Demonstrations Pt. 02

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Airport hotel bars were the worst.

Ravi sat at the bar staring at the TV overhead. It was showing highlights of the cricket match, but he wasn’t really watching. It was just something to look at. He took another sip from the pint of eye-waveringly expensive lager in front of him, trying to make it last. Beside him, a man in a polo shirt, jeans and gold chains was ordering a whole tray of Stella, with the enthusiasm of someone heading out on holiday and without a care in the world. Not someone who, say, still had a presentation to prepare.

Earlier, Ravi had checked in, unpacked his wash-bag and laptop, and sat down on the bed for a whole ninety seconds before deciding he’d had enough, and headed for the bar. He’d had a pint, sitting at one of the low, square tables, until it was time for dinner, and then he’d had a plate of quite-frankly terrible pasta, presented (and priced) as though it was haut cuisine. It now sat in his stomach like a lead weight, continuing to offend him.

It wasn’t that Ravi was a snob. He was only 25, a relatively junior member of the team, and he wasn’t that accustomed to eating out, never mind in fine-dining restaurants. But he’d been raised right; he knew good (home) cooking, and he knew bad food, and he resenting having to pay for the one but receive the other – especially since he’d then have to justify the prices in a review of his expense claims.

He was beginning to hate business travel.

Six months ago, he would have said that was impossible. His mother still thought it was a sign of great achievement, something glamorous. He’d come to realise, though, that it just meant working in a different office – with lots of waiting around in airports.

He sighed.

Then he became aware that someone had just spoken to him.

He looked around. The speaker was a striking woman standing next to him. She was older than him, by five or so years – maybe ten. But it looked good on her. She was white, with long black hair that fell over her shoulder in waves. She had brown eyes and full lips, both of which seemed to be smiling at him in amusement. She was dressed in a black jacket, short black skirt and a white blouse, with dark tights and matching black high-heeled shoes. The jacket hung open, and the top two buttons of the blouse were undone, showing an impressive cleavage; the material showed tension around the remaining buttons as though her large breasts might burst out at any moment.

Ravi realised that far too many seconds had passed since he turned around to look at her in response to her words. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t catch that.”

She laughed – a rich, warm sound. “I said I recognised that noise. Not to mention the thousand-yard stare. You, my friend, have all the hallmarks of the disillusioned business traveller.”

Ravi gave a wry tip of the head. “That obvious, is it?”

She looked thoughtful, for a moment. “Well, put it this way – what are you watching?”

“The cricket.”

One eyebrow arched up. “Of course. Good game, is it?”

He shrugged. “I suppose. I’m not really into it.”

She laughed. “So I see. It’s not really my thing either, but it looks like I knew even less about cricket than I thought I did. Or they’ve changed the rules a lot recently.”

Confused, Ravi turned to look at the screen. It was showing snooker. “Oh,” he said. “Well, it was showing the cricket.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Not when I got here, anyway. And that,” she whispered, touching him lightly on the arm for a moment, as she leaned in confidentially, “is why it’s obvious.”

Her perfume wrapped around him and stayed with him as she leaned back. He’d gotten an enticing eyeful of her chest as she’d moved closer, too. He felt an involuntary stirring in his loins.

“Anyway,” she said. “I need a drink.” She propped herself up on tip-toe and, placing her hands on the edge of the bar, she leaned forwards, peering at the stock of beverages in the low shelves behind the bar. Her hips were at bar height, and as she leaned forwards, Ravi took the opportunity to admire how her tight skirt clearly showed her perfectly-shaped backside: it was full, with the delicious shape curving round and under to meet her vertical thighs in a sharp angle. The tight skirt hugged the underside of her buttocks. He could feel his cock stiffening in response, and he shifted his posture slightly to cope.

He glanced towards the bar; in the mirrors behind the spirit bottles, he could see her still looking at the shelving, so she hadn’t spotted him staring at her. But now he could see that her jacket was held back by her arms as she leaned, showing off her wonderful cleavage even more.

His eyes were drawn back to her backside again as she lifted one foot idly for a moment. She turned her head to look back at him, still bent over.

“See anything good,” she asked him, smiling seductively.

With a start, he pulled his eyes from her body and directed them towards his drink. “I… er…” he Kurtköy Yabancı Escort stammered, unsure what to say. He was suddenly aware of the outline of his cock in his jeans.

