Caught and Exposed Ch. 03

The instructions were received and understood. There was no choice but accept the next challenge. Each had been allusive as to meaning, and this was no exception, though more dangerous. Mister Smith had reminded her to use all that she had learnt so far about herself and others. Good advice if she could just work out what that was.

Walking into the exclusive hotel wasn't such an ordeal it was the exacting challenge that was daunting. Deirdre's gait was less strident showing how less self-assured she was. She let the hem of the skirt ride up as she sat down. She looked around as though expecting someone, at the same time looking over the customers in the bar.

So, who would take the bait? The bar was nearly empty and the men were drinking coffee as it was just before lunch. The waiter came over but she told him she was waiting for someone. Again she balanced the brief case on her lap, using it to pretend she was unaware of showing off too much leg.

"Is this seat taken?"

She looked up to see an older man. He was older than Mister Smith by about ten years making him close to fifty. This was a relief for surely he would behave like gentleman. "I'm waiting for someone," she said, looking at her watch. "He's late though," she added, as an afterthought.

"Perhaps I'll sit until he arrives," the man said.

He spoke with a cultured accent and she relaxed a little. She shrugged compliance as though indifferent. The show of earlier, in the coffee shop, was harder to perform this time. She didn't have a coffee cup to lean over and so it was difficult to part her legs without it being obvious.

She had felt more confident there too. She had put on a show for those young businessmen and enjoyed it, feeling empowered. This task was a whole lot more involved than just flashing her panties. How to get there and who with was going to be difficult to judge.

She slipped forward to reach into the briefcase, sliding the hem up a little. Sitting back without pulling the skirt into place was difficult but she managed it. Hiding behind the papers she tried to concentrate on the figures. She couldn't decide if she hoped he was interested in her or not.

He was mature and looked conservative enough to behave like a gentlemen. Could she trust him not take advantage of her in a vulnerable situation. She had been tasked with putting herself in one with the objective of escaping without being humiliated.

"Would you like a coffee?" he asked.

She looked up feigning an interrupted concentration. She looked over to the bar and back to him. She smiled warmly. "Thank you. That would be nice," she said. Her voice didn't sound so confident as earlier. She wondered if it was the effect of this stranger or the challenge she was about to involve him in.

She watched him raise a hand and was surprised to find a waiter jump to his side. Without much preamble two coffees were ordered and delivered. No inquisition as to what or how large, they had simply been fetched and placed before them.

"Do you take milk, sugar?" he asked.

He dropped milk into the cup and stirred a lump of sugar into it. Without her saying anything, but nodding, he had taken charge leaving her to simply drink it.

He leant forward close to her stocking clad knees handing the cup and saucer over. What little confidence had remained was drained on seeing how much thigh she was displaying. He was close and she imagined his breath tickling her thighs.

He was a large built imposing man. The bulk was firm muscle with a sense of power confined in a dark blue suit. The clothes were as business like as her own and even more expensive. His closeness made her feel hot and bothered. She was already moist from the earlier flirting, not to mention yesterday's naughty adventures.

Her hand shook imperceptibly but it was the miss judged angle that let the cup slide from the saucer into her lap. He snatched the cup away and pushed a napkin onto the skirt. He handed her another. She pushed it between her legs trying to dry up the mess.

"Oh! Hell!" she murmured while looking around embarrassed, trying to see if anyone had noticed her foolishness. "What am I to do now? I can't go back to the office like this. I don't even want to stand up."

"You had better clean it up otherwise the silk will be ruined," he sympathised. "I have a room here. You can use it to clean the skirt." Seeing the hesitation, he told her. "Just keep the briefcase in front of you."

His large hand gripped her elbow hauling her out of the seat. He marched her out of the bar straight to the elevator without a discussion not giving her a moment to think of an excuse or think of another approach to the problem.

Even the elevator reacted promptly at his command; opening its doors at their approach. "You can either send the skirt down to the laundry or try the drier but you must rinse out that coffee or it will stain," he told her.

His deep commanding voice broke through an attempted protest. It reached into a low level of consciousness leaving her thinking she had a choice. Instead she was being swept away under his compelling suggestion.

