Seattle Shenanigans Ch. 01

This story grew from a short email from a fan (I hope I can call him a fan).

*****

I shivered with anticipation and excitement as I walked briskly from my hotel in downtown Seattle to Aditya's room at the Sheraton. I turned left on Union and saw the large hotel's sign on the front of the skyscraper on 6th Avenue. In my eagerness to get up to the 17th floor, I almost bumped into a large black man smoking a cigarette on the steps of the hotel.

"Oh! Excuse me," I said, stuttering a little.

He said nothing, but looked me up and down. It had been raining, as it almost always does in Seattle, and while my raincoat had protected me, I was wondering how well my hair had stood up to being covered only by a magazine in a plastic bag. Actually a bunch of pamphlets from the Microsoft conference we—Aditya and me—were both attending. I had not met him yet, at least I did not think so—in the last three days. We had corresponded by text only so far. Tomorrow would be the last day of the four day conference and I would be leaving the day after—a Sunday—on the afternoon flight.

I wondered what the black guy made of me, dressed the way I was. All he could see was a somewhat exotic woman—definitely not caucasian—but probably of some other origin. It is true that at 5'6" with dark brown hair, a good figure and fair complexion, I cannot be immediately spotted as an Indian woman. A momentary thought went through my mind. Was my hair all messed up? I really wanted to make a good first impression on Aditya. Maybe my make-up was smeared. This goddamn rain, I thought.

The black guy kept looking me up and down all the while, not moving, not letting me go up the steps. I suppose I could have gone around him, but I am used to getting my way most places, and so I raised my voice a little and said in a more impatient tone, "Excuse me." I thought the meaning was clear.

He didn't move. Instead, he continued checking me out. I was suddenly seized by a worry that the portion of my black stockings might have a run in them, maybe my raincoat was gaping? I didn't want to look simply because I did not want to give him the satisfaction. I quickly gazed up at the sky—lead gray and drizzling like it had all week. I didn't know how people could live in this place. So fucking dreary.

The bluetooth receiver in my ear rang. I recognized the ringtone, it was Akash. I answered the call with a press of a button all the while staring angrily at the black man. My eyes traveled down his body and subconsciously I took in the impressive bulge in his crotch as I said, "Hello" into the bluetooth device. I have known a few black men in the biblical sense and while some of them were well endowed, it was not always so—I had decided that it was probably been a myth about their larger sizes.

"Cunt." It was Akash.

Almost like a reflex action, I felt moisture between my legs, like a Pavlovian bitch-dog trained to lubricate on the command of a single key word. I pressed my thighs together, trying to contain my pleasure. My submissive mode clicked on as though a master switch had been thrown—not that I wasn't turned on before as I will explain, but the use of the word just elevated things to a different plane. Like attaining the seventh heaven or something for Buddhist monks.

The expression on my face must've changed or something for the black guy began to smirk knowingly. He was dressed casually, t-shirt, jeans, windbreaker zipped up halfway and a ball-cap on his head. A big guy, probably over six foot, two maybe two-twenty, muscular, not paunchy. I tried to put on a fierce expression, but it was hopeless because of what I said into the phone next.

"Sir."

"Keep the connection on when you reach his room. I will be listening in."

"Yes Sir."

I finally decided that I was not going to stand there all day being leered at by the black guy and skirted around him and entered the hotel. My body brushed his shoulder as I did so—he must have moved as I did and I thought he must've felt my boob. The fucking perv, I thought as I tossed my head disdainfully at him.

I went up to reception where a haughty looking white woman looked me up and down. It must be the raincoat, I decided. Now that I thought about it, I hadn't actually seen many people in raincoats. Must be a Seattle insider thing. Maybe that's why the black guy outside and the hotel receptionist were looking at me strangely.

"May I help you ma'am?" Her tone did not indicate any warmth, and in fact she looked distinctly put out at having to actually do some work. Maybe it was my makeup. I decided to hit the bathroom before heading up. Aditya could have given me his room number and spared me this but it was part of the deal. I had to go through this little added humiliation apparently.

"Mr Aditya Khurana's room number please." I said in a pleasant tone.

"May I ask if you are an escort of some sort?" she said. "I'm afraid we have very strict rules in this hotel about that sort of thing."