“Hmm. No. Beer’s not my thing.” She flashed her eyes at him. “I think it’s Prosecco o’clock!”

She straightened up and, still on tip-toe, turned to face away from him, crossing one ankle over the other. With on hand on the bar, she raised the other to wave at the barman who was down the other end of the bar; with the motion, her jacket rose up, giving him another view of that enchanting bottom, almost as though she were presenting it to him. He took the opportunity to quickly rearrange himself.

After a moment, the barman acknowledged her, and she turned back to Ravi.

“Do you mind if I sit for a moment?” she said, pulling up a nearby empty stool.

“Not at all.”

She sat down on the stool, turned a little towards him. She crossed her leg, causing the skirt to ride up a little; Ravi could see that they weren’t tights after all: the top band of a stocking was just visible on her right thigh, and he suspected that the outline of a suspender was visible – though he couldn’t stare at her legs to be sure. Certainly not with her looking at him as she was right now, with that appraising gaze.

“We haven’t been introduced,” she said, and extended her hand. “I’m Adrienne.”

“Ravi,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Hello, Ravi. Pleased to meet you. And pleased to meet you,” she said to the barman as he came over.

“What can I get you?”

“Glass of Prosecco, please.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Ravi fidgeted with his glass while the barman poured her drink and she paid. He stole quick glances while her attention was elsewhere: glances at her legs, at the cling of that skirt, and, yes, he could see the outline of suspenders under the material. At her breasts, in the mirror. At her face and lips. And at all of her, really: cool, calm, glamorous, and poised. And sitting right next to him.

“So, Ravi,” she finally asked, once the barman was finished, “are you waiting for some people?” She took a sip from her glass, looking at him through long, dark lashes.

He shook his head. “It’s just me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a story there. Don’t get me wrong,” she said, leaning towards him and placing a hand on his thigh for a moment. “I’ve met a few silicon valley start-up billionaires in my time, and some of them are barely out of nappies. But it’s my job to read people, and you don’t look the type. So what’s the story?”

“The rest of the team have already gone on ahead,” he told her. “I should have been travelling with them. But I was attending a family wedding, so I was flying back here, then we were all supposed to get the same connection to the client.”

“But your flight was late?”

He nodded. “The inbound flight was delayed by mechanical issues. By the time they’d found another plane to get us here, my team had already departed.”

She patted his hand. “It happens to all of us, sooner or later. No other flights today?”

He shook his head. “Everything was full. Unless I wanted to go business class or first class—”

“—and the company rules say you have to fly economy, right?”


She threw her head back to give a laugh. “Oh, it’s the same all over. They fly us on the cheapest budget, jammed into cattle-class, and then expect us to look good and to work effectively at the other end when we’re exhausted.”

Ravi marvelled at the concept of this goddess ever looking anything less than stunning.

“So, what do you do for the team, Ravi?”

“I’m a project manager. I know that sounds impressive, but—-“

She waved this aside, taking another sip. “Oh, I get you. Gantt charts out of your ears. Everyone else does the ‘real work'” — she rolled her eyes to indicate the quotation marks — “and think you’re nagging them about deadlines, but there are dozens of spinning plates and people are juggling with chainsaws and you’re the one with the thankless task of keeping everything in the air and spotting what’s about to fall before it does. It’s a vital job, Ravi, and don’t ever think otherwise.”

He was surprised. To be fair, he’d thought roughly the same thing himself from time to time, but he’d never heard it summed up so eloquently. “That’s a really nice way to put it. Mind if I steal that for my next performance evaluation?”

“Knock yourself out.” She clinked her champagne flute against his pint glass.

“And what about you? What do you do?” He frowned, slightly. “You said your job was to ‘read people’?”

Adrienne gave a dismissive tip of her head. “Marketing. I’m an account manager. People think that’s about selling stuff, and in a way, it is: the aim is to get the highest price from a customer for whatever you’re selling, but to do that, you need to be able to read people. Figure out what it is they want, which may not be what they think Kurtköy Yeni Escort they want. Salesmen, conmen, politicians, magicians, psychics – it’s all part of the same thing.”

“Huh,” Ravi said. “So you looked at me and just sized me up?”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s just what I do.”