The room door slid open on his first thrust of the magnetic card. Unlike her last business trip where she had fumed in frustration, trying it every which way at least twice, before seeing the green light announcing a pitiable little success.

It wasn't a room but a sizable suite. He opened the bathroom door and with the same hand guiding her she found herself looking round at the gleaming tiles, slightly stunned from light bouncing off sparkling chrome.

She unzipped the skirt and rinsed it under a cold tap wondering if it should have been hot water. The range of freebie bottles of soaps and lotions wouldn't include fabric soap so she just strained the stream of water through the skirt. All she managed was to soak it into a sodden mess.

The force of water spurted upward over the blouse but she was more concerned with the mess she was making. Water was running down the tiles, soaking the baskets of lotions and potions to pool on the floor around her feet.

"Damn!" she exclaimed. The sound seemed loud bouncing back at her from the hard bathroom surfaces.

"Are you alright in there?" he asked.

The manly voice came at her unexpectedly. The door was open enough for him to talk but he had the good manners to keep out of sight.

"Yes fine!" she sighed back at him.

Taking it as a cue to enter he paddled in. He laughed at the state of disruption to the once neat bathroom and the pitiable state she was in. He grabbed a huge fluffy towel and wrapped her up in it. Not before she got a good look at herself in the wall to wall mirror behind the sinks.

She stood in a puddle in black fashionable high heels. Above the heels were black stockings, black suspender belt and white panties. They were wet but not as much as the blouse. The little feminine frilly bra was clearly showing through the sopping white blouse.

He patted her dry with those big hands then told her, "It's no good trying the dryer your things are too wet. I'll send them down to the laundry." He held the top of the towel around her like a tent with just her head poking out of it.

He chuckled at her look of defeat and frustration. "Get those wet things off and I'll have them back in an hour," he scolded her.

Feeling like a child changing on the beach she slipped out of her clothes wondering why she was doing it. He hug lifted her out of the shoes and put her down on the carpet outside the bathroom.

Pulling a laundry bag from a shelf he scooped up the wet clothes and shoes, stuffing them into it. Its weight drew the strings together. With his free hand he propelled her into the lounge part of the suite. She couldn't take her eyes off the drawstring laundry bag.

Deirdre was in a strangers hotel room completely naked staring at the bag that seemed her only connection with escape from this calamity. He swung it casually as though it meant nothing. To her it wasn't mere clothing but protection. Protection from what she hadn't decided yet. Clothing represented a badge of prestige, a representation of who she was, and that had been stripped away leaving her exposed and defenceless.

She stammered something then tried again. He must have already summoned room service for a knock interrupted her garbled attempt at resolving what to do next. It had to be voiced for her mind was in a whirl. In shock she watched the bag disappear out of the room, gripped by a hand connected to an unseen person.

"Bugger!" she whispered. She had achieved the mission of getting invited to a man's room but escaping with her dignity intact would prove complicated. How in hell she had managed to be naked in a stranger's hotel room was a mystery. That it had been her nervous ineptitude, rather than his connivance, wasn't absolutely clear.

The big man turned away from the door toward her. He seemed to loom up over her in an instant. "Are you dry? It would be foolish to ask if you are comfortable. Sit in that armchair and try to relax. It won't be long. An Irish might help," he smiled at her.

Her thoughts were numb from being overwhelmed by the predicament. How the hell was she to get away from here without clothes? She understood the idea of sitting in the easy chair, especially as he had pointed at it, and it was comfortingly further away from him.

She watched his easy fluid movements while opening a bottle and pulling two glasses together to splash golden whisky into them. She now understood what Irish was. Deirdre was enamoured by the precise and minimalist movements he displayed making a simple task seem so gracious.

For a big muscular man it was surprising he had such grace, looking like a ballerina dancing through the room, without haste or wasted movement. Deirdre, for a moment, wanted to be close to him, to be under his protection.

A little shiver from being so vulnerable rattled her shoulders. She was completely in this mans hands for he had her clothes, even her shoes. It seemed such a simple thing that left her so very helpless. She wasn't used to being this dependent upon someone and hadn't a clue how to react.

