RMN Pt. 02: Amies Hotel

RestaurantMeetsNET Pt. 02: Amies Hotel

Imposition

He sat at the round dining table that was set for six diners, on his own, perusing the Acceptance Procedure on his tablet. He pretty much knew the technical stuff, but it was the wording of the procedure that he was contemplating.

It was enough to fill in the time as he waited for a waitress. It was busy this evening, and, as he was last-in, he got to wait.

Eventually, a flustered waitress did approach him.

"Excuse me sir, but, as you can see, we are busy this evening, and there is a late guest at the hotel, and there are no free tables. As you are alone, would you mind sharing your table this evening?"

The waitress finished with a hopeful, pleading, look.

He looked at her and considered.

'OK.' he thought, 'Swings-and-roundabouts. As long as he doesn't want to talk about football, or politics, or rugby, or cricket! And the restaurant will owe me one!'

"That will be fine." He told the waitress, "And when you are ready, I am ready to order."

He couldn't NOT take the opportunity to get part of the 'owed one' back.

"Thank you, sir. I'll bring the other guest, and then take your order." Then she swivelled smartly round and weaved off between the tables.

He turned back to his tablet with a smug smile -- 'One!' he thought.

A couple of minutes later, he became aware of movement close to his table, and saw the waitress with a woman in tow.

He looked behind the waitress for the other guest, but didn't see him, so wondered what had happened to him.

"This gentleman has kindly agreed for you to share his table this evening." The waitress pulled out the chair opposite him, and the woman who was with the waitress moved forward to be seated.

He froze.

Immediate impression: - mature woman -- well dressed in close fitting lavender dress, with a low-cut cowl neckline -- reddish, wavy hair, well past shoulder length -- Suzanna Thompson look-alike[!] (Moira Queen from Arrow) -- but with that reddish hair -- HOT!

He surged to his feet, but not, alas, after moving away from the table. So his upper thighs rocked the table quite badly when they clashed it, which caused the wine glasses to wobble and roll, and the cutlery to skip and clash with each other and with the side plates. He stumbled back half a step, which left him clear of the table.

The woman had surged back to her feet from the half crouch, that had been descending into a 'sit', clutching her menu defensively before her.

"Oh, shit!" he squawked, "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" as both he and the waitress tried to pounce on the moving and shifted tableware.

Once order was restored, the woman sat, and looked at him with an open expression.

He stood and stared at her.

The waitress set the glass of wine, that she had been carrying, in its place before the woman.

The woman sat staring at him -- staring at her.

He blossomed with redness.

She glazed a light pink.

In his embarrassment, he forgot what his next move was supposed to be, and just stood there, vacant -- like a eunuch in a brothel[?].

"Does sir wish to order?" The waitress was going for 'precedence' rather that 'etiquette'.

!!!

"Excuse me sir, but do you wish to order now?"

"What?"

"Do you wish to place your order now, sir?"

"Uh -- yeah." And he swooped down to reclaim his chair, clipped his tablet, which then flipped towards the floor. He lurched to try to grab it en-route, but just knocked it beneath the table; where he tried to pounce on it, but, as it was still moving, he missed it. When it did stop, he grabbed it, with relief, and tried to straighten-up, clouted the top of his head on the underside of the table, thus causing the tableware to skip once again.

While he was hugging the top of his head in pain, he became aware of the woman's lower extremities.

Her dress, that had pulled up her legs due to being seated, revealed shapely, toned, tanned, and long bare legs, visible from her mid-thigh down; with silver, ankle strap, stilettoes, with a full toe-cap.

THAT's when he groaned!

He backed out -- slowly, hand on his head, and re-seated himself.

He looked up at the waitress -- who looked back at him, with an -- interested[?] and expectant expression.

He ordered. She scribbled his order down on her pad, with his room number.

She turned to the woman, "And you, Madam?" then scribbled down that order.

Then the woman ordered a bottle of red wine. That got scribbled down as well.

The waitress looked back at him, and read back his order, then asked if he would like to order anything to drink. He had a sudden vision of glasses of red wine -- trying, unsuccessfully, to stay upright when he knocked the table yet again -- and yes, he was sure it was going to be 'when' and not 'if', and thus causing his wine slop all over the table.

"Ah! No! Thanks."

"Water?"

He re-thought.

"Yes, OK. Glass of tap water, please -- ice, no fruit, please."

That got written down.

