Book Club

In the morning, as I was hoping, she climbed up and swung her boobs in my face while she fucked me. She was smiling at me patiently until she suddenly started to orgasm again. She fell forward, caught herself on her hands and gave a long shudder while her boobs dangled on my chest. We kissed all over. She said I was really great.

She was really great, too. It was nice that she knew how to push all my buttons and was considerate enough to do it. Maybe rich girls were OK. They came with nice accessories, and I certainly didn't mind seeing how the other half lived. I could definitely get used to this, I thought.

****

Friday morning the front desk shift didn't show, so I had to do checkouts and field complaints myself until ten. It didn't compare well with sitting in an enormous chair with a commanding view of the harbor and a charming, wealthy, considerate, beautiful, playful, sexy, completely naked girl on my lap. Not to mention the exceptional tits.

I was distracted and may not have been as polite as usual. The minor concerns about towels and noise seemed trivial.

****

I had a busy weekend at the hotel covering for an unwell Mr. Royce. On Sunday I was out on the deck checking on lunch service when I saw Cynthia waving at me. She was having lunch with a girl with long brown hair. "Dave!" Cynthia called as I approached their table, "Good to see you. Sorry we didn't get much of a chance to talk."

"Hi, Cynthia. Hi, Katherine. Good to see you too. How's lunch -- everything OK?" I found I really didn't like meeting Book Clubbers in my role as a service provider. My coat-and-tie were like a scarlet letter.

"Yes, fine, your staff always does a good job here," she said, nicely taking the edge off. "Will we see you Thursday night?"

"Think so," I said. "So far, so good."

"OK," she said. "Maybe you'll stay a little longer this time. I'd love to get to know you. By the way, you may run into my sister Beatrice. She doesn't go to the parties, but she's in the Club."

"She doesn't like parties?"

"She definitely does, but she can't drink yet. She's kind of our wild child. She's legal, so don't worry about that. She's fun. You'll like her."

I suddenly realized what she was telling me. "Ok, thanks, I'll look for her."

Cynthia went back to her salad, and I turned to go. "Watch out for sibling rivalry," she called after me. I turned back, but she was already munching again and listening raptly to Katherine, with a half smile.

I realized Katherine hadn't said a word.

****

So I now had a new FWB as well as another prospect I'd never met. That felt odd. But even odder was the total silence from Katherine. The rule against electronic communications was probably an obstacle, but she could still call or drop by. Maybe she really didn't care. The evidence was mounting.

****

Around noon on Tuesday I was up front when a young redheaded girl rushed into the lobby. She looked around while bouncing on her toes. She was wearing a skin-tight yellow tank top, sandals with heels, and beltless denim cutoffs so short that most of her ass was on permanent display. Sharp, dark points in her top vibrated as she strode toward the front desk. "Is Dave here?"

"Beatrice?"

"Hi! Wanna talk? I'll buy lunch. I'm only here a few days." She was so perky she bounced standing still.

"Uhh -- staff isn't meant to eat with the guests," I said, feeling humiliated again. "And I don't think you meet the dress code. Do you have some different pants?"

"Uh-uh. But they never give me a hard time here. I'm one of the backers."

Good grief. None of the funders put in less than $5,000 a year. "Well, OK, but I'd still rather not. This coat and tie stand out too much. Can't we just talk here?"

She came over to the side of the desk and leaned in. "Are you free tonight or tomorrow? And could I go out on your dad's lobster boat with you? It would be really cool. Maybe I could write a paper on it for school."

All she'd see was what a dirty, menial, low class job it was. "I don't think so. He wouldn't understand why I'm bringing you. He's a good guy but he's old school."

"Awwwww..." she pouted sexily. "You wouldn't have to tell him we're fucking! I just want to get out of the bubble for a day. Can you believe I've never had a job with manual labor? It would be educational. I don't want to be a coddled little rich kid forever."

". . . and it would be cold, wet and dirty," I added, "Not to mention smelly, and dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. You'd need more clothes, too."

"I know boats! Crewed ones, anyway," she added.

"The answer is no," I said. "Too hard to explain. There's no way I'd know someone like you. And you're too cute. Dad would wonder. What else do you want to do?"

"Well, if you can't eat here, I guess we could get a burger at the motel tonight. They have a little bar, too."

