After the Conference

Day Two: Morning

She wriggled her way out of bed without waking him and tip toed to the bathroom. Her vagina didn't feel raw or burning, but she had to see. Squatting slightly in front of the mirror she spread her legs, pulling her labia apart. Her inner thighs felt bruised but there wasn't any discoloration, and her lips looked fine. But she smelled terrible – his cum and hers.

She peed and started the shower, wondering what had happened and how she was going to get him out of her room.

Room? How about your life?

The water pelted down on her, washing away the prior evening's evidence of the fucking she'd had.

If only it were so easy

. She stood under the spray and cried softly, cursing her stupidity.

She hadn't heard him come in and squealed in fright to see him standing in front of the toilet, a golden stream arcing from the tip of his penis.

"Good morning," he looked up from studying his cock, smiling.

"Mmmph." She grabbed a towel and started to dry off, self-conscious of him staring at her breasts swinging against the rhythm of the towel, but stifling any outward reaction.

"I...," he paused, flushing the toilet and looking at her in the tub. "I think maybe I pushed you a little too far last night." He looked contrite and she stopped.

"You think?" She realized being naked and exposed to him didn't make for the best backdrop. She hoped her seeping anger would make up for it.

"Do you mind?" He motioned to the shower, moving toward the taps.

"Fuck." She got out, shaking her head. "You're a piece of work."

"Let me get cleaned up and make it up to you." He left the curtain open, the water spraying off him onto her.

"Fuck." She left the bathroom to finish drying off and to consider how she was going to get rid of him.

When he came into the bedroom, she wasn't surprised to see he'd left his towel behind. One part of her brain, admittedly a very small and squeamish part, stared at his body – there was no question he was well built – his abs and pecs and his member...but those observations were quickly squelched by the majority of her brain that was about to destroy him.

"So. Do you often go to conferences and seduce young women and then brutalize them in their hotel rooms?" She was dressed, working on her make-up in front of the mirror – a much better setup.

He looked around for his clothes, and she noticed with a little disgust (and even less arousal) that he pulled his slacks on without his briefs. "Is that what happened? If that's the way you remember it, then I guess that makes me a total asshole, eh?" He stopped to stare at her, his bare chest and thick arms distracting her momentarily.

She couldn't detect any trace of irony or sarcasm in his voice. He seemed to seriously be asking her if that was the way it went down. It put her off-balance for a moment. The room seemed to tilt and she shook her head to clear her vision. "Seriously? You really don't remember practically raping me last night?" She had turned from the mirror to face him.

He shrugged a little, pinching his lips as he considered her accusations. "No. I don't. I remember you begging me to fuck you in the most graphic, and frankly sexiest way I've ever heard. I have to say it made me a little out of control and I realized way too late I was probably hurting you. I'm sorry for that. If it's any consolation at all, please know that was the most intense date I've ever been on in my life."

He apparently had located his shirt as he moved to put it on.

It wasn't what he'd said, but the way he'd said it that put her on unsure footing. He wasn't apologetic or defensive, just open, honest and transparent. She didn't know what to say, her shoulders dropping as she exhaled deeply.

"Fuck." She turned to finish brushing her hair. Her routine was completely screwed up, something she worked hard to maintain, especially when she traveled. She should be sweating, breathing heavily and feeling her blood pumping through her veins. But that wasn't on the agenda.

"It appears I was the only one who enjoyed myself last night, or worse, that I enjoyed myself at your expense. That sucks." He sat down on a chair to put on his shoes. "I had hoped to make good on my offer to show you around the city – you had said something about bicycling, or Tilson's. I have a few bikes back at the house and I had thought perhaps we could ride a bit..."

Her anger had dissipated as soon as he had confessed earlier, even though he remained unapologetic. The weather looked absolutely fantastic. She had one day left to do whatever she wanted, and he owed her...at least, if she played her cards right, he'd make amends for the way he'd treated her the night before. That tiny part of her tried desperately to suggest perhaps she had been complicit in the evening's activities, but the majority ruler would hear nothing of it.

