The navy dress

I sat on the hotel bed in the plain navy dress and looked at the city. Jacket on the chair, Paula's, not a work jacket. Marc laughed when he saw me smooth the skirt. We had agreed at lunch, before we came up, that I would keep the dress on as long as I liked and that service would be a gift I could put down. I said I still wanted to offer it. They said they still wanted to receive it. Then Paula asked what I needed in return. I said after I had looked after them, I wanted to be fucked and kissed until I forgot the script. They said yes.

I poured water again. I unbuttoned Marc's cuffs. I kissed Paula's wrist where her pulse was busy. My bun was tight. Paula asked to take it down. I said yes. Hair fell and the dress felt less like a costume and more like a choice I could wrinkle. I told them to sit against the headboard. I went down on Marc while Paula stroked my back and told me I was wonderful, specific about my mouth, my pace, the way I looked up to check. I am still the one who said yes.

I straddled Paula's thigh and rubbed my cunt there, dress rucked, while she fingered my cunt and Marc kissed my throat. The friction of the navy cloth against my own legs was part of it. I came on her fingers, shaking, city lights smearing in the window. Then Marc fucked my cunt on my back, dress open down the front, and Paula held my hand and talked me through it. Deeper was good. Slower was better. There. He asked, and I said cum on my chest, I want to see it. He did, hot cum on my skin. Paula kissed me sweet after.

They took the dress off only when I lifted my arms. We hung it carefully. Marc brought a warm cloth. Paula made me drink the water I had poured for everyone else. I let myself be looked after. That is the other half of the dress, and I want both halves, agreed in daylight and spent at night.