Greta the Reluctant Princess
- 4 years ago
- 10
- 0
Greta Part 1 free porn video
She logged into Fetlife and saw there were four messages in her inbox. One of them caught her eye immediately. She didn't recognise the user name but her attention was drawn to the subject line. It said "NYC accommodation". She clicked on the message then started to read it.
Dear Velvet,
I stumbled across your profile and was intrigued by your offer of sexual favours in exchange for accommodation in New York. I have an apartment near Central Park and would love to offer you a room for a week. I see from your profile that you're into BDSM. I also followed the links on your profile to xhamster and your Tumblr pages and it looks like we have very similar tastes. I'm sure we could have a mutually satisfying time if you were to visit.
Hope to hear from you.
George.
She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. A week in a Manhattan apartment with a fellow BDSM fan who shared her predilections sounded ideal. She was due to visit the city later that month and free accommodation in return for some kinky play was just what she needed. She clicked on his profile and was delighted to see lots of information that seemed to confirm that he did, indeed, have very similar tastes to her own. She began to type a reply.
Dear George,
I would love to take you up on your offer. I'd like to visit during the week commencing the 21st of this month, if that would be convenient. If that week doesn't fit in with your plans, which dates would?
Kind Regards,
Greta.
She pressed send and then clicked on the next message in her inbox. She'd just finished reading it when a new message from George popped up so she opened it. It said that the date she'd suggested was fine and had included the address of his apartment. She recognised it as being in a very swish area and close to Central Park, just like he'd said. She sent him a reply and then continued to read the rest of her correspondence.
She spent an excited week, anticipating the delights of spending time in the company of a man who looked very promising as a play partner. On Saturday morning she boarded the train at Richmond station. She had quiet a large holdall with her as she'd decided to take some of her favourite play suits, covering a wide range of fetishes, with her. She stowed her holdall in the rack, took her seat, pulled her book from her handbag and settled back for the six hour journey to New York. The journey passed quickly as she read the page-turner of a novel she'd chosen and the train was soon rumbling through the outskirts of the Big Apple. As the train pulled into Penn station she took her luggage down from the rack, got off the train and made her way quickly to the taxi rank. When she got there she was delighted to see there was no queue for the waiting cabs. She smiled as she got into the cab at the front of the rank, thinking to herself how lucky she'd been not to have to wait ages for a cab and maybe it boded well for her visit. Having given the driver the address the taxi made its slow progress through the New York weekend traffic. When the cab eventually came to a halt outside an imposing apartment building, she paid the driver and got out. She knew that the place was in an up-market part of the city but had no idea of just how impressive the apartment block was. She walked up the steps and entered the huge doors. There was a concierge sitting behind a large desk in the foyer so she approached him.
“Can you tell me which floor number s*******n is on please?” she enquired.
The man looked up at her.
“Is he expecting you?” he said in a very gentle but authoritative voice
“Yes,” she replied and smiled. “Yes, very much so.”
“I'll ring and let him know you're here, whom shall I say is calling?”
“Greta. Greta Gummihausen.”
He smiled when she said her name and she flushed slightly, wondering if he'd seen her on the Internet. If he had, he'd have no idea what her face looked like but he'd have seen her naked body. She shifted slightly uneasily and saw that he was looking at her very intensely. She stared down at the floor; was he was mentally undressing her or did he speak enough German to know that the name she was using translated as rubber house? Either way, if it were true, it was slightly embarrassing.
“I'll ring and let him know you're on your way Miss Gummihausen. His apartment is on the fifth floor.”
“Thank you,” she said then picked up her holdall and walked toward the elevator, all the time wondering if the man was looking at her bag and speculating about the contents.
She pressed the button and the elevator doors opened. She stepped in then, as she pushed the button for the fifth floor, turned around and looked at him and saw he wasn't looking at her at all. He was making the promised phone call and his attention was concentrated on another person approaching the main doors. Clearly, she surmised, what she'd been thinking was at odds with what appeared to be the reality of the situation and was perhaps the product of her own thoughts about what she was about to do with a complete stranger. She'd never done this before, nobody had accepted her offer. She was nervous but filled with a never-before anticipation.
The elevator arrived at the fifth floor. She walked out into the corridor and studied the sign indicating the directions to the various apartments. She saw that the number s*******n was to the right and set off in that direction looking at the door numbers as she went. When she got to number s*******n she put her bag down and rung the doorbell. As she stood waiting she could hear the sound of somebody, presumably George, make their way to the door. It swung open and a tall, good-looking man extended his right hand.
