It took Andrew no more than sixty seconds to peel off his formal, boiled-shirt uniform.
The short monkey-jacket was off in an instant. The shirt, with a click of buttons, followed it into an armchair near the bed, and he stood revealed from the waist up, naked, sun-bronzed and broad-shouldered.
Muscles rippled under his healthy skin as he undid his trousers. His socks and shoes followed, and he stood before her a virile being, devoid entirely of all badges of rank that separated his social station from that of the hotel guest in whose boudoir he was. "My God!" broke involuntarily from Louise, as she witnessed the fast metamorphosis. And she thought: What a man this Andrew is!
In wispy nylon shorts he stood before her, his desire made plainly apparent by the erection of his penis within the clutching confines of his underwear. "There they go!" he quipped. "The badges of rank. The things that make me a servant, and you the woman I serve. And now, my love, we meet on the same plane!"
And, as he descended upon her, Louise murmured: "But Andrew, your shorts."
Mockingly, still bearing down upon the bed in one lithe movement, Andrew grinned: "Until you take off your pajamas, woman, the shorts stay. Where they are!"
And then he was beside her, and upon her, and his seeking lips had found her mouth and his cupped palms the bounty of her breasts. And Louise surrendered her body to him.
In the midst of her embraces, she sighed.
And her sigh was the involuntary apostrophe: "Ah-h-h-h-h! Ah-h-h-h, my Hector, my darling!"
Hearing it, Andrew smiled, deep down within himself. He caressed her lissome young body the more fiercely. Hector! Her husband, he thought accurately. Returning to her, in fantasy.
And now his hand was upon her rounded, voluptuous belly, and he allowed it to glide over the satiny smoothness of nylon, over feminine skin. And now, beneath his palm, he encountered the pubic hair, coarse and vigorous over her rounded pubis.
And as she felt his touch upon her cunt, she twitched with the involuntary nerve reactions of her lust. Oh, for this brown, athletic, God-like creature to possess her!
And he chuckled, feeling her wince in pleasure.
Sensing his amusement, but misreading its meaning, she moaned, through her kiss: "So demanding? So urgent in your passion, my Andrew?"
And she melted into his embracing arms.
"Not so demanding, my beloved," he murmured, "that I cannot spare the time to love you as a woman like you deserve to be loved. For the passion, for that, we can wait."
Wet-lipped and open-mouthed, he was kissing her again, drinking in her fragrance while his seeking, exploring fingers went at their task of stirring up unendurable ecstasy in her.
With quivering thighs, she closed his fingers against the warmth of her cunt, soft and nestling in its bed of curling, vigorous hair, beneath the prison of the panties of her pajamas.
"Oh-h-h-h-h!" he sighed. "But these things – off with them!"
With her own hand fondling the length of his staff beneath his shorts, evoking in him the tumult of lust, she breathed back: "Only when yours are off, too, my love!"
So they paused, and with one twin writhing, each was free of clothes, resplendent in their nudity.
And now her fingers upon his throbbing penis were practiced, experienced demons of provocation as, palm-wet from his juices, they slithered back and forth across the phallus, torturing each nerve…
But Andrew, in his turn, had insinuated equally unendurable fingertips into the warm, oiled slither of her sex, so that the girl was reduced to a writhing jelly of spasmodic twitching in her lust for him.
Together they uttered weird, primeval cries of passion into each other's mouths until she could bear it no longer, and she lapsed into bursts of obscene profanity, which were wrung from her during the most intimate moments.
"Have me!" she cried. "Possess me! Now! Fuck me, ah, I beg of you! Christ, I can stand this no longer, not another moment!"
Andrew still persisted in stirring within her eager, pulsating vagina, resisting her attempts to arch her way beneath his muscled, youthful physique.
But mercy eventually prevailed upon him. With barely a perceptible effort he lifted her up, using only his forearms. And then he allowed her to fall athwart him at precisely that that second when his throbbing penis was erect, poised to penetrate the pubic hairs beneath which throbbed her cunt.
Louise felt the warm heft of her man being absorbed in the lubricated length of her vagina, and twitched in spasms.
"God I feel it must be a mile deep, this cunt of mine!" she cried. "Pierce it! Rip it! Come deep inside me! Come now, Andrew! I demand it, I tell you!"
Andrew gave all he was asked for. And furiously, the girl fucked back with all the force of her massive hips, seeming to wrap all of her womanhood over and around him as she sensuously writhed to and fro.
