Stuart Woods - Worst Fears Realized

“Yes, Mr. Stone?”

“I wonder if you could arrange a massage for me in my suite?”

“Of course; what time?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Male or female?”

“Female.”

“Swedish or Japanese?”

“Swedish.”

“Please hold for a moment; I’ll check availability.” He came back after a moment. “Sheila will be with you in an hour.”

“Thank you.” Stone hung up, watched two episodes of This Old House on television, then went to the bedroom, got undressed, and put on a robe. Shortly, there was a knock on the door, and a pretty girl came into the suite and set up a massage table in the bedroom.

“Let’s start you facedown,” she said.

Stone slipped out of the robe and lay on the table; she draped a small towel over his buttocks.

“Oh, you’ve got some cuts on your back,” she said.

“An accident; can you work around them?”

“Sure; let me know if I hurt you.”

She began kneading his back, and Stone gave himself to the experience. Soon, he was in a light sleep. Then the doorbell rang. “Would you get that, please?” he asked. “It’s probably the maid; I forgot to put out the DO NOT DISTURB Sign.”

“Sure; I’ll be right back.” She left the bedroom.

Stone heard the door open and some whispering; then the door closed, and she came back. “Did you put out the sign?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, then began rubbing his back.

He fell back into a doze, waking only long enough to turn over at her request. She put some sort of bean bag over his eyes as he turned, then he resettled the towel in the appropriate place and began to doze again. She rubbed his neck and his face, then began working her way down his body. She lingered over his nipples, which he thought was a little odd, but he was too comfortable to protest. Then he felt her remove the towel. Oh, well, he thought, if she doesn’t mind, I don’t.

She rubbed his belly, then his upper thighs, and, occasionally, her hand would touch his penis, as if by accident. Then it began to be clear that it was no accident. What kind of service is the hotel running? He heard her squirt some lotion on her hands and rub them vigorously together, then she touched him in a very deliberate way. In a moment, she was massaging more than he had counted on.

He opened his eyes, but the bean bag still covered them, and he closed them again. She went at her work gently, but firmly, and in seconds he was fully erect. His instinct was to reach out for her; he resisted that, but nothing else. Within a couple of minutes she brought him to a climax, then caressed him gently as his breathing returned to normal. Then she wiped him dry and kissed him gently on the lips.

“I’m going to wash my hands,” she whispered. “You relax, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

He heard her close the bathroom door. He sat up and slipped into his robe. What was going on here? He’d never experienced anything quite like this. He supposed she would expect a very generous tip, and it seemed the least he could do. He got down from the table to get his wallet; then the bathroom door opened, and she came out.

His jaw dropped, and he was unable to say anything. Dolce Bianchi stood there, smiling at him.

“Did you enjoy your massage, sir?” she asked.

“I… I…”

“Oh, I believe you did,” she said. “I’d like a drink; may I fix you something?”

“In the kitchenette,” he said. “Whatever you’re having.”

She walked back into the living room as he tried to get his brain in gear, and he followed her. She returned with half a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

“Sit down and relax,” she said, setting down the glasses and drawing the cork from the bottle. “You shouldn’t exert yourself too soon after a massage.”

Stone sat down, and she handed him a flute of champagne. “How did you…?”

“I got your message, and I came right over,” she said. “I didn’t bother with the desk, just came right up, and when the masseuse came to the door, a couple of hundred persuaded her to leave early.”

He was recovering, now, and he raised his glass. “To unexpected pleasures,” he said.

She laughed. “Those are the best kinds.” She sipped the champagne.

“You are certainly full of surprises,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Oh, I am,” she agreed. “You must always remember that about me. I’m very forward, too. I don’t hesitate when I want something.”

“I don’t have any trouble believing that,” he said. “But how did you know I wouldn’t jump up from the table, shocked?”

“I’m psychic about these things,” she said.

“I’m a little psychic, myself,” he said. “Would you like a reading?”

“Why not?”

He set down their glasses, then took both her hands and held them palm up, gazing at the lines. “I can see that you have very talented hands,” he said.

She laughed aloud. “That’s not very psychic,” she said.

“You were foolish when you were young, but you’re smarter, now.”

“Dino told you about my marriage, no doubt.”

“I see that you do useful work,” he said. “That you are a giving person. That you give in your work.”

She looked at him oddly. “Go on.”

“Your work is somehow connected with the arts,” he said. “But you are not an artist, exactly. No, but you help an artist – more than one, I see. Money is involved, to allow them to do their work.”

Her black eyes narrowed; she seemed puzzled. “Dino couldn’t have told you that,” she said.

“There are paintings, many paintings; they are displayed in different settings – museums, perhaps. And there is a connection with television, perhaps art on television.”

She tried to pull her hands away, but he held on to them. “I get an impression of thorns,” he said. “A name that has something to do with thorns or briars.”

She snatched her hands away. “Stop it, this is spooky.”

Stone shrugged. “Merely a gift. Nothing to be superstitious about.”

“How did you know all that?”

“I sensed it,” he said.

She laughed. “For a moment, you had me believing you.” She sipped her champagne again, leaned toward him, and kissed him. “I believe you are in my debt,” she said.

“I suppose I am, at that,” he replied.

“I am not accustomed to waiting to be paid; and I always insist on interest.”

“That seems only fair.”

She stood up, reached behind her, and unzipped her dress. It fell at her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was wearing no bra, only stockings and a garter belt, with panties over them. She shucked off the panties and walked toward him.

He began to get up, but she pushed him back into a sitting position and straddled him. She pulled his head forward, and her scent filled his nostrils.

“First installment,” she said huskily.

Stone paid up. For a moment, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Then he stopped worrying about it.

THE ROOM-SERVICE WAITER SET UP THE table, opened the two bottles of wine, and left. “Dinner’s ready,” Stone called toward the bathroom, where Dolce was repairing her makeup.

She came out of the bathroom, still having not dressed, and sat down at the table.

Stone tasted the wine, then poured it. “I believe,” he said, “this is the first time I’ve ever dined with a woman who was wearing only stockings, a garter belt, and high heels.”

She raised her glass to him. “To the first of many new experiences to come.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Stone replied, raising his glass. They began their dinner with a first course of pasta with a lobster sauce. “You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman,” he said.