The Business Trip

"What's the matter?" She broke his reverie.

"The matter?"

"You were groaning."

"Nothing."

"Okay. Where's the pool?"

"Maybe that way?" He pointed to a sign.

"Oh." Well, over there, on the other side of the parking lot, was what she had been waiting for. Dozens, scores, maybe hundreds of beautiful young bodies spread out for her inspection. Her selection. She knew very well that all she would have to do would be to hint, and they would go off with her into the semi-seclusion of the fucking area. One by one she would pleasure them. Word would spread, lines would form, she would take them on, young and old, skinny and fat, and if some brave male decided to invade her while she was busy pleasuring, all the better. Yes, she was ready, more that ready.

They rounded a last building, and saw the pool. It was smaller than it had seemed in the photos on the web page, and it was empty. Completely, totally empty. The shock was enough to make her gasp. It had been wall to wall bodies on the Web, a virtual cannibal stew. And there was no one, no one at all. No one in the pool, no one at the side of the pool.

"Where the fuck is everybody?" She couldn't help whining. Nothing. This whole mad scheme had been for nothing. She was ready to cry. She was crying, but her tears were hidden in the sweat.

"We don't get too much of a crowd on Monday." It was the clerk again, her voice coming from behind a low hedge. "You should have seen the place yesterday."

"Yes," Eileen sighed, "I guess I should have."

Tom took her arm, she was too stunned to resist, and guided her towards the source of that voice. They found five people sitting around a table in the shade, all of about the same age and build as the desk clerk. No, one was younger, a woman young enough to be interesting. A little chubby, maybe. "I'm Dora," the clerk said, "this is my husband Ed, and my daughter Irene."

"You run the place?" Tom asked.

"Own it," Ed said. "Along with Roy here. This is our retirement dream."

"His dream, my nightmare," his wife grumbled, and the daughter gave a grimace.

"Hi." Roy stood up and offered her a huge, calloused hand. His eyes were boring into Eileen, and she was staring back in equal fascination. Huge, grizzled, tough. There was a big patriotic symbol of some sort on his right shoulder -- something to do the Marines, she thought. He looked like someone who had killed a lot of people in his time. Fucked a lot of people, also. He gave her a look of frank appraisal. It was clear she was not that unusual, that he already knew every secret of her body. But knowing, he approved. His appreciation of her made her glow, and it made her shudder at the same time.

"Eileen," she offered. She felt like a shy little girl, taking his hand, staring down -- at his balls.

"Eileen." He actually pulled up her chin to make her look at him. His eyes were dangerous. He was used to owning women like her. "Care to join us?" He smiled, and she realized how foolish she was being. He was just a kindly old man, a grandfather type. Nothing to be afraid of.

"What are you playing?" Tom asked.

"Strip poker," Ed responded. That provoked a groan from the rest of the table.

"Really," his wife said, "we're playing hearts. Low stakes."

"Don't let her suck you in," Ed responded. "You'll lose your shirt." Another groan.

"Maybe we'll just look around for a few minutes," Eileen tugged Tom away. She didn't like the way Roy was compelling her with his eyes. There was no reason she would ever be interested in someone that old, that fat, that hairy -- that powerful. God, what was wrong with her? It would be like fucking her father. Exactly.

"What's the matter?" Tom was almost running to keep up with her.

"I didn't like the way that asshole was looking at me."

"I thought you didn't mind being stared at."

"Stared at is one thing. Eye fucked is another."

"Guys do that."

"Not like that. Tennis?"

"What?" He realized that they had stumbled upon the tennis court. It was more like a huge outdoor griddle.

"Do you want to play some tennis?" There was a shelf with rackets and balls. "I need to move some. I am so cramped up from the trip."

"Wouldn't swimming make more sense?"

"No." There was no room for discussion. She was not going back anywhere near the pool, at least not for a while.

"Sure." He picked a racket and, politely, the side facing into the sun.

"Ready?" He saw her stretching as high as she could. He never saw the ball. It went zipping past him to clang against the fence.

"Fifteen love," she announced. "Ready?" Another ball crashed into the net. "Oops." She lobbed the next serve in, and he slammed it back as hard as he could. "Take that, bitch," he muttered, as it blasted past her. Except she reached out a two handed backhand, and sent it off to the back corner of his court. "Thirty love. You do play tennis, don't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Maybe we should just rally for a while."

"Okay."

She spent the next half hour methodically running him around the court. He never hit a shot that she could not return.

