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As lazy a day as it was, heat climbing in through the windows along with the smells of the city, Jocelyn hardly wanted to move. The bed cozied in around her limbs, providing the comfort of a nurturing cocoon. At least for the moment she’d follow his orders, forgetting about Ian’s overbearing attitude, that might have made her rest uneasy if she’d considered his paranoia over her safety. At least he said it was a safety matter – ‘a woman alone didn’t belong traipsing the streets of a foreign city,’ he’d said. In her gut she knew it was more than that motivating his demand.
Ian had been gone an hour and she was dozing when she heard a gentle rapping on the door. Hastily grabbing for her robe, she answered the knock seeing a petite German woman before her wearing nothing but a short silk robe, draping dangerously low in front. Jocelyn’s eyes were immediately drawn to her chest where she could see the soft sides of the woman’s breasts looking like translucent gelatin jiggling daintily against the rustling silk. A whiff of the woman’s ripe perfume greeted her, the sensation moving rapidly downward in her body.
“May I come in?”
The visit was a surprise but the woman not unwelcome. Jocelyn recognized her as the hotel manager. She’s already guessed that this was not a normal hotel. Ian refused to let her call it a brothel even with the numbers of scantily clad ladies that could be found at all hours in the hotel corridors.
“It’s a perfectly respectable inn,” Ian insisted. “I’ve know the dear woman that owns the place for years.”
The young woman before her was that owner’s daughter.
“Ian said you’d be alone and might want some company,” she said.
“How thoughtful,” Jocelyn replied opening the door wide.
“Dagne,” she introduced herself, “I know you’re Jocelyn.” Briefly as she said her name, she reached out to touch Jocelyn’s red hair, admiringly. Her own was black as coal, cut short and sticking up around her head in a disorderedly array that was quite charming in an artsy way. There was thick black mascara on her eyes. Her lips were painted peach. And though her facial features were small if you bothered to really look at them, she seemed all eyes and mouth, all wide-eyed wonder and smiles.
When she stepped into the room, Jocelyn noted a wine bottle and two glasses in one hand.
“Isn’t it a little early?” Jocelyn asked, thinking that her stomach was a little sour yet from all the wine the night before.
“It’s nearly noon,” she said. “Besides it cures everything from broken hearts and loneliness to a hangover.”
There was no telling the woman ‘no’, so Jocelyn accepted the glass she poured and then wondered how she could properly entertain her guest. With the room so small, there was no place to sit but her bed. Both ended up on the messy covers, Jocelyn with her legs crossed like an Indian, Dagne leaning in against Jocelyn’s pillows. Feeling the rays of sun beat in through the open window the heat was torrid.
“You know it’s going to be stifling in here if you don’t close this,” Dagne said, handing her wine glass to Jocelyn and turning around to draw the drapes.
; “I was enjoying the morning.”
“But with less intensity, perhaps,” Dagne concluded. “Have you been to Germany before?”
“Many times,” she said.
“And with Ian?”
“Twice now. This visit, then a long time ago.”
“You speak the language?”
“Hardly a word,” she replied. She sensed the woman’s frame of mind, that she was figuring this a relevant way to spend idle hours. Curled up and cozy on Jocelyn’s bed, she showed her thin thighs, their supple flesh and without modesty how her pussy was clothed in a bush of black curls.
Dagne’s breath was sweet and her hands warm. When she reached out to open Jocelyn’s robe the act seemed so natural that Jocelyn didn’t stop her. Fast forwarding in her mind to the possibilities before her, she could imagine making love to this impish fraulein without much effort. With Ian becoming increasingly more rough with her, the thought of pillow soft skin and silken hair and the scent of a pussy at her face made her burn quietly inside herself.
“Have you ever had a man leave marks on your breasts?” Dagne asked her as she ran her fingers over Jocelyn’s white skin. With a little perspiration having gathered under the full round of flesh, she drew her finger back and tasted the salty residue.
“My husband has,” Jocelyn replied to her.
“You have a husband and a lover? How naughty.” She giggled. “And your husband dominates you?”
“Sometimes.”
“And he’s ruthless with a cane?”
“Sometimes that, too.” Dagne’s questions made her remember what she was missing from Reggie, both in darkness and in tenderness.
“I’d give anything to have one man solely focused on my sexual satisfaction,” she sighed softly looking a little weary. “But to have two…”