"Forgetting for the moment the way you behaved last night, and assuming it was the heat of passion, how can I possibly trust you won't take advantage of me again?"

He shrugged again, locating his jacket and slipping it on. "I suppose if that's the way it looks to you, you can't. All I can say is let me take you out to breakfast, get the bikes and do a little riding..."

"Usually I exercise before eating breakfast and my schedule is all fouled up. What time is it?" She looked at the bedside clock. "Fuck. 8:30. I'm usually at the office working by now. How long to get to your house?"

"7 minutes. We could be back down the hill in 15, do a few miles and stop at a nice spot for breakfast whenever you'd like – there are plenty of cafes along the way that are bike friendly."

Bike friendly? He's concerned about the bikes? Who is this guy?

The guy who fucked your brains out last night. Who made you beg him to pound you in your...She couldn't complete the thought.

What had come over me to behave that way?

The memory of her self-abasement and humiliation sent a wave of disgust through her, followed by a flicker of arousal up from her depths, quickly doused by another wave of disgust.

You couldn't! Not for even a second!

But the realization that she in fact was aroused by what she'd done, and that he didn't seem to think any less of her for it, quite the opposite, that he seemed to think she enjoyed what she did, confused her.

"Are you okay?" He had come up next to her, gently putting his hands on her elbows.

"Yeah," she said pulling out of her self-absorbed thoughts. "I'm...I'm fine. Just mystified by what happened last night." She stepped away to find her gym clothes and quickly shoved them, an extra pair of panties and a bra into a day pack with her tennies.

"So, we're on?" He was leaning against the mirror, hands in his pockets, waiting.

She nodded, silently, not trusting her voice. She was either going to tear a new one into him, or she'd sound pathetic, the memory of her grabbing her legs and spreading them open for him, begging him to fuck her, threatened to overwhelm her.

She followed him out the door, confirming she had her key and let him lead her to his car. Once again, she began to doubt her sanity – her judgment was obviously impaired and she didn't have alcohol to blame. She was letting him steer her into his car, to his house, to do lord-knew-what, and here again the image of her opening herself to him, begging him to abase herself made her close her eyes. She had to calm down!

In the closed confines of the car she couldn't afford to become so aroused he'd smell her. She blushed at the possibility and looked out the window to disrupt the seemingly endless loop she was playing from the night before.

"It's a pretty town, I think," he was saying as he turned from the downtown district into a residential neighborhood. "I mean, these folks are just blocks away from some great bars, museums, parks. It's a pretty expensive neighborhood."

The houses weren't large, small in some cases. Well-kept for certain. She noted a bit of construction and a few gardeners tending to landscaping. The road began to curve a little, the land tilting, and she looked in front to see they were climbing up into the hills above the city. Here the houses were beginning to spread further apart, and the smaller cottages became scarcer, replaced by larger structures built more recently. Not all, she realized, looking at what appeared to be an early 20th century style that was clearly original.

"Brookwood Heights." He nodded to each side of the street. "Brookwood as in Major Stenton Brookwood." He stopped at her reaction. "Yeah, for reals. Who names their kid 'Stenton?' Anyway, he did quite well for himself at the end of the 19th century. Friend of Teddy Roosevelt – they'd participated in several adventures apparently, and he was able to swing a bit of favor to get most of this hill."

From their current position, she could see across a fairly long and gently sloping ridge, now covered with homes, but she could envision how, back in 1901 it would have been scrub and open land. They crossed over the top and were now facing a long valley with another ridge not too far across. "Fuck." She had become completely lost in thought. She was certain he had been talking, but his words were a faint background. All she could think of was how she had begged him to plug her with his hard cock.

You see? You are a slut.

No! What was he saying? She not only had lost track of his conversation, she realized her panties were soaked. She rolled down the window to ventilate the car.

"I know, right? Ol' Brookwood wasn't an idiot. He carefully figured out how to maximize his investment – built some of the largest pieces out first, sold them to friends looking for vacation places away from the hustle-bustle, and then took those profits to begin really bringing in the cash. Took about 25 years when the first wave was finished, and then of course there was the Depression."

