Breaking the Speed Limit Ch. 01

I asked "Sandy" whether she wanted a more energetic dance next. She nodded and asked to do a hand jive.

I did what she asked and then it clicked who Sandy might be. I had been to see the film Grease a couple of years back with one of the more amenable widows. I had enjoyed the dancing and I actually remembered the original Sandra Dee. The widow had insisted on having a kneetrembler afterwards.

At the end of that I moved to a swing dance where the movement was energetic but did not require lifts or her to take her legs off the floor. The swifter nature of the dance seemed to excite her.

At the end she said, "I wish I could have a photo of me in this. It would help jog my memory when I needed to relax."

I had a polaroid camera and obliged her after persuading her to pose in an attractive way. I had the version of the camera which produced a large image and two smaller images. I waited the minute for the photo to develop and showed her it. She was very happy with the result.

I then asked her if she wanted to do one of the dances I used to do when I was dancing in a competition where the most boring couples got eliminated by a tap on the shoulder.

She nodded and I took her through some of the moves. I could see the thought of them excited her. I put on an extended version of "In the Mood" by Glenn Miller. Thirty seconds in, I swung her legs to the side of my body and then to the other side. I then flipped her over my arms and then lifted her so that she was vertical with her legs straight up. I was concentrating on the dance and holding her safely but suspected that she was watching herself. I hoped that she remembered that she was meant to open her legs for the next part as otherwise the dance could end painfully. Luckily she did and her legs flew up behind me with her hips against my groin. I heard her gasp and whisper "Oooo."

At the end of the dance after five minutes she had her legs wrapped around me and her arms around my neck. My hands were holding her up. She looked to the side and saw herself in the mirror. She tensed for a second and I said, "We've won the competition, Sandy. Let's have a drink to celebrate."

She nodded and headed towards the chaise longue rather than the sofa. I brought over the refilled glasses of wine, and I toasted her. She giggled and after taking a large sip, put her glass down on the table. She then put her arm around my neck and sat on my knee. Her eyes were closed, and her lips opened. Clearly she was now up for kissing and I obliged her. Again, I decided not to push her too quickly. One hand played with her hair and the other stroked the bare part of her back. I felt her legs start to part which is when she reminded herself of where she was.

She got to her feet, and I knew things could go either way now. I stood up, held her around the waist and looked her in the eyes, "You are a beautiful woman, Sandy."

I saw her decide to go with it and she replaced her arms around my neck and kissed me again. I checked my watch over her shoulder and saw that it was now 3.30. She lifted her right leg up and I moved a hand to cup her buttock. Her left leg then started to rise as well. I carried her over and put her bottom on the desk. She giggled, stopped kissing me for a moment and pulled the halters of the top down so they were off her shoulder. She then looked towards the mirror, squeezed her legs together trapping me between her thighs, lent backwards so that her back was flat on the desk, pulling me down with her. As her legs rose in the air, her body seemed to shudder, and she gasped. That took her by surprise and shocked her. She had just broken the national speed limit without me.

She said, "Thank you Rupert. I think that you are right about your advice. I'd better change back."

She disappeared behind the screen and in a couple of minutes had changed back. I notice that her blouse was now only partially done up and her cleavage was on view. I supposed that I'd got further than I had expected to, but I am sufficiently selfish to feel some resentment when I get a woman off, and she does not reciprocate.

I handed her a refilled glass and we leaned against the desk together. She leant against me and put one of her hands over mine while taking a sip of wine.

She said to herself, "If my boyfriend prefers watching football rather than wanting to be with me, he can hardly complain if I spend time learning to dance with a gentleman."

She seemed to decide something then and said to me "You promised to teach me to tango."

"I did indeed."

I demonstrated the difference between the Argentinian version and the American version of the close quarters tango and rehearsed the basic moves. She nodded and then said, "I'm not quite feeling it yet. I think I need to change the costume."

"That should help."

"I have some high heels back in my room. Is there anything in your marvellous wardrobe to help get me in the mood?"

"Definitely."

As she left the room I called down to Wendy in reception and asked her to bring up a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket with two flutes and leave it outside the door. She knew I was expecting Ronald and so would not be too surprised. I rather hoped that if Ronald was early he would try chatting up Wendy. She was twenty, went to the local poly and worked weekends for me in the hotel and in some of my other businesses during the week. She tolerated Ronald, but he was too young and immature for her and would only boast about it if she gave him the time of day.

I picked out some clothes for the woman and checked whether the drawers of my desk were stocked if we got on to the motorway. I then closed the curtains and turned off half of the main lights and dimmed the rest. A moment later she returned. She was wearing either stockings or tights, high heels, but the same skirt and blouse. She had put some bright red lipstick on and had added eye liner and some tasteful mascara.

She said, "It's not quite right yet."

I agreed and handed her a few choices. To my delight she chose a backless knee length black satin dress with a slit up the right side. It had a plunging neckline and was held up by two straps.

While she was changing Wendy knocked on the door and I collected the champagne and the glasses. We were only half way through the second wine bottle and I put what was left in the fridge.

