SOFT LANDING

The Palazzo hotel is so obnoxiously pretentious, it wakes me up to see it approaching, all lit up like a Walt Disney castle. I watch its big bulk coming up, a compliment to Italian architecture, but really the pinnacle of bad taste. The usual hotels around the airport were fully booked and the company had to reserve us two rooms in the “palace”. Lynn is already asleep, her head lolling against the window. I can’t help feeling sleepy myself. The 11-hour trip from Paris to Johannesburg has just about exhausted every ounce of strength in me. As a stewardess, I have spent most of it running around, catering for the needs of tired businessmen.  What a  day…Still, I remember my suitcase in the back and this brings the excitement back in my sleepy train of thoughts.

Yup, the room is just as large as I expected it, lavishly furnished and ostentatious to the verge of ridicule. It gives onto the lit swimming pool, where a strange-looking bird is dipping an impossibly long beak. I set my suitcase on the sofa and go to the mini-bar. It’s well furnished too, any possible alcoholic beverage in tiny bottles. I take out one with an impossible name and serve myself a drink. Hell, I really needed one. My neck is sore. My mouth also, from smiling to all these clowns hours on end. I untie my knot, letting my hair flow over the shoulders. Just this already starts relieving the tension.

The trip had started nicely though. I was having breakfast in the airport lounge when this guy sat next to me. He was good looking, I must say. Broad shoulders in the business suit, a well defined jaw, and a very straight nose. Our eyes met for a second, his mouth twitching in a quick smile. I did not know what I liked most in him, his eyes or his mouth. He had an air of relaxed confidence I really enjoyed.
Ten minutes later we were chatting quietly over our cups of hot chocolate (another plus for him, I thought). His name was Peter Conway, aeronautic engineer, 32, married , I’m sad to report, two kids. On a business trip to Johannesburg. When I told him I was to be his air hostess for the trip, his smile nearly made me melt in a puddle of chocolate. I was surprised, as he over- extended his conversation onto his family matters, that I did not find it as annoying as I use to. There was just something in him that attracted me, even if his marital situation let something to desire. A nice guy, handsome, pleasant to talk to. A good conversation to start the day, with the slightest hint of flirt. We kept exchanging smiles and glances (I know from those glances, he was walking that thin line that even loving marriages seem to allow to a lone business guy). I could see he was well aware of his own charm, but in a very discreet and gentlemanly fashion. Yes, it was a good start for the trip indeed. Pity we did not get to chat more on the plane, that would have made the ordeal less tedious.

I gulp down my drink, set it on glass panel of the impeccable desk. Outside the sun is setting, and the underwater lights suddenly flood the swimming pool with blue fluorescence. I drop my shoes on the shoes on the floor, the twin thuds hardly audible in the thick carpet. I set my blue jacket in the dresser, and walk back to the suit case. I feel much better already. I open the suit case, take out my clothes, unwrinkled them and proceed to put them away in the ample cupboard. Then I take my toilet things and set them on the sink in the golden-lit bathroom. I like to get a familiar feeling even from those boring hotel rooms.

I find my glasses case well tucked at the bottom of my suit case, under some underwear. I take it out. I actually wear lenses, by the way. I open the casing with a flicker of my nail. Inside the little man is suddenly bringing his arm to his eyes. Silly me, I’m just under the chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. I turn round, protecting him with my shadow. He’s now sitting on the silky blue fabric of the casing, the little arms propping him up no larger than matchsticks. His face is a mask of astonishment of course. He’s eying me, trying to take in the vision of the colossal woman I must be to him. I smile encouragingly at the tiny figure. I bring him closer to my eyes, checking his body for possible contusions. After the trip was quite bumpy, and the luggage gets at times quite joggled in the overhead compartments. But the fabric of the casing has apparently protected him well enough. I’m glad it did.

As I walk to the bed, I watch him turn his face right and left , his little hands on the casing’s edge, as he contemplates the chasm under him and the enormous proportions of everything around him. I guess it must be quite a shock. Last time he closed his eyes, he was after all well over 6 foot tall. I turn the casing upside doan, and can’t help giggle as I hear the tiny yelp of the man as he falls what must seem tens of meters down to the fluffy cover of the bed. His landing does not make a sound. Lying on his back, he soon starts pedalling away from me in a frenzy of anguish, his feet and arms getting caught in the long woolly hairs of the luxurious bedspread. I lean forward, and , putting first my finger on my lips, I then touch his face with the wet tip of my index. That sends him flat on his back.

