by Ella Ford
I watched her leave, mouth agape and pulse pounding in my ears. When I was sure she was gone, I looked down at the table in front of me and saw a folded piece of paper. I eyed it warily, as one might stare down a spitting cobra, then gingerly reached out to pick it up. I unfolded it, expecting something awful and inexplicable to happen, but found only a note scrawled in dainty handwriting.
Hi,
My name is Samantha.
I’m staying at the Grand Plaza on 28th. Room 421. Stop by at 8pm, I’ll leave a key with reception for you.
S x
Oh boy.
Chapter 2
I sat and stared at the note for half an hour, poring over the delicate handwriting for hidden meaning or secret messages. I studied the front and the back, held it up to the light of the window and read those thirty words a hundred times before giving up on discerning any more information. It seemed clear, she wanted me to visit her hotel room and … and what? I had no idea.
Why would one woman invite another to a hotel room after dark? My mind raced as I considered the possibilities. I ran through scenarios in my head. In one scenario, “Samantha” is a spy, sent to make contact with a representative of a foreign power. In another, she is a maniac, on the run from the state penitentiary and eager to taste human flesh once more. As I concocted and discarded unlikely scenario after unlikely scenario I gradually came to realise that there was one possibility I couldn’t dismiss, but also couldn’t face. The possibility that she wanted me for more than state secrets or the sweet thrill of cannibalism.
Our encounter across the coffee shop, her fuck-me-eyes and elaborate foot dance, it all pointed to one thing. She wanted… me.
I gasped, the realisation both sudden and obvious. My feverish mind took off in yet another direction, building on the shaky foundation of this thought. Fertile imagination took over, concocting a sequence of events that charted a possible future from this one chance meeting: I go to the hotel. I’m thrown down on the bed and ravished by Samantha, doing whatever it is that women do to each other. We move in together. We get married, blessing the liberal age in which we both live. We buy matching pairs of dungarees and get a bulldog named Spike. We visit San Francisco a lot and shave our heads.
Wait! Wait! I stop myself and take a deep breath. That’s not me! I’m not a lesbian. I don’t have the right shaped head to be completely shaved and I hate bulldogs! True, I would look super cute in a pair of dungarees, but that’s beside the point.
I scold myself for being silly. Samantha didn’t seem like that anyway. When I got to the hotel, I’d probably just find she wanted to get to know me, to chat like teens on a sleepover and drink red wine. She’s probably just lonely in a strange city and wants some company. Nothing sordid or anything. Yes, that’s probably it. It’ll be fine.
I stop in mid-thought, catching myself as I realise something that shocks me. In all of my tortured deliberations over the tantalising note, I never for one moment considered not going to the hotel.
---
The taxi pulled up beside the curb outside the Grand Plaza on 28th Street and I stepped out onto the pavement. I looked up at the imposing building before me and sighed. My heart was racing and my stomach churning, every instinct I had was telling me to get back in the taxi and go somewhere far from here.
“Hey lady, you wanna pay me or what?” a voice spoke behind me. In my nervous state, I forgotten to pay the taxi driver. I blushed and reached into my purse and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. With shaking hands, I handed the driver the money and meekly asked him to keep the change, realising instantly that I’d just tipped him the price of the ride.
“Gee lady, much obliged! Have a good night won’t ya?” and with that, the taxi lurched off from the pavement and into the night before I could change my mind. I cursed and turned back to the hotel.
Not too late to back out, I told myself, at the same time willing my foot to step forward and take me up the steps to the entrance. A doorman hurried from inside to hold the door for me as I approached. He tipped his cap and looked me up and down, barely managing to conceal the sordid look in his eyes as he passed over my legs and cleavage.
Now, as a first time lesbian, I had no idea what my new people wore to meetings like this one. I’d spent most of the afternoon flinging clothes around my apartment in a desperate attempt to pick just the right outfit, but couldn’t find anything that fitted the description of “clothes you might wear for an illicit rendezvous with foot crazy lesbian in a hotel downtown”.