"Well," she said at last, "that was fun." It would be an overstatement to say that she had not worked up a sweat. That was impossible in the heat. But she was not breathing hard. He was sure her pulse rate was at rest level. He, on the other hand, was gasping for breath. He was in shape, he was in great shape, he ran five miles every morning. But he hadn't done much sprinting lately. He wasn't sure his legs were going to support him too much longer.

"What next," she asked brightly. "Trampoline?"

"The pool," he croaked, "I need the pool." If he didn't cool off, he was going to die. He could feel himself roasting in the sun.

"The pool," she mused. No choice. He was heading that direction. She trailed behind him.

"Hey," she heard Ed's voice, "you're just in time. We're going to play some water volleyball."

By the time she got there, Tom and Roy were standing on one side of the net, the three owners on the other.

"Come on Eileen," Roy said. "Let's whip their ass." And she found herself in the water next to him. The ball came over the net, and they both jumped for it, and she was rubbing up against that huge, hairy body. He wasn't soft at all, she realized, rock hard no matter what he looked like. She collided with Tom a few times -- that was more exciting. And once, Tom and Roy became entangled. "Sorry about that," Roy muttered. Neither of them had apologized to her. "No problem," Tom answered, and Roy gave him a look that was either amusement or contempt.

In the end, they lost. But it didn't matter.

"What are you doing for dinner?" Roy asked. The sun was going down. It was after six, after nine at home, and she realized that she was really, really hungry.

"The restaurant?" Tom ventured.

"It's only open on the weekend."

"What else is there?"

"There's a place I like. You can follow me there. Ten minutes?"

"Okay."

"You'll need clothes," he added.

"Is it dressy?" Eileen asked.

"Not exactly," Roy snorted.

"Sundress okay?"

"Darling, a sundress would be perfect. Maybe not for you." The second remark was aimed at Tom.

They went back to the room. Tom pulled back on the clothes he had worn on the plane -- they were almost dry now. But Eileen dug out a little cotton dress out of her suitcase. She stepped in the shower, water as cold as it got, which was about eighty degrees, and tried to towel herself off. Finally, she just gave up. She pulled the dress over her wet body, and stepped back into the shower, soaking everything.

"You're going out like that?" Tom was staring at her. The water had glued the dress to her breasts.

"It will dry by the time we get there."

"Don't you think you should wear something under it?"

"Too hot." Her tone left no room for argument.

There was a roar outside. Tom opened the door to find Roy perched on a huge Harley. Blue jeans, sleeveless tee shirt, no helmet. He looked the kind of biker you went out your way to avoid.

"Ready?" He bellowed loudly enough to cut through the buzz of the engine.

"Yep." Eileen came strolling out, and Roy let out a loud whistle of appreciation. If possible, she was even sexier in that little dress than when she had been naked.

She started to give him a look of derision, then smiled instead. A biker. The kind of biker who fucked his bitches up the ass. Whipped them, maybe, wrapped their arms in a heavy chain, draped them over the bike ... she wanted, desperately, for that to happen to her, right now, right in front of Tom. But instead, she got into the car. "Holy shit!" She jumped back off the seat and went back into the room to get a towel -- one of the wet ones. It was sizzling as it hit the vinyl.

"What's the matter?" Tom was in the driver's seat, cool, calm and collected. Either he had a hide like an elephant, or his side of the car had been in the shade.

"Nothing," she muttered. She had barely closed the door when Roy roared off. Tom had to race down the little back road to keep up with him. She was sure the car was going to break apart before they reached pavement. After that, it was just scary. How fast were they going -- ninety miles an hour? A hundred? She was amazed the car could even produce that kind of speed. The tachometer -- some engineer with a sense of humour had included one on the dash, was firmly in the red zone. A little warning light was starting to blink. Just then, Roy came to a stop, so abruptly they almost ran over him. They had arrived.

"God," Tom muttered as they got out, "who goes from a nudist resort to a strip club?"

"The beer is cold," Roy replied, "and the food is not too bad."

"And the ladies?" It was Eileen who asked the question.

"Not too bad. You'll see."

"Yes," she drawled, "I guess we will."

"I don't know." Tom was looking around the parking lot. A few dusty, battered pickup trucks, a couple other choppers, if possible, even bigger and uglier than the one Roy was riding. Another one skidded to a stop, and a huge figure, all beard and scraggly hair, leather clad even in the heat, got off it to stomp inside. "I don't think we'll last two minutes in there."