I go to the bathroom and slip our of my short blue skirt (companies really dresses you like tarts these days…). In the mirror I can’t help checking my legs and bum, encased in black silk. Looking good, girl, looking good, I tell myself with satisfaction. I take my brush out of my beauty bag. Nothing I dislike most than entangled hair. I have a nice mane of  black hair, and I like to feel it brush my shoulders. I am brushing the long meshes as I walk dreamily back into the room. The little guy, well, Peter, he still has a name after all, is no longer on the center of the bedspread, he has moved to the edge of the bed and seem to be considering whether jumping from this height is feasible or not. The thuds of my feet on the carpet alert him to my presence and I see him cowering away from my approaching body. (The shadow of my right thigh covering his fleeing form is a good reminder to me of how large I am compared to him).
“Tss, tss, Peter, calm down”, I tell him eloquently, as I near the bed. The tiny man freezes in his tracks, and looks at me, yelping something. He starts recoiling away from me again when he sees me turn away. The sound of my brush in my hair is nearly drowning the tiny shout he makes when I sit on top of him.

Well, nearly on top of him, of course. But close enough to see him fall in the sudden depression created by  my silk-covered ass as it sinks into the soft mattress. I feel the tiny tingle of his body bumping into the side of my right buttock. “Oups”
He scrambles up madly to get away from the sudden wall of black silk that nearly crushed him. Smart man, my Peter. Well, I’m sure my lovely ass falling over him must have been striking enough to him, but not to the point of wanting to stay around. I can understand he has second thoughts.

I brush my hair lazily as he rushes away towards the edge of the bed again. Damn, is he stubborn. I put the brush on the bedstand and start peeling away my silk leggings from my stretched-out leg. Hey, this is as sensuous a motion as I can muster, and sure enough , before reaching the “abyss” , I can see Peter pause for a split second to consider the  immense arch of my leg, as I roll away the black fabric. He jumps nevertheless, disappearing from sight.
Cutting the dramatic act, I take off my leggings entirely, and sends the light stuff flying over the room with a giggle. It lands right on cue on the back of the chair. I unbutton the light white shirt, take it off and walk back to the bathroom, wearing nothing more than my bra and my underwear (a  black thong, I just find them comfortable, never mind the sexy idea). As I walk I make sure my left foot lands just half an inch from the running form on the carpet. That sure startles him. I enter in the bathroom with a smile on my face. This is going to be a good evening.

The water is running, hot and steamy, crashing with a loud sound onto the blue ceramic of the tub. I pepper the tub with some bath salt I always carry with me on the trips (I like the bubbles, call me childish). I have a few minutes before the bath is ready. I get back to the room.

Of course he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Peter, come out will you, our bath is nearly ready.” I smile to myself. Poor guy , he must now be in the darkest possible place in this beautiful well lit room. What is he thinking, I wonder, as I slowly walk around the room, quickly checking the obvious places. All he must see  I guess just now are my huge naked feet crushing the vast plain of the carpet.  He must be confused of course, possibly angry at me, who turned him into a tiny plaything by a flick of my magic wand (well, there’s no such thing as magic wand of course, nothing he could see coming). I rule out the bed as his immediate goal. Too obvious. I feel I know Peter a bit, after our near-flirt encounter this morning. Aeronautic engineer, smart, fit, and quick to the response. He would have figured the bed is no protection. Unfortunately there isn’t much else in the room. I giggle as I go on all fours, and start searching under the bed stand, the sofa, the…. I catch his movements with the corner of my eyes as Peter is dashing way from under the TV furniture. It’s funny to see him rush that way, his little legs pumping away in a powerful sprint, propelling him a mere inches per second. He’s aiming at the door. It’s closed but hey he could possibly try and squeeze underneath. I stand up and undo my bra. In two steps I’m dominating him with all my height. I drop the bra on the little runner. That makes me giggle again to see the bra agitated with his panicked struggles. To him a heavy pyramid of black threads have suddenly landed right on top of him, and he bumped right into it. (I have rather large breasts, not too large, but I still wish I was a size smaller). I pour another glass of the strange alcohol, still keeping an eye on the slowly moving bra.
“Okey,   Pete, time for a dip."

