West Tower Room 704 Pt. 01

Author's Note: This is part one of a two part story. There were many others in the same setting that I had posted to message boards/websites that no longer are operational. A few were saved as I emailed them to myself as part of the upload, this is one such example. I'm re-posting them now as there seems a better community for them and I'm curious of their reception.

Standard disclaimer: Transforming/altering a person's mind/temperament in real life is impossible and morally corrupt. This is in no way an endorsement of such behavior. The characters and setting are entirely fictional, save for the town of Atlantic City itself which doesn't have any mythical hotels, just bankrupt ones.

Questions and comments always welcome through my profile.

*****

Slamming the trunk lid of her car and pivoting toward the elevators, Cheryl Lonsdale made her way through the surprisingly clean parking garage. Travelling for 100 or more days a year had its way of desensitizing a person, and her routine was set in stone as far as checking-in was concerned. Still, the Atlantic City destination was always one of her favorites - never hurt to get a little gambling in on a "work" trip.

This year was the newly built "Atlantisea" resort, complete with four towers cornered like a castle and a large domed structure in between them all, which comprised the casino floor, restaurant areas, and meeting space.

Idiotic name , she thought to herself as the elevator descended to the lobby area. Were they going for Fantasy? Atlantis? Just the Atlantic City name in general? Regardless, she did have to concede the place looked upscale and well-built.

The lobby brought more surprises, in that it was humungous, directly adjacent to the casino floor, and outfitted with a check-in counter that appeared designed to accommodate 15 desk clerks. Despite that, a lone brunette in what appeared to be her late teens, and a man Cheryl assumed to be the manager were the only two present. Their shared laugh as she approached indicated two people who were very close, potentially inappropriately so, she thought. At 29, Cheryl knew the look of a girl with a crush when she saw one. That said, to his credit, the manager appeared to either be willfully ignoring it or just didn't care.

The manager took a step back and gestured theatrically to the desk clerk as Cheryl approached. The man appeared to be in his early thirties, with jet-black hair and green eyes. His complexion was only accentuated by the choice to wear a black suit with a green tie and white shirt, and Cheryl had to wonder to herself whether that was intentional. He wore no name tag or ID of any kind, but was striking and therefor memorable, she supposed. He looked to be about a foot taller than Cheryl, which placed him around 6'3". He seemed some combination of thin and fit, much like Cheryl herself, although obviously his chest wasn't packing the D-cup artillery that Cheryl carried around each day.

Were I not here for work, that would definitely be worth pursuing, she thought. What am I thinking? I just need to get my keys, grab a drink from the mini-bar, and sleep until my first meeting. Get a hold of yourself.

"Checking in?" asked the front desk clerk, snapping Cheryl back to reality. She noted her name was "Carla". Cheryl provided the necessary details and was informed that she would be in the "West Tower", then handed her key packet. She asked the difference between the towers and the manager stepped back up to the desk.

"All of our rooms are more-or-less identical in size and shape between the towers. The only differences are the décor, mini-bar, refrigerator, those sorts of things." He smiled in a way that was half amused, half impatient. Cheryl decided to force him to continue talking.

"And is mine the best or the worst, then?"

The man ran his eyes over her body so conspicuously that Cheryl was half tempted to light into him. He seemed to take in the professional slacks, blouse, and her youthful-yet-serious ponytail in seconds, though he lingered on her chest long enough for her to know what had caught his eye. "Given your age, obviously corporate background and what I would guess is a somewhat refined taste..." he winked here for emphasis, and Cheryl began to question why she found this man attractive. "I'd say the West Tower's accommodations will suit you just fine. You'll also find a little lobby bar just off the elevators that you may find worth your while." Another smirk, this one less dressed-up and more obviously impatient. Cheryl took the hint, nodded her thanks, and moved along.

