Part 2 of 2
The sprightly girl with the bouncy ponytail looked around nervously before slipping into the service entrance to scurry, two steps at a time, up the metal stairs to the second floor. By using the back stairs, Petra hoped to avoid any other staff members who might wonder what she was doing there -- in uniform, while clearly off duty. That she wear her work clothes was something he insisted on: her waitresses' uniform, the light-weight linen dress in Dreamchaser's colors -- royal blue, trimmed with pink. He had told her exactly what she was to wear: the uniform dress, but no stockings or pantyhose -- he made that clear. Just her uniform, and a pair of open, high heeled sandals.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror as she emerged on the second floor: a sprightly girl with straight, caramel-colored hair drawn smoothly back to fall in that perky pony tail of hers. Her heart was racing as she paused, took a deep breath, fluffed up her bangs, made one final check of her uniform. Her nervous hands checked the row of small plastic buttons down the front, the flat, open collar. They passed lightly down her modest bosom, smoothening the tapering fit at her trim waist before straightening the loose skirt that fell down bare legs.
Gathering up her courage, she knocked softly at the door of room 210. The door opened a crack; Nick was looking out at her. He smiled that smug, self-pleased grin of his. The opening door revealed him to be barefoot, and wearing nothing but a pair of pants, the fine silky trousers from one of his dark suits. The nervous girl tried not to stare as her eyes quickly took in his handsome physique, the bulky shoulders, thick chest and tight-muscled belly. The guy obviously kept himself in shape! The heavy chain he wore around his neck was embedded in curly black fleece that thickened at the center of his chest and dribbled straight down his front in a wispy trail pointing towards his navel, and beyond. The belted pants rode low on his hips.
Under the full-length windows with their superb ocean view, she saw Margo squatted on a footstool placed before a large red chair. The blonde was still wearing the sundress she had on at breakfast, and she sat huddled over, arms wrapped around her steepled knees, white pumps set side by side on the thick carpet, skirt draped down over her white-stockinged, tightly closed legs. The pale face she turned towards their guest was tense, the big blue eyes anxious with a brittle smile.
'Like a doe caught in the headlights,' Petra thought, and she wavered in the doorway. But Nick caught her hesitancy, and took the girl by the elbow and swept her along, ushering her into the room. Nick led a suddenly reluctant Petra over to the red chair; Margo stood up to move out of the way.
The two women stood eyeing one another like two wary wrestlers, Margo the taller of the two, the one with the decidedly more mature and feminine figure was having her usual poise tested as she struggled with an acute sense of embarrassment, nervously biting her lower lip. Petra, smaller, more slightly built: a party girl, who wasn't at all sure just what she had gotten herself into, still thought of heading for the door. Both women were aware of the simmering sexuality, the presence of the bare-chested man, the undercurrent of lesbianism, the awkwardness of the situation they found themselves in, the scary uncertainty of it all. Margo welcomed the girl like a gracious hostess greeting a guest at a cocktail party, although her voice was strained, and she had a hard time meeting Petra's eyes. The two women actually shook hands; Petra being struck by the absurdity of the situation! The tension in the room was so strong you could cut it with a knife. But if the women were clearly flustered and uncomfortable, Nick was his usual smooth self: a self-assured, cocky male; sly, reckless and ready for some fun.
Petra took the big armchair, while the blonde was sent off to get them drinks, with a playful slap on the skirted rearend.
*** *** ***
Once drinks had been served, the blonde stationed herself before Petra's chair to wait docilely with hands at her sides, downcast eyes studying the pointed tips of her white pumps. Nick sitting across the room, a gin and tonic by his side, seemed totally unconcerned about the tension between the women. Petra watched him take out a cigar and take his time lighting it, studying the glowing tip, before settling back into the cradling curve of his easy chair.
"Come on girls, time we got started. Pet, you're first. Take your shoes off. No wait!" he hastily added. "On second thought: make the slut do it for you. Tell her!"
"What?"
"Tell her to take your shoes off. Go on." he said, with a mildly impatient wave of his cigar.
"I...I couldn't. I don't think I should..."