The woman took five minutes to change. While she was doing so, I went into my bedroom and changed into the trousers of my dinner jacket and a black shirt. It requires a large suspension of disbelief to convince a young woman that an elderly English gentleman is an arrogant Latin lover who wants to ravish her. Well, I would have no problem with the ravishing if I was allowed to and the arrogance was not that much of a stretch, but every little helps. In that regard the fact that my DJ trousers were kept up with braces rather than a belt may also help.

When she came out from the screen I came up to her, "It's not quite right yet. One more touch maybe."

I turned her so she was facing a mirror, undid her ponytail and fluffed her hair out. She looked at herself in the mirror and first looked startled and then smiled to herself. Somehow this had made the difference.

"I'd like a photograph of me in this dress."

She went and laid on the chaise longue, raised one knee and put two hands behind her head, pushed her breasts up and closed her eyes. I saw that she was wearing thigh high stockings and black French knickers. I took the picture and as it developed opened the bottle of champagne.

I poured her a glass and showed her the photo. She stared at it, licked her lips and then in a husky voice said "Call me Rebecca."

This time she lost herself in the dance from the start and just melted into my body. I also fell into character and was pleasantly surprised at how supple she was as she raised her legs around my body, allowed me to push my leg between hers, squeeze the top of her thighs, and dip her body. While I suppose that in reality our bodies were not much closer than they had been when she had been wearing the pedal pushers and we had been swing-dancing it was harder to ignore the sexual element.

At the end of the song, she raised her right leg, closed her eyes, and violently kissed me. I moved my hand up her thigh and she groaned as my hand touched her through her silk knickers. She was totally abandoned for about a minute before breaking contact. I saw a hint of panic in her eyes and tried to calm her down by saying, "Rebecca, you were excellent. You really believed in the dance." The use of the name instantly relaxed her. I sensed that this was an identity which allowed her to be naughty. I wondered who Rebecca was.

The panic vanished and she said, "It's easy to believe when you have a really expert partner. Alan is competent, but you are so much more.... experienced."

She looked towards the doors and asked, "What's in there?"

"My bedroom."

She nodded, "Is there a bathroom here? I just want to redo my make up." I pointed her to it. She finished her glass of champagne and took her make-up bag into the bathroom.

I filled up the glasses again and dimmed the lights a little more.

When she emerged, I knew how to move her into fifth gear and that she was ready to break the speed limit in the fast lane of the motorway.

We danced again and I made every move just that bit more exaggerated, and also closer to the mirrors. Two minutes I moved my righthand so that I was touching her knickers. She gasped and pulled my face into hers. I placed one finger and then a second inside her.

She said, "Pull Rebecca's knickers down."

I did not like to refuse a lady so with my left hand pulled her knickers down while two fingers of my right hand continued to finger her.

She pushed back against me and started to buck. She said, "Use Rebecca like the whore she is." I registered that she was referring to herself in the third person. This has happened to me before when a woman wants to be rodgered, but needs to pretend it is not her.

I carried her to the bed. In seconds her dress was off. She was now naked but for the thigh highs and her high heels. She pulled down my braces and my trousers were quickly around my ankles. She lay down on the bed and her legs opened wide. She said, "Tell Rebecca how you want to take her."

I was dammed if I was going to fuck her with my trousers around my ankles, but I did not wish her to come to her senses. I fingered her with one hand while I took my shoes off and removed my trousers and boxer shorts with the other. I took the durex out of my pocket. I placed my lips next to her cunt and licked and sucked while I tore off the wrapper and put on the rubber johnny. She placed a hand on my head and squeezed her legs together.

To my relief, and mild surprise, she was not a virgin. I lifted my head from her cunt and pulled her legs to the front of the bed. "I'm going to push my prick into Rebecca truly, slowly, deeply."

She moaned as I said the words and again when I entered her. She locked her legs around my waist and thrashed around on the bed. I normally went in for more foreplay than this once I had a woman on the bed, but perhaps the hours of dancing were a sufficient substitute. Besides I was conscious that I needed to come before Ronald arrived. I began to speed up and kept up the running commentary and tried to work out what really turned her on.

It seemed to be that the dirtier names I called her the better. "I'm going to fuck Rebecca harder than she's ever been before. I'm going to spoil her for other men"

She started to scream and I placed a hand over her mouth. "Little whores should be obscene and not heard. Unless she wants every man in the hotel in here watching her being fucked and then take a turn."

"She'll be a good little whore." Her eyes seemed to roll in her head and she spread her legs wide and held them wide apart.

Luckily she came first. I was brought up to believe ladies before gentlemen, but I had not had such a wild partner for decades. When I'd finished and lay on the bed beside her and played with her nipples and kissed her neck. She said, "Is it always like that?"

"When you... relax it can be."

She looked at her watch and gasped. "It's 4.45."

I thought to myself that I'd gone from saying hello to fucking her in less than four hours. It had been fucking and not making love.

She said, "Sandy would like to have another dance before she has to go. Can I have a look at the clothes rack again?"

