Beth and Rich Ch. 04

This is the fourth in a series of stories about the sexual awakening of a young couple, Beth and Rich series. It isn't essential to read the prior stories but some of this one will make a bit more sense if you have read the others, especially the first one posted.

When Rich stepped out of the secure area at SFO his vivacious red-haired wife was waiting for him. She had called him before he left LA and told him she would meet him. She was taking him out for the evening to celebrate his 30th birthday.

Beth wore a skirt he had seen before, a Scottish wool plaid that reached to her knees. The plaid was predominantly a dark green that contrasted beautifully with her thick red hair. The garment was really a wrap more than a traditional skirt, with a fastener at the waist and a second at the hem, a large gold pin. Without the pin he knew the skirt would flare open nearly to her waist when she spun or sat casually.

She wore a simple white blouse that, while not sheer, still clearly revealed the lacy bra she wore beneath it and the bulge of her large breasts restrained by the bra. The blouse was buttoned demurely to the neck where she wore a simple black choker with a cameo at the base of her throat. Her long thick red hair was piled atop her head. She wore simple gold studs in her ears. She finished the outfit with four-inch stiletto heels—much taller than he had ever seen her wear. They were black with a gold heel. The heels were a new acquisition. It had taken Beth a week to learn to walk in them. She did a quick pirouette to let Rich see the total effect. The hem of the skirt flared and showed off her strong shapely legs to mid-thigh. Rich was stunned, as he often was, with his wife's beauty.

When she slid behind the wheel of their car she reached down and released the lower catch of her skirt, letting it fall open to reveal a long shapely and muscular leg. As they exited the airport she turned north on the 101 heading towards San Francisco rather than their home in Palo Alto.

"So what's the plan?' Rich asked.

"You'll see. Just sit back and enjoy your ogling of my leg for now, you dirty old man."

"Old?"

"Well, you turned thirty today didn't you?"

"That's not old!"

"We'll see," she said as she reached across and slowly stroked his dick through his trousers.

"Oh so it's going to be that kind of night, eh?"

"That's the plan. Sit back and enjoy it."

After a quick drive up the 101 Beth smoothly guided the sedan into San Francisco, pulling up before the St. Francis Hotel. In the brief moments before a doorman jumped out to open her door she rolled the window down and quickly released three buttons on her blouse. When the young doorman reached her car door and she turned towards him he could see a good deal of her breasts threatening to spill out of the lacy bra she wore. She handed him the car's valet key and told him to park it for the evening, giving him a room number for the charge. The young man was busily filling out a claim check form when she swung her long legs out of the car, letting the skirt fall away to both sides of her legs, causing him to ask again for her room number and whether there was luggage. She repeated the room number and told him the luggage was already in the room. Then she stood and strutted quickly towards the door of the luxury hotel, swinging her hips as she walked like a runway model. The doorman stared, and Rich watched in amusement, thinking that his wife was giving new meaning to the term "shock and awe."

As they approached another doorman, manning the door to the hotel, Beth whispered, "Rich, be a darling and tip the doorman with a twenty. Otherwise he may not let you bring your hooker into the hotel." The release of the buttons on the otherwise conservative blouse and the clasp at the bottom of the skirt in combination with the stiletto heels had dramatically changed Beth's appearance.

Rich crossed the doorman's palm with the twenty and received an almost jealous look along with the polite, "Thank you sir."

Once they were inside the hotel Beth walked rapidly through the sumptuous lobby, swinging her hips as she had practiced all week. As she strode forward the unfastened fabric of the skirt fell away from the forward leg on each step, exposing a length of beautiful thigh. The looks she was getting from businessmen as she passed them were delicious. They were all jealous of Rich.

"We have a room?" Rich asked, still trying to catch up with her both physically and emotionally.

"Yes, it's in the old part of the hotel. Much nicer than the tacky new tower they have behind it. I checked in this afternoon."

"Oh, I didn't know." Rich was stunned by the combination of his wife's tacky dress and assertive style.

"But I think we need a drink first, don't you. The view from the bar at the top of the tower is stunning."

