For Cheryl and Lisa
Author’s Note: After reading Chapter 76 of Cheryl Taggert’s “I was the Daughter of a Porn Star,” I posted a comment about an encounter with a girl who delivered wine to my hotel room, similar to that of the fictional Cheryl and Lisa in said chapter. Cheryl’s response to my comment was an invitation for me to compose a story for Juicy Secrets about that encounter.
Thus, “Jeannie and the Bottle” was born. Of course, I have embellished considerably to make this story interesting. If I hadn’t, it would only be about five paragraphs in length. But let’s be clear — I do not know Cheryl or her wife Lisa. I do not know their real names, nor where they live. Except for one small part which I will address at the very end, the following is a work of fiction.
Sitting in a booth of the small café, Amanda looked out the window and watched the traffic and pedestrians go by, then stirred her coffee again — an act which was pointless since she took her coffee black. She fidgeted in her seat and checked her phone for the umpteenth time.
Amanda was waiting to meet Cheryl, one of three owners of a website that published erotic tales of lesbian love. She had read all of Cheryl’s stories, enjoying them immensely. It wasn’t uncommon for Amanda to make herself come while reading them. The stories written by Cheryl’s partners, established authors in their own right, were equally stimulating. Amanda had submitted a few stories of her own to the site and had them published. This was always done through email, as was the correspondence between Amanda and her editor.
Life, however, sometimes throws a curveball. Amanda had been reading an opus Cheryl had written and published. At the end of one particular chapter, Amanda posted a comment on the situation the heroine and her lover found themselves in. That situation was similar to something she’d once experienced at a hotel when she ordered a bottle of wine to be delivered to her room. Cheryl had replied to Amanda’s comment inviting her to write a fictional story based on the experience. Amanda had seriously thought about doing just that. And that’s where the curveball comes in.
As part of Amanda’s job, she sometimes takes business trips to various locales in North America. On one trip that was coming up, the flight had a stopover in a US city where she would change planes before continuing to her final destination. This was not an unusual occurrence. However, Amanda had noticed to her chagrin, this particular stop was eight hours long. Amanda was certain the clerk who booked her travel had screwed up. But it was a Saturday morning when Amanda noticed the error, meaning she would have to wait until Monday to have it fixed, if it could be at all.
Later that same day, Saturday evening, Amanda received an email from Cheryl with some editorial comments on the most recent story Amanda had submitted for publishing. While replying to the email, Amanda mentioned in passing the administrative screw-up and the city she would be spending her useless eight hours in.
The next morning, Amanda found an email waiting for her with an attractive proposition from Cheryl. As luck (and curveballs) would have it, the city where Amanda would be changing planes was Cheryl’s hometown. Cheryl wondered if Amanda would like to meet her and her spouse, Lisa, for coffee during the layover. She then went on to ask if Amanda would be interested in collaborating on a story.
Cheryl proposed that during their meeting Amanda could tell the tale of her experience at the hotel with the girl who’d delivered the wine, and then Cheryl would write a story based on what Amanda told her. Of course, they would confer during the ensuing writing process, and would both be credited as authors when the story was published.
Amanda had been thrilled by the idea and quickly agreed to the collaboration. The chance to meet both Cheryl and Lisa was an added bonus.
Her phone buzzed. Amanda looked at the screen and saw a text from Cheryl. It said they’d been delayed by road work, but expected to arrive in five minutes or so. Amanda felt the butterflies churn in her stomach. She was as nervous as a schoolgirl on her first date. When the little bell on the café door chimed, Amanda looked in the direction of the sound and instantly recognized Cheryl from the photo she had sent earlier that day. Amanda waved as she called out to them.
Cheryl smiled and made her way over to Amanda, followed closely by Lisa. Amanda stood and held out her hand, Cheryl ignored the gesture and instead wrapped her arms around Amanda, giving her a hug.
“I’m so glad we finally get to meet,” Cheryl said as she let go.
“As am I,” Amanda replied, a huge grin on her face.