He, for his part, was now a creature of crystal-clear perception, sensing her desire, matching it with his own, yet rigidly controlling his passion till it should be ready, in one glorious giving, to be spent in the simultaneous, drenching climax that was steadily approaching.
There was warmth in Louise, and tiny lips – it seemed there must have been a million of them – veritably sucked at the throbbing head of his penis deep within her belly, sawing to and fro as he brought on the climax they were both nearing.
And as they fucked, they kissed and rolled and writhed in their eagerness to be dominant in their copulation.
On his back, Andrew felt her clawing fingernails involuntarily tearing his skin, lacerating it in her feline feminine desire to hurt. Her rending nails were causing him no pain. Instead, they merely provoked his ardour.
Gently but firmly gripping her, he answered her sadism with a consideration that was prompted by his remembering that this whole affair was but a whim, a passing desire on the part of this girl. Why mark her, then? Why lacerate her as she was lacerating him? That might offend her husband. But bruise her? Ah, Christ, if the bitch did not stop soon, then bruise her he would…
And then he knew by her twitching and the swelling of her nipples against his chest that she was about to come.
Sensing his triumph, he drove his tusk like some giant, fucking deeper and faster into the mystical interior of her cunt, till it seemed he would rip out her very bowels. And she matched him, stroke for stroke, till with a cry that must have echoed through the entire floor of the hotel, both arrived. Sweating, panting, salivating, they came together.
In a flurry of sperm, of pulsating masculine ejaculation, he flooded her cunt as she arched herself back up and into him, striving to wring the last final drop of juice from him.
And so, sweat-drenched, fuck-drenched, satiated, they lay for long moments, recovering their strength. But both knew that this encounter, brief though it had been, spelt only the beginning of something between them.
She knew only his first name. To him, however, the woman he had just enjoyed remained nameless. What the hell would it matter, he thought, if he were never to know her name, or she his, as long as they would be able again to accomplish what they had just accomplished another time?
And finally, sighing, Andrew rose silently, to dress and to depart. And on the bed, a mocking, complacent smile on her lips, Louise slept…
When Louise awoke, there was still the hint of a smile in her expression as she busied herself with her toilette. Faintly she tra-la-la-ed the rhythm of a cha-cha number while she waited for her bath to fill. Occasionally she permitted herself a pirouetting twirl as she moved about the suite, preparing for the day ahead of her.
In her bath, she was magnificent. She lay awhile, wallowing in the softened, perfumed water, observing the perfection of her flawless body.
From the floating mounds that were her breasts she noticed how, under the transparent water, her hips rounded out into the twin columns of her thighs like some underwater growth of marine biology, the to taper into the twin symmetries of her ankles.
At her pubis, the soft tangle of hair swayed lazily submerged rocks of some grotto. And she thrilled involuntarily as the memory flooded back of what she had so recently enjoyed.
On an impulse, she brought up her knees, so that the lips of her cunt were parted to the voluptuous warmth of the water. At the same time she caressed the still-sensitive vagina, bringing back exquisitely the memory of the furious fucking it had so recently endured.
Ah, woman! she thought. That Andrew! Christ, that was a man, indeed! And she sat up, still smiling, to lave her luxuriant body in soap, delighting in the gentle touch of the sudsy cloth over her skin. Fresh from the fragrance of her bath, dried and warm, she squatted over the bidet to complete her fastidious ablutions by douching out the depths of her cunt. Finally perfumed, fragrant and groomed with all the care her wealth could provide, she began to dress, choosing first the sheerest of black panties. Through these, her triangle of cunt hair lay visibly pressed back into a matted triangle of desirability. Her vast bosom she snapped into a cut-away brassiere that strove valiantly, albeit woefully unsuccessfully, to contain all the curves that were suddenly entrusted to them.
Over her hips she drew a skirt that was tight enough to allow the panty-hems to show as they clung tightly to the healthy, formed flesh of her buttocks.
A pale yellow blouse followed, filmy enough for just the most enticing suggestion of brassiered tits to be conveyed – twin hillocks of loveliness, objecting to the confines of the nylon strap that sought to bind them.
Stockings, then, and shoes from which more material was missing than had been used in their construction. Gloves, handbag but no hat and Mrs. Louise Henderson was ready for the street. Ready to meet the husband whose return she had been looking forward to so very much.
And as she swished expensively through the foyer of the hotel, she thought she caught a glimpse of the easy-moving figure of Andrew, who had proved so perfect a lover earlier that morning.
And she smiled again, the same smile she had worn throughout her morning bath routine.