The waitress read back the woman's order to her, and received confirmation that it was correct; took the woman's room number, then turned and left.

The woman, while looking at him, said, "No fruit?"

"Sorry -- What?"

"You told the waitress that you didn't want fruit in your water?"

"Uh -- no. Just taints the water, so it's neither water nor fruit juice. Appalling way of serving water! And the horrible thing is that usually they don't ask. You know? 'Gin and tonic please.' sez I -- 'Ice and lemon?' asks the waiter -- 'Yes please.' or 'No thanks.' I answer.

"But with water, it's 'You'll have the bloody lemon slices; and stuff what you would prefer!' "

She gave a wry grin.

"You can share my wine if you would like. I have had a glass or two this afternoon, so shouldn't drink a bottle to myself, so sharing should solve that temptation."

"OK, thank you very much. But don't blame me if it gets spilt."

"It's a big table -- I'll risk it."

Dinner

She and he sat, contemplating each other.

He stuck his hand out across the table towards her, narrowly missing his (empty) wine glass -- applied the Sean Connery accent, and said, "The namesh Pond, Jamesh Pond, but I'm working undercover, sho I'm deliberately not being azh shmooth and shuave azh I normally am."

After a slight pause, and an 'almost smile', she reached out for his hand, shook it, and said, "My name's Menny; I'm Mrs. Punny Menny. How do you do?"

He shmiled, "Much better now, Mshsh Menny."

"You may call me Punny, as we are dining companions."

"And you may call me Jamesh." then, in his 'normal' voice he continued, "Don't forget the shh, it'sh very important,"

"OK. How'sh your head?"

"Huh! Won't know until I find it. Doesn't seem to have been present for a while.

"Now, I'm sorry, but I believe I've made a large enough fool of myself this evening, so perhaps I should shut up, disappear back into my tablet, and let you eat in peace."

"Thank you.

Then she continued, "But -- just for curiosity's sake, why are you on this big table alone?"

"Oh, I wouldn't like to bother you with such a tedious tale."

"Really? Go on -- give it a try, I have nothing better to do until my dinner is served," she looked around, and sighed, "and that may take a while, so bore me!"

"OK, you asked for it. Don't blame me!

"Hmmm. OK! I'm here to work. Factory on the outskirts of town, that is -- not the hotel. I have been here for the last week, with four colleagues. They finished their part today, and have gone home. The next batch, of five, were due to arrive today, and we planned eating here this evening, hence this big table was booked for us. But there was a holdup, and they couldn't get away as planned. So that left me -- alone -- to entertain you.

"Wow, you are still awake! I didn't think that I was that good a raconteur."

* * * * *

She thrust her hand out towards him, "Marion Monroe, how do you do?"

"Marilyn Monroe? Really?"

She sighed, "No. It's Marion -- as in 'Maid Marion' -- of Robin Hood fame[?]."

"Freddie Baxter, at your service... or perhaps 'disservice' might be better -- currently. And it IS Freddie -- not Frederick."

He kept trying to disappear back into his tablet, but she each time asked him a question, necessitating him to put down the tablet, and consider an answer, or a response, before making it. Once their meals were served, and the eating commenced, the 'question and answer' interchanges gradually relaxed into general discussions and the tablet was ignored, and a few wise cracks, then some jokes and easier repartee.

After she made a particularly caustic comment about life in general, he barked a laugh.

"Phew! Beautiful, hot, sexy, intelligent AND a sense of humour. Must've died and gone to Heaven."

He took a sip of his wine -- and noticed her -- locked up, and gazing towards him.

Initially, he froze.

But then looked over his shoulder to check if what had grabbed her attention was behind him. The wall proved to be as bland and inert as it had been when he arrived. "What?"

"What was that you said?" Her voice was low, and controlled.

"Didn't say anything. Did I?"

"You did say something. And it ended in 'Heaven'."

"I... " he squeaked, "said that... aloud?"

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, "Mmm hmm."

"Oh, shit! Uh, sorry. I mean 'Sorry'. I... I'll leave you in peace. Apologies!"

And scrabbling quickly, he grabbed his tablet, checked for his key -- and, fully co-ordinated this time, he slid his chair back, rose cleanly from it, and cleanly moved around the table, heading for the exit.

As he went past, Marion reached out, and snagged his left wrist, and pulled him to a stop.

"No. Don't go Freddie. Please stay and finish your meal."

