The Mystery at Faldor Hotel Ch. 04

After the two girls explored the rest of the Faldor's public areas, George decided she should go up to their suite to shower and change for her meeting with the Dining Room Hostess, explaining to Nancy that she'd been in the same clothes since that morning and throughout their long trip to Cinder Bay. They'd parted ways at ten minutes to six, George leaving Nancy by herself on a large veranda that adjoined the back of the old hotel. It was accessed by a hallway beside the stairs in the main lobby but, from the veranda, there was also a door to the kitchen so that staff could serve guests should they choose to eat or drink at one of the many umbrella topped bistro tables on the wooden deck.

At the moment, Nancy was the only guest who enjoyed the fresh, sea air as it blew in from the water, waves gently crashing against the beach about fifty feet away under an almost perfectly blue, early evening sky.

Bess was right, Nancy thought. It was nice here. Sure, the people were a bit strange, but it was quiet and restful, the kind of place one would go to write a novel, perhaps to retire, such as Colonel Marks had.

Thoughts of the retired military man returned her mind to Susan Quinn, and she imagined her aunt's friend carelessly frolicking amongst the waves in a skimpy bikini, Marks watching with perverted excitement. She couldn't help the smallest grin at this as she made her way to the wide set of stairs that led down to the beach.

The sand was fine and, even in her sensible, low heeled shoes, she found it a bit difficult to walk in until she got closer to the water's edge where it was a wet, dark brown, hard packed mud that supported her shoes quite well. She stopped less than a foot from the farthest reach of the incoming waves, staring down at them, enjoying a sudden and unexpected moment of peace.

No school. No Ned. No mystery. No Bess. She might have wished for George's company just then, but only because she knew her best friend could have also recognized this sudden moment of peace, would have remained silent with her so as not to spoil the serenity it offered, the subtle context it somehow lent to life as it was and always had been.

What was she doing with Ned?

Did he hold the place he did in her life simply because he was expected to be there? Because her own life of successes, one after another, could never look right with any boy of lesser accomplishment? Because wasn't he the male version of her in that sense? And why was it that such a different flavour of him had come across during their sexual experience? It was almost as though he was a different person once his hands started roaming, as though she was only being used for what her body had to offer him. Was there any real affection for her in what he'd done? Shouldn't she at least be able to tell this? Was he really even the person she'd always thought him to be?

She heaved a heavy sigh, realizing that Ned had somehow managed to intrude upon her moment of serenity anyway. Lifting her head, she looked out over the water, suddenly and for the first time in her life wondering who she was, what she'd been doing; what she was going to do now that school was finished.

While thinking of these things, the tide had been coming in, a fact she'd failed to notice until she was startled by the shock of the cold salt water suddenly overrunning her shoes. Stepping back, she looked down, frowning at her soaked shoes, but also somehow enjoying the fresh sensation. Her frown slowly disappeared as she stepped forward again, allowing another incoming wave to wash over her already wet feet.

It felt good. It felt good because it was cold, but also because this was something not normally done, the conscious allowing of one's shod feet to be soaked. Nancy smiled, both at the pleasurable physical sensation, and the realization of why she was enjoying it on a psychological level and, before she'd realized it, she'd taken another few steps forward. Then another few until she was smiling widely, mouth a little open as she watched the foamy surf surrounding her lower legs just above her ankles, but only a few inches below the hem of her skirt when a wave would roll in.

It was so cold, so fresh... so real.

It dawned on her that she was becoming sexually aroused, nipples hardening in her bra. This sensation made her smile falter, but only a little as she tried to understand how this could be. But the wonder over this development slowly took a backseat to the idea that she could hold her dress up and wade even further in. Her shoes were already soaked and the tingles at the sides of her neck when the idea occurred proved her desire to do it. She grabbed her skirt, heisting it as far as mid-thigh before she came to her senses, realizing that she was wading out into the North Atlantic Ocean while fully clothed because it was arousing her. Furthermore, she was doing it right out in open public!

