Thigh High

Act 2, Chapter 5

"You're kidding, right?" Sam said, staring at the receptionist.

"Nein," the receptionist said. "We do not have a booking for you."

Sam looked again at his emails. "The booking is here though," he said, holding the phone out. She glanced down at the BlackBerry.

"I understand," she said, "but we don't have a record of your booking at this end."

"So no room?" Sam said.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"You do realize it's nearly midnight," Sam said angrily. "What am I meant to do? Sit in the reception until the conference starts tomorrow?"

The receptionist shrugged.

Sam stepped out of the hotel, fuming. Stuck in the middle of Vienna, with nowhere to sleep. Great. What a financial conference this was going to be.

He looked down at his phone and thought. Surely... he hesitated. The last time they'd spoken hadn't exactly gone well. He'd been pretty awful, actually.

But he was desperate.

He rang her.

Unbelievably, she picked up. "Hallo," Peta said sleepily.

"Hi Peta..." Sam said sheepishly.

"Hallo. What do you want?" She said, dully.

"I'm in Vienna...it's a long story, but work has sent me out here for a conference for a week. Except they've mucked up my booking, and I have no hotel anywhere."

Peta sat up in bed, yawning, bleary-eyed. "And you need me to come rescue you?"

There was a pause. "If you could, that would be great. Much appreciated, in fact," he said, putting on the Hugh Grant, foppish, English voice.

Peta sighed. "Wait there. What's the hotel you are outside?"

"It's the Hilton," Sam said.

"I won't get there for another half hour," she said. "Have you got many bags?"

"Just the hold-all," Sam said.

"Okay, I'll get the bike out then," Peta said. "See you soon."

"You're the best, Pet," Sam said, meaning it.

"Uh huh," she replied, putting the phone down.

It was more like forty minutes when Sam heard the old motorbike and stood up from the curb to see Peta in her white leathers hove into view. She flipped her visor up, her green eyes bleary. "Get on," she said and put the helmet on. "No funny business."

Sam nodded and mounted the bike, chucking the helmet on and putting his arms around her. She revved the old bike, and pushed off, doing a quick turn and taking them back up the road.

It was a little after two in the morning when they finally reached the garage just up the hill from her home. Sam jumped off, and Peta put the bike away, putting the leathers on the hook and stepping out into the cold, still in her PJs.

"You didn't change?" Sam asked.

"You sounded a bit desperate to get out of the cold," she replied, pressing the remote and watching the shutters to the garage gently close.

"I was," he admitted.

"Come on. Let's get you inside." They walked down the hill to the house together.

"I really appreciate this, Pet," he said.

"Don't call me that," she said, opening the door. "It's Peta now."

"Okay," Sam said, shutting up. Peta got the lights, and they went in, Sam shuffling behind. She put the lights on. The living room was an absolute mess of pizza boxes, clothes, her stewardess uniform thrown asunder on the floor.

"Do you know where the room is, down on the bottom floor?" she yawned. "You can stay there tonight."

"Thanks," Sam said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Uh huh," she said, disappearing up the stairs and turning the lights off.

He walked down to the spare bedroom, a little sadly. "She could have said no, or not picked up," he told himself. "So, that's positive." He starfished onto the comfy bed and fell straight to sleep, still fully clothed.

Peta, on the other hand, lay wide awake upstairs. Hans was away for two weeks on the oil rig. He'd been so distant for a few months. Ever since Sam had found out about him, and him about Sam, Hans had been pretty "hands-off."

"Was that a Sam joke?"

"God."

Peta turned over, irritated. Now Sam was here, in the house with her again. It was frustrating. She closed her eyes. Maybe this would all be better in the morning.

The light blazed through her windows, and Peta woke, and looked at the clock. It was after nine. She moaned and threw the pillow over her head. "Thank god it was an off week for my job." She dozed a bit longer and eventually felt hungry enough to throw off the sheets and go downstairs.

Walking through the living room into the kitchen, something was off. She paused, and then walked back.

