The Conventioneer Ch. 02

The Conventioneer chapters should be read after reading the two-chapter short story: The Stranger.

Gwendolyn's tales reveal how a young woman's revelatory and startling sexual coming of age collides with the faithful wife and devoted mother she has become.

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It always takes forever to get situated in Vegas hotels and this time was no different. The check-in line was long and moved slowly, everyone seeming to have one request or another. I caught several men taking notice of my unencumbered breasts as we slowly wove our way back and forth toward the registration desk. Casually propping them atop the high counter afforded the young female clerk a view, and I felt my nipples stiffen when her gaze fell away from mine and onto my chest. I flashed a smile and my husband's gambling rewards card which netted a complimentary room upgrade. Signing the folio, I left my bags with the bell desk and headed to my room, which seemed to be a mile away.

The walk was worth it as the room was spectacular, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the strip. The double doors opened to a spacious living and dining room, complete with a butler's efficiency kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances. A small half-bathroom was tucked into a corner by the entry. Walking to the windows and kicking off my sandals, I took in the view.

Turning left, I strolled down a long hall that held classy black and white images of Las Vegas stars on the left and the right was nothing but glass. At the end, another set of double doors led to the bedroom. Everything was done in shades of cream and white with tiny pops of muted greens and blue. It was gorgeous.

No surprisingly, the bedroom was large and an enormous custom double-wide bed on the back wall faced the view. A separate sitting area was defined by a light-wood credenza bisecting the room into two smaller areas. There was no television but I found a remote on the desk. Pushing the power button, I tugged off my skirt and let it fall to the floor as a giant gleaming black flat screen silently rose from the credenza, effectively creating a wall between the bed and the sitting area. The TV also blocked the view from the bed so I turned it off. A long desk ran half the length of the walls and I spent a few minutes powering up my laptop, getting all the various cords and device chargers plugged in and linked up to the hotel's ultrafast internet.

Unbuttoning my blouse, I strolled into the dressing area, which ran along an alcove behind the wall the bed rested against. There were two closets and I dropped my shirt on a bench sitting next to yet another set of double doors, which contained a full-length mirror on each. I took a moment to admire my breasts in the reflection, plumping them and fiddling with my nipples until they stood at attention. Then I pushed through the doors to discover the massive marble-lined bathroom.

The entire space exuded excess in a way that only Las Vegas can. There was a double vanity with a lower section of the counter between the sinks for a woman to apply her makeup. The shower stall was oversized, with three rain heads and eight different adjustable body jets emerging like eyeballs from three of the walls, the fourth being clear glass that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and from one end to the other, the expanse broken only by the thick glass door hung on heavy chrome hinges. Two hand-held wands and a marble bench ran along one side. I also spied a steam spout tucked into a corner near the floor. The tub stood on four small feet and was organically shaped into a flowing marble piece that seemed made for nothing but relaxing (or fooling around) with another person. Aside from the filler spout, there was also a removable handle with a small jet nozzle and if there was ever a better designed clitoral stimulator, I hadn't seen one.

The toilet area, like the bedroom, had one wall that was nothing but glass and had I been on a lower floor, this would have made me self conscious. But here, 53 floors in the sky, the openness of it was intriguing. A few feet from the toilet, was a bidet, and the room could be closed off with a heavy solid door.

I finally dribbled off my panties, noting Claire stubbornly hung on to the satin meal in her mouth. Carefully peeling my thong from her lips, I saw the little mess she'd made in the tiny triangular panel. The poor thing had been left to her own devices all morning and I'd given her a lot to think about.

I peed for a long time, then moved over to the bidet and couldn't help but be impressed with its placement. While the toilet was situated so my back was to the glass, offering some semblance of privacy, the bidet was turned the other way and as I spread my thighs to sit over the bowl, a picturesque view of the world outside presented itself. Even though the windows were heavily tinted to fight back the heat of the desert sun, and I knew no one could see me, opening my legs toward the entirety of the strip was incredibly liberating and I smiled at the freedom I felt as I waited for the water to run warm from the spigot. Pivoting my hips, I presented Claire to the sparkling stream, using my fingers to gently wash her delicate petals. Scooting a little further onto the spout, the water filled my womb, flushing my husband's come from my body.

