and speaking to me. The nymph from the painting was moving her lips and speaking directly into my head. She was saying, "Let Carl kiss you. Let him kiss you. Kiss him back. Let it happen. You want it to happen. You know you want it."

Carl was speaking but I was not hearing him. I was hearing only the nymph. His flowery speech, his complements, the wine and his charming company were all conspiring to overcome my reluctance. Suddenly not only was I sexually attracted to the man, the attraction was overwhelming.

Carl stopped speaking and he could apparently see how I was looking at him with new eyes. He must have seen the new lust in my eyes. He gently, ever so gently, pulled me into him until our two bodies were flush, one against the other. He lifted my head, gazed into my eyes and no doubt saw my trembling lips, and he kissed me.