Open-Bottle Policy
by Jeremy Edwards

‘Well, it looks like you’ll be making out on the leftovers, Dave,’ said Charles with an affable smirk, as he suavely – and generously – grabbed the bill from our server.

I studied the lovely form of the woman who had waited on us, as she headed back to the kitchen. If my memory was correct, she had introduced herself as Becky. But I wasn’t at all sure on this point. I’m usually pretty good with names, but not when distracted by a pair of kind, laughing eyes situated in an elegantly-impish feminine face.

Whatever her name was, I had enjoyed our brief moments of interaction this evening even more than I’d enjoyed the company of my old friends Charles and Amanda.

I assessed the appealing remnants of the exquisite Thai-fusion dinner, which all of us were now too full to dally with any further. ‘What do you mean?’ I said to Charles. ‘You and Amanda should take some of it.’ I shifted my gaze to Charles’s wife. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Amanda?’

My friend Amanda is the type of woman who has a subtle, but potent, sexiness. I think the only reason I don’t respond to her more strongly is that I’m so conscious of the fact that she’s a long-time crony who’s happily married to another long-time crony. It’s true that I have, on occasion, fantasized about her. This sort of thing can’t be helped sometimes in one’s bed late at night. But under normal circumstances I have succeeded in feeling only a chummy affection for Amanda. And yet, in a tangential way, spending an hour in the presence of her charm and beauty – always well-presented in the perfect clothes and perfumes – usually leaves me in a sexy mood even if the feelings are not directed toward her.

Amanda smiled graciously. ‘Charles is right, Davey. We’re heading straight to the theatre from here, and we can scarcely carry big, fragrant leftover containers into the auditorium with us.’

‘It wouldn’t be polite, since there’s not enough to share with everyone else in the audience,’ added Charles.

I chuckled and nodded, recognizing that their offer of all the food was as practical as it was polite. Since my hotel room was in this very building – and equipped with both a refrigerator and a microwave – it was logical that the leftovers would devolve to me.

‘Sorry again that we couldn’t get you a ticket,’ said Charles. ‘Next time you’re coming to town, give us a little more notice!’ He gave me a playful punch in the arm.

I laughed. ‘If my company ever gives me more notice, I promise I’ll give you more notice.’

‘Oh – what about all this wine?’ said Amanda suddenly.

We had ordered a modest-looking Merlot that had turned out to be remarkably good. In the course of this convivial but all-too-brief dinner, Charles and I had consumed only one glass apiece, and Amanda had limited herself to half a glass. None of us wanted to see what was left in the bottle go back to the kitchen – though, for my part, I wouldn’t have objected to watching Becky carry it back to the kitchen, if you know what I mean.

‘Dave can take that, too,’ Charles answered.

‘Can I?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Aren’t there rules against it?’

‘Let’s ask the server,’ Charles replied optimistically. ‘After all, you wouldn’t even be taking it out of the building.’ At that instant Becky reappeared, and Charles gave a jovial wave to attract her back to our table.

‘All ready?’ Becky asked. I observed that although it was Charles who was proffering his credit card, and Charles who had requested her return, her eyes kept shifting in my direction. Or was I just imagining this, because I found her so pretty?

‘Question,’ Charles began. ‘Can Dave here take the rest of the wine up to his room in your hotel?’

Now Becky turned her gaze fully toward me, and her mouth curled into a mischievous smile. ‘So, Dave wants all the wine, eh?’

I probably blushed. ‘I guess I do. That is, I’d be glad to share it… if I had someone to share it with. But seeing as I’m all alone in this great big hotel, I’m fairly sure I can do justice to what’s left in the bottle.’ I thought I saw something especially gentle creep into Becky’s smile as I said the word ‘alone’.

‘There’s no rule against that, is there?’ Charles continued.

‘Actually,’ said Becky with a professional briskness, ‘there is an ordinance about open bottles in this town. But since Dave isn’t exactly leaving the premises, it may be okay. Let me ask the manager.’ Watching Becky’s confident behind walk toward the manager’s station, I thought about how she seemed to enjoy calling me by name, as if we were already pals.

As Becky led him our way, her boss telegraphed his accommodating answer by means of a wide, customer-service-friendly grin. ‘You’d like to take the wine upstairs?’ He was looking at Charles and Amanda, but Becky nudged his elbow and cocked her head my way.

‘If it’s no problem,’ I said.

‘No, there won’t be a problem with that,’ said the manager. ‘Our open-bottle policy within the building merely states that your server must escort you to the elevator. We simply need to verify that you are taking the bottle directly to your hotel room, you understand.’ He flashed us another cordial grin, then retreated.

Becky beamed. ‘I’ll get the cork, and then I can see you out whenever you’re ready, Dave. And I’ll be back in a sec with your credit card, sir.’ I saw that she barely acknowledged Charles, even as she addressed him. Her attention seemed to be locked in on the co-ordinates of my face.

A minute later, the leftovers had been boxed, the wine had been re-corked, the credit card slip had been signed, and Amanda was telling Becky, course by course, how much we’d all relished the meal.

‘I’ll let my manager know that I’m taking you to the elevator now,’ Becky said to me when Amanda had finished. ‘I’m due to go on my dinner break, anyway,’ she confided before leaving us.

‘Well, buddy, it looks like you’re in good hands,’ said Charles with a wink. Beautiful Amanda tittered conspiratorially, while favouring me with a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

‘Enjoy the show!’ I shouted as they left the restaurant.