"Ah . . . sure." Rich was worried now. His wife, dressed like a high-class hooker, was going to take him to the bar in this classy hotel for a drink. What if he ran into one of the partners from his law firm here?

"This way," she said as she strode purposefully through the lobby to the tower elevators leading at the back still swinging her hips like a hooker in search of a john. Beth couldn't decide which she was enjoying more—playing this slutty out of character role, or watching her husband's obvious discomfort with her dress and conduct.

Once they were in the elevator Beth ignored the fact that it was on the outside of the tower and its glass walls exposed the riders to the view of anyone below or in nearby buildings that was paying attention. She threw her arms around Rich and kissed him hard, snaking her tongue into his mouth while she rubbed her tilts against his chest. When she felt the elevator slow as it reached the top, she backed away and pulled out the handkerchief she knew would be in Rich's breast pocket. As she neatly wiped the lipstick smears from his face she said, "We can't have you looking tacky can we dear." She tucked the handkerchief back in the pocket of his suit coat while using her other hand to stroke his partially erect cock through his trousers. Then she walked away from him still using the slutty gait she had been practicing all week.

Rich was stunned. He stood watching her walk away until the closing elevator bumped his shoulder. Jumping forward just enough to clear the elevator, he continued to watch his wife until she disappeared from view through the door to the bar. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to tackle her and fuck her right there in the lobby to the top floor bar and restaurant or run for his life. What had come over his wife? Even at the nudist camp they had attended with their parents the prior summer she hadn't acted this brazen.

When Rich finally got it together enough to follow Beth into the bar he found her sitting on a bar stool sideways to the bar, her long legs together, with her knees pushing against the thighs of a man standing between her and the next bar stool. She was leaning forward, the open neckline to her blouse obviously affording the man a view of her barely constrained breasts. The cloth of her skirt, no longer fastened at the hem, had fallen away so that the lower half of one thigh was exposed nearly to the hip to everyone in the bar who cared to look. The remaining side of the wrap sat precariously atop her thighs covering the top of her legs and lap. Rich couldn't hear her conversation with the man, but he quickly guessed the content as he stood watching the pair. As Beth spoke she put her hand on the man's arm and then lifted it only to replace it again in moments. She's flirting with a guy who's trying to pick her up, he thought!

Beth glanced quickly towards Rich and smiled, raising a hand signaling for him to rescue her from her suitor, who by now had placed a hand on her thigh. Hah, Rich thought. I'll just let her sit there and see how she does at fending this guy off. He leaned against the wall knowing he could rescue her with about three long strides across the bar, but choosing to wait for now.

Beth watched Rich from the corner of her eye as he leaned against the wall declining to rescue her. So that's how he wants to play the game, she thought. Okay, I can do that, she decided. She reached down with her left hand, and instead of pushing her suitor's hand away, she placed hers atop it. When he realized she wasn't going to let him slide his hand further up her leg, he began to use his fingers to massage her thigh through the soft wool fabric of the skirt. He and Beth were talking, but neither was paying much attention to what the other was saying, focused instead on his massage of her thigh.

"Hmmm. That feels really good," Beth told herself. "I wonder how far I will have to let this guy go before Rich rescues me?" She glanced quickly at Rich who was leaning against wall with a soft smile on his face.

"She's got herself trapped," Rich told himself. "The guy isn't going to take no for an answer, and I'm not going to rescue her—at least not yet."

A waitress approached Rich, asking, "Do you need a table sir?"

"What? Err . . ." The waitress had surprised Rich, interrupting his focus on Beth's predicament. He looked down at the short buxom waitress with the top of her boobs prominently displayed by her outfit. Now he was distracted by the woman's breasts. Finally getting it together he said, "Umm . . . No. I prefer to stand. Bad back. But you could bring me a double scotch. McCallum 12 straight up."

The waitress dispatched, he returned his attention to Beth. She and her new friend were continuing to chat. Her hand not occupied with controlling the lecher's hand on her thigh continued to waive in punctuation of her words or occasionally flirtatiously press his arm. When he was talking she paused to sip a drink that sat alongside her on the bar. Her knees remained pressed against the man's thighs, or was it his thighs pressed against her knees? Rich couldn't decide, but it didn't matter because Beth was obviously doing nothing to change the arrangement regardless of who had initiated it. Wait, he thought. She has a drink. Where did that come from? Did she let this guy buy her a drink? He felt a flash of jealousy.