"I know you're too young to drink," I said. "And isn't that place terrible? I hear the food is to die for, literally."

"Oh, they know me. And hey, don't put them down! They're perfectly good people and they don't have a stuffy old dress code, Mr. Fancy Pants! I think we'd better go. It might be educational for you!"

****

Beatrice picked me up Tuesday night in a huge black Mercedes her mother had discarded. She had her red hair down but was dressed the same. We parked in the motel lot among the Escorts and Civics, and after un-wedging her cut-offs she ran in and gave each of the owners a big hug and a kiss. "George and Arnie," she told me. "Don't worry, they're gay!"

She had a private discussion with George, and he gave us a table by a fake fireplace with a barely perceptible electric flame. Beatrice thanked him profusely and ordered a burger, rings and a beer. She handed over an ID card bearing the image of a thirty-something gap-toothed meth head, which he passed back with a smile.

We talked lobstering. She wanted to know all about it -- the hours, the boat, the costs, the margins, the risks. The trap and buoy rights. The mud and unexpected sea life that came up with the traps. The size limits and quotas. The dangers of winter weather. The competing lobstermen who would cut your buoy lines and consign your traps to the bottom of the ocean. She looked increasingly concerned. As we talked, I realized what a steep and unrewarding hill my old man had been climbing. Growing up, he had been my hero, the guy who went out every single day in all kinds of weather and risked everything for just a few bucks, never complaining. Now I realized he was kind of unsophisticated, to put it charitably, for doing so much for such little reward. I felt sure Beatrice didn't admire him either; she'd be more interested in him as a sociology study. I could see her point. I was glad I'd gone a different direction. I just hoped I'd gone far enough.

Beatrice was looking at me closely. "And you can do all this? Run a business? Fix a boat? Go out in bad weather, alone? In winter?"

"I grew up with it."

". . . . Huh."

When we were done, Beatrice stood and stretched, joining her hands behind her head and arching her back in a calculated effort to punch holes in her top. "God, I'm so horny! I hope you're up for this. I'm sorry I don't have bigger boobs. I'm going to get some as soon as Mom lets me, but for now I have to settle for being a hot little fuck."

She dragged me into the dimly lit bar. It smelled of beer and wet cigarette ashes. Faint rock music played from cheap speakers hanging on faded yellow walls. A couple of lonely looking guys were hitting dispiritedly on a heavily painted woman in her sixties. They all watched Beatrice bounce in like a visitor from another planet. George came around behind the bar for a moment and drew us fresh beers. We stood at the far end of the room and talked in whispers. Before long, Beatrice started to sway to the music.

"Dave, we can't go to my place tonight. The folks are home."

My own room was too shabby. "Well, I can't exactly sneak you into the hotel. It sounds like they all know you." She was swaying and rotating very slightly, a couple of inches from me. Her blue eyes and freckles were ultra-cute, and her little boobies were stretching her tight little top. She unabashedly put her free hand down her pants as she danced, unsnapping the top between her legs and watching my reaction. I asked, "Want to get a room here?"

"Ugh, that's such a cliché. Really, the no-tell motel thing? What else ya got?" She started to hum along with the music while I thought. Then she got close and backed me up against a wall. She pressed her hips against me. "I love that it's so easy to tell when guys are excited," she breathed in my ear. "It must be tough for you, though. All you can do is check out our nipples. Mine are pretty hard already, see?" She unnecessarily pressed her top against one little boob. The outline of the nipple was sharp and clear. "Of course you can always check in our panties." She leaned back while grinding her crotch against me. Her low-slung, beltless cut-offs offered an inviting gap, but people were watching and I didn't take the offer. She swayed to the music, now frankly mashing my dick while staring at me intensely with dark blue eyes. I was out of ideas and not thinking well.

"Hold this," she said finally, handing me her beer. I took it with my free hand. Having effectively handcuffed me, she unbuckled my belt, ran it though the two front belt loops of her cut-offs, and fastened it again so we were connected. "Just like high school!" she announced. She kept dancing, although now it was twerking. She let her hands roam, grinning proudly at my predicament. "My trainer says I'll have a six pack by fall. I'm really working on it. Want to see?" She pulled her top up, all the way up to her chin. Her boobies were cute. I wished I could grab them. I was super hard and my cock was pushing hard on her pussy though our pants.