"Hi Greta, good to meet you," he said, a beaming smile on his face.
"Nice to meet you too," she replied, as she took his hand and returned his smile.
She'd been mentally preparing herself for days to answer to Greta and prayed she'd be able to maintain it all week and not let her real name slip out.
"Come in, come in," George enthused and stepped to one side.
As she entered the apartment she took a second look at him. Up until moment when he'd opened the door she had no idea what he looked like, despite having agreed to be his toy for the week. She had considered asking him to send her a picture, not only to see what he looked like but to check he was about the same age he's said he was in his Fetlife profile, surmising that if he was prepared to lie about his age, what other lies was he capable of? She's decided not to ask for a photo as, presumably, he would have asked for a reciprocal one of her. She'd checked that there was a George Roberts living at the address she'd been given but she had no way of knowing that that was the same guy she'd be in contact with. For all she knew, once he had her picture, an electronic file he could do with as he liked, she might never hear from (insert user name), the name he used on Fetlife, again. She guarded her identity closely and wasn't about to let anybody she wasn't totally sure about see what she looked like. They could see every inch of her body but her face was very different. She believed in keeping her day-to-day self very well separated from her BDSM lifestyle persona. She'd decided that, all in all, it would be better to turn up and find there was no accommodation, that she'd been the victim of a cruel and vicious hoax, together with all of the accompanying embarrassment, than to have a picture of herself out there on the Internet. Her mask provided her with a level of anonymity she was comfortable with and she intended for it to remain so.
George closed the door and then pointed to another door some way down the hall.
"That will be your room Greta. You'll have to forgive me for being presumptuous but I had my cleaner make up the bed in there. I assumed that, although sexual services are on offer, you'd want a room of your own."
"How kind of you to be so thoughtful."
"Not at all. If you pop your bag in there I'll give you a quick tour and show you were everything is."
She could see, from the length of the hallway and the distance there had been in between the doors to the apartments in the corridor outside, that the apartment was spacious likely to be spacious. However, when she walked into the room that was to be hers for the week, she wasn't prepared for just how big it was. She'd been in smaller hotel suits. There was a huge bed that made almost no impact on the space, a large dressing table and a whole wall of wardrobes. She put her bag down on the bed and then went to investigate a doorway in one corner of the room. Walking through it she found herself in a bathroom that was at least twice the size of her own one at home. She made her way back out into the corridor where George was waiting.
“Room okay for you?'”
“Oh it's lovely thanks.”
“Good, then follow me and I'll show you around the rest of the apartment.”
She followed him from room to room and stared with wide-eyed amazement at just how big thee place was. She couldn't imagine what an apartment like this in Manhattan would cost but it was way out of her price league. Eventually, when she had seen the whole place, they stood together in the corridor.
“I guess you'll want to freshen up after your journey?”
“Yes please, I was up early and at the station by eight.”
“Fine, I'll leave you to it. Have you eaten by the way?”
“Only a sandwich on the train.”
“In that case, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner tonight?”
“I'd love too.”
“What kind of food do you like? Italian? French? Asian of some kind?”
“I adore Italian food.”
“Then Italian it will be my dear, it's been a while since I dined out with a beautiful young lady. Seven o'clock okay for you?”
She looked at her watch, it was just after six. That would give her plenty of time to take a shower, get changed and make herself ready. She smiled at the thought of him thinking of her as a young woman, he was ten years older than her.
“Seven will be fine,” she replied, as she turned the handle of her bedroom door and went in.
Fifty minutes later, having showered, changed into the best clothes she'd brought with her and put on make up there was a gentle tap on her door. She opened it and saw George had his coat on.
“My my you look stunning,” George said, standing back and giving her a very admiring look. “Ready to go?”
“Yes George, I'll just get my coat.”
She went over to the bed, picked up her coat and slipped it on then followed him out of the apartment to the elevator. As the stepped out on the ground floor the concierge glanced up.
“I have your cab waiting Mister Roberts,” he said, “Have a nice evening and you Miss Gummihausen.”
“Thanks Michael, we will,” George replied.
They stepped out into the cool New York evening and got into the cab. She noticed that George didn't tell the driver where they were going, he just drove off. Clearly George was a man who had other people organise things for him. Ten minutes later, having fought another battle with the traffic, they arrived outside Del Posto. They got out of the cab and she waited as George paid the fare and gave the cabbie a generous tip. They went into the Restaurant and the Maître De approached them immediately.
“Good evening Mister Roberts,” the man said, showing none of the aloof manner that she would have expected in such an expensive restaurant. “A table for two?”