Everything was clean. No pizza boxes. No clothes. Her uniform had been hung up after clearly being ironed. She realized the washing machine was going. She walked back to the kitchen and saw the note on the breakfast bar. Sam's handwriting was still absolutely atrocious. She could just about make out the words:

"Back later. I put the rubbish away, cleaned the surfaces, put the washing on, ironed your dress, and generally tidied. Sorry. Couldn't live with it. Thanks for letting me stay last night, I'll grab my things and be out of your hair tonight. S x"

"At least he was making himself useful," she thought.

Peta's day was spent reading aircraft training manuals and other literature for her flight exam. She needed more time in the simulator too, but that could wait for a couple of days while she got her knowledge on the 737 down.

It was late evening when she heard the closing of a car door and shuffling up the driveway. The doorbell rang, and she went to the front door.

"Hey," Sam said, stepping in. He was in his navy blue three-piece suit, very Colin Firth-like. He shook off some water from his shoulders.

"Has it been raining?" Peta asked, looking outside.

"It's been good enough for the ducks," Sam remarked, taking his jacket off and hanging it near the fireplace.

"I hadn't realized," she said, closing the door. "Oh, don't close it," Sam said, "I'm going back to Vienna to find a hotel. The driver's waiting."

"Oh," Peta said. She paused. "No, wait," she said, and Sam stopped just before the staircase leading downstairs. "Don't be silly. You can stay for the week. You're out most days anyway. I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked.

She paused. "Yes, just keep out of the way while I revise, and we'll be fine," she said.

Sam looked grateful. "That would save a lot of money. Thanks...Peta," he said.

She sighed. "You can call me Pet. It's fine. We're friends. We should be friends, anyway," she said. "We're adults."

Sam nodded. "Let me go sort the taxi driver," he said. "Then I'll fix us some food, what do you say?"

"Great," she said, smiling.

She found herself laughing later as he chopped some onions. "So that's shaaaaalot," he said, throwing all of them into the pan.

"That's such a vater joke," she laughed.

"I'm surprised you understood it," Sam said, and Peta looked at him with mock outrage.

"I'm wounded," she declared, theatrically holding her arm above her and clutching her chest. "I'm good at English, no?"

"For sure," Sam reassured her, throwing in some chunks of beef to the stew, "you're the best multilingual person I know. My German is not good compared to your English."

"It's always the same though," Peta bemoaned, "the English speakers think they run the world so they don't have to work as hard."

"I worked hard at it," Sam said ruefully. "I'm just not very good at languages. I'm supposed to be able to speak French and Spanish too, and I got nothing except 'Oui' and, er, 'cerveza, por favor,'" he said, emphasizing the 'favor.'

"Mein Gott," Peta said, rolling her eyes. "At least you wouldn't be thirsty in Spain. You might get signed up for some odd things in France though!"

"Okay," Sam said, setting the timer. "A couple of hours, and then we can eat. I'm gonna go shower."

"Okay," Peta said, grabbing her manual. "I'm going to read some more of this."

He disappeared downstairs, and Peta plumped up the pillows on the sofa, lying across it and holding the book above her. She had gotten through a couple of pages when Sam re-emerged, in a towel from the waist down, holding his washbag and striding across the living room.

"Oh my," she thought, but she stared right back at the pages, only turning her head to watch him climb the stairs to the bathroom. His thighs were covered, but his calves...oh his calves...were on display. She blushed. What was wrong with her? He was staying for work, she told herself. She was engaged to Hans. Why wasn't that the first thing she thought of?

She heard the shower start above her. Good, he would be in there for a while. Sam always took ages in the shower. She felt hot, flustered, burning. She cautiously put her hand into her jeans. Touching her clit, she realized how aroused she was. She hesitated, and then put a finger in.

The feeling of penetration was so necessary, and she arched her back. His calves, she thought. That was enough to start this. She began to pleasure herself, undoing her jeans just enough to get her hand in and started to moan, rubbing, fingering, thinking of Sam. She was getting wetter, wetter, her underwear was soaked, she was so close to coming...then the sound of the taps clunking, and water stopping, put paid to that.