I thought why not, and it may be for the best for her to be back to normal before her boyfriend got back. She got up and went to the bathroom while I put the black dress back on a hangar and put it aside for dry cleaning next week. I got dressed again into my original clothes.

I also checked the photographs. I got out some scissors and separated the large photos from the smaller ones. I put the smaller ones in my desk.

I topped up her glass when she emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing the knickers, thigh highs and the bra and the ponytail had returned. I gave her the larger photographs and she put them in her purse. I helped her choose her next outfit which was in essence a US 1950s high school skirt and a tight sweater. It would look odd with the high heels, but that was not my problem.

I washed my hands, crotch and arm pits and then checked the time. It was now just after five. When I came out she was not there, but her high heels and thigh highs were. A moment later she returned wearing her flat shoes. She had tucked the sweater into the skirt which had the effect of making it even tighter.

I topped up our classes with champagne. I would need a new bottle for Ronald. I rang down to Wendy to get another bottle of champagne on ice.

She asked if she could do a swing dance again. At the end of the dance, I had arranged it so that we had ended up next to the desk with her legs around my waist. She did not resist as I put her bum on the desk and kissed her. She squeezed her legs around me.

Just then the door opened. I stopped the kiss, but she did not unwrap her legs. In walked my nephew Ronald carrying the champagne. It turned out that he had arrived early and had been in reception trying to chat up Wendy. When I rang down for the champagne she had used it as an excuse to get rid of him and sent him up to me.

Ronald is about 6 foot two, taking after my brother-in-law rather than my sister. He was gobsmacked and nearly dropped the bottle. He'd heard rumours about me having a wicked past but had not believed them. He did not believe that sex had been invented when I was a young man and seeing me in a hotel room with a young woman with her legs around me and her arms round my neck was a shock to his system.

The woman reacted as though nothing untoward had happened.

"Hello, I'm Rebecca. Your uncle's being teaching me to dance. How old are you, Ronald?" I was a little surprised that she's decided to call herself Rebecca rather than Sandy.

"18 last week, Rebecca."

I said, "We are also celebrating the fact that Ron's just had an offer to go to Manchester University."

Rebecca poured Ronald a glass and said, "Your uncle's an excellent dancer, Ronald."

"Mum's always said that Uncle Rupert is good on his feet and that I should take lessons from him.

Ronald's eyes were gawping as he gazed at "Rebecca".

"Do you like what you see?" she said teasingly.

Ronald gulped and nodded vigorously.

"Let's show him how good a dancer his uncle Rupert is. Let's dance to "In the Mood" again."

I realised that having an audience combined with the alcohol and the sex had totally removed her inhibitions. When we went into the gymnastics and I flipped her over my arms and then lifted her so that she was vertical, Ronald got an excellent view of her legs and knickers. When her legs flew up behind me with her hips against my groin, I sensed that she was watching Ronald's reactions and being spurred on by them.

Young Ronald applauded at the end of the song and said, "Will you teach me that dance, uncle?"

"Of course. It will take practice."

The woman said, "There are other things you should learn from your uncle, Ronald."

She then pulled out the chair from behind the desk, positioned it so that it was facing Ronald and its back was to a panel of mirrors. I sat on the chair while she straddled her legs around me and started to kiss me. I realised that she was playing things up for Ronald's benefit and joined in enthusiastically. After about three minutes she stopped kissing me and looked at Ronald.

She then said to Ronald, "Would you like a birthday dance and kiss? I'll just freshen up in the bathroom and then choose a record."

Ronald swallowed hard but could not resist the invitation. I took the opportunity to warn Ron not to push things. "I think she's pissed off with her boyfriend, but she wants to be in control. Don't force it and don't try to pull her knickers down."

Ron nodded. He went to an all-boys school and as far as I knew had never had a serious girlfriend. He seemed inclined to take my advice.

"Rebecca" reappeared and placed Ronald's hands around her waist and hers around his neck. She pulled him to her and stood on tiptoes while he crouched and they started kissing. The two of them swayed rather than danced. Halfway through the dance she whispered to Ronald who put his hands on her bum and squeezed while she pushed him closer to her. She darted her head around so that she could watch herself from three angles rubbing against my six foot two fifteen stone nephew's dick.

At the end of the song, she whispered to Ronald "Happy 18th birthday". Ronald thanked her and then headed towards the bathroom. I was certain that he had either come in his boxer shorts or wanted to get to the bathroom before he actually did so.

She came towards me and said, "I wish I didn't have to go to the concert tonight."

"You don't have to, Rebecca. Just tell Alan you have a headache and need an early night."

She thought about it and said, "I think we can do better than that. I'll write a note to him saying that I am feeling unwell and have gone to bed early. Ronald can deliver it and put it under his door."

She giggled and said, "I'd much rather help you teach Ronald how to.... dance."

I stopped writing. If she had only gone back to her room then I would not be worrying now about what was the right to do and who the woman in the Castle Hotel really was. Was she just a woman who looked similar and had a boyfriend called Allan, the same woman who had got her act together or an imposter who had just tried to make the best of things for her new friend or client.

Suddenly I recalled looking at the hotel register this evening when I came in for the photographs and being amused by a name.