George came up behind her and said, "All set." Distracted and holding a beer in each hand, I mumbled that I was fine for now, thanks. Beatrice unhurriedly pulled her top back down and grinned at him over her shoulder. She licked her lips. George gave a knowing little laugh and left.

"Let's go out back." She detached us and we walked down a short hallway that was obviously off limits, since it was lit with bare fluorescents and lined with old cardboard boxes and bulging bags of trash. The music faded. Beatrice stopped near the glass-paneled door at the end, put a hand on the back of my neck, and gave me a huge kiss with plenty of tongue while unzipping my fly and freeing my cock. She stroked it, running her fingers along the underside while I reflexively humped her hand, still holding both beers. I was helpless to resist, unable even to speak with her tongue in my mouth. The hand job continued until I wanted to shoot in her hand so badly it hurt. After what seemed like an hour, she released me on the verge of coming and knelt on a trash bag. She beckoned me over.

I said "Beatrice . . .!" in kind of a whispered yell as I checked back up the hall for interlopers. She calmly raised her eyebrows at me and reached into her cut-offs to finger herself.

"Don't be ridiculous!" said the guy holding two beers with his stiff dick out.

"Don't be a wuss," she said sternly, and she opened her mouth and licked her lips.

We stared for a moment in a contest of wills which I lost when she pulled up her shirt again and started wiggling her tongue at me. I walked over and carefully docked my cock right on her lower lip. She looked up and as she sucked it in. Then she began trying to take the whole thing in. She could almost do it.

I was starting to like having my hands occupied. It relieved me of any responsibilities. I just enjoyed the sensations and told her to suck me hard. She took her mouth off me long enough to say "Come on me!" and applied herself again.

Eventually her attempts to swallow me whole were so entertaining that I warned her I was about to drown her. "My turn!" she announced. Standing and turning away from me, she hooked her thumbs into her cut-offs, bent, and cutely wiggled them down onto her thighs, along with a tiny thong. Then she leaned over a pile of garbage bags to place her hands on the wall. She spread her legs and looked over her shoulder at me expectantly.

I was still holding both beers and there was nowhere to put them, so I said, "You're kidding, right?" She just waggled her ass at me and told me not to wuss out again. Sure enough, I was so hard and she was so wet that after just a few misses, I was able to slide right into her, no hands. I started to fuck her. Fortunately, fucking resulted in enough beer spillage that I could just drop the glasses on the trash bags, grab her hips, and fuck her hard enough to get us off.

The moans and sighs and slapping fucking noises echoed in the small space. It was like she was performing. She started pushing against the wall to help bounce back and forth on my cock. When she came, she almost shrieked, shaking and quivering. Her knees folded and she pitched forward, down onto the trash bags. She looked back at me and wiggled her cute little ass, tempting me to jerk off on it. In my excitement, I did, while she fingered herself and made little encouraging noises. She was grinning triumphantly the whole time. I wondered why.

As I helped her up she gave me a big smile, followed by a long, wet, mostly naked kiss. "Wow," she said, sweeping curly red hair off her sweaty face, "that was a good one." Then, pants still around her thighs, she hobbled toward the other end of the hall, wiping her ass cheeks with her fingers and licking them off as she went. At the end, she appeared to be inspecting something on a shelf. I came up behind her to look. It was her smartphone.

"I had George record us," she said. "It's for Cynthia. We have this little sibling rivalry thing going. In high school it was just a slutty dress competition to piss off our nanny, but it kind of got out of hand. It's good for her, though. She's getting too prissy. This one's a winner! I guarantee you she'll never let you do her no-hands over a trash bag! She doesn't do trashy."

I said I'd bear that in mind.

****

Well, that was amusing, I guess. And actually, my evening with Becky had been lovely. But . . . .

Katherine. It had been almost a week since our evening on her boat and I hadn't heard a single word from her. It was getting painful. I still couldn't make myself believe I was just another recruit. On our hike I'd decided we might be falling in love, especially after we'd spent the whole afternoon lying together in a mossy hollow in the granite, watching clouds and comparing lives. She was endlessly smart and amusing. Then she'd laid that extra tender kiss on me when we parted. On the family yacht I'd decided she was super hot, and we had talked all night and teased each other mercilessly. She was too clever for me by half; I couldn't keep up. But the longer she stayed away the more discouraged I felt. Perhaps I was just a naïve little working-class chump after all.