She quickly did up her jeans and picked up her book (in her dry hand), placing her other hand behind her head as Sam walked down, hair wet, towel wrapped around him. He didn't look and walked straight down to the opposite stairs, and went down to his room.

Peta blew out her lips, annoyed. She had been so close. It was the most action she'd had for nearly three weeks. She was so frustrated. She glanced down at her jeans. Her underwear was uncomfortable now. She got up and ran up to her room, closing the door. She pulled her jeans off and let the underwear drop down. She looked in the full-length mirror, admiring herself for a moment.

Her clit was a little red. Her face was redder. She needed release. She lay down on the bed and tried fingering again. It wasn't working the way it had downstairs. Perhaps that was because she'd hoped Sam would walk in and catch her...? She looked to the ceiling and blew out her lips again. So frustrating.

Peta, would you like a glass of wine? Sam came in with a bottle of red, looking at the label absentmindedly.

"Sam!" Peta pulled a pillow over her midriff, angry.

"Hmmm?" Sam looked up and nearly dropped the bottle. "Oh lord," he said, realizing. Then he covered his eyes with his hand. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."

"Well, you realize now!" Peta said angrily. "You can't just barge in."

"Sorry," he peeked through the fingers of his hand. "You seem to be a bit frustrated."

"I am frustrated," Peta snapped. "I'm...really, really frustrated," she said, cuddling the pillow, sighing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't snap at you, you didn't know."

Sam peered from behind his hand. "As a friend...do you want any help with that?" he asked.

Peta snorted.

"No, really," Sam said. "I've also been a bit frustrated of late. The last time I got off was...well...you, and that was a while ago."

Peta nodded. "Yeah," she said, realizing that it was the same for her. "What do you propose?"

Sam pulled his hand away, revealing a cheeky smile. "I could just...lick you out?" he offered.

"I'm engaged," Peta said, firmly.

"I know," Sam said, looking at her legs fondly. "But, you know, as a friend, no hassle, I could help..."

Peta looked to the ceiling. She felt aroused again. Hans played on her mind. But she needed this release, and he just hadn't delivered for...months now, she realized.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, yes. Fine."

"Okay?" Sam said.

"Yes," Peta said. "Lick me out. That will make up for making me pick you up after midnight on Monday." She pulled the pillow off her and spread her legs. "Get over here."

Sam climbed onto the bed, putting the wine bottle down, and bent down between her legs. Peta leaned back and felt his tongue, lapping her clit. "Oh, you've had a go already," he said, muffled, happily. "You taste sweet, Pet."

Peta blushed madly and giggled. "Mmmmmm," Sam said, licking her flaps, turning them over on the edge of his tongue before sticking his tongue at her entrance and sucking her a little. "This is good, right."

"Ja," Peta said, pushing down on her hands. It was really good. REALLY good. She moaned and pressed his face closer to her.

"Mmmmmm," Sam said, his licking muffled against her muff.

"Ja," Peta moaned.

It was like a kettle boiling, steam hissing, pressing, pushing, and she threw her head back. "JA," she almost shouted and spurted over Sam's face. He coughed a bit and retreated, her spray over his face, dripping down onto his T-shirt.

"Oh mein Gott," Peta said, breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling.

Sam was grinning, touching his face. "That was good," he said. "I think it's my turn now." He undid his jeans and pulled his erection out.

Peta, half-dazed, realized what he was about to do and put her hand over her pussy. "No," she said firmly as he pressed his tip against her hand. "No. Bad Sam," she scolded. "I never said we could have sex."

Sam sat back, crestfallen. Peta was still breathing deeply.

"Okay...that was...phew," she said, fanning herself. "Go get cleaned up and pour some wine. I'll come down shortly."

Sam was frowning as he left, zipping his jeans back up. Peta ran to the bathroom and washed herself with cold water. "That," she told herself, "can't happen again.."

"But you want it to," her mind replied.

She grabbed another pair of panties and her jeans, pulled them on, and then went downstairs. Sam was grumpily serving the stew and had already poured two large glasses of red wine.

