The elevator door shut.

Jean-Paul stood quietly next to Sylvie, looked up at the ascending numbers as he grinned.

Sylvie reached into her handbag. Todd. Todd was calling her now, and she grabbed her cell to silence the vibration.

The purse continued to shake; it was not the phone, but the egg jittering inside. Sylvie felt warm as she remembered that the egg was supposed to be inside her right now. Jean-Paul had meant to drive her over the edge. The elevator stopped, and the door opened.

The vibrating stopped, and Jean-Paul grabbed Sylvie’s hand, marched down the hall with her, unlocking the door quickly, and leading her to the back of a chair.

“Let me see if you have done as you were told…” Jean-Paul pushed Sylvie forward as he lifted the hem of her dress. Her purse fell to the ground, Sylvie’s concentration now entirely centered on her sincere wish for his bulging cock roughly fucking her again, like the day before. Jean-Paul ran his fingers along the garter, then around the lace top of her stocking. “Very nice…” Two fingers slipped just inside her pussy, then out. He let the dress fall, then unzipped it slowly and pulled it down and off Sylvie.

Jean-Paul backed away from the chair, dropping the dress onto the bed. Sylvie began to turn.

“No… mmm. Stay there. Stay just like that.” He took the remote from his pocket and turned it low, then high.

“Now, hand me your panties.”

Sylvie reached for the vibrating purse.

“I.. I don’t have them.” Sylvie turned now, and Jean-Paul took her purse from her.

“You don’t have them?” Jean-Paul smirked, then held up the purse. “They must be in here somewhere.”

“No, but you asked me..”

“I asked you to save them for me!” Jean-Paul opened the purse and began to remove the contents. A wallet. The phone. A lipstick…

“Jean-Paul. Remember? You told me to give them to the bartender!” Sylvie stood and crossed one leg over the other.

“Yes.. Yes. And what is this?” Jean-Paul held the egg. “Why is it here?”

“I… I…” Sylvie stammered, as Jean-Paul bent her back over the chair, kicking her legs gently apart.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Jean-Paul pressed the egg against Sylvie’s clit, pushing her against the chair as she first resisted, then pushed back against his hand.

“Oh, yes! Yes, but…” and Jean-Paul pushed the egg lower.

“Maybe you don’t know what to do with it,” Jean-Paul whispered, and pushed it deep into her dripping, turned it higher.

Sylvie arched her back, squirming, aching for Jean-Paul’s fingers now. The vibrations stopped.

“So,” Jean-Paul let Sylvie from his grasp, walked toward the window, “we don’t have to play with toys.”

He turned back toward her. “How are you going to get your panties?”

Sylvie stood, looked bewildered as Jean-Paul took a seat on the bed, smiling. He reached for the room phone. “Why don’t you call your friend downstairs?”

Sylvie walked over, then looked at Jean-Paul. Was he serious? Yes, surely he was, and she realized also that she could walk away now. She could say no. She could leave.

She dialed the hotel operator.

“Yes, front desk.” Sylvie was sure it was the same desk clerk who had helped her earlier. “This is room #504? How may I direct your call?”

“Yes. Yes, may I have the bar, please?”

“Yes, of course, ma’am.”

Sylvie waited. A woman picked up the phone, “Aqua Bar. May I help you?” she said.

“Oh.. there was a man working there earlier. May I speak to him?”

“Rob is at lunch right now. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I left something.” Sylvie felt her pussy clamp down as the egg growled quietly deep in her cunt.

“Let me get the lost and found box…” and Sylvie found herself listening to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony as she reached between her legs, wanting, oh yes, wanting relief. Jean-Paul quickly grabbed her hand, held it with one hand as he smacked her ass with the other.

“What were you looking for?” the woman asked, and Sylvie flinched as Jean-Paul raised his hand again. She continued, “Oh, no. I gave it to the bartender. It was a bag… Oh…”

“Oh, ma’am,” the woman interrupted, “he’s walking back right now. Let me put him on.”

“Ooohh. Oh, thank you!” Sylvie writhed as Jean-Paul held the remote again and adjusted the control, higher, higher.

“Hello?” the bartender began…

“Oh, yes. Yes, I need my panties back!” Sylvie gasped, near tears.

The bartender did not respond immediately. “Ma’am, I understand your situation. I’ll bring it right up. Room #504, right?”

Sylvie dropped the phone, moaning as Jean-Paul turned her over and pushed her legs wide apart, his face diving into her warmth, his tongue circling, circling, as Sylvie grabbed his head and held it tight as she shouted, grinding wider against his face, tight, until she fell back, until she shook, until she grabbed the remote herself and turned the egg off. Yes. Yes! at last yes.

Jean-Paul rose between her legs, his face glistening as he leaned over to kiss her belly, her nipples–Sylvie startled–her face, her mouth. His tongue tasted like her, his lust still apparent as she lay limp, still smouldering in the noontime, a day, a day. Jean-Paul lay next to her, stroking her arms, her hair.

Sylvie heard a vibrating sound, and she clenched, expecting the egg to seize her once again. But this time, it did not.

The phone. Todd.

Someone was knocking on the door.

“Sylvie,” Jean-Paul sat up, then stood, took her dress from the bed as he walked into the bathroom…

“Aren’t you going to answer the door?”

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