Feeling refreshed, I poked through the various drawers and found them outfitted with every high-end boutique toiletry I could think of, all of it individually wrapped in sealed cellophane. Grabbing a razor, I stepped into the shower. An hour later, I was reclining on the bench and enjoying the luxury of being truly alone; the warmth of the steam enveloping my body. There were no kids, no husband, no design firm or convention, no hookup site; just me. It felt decadent and I was lost in the pure luxury of it all. From far away I heard a chime, which brought me to my senses. The doorbell rang again. Shutting off the hissing nozzle, I heard knocking. "Bellman, ma'am. I have your luggage."

I hustled from the shower, "I'm coming, hold on a minute." Opening the closet door, I expected to find a long terry-cloth robe. The hotel went a different direction and offered a skimpy, lightweight silky thing that was nearly sheer.

"Miss?" It was said impatiently.

My clothes were spread all over the room and they were airplane gross. The bell chimed again. "Coming, coming!" I yelled loudly as I ran down the hallway. Pulling the robe closed and glancing at the mirrors hung on the back of the front doors, I realized the bellman would have something to look at. My nipples and areolas were clearly visible beneath the gauzy material made nearly transparent by my wet skin. And the damn thing was so short, it barely hung past my hips. To make matters worse, the silk belt wouldn't draw closed for long; it kept slipping, offering scant views of my special place as I wrestled with it. "Shit."

"Miss, would you like me to come back later?" His knock was insistent.

Sending him off while I cobbled together some kind of towel wrap meant it would be another hour before my bags returned, which was not ideal. And then I reasoned: You're a 35-year-old married mother of two, stop trying to flatter yourself. He's not going to care and neither should you. I tied the knot tightly and tugged the heavy door open. "Sorry, come in."

He was handsome like all young men who'd recently been boys are: tall and slender with bright, innocent brown eyes. His hair was chestnut and tussled beneath a little pillbox hat. His jawline was strong. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him and his shoulders were built from hefting bags all day. The silly looking uniform - trimmed with gold epaulets - fit well. He was a total professional and didn't break eye contact as he dragged the bags inside. I held the door while he wrestled with my suitcase (I'm not a light packer), finally dragging it into the dining area. Taking the plastic bags from the luggage cart, he set them in the foyer. I let go of the door and it closed with a confident electronic clank. "If you'll take my suitcase to the bedroom," I said, "I can take care of these bags."

"Are you sure? I don't mind," he said.

I didn't care about the booze, but I was certain I didn't want him handling the other purchases. I picked up the bags. "I'll follow you," I said.

"Yes ma'am."

Trailing behind, I admired his bottom, which was firm and tucked snuggly into the uniform pants. He rolled the suitcase around my shoes and I grabbed them up as we made our way down the hall. "I see you are in one of our corner, end suites," he said. There was admiration in his tone. "These are the nicest rooms in the hotel." He looked at the pictures hanging in the hallway. "All of these famous people have stayed in the hotel," he said. "I bet a few of them even stayed in this room."

"Really?" We had entered the bedroom and he dragged a folding luggage rack from the closet. I scooped up my blouse. "Heck, I'm just an interior designer from Laguna Beach. I'm not sure I even qualify to stay in this room."

Turning to face me, he shrugged and laughed lightly. "The room doesn't care who you are, ma'am." Now his eyes lingered over my body and there was obvious hunger in them.

I was flattered and still a little tipsy; I made no move to cross my arms over my breasts. I didn't say anything; just let him take me in. Twirling a finger in my hair, I giggled. "No, I guess it doesn't."

His voice dropped to a whisper, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

He wants to fuck you, I thought. He will fuck you, Gwenny, just nod your head and say, "Yes, I have one more thing you can do," and then crawl onto the bed and open your legs. Claire would enjoy meeting him. It will be fun and Mike will never find out. Besides, he was okay with the stranger fucking the holy hell out of you. Surely he wouldn't mind if this good looking young man took you doggy style on this lovely bed.