By way of example, Adrienne had Ravi pick out groups of people in the bar around them, and she gave him her assessment: family groups, where she broke down the lines of stress between the parents and children, and between the siblings; work colleagues, where she pointed out the power balance and reporting structure; solo travellers; hotel staff. Ravi was grateful for the distraction, as it meant his erection faded enough so that he didn’t feel like it was tenting the front of his jeans.

For one group of women, Adrienne seemed amused. The three women were sharing a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket. “Looking at the ages, you might think they’re a family,” and Ravi could see what she meant: there was an older woman who could be the mother, and two younger women who could be her adult children. “The hair is a clue,” Adrienne said. The ‘mother’ had light-blonde hair, while the elder ‘daughter’ had red hair, and the younger one had black hair. “But if you look closely, their facial features don’t match, so I don’t think any of them are related. Of course, this could be an adoptive family, but I think it’s more likely that such a group would be party of either a hen party or a wedding party – people who know each other, travelling for a social occasion, but not related.”

Ravi was impressed. He indicated a solo man swirling a measure around in a brandy bubble, while ignoring the laptop open in front of him.

“Oh, that one?” Adrienne laughed. “Nice suit. Gold tie clip. Gold ring on right hand, but not left. Good hair. Rolex. Ostentatious appreciation of expensive brandy. Hedge-fund manager, but not as good as he wants to be. Thinks the trappings indicate that he’s successful, but actually make his clients wonder whether his fees are good value. Drives an Audi. Buys expensive wines and single malts, but doesn’t understand how to appreciate them. Never tips when by himself. Named Dane. Complete tosser.”

Ravi looked at her for a moment. “You had me going, up until ‘named Dane’.”

She sipped her fizz. “Oh, it’s all true, believe me.” Once again, she leaned close to him to whisper conspiratorially in Ravi’s ear. “He tried to pick me up, once. Hilarious to watch. I gave him so much rope….” She sat back again. “You travel through here often enough, you start to recognise certain individuals.”

She looked at him for a moment, her head on one side, then appeared to come to a decision. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a room key-card, and placed it on the bar surface, her middle finger touching it lightly.

Ravi swallowed. “What’s that?” he asked, his eyes on the card. His erection was back, suddenly. Full and hard.

“It’s a room key. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take this card and go to room 627. When you get there, you’re going to remove all – all – your clothing, and instead put on what you find lying on the bed. In exactly twenty minutes, when I come into the room, you will be kneeing on the floor at the foot of the bed, facing the door.”

Ravi’s heart was pounding. “And why would I do that?”

“Three reasons. First, because I’m telling you to, and you’re going to do exactly as I tell you to do, for the rest of the evening. Second, because, if you do, I’m going to make you come harder and longer than you’ve ever come before in your life. And third”—She reached out and grabbed his hard cock through his jeans and squeezed it—”third, because you really, really want to.”


Hannah was last to arrive at the airport hotel.

It had been over a month since their first “demonstration”, intended to show Dawn how to give a man a hand-job. Somewhat to her surprise, Hannah had found herself agreeing to convince her husband Nicky that she should wank him off while Dawn, Adrienne and Bethany watched, so that Dawn could see how it was done. Even more to her surprise, Nicky had agreed to the request, and they’d followed though – leading to Hannah splashing Nicky’s come all over the living room floor in front of the delighted ladies and, not too long after that, Hannah and Nicky banging the night away as they were both so turned on by the whole thing.

It had been, needless to say, quite the day. And, for that matter, quite the month.

On her way out, Adrienne had volunteered to give the next “demonstration”, and then had promptly been sucked into a maelstrom of business travel around Europe, and they hadn’t seen her all month. They’d heard from her, of course. Throwaway comments about the one-night stands she left in her wake as she burned a trail of male devastation across the continent like Aphrodite on Viagra. But there had been no chance for them to get together for Kurtköy Masaj Salonu the promised sequel. Until now.

“WANKFEST 2 – LET’S MAKE THIS HAPPEN!” screamed the email from Adrienne, under cover of a far more sedate subject line of “Book group meeting”. And she gave a date, time and location.