I was taken aback. Aditya had instructed me to make my face up heavily, almost porn star heavy, and maybe it was the hot red stilettos that made her think that because surely she could not see what I was wearing under the drab brown raincoat. But it explained her snootiness...maybe.

I drew myself up—almost six foot in those heels—and said. "I am a software engineer. I'm here for a conference and Mr Khurana is my...my company's client." I had almost said, "My client," and that would not have come out right at all.

She didn't look convinced and continued to stare at me insolently for a few more seconds than strictly necessary, then bent to the computer, clicked about and told me the room number. I am sure she started to dial the room number as soon as I turned to go to the ladies room.

"That was interesting," Akash said into my ear.

"Yes Sir," I said.

"Shoes?"

"I am wearing the heels Aditya specified."

"How about the dress code?"

"Yes Sir, I have followed it."

"Are you wet?"

I swallowed and looked around. The lobby was deserted. The receptionist was on the phone and I was close to the ladies room by now. No one was around me.

"Yes Sir." I answered truthfully, knowing my cunt had started gushing as soon as I had heard his voice, but suddenly I was a little scared too.

I had some fan mail from a reader who liked my stories about the Suburban Sex Club I had written about in Literotica and over the last few months we had flirted in the forum. Things had been getting increasingly raunchy and when we had discovered that we would be attending the same conference in a month, I had revealed everything to Akash. The thing is, everything that had happened up to that point had been controlled, safe. I hadn't known all that in the beginning of course, but I trusted Akash and he had always been in charge. This was the first time I'd developed a relationship that Akash had not known about, so I was a little apprehensive. He was however intrigued by the possibilities and told me to go ahead and see where it led. I did not know it then, but he had Steven the cop check out Aditya discreetly though his law enforcement network. Then he gave the little escapade I had planned with Aditya his blessing provided he could listen in.

Aditya had been sweet and a complete gentleman from his earliest emails, but over time he had discovered that the stories I wrote were based on real events and his tone became more demanding, more master-like. After we had established we were both software professionals and that I was slated to attend the Seattle conference, he mentioned that he too would be there and maybe we should meet up. The tone of the flirting over the past months had been clearly and explicitly sexual and there was no doubt in my mind how the meeting would go. We had not exchanged photos but he did have my cellphone number and soon after I'd landed in Seattle, I had begun receiving his texts.

The first few were innocuous enough, like, "Hey Varsha, how was the flight," "have you checked in yet?" and so on. Then, and this took my breath away a little, was, "Once I call you bitch-cunt, you will obey my every command." What? Had he been in contact with Akash? Then I realized that I had put that trigger word in my stories. He was merely adding in his own twist.

Breathlessly, I had answered, "Safe word?"

"Yes. Same as in your stories, your full name."

"Agreed," I'd replied and realized that my panties were soaked. This exchange had happened as I was standing in line waiting to check into my hotel.

Over the last several months, I had been on a journey of self-discovery wherein I found that I got incredibly turned on when I gave up control. The orgasms were better, longer, more intense, the pleasure more powerful when I was being dominated. I wasn't into pain or humiliation that much, but I loved being choked, tied up, handcuffed, restrained, deprived of sight or sound, multiply fucked. Told to do stuff, dominated. I was a closet submissive I'd realized, but within limits. Akash had gradually pushed my limits and to date I'd not had to use my safe word. Today, I was going to discover how I liked a situation where someone I did not know was calling the shots. An additional worry was about catching a disease, but Aditya had assured me that I would have no worries in that respect. Still...

Now, standing in front of the mirror, fixing my makeup, talking to Akash on the phone, I saw myself in the almost full length mirror. The woman that stood in front of me was heavily made up—dark, almost black eyeshadow, heavily mascaraed eyelashes giving me a totally sultry look. Highlights on my cheeks, very little foundation—my skin is still smooth and tight—dark red lipstick, slutty but sophisticated I thought, batting my eyes at myself. No wonder the receptionist had been bitchy. I unbelted the raincoat and spread the lapels wide. The Victoria's Secret lingerie underneath stood revealed: A black lacy corset with built in demi-bra that lifted my tits up and forward as though in offering, garter belt with suspenders, black fish net stockings, and the smallest, kinkiest thong you can imagine. There must not have been more than 1 square inch of fabric in that fucking thong. It was just a couple of strings really. All these were gifts from Aditya.