I didn’t realize that Becky had managed to sneak up behind me, and I nearly jumped when I heard her perky ‘All set, Dave?’

‘Huh? Oh – yeah, I guess so.’

She touched my elbow and steered me toward the door. I was wearing short sleeves, and the feel of her fingers on my skin sent a thrill through me.

It took us only a few seconds to cross the lobby to the elevator, but the car was currently occupied somewhere above. Becky, carrying out her professional assignment, continued to hold the wine bottle while we waited.

‘This feels so silly,’ she suddenly blurted, with a rather unprofessional giggle that I found adorable. ‘Almost like we’re on a date, or something.’ Then she added earnestly, ‘Not that dates are silly, mind you.’

Her presence was making me feel like I was melting all over. Well, almost all over – there was one place on my anatomy where I was, by contrast, definitely solidifying.

The elevator arrived. I saw that this was the time to act.

‘Hadn’t you better escort me all the way upstairs?’ I said with a transparent slyness. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss for not ensuring that the wine went straight to my room.’

Becky looked at me, looked back toward the restaurant, and then back at me again. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes glinted. I was holding the elevator door open, and she entered swiftly.

While the car ascended with a soothing whir, Becky broke the silence. ‘I don’t know if this was strictly necessary, according to the open-bottle rules. But I am going on a break… and I can do whatever I like on my break.’ She stepped closer to me. ‘Whatever I like,’ she repeated. And she reached forward and tapped my chest, ever so briefly.

I looked at Becky and took in all I could see. Bright blonde hair, long and casual. Those laughing eyes, that sensitive mouth. The trim, athletic body, shown off to nice effect in her white blouse and tight black slacks. I felt warm, nervous… and excited.

The spell was broken for a moment by the ‘ding’ of the elevator, and the door opened on to my floor. Becky stepped out without hesitation, in perfect stride with me. As I led the way along the corridor, she hummed cheerfully. The cozy sound of our feet shuffling along the carpet accompanied her voice very nicely.

‘Here we are,’ I said when we’d arrived at my door. I stood at the threshold, brimming with desire and uncertainty.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ she coaxed.

So I opened it. She entered, ahead of me, wine bottle still in hand. Hoping for the best, I closed the door behind us.

Once inside the room, I quickly put the leftovers down, not even giving much thought to where. Becky finally handed over the bottle.

‘Thank you,’ I said self-consciously. There was a short silence while I decided what to say next. ‘Would you like some wine?’ was what I came up with.

‘Thanks for the offer,’ she replied. ‘But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to return to work with alcohol in my system.’

‘Ah, of course,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She reclaimed the bottle from me and placed it out of the way, on a table. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. ‘There are plenty of other things we can do during my break.’

‘We?’ I barely had time to utter it before she began to smother me with kisses, while reaching around to grab my butt in her strong little hands.

Because her restaurant provided room service, it was natural that Becky would be familiar with the standard layout of rooms in the hotel. So I was delighted, but not surprised, that she was able to navigate us toward the bed without even having to watch where she was going.

‘Just because that bottle’s sealed, it doesn’t mean everything around here has to stay under wraps,’ she breathed in my ear. An instant later, I felt her reach for my zipper, and I reciprocated by teasing hers out of its home in the nook of her sexy trousers. We wiggled the clothing down each other’s legs with semi-graceful synchronization, engaging in an eager dance of undressing.

The dance continued as Becky lifted my cock out of my shorts, and I stroked the moist black cotton between her legs.

‘I can’t wait,’ she chirped, rushing to slide her own panties down while my prick stayed in a holding pattern. Then she sank into the bed, giggling becomingly and spreading her nicely-toned thighs so that I could see her soft blonde curls and her glistening wetness. Her blouse was still buttoned; nevertheless, as I pounced on her I felt the warmth of her breasts, reaching me through bra and blouse and my own shirt.

Her sensuous wiggling beckoned my face down to her centre of pleasure. I kissed and licked at her sweetness, and she squealed and pressed herself against my mouth. Despite the sturdy vigour of her personality, she felt delicate down here – and she tasted, indeed, like a delicacy.

Becky was ready to be brought to ecstasy, and it was no challenge to do so. Her muscular legs kicked beautifully as she climaxed.

‘You certainly know how to get things flowing,’ she purred, lifting my head. ‘Now, how about we put a cork in it for a while?’

She guided my cock into her vessel, and I felt the warmth of her love-vintage bathing and caressing me.

Friendly little kisses and nibbles – signs of a healthy appetite – pampered my neck and ears while we bounced together. All too soon, I felt myself spilling into her, and she clutched me tightly and whispered my name.

‘Oh, Becky…’ I answered.

She guffawed, and hugged me even tighter. ‘It’s Betsy.’

She rolled me over, and straddled me like a woman who knows exactly what she wants to get out of her dinner break. Then she proceeded to show me, in no uncertain terms, that she wouldn’t dream of holding an innocent mistake against me.

With my prick in the spirited embrace of Betsy’s powerful cunt, my mind rolled hither and yon in ecstasy, and random thoughts about the evening began to flash by. Charles had been right about taking the wine upstairs, said one random thought. And he’d been right that I was in good hands, said another.

By now, Betsy was fucking me with a positively athletic exuberance, and leading us rapidly toward a joint climax. As our bodies vibrated together, I heard something crackle from behind my shoulders. Styrofoam. Oops.

Charles had been right again. I was making out on the leftovers!