I smiled. "Would you mind getting me some ice? I can't really be seen in the hallway dressed like this." At that moment, the belt slipped free and the robe opened. The material miraculously clung to my breasts, keeping my nipples covered. But their size forced the garment apart and it was now open down the middle, revealing my tummy and, lower, Claire in all her freshly shaved glory; blushed and rivened. I laughed and wrestled with it. "See what I mean? This stupid thing won't stay closed. I could really use your help getting the ice." My breasts slipped free and I tried fighting with it some more while the bellman stood there with his mouth gaping. I must have looked ridiculous and I finally said, "To Hell with it," and let the damn thing fall completely open. Swishing my hands at him like little brooms, I laughed and put a motherly tone to my voice, "Go on, now. Shoo, shoo, and stop staring!"

He snapped to attention, grabbing the ice bucket. "Yes ma'am."

While he was gone, I removed the bottles of wine and liquor from one of the shopping bags and set them up across the dresser. I had just slipped the other purchases into a drawer when I heard his voice calling from the front door. "Miss. It's the bellman. I have your ice."

"Come on in," I called. I had begun unpacking.

As he quick-walked across the bedroom toward the dresser where I'd set the booze, I saw him looking at me in the reflection of the mirror hanging over it. Glancing at his crotch, it was obvious he was dealing with a raging - and quite appetizing - erection. There was eager anticipation on his face and a little dark spot on his pants as well.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this (no I'm not), but your employer buys stupid robes." I giggled and cocked my hip. "I'm sure this happens all the time."

He fiddled with the bucket, turned around and tried to act casual, but his eyes continued to crawl over me. Between my thighs, Claire stirred. We were both enjoying the attention.

"It's fairly common," he said, "In the warmer months, the hotel places those robes in the rooms. After October, the fluffy terrycloth robes are used." His cheeks went red and he whispered. "You're very beautiful."

"Thank you." I curtsied and smiled.

He shrugged. "I see people naked all the time and mostly it's gross. Old people, men. Sometimes pretty women like you, but that's a little more rare. Never girls my own age."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

I nodded; remembering what being twenty was like. "Girls don't really become comfortable with their bodies until they are a little older. I could see how being nude in front of you when I was your age would have been uncomfortable. Plus, back then I would have thought if you'd seen me like this you'd want to fuck me." It was a cocky comment but I couldn't help myself. "Which is something I am positive you are not interested in." I smiled and he swallowed hard.

"No ma'am. Of course not." He nearly choked on his words.

Now I let my eyes wander over his body and I cocked a hip. "Back then, however, I definitely would have been interested in fucking you." And this wasn't a lie. At 19, I had been in the midst of the most intense sexual experiences of my life up to that point.

The bellman didn't say a word; the little stain in his pants bloomed and he swiveled his hips in an effort to accommodate his hardened cock. I couldn't help but grin.

He said, "You would have?"

I laughed. "Sure, having sex is pretty much what drives a young person at your age, doesn't it?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment then he said in a quiet tone, "It does occupy a lot of my thoughts."

"See what I mean?"

He nodded.

My tone was casual. "But at some point you realize who you are and stop worrying about it. You stop fretting over false pretenses and just go with the flow." I fluttered my hands from my breasts to my hips, clearly illustrating who I was. "A naked woman is a naked woman, right? We all have the same parts."

He was caught speechless and only managed, "Yes, I guess you're right."

Pulling my bras and panties from my suitcase, I said, "Besides, what would someone your age see in someone like me?" I felt like a cat toying with a baby bird that had fallen from its nest.

"I think you are selling yourself short, ma'am."

I brushed his comment away. Looking at the floor, I said, "I dropped one. Can you get that?"

He bent and picked up a black mesh thong. His eyes darted to Claire as he imagined the rough material sliding against her folds. He actually licked his lips. Handing it to me, our fingers touched and neither of us moved.

Looking at his name tag, I said, "Rick. How long have you worked here?"

"I'm just here for the summer. I go to Las Vegas University."

"I have heard the school has a top-notch hospitality major, what with all the expensive hotels in Las Vegas. Are you a hospitality major?"

His chest puffed a little and it was obvious he was proud of himself. "I'm a junior."

"So you like pleasing people?"

He was adorably helpless. "Um, sure, ma'am."

"That's wonderful, honey." I let it hang there, my smile bright, his cheeks burning. I changed the subject. "Your name reminds me of a guy I met when I was about your age." I ran my hand through my wet hair and drew upon a faraway look. "Jesus, he was good in bed. He was a waiter, though, not a bellman."

"Yes ma'am."

