**CHAPTER 1 – ARRIVAL**
The knock on the hotel room door hits me like a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest. My heart’s already hammering, but now it’s trying to break free entirely.
I look at you. You’re standing by the bed in that black lace bra, grey cotton knickers, and sheer black stockings that make you look like pure fucking sin. The bra is sheer — your nipples already dark and tight, pressing visibly against the lace. The stockings hug your thighs, the thin bands of lace at the top digging gently into your skin.
The grey cotton knickers are soft and simple, already damp at the centre from how turned on you are. I can smell you from here — that sweet jasmine-and-arousal scent that’s been driving me crazy all evening.
We’ve fantasised about this for months. Whispered in bed. Filthy texts while you’re at work. My fingers inside you while I told you exactly how I wanted to watch you get taken apart. And now it’s real.
“I’ll get it,” I say, voice rough. I open the door.
Belle steps in — tall, confident, a little black dress hugging every curve like it was made for her body. She has classic high cheekbones, full lips curved in a knowing smile, bright blue eyes that sparkle with mischief, and golden-blonde hair falling in soft waves just past her shoulders. The dress is short and sleek, ending mid-thigh, with sheer black stockings that make her legs look endless, and sharp high heels that click softly on the floor as she walks toward you.
She looks at you and breathes, “Wow… you weren’t exaggerating about her.”
She comes closer, voice dropping soft and warm.
“Hey, Amy… I know this is your first time with a woman. We’ll go slow and gentle — only what feels good for you. Say stop or pause anytime, okay?”
She brushes her fingers lightly down your arm — just a feather touch — and waits for your small nod.
Then Belle leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want. When you don’t, she cups your cheek gently and kisses you — soft at first, lips brushing yours like a question.
You melt into it. The kiss deepens — slow, hungry, tongues meeting in a tentative, exploratory dance. Belle tastes faintly of mint and desire, her mouth warm and patient. Your breath hitches against her lips; your grey cotton knickers grow even wetter as the kiss lingers, turning more passionate, more urgent.
When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder, lips swollen, eyes locked. Belle smiles softly, thumb tracing your lower lip. “See? We’ve got all night, gorgeous.”
Belle steps back slightly, her gaze dropping to the damp patch on your grey knickers. Her voice is low, warm, encouraging:
“Why don’t you play for us now, Amy? Touch yourself… let us watch how wet you are, how much you want this. Show us how good you can make yourself feel while we sit here and enjoy every second.”
You blush even deeper, but the hunger in your eyes is unmistakable. You nod — small, eager — and turn toward the bed.
We settle into the chairs.
You climb onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress.
And then you begin.
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