She found the bar before the elevators. Sitting down and ordering a G&T, in classic corporate style, she noted her surroundings more thoroughly - this was definitely the business tower as the strange manager had said. Most of the clientele were men, save for one obvious prostitute at the end of the bar leaning into the ear of a man pushing seventy. Her breasts were practically out of her top and her obviously bottle blonde hair was showing some roots. He didn't seem to care. Beyond that, it seemed to be all wealth and suits just relaxing at the end of their day. She absent-mindedly wondered how many of these men were here for the same conference as her.

"HEY -" Cheryl turned toward the shout and saw it was the older man, sans-prostitute. "How about you?

"Excuse me?" Why didn't I go straight to the room, she thought. Her G&T arrived and she put back about a quarter of it on the first swig.

"I SAID, how about YOU!? How much do you need to come upstairs, huh?"

"With you!? There's not enough money in this whole damn casino." She was fiercely feminist, though always low-key about it. She hadn't had many long or serious relationships as most men, she found, were like this moron once they hung around long enough. Women like the prostitute that was here earlier only cheapened the value of all of her gender, as far as Cheryl was concerned. Hard times or not, there were other ways to make money and she had no respect for anyone willing to lower themselves to that level.

The old man rolled his eyes at her response and shrugged. "A few days at these tables and in these rooms and I guarantee you'll change your mind hon'. Everyone's got a price here you know? It being a casino and all." He laughed and turned back to look around the room, probably for the lost prostitute. Cheryl drained the G&T and went upstairs.

Back in her seventh floor room, Cheryl made a direct line for the mini-fridge and, with it, the mini-bar. A nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her that drinking alone in a hotel room was likely a first warning sign of later problems, but she quickly dismissed that thought when she looked at the array in front of her. The hotel manager had said something about the mini-bar being different in each room, but he didn't mention that they appeared to have their own branded products. Inside the fridge where the airport bottles of various liquors would usually be were a row of glass hearts in varying shades of red or pink. From left to right was pink, lavender, red, a reddish purple of some kind, and a maroon color, two bottles of each. They all appeared to be shot-sized despite the impeccable heart design.

She reached for the reddish-purple (She thought - Fuchsia? What's the name of that again? ) and unscrewed the cap, taking the shot in it's entirety at once. The unpleasant memories from downstairs seemed to wash out in an instant - the little heart packed a punch, like 100-proof. Quickly replacing the taste of pure alcohol was a vague sweetness she couldn't quite place. She felt both dizzy and more tired in an instant.

At first Cheryl was a bit disarmed by the wallop a single shot had delivered. That feeling was quickly replaced by a relaxed giddiness, however, and she decided to hit the second heart bottle of that same color. Worst case scenario, she'd get to sleep quicker, she figured. The second shot hit just as hard as the first and she found herself laughing to herself - this was the best job in the world. Dizzier still, she sat on the bed and put on the television. She didn't make it past the "Welcome to Atlantisea Resorts!" welcome channel before falling asleep.

A seemingly sniper-accurate beam of sunlight across her eyes woke her at 7AM. She had precisely one hour to shower and get downstairs for the morning breakfast and conference "welcome." She had slept in her outfit from last night, and a look in the mirror had her frowning. Why had she been dressed so conservatively? She needed to impress during the day, and, if she was lucky, meet someone cute at night. Maybe the manager worked today too?

That said, this was still a work function after all. She opted for a slightly lower cut blouse, revealing just enough cleavage to tell she was "blessed" as her mother would say, and going for a knee-length skirt rather than dress pants. Time constraints told her to just keep the ponytail and get downstairs.

Once downstairs she quickly found her seat at one of the thirty or so round tables that they always used for these welcome breakfasts. She was pleasantly surprised to see two women she knew from earlier conferences were seated with her as well. The best luck of the day was the striking gentleman of about 30 seated directly to her right - he worked for some international tech conglomerate and was clearly wealthy, handsome, and, by the ring finger, single.

Seems too good to be true, she thought. I wonder if there's a deficiency downstairs. She caught herself halfway to a giggle and halted it. She looked her would-be lover up and down again. Nope, he's probably just as perfect everywhere. What on Earth am I doing thinking about this guy at BREAKFAST?