Hannah’s eyebrows had gone up as she read the email, and then read it again. And checked the location on the map. Yep, no doubt about it – Adrienne was telling them all to meet in an airport hotel bar. Hannah figured that Adrienne had selected one of her conquests who was coming back on the same flight as her to be her demonstration partner. She wondered who was brave enough to volunteer and risk disappointing Adrienne in front of others…

Hannah was ash-blonde, in her mid-forties, but sufficiently active that she managed to maintain a reasonable figure. And she and Nicky had been getting quite a bit of “exercise” over the last month since the first demonstration. For this evening, she’d picked a green top over tight blue jeans, and ankle boots. A leather jacket completed the outfit. It was a combination suggested by Adrienne, and Hannah had learned to trust Adrienne’s recommendation on what would show off her figure to best advantage. She walked into the hotel lobby with the air of a women who felt attractive, and rightly so: she knew she looked good, and she had at least one man falling regularly at her feet eager to have sex with her. Head up, confident, she looked around for signs to the bar.

It turned out that she was the last of the trio to arrive. Bethany and Dawn were already sitting at a low, square table, drinking from takeaway Starbucks paper cups. She waved as she approached, and both of them stood to greet her with hugs. Bethany’s hair was a bright, pre-Raphaelite red, likely refreshed for the occasion. She wore a green velvet coat over an auburn corset and a matching green skirt that just covered her knees and the tops of her beige leather boots; the skirt swirled beautifully as Bethany negotiated the scattering of chairs around the table, causing Hannah to wish she could carry off an outfit like that.

Hey, a voice at the back of her head said, I bet you could. And Nicky would love it, the voice added. She made a mental note to go shopping…

Dawn gave her a hug, too. Dawn’s black hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and she wore a grey t-shirt with a Banksy print over blue jeans, and a trench coat to complete the look. Just nineteen, Dawn was pretty, but shy, and she didn’t dress to impress. Hannah thought that Adrienne needed to have a word.

“Coffee?” Bethany asked, as Hannah removed her coat and they all sat. “Tea?”

“Sod that!” Hannah said. “Farm boy! Bring me wine!”

“Wine it is,” said Bethany, nodding sagely. “Dawn, can you pass me that menu, please? I think it’s got a wine list on it.”

Soon they’d placed their order, for a nice, chilled bottle of chardonnay that if, not cheap or technically pleasant, would probably be at least cold and alcoholic, and they had a chance to chat.

“Anyone heard from our girl?” Bethany asked, swirling the dregs of her coffee in its cup.

Dawn shook her head. “I was expecting her to be here by now.”

“Maybe her flight is late,” Hannah suggested.

Dawn looked up in surprise. “You think she’s flying in? Tonight?”

Hannah shrugged. “Why else meet at an airport hotel? I assumed it was because she was bringing someone back from Costa Del Wherever with her.”

“Probably in the hold,” Bethany muttered. “Wrapped in duct tape.”

“You got that vibe too, huh?” asked Dawn.

They all nodded. Adrienne was known for getting her way. It was kind of her job. But they’d all been a little surprised at how she’d acted towards Nicky. Very… dominating.

“Not that I’m judging,” Dawn said, who was not the most worldly-wise of the group.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Hannah countered.

Bethany looked at her “Oh?”

“Well,” Hannah said, “Nicky seemed to enjoy it, so I…gave it a go, too. And we’ve been at it like rabbits ever since. It’s all gone a bit Fifty Shades round our way lately and, girls, I have to tell you I am loving it. I’ve been walking bow-legged for a month.”

“Your wine?” said a waiter, from right behind Hannah, causing her to jump.

“Ah, thank you,” Hannah said, trying not to cough.

Nobody said anything as the waiter put down the ice bucket and went through the ceremony of showing Hannah the bottle and getting her to sample the wine before pouring three glasses.”

He didn’t get more than three feet from the table before they could hold themselves no longer, and they all burst out laughing.

“Oh, god, his face!” said Bethany. She raised her glass. “Here’s to your bow legs, babe!”

“That sounds like a story I need to hear.”

Hannah turned to meet Adrienne. As usual, she looked fabulous – this time in smart business attire that leaned heavily toward the “sexy executive” end of the scale. They all stood for a quick hug ‘n’ kiss.

“Sit! Sit! I’m not stopping – I’m just here to say hello.”

“Not stopping?” asked Dawn.

“Still getting your man prepared?” Hannah guessed. “Who is he, anyway?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Oh,” said Bethany. “Why the suspense?”

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