In the end, I’d decided to play it cool. Dress up as though I was heading to meet a date at a swanky restaurant and had just happened to drop into the hotel on my way past. Then, if the meeting with Samantha became too weird, I would make my excuses and say I had to be somewhere else. The perfect plan.
I ended up wearing a figure hugging tight black dress, cut low over my chest and high on my thighs. My legs were clad in black thigh highs, smooth and sheer, with tall black heeled pumps. Even my hair would pass for socially acceptable that night, swept up and off my shoulders and gathered behind my head in a style that I thought screamed “kiss my neck!” I looked like dynamite, if I do say so myself.
In retrospect, it’s obvious that I didn’t dress that way to legitimise some elaborate escape plan. No. The bare truth of it was that I wanted to look my very best for Samantha, regardless of what she wanted. I’d spent most of the afternoon thinking about her, about her gentle smile and her warm eyes. I thought about her body and her toned legs. I thought about the kissing her red lips and losing myself in her slender neck, feeling her soft skin against mine. Most surprisingly of all, I thought about her feet. I thought about what it would be like to take them in my mouth, to kiss her sole, to suck her toes. I was confused and thrilled by how much these thoughts aroused me, how much I wanted to make them real.
I didn’t want Samantha to think I was dressed like that for anyone else but her. But I still had no idea why I was at the hotel that night, and continued to tell myself that I could leave at any time.
I stepped across the lobby, heels clicking against the polished marble floor and feeling distinctly out of place in such a stately establishment. As I approached the desk, a kindly looking gentleman caught my eye and smiled at me. He was middle aged and refined, the perfect cut of his suit matching his thin moustache and slicked back hair.
“How may I help you tonight ma’am?” he asked, the slightest trace of an accent coloring his words.
“Hi. I’m, erm, Sarah Fisher,” I stuttered, immediately scolding myself for using my real name, “I was told to ask at the desk for the key to room 421, Samantha…” I stopped, realising that I didn’t know her surname and slammed my mouth shut before I got myself into trouble.
The clerk riffled through a pile of notes, pulling out an envelope and smiled broadly. “Ah yes, room 421.” He handed me the envelope and added, “Have a lovely evening ma’am.” I was convinced I could detect a sarcastic undertone in his tone, the way his eyebrows raised slightly as he pronounced the word “lovely”.
I mumbled my thanks, and hurried away from the desk, not sure which way the elevators were but keen to get away from his obvious judgement. I eventually found my way to the back of the lobby and followed a sign for the guest rooms.
I stopped in front of the elevators and pressed the call button, finally looking at the envelope that I'd snatched off the desk clerk. It was pink and smelled vaguely of perfume. The same dainty handwriting used on the note she’d left in the coffee shop was written on the front of the envelope:
For the nervous looking brunette with the cute smile. Room 421.
My heart skipped a beat as I realised it referred to me. What on earth was I getting myself into?
A gentle ping from the elevator finally dragged me away from the envelope and I stepped inside, pushing the button to take me upwards. The ascent seemed endless, yet was over in seconds and I found myself stepping out and into the plush corridor of the fourth floor. My body was on autopilot at t
hat moment. It felt like I was making no conscious effort to propel myself along, no sentient decision to turn left at the corner towards Rooms 420-439. My every instinct cried out for me to stop and turn around, maybe find a nice bar with a cute bartender. What did I think I was doing, coming to this hotel to meet someone I’d never even met, for reasons I didn’t even know? And yet, my legs continued carrying me forward until finally they stopped and parked me outside room 421.
---
I paused and gathered my thoughts. My thoughts, once gathered, told me to head for home right now and I momentarily regained control of my actions enough to turn back down the corridor and walk towards the elevator. But after just a few steps my treacherous legs turned me back around and parked me beside the door again. Worse still, my arm joined the rebellion and rose to knock quietly on the door.
No response. I began to suspect that this was all some cruel internet prank, that I’d likely turn up on YouTube the following day and go viral. I decided, once again, to leave. To my surprise, I knocked again, harder now, three times.