“This, of course, is my wife, Lisa.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Lisa,” Amanda said while shaking her hand, thinking how beautiful the two women were and what a lovely couple they made.
“Shall we sit?” Amanda suggested, motioning toward the booth.
Amanda sat down behind her coffee as Lisa sat on the opposite side and slid over, making room for Cheryl to sit beside her. The waitress approached, and both Cheryl and Lisa asked for coffee. Cheryl pulled a small digital recorder out of her purse and placed it on the table.
“Did you have any problems finding this place?” Cheryl asked.
“Not at all. The cabbie knew exactly where it was.”
“Not surprising,” Lisa said. “It’s a favorite lunch spot during the week.”
Cheryl nodded in agreement. “So, what I was thinking, Amanda, was I could send you each chapter as I complete it for you to read. Then you could send it back to me with any changes, corrections, or comments you might have.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” said Amanda, then quickly added, “This is so exciting, Cheryl. I’ve enjoyed all your stories so much, and now I actually get to work with you!”
When Amanda realized that she was almost bouncing in the booth, her smile beaming, she felt the heat in her face grow. “Listen to me, I sound like a teenage groupie. Sorry…” she mumbled, looking down and stirring her coffee again.
Both Cheryl and Lisa laughed at this.
“Don’t worry about it, hon,” said Cheryl. “You’d be surprised at some of the fan mail I get. I’m really very honored that you and other readers enjoy my stories so much. So, thank you.”
The waitress arrived with two cups and a coffee pot on a tray. She placed the tray on the table and set the cups down in front of Cheryl and Lisa and filled them, then topped up Amanda’s. After the waitress confirmed that they didn’t require anything else, she left. The three chatted a while longer, enjoying their coffee.
After a few minutes Cheryl keyed the red button on the recorder. “Shall we get started then?”
“Sure,” said Amanda, taking a sip of her coffee. “It was 2012, and I was heading to Ottawa for a seminar…”
*********
The WestJet flight touched down at Ottawa International Airport right on schedule. It had been a short flight from Halifax, just two hours and ten minutes. Since the military was paying for my trip, they had booked an Economy Class ticket. I, therefore, paid for an upgrade to Plus Class out of my own pocket. The extra legroom and other perks that came with it were well worth the extra cost, even for such a short trip.
I looked out the small window of the Boeing 737 as we taxied to the terminal. The grounds around the runways and taxiways were covered in a couple of inches of snow, not surprising for mid-December in Canada. While the flight attendant was making the usual announcement about remaining seated until the aircraft came to a complete stop in front of the terminal building, people were already standing to pull their belongings from the overhead bins.
Laughing to myself, I shook my head at their, well, stupidity, for lack of a better word. Why were people always in such a rush to get off the plane? What was equally confounding was why they seemed to be in just as much of a hurry to get on the plane, even though it was boarded by row.
Once the aircraft did stop, I pulled my canvas shoulder bag from under my seat, making sure I’d placed my iPad in it, then patiently waited for the cabin door to open. I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, passengers were standing in the aisle, chomping at the bit like a bunch of thoroughbreds eager for the starting bell. When I saw Marie, the flight attendant, move to grip the door handle, I stood up and waited for the go-ahead.
I had been watching her discreetly throughout the flight. Marie was a very attractive woman, probably in her late thirties. Her ginger hair was braided into a long ponytail, and her WestJet uniform hugged her body just enough as to compliment her curves.
Earlier in the flight, when she’d served me a drink and a snack, I took the opportunity while she was bent over to glance at her appealing cleavage. She smiled and winked when I looked back up into her blue eyes.
For the rest of the flight, Marie deliberately made eye contact with me whenever she could. At one point she knelt by my seat and asked if there was anything I wanted. Since no one could see me, and being quite forward, I placed a hand on her knee and slid it slowly up her thigh as I whispered in her ear, “I want you.”
I leaned back, smiling, my hand still on her leg. Marie put her hand firmly over mine. I was half expecting her to push it away and chastise me. Instead, she drew my fingers farther up her thigh until they were stopped by her tight skirt. She smiled at me, her face turning a shade of pink, and asked how long I was going to be in the Ottawa area. After I explained that I would be in town until the following Saturday, Marie stood and moved to the forward part of the cabin where the galley was located.