She backed up, giving her head a slight shake, dropping her dress and turning to make her way back to the packed mud of the shore. But her smile mostly remained, as did her arousal and, looking down at herself, she couldn't help in some way regretting having come to her senses. Removing her shoes so as not to ruin them in the sand, she made the return trip to the large veranda in her sheer stockings. Sand stuck to her feet and she wondered how she'd get it off before going inside. Surely, Mr. Carmody wouldn't appreciate her tracking mud throughout the nice clean carpets of the hotel on her way back up to their suite.

To be sure, she hadn't thought of the consequences of her thoughtless wading and, to make matters worse, she saw a familiar figure up on the veranda, smiling down at her as she approached the foot of the stairs.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" Colonel Marks noted.

Paused at the stairs while silently cursing the sudden rise of heat to her face, Nancy nervously replied, "Why... yes, it is. Very refreshing."

"I wade out a little way myself sometimes," he confided, digging a hand into one of the lower side pockets of his blazer, "but I wear a pair of shorts and no shoes."

Nancy could only look down in reply, her smile returning as a symptom of her embarrassment as she started up the stairs.

"I suppose that's the advantage of being a woman, though," he continued. "You can get away with little things like that, things that would make people question a man's sanity while it would only be seen as quirky when a woman does it. Especially a... a young woman such as yourself."

Gaining the veranda, she finally looked up to find him stuffing a package of cigarettes and a chrome Zippo lighter back into his pocket, a lit one in his mouth as he watched her approach. His eyes took their time in their ogling of her person and, while Nancy noted this, she somehow didn't mind as much as she did in the Parlour. As she thought of it, she realized that she hadn't overly minded it even then and wondered if it was because he seemed to have just a little more class about it than Manny had, or whether it only seemed harmless from an older man. In fact, other than his sometimes shocking candor, Nancy found she rather liked the retired military man.

"I usually don't go wading in my clothes either, Colonel," she assured, still flushed as she stopped at the railing beside him. "To be honest, I don't quite know what came over me, apart from what you said about it feeling so... well, so nice."

"No need to make excuses," he told her, exhaling a lungful of smoke. "You're young, you're allowed to do things without knowing why."

Just then, a maid appeared from the kitchen entrance. She bore a round tray with two drinks on it and, after winding through the tables, stopped between the retiree and Nancy, handing the Colonel one glass before holding another out to Nancy.

"Oh, no thank you," she politely declined. "I'm not old enough to-"

"Nobody cares about that here, Nancy," Marks assured her. "Besides, I already bought it and they won't take it back. Go ahead."

She took it, though hesitantly. The smiling maid turned and, without a word, retreated back to the kitchen with her tray while Marks held up his glass.

"Here's to doing things without knowing why," he toasted.

She couldn't help a grin over this, toasting despite her reservations. Then, taking a sip, she found the drink to be very good, immediately taking another.

"So, where's your friend? George, was it?"

"Yes. She's upstairs freshening up."

"Hm," he commented as though he wondered at that, but then asked, "Have you found Miss Quinn yet?"

Because of Marks's candor, Nancy hadn't questioned him as deeply as she might have in the parlour but now, without George, she somehow felt a little more comfortable around Marks insofar as questioning him went, and so decided to risk some more of his candor in an effort to further question the informative older man.

"I'm afraid not," she replied, a bit more comfortable now that she was back on the job. "Did you get to know her well?"

He shrugged, replying, "As well as I ever get to know the guests, I suppose."

"Did she talk to anyone else?"

" ... Talked to Elora quite a bit," he imparted with an odd grin. "Elora Sasser, I mean. She's the Dining Room Hostess for the dayshift. Might want to talk to her."

"We've met her," Nancy informed with a nod. "Did Susan go swimming very often?"

"Yeah, at least once a day. I miss watching her," he said, adding with a short laugh, "I know Billybob sure as hell does."

"Did- did she know that you...?"

"That I was watching her? I assume so, yes. Not like I tried to hide or anything."

"Did this Billybob?"

"Hide? No, he'd stand down there in the sand watching."

"And she still swam? With both of you watching and Billybob... pleasuring himself?"

"Yup."

"That's..."