****

My next chance to meet her was at the Thursday party - uh - Book Group. I drove myself this time. More people were there. The season was heating up. I got a drink and was waiting for Katherine when Carlotta, Jackie and Not Vicky approached me.

"Dave, we have a question. The Party Committee wants to rent the hotel and some rooms for an end-of-season party -- discreetly, of course, which is going to make it tough. The Security Committee doesn't think it's possible, but we thought you might have some ideas."

I'd thought about this after my interview, of course. I didn't want to endanger my position at the hotel by saying yes, or in the Club, by saying no.

"As I see it," I said, "the problem is that while the hotel is open, there will be other guests around who might know you. They may be curious about the event and wonder why they weren't invited. After the season we would still need lots of staff -- kitchen workers or caterers, servers, set-up and clean-up crews, parking valets - and people will wonder about all the activity when the hotel is closed. Then the same questions could come up." I saw Katherine entering with a tall, lanky, handsome guy who had a hand on the small of her back. They were laughing together. "Let me think, though," I said as I quickly excused myself. I wandered over toward her, but the rugged guy from last week joined them, and they all got into a conversation. I hung back until she was free.

She saw me and acted startled. "Dave . . . hi," she said, without a ghost of a smile.

"Hi, Katherine. Long time no see. Well, feels like it anyway." I resisted the urge to ask, 'How's tricks?'

"I've been busy. It's recruiting season."

I knew what that meant, I thought. "How long does it have to be before we can see each other again? I'll let you do the asking, but what's the time line?" This wasn't cool. I felt like a teenaged girl in the '50's. Book Club etiquette was starting to grate on me.

"I'll have to see, Dave. I hear you've had a busy week, too."

Touché.

****

The party was already winding down as members paired off and left. Book Club parties never seemed to drag on, for obvious reasons. I felt an arm around my waist and looked down to find a pair of lovely, wide blue eyes looking up at me. "Hey, Dave," Jackie said. "You look like you could use some company. How are you doing? Are we providing any good material for your writing hobby?"

"Well, you would be, if I were allowed to write about it. Where are we going?" I recognized the signs.

"I thought the lodge might be nice. I had it set up for us. Can I interest you in a walk in the woods?"

****

Jackie's family's hunting lodge was legend. It was a log cabin built 100 years ago as a place for the gentlemen to smoke cigars, sip brandy and congratulate each other on killing defenseless animals for sport. It had been located a quarter mile into the woods to keep it inaccessible to women. Jackie looked like she could cover that distance in under a minute.

We parked our cars in a little dirt lot by the roadside. All was quiet except for the scurrying of woodland creatures and the occasional hoot of an owl. By starlight, a largely invisible Jackie took my hand and led me down a well-worn path. After a couple of minutes we came to a clearing, and the lodge appeared as a dark, massive presence against the stars. I could make out a covered front porch with a sofa swing and some tables and chairs artfully crafted from branches. The huge, heavy front door squealed as it swung open. Inside was a darkened, echoing space. It smelled musty and damp. There were scampering sounds. Jackie felt around and lit a couple of candles. She paused to let me look.

It was the size of a ballroom, dominated by a stone fireplace big enough to walk into. Above the fireplace was a dead moose, or at least the front part of one. On the floor was a dead bear, or at least the outside part of one. All around were photos of several generations of famous white guys holding guns and dead things. The place oozed history, tradition and money. You could hear a pin drop.

"Maybe a fire . . .?" said Jackie.

The fire had already been laid. Unlike Jackie. I touched a match to the birch bark kindling and watched as the flame took hold. By the time I turned around, Jackie was sitting cross-legged on the bearskin in just her underwear, decanting some brandy into a couple of antique glasses. Her undies were plain white, a striking contrast, and she had the most amazingly taut, lithe legs. They were topped by tiny panties that barely covered the important parts. "Pretty nice, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah. So is the lodge," I responded dutifully as I took a brandy. She laughed musically. She had a wonderful laugh. She casually stripped off her bra as I settled down next to her. Her whole body was ripped, and hot.