I pick up the bra from the floor, letting the little man stumble away from the cup on to the carpet. He shrieks when he sees my fingers falling in his direction. I delicately catch him by an ankle. When I stand up, his face turns red from the vertiginous ascend in the air. (I go slowly though, I don’t want him passing out, and I take some pleasure in letting his body just about skim the inside of my thigh as I lift him). I walk back to the bathroom, where the water is still making a Niagara-like splashing noise, with my little guy dangling along my thigh.

I lean over the tub and turns the faucet. The room is scented with the soap smell, and the water is nicely covered with an abundant foam. I can just about see my pink and blurred reflection on the condensation-covered mirror. Pete lands in the water with the tiniest of plop.
I take out a washing glove and my glass at the end of the tub.
“Make some room for me please, Pete, will you?”
I wince as my foot enters the hot water (it’s good for the skin). I step in with the other foot, careful not to step on the wriggling little body I can see struggling under the bubbles. Standing akimbo in the water I give my little swimmer little nudges with my foot to entice him to go further down the tub. When he proves too slow I take him out of the water by sliding my foot under him and lifting him out,  I transport him on the top of my foot where he can swim without danger. Another little plop.

I sit slowly in the bath, with a sigh of well being. Dam, I’ve been waiting all day for this. This long trips in a cramped plane are so tiring. Further south, I can see the waves of my sitting lifting the little guy and pushing him towards the ceramic wall. When I lie down , my head comfortably set against the edge of the tub, I watch him swimming away between my  feet, probably trying to decide whether he should try and reach one or stay away from both. I purr with pleasure, as I start lathering my arms with the soft rounded soap, playfully nudging my little guest my toes.

After a few minutes of well deserved relaxation, I sit again in the bath. The foam has much abated now and the water is clearer fro me and the little swimmer. I pass the soap over my breasts, feeling an erotic charge building within me. Peter is trying to scale the ceramic wall of the tub of course, but of course to no avail. What does he expect? To grow suckers? I take him out of the water and lay him on top of my left breast. I can nearly make out his words now. Something like “please” or “stop” and such like. It’s fun to watch him sliding very slowly down my breast. He inadvertently tries and set his tiny foot on my nipple, to prevent the fall, and this sure sends a very real sensation coursing through my body. But it’s very slippery and after a few seconds of struggle, he finally slides past and falls into the water. Another tiny plop. I keep an eye on him as he sinks down, past my belly button, and slowly lands underwater on  my bush. An impulsion takes me and I push him deeper underwater against my bush and right between my legs. Then I let him go again. I see him getting his bearing and instinctively try to get some traction back up onto the fleshy folds of my labia. As his little body brushes past my clitoris, I sigh heavily. By the time his little head emerges from the water, I know Peter is going to be my best friend.

I reclined in the water, lifting my body up a little. I set Peter on my navel. And have fun flexing my abdominal muscles a bit, which makes him bob up and down on my flesh, when waves of blue water come sloshing against his body. I can see he’s trying to apply his hands to his eyes. Silly me, I think, the soapy water must be a sting on his eyeballs all right. I take him out and lay him on my shoulder. I take a few sips from my glass, lazily eying the ceiling. I half expected to hear some remarks from him now that he has my ear, so to speak, but all I get is some spluttering, coughing noises. Oh, never mind. I did not invite him for his conversation. I take him out of his perch and apply his body dreamily over my nipples.

I let him run a bit on the tiles of the bathroom (he keeps falling though) while I dry myself. I even have to catch him when he took advantage of my drying my hair to try and squeeze past a pipe that led into the tub’s body. I carry on with the hair dryer business with him in the bidet, as I sit over him. It is funny to watch him gaping at my womanhood, lost under my shadow. I think this is pretty hot, too.

Back in the bedroom, I set him on the bed spread again, and pretend to ignore him as I start folding it neatly. He squeals like mad, as vast expanses of fabric starts crashing around him, a vast landscape intent on crushing him in its folds. But that last only a few seconds, and I let gasping for air on the silky sheet underneath. There’s plenty of room for both of us. I dim the light and, purring like a wild cat, and feeling the hotness at my loins, I climb on the bed with my little companion.