They had turned onto a road below the valley side of the ridge, hugging a portion that was steeper than the side they had just climbed. He slowed and turned into a short driveway, stopping the car. She was staring at a one story glass and steel pavilion that looked like a Mondrian painting drained of its color. It turned at right angles to crawl up the cliff side in some bizarre way.

"This," she took a breath, "is your house?" It appeared to be bolted into the side of the ridge – a pigeon hole. She didn't know how to describe it. She couldn't stand sitting any longer, the wetness between her legs was infuriating and annoying.

"Yep. Wish I could say I designed it, or even had it commissioned, but no, I was just lucky enough to buy it. If you look carefully you can see its mate across the valley. Same architect, but I've never been in the other one." He pointed behind him and she looked through the back window of the car but of course couldn't see anything. "C'mon, I've distracted you enough. Let's see about getting a couple of bikes and going riding."

She bolted from the car, grabbing her gym bag, self-conscious about how wet she was. As she followed him to the front door she thought about what he'd just said. "Wait a sec. Roland?"

He turned from putting his key in the lock, raising his eyebrows.

"Just now. What you said – you've distracted me enough. What did you mean?" She could feel her fear and concern beginning to rise again, looking at the door as a one-way valve. Once she went in, she was beginning to believe, she wouldn't come out.

"Your morning routine," he said with a smile.

She thought he had said something else, but her eyes focused on his smile – gentle, warm and completely disarming. The fear melted back into the simmering soup that was her baseline emotional chaos.

You want it. You want whatever he has in store for you.

No! Her main brain punched back. Stop it. It's a day out in a beautiful city with a gentleman.

Hah! You call what he did to you last night 'gentle?' You'll spread yourself again and more, and you'll beg for it again, and you know why.

She shook her head, grateful he'd turned his attention back to opening the door and followed him in.

"You can change in there," he pointed to a door off a short hall just past the entry. "And while you're there, take a look at that house I mentioned. Same architect, as I mentioned. I read an article about him. Hey!" He stopped for a moment. "We could ride through the nature preserve, if you'd like. It's not easy..."

She could feel a surge of competition. "How long is it?"

"From here it's about 2 miles and then it's about 10 through the preserve, but we'd end up pretty far from anyplace for breakfast – it would likely be lunch by then anyway. Tell you what. You get changed, and I'll look up what's over on that side. Meet back here in five?"

She shrugged and turned into the room he'd offered her. As she closed the door behind her, she stared through a wall of glass. Across the small valley up along the opposite ridge her eyes locked onto the most bizarre structure she'd ever seen. She went up to the window to get as close a look as she could – a multi-faceted glass façade against the ridge.

"Are you okay?" He had come up behind her and touched her elbow.

She looked around and nodded her head, turning back to look at the house. She could see their reflection in the glass and realized she was standing naked, facing the road. Looking down she saw her clothes in a pile. "What?!" She turned to look at him, frightened and confused. "Whah? How?" She covered herself with her arms and immediately felt foolish – he'd already seen her more naked than simply without her clothes.

"What. The. Fuck?!!!" She looked at him for an answer to how she had gotten into such a state, but he looked as confused as she did. She moved to her gym bag, pulling out her shorts and top, throwing them on. "How long was I standing there?" She was breathing hard, trying to calm the mounting panic. Something was terribly wrong.

"I...I waited until you hadn't come out for a few minutes...maybe just five minutes or so." He moved his hand across her back. She exhaled at his touch. "It's okay. Your okay. Right?" It sounded like he needed assurance as much as he was offering it.

She nodded, closing her eyes, feeling an electricity from his touch shooting down her spine. She struggled to suppress her tears. She was losing it. Something was going on. He was doing something to her. "Let's get going," she said with more confidence than she felt, moving to the door.

He hadn't been quite honest with her when he said he had a couple of bikes. When she walked through the door to the garage, she stopped at the sight of an entire line of bikes along the far wall.

"If we're going through the preserve, I'd suggest something with a little heavier frame and wheels – perhaps one of these?" He led her to one end where several mountain bikes were hanging on the wall. "I'm afraid this is the only woman's I've got in that style, but it should work, no?"