"What?" Eileen looked at Tom, big, muscular Tom, Tom who had muscles on muscles. "Who is going to mess with you? Aren't you, like, a amrtial arts expert?"

"Karate?" Roy asked.

"Tae Kwan Do."

"You've never been in a real fight," Roy said. Tom shook his head. "Just remember, don't wait to get hit."

"You really think," Eileen seemed nervous now, "we're going to get into a fight if we go in there?"

"As long as he doesn't get mad when they start to fuck you, things will be fine." Roy waited for a moment for that to sink in. "Just kidding," he added, as the shock began to wear off. "You'll be fine. You're with me."

But Tom was acutely aware of his cute little shorts with all those pockets, his polo shirt with the company logo on the pocket, those sandals that had seemed so practical. Blue jeans, boots, leather -- he should have dressed for a date. He didn't even have those clothes with him.

It was obvious that Roy was a regular. He was greeted with whistles and cheers as the rest of the crowd got a look at his companions. One of the men was scribbling on a napkin. He came over to the table and handed it to Eileen, gave Roy a mock salute, and retreated to the laugher of his companions. She opened it up and blushed.

"What does it say?" Tom asked. She passed it on to him and he blushed too, then started to giggle.

"What is it?" Roy asked.

"He wants to know how much we cost you. He thinks she's a whore." Well, why not? That red highlight in the hair, the sundress that was still glued to her nipples, that body, and the look on her face -- tough, sullen, sultry. All she had to do was to lift up that skirt to reveal the flare of red beneath it -- and she was sitting carelessly, not bothering to keep her legs crossed.

"You too, pretty boy," she shot back. "What does it say on the bottom?"

"I never realized Roy went both ways. Love, Fred."

He said that loudly enough that is was overheard, and it provoked another round of laughter from that table.

"Hey Roy," Fred called out, "did you ever do a guy?"

"Never," Roy said, then he added, "for pleasure."

That was enough to shut them up.

"You were in Intelligence?" Tom ventured.

"Military Intelligence? The oxymoron?" Roy smiled and shook his head. "Special Ops. Field interrogations."

"Prisoners?" Eileen mumbled.

"Not exactly." Roy gave a smile that was cruel and rueful at the same time. God, she wanted him! She had thought Rick was the ultimate in power -- but he was a wimp compared to Roy. And Tom -- Tom was a little sissy! Who would have thought it?

The other men in the room had returned their attention to the stage. They had the same look she had seen on Roy before -- that visual rape that had terrified her. A man who could look at you like that could do anything to you.

The beer was cold, and plentiful, two pitchers to begin with. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. One glass was gone almost immediately, a second soon thereafter. Tom had gone through three, maybe more. The first pitcher was empty already.

"So, Roy," Tom dared to ask, "how did you wind up owning a nudist resort?"

"I don't know. Wife died, kids moved out and got married -- job was gone ..."

"You retired?"

"At gunpoint," Roy gave that rueful smile again. "It was made quite clear that my kind wasn't wanted any longer. But I was ready. It worked out okay, in the end. I was able to be with my wife when she needed me."

"I'm sorry," Eileen said.

"It happens," Roy shrugged.

The food arrived. It was strange -- chicken fried steak, country gravy, waxed beans. Everything the same color as the beer. Empty calories, one hundred percent cholesterol, death on a plate -- not even a particularly clean plate at that. She took a tentative bite. It was delicious.

"Good, huh?" Roy was mumbling with his mouth full. "This will put hair on your chest." That was enough to make Tom choke on a mouthful of beer.

"How about you two," Roy asked. "You're here for the convention?"

"Yes," Tom said, surprised.

"I was looking at your logo," Roy explained. "You sound like some sort of software company."

"Web tools," Eileen said.

"Oh," Roy frowned. "That's a crowded field. Hard to make much money."

"Don't we know it," Eileen sighed.

"I was thinking of going down there myself," Roy added. "I haven't done any work for a couple of years, but I'm thinking it might be time to pick up some spare change."

"You worked as a programmer?" Eileen was staring at him now.

"Architect. Manager. Big systems. PL1, IMS, do you even know what those are?"

She shook her head.

"They're programming languages," Tom put in.

"Not IMS. It's a database."

"Like Access?"

"No," Roy snorted, "not like Access."

"You were a manager?" Tom was staring dubiously at Roy.

"I spent thirty years wearing a suit."