The pretty redhead was out of sight for just a few moments before coming back to my seat. With a wink, she handed me a blue plastic bag that had a piece of paper attached to it with tape, then walked away to attend to other passengers.
I unfolded the note and read what was written on it:
Call me Wednesday afternoon, after 3 PM. Here is something to remember me by. I’m sure you wanted to touch them earlier. I know I wanted you to!!!
She had left her phone number, and also had kissed the note as was evident by the alluring red lipstick prints.
I opened the plastic bag and looked inside. To my surprise, I saw a pair of lacy red panties. I reached in and felt the crotch. Sure, enough the garment was damp. I pinched the wet part of the panties to get some of the moisture on my fingertips, then removed my hand and sniffed. Her scent was there, and it was luscious. I could feel myself getting aroused. The realization that the woman was now walking around through the aircraft without wearing panties served to turn me on even more.
As I deplaned, I thanked Marie for a great flight while saying I would see her again soon. She blushed as her colleague looked at her questioningly. Then I made my way to the baggage area, collected my suitcase, and left the terminal.
It was only a few degrees below freezing, but the wind chill made it feel much colder. I was glad I’d decided to wear my winter jacket. Back home the temperature was still a balmy 40 degrees. The shuttle bus for my hotel soon arrived, and I boarded it for the short ride.
When the bus stopped and the doors hissed open, I exited and made my way through the main entrance. The palatial lobby of the hotel was ornate and brightly lit. The floor was covered in marble and the walls in a beautiful wood panel trimmed with gold. Off to one side stood a tall, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. There were comfortable armchairs and a fireplace close by for guests to enjoy. The air was filled with the soft sounds of classic Christmas carols. I found myself humming along with them as I checked in at the reception desk. I was given a keycard, then proceeded to the elevators.
My room was spacious, and the decor gave the impression of elegance. A queen bed sat in the center of the room. Two armchairs flanked a small circular table that was positioned in front a large window which looked out over the city, offering a view of Parliament Hill. There was a desk with a leather high back chair, mini fridge, and a widescreen LED television. A dresser sat under the TV with a wardrobe off to the side.
I unpacked my suitcase and put my civilian clothes in the drawers of the dresser, then hung my uniforms in the closet along with my coat. Needing a shower, I began stripping off my clothes. When I noticed the blue plastic item poking out of my shoulder bag, which I’d tossed on the bed as I arrived, I retrieved it and took out the panties Marie had given me. I held them over my face and inhaled deeply, enjoying the lingering aroma of the sexy redhead.
The scent renewed my earlier arousal, and I breathed a soft sigh as I headed into the bathroom, leaving the panties on the bed. The shower was a walk-in type with a small bench seat and handheld shower wand. The device had a variety of settings, everything from a gentle mist up to hard pulsing jets.
“I’ll bet the inventor was a woman who loved to masturbate,” I murmured to myself, chuckling at the thought. I was sure I’d be making good use of that massaging shower head during my stay.
Then I turned and looked at the mirror over the sink. It was huge and went from counter to ceiling and wall to wall. An entire squad of narcissistic cheerleaders could do their makeup at the same time without any need to jostle for position.
For a few moments I admired my reflection, running my hands up and down the sides of my torso. I stay quite fit. Of course, being in the military makes that a necessity. My chestnut brown hair hangs loose, touching my shoulders. My 34B breasts are firm and capped with pink nipples. My belly is flat and toned with just a hint of a six-pack. My hips, a little wider than my waist, bracket a neatly trimmed triangle above my pussy. My legs are long and strong and finish off my 5-foot-7 frame. For a woman in her late forties, I guess I am still kind of hot.
Looking closer at the reflection of my pussy, I noticed the glistening of the lips. I put my hand on my mound and pushed my finger through the folds. I breathed a little gasp as I brushed against my clit. I was wet. I took my hand away and licked the juices from my finger. Then I turned around and opened the taps on the shower. When I was happy with the water temperature, I grabbed the bottle of body wash and stepped in. The warm water felt nice, and I stood there for a minute as the spray poured over my head and down my body.