Just then the buxom little waitress returned with his drink. He went through the same routine he had earlier of having to tear his attention from his teasing wife and then from the waitress' chest before he could accept the drink and mumble a thank you. The waitress wanted to talk, so he found himself struggling to discuss his bad back and her uncle's bad back while trying not to spend so much of his attention on her tits and their mindless conversation that he couldn't keep an eye on what his wife was up to.

Beth meanwhile was trying to divide her attention between fending off her lecherous new acquaintance (he claimed he worked for a film company doing something, but she couldn't quite understand or remember what it was), maintaining her appearance of flirting, and keeping an eye on her effect on Rich. It didn't help things any to see him apparently flirting with the buxom little waitress. And he had ordered a drink! How long did he plan to leave her trapped here at the bar with this Hollywood lothario?

As often happens when attention is stretched between too many competing objectives, performance on one or more of the objectives falters. Beth realized the man's hand had slid off the top of her thigh to the inside. Worse yet it had pushed the cloth of the skirt aside so he was now massaging bare flesh and a great deal more of that leg was exposed to the world. She felt a bolt of lust in her pussy as soon as it happened. A sudden demand for attention from your libido makes spreading your attention span across multiple other matters all the more the difficult. The thoughts that went through Beth's mind more or less in order were, "Shit! How did that happen? Gasp! That feels good. What the fuck is Rich doing with the slutty little waitress? It apparently wasn't necessary to work at appearing to flirt, given where she had let the stranger's marauding hand get. She was still flirting, but that was more or less on autopilot.

Rich meanwhile was likewise suffering from a distracting inability to establish priorities for his attention. He had noticed that his wife's dress had now slid off both of her legs exposing almost all of them to the bar's patrons, and worse yet, the stranger's hand had moved to the inside of her thigh—altogether too high for his taste. Beth still had her hand on it, but was it restraining him or encouraging him he wondered? Was this all a tease aimed at her husband? It must be, but . . .

Just to add to Rich's problems, when he looked down at the little waitress who continued to chatter on mindlessly about men with bad backs he noticed first that she had released another button on her blouse exposing even more of her large breasts to his view, and worse yet, she seemed to be dividing her attention between gazing up into his eyes and occasionally looking down at his crotch where he realized to his horror that his now fully erect prick was making a tent in his trousers. How had that happened, he asked himself? Was it Beth's slutty conduct or this shamelessly flirting buxom little waitress before him? Rich didn't have an answer to his own question and like his wife he was suddenly finding his ability to concentrate on more than one topic at a time to be severely impaired by his libido.

Beth meanwhile had somehow reached the conclusion that she had to bring this situation to a climax. No, not 'climax', she thought. What are you thinking. "End." End is what you meant. This has to end. She was working hard to keep the stranger's hand in place while she tried to decide what to do. God he has good fingers, she thought. No, no. Focus girl. How do I get rid of him without conceding to Rich that I need help? I need to do something that will get Rich to intervene without my asking for it. But what?

Various alternatives rolled through her head. She could tell her suitor nicely she wasn't interested and he should leave. "Wouldn't work with this guy," she told herself. "He doesn't seem the type to take no for an answer."

"Should I just slap him?" she asked herself. She didn't really want to make a scene in this nice place. There had to be a better way out of this.

Eventually she settled on a plan that with hindsight had to be driven more by her increasingly overheated libido (my god, his hands are almost to my pussy) than her rational brain. Her long heels had been hooked on a rail near the base of her stool since she had begun talking to the stranger. Now she unhooked the heel of one leg. She let her knee rise a bit and placed the toe of her shoe on the rail of the stool the stranger was leaning against. This was sure to get Rich's attention she thought.

But her calf was pressing against the stranger's knee. It felt warm, which wasn't really what she was seeking, a first indication that her plan was flawed.