"Thank you, not just for the drink but for taking the trouble to rescue me," she smiled, with a shrug of her shoulders. The statement seemed all wrong. She was thanking a man for stripping her naked in his room. It still made her head whirl wondering how he had managed it.

He stooped over her presenting a glass. "Irish is gentler, smoother than Scotch. I took the liberty of adding a splash of water anyway. Thought you could use it to steady your nerves. Careful!" he warned.

She reached for the glass carefully with both hands, not wanting to spill it. This was embarrassing enough and didn't want to let her self down yet again.

She watched the towel unfold itself in slow motion. With both hands gripping the glass it was difficult to move quickly enough and an unfortunate part of her mind determined not to spill it. The covering unfolded slowly then sprang away from her grasping snatching hand.

"I'm sorry," she spluttered.

He took her free hand to join it with the other wrapped around the glass. "Don't spill it and don't worry. I'll just think of you as a work of art, a beautiful and precious, work of art."

He held her eye not looking at her naked body. He could have leered at her or laughed at her, at least then she would have been able to summon a mental defence. She sat on the edge of the towel unable to move with it out of reach at her feet.

She felt like a child being comforted by a generous uncle, letting him take control. He still held both of her hands in his. He guided the glass to her lips and she sipped the amber fluid.

It was mild but warming. When someone tells you to relax how can you? It's almost as bad as your parents telling you to sleep. He hadn't let go of her hands or her eyes or stolen a look at her naked body. Was she beautiful? Did he mean she was an untouchable work of art?

She thought of his magnetic card slipping between the folds of the reader for the door to swing open for him. It wasn't an image but a thought; the thought about fingers slipping between her folds and her legs opening for him to enter her. Everything seemed so easy for him. How had she become so easy too?

What had happened that she was sitting here ready for this stranger to take her? Thinking about what happened yesterday was making her so damned hot. She couldn't help thinking of being naked in that store then walking around the mall in a skimpy skirt and top without underwear.

'No! I mustn't, stop it. Please, think of something else.' It was no good the past two days reeled through her mind like a movie frame by frame. She was exciting herself for him. She began to notice her breathing, almost gasping in each breath. Her legs were open slightly, unnervingly moving apart. A musky odour wafted up from her over heated sex.

She wanted to tell him she wasn't a slut but that seemed to imply she was. It was impossible to deny she was hot. 'What's happened to me? I'm a hot slut waiting for a complete stranger to fuck me! I want it so bad I might beg him and I don't even know his name.'

He guided the glass to her lips and this time she sucked in a warming draught. With eyes closed she didn't see him closing in behind the glass. She felt his lips firm and dry on a nipple. It felt as though the final pangs of guilt and morality were being sucked forcibly from her body.

One hand left hers to play with the other breast gripping it entirely, taking it, making it his. The other hand reached down between her legs lifting her off the seat to hold her in the palm of his hand. For a moment the big hand gripped her crotch holding her bottom and pussy in one huge paw.

Her legs had been parted now they were open. They dangled either side of his hand, so she would be unable to shut him out, even if she had wanted to. She felt like a rag doll unable to move just reacting to his manhandling of her.

She gasped. A finger pressed against her asshole. She sighed out a hiss of air as though he had opened a valve. A strong calloused thumb had rubbed her clit. The finger continued press at her bottom eventually gaining entry. The rear muscles had relaxed from having a thumb massaging her sex.

He had pulled her to the edge of the large easy chair. Her head flopped backward to be wedged against the back of the chair. His hand came away from her breast to lift an ankle from the floor. She watched as though from somewhere distant the other ankle lifted above her head. Her legs were either side of her head above the back of the chair.

She watched his mouth nibble and kiss its way from a breast down her belly to her sex. Only now could she see it spread out for him, everything displayed for him. The thumb was withdrawn from her bud allowing the finger to explore deeper into her bottom. His lips smacked at her open lips.