I had already washed my hair that morning, so I forewent the shampoo and squeezed the bottle of body wash, squirting the soap onto my hand. I set the bottle down on the ledge and slathered myself. I moved my hands over my shoulders and arms, across my belly and down over my legs. Bringing my hands back up I rubbed my tits. It felt good touching myself, little tingles of excitement chasing through me. I squeezed the fleshy globes and pinched at the nipples. I moaned. Spreading my legs a bit, I pushed my hand down over my belly and onto my pussy. I palmed myself, rubbing the heel of my hand over my clit.
I curled my middle finger and played with my opening. I groaned loudly, enjoying the sensations. I pushed my finger into my pussy and slowly fingered myself. The feeling of pressure building inside me grew. I took my hand away from my pussy and waited for a few seconds, not wanting to rush.
When I was ready, I put my middle and index finger onto my throbbing clit and rubbed it. Lightning shot through me, and I jerked at the feeling. I moved my fingers down through my wet folds and into my pussy, pushing my fingers in as far as I could and slowly fucked myself. It felt wonderful. I continued to tease myself this way for several minutes, getting close, right to the edge, then backing off.
By then I was breathing hard and my self-control was fading quickly. Pushing my fingers in deeply, I curled them and searched for that special spot. “Ohhh yesss,” I moaned.
Placing my free hand on the wall for support, I fucked my pussy with a renewed vigor. My knees became weak, feeling the approach of a climax. I backed myself to the shower bench and sat. Spreading my legs wide, I pumped my fingers into my pussy harder and faster. I brought my free hand to my clit and rubbed it furiously.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!” I cried out as my orgasm exploded, sending wave after wave of pleasure through my body. I gasped for breath as I clamped my thighs together, trapping my fingers inside my quivering pussy.
I rested for a short time and looked around as my breathing slowed. I spied the hand-held shower head resting in its holder. After a few more moments, I stood up to retrieve it, then sat back down. I turned the ring of the shower head and examined each of the settings. When I found a soft pulsating stream, I leaned back and spread my legs again.
Slowly, carefully, I brought the stream up my inner thigh and onto my pussy. When the water hit my sensitive clit, I jumped. Too intense, I thought to myself. I focused the stream on hitting just above my opening. The feeling was strong, and I twitched and squirmed. A loud moan escaped from me. I place two fingers on my swollen clit and gently rubbed it. That familiar need was building inside me once again, and I rocked my hips as I moved the stream up and let it hit my clit. The sensation was almost unbearable, but I held the stream steady.
I was bucking against the stimulation of my hand and the driving water. I groaned as images of Marie played in my mind. “Fuck me!” I yelled. The feeling was surreal. Every nerve was firing. Waves of pleasure raced up and down my spine. My pending orgasm swelled and expanded as if it was a physical entity growing inside me. When it was ready, it forced its way out. I screamed and convulsed, slipping off the bench and landed on the tile floor. If there was any pain, I didn’t notice or care. I stiffened and shook. My scream became strangled in my throat.
“Mother of God,” I whimpered as my muscles began to relax and I curled up on the floor of the shower.
When I could finally breathe again and my heart rate had dropped to normal, I pulled myself up onto the bench with some difficulty, slipping and sliding on the wet tiles. The shower head was laying on the floor, water shooting skyward like a park fountain. After some time I stood, turned off the water and got out of the shower. I put on a complimentary terrycloth robe and made my way to the bed, collapsing on it.
“Holy crap,” I said to the ceiling. “I so needed that.”
I rested on the bed for a while until I felt my stomach growl. Looking over at the clock on the nightstand I saw that the glowing red numbers read 5:23 PM. No wonder I was hungry, I’d had little to eat all day.
After one more long, deep breath, I got up, finished drying my hair, did my face and put on some clothes. I then headed down to the dining room for supper.
Continue on to Chapter 2