Without the words to finish that judgement, she took a sip of her tasty drink, then a gulp while Marks offered, "People think they know their friends, but what do they really know? For that matter, most people don't even know themselves. I've seen men do things that I know for certain they never would've thought they'd do in a million years, things that were so far from who they were as to be actions of a completely different person. Acts of heroic bravery, despicable acts of cowardice and violence... sexually deviant behavior, completely reprehensible acts of utter cruelty... All it takes is the right circumstances, I guess. Believe me, compared to some of the things I've seen, a pretty thing like Miss Quinn showing herself off while she's away from home and on vacation is nothing."

"You... so, you think she enjoyed showing herself off?" Nancy asked with a doubtful tone, finding it hard to believe that a good friend of her aunt's would be interested in such a thing, especially while some inbred local yokel openly pleasured himself while watching.

"Yes," he flatly replied. "Like I say, what do we really know about the people we think we know? I mean, when it comes right down to it? Besides, look how much money women spend on clothes, makeup, hair, nail polish and all that shit? You can't tell me that's not to attract attention, because you want to go unnoticed, now can you?"

"Well..."

It seemed to Nancy that the Colonel had a point, especially in view of Bess's earlier behaviour and the inexplicable jealousy she felt when Manny's attention left her for her two friends. But to philander in what he'd described as a very small bikini while two men watched, one of them actually masturbating...

"How small was her bikini?"

"It covered the front of her tits and the top of her ass," he recollected with a fond smile, "and of course her pussy, but it sure as hell didn't leave very much to the imagination."

Somewhat taken aback at his rather vulgar euphemisms, Nancy nevertheless tried to imagine parading herself in such a way, pretending not to notice men watching and touching themselves, but the idea really began to appeal to her when she imagined herself fully dressed, holding her dress higher and higher as she waded further and further out into the waves...

"(Ahem!) Uh, did Susan ever mention to you that she was checking out, or maybe leaving the hotel for a short time?"

"No, not to me, but we weren't that friendly that she would."

"I see. ... Colonel?"

"Hmm?" he encouraged, running his eyes up and down her body again, this somehow making it easier for her to ask her next question, one completely unrelated to Susan Quinn.

"Well, I wonder..." she dithered, feeling a renewed flush. "Do boys...? Well, do boys like women with large breasts? More than women with small ones, I mean?"

Smiling only a little at this, he directly answered, "Some boys do, yeah. Some boys- and men- like little titties."

"Oh..."

"Worried your tits might not be big enough?"

Reddening further, and a little shocked now at such a personal and inappropriate question, she nonetheless managed, "Maybe. Well, yes."

"How big are they?"

" ... B-cup," she replied, completely astounded that she didn't tell him that her bust size was none of his business, which it really wasn't.

"I figured. Nothing wrong with your tits, Nancy. Far as I'm concerned, any man would have to have rocks in his head not to want to get his hands down the front of your dress."

Nancy's mouth opened, but no sound came out. This was chiefly because she felt complimented, relieved and also offended at the same time, and she wasn't sure from which emotional reaction she should reply. Instead, she raised her glass to take a drink, only to find it empty.

"You goin up to your suite like that?" he asked, looking down at Nancy's muddy stockings.

"I- I don't- I wasn't sure what to do about that."

"Go on up like that," he suggested, a devious grin appearing on his face. "Carmody'll shit himself, but he won't say anything."

"Oh, but that would be rude!"

"Yeah, it would," he affirmed with a short laugh that was as devious as his grin. "It'd serve the uptight peckerhead right, too."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Colonel," she warned with some light headed humour.

"Well, suit yourself," he gave in. " But, that means you're gonna have to take them off."

"Why, I suppose it does."

Without much of a thought Nancy hiked the lower portion of her dress high enough so that she could release the small clips at the ends of her garter straps, having to bend at the waist to accomplish this while holding her yellow dress hiked.

"Oh, allow me to hold that for you," Marks offered, taking Nancy's hem in his hands so hers would be free to release the clips.

"Thank you," she said, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that this was improper, but curiously unable just then to account for why that should be.