I don’t think i'm a wild thing at sex, at least not as much maybe as my looks seem to promise. But now, a hunger has definitely taken over my senses and mind, and there isn’t an inch of my body that my guest doesn’t get to explore. It’s so relaxing to lie at last on a soft mattress, feel the clean sheet under my body, feeling my hand caressing my breast, while I lazily suck on the tiny body of my captive.  His body leaves a trace of warm saliva all over my body. His little yelps of protestation are rhythmically accompanying the slow caress of his skin on my skin. I stroke him over the inside of my thighs, press him under the arch of my back, feel him slide against the round flesh of my ass. The arousal is subtle but ineluctable. I hug him under my armpit, between my crossed thighs, let him slide around my neck. I lose him in the dark forest of my hair, my hot breath covering him in sweat, my tongue washing him clean. I want him to know me whole. I gag when his little head goes too deep in my throat, I gasp when it touches my anus, I moan when I press him against my moistening labia.

 I play games with him. I sit suddenly on the bed, on my knees, and let him be, among the wrinkles and folds of the now hot sheet. Closing my eyes, I let my body go prone on the bed, trying to guess which part of me he will be caught under. I feel his tiny presence first under my belly, while I press him into the bed. (not too  long, not too hard). I sit up again. He got the gist of it, I think, and I hear the light muffled sound of his feet on the bed as he runs. I lie down again, my eyes closed. This time it is under my right breast that I sense the slight little bump. This is so good. He’s a good fighter. There’s a lot of life in him. I knew I could like him.

We make love for a good hour. I can’t have enough of his little body on my skin, but I have now a really urgent need. Dabbing repeatedly his little head against my clitoris, I work myself up to the adequate wetness. I breathe hard and I kiss him hard too. When I start inserting him between my fully swollen labia, I can tell he’s breathing hard too, his shrieks definitely a higher pitch than before. I can feel his tiny hands trying to get a grip on the slick flesh, but the folds are way to wet now, and his little head  and strong shoulders are passing through them softly, rubbing wonderfully against my sensitive flesh, and his yells are slowly silenced within me. When I push the little feet deep inside, I sense the contact of his head  and hands against my cervix. The sensations are exploding in my body like liquid light and I moan harder and harder. In a near foetal position of bliss and ecstasy, I fold my knees towards my head, as my hands press hard against my sex, sealing the little man deep inside my vagina. His desperate struggle within fuels my orgasm to unbelievable heights. I have to scream….

I love a quick shower after making love. Bathing is for foreplay, showering is the sparkle that follows. I come out refreshed and full of life. I have a few minutes before Lynn comes up to my room.
Pete is screaming again, its’ turning into a bad habit of his at this stage. Well, I guess he is screaming, really, cos’ in fairness, at his current size, I can’t hear much. I’ve put him back into my glasses casing for a while, so he could unwind a bit. When he came to, the shock and confusion of finding that everything had yet again quadrupled in size must have been somewhat unsettling on his mind, I’m sure. He’s about the length of my fingernail now and I’m sad to say all foreplay could really bring him to a sticky end, if we tried again.

Room service has been delivered. A healthy choice of healthy looking sandwiches with a nice  salad.  I rather eat this that the overblown menu they have ready for us in the pretentious restaurant downstairs. I open the casing again. My little guest looks lost now in the expanse of fabric within. He gestures at me, and I stare at his little arms reaching out to me. So cute. I set the casing on the table next to the plate. Poor Peter is not giving up and is attempting to climb out of it. I keep an eye on him as I open a freshly made and succulent looking ham sandwich. It’s sticky with what I hope is margarine, not fatty butter.  I take the casing and gently tapping it with my fingernail, I dislodge its little inhabitant.  He falls neatly in the center of the ham and gets nicely stuck to it. I smile to him as I replace the top of the sandwich over his prone body. Lynn is knocking at my door.

We have a nice evening together, unwinding from the long trip, chatting away, exploring the contents of the minibar. Between us, the pile of sandwiches is slowly being eroded by our appetite. I describe my encounter with peter in Paris to Lynn, who is squealing with glee and envy, asking me for every detail of the flirt. I must say I omit nothing, including his loving wife and kids, which brings Lynn to hilarity. Just next to us, struggling between two slices of bread, Peter is probably being angry at me for revealing our intimate experience to a stranger, but then again his mind is probably busy with other thoughts. When Lynn grabs the sandwich he’s in, I guess his anger is just about replaced by another feeling.

We bring the evening to an end. We have a day of shopping tomorrow  to look forward and Lynn is tired, and, she says, feels a  bit bloated. I give her some pills to aid her digestion and kiss her good-bye. I feel so fine as I glide dreamily to my bed. I’m so glad I ran into Peter, he really brightened up this otherwise boring trip.

nostromo