"Wow," Eileen was trying to picture it. She realized that somehow her plate was empty, and she was ready for more. Mysteriously, two full pitchers of beer were back on the table. She wasn't quite sure how many they had gone through.

"You want ice cream?" The waitress came over -- she had clothes on, more or less. They nodded, and she took their plates and went off to fetch it. No mention of coffee -- it was too early for that.

"You have children?" Eileen asked. She thought he'd mentioned that.

"Daughters. Two of them. Both divorced."

"Oh. Grandkids?"

"Yes," Roy smiled.

"They visit you?"

"Sometimes." That provoked a grimace. "They don't exactly approve."

"Oh."

"When they do come, they wear bathing suits."

"Oh."

"Mostly, I go to visit them. When I have the cash to do it."

The evening had moved on, and the dancers were on a break. Well, not exactly. They were circulating around the room, still naked, except for garter belts they were using to collect tips. One of them came over to their table, a dark haired girl, maybe in her late teens, not too tall, skinny. Her breasts seemed too big for the rest of her, and Eileen found herself wondering if they were real. She seemed too young to have had them fixed already.

"Hi Roy," she said.

"Hello, Crysta."

"Who are your friends?" She smiled at Tom and Eileen. It wasn't much of a smile, there wasn't much warmth behind it. It was the kind of smile you might see in a beauty contest. Yes, that was it -- she was a beauty queen, a prom queen, a cheerleader. A good girl gone bad?

"This is Tom, and this is Eileen. They are staying up at the resort."

"Really?" Crysta gave them a more interested glance. "I didn't see you yesterday."

"We just got in this afternoon," Tom ventured.

"Lap dance?" Crysta asked.

Tom looked at her garter belt and blushed. He was broke. The whole company was broke. "No thanks," he muttered.

"How about you?" The question was directed at Eileen. "I do ladies, too. In fact," she added, "I prefer ladies. Guys have to leave their pants on. With the ladies, there are no restrictions." She gave Eileen a look of challenge.

"No, really," Eileen stammered. "I can't."

"Come on," Roy said. "My treat." He pulled out a wad of bills and folded them under that garter belt. "Pull your chair out."

There was an air of command in that voice that she could not refuse. She realized, dimly, that the room had become very quiet. Everyone was watching, and she could not get away. She could not make her legs move to get herself up out of that chair.

Crysta sat down on her, facing her, legs parted to enfold her, and began to grind on her lap. A moment later, and her dress was being tugged up, she was lifting up her arms to let it be removed completely, and they were sitting there, nipple to nipple, kissing, as Crysta continued to wiggle her hips. Those breasts felt real enough, as Eileen ran her hands over them, to the delight of the onlookers.

"Ready for more?" Crysta broke off and started to kiss down Eileen's belly.

"No," Eileen said, urging the other girl to her feet. "My treat." She put a hand on each of Crysta's bony little cheeks and pulled the girl into her face.

"Oh!" Crysta gasped as Eileen's tongue plunged into her. There were whistles, now, and cheers. Crysta put one leg up on the chair, and grabbed Eileen's hair, pulling her in even further. And Eileen pushed her tongue as far as she could into Crysta. She didn't want to lick, not yet. She wanted to taste. She wanted her lips against those lower lips, she wanted her teeth against that clit, she wanted her tongue to relish the hot smooth spiciness of the interior. Yes, this was what she had wanted all along. She wanted to be smothered in cunt, basted in cunt. She felt that other body begin to tremble, and she knew, with a hard cold certainty, that Rick was history. Maybe it had been a lie for a long time, but now she knew for sure. It didn't matter what happened on the rest of this trip. Her marriage had already ended.

She had waited so long, anticipated so long, that she wanted it to last forever. But Crysta came, almost immediately, violently, and pushed her away. "Your turn."

"No thanks," Eileen heard herself say.

"You're sure?" Crysta looked disappointed.

"I'm sure."

"Okay. What about you honey?" The question was directed at Roy.

"Later."

"Sure thing." She wandered over to another table. She seemed a bit dazed. Eileen had left her wide open, engorged, and sated. But now everyone else in the room wanted a piece of her.

A piece of Eileen, too. A hand came from behind to grope her, only to be slapped away. Roy's little joke didn't seem so funny now. She realized that she was still naked. There were so many other naked girls in the room, it almost seemed natural. But no one was looking at those other girls. They were all staring at her, jackals working up the nerve to rush her. She retrieved her dress and tugged it back into place, more or less.