When she noticed her dress rising higher, she blushed again, knowing she should stop him, but she didn't. The unaccountable and exhilarating sexual arousal that she'd felt while wading had never completely dissipated and the Colonel's perverted and wrong gesture was fueling it further, the simple pleasure of which preventing her from taking appropriate action. Her fingers trembled with forbidden excitement and, before she knew it, the front of her dress was hiked above her garter belt. He'd completely exposed her peach coloured, French cut bikini panties with narrow white lace trim around the high cut leg holes and low riding waistband. Her garter belt was two inches wide and made of the same thin rayon material and with the same white lace edging with white straps

"Why, Colonel... you can see my panties!"

"Jesus H Christ," he replied, actually licking his lips with his attention riveted on Nancy's undergarments.

She couldn't believe she'd allowed this, was still allowing it. Nor could she believe how hard her erected nipples felt in her bra, how her vagina tingled and felt as though it was becoming hot and moist. The fear that he would try to touch her drove these sensations harder, but the man seemed content to feast his eyes. When she'd undone the front straps, he was kind enough to move around to her back side, again hiking her skirt and well above her posterior for a good view while she reached around to unclip the straps at the backs of her thighs. He stayed there, happily observing her back side as she rolled her stockings, one after another, down her thighs, thrilling when she bent deep at the waist to roll them to her ankles, knowing what kind of a view this would be giving the perverted old man.

Finally, she turned, doing it in such a way that the back of her dress was taken from the hold of his fingers, allowing it to fall past her knees. He stood with a very appreciative expression, looking her up and down with a huge bulge in his trousers that drew Nancy's eyes as though it was a clue to Susan Quinn's seeming disappearance.

"That was very improper, Colonel Marks," she half scolded, still deeply flushed and with her eyes still trained on his bulging member.

"You liked it," he accused with a knowing smile.

With this, her eyes suddenly resettled on his face, full realization of what had just happened, what she'd allowed to happen, only now dawning on her, the fact that she really had liked it crashing down on her moral reality. He watched with the same appreciative, leering grin while she stooped over to hurriedly finish the removal of her stockings, then pick up her wet shoes so she could walk quickly back inside the hotel without another word between them.

Keeping her face somewhat down and averted from Mr. Carmody's direction as she hurried through the lobby, she returned directly to Suite 408. Once inside the door, she leaned against it, breathing a shaky sigh that didn't carry as much relief as she would have preferred.

What had she been thinking? She'd actually let a man, a practical stranger, hike her skirt and look at her intimate apparel, and she'd enjoyed it! It made Bess's behaviour with the bellhop look trivial by comparison!

Walking further into the suite, she massaged her forehead while grimacing over the mystery of her own totally immoral behaviour, incredulous at how even the memory of having done it still excited her. Going to the window, she looked out and down at the now unoccupied veranda, suddenly groaning aloud at the fact that anybody whose suite was situated in the back of the hotel, as theirs was, would have seen the whole thing had they been looking out their own window at the time, exactly as she was doing just then.

It was the alcohol, the tasty drink that the old pervert had practically forced upon her that was responsible.

But, almost as soon as she'd had this thought, she realized that this wasn't a suitable excuse for her actions. She was already behaving oddly before she'd allowed Marks the startling peepshow, while she was wading and becoming sexually aroused because of... wading? That seemed improbable, yet there it was, this memory of how she felt while almost knee deep in the cold, North Atlantic water as potent as the memory of the Colonel staring at her panties.

She was a little surprised to find that she was still clutching her balled up, muddy stockings. She stared at them with numb, unthinking curiosity, as though unaware of how they could have ended up in her hand, until she began moving. Just over ten minutes later, she'd cleaned them in the bathroom sink and hung them over the shower rod to dry, returning to the outer room feeling mostly back to normal after the mundane chore. Sitting down in the plush loveseat, she sighed deeply in the silence before ordering her mind.

There was something odd about the Faldor, maybe the whole town of Cinder Bay. Yet, there was no one thing that she could point to as evidence of this assertion. For example, Billybob was certainly odd, but people like him did exist in the world and that was that. Manny was a lecherous pig and a creep, but the same went for him and the dirty old man, Colonel Marks. If there was one thing she could point to, it would be the sexual nature of the incidents involving these people as a commonality. Mr. Carmody and Elora seemed quite normal, though her instincts told her that both the Faldor's manager and dining room hostess did bear a closer look.