“Come in, use your key,” came a voice from inside. The female voice was friendly and encouraging, impossible to resist. My hands, once confident collaborators with my rebellious legs, now fumbled with the keycard, failing to hit the slot on no fewer than five occasions. They finally managed it and the red light turned to green, granting me admittance into my strange new life. I pushed the door and entered the room.
---
The hotel was surprisingly normal. If you’ve seen one, you’ll know exactly what I mean and not be in the least bit confused. It was quite large and spacious, a single door by the entrance leading to what I assumed was the bathroom. The main part of the room held a large, king size bed, covered in comfortable cushions and a soft looking comforter.
Samantha was lying on the bed, legs curled beneath her as she read a battered looking paperback book. She looked up at me as I entered, smiling and raised a finger to indicate that I should wait while she finished her reading.
I stood meekly by the entrance, clutching my purse in front of me and stared at the woman on the bed in front of me. She was wearing a silky, black robe, tied loosely around her waist and open slightly towards the top, revealing the soft rise her breasts and the tempting chasm of her cleavage. Her hair was down as it had been that morning, falling in honey cascades over the plush cushions that she leaned back against. She appeared intent, eyes flicking across the paperback, mostly unconcerned that I was staring at her.
I allowed my eyes to fall to her legs. They were bent at the knees, feet crossed together behind her ass. She was wearing tan stockings, with a garter belt which I could see clearly under the short robe. It occurred to me that if she shifted slightly, I would see her pussy. She seemed utterly unaware of her lack of modesty or, more likely, didn’t care. I abandoned the notion that I was here for a girly chat.
Finally, she put the book down on the bed beside her and looked at me, she smiled warmly and beckoned me over.
“Why honey, you look like a rabbit in the headlights,” she spoke, her accent melodic and southern. “Won’t you take your jacket off and have a seat?”
I nodded meekly and dropped my purse on the desk by the wall, then slipped my short jacket off. I looked around, unable to find a place to hang it. Samantha smiled again, seemingly entertained by my bumbling distress and pointed to the chair at the desk. I nodded again, and lay my jacket on the back of it.
Turning back to Samantha, I stepped towards the bed. The room seemed to elongate before me, each step seemed like a hundred yards and I felt like I might faint. My heart hammered in my chest and I felt a hot flush spreading up my chest and neck, and onto my face.
“M-my name is Sarah,” I managed to say, my voice sounding thin and laboured, coming from somewhere far away from my body.
Samantha smiled that sugary smile, a look of untarnished innocence mixed with unchecked desire. “Happy to meet you Sarah, I’m glad you came. Won’t you sit down on the bed with me a while?”
I reached the bed and sat, perching myself as close to the edge of the far corner as I could possibly manage without slipping off and falling to the floor. Samantha raised a slender finger and beckoned me closer. I shuffled up the bed, and stopped several feet away from where she reclined.
“D-do you do this often?” I stammered, desperate for something to say and finally coming out with this casual gem.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she feigned shock, “Why honey, whatever do you mean? Inviting cute girls who stare at my feet back to my hotel room?”
“About that… I-I mean, I never... It’s not…” I gave up and fell silent, unable to defend myself and unwilling to deny that I had been captivated by this sultry woman in front of me.
She uncurled her legs, stretching one foot out towards me and pointing her toes until she glanced the flesh of my lower arm. She teased it across my skin, causing my entire body to break out in goosebumps. I shuddered, unable to take my eyes off her toes as she caressed me.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of Sarah. Feet are beautiful things, sensual things, they demand attention.” She dropped her foot to my thigh, teasing it slowly across the soft flesh, the silky feel of her stockings brushing against mine driving me crazy. I longed to reach out and touch her, take her in my hands and feel that warmth on me. My pussy tingled, an unfamiliar response to a new feeling.
She pulled her foot back and curled it back underneath herself. I felt an unexpected pang of rejection, fearing that she had sensed my arousal and was about to ask me to leave. Instead, she sat up on her knees and untied the belt of the black robe she wore. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and let it fall to the bed behind her. I blinked as she kneeled before me, her upper body completely naked now. Her breasts hung free, moderately sized and perfectly shaped. Her small pink nipples were stiff and pointed, her arousal evident in the dim light of the room. Her pussy was neat and trimmed, a fleeting patch of light hair above the perfect line of her labia.