“Yes, somewhere quiet where my companion and I can have a conversation without being overheard, we have some business to discuss,” George replied and discreetly slipped the guy a twenty dollar bill.
She took a deep breath as they followed him to a quiet corner of the restaurant, well away from the rest of the diners. She was truly amazed, not only could this guy walk in off the street into a place where you'd expect to have to book a table weeks in advance, he even told the man in charge where he wanted to sit. As they settled into their chairs a waiter appeared almost like magic.
“Can I get you some drinks Mister Roberts?”
She was stunned, everybody in the place seemed to know his name. How often, she wondered, does he eat here?
“What will you have Greta?” George asked her.
“I'd like a vodka and tonic please.”
“Any particular brand of Vodka madam?” the waiter enquired.
“Anything Polish please,” she replied, momentarily stunned to be asked the question; the places she frequented sold vodka and that was it, but she'd once been given a bottle of the Polish stuff and had enjoyed it.
“Okay Franco and I'll have my usual thanks.”
“Very good sir,” the waiter said and disappeared just as discreetly as he's appeared.
He arrived back at the table with the drinks within minutes. He placed the vodka and tonic in front of her and what looked like a large bourbon in front of him.
“Thanks,” she said, adding the tonic to the spirit. “Is that rye whisky you're drinking?”
“No single malt.”
Just as he'd finished speaking another spectre-like waiter appeared and gave them menus. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the prices. She decided, at these prices, she'd just have a main course.
“I can recommend the oysters,” George said, looking over the top of his menu at her. “Will you share a dozen with me to start?”
She scanned the list of food and saw the price. Oh fuck it she thought, he doesn't care what it costs.
“Sure,” she replied. “Are we going to need them later?” and then smiled.
“Hopefully. What about a main, care to share a lobster or two and is Pinot Grigio okay for you?”
She had an aversion to how they were cooked but loved the taste of lobster so she nodded. The waiter returned and took their order and very soon the first course arrived at their table together with a bottle of wine that was opened with deference. Having seen the price on the wine list, she wasn't surprised it was treated like liquid gold. As they ate they chatted. George, she found out, was a businessman with lots of interests in various African countries. She had no idea whereabouts in Africa most of the places were that he mentioned but recognised the names. She imagined him travelling to exotic cities where people wore bright clothes and they had even worse traffic problems than New York. He listened intently intently as she told him about herself, carefully missing out any details that would pin-point her home town. After they'd finished their main course and followed it with a dessert, George ordered coffee.
“There's something I need to ask you,” he said, lowering his voice a little. “Do you have any firm limits and what is your safe word?
“I don't do blood, in any way shape or form. I'm not into s**t either but pretty well anything else is up for discussion. As for my safe word, it's red.”
“Okay, I have that, he said. I assume you're using the usual traffic light thing where red really does mean stop but you use yellow too? Ready to go back to my place now to play?”
“Yes, I use yellow, but I say amber. There's something else I need to be very specific about.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“If you fuck me you must use a condom. I'm a fertile woman and I don't want to get pregnant. If you want to use my ass or you want me to give you a blow job then there are no barriers. I'll suck you off and swallow, it's just if you have any intention of putting your cock in my cunt then I really must insist on a condom.”
“That's not a problem. You have my word, if my cock goes anywhere near your cunt, it will be sheathed.”
“Yanks, I feel reassured. Shouldn't we pay the tab before we leave?”
“It will go on my account, along with ten percent for a tip.”
She'd realised he ate here often but now she'd found out he had an account here, he was obviously far more loaded than she'd thought. They walked out to the front of the restaurant. As they approached the doors the Maître De spoke.
“Everything okay for you Mister Roberts?”
“Yes Benito, everything we fine and Greta enjoyed her meal didn't you?”
“Yes, yes, everything was lovely,” she stammered, unexpectedly put in the spotlight.
“Your cab is outside,” he said as George slipped him a fifty.
She wasn't aware of any conversation about a cab. Obviously there were things she hadn't noticed. When the fuck had he ordered a cab? What was more, George had handed out more in tips than she would have spent on a special night out. They walked out into the busy street and got into the waiting cab. She didn't expect George to tell the driver where they were going and, as he pulled out from the kerbside, she wasn't surprised when he didn't...
Dear Velvet,
I stumbled across your profile and was intrigued by your offer of sexual favours in exchange for accommodation in New York. I have an apartment near Central Park and would love to offer you a room for a week. I see from your profile that you're into BDSM. I also followed the links on your profile to xhamster and your Tumblr pages and it looks like we have very similar tastes. I'm sure we could have a mutually satisfying time if you were to visit.