When I had settled down in my hotel, I received a call from the front desk. "Ma'am, there's a package for you, shall I have the busboy bring it up?"

Almost simultaneously, I got Aditya's text, "When the busboy comes, take off your shirt and answer the door in bra and skirt only." I shivered with anticipation and dread. I love exhibitionism. When the busboy—a thirty something man really—arrived, his eyes widened in surprise and he started stammering. I opened the door wide and let him have an eyeful. I was certainly not going to tip him the way I had Steven, aka the pizza delivery guy (see Suburban Sex Club). I looked at him, then said, "Oops," as though I had expected someone else. The guy had stared open mouthed as I took the package from him and shut the door in his face. Through the peephole I saw him standing there for a few more seconds, looking dumbfounded before shaking his head and moving off. The package had contained the clothes I was wearing. The raincoat was the only thing that was mine. There was obviously no way I was going to parade through downtown Seattle in lacy and revealing lingerie!

I liked what I saw in the mirror and thought that any man that did not react to me must be dead. I winked at myself in the mirror. The image winked back.

"Touch yourself bitch, I want to hear you moan," Akash said into my ear.

Automatically my right hand crept down, the index finger moved the narrow strip of cloth that covered my cunt lips away and I touched a veritable flood. I glanced down and saw that not just the crotch of my panties, but the straps of the suspender and the upper garters holding up my stockings were damp. Well, too bad I thought, this was only to be expected. If they ordered submissive me to walk around in a raincoat, practically naked underneath, what else would you get? My finger separated the inner labia—over the last several months I'd been getting fucked so much that my inner lips now hung out well beyond my outer ones (very sexy Akash said)—and tested the dampness inside. My thumb flicked the hard nub of my clit, my other hand came up to my breast and twisted a nipple and an involuntary moan escaped my lips. Akash chuckled.

"You are such a cunt," he said conversationally. I could only whimper from the sensations in my pussy and tits.

The door to the restroom suddenly opened with a discreet whoosh, a high end sound and before I could even react—my fingers, two fingers now, inside my pussy, raincoat spread open and hanging off my shoulders—I saw the woman enter. And as luck would have it, it was the bitch receptionist.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror as I froze there, then she looked me up and down—just like the black guy had outside the hotel, but the level of intimacy was several levels higher because of my state of undress. She smirked, oh how she smirked.

"I was wrong," she said in her prissy, bitchy voice. "You're not an escort..."

She left the words hanging even as I pulled my fingers out of my pussy, licked them almost as a reflex action before I washed them I the faucet, closed the lapels of my raincoat and fastened the belt again. I turned around to face her. She was pale, even for a caucasian—she must not get much sun, I thought—and pale, lusterless blond hair. Not pretty at all, in my estimation. I thought she might be jealous of my good looks. Besides, she was almost as flat as a boy. Her nipples though looked like they were drilling holes through her suit jacket.

"You are a slut," she said, but her tone was wondering, almost as if she was happy to make the discovery.

There was nothing I could say to that. While I had confidently and even indignantly refuted her earlier allegation, I could not deny this one. A slut I was indeed. I could not hold her gaze any longer and I looked down at my feet, my confidence suddenly shaken.

"Open your coat and show her," said Akash in my ear. It was almost as though her was watching on a video camera. I stiffened at his words and she must have seen my reaction because her smirk became even more pronounced. She took a couple of steps toward me, closing to within a few feet.

"Do as he says," she said tapping her ear, indicating the bluetooth earphone. This was definitely a set up, I thought. An elaborate setup engineered by Akash. Or maybe Aditya? Was this an elaborate conspiracy? But then, my skeptical self pointed out, it could merely be the fact that you are dressed like a slut, fingering yourself in a public bathroom with bluetooth device in your ear, obviously being controlled by someone else. There was nothing to do; the thought of disobeying Akash did not enter my mind at all. I pulled at the belt and the raincoat fell open. The lapels parted almost as though they were stage curtains being pulled apart by some hidden mechanism.