"His cock was so long..." Shaking the thought away, I said, "Oh never mind, that was a long time ago."

"Yes, ma'am."

Looking him in the eye, I asked, "Rick, what's the craziest thing you've seen?"

He looked around the room for a moment before his eyes locked on Claire. "People having sex, mostly, while others watch. I walked into one room when two men were on the bed with a woman. She was on her hands and knees and...well, you know."

I raised an eyebrow. "They were spit-roasting her?"

"Yes, but me and the other bellmen call it a Wobbly H."

It took me a moment to draw the scene and then I guffawed. "That's hysterical. I've never heard it called that."

"Someone called it an Eiffel Tower once. I thought that was pretty funny."

"People are crazy, aren't they?" I swiveled a big toe into the luxurious carpet and turned away. Gwendolyn, you such a flirt!

He shrugged. "They certainly can be," he said. "Was there anything else you need?" He looked so hopeful. "Sometimes people ask me for...things. Is there something you'd like me to do?"

My mind raced: His cock will feel good, Gwenny. It's been a long time since two men have come inside you in only a span of hours. This was true. But then I reasoned: He'll be inexperienced and frenzied and will come in less than a minute. Claire stirred again. If she could have spoken, she would have said, 'But I'm still hungry.' Smiling as I dug into my purse, I waved him off and handed him a five dollar bill. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, ma'am." The disappointment in his voice was obvious and it made me feel wonderful. You were right, I thought, he wanted to fuck you! You've still got it! Maybe he does deserve something.

"Rick," I said as I walked toward him. "Do you know what a Gwendolyn Special is?"

"Um, no ma'am."

"Would you like to?"

He went to college. He wasn't stupid. "Yes."

I knelt in front of him and got to work like a good girl.

He stood prone as I tugged the belt open and unbuttoned the uniform pants. Slowly opening the zipper, the tight mound created beneath his saturated cotton briefs impressed me and I purred my appreciation while looking him in the eyes. I held his gaze while gently tugging his underpants over his cock, releasing it in a way that it snapped to attention and the slick pink head smacked against his abdomen. Rick had nothing to worry about in the cock department.

Licking from the tip down to the base, I said, "This is beautiful." He groaned, whispered an obscenity, and rested his hands on his hips; watching closely as I gently took his balls into my mouth.

They were smooth and perfectly shaped, stuffing my mouth completely. As I worked my tongue over their curves, I felt them start to recede. But I wasn't finished with them and gently bit into the sack above the hardened grapes, preventing their escape. Rick's stomach lurched, which caused his hips to push forward, pushing the irregular little spheres deeper into my mouth. Knowing this would happen, I took the opportunity to suck them with force, pulling them back toward my throat.

He kept closing his eyes and I wanted them on mine so each time he did this, I gently bit, applying enough pressure to his testicles that he popped them open again and involutarily pulled his hips back. I held on, preventing his escape, the sack stretching tightly until he was forced to step closer to releive the strain. My tongue lapped the wrinkled pouch and I pressed the loose skin to the roof of my mouth.

"Oh, Christ," he whispered.

Finally letting loose of the meal in my mouth, I ran the tip of my tongue up the shaft, using it to encircle the bright pink head a few times before plunging my mouth down the full length of his cock. Tightening my throat muscles, I applied pressure to the head while using my tongue and teeth to work around the veined shaft. It wasn't until now that I started to slowly bob my head, opening my mouth until he was fully seated, and then closing my lips around him with a tight seal and clamping my throat muscles closed.

Between my thighs, Claire drooled. But I had grabbed Rick's bottom with both hands and was digging my fingers between his cheeks, so I left her to starve.

I was impressed with his ability to keep from climaxing but there is only so much a man can do to control himself under such extenuating circumstances. When Rick did come, he did it at the moment I knew he would. His cock was buried inside the back of my mouth, my throat tightly wrapped around the head, when his hips jammed into my face and he pushed the back of my head to his stomach. He gasped, and a hot jet of come shot forcefully down my neck. I came off him gagging and took in great helpings of air through my nose to combat the reflex. My breasts were heaving and I was out of breath, but I swallowed every drop. He tasted delicious and I told him this. He thanked me over and over as he caught his breath. I stayed on my knees, applying gentle kisses to his softening cock. He was starry-eyed when I finally zipped up his pants.