Hope to hear from you.
George.
She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. A week in a Manhattan apartment with a fellow BDSM fan who shared her predilections sounded ideal. She was due to visit the city later that month and free accommodation in return for some kinky play was just what she needed. She clicked on his profile and was delighted to see lots of information that seemed to confirm that he did, indeed, have very similar tastes to her own. She began to type a reply.
Dear George,
I would love to take you up on your offer. I'd like to visit during the week commencing the 21st of this month, if that would be convenient. If that week doesn't fit in with your plans, which dates would?
Kind Regards,
Greta.
She pressed send and then clicked on the next message in her inbox. She'd just finished reading it when a new message from George popped up so she opened it. It said that the date she'd suggested was fine and had included the address of his apartment. She recognised it as being in a very swish area and close to Central Park, just like he'd said. She sent him a reply and then continued to read the rest of her correspondence.
She spent an excited week, anticipating the delights of spending time in the company of a man who looked very promising as a play partner. On Saturday morning she boarded the train at Richmond station. She had quiet a large holdall with her as she'd decided to take some of her favourite play suits, covering a wide range of fetishes, with her. She stowed her holdall in the rack, took her seat, pulled her book from her handbag and settled back for the six hour journey to New York. The journey passed quickly as she read the page-turner of a novel she'd chosen and the train was soon rumbling through the outskirts of the Big Apple. As the train pulled into Penn station she took her luggage down from the rack, got off the train and made her way quickly to the taxi rank. When she got there she was delighted to see there was no queue for the waiting cabs. She smiled as she got into the cab at the front of the rank, thinking to herself how lucky she'd been not to have to wait ages for a cab and maybe it boded well for her visit. Having given the driver the address the taxi made its slow progress through the New York weekend traffic. When the cab eventually came to a halt outside an imposing apartment building, she paid the driver and got out. She knew that the place was in an up-market part of the city but had no idea of just how impressive the apartment block was. She walked up the steps and entered the huge doors. There was a concierge sitting behind a large desk in the foyer so she approached him.
“Can you tell me which floor number s*******n is on please?” she enquired.
The man looked up at her.
“Is he expecting you?” he said in a very gentle but authoritative voice
“Yes,” she replied and smiled. “Yes, very much so.”
“I'll ring and let him know you're here, whom shall I say is calling?”
“Greta. Greta Gummihausen.”
He smiled when she said her name and she flushed slightly, wondering if he'd seen her on the Internet. If he had, he'd have no idea what her face looked like but he'd have seen her naked body. She shifted slightly uneasily and saw that he was looking at her very intensely. She stared down at the floor; was he was mentally undressing her or did he speak enough German to know that the name she was using translated as rubber house? Either way, if it were true, it was slightly embarrassing.
“I'll ring and let him know you're on your way Miss Gummihausen. His apartment is on the fifth floor.”
“Thank you,” she said then picked up her holdall and walked toward the elevator, all the time wondering if the man was looking at her bag and speculating about the contents.
She pressed the button and the elevator doors opened. She stepped in then, as she pushed the button for the fifth floor, turned around and looked at him and saw he wasn't looking at her at all. He was making the promised phone call and his attention was concentrated on another person approaching the main doors. Clearly, she surmised, what she'd been thinking was at odds with what appeared to be the reality of the situation and was perhaps the product of her own thoughts about what she was about to do with a complete stranger. She'd never done this before, nobody had accepted her offer. She was nervous but filled with a never-before anticipation.
The elevator arrived at the fifth floor. She walked out into the corridor and studied the sign indicating the directions to the various apartments. She saw that the number s*******n was to the right and set off in that direction looking at the door numbers as she went. When she got to number s*******n she put her bag down and rung the doorbell. As she stood waiting she could hear the sound of somebody, presumably George, make their way to the door. It swung open and a tall, good-looking man extended his right hand.
"Hi Greta, good to meet you," he said, a beaming smile on his face.
"Nice to meet you too," she replied, as she took his hand and returned his smile.
She'd been mentally preparing herself for days to answer to Greta and prayed she'd be able to maintain it all week and not let her real name slip out.
"Come in, come in," George enthused and stepped to one side.