They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen's bar, eating in silence, only stopping to occasionally steal a glance at each other. Peta felt satisfied, in fairness, but she knew Sam was frustrated. She considered her options. She'd already cheated, really, on Hans... what was a bit more...

"Hey," she said, stepping off and then sitting on the barstool closest to him.

"Hallo," he said, stiffly.

"Oh come on, Sam," Peta said, patting his arm, "as friends, remember."

"Yeah," Sam said, softening. "Sorry. I'm just frustrated. I mean...I always wanted to go down on you, like, properly, not just a short hop on, hop off, with custard." (Peta laughed) "And, you know...I shouldn't have done that."

"Look," Peta said, turning to him. "Be honest with me." She looked at him in the eyes, head-on, green to blue. "Do you want to come?"

Sam sighed. "Yes," he said.

"Okay. But I'm engaged," Peta said.

"I know," he said, turning away.

"What do you want to do?" Peta asked.

"Well...I want...to...fuck you," Sam said, looking intently out of the window. "I'm sorry. You're basically my ex, you're with someone else, you've been really kind to me, and basically I'm wound up after getting you off, and now I want to fuck you."

Peta laughed. "Yeah, I get it. Look," she said, taking his hand and pulling him round, "I have an idea for you. It's not going to be what you want, but you might enjoy it."

"Hmmm?" Sam said.

"How about...you fuck my thighs?" Peta said, playfully.

"Fuck your thighs?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah," Peta said. "You just...well...look, let me show you. Take your clothes off."

"What?" Sam said, blushing.

"Look, you showed me your erection earlier, and you licked me out," she said. "You can't get embarrassed now. Look, I'll take some of mine off..." Peta pulled her jeans down again, leaving her in her t-shirt and panties.

"This doesn't feel fair," Sam said, pulling his clothes off. He was already nursing a semi, and Peta felt her temperature rise as she saw him step out from behind the kitchen bar, fully naked.

"Okay, I'm going to stand in the doorway, like this," Peta said, putting herself directly between the frame and holding it. "Now, come and straddle my butt."

Sam obeyed, puzzled. Peta looked back and helped him guide his dick between her thighs, below her panties. "Okay," she said. "Now thrust like you were fucking me."

"Okay," Sam said, starting to sway his hips slowly. Peta felt his erection squeeze between her thighs and the bottom of her panties. It started to get warm. It wasn't entirely pleasant, she had to admit.

"This is rubbing a bit too much," Sam said, and she agreed.

"Okay," she said, "I think I know what to do." She took a step forward, bent over, dropped her panties, and kicked them off. She stepped back and pushed Sam's dick back underneath her.

"Okay, now remember," she said, looking at him sternly, "you can't put that inside me. Just rub between my thighs. This should be better."

Sam shrugged, grabbed her buttocks, and started thrusting again. Peta bent forward a little, holding the frame, and felt his erection slide beneath her. It felt...really good. "Oh god," she was wettening. It was going onto his dick.

Sam was breathing deeply with every thrust now, and slowing his tip just over her clit, rubbing it as he slid. Peta gasped, and gripped the frame.

He paused, and Peta felt her t-shirt being lifted. She lifted her arms, and watched it fly in front of her, landing on the kitchen tiles. They were now naked, together.

She turned to him, breathing deeply. He gazed into her eyes. Blue eyes met green. Peta turned from Sam, looking into the kitchen. She breathed deeply too. Then she took his shaft, and lifted it between her flaps, putting the tip halfway in.

"How does that feel?" She whispered, looking back. Sam bent in, and kissed her. That was it. That the cue.

She turned, and slid back onto his shaft. No going back now.

He fucked her, from behind. They swayed, back and forth, against each other, deep breaths becoming short breaths, smooth skin becoming sweaty and salty, a hard erection became the hardest dick, and the tight pussy stretched, clenching around him.

Peta came first, gasping, dripping around his shaft and down her legs. Sam pulled out from under her, and she watched as his sticky, white come shot out from under her, landing on the floor spraying the tiles and her t-shirt.

She turned to him, breathless, and kissed him again. He held her, close, and they kissed and long and hard, underneath that door frame, as the evening rain gently tapped the windows around the house.