She stretched like a cat, arching her back and pushing her chest towards me. She rolled her head and tossed her hair in her hands. Content with her nakedness, she looked at me and paused, seemingly considering how best to confuse and excite me next.
“Why don’t we get you out of that nice dress,” she purred demurely.
Numbly, I stood and fumbled at the zip beneath my neck. Samantha saw my difficulty and shuffled forwards to kneel behind me. She placed a soft hand on my hip, causing me to shudder and sigh. With the other hand, she slowly teased the zip down my spine to the base of my back. I stood rigid as she reached up to my shoulders and slid the dress down over my arms. I gasped as my skin was exposed. I’d never been particularly shy or ashamed of my body, but the current situation was so strange to me that I couldn’t help but flinch.
Samantha placed a reassuring hand on the skin of my shoulder. Her touch burned there, soft and pleasant, velvet against my trembling body. Once again, she turned to the dress, pulling it over my hips and letting it fall to the floor around my ankles. I stepped out of it, flicking it away with my heel. I turned to face her and she laid back on the bed, gazing at me as I stood there in my underwear.
She playfully nibbled at her index finger, eyes crawling up and down my body. “Bra…?” she half asked, half demanded.
Without complaint or hesitation, I reached behind myself and unclasped my the lacy strap, letting my bra fall over my arms to join my dress on the floor. It was Samantha’s turn to sigh as my large breasts fell free. She eyed them hungrily, still touching her finger to her red lips. She exhaled and smiled again, “Nearly done,” she whispered, her gaze falling to my panties.
I hesitated, sensing that this was the point of no return. My nakedness would indicate compliance, the acceptance of what was going to happen. And yet, I was unable to not take that final step. I looked on from somewhere distant as my hands fell to my hips and slowly slid my black panties down my legs. The thin lace that represented the last ve
stiges of my modesty fell to the floor and passed beyond the sphere of my concerns.
I stood before Samantha, exposed and available. Her eyes crawled over my body, and mine over hers. I longed to take those two steps forward and take her in my arms, kiss those ruby lips, but I held back, keen to prolong this moment for as long as I was able.
She patted the bed and I climbed up beside her, never taking my eyes from hers. I sat beside her and, with a boldness that I can’t explain, raised my hand to her cheek and stroked her soft skin. She closed her eyes and exhaled softly as I caressed her. I allowed my hand to fall to her neck, down the gentle swell of her breasts. She shuddered as I brushed her hard nipple. It was my turn to smile as I reached her thighs, tentatively touching the bare skin above her stocking top before tracing my fingertips down the sheer material below.
Samantha moaned at my tender probing. I could feel my own excitement growing, building in my stomach as a gentle warmth, a pleasant pulse that washed over my body in waves of pleasure. My entire battery of senses was focused on the woman before me. The sight of her naked body, the sound of her lustful moans, the soft touch of her skin beneath my fingertips.
I leaned forward to bring our faces together, my hand still on her thigh. I paused, our mouths inches apart. I breathed her in, the sensual scent of her perfume and her arousal filled my nose and throat and quickened my pulse. She closed the gap and lightly brushed her lips on mine. We both shivered as we touched. Her lips were soft and wet, yielding under the light pressure of the kiss. She pressed forwards again, harder this time, flicking her tongue across my lips and demanding entrance to my mouth.
A distant part of me observed that kissing Samantha was different to kissing a man. Lighter, restrained, less urgency. She tasted sweet, her tongue was fast and delicate, a gentle probe rather than a blunt instrument. She felt soft against me, her smooth skin sliding against mine.
My hand continued to explore her, tracing down her lower leg. I reached for her foot. Suddenly, Samantha pulled back and curled her legs under her once again. She smiled and lowered her head, gazing at me with predatory intent. I sighed under the weight of that hungry gaze. She reached forward and lightly pushed me back with gentle tap on my chest from a single outstretched finger. I capitulated and slid back to the mountainous pile of cushions behind me, relaxing into it and waiting for Samantha’s next instruction.