She looked at and had no idea, but as long as her feet could reach the pedals, she was good. As she mounted it, she winced, her inner thighs were bruised from the pummeling he'd given her last night; she chose not to sit until she had to. Moments later they were heading out, and she felt she could finally breathe. The air pushed against her face, the sun warming her back as she rode next to him toward a path down into the valley.

It was only after they were heading down the hill that she realized she had left the house without any bra or underwear – the air was blowing across her naked breasts beneath her workout shirt. Riding off her seat she could feel moisture evaporating from between her legs. She was certain her shorts were wet, she couldn't stop to check, but she was distracted by the thought anyone riding behind them would see a dark patch there. How she could be so out of it?

The path was steep and required her entire attention; the only reason the panic didn't overwhelm her was the sheer energy and concentration she needed to keep up and not take a spill. What would she do when she got to the café? What would people say? She was riding practically naked, and there wasn't any way to excuse the wet spot she knew would be there when she sat down. The exercise helped clear her brain, and as they approached the bottom of the hill she realized there wasn't anything to worry about: with the sun beating down on her, she would be covered in sweat.

"Okay," he said, wiping perspiration from his forehead. "Like I said, it's about 10 miles through this valley – the path is paved, mostly, and at this time of the morning we shouldn't see too many runners. It could get hot, so let me know if we need to stop."

She bristled at the thought he would be holding back for her. He had no idea who he was riding with. But she smiled and pushed down on her pedal, jumping out in front of him. She didn't look back, keeping her eyes on the path ahead for anybody foolish enough to be in the way and pumped as hard as she could. She crouched to reduce drag, lifting her ass above the seat to give as much power as possible. It was warm, but the wind was cool and she needed to get her heart rate going.

Only after a few minutes did she think to look back, and when she did, she was at first thankful he'd kept pace with her. But then she realized he had been in her slipstream, not only taking advantage of her energy, but almost with his nose up her crack.

He's smelled you the entire time, just as you would want.

The thought made her lose her cadence, almost causing the two of them to crash.

Slower now, and more cautious, she stayed in the lead, letting the path unfold, trying to ignore the soreness when she sat. Though they were moving at a reasonable clip, she figured it would take at least a ½ hour to finish getting through the valley. The path was a little wider now, and he pulled up next to her, his face flush from the heat.

"I guess I'm the one who may need to slow down. You doing alright?"

She nodded, smiling. "I'm okay. You need to stop?" She didn't break her pace.

"No, I'm good. I hadn't had a chance to tell you," he gulped in some air. "There's a great little place we can have brunch I'd forgotten about. Fresh juices, eggs laid on the premises. Fun place."

She nodded, pinching her lips and eyes to suggest she approved, and concentrated on the ride.

As they left the valley, she let him take the lead and watched his butt as he pedaled.

You want him to make you beg him again. Admit it. You're pussy is dying to be exposed and violated. Slut.

She hated when she got into these fugues – usually riding helped clear her head, but something had happened last night and she couldn't shake it. He navigated up off the path and turned onto a quiet commercial district.

"It's just up here," he pointed with his right ear. "2 minutes."

Locking their bikes she paused to take stock. She was drenched, and looking down she could see her breasts outlined through the shirt. "Fuck." She muttered. He looked over and shrugged.

"Won't be too many people here. It'll be fine. You look great." He stared a bit longer at her breasts than made her comfortable, but she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the diner.

As soon as she did, the cold air hit her nipples. In moments they were standing up, embossing the material. She did her best to ignore them, but as the waitress sat them down, she caught her reflection in the window and realized she may as well have not had a shirt on at all.

"Fuck!" She said it quietly, pulling a menu up to hide herself.

He didn't seem to notice her constant cursing, or if he did, it didn't mean anything to him. He kept a constant patter going as the waitress came and left, mugs filled with coffee, orders taken, and all the while her breasts and nipples were as good as on display.

You'd like it better if there were more people in here, though. Admit it!

No! She closed her eyes and took a sip of coffee, trying as hard as she could to not think about her predicament.