"Uh, thank you for the offer; and I thank you for overlooking my breach of decorum, but -- I... think you would be better off without me here." and he tried, gently, to roll his wrist out of her grip, all without looking at her.

"Sit down Freddie!" she muttered as she tugged -- gently -- on his wrist; then continued -- her voice very firm, but low. "Come on, people are beginning to notice, so it will look worse if you leave. Come on, sit!" and she pulled out the chair next to her, pulled him towards it.

He looked around, and realised she was right. So, slowly, he turned and lowered himself into the seat she had offered.

"That's a good boy!" and she patted his right thigh with her left hand.

"Pull your plate and glass over, and then we can carry on, OK?"

He looked over both his shoulders at the rest of the restaurant. The other diners had gone back to their meals, and were ignoring them again.

So, he did as she asked -- ordered[?].

They ate in silence for several minutes.

"So, you think that I am 'Beautiful, hot, sexy, intelligent AND have a sense of humour'? Why does that surprise you?"

"Oh, please?" he squeaked, "I drop one of the biggest clangers of my life, and you actually want to talk about it?"

"Well -- you are a young, good looking, hot young man; and, it seems, generally intelligent -- even if that last is... a little... absent[?] this evening. Why shouldn't we talk about your statement?"

"Really?" another squeak, "You throw all that at me? Do you really want to embarrass me further?"

"Look, Freddie, I am on the wrong side of... fortyish -- and that's all I am prepared to admit. So, to have a young 'hottie' admire my looks is not something I am prepared, this evening, to readily relinquish."

And here she gave his right thigh a couple of slow strokes, with her fingers down the inside of his thigh. If anything, that did the opposite of setting him at his ease -- had that truly been her intention.

"So, why are you surprised by me?"

"REALLY?"

Wide eyed nod from her.

"OK?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat, and started again, with something like his normal baritone, "Well, the way you are dressed -- makes me think that you are sure you are beautiful -- and hot. But... it... its...?

"Look, I'm an engineer. I work in a factory, and the full combination that you are exhibiting is virtually non-existent in women in engineering -- in my experience, with the possible exception of the upper levels of secretarial and clerical staff, and especially where I work.

"Sure, there are good looking women, even if they are... more... I mean -- not... um..."

"Even if they are -- say -- youthfully challenged?"

"What?"

"Not as young as they used to be?"

"Uh -- gotcha! Um... maybe?"

He continued, "But... what I was actually going for, was... like their senses of humour can also be a little... challenged[?].

"And it's like...

"Take my Mum for instance... she's clever -- she's a lawyer -- and she does have a sense of humour, but... she doesn't really get me. And she can't be any older than you, and I just cannot see her in a hot dress and shoes like yours. Sorry, but that's what they are -- to me.

"And you are here, in this... almost nondescript hotel restaurant, on your own, dressed like a film star or super 2011;model for a walk down the red carpet to the sound-track of cameras, flashlights, or flashbulbs, and a hot rocking beat -- or whatever. And you have been somewhere this afternoon where you have been drinking wine. But you are in here, and you ordered a substantial meal. So -- you've been somewhere -- 'posh' -- this afternoon, but decent food wasn't part of the experience, even if wine was.

"So, you see, you appear to be an enigma. And you landed at my table. But despite what I said, I know, now, that I can't be in Heaven, or surely, I wouldn't be making these gaffes."

"So, would you like to see your mother dress more... let's say... trendily? Sexily, even?"

"Ah! Well... er... maybe not?"

"Why? Think she would maybe be making a fool of herself?"

He snorted in (light) derision, "NO?" and he drew out the 'O' part. "See, its... she's good looking -- like you, and... she... would -- probably -- look quite Hot, herself... and..."

He drifted off onto speculation -- and swallowed a couple of times. So she started to slowly stroke the inside of his thigh again, and then she realised that he was growing an erection. She stopped her 'up-stroke' just shy of his groin, and left it there, and squeezed, slightly.

"Oh. It's like that, is it Freddie? Oedipus complex?"

He flushed slightly, and swallowed.

"Huh, NO!" and he drew out the 'O' part -- again, but finished at a higher note than he started from.

"But you would like her to dress... a... little less... fuddy-duddy?"

His colour deepened, "Ohh yes!"

Her hand slid closer to his groin, moving in small circles, "You are a good boy, Freddie; looking out for the wellbeing of your poor old mum."