She was unaware the moaning sounds as she watched him suck everything into his mouth. He was licking and nibbling and sucking on her distended lips in his mouth. They were swollen with lust and she watched them slowly slither from his mouth. She lost sight of her sex again as his head went to her crotch to lick into her pussy.

She needed to cum but couldn't. He was on the move again. She saw his cock rise up and poke at her lips. It moved up and down her slit becoming wet from her juices. His fingers had moved form her bottom and she realised they were holding her ankles above her.

The large fleshy cock pushed at her asshole bringing on a moment of anguish. "No. Please, not there!" she wailed plaintively. "Fuck me properly, please! I need your cock!"

Her husky pleading voice shut off with guilt on realising she wasn't protesting about being buggered but pleading for fulfilment. She needed his cock inside, needed to be filled. What she needed was a cock in her pussy to orgasm. She needed to feel him filling her with delicious cock.

She watched the hardness push at the swollen folds of her pussy. She couldn't move otherwise she would have thrust herself onto it.

"Oh! Yes! Feed my hungry cunt!" she moaned. "Fill me up with hard cock," she pleaded.

The orgasm rocked her or at least would have if she could move. Instead her stomach muscles quivered. Her leg muscles tightened and relaxed uncontrollably.

He looked down at her continuing to thrust in a steady stabbing motion. His hands held her ankles and his cock pinned her to the seat. She felt the life fluids drain from her entire body to be replaced by a sizzling fire.

"You're beautiful. You are so young and vibrant. Your skin is smooth and silky," he continued to whisper in her ear sweet sounds that she only half heard. In a loving haze she smiled contentment. The feeling of his cock riding her was a decadent pleasure.

"Oh yes, oh yes, fill me up," she crooned. She felt him orgasm. His muscles stiffened with an extra spasm and a deep penetrating thrust held deep for a few seconds. Feeling his cock slide from her pussy left a feeling of emptiness for just a brief instant.

He slumped down onto the floor with her legs over his shoulders where they had fallen. He leaned forward to rest his head on her belly.

Deirdre looked at him in dismay wondering if he was going to fall asleep between her legs. She desperately wanted to cover herself. The physical need now sated left nothing but shame from behaving like a wanton slut. It wasn't this man she wanted, just his cock.

A dreadful realisation widened her eyes in a look of comic silent exclamation. He reminded her of Mister Smith! The man was an older and larger version but now the connection was so very recognisable.

'No! What have I done?' she mouthed silently.

He stirred himself. He manoeuvred slowly from exhaustion onto hands and knees. She felt his breath upon her pussy lips and shuddered. What had been exciting a few minutes ago was, with this sudden revelation, repellent.

"Damn, is that the time?" he exclaimed. He stood zipping himself up avoiding looking at her. He murmured a few words, clearly finding her embarrassing.

She pulled her legs together, rolling into a ball on the large softly upholstered chair trying to sink away into it.

"Here, this should cover it," he said. He turned toward her leaning slightly then thought better of kissing her so turned away. "I have a meeting," he said, explaining the hurried exit.

The door closed behind him with a thump of air and only then did she think of her clothes. The practicality of leaving this place overrode guilt and disgrace. She looked at the cash left on the table and moaned in agony. She had been used and dismissed, like a common whore.

"I'm not a slut, I'm a whore!" she shouted. The terrible words sounded loud in her ears but the comfortable plush surroundings muffled her voice. She jumped up to search for the hotel directory. It was by the phone. Unable to see the words through hot tears she tore through the pages over and over again.

"Calm down, just calm down, breath deep. You're not a slut," Deirdre said out loud, trying to regain some self-esteem. "It's such a relief not to be a slut! I'm a professional woman. Yes! A professional sex object, a damn whore!" she said with bitterness. She marched over to the pile of notes meaning to trash them but couldn't abide touching the vile evidence of her corruption.

"How could I have been so stupid?" The anger helped. She found the internal directory and a number for the laundry. Eventually a bored sounding woman picked up. "The clothes from 455, when will they be ready?" There was an agonising wait until the woman returned.

"I can't wait that long can you send them back up to the room? Oh! But I've nothing to wear!" she exclaimed.