The opening ceremony dragged on and on. If this was how the day was going to go, she was going to need a little boost to get through this. Plus, despite her obvious interest Mr. Corporate to her right didn't seem to reciprocate her flirtatious looks and playful laughs. Unacceptable. For reasons she couldn't explain her mind was focused on one place, and it definitely wasn't networking. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. Her mind was foggy yet rather than be concerned, she laughed at everything. It was just the guy next to her, she rationalized. Once she scratched that itch she'd be fine. In the meantime, this conference was boring...

She turned to Mr. Corporate: "Meet me at the lobby bar before the midday break?"

He looked confused, probably because their previous conversation had been polite banter about the various network services offered by the attendees. After a beat or two, he smiled and just replied "Uh, sure, around 1:30?"

"Yepp - see you there!!"

Back to the room. Freshly stocked little hearts - all in a row again. Great, timely housekeeping. Just what she needed. Another little - purple? Red? Whatever - heart drink thing. Another big punch of rubbing alcohol & sweet aftertaste. Quick change to lower cut blouse - more cleavage. She switched from flats to a sensible one inch shoe, so her height difference would be less noticeable. Mr. Corporate wouldn't be able to resist.

So it was a few hours later that Cheryl found herself on her knees in the men's room, her mouth locked around Mr. Corporate's cock. A part of her mind recognized the disgusting floor, and a quick flush of shame overtook her before she re-centered her mind around what she needed: more cock. She wasn't too experienced with blowjobs, she found them degrading, and as she moved her head up and down his shaft gently, Mr. Corporate reached down and pushed on the back of her head more aggressively. She picked up the pace.

Undoing her top and unlatching her bra with one hand to let her tits fall free, Cheryl kept up the pace even as Mr. Corporate pushed her head to his hilt; she felt her gag reflex kick in and kept going. She felt his pace quickening and his body tensing up. A piece of her mind told her this wasn't enough - quickly, she tried to tell him "no, wait", but what came out instead was:

"Nnnph - ggrrrat", trying in vain to pull her mouth off of his shaft.

"Just...keep...going..." he ignored her, panting now, his firm grip keeping her head in place. She kept rhythm and cupped his balls in one hand, the other teasing down her skirt to the moisture beneath. She couldn't remember being this aroused. She plunged two fingers in as she continued to work her tongue up and down his cock. Just as she really started to get down to business, she felt his grip loosen and her head pulled back just an inch or two off the tip of his cock. She realized what was about to happen, but had no time to pull back as she felt a warm, gooey sensation all over her face, dripping to her exposed tits beneath.

"Wow, whatever company you're with has some wicked sales strategy going on. Where do they find you girls?"

Cheryl barely heard him. With no regard for her surroundings, she stayed on the floor of the stall, now solely concentrated on fingering herself. Somewhere far away she heard his chuckle, not noticing that her bra was gone from the floor and that her would-be suitor had already left. Despite being more aroused than she could ever recall, no matter how long she sat there she couldn't bring herself off.

An intercom voice shocked her out of her stupor as she realized the formal midday lunch was beginning. Hurriedly, she buttoned up her top and waited for a man washing his hands to leave the rest room. There's no way he was oblivious to what she was doing in there - she'd just been too loud. Still no need to identify herself - for now it could be anyone, as far as he was concerned.

What did I just do? She blushed with shame. And why am I still so fucking horny?

Sitting at the table, she noticed Mr. Corporate was conspicuously absent. The two women she knew from prior conferences were still there, however, and shooting her dirty looks.

And what is their problem, now, exactly, she mused. She took a sip of water and dabbed her face with a napkin. With horror, she pulled it back and saw a stringy white substance pull away with it. Mortified, she looked down to see her stained top, misbuttoned all the way down.

Not letting her eyes rise to meet the glares of the other women, but hearing what she thought was a chuckle from one of the men, Cheryl turned from the table and went straight for the elevators. She couldn't believe herself. She just had to hope none of them knew any of her superiors, or the client she was supposed to woo here at some point tomorrow. As the elevator reached the 7^th floor, she couldn't get to her room quick enough. God, did she need a drink.