Meanwhile Rich was having his own problems. The waitress, who had moved on from her uncle's back problems to her husband's back problems had asked him a question that finally got his full attention.

"Does your back interfere with sex?" she asked.

"What, Huh?" Rich responded, not quite believing what he had heard. The waitress moved closer to repeat the question standing on her toes with her chest lightly brushing Rich's chest. "I asked whether your bad back keeps you from having sex?"

"Oh . . . No, not at all. . . . Should it?"

"Well it sure is a problem for my husband. We never do it anymore." As the waitress confessed her frustration, Rich noticed that she had let her belly lightly brush the lump in his trousers as she stared at his eyes. Then she asked if he was staying at the hotel tonight.

Before Rich could respond to the waitress he saw how Beth had upped the ante in their little game by raising the knee on her nearly naked leg. It seemed to him that she had opened it to the side to give the stranger better access to her sex. He certainly had his hand well down the inside of her thigh. Looking down at the waitress he said, "Listen dear. It's been lovely chatting with you but I just spotted my wife over by the bar, so I have to go. Good luck with your husband's bad prick." He had meant "back," but he was too rattled to get the words right or even notice that he had messed them up.

Meanwhile Beth was having her problems too. Her "up the ante" strategy had not been well thought out. When she raised her leg the stranger had pushed against the inside of her thigh forcing her knee out. Before she could respond he had slid his fingers down the last couple of critical inches of her leg until they touched her thinly clad pussy. Her soaked thong did nothing to dull the touch of the stranger's fingertips.

She gasped in response. Was this the time to slap him? Probably. Probably well past the time to slap him. But what he was doing with his fingers felt fantastic. God he had good hands.

Meanwhile, Rich was doing his best to disentangle himself from the waitress and come to Beth's rescue. He didn't care if his exit was graceless. This little game they were playing had to stop, even if he was giving in to Beth.

Just then they were both rescued by an unanticipated source. A tall, middle-aged, conservatively dressed woman walked into the bar, looked around, and then walked directly towards the stranger. She was buxom in that middle-aged sort of way—breasts that might have been like Beth's ten years earlier, now softened and lower, and perhaps a bit larger; her waist a bit broader than she would have liked; and her hips even wider. Her face, which might have been beautiful once, similarly showed her age, and wasn't helped by the scowl it had melded itself into when she had seen Beth and the stranger.

The stranger saw her coming and pulled his hand from between Beth's legs like he had been stung. He pushed her leg off the stool and turned away from her, so he was facing the bar staring at his drink just as the matronly woman strode up to his back and said loudly, "Harvey, there you are. Where have you been? We were supposed to meet in the lobby."

Harvey turned and greeted her, using the name Genevieve, with an apology followed by an anemic hug and a peck on the cheek. He picked up his drink and led her to a table without so much as a look at Beth. Based on brief snippet of conversation Beth heard as they departed, and the large diamond on the woman's left hand, Beth concluded that woman was Harvey's wife. That was when Rich arrived, and crawled up on the stool recently abandoned by her suitor.

"Your new friend seems to be distracted?" he said. "Do you think he will mind if I take his place?"

"I think she is his wife," Beth responded, ignoring the second part of Rich's question

"Oh my. How awkward."

"Yes."

"And," Rich continued, "was he part of your plan for tonight?" His question was followed by a chuckle.

"Oh god no," Beth responded with a giggle. "He hustled over from the end of the bar as soon as I sat down. He was as lecherous as some of our parents' friends at the nudist camp."

Rich laughed, his jealously gone He pulled his stool closer to Beth and placed a hand on her thigh.

"That feels nice," she whispered. Her lust had evaporated when Harvey's wife had come storming across the room, but it seemed to be recovering nicely with Rich's big hand resting on her thigh.

"You also seemed to like it when your friend Harvey was doing this?" Rich said, as he flexed his fingers.

"What! Certainly not! He was almost fingering me here in the middle of one of the fanciest bars in town with my husband watching from across the room."

"Just almost?"

"Yes! Just almost."

"And you didn't find that exciting?" Rich asked, continuing to tease her.