I saw her name tag on her coat just then, 'Tara,' it said in white friendly letters on a black background. She closed the distance between us and with both hands spread my raincoat open further. I was acutely aware that the crotch of my panties—insubstantial as they were—was not even covering my pussy lips. It stayed on one side where my questing fingers had pushed it. My cunt lips were on full display, bald, puffy and glistening with dew. She looked me up and down, lingering longest on my nether regions. She turned and strode to the door, quickly peeked out, closed the door and turned the deadbolt. All while I stood there submissively, raincoat gaping.

She walked back quickly, a smile on her face—not the receptionist type welcoming smile, this was a predatory smile—heels clacking on the floor. Hers were considerably smaller that mine—heels, I mean. Well, tits too, but I already told you that. She reached me, parted the raincoat more, and pushed them off my shoulders. They hung off my upper arm as I stood there nervously. I was going to be late for my liaison with Aditya but there was nothing I could do. A part of me hoped that whatever this Tina wanted would be over soon, but another part of me, my dark side as I thought of it, wanted this to play out. My tits stood out as I breathed heavily, nipples stiff and hard as her stare was steely. I tilted my head as though asking Akash what I should do next.

As though in answer, he said, "Cunt, you have no control. Remember that cunt. You are nothing more that a cunt. Just go with it." Each "Cunt" was emphasized, driven in, hammered.

In the isolated space of the women's bathroom with Tina checking out my near-nakedly packaged form, I felt deliciously depraved, not intimidated or nervous at all. It was as though Akash's instruction, and his use of the special word was arousing a burning need in my body, my cunt a-tingle, my nipples hard as rocks.

Tina, in the meantime, roughly inserted two fingers into my cunt and fingered me, in and out almost as though she were sanding a piece of wood. Her thumb closed over my clit and she gripped my pudenda tightly and shook it like a terrier would shake a rat. I rose on my tippy toes to try to avoid the pain but I had to admit, the whole thing was turning me on fiercely. I gasped and nearly came. She kept looking straight into my eyes, drilling into my soul as I moaned and gasped, my mouth agape. My raincoat slipped a little more and I bunched it up in my hands and held them at my sides, my head thrown back legs spread apart. Rivers of cunt juice flowed down her hand, my thighs, and collected at the edges of the garter belt, soaking them.

Her movements grew more frenzied and her other hand came up and gripped and pulled and mauled a nipple almost as though she was going to tear it off my body. My vision went dark and my knees buckled as I came hard, cunt still impaled on her hand. I guess she could have fisted me if she wanted, I was so wet. I breathed hard as I recovered my composure. I looked at her, unable to keep the grin off my face. She grinned too, not a very nice one I thought, kind of mean. Then she pulled her hand out and stepped back. She lifted the conservative skirt of her suit and pulled down her white cotton panties to her knees in one motion. She spread her legs and invited me with her eyes. Her turn, I understood.

I dropped down, bunched the raincoat under my knees for comfort (careful not to damage the phone in he inner pocket) and went straight for the beaver. She wasn't shaved but her pubes were trimmed neatly enough. Her musky smell was a little overwhelming but I knew what coochie smelled like—I had been eating out Denise, my neighbor and a few others regularly to balk. Each tasted and smelled a little different, but there was also a sameness. I had developed a reasonably good technique thanks to Denise's tutelage and I dove in with enthusiasm.

This was no time for elaborate foreplay or teasing. I gave her outer labia and inner thighs a few cursory licks, more to get used to her flavor than any attempt at sex play and then separated her inner labia with my tongue. She was wet and ready and she mashed her hips into my face. She dropped her skirt as she gripped my head in both hands. In the dark now, I flicked my tongue up and knew I'd hit her clit from her sudden intake of breath. I went into my routine now, three firm flicks to the clit, a deep tongue thrust into the vagina, a few licks up and down the inner lips, a couple of quick sucks of the whole cunt, then and blow cool air over the clit with pursed lips. Rinse and repeat. I brought up my right hand and inserted two fingers into her cunt below my tongue and moved them in and out. In syncopation, my left hand moved between my legs and I came again even as I brought her to a shuddering climax. Her watery discharge covered my face and dripped off my chin.