As he sat there, lost in contemplation, he started to notice that there was a pressure on his 'fly' area... and that the pressure was growing tighter... around his cock. But more significantly... it was growing around his -- stiff -- cock. And then the pressure started to move along it. One way -- then the other, as the pressure continued growing increasingly tighter.

He slowly turned his head, to look into her flecked green eyes, and her moist, dark-cherry-red lips, and heard her ragged breath.

Almost imperceptibly, they tilted in towards each other, thus their actions attracted no attention from their fellow diners.

Their lips at last met, pursed softly, and kissed delicately, and pulled apart; approached each other again and pressed a little harder this time.

The end of his cock was rock-hard in the midst of her crushing grip.

His right hand slipped round her back to caress the upper part of her right bum cheek, then stroked lower so he could fill his hand with a firm grasp. Their tongues intertwined, and caressed. Screened by the closeness of their bodies, his left hand moved across, and up under the lower edge of her cowl-neck; found, and squeezed a rock-hard nipple; where only the dress material was only providing a flimsy barrier.

He groaned into her mouth.

She whimpered into his.

A laugh, not loud, and not too close, broke their mutual fixation, so they parted, breathing heavily, gazed at each other, and licked their own lips.

She reached for, and took, a shaky drink of her wine. Then, gasping, swallowed hard.

"Oh, Freddie! Don't you dare touch me again...!" she said amid her gasps.

Freddie coloured-up again, and slumped a little, and gazed at the floor.

"Sorry, sorry! I did try to leave; and you are so hot!"

Gasps, "Unless you are prepared to follow-up on all that that kiss offered!"

Her hand tightened on his cock again. His hand caressed her knee... the lower part of her thigh... the upper part of her thigh... and lightly stroked her pussy through her panties with his pinkie.

They were very damp. She shivered. She swallowed. She came to a realisation. She made a decision.

She sneaked her napkin off the table, under the skirt of her dress, and inside her panties.

"Room twenty-eight, Freddie; but give me half an hour to have a shower, and freshen-up, OK?"

"Sorry, can't do that!"

She deflated with a half choke, "Oh, OK. I'm sorry for offending you Freddie. I just got a little carried away. Sorry again."

"I'll give you ten minutes, for NORWICH, and then I'll be there."

She gaped at him.

"NORWICH?"

"Yeah. You know?"

Head shake.

"Knickers Off Ready When I Come Home? And, if you let me in your room, I will not allow you to shower for a while. Depends how long it takes to lick you clean, THEN we shower. You are not going to be wasting all your natural marinade."

She gazed at him, mesmerised, "NORWICH; marinade; no shower!" she muttered, then gulped and shivered.

"Does it HAVE to be ten minutes? Couldn't you make it closer to five?"

"Doubt it. It's going to take five, probably, just to get this stiffie under control, before I leave."

"Soon as you can! Oh Please, please, please!" She rose, full of grace; and, sedately as a swan swimming, despite the napkin stuffed into her knickers, glided from the room.

He took advantage of his chair's location (back to the rest of the restaurant) and in the guise of straightening the table, and finishing-up with his tablet, forced his stiffie first into an attitude where it was less obvious, then into subservience, and exited the restaurant in his own time.

Nightcap

The door whisked open before he had time to knock. He was dragged in, and flattened against a wall by one of her hands as the other slammed the door closed.

It wasn't a case of NORWICH. It turned out to be ACOWYCH (All Clothes Off When You Come Home), or maybe STARKERS.

They kissed.

Lips rubbing; tongues licking; cheeks sucking; hands stroking.

They kissed... and explored... initially by hand, then by tongue.

* * * * *

When, eventually, they came up for air, he took her by the hand, and slowly twirled her round until she faced him again.

"Jesus, Marion! I have been correct from the start; you are one Hot chick. But, can I... ask you for something?"

"If I can grant it, I may!"

"Can you put the shoes back on. You look so hot in them?"

"Oh ho! Not only an Oedipal complex, but also a shoe fetishist."

"Well...maybe[?]... but not a true one, I feel[?]." He pointed to her shoes, that she had neatly stood on the floor, beneath the desk/dressing table, "They are of virtually no interest to me, there, like that."

And he went over picked them up, returned to kneel in front of her, gently lifted her left foot, slid on the shoe, fastened it; then repeated for the other shoe; kissed her pussy mound... using his tongue to flick her clit... stood... took her hand... twirled her again as he looked down at her legs, as she gulped-in breaths trying to firm-up her suddenly rubbery legs.