As she entered the apartment she took a second look at him. Up until moment when he'd opened the door she had no idea what he looked like, despite having agreed to be his toy for the week. She had considered asking him to send her a picture, not only to see what he looked like but to check he was about the same age he's said he was in his Fetlife profile, surmising that if he was prepared to lie about his age, what other lies was he capable of? She's decided not to ask for a photo as, presumably, he would have asked for a reciprocal one of her. She'd checked that there was a George Roberts living at the address she'd been given but she had no way of knowing that that was the same guy she'd be in contact with. For all she knew, once he had her picture, an electronic file he could do with as he liked, she might never hear from (insert user name), the name he used on Fetlife, again. She guarded her identity closely and wasn't about to let anybody she wasn't totally sure about see what she looked like. They could see every inch of her body but her face was very different. She believed in keeping her day-to-day self very well separated from her BDSM lifestyle persona. She'd decided that, all in all, it would be better to turn up and find there was no accommodation, that she'd been the victim of a cruel and vicious hoax, together with all of the accompanying embarrassment, than to have a picture of herself out there on the Internet. Her mask provided her with a level of anonymity she was comfortable with and she intended for it to remain so.
George closed the door and then pointed to another door some way down the hall.
"That will be your room Greta. You'll have to forgive me for being presumptuous but I had my cleaner make up the bed in there. I assumed that, although sexual services are on offer, you'd want a room of your own."
"How kind of you to be so thoughtful."
"Not at all. If you pop your bag in there I'll give you a quick tour and show you were everything is."
She could see, from the length of the hallway and the distance there had been in between the doors to the apartments in the corridor outside, that the apartment was spacious likely to be spacious. However, when she walked into the room that was to be hers for the week, she wasn't prepared for just how big it was. She'd been in smaller hotel suits. There was a huge bed that made almost no impact on the space, a large dressing table and a whole wall of wardrobes. She put her bag down on the bed and then went to investigate a doorway in one corner of the room. Walking through it she found herself in a bathroom that was at least twice the size of her own one at home. She made her way back out into the corridor where George was waiting.
“Room okay for you?'”
“Oh it's lovely thanks.”
“Good, then follow me and I'll show you around the rest of the apartment.”
She followed him from room to room and stared with wide-eyed amazement at just how big thee place was. She couldn't imagine what an apartment like this in Manhattan would cost but it was way out of her price league. Eventually, when she had seen the whole place, they stood together in the corridor.
“I guess you'll want to freshen up after your journey?”
“Yes please, I was up early and at the station by eight.”
“Fine, I'll leave you to it. Have you eaten by the way?”
“Only a sandwich on the train.”
“In that case, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner tonight?”
“I'd love too.”
“What kind of food do you like? Italian? French? Asian of some kind?”
“I adore Italian food.”
“Then Italian it will be my dear, it's been a while since I dined out with a beautiful young lady. Seven o'clock okay for you?”
She looked at her watch, it was just after six. That would give her plenty of time to take a shower, get changed and make herself ready. She smiled at the thought of him thinking of her as a young woman, he was ten years older than her.
“Seven will be fine,” she replied, as she turned the handle of her bedroom door and went in.
Fifty minutes later, having showered, changed into the best clothes she'd brought with her and put on make up there was a gentle tap on her door. She opened it and saw George had his coat on.
“My my you look stunning,” George said, standing back and giving her a very admiring look. “Ready to go?”
“Yes George, I'll just get my coat.”
She went over to the bed, picked up her coat and slipped it on then followed him out of the apartment to the elevator. As the stepped out on the ground floor the concierge glanced up.
“I have your cab waiting Mister Roberts,” he said, “Have a nice evening and you Miss Gummihausen.”
“Thanks Michael, we will,” George replied.
They stepped out into the cool New York evening and got into the cab. She noticed that George didn't tell the driver where they were going, he just drove off. Clearly George was a man who had other people organise things for him. Ten minutes later, having fought another battle with the traffic, they arrived outside Del Posto. They got out of the cab and she waited as George paid the fare and gave the cabbie a generous tip. They went into the Restaurant and the Maître De approached them immediately.
“Good evening Mister Roberts,” the man said, showing none of the aloof manner that she would have expected in such an expensive restaurant. “A table for two?”
“Yes, somewhere quiet where my companion and I can have a conversation without being overheard, we have some business to discuss,” George replied and discreetly slipped the guy a twenty dollar bill.
She took a deep breath as they followed him to a quiet corner of the restaurant, well away from the rest of the diners. She was truly amazed, not only could this guy walk in off the street into a place where you'd expect to have to book a table weeks in advance, he even told the man in charge where he wanted to sit. As they settled into their chairs a waiter appeared almost like magic.
“Can I get you some drinks Mister Roberts?”
She was stunned, everybody in the place seemed to know his name. How often, she wondered, does he eat here?
“What will you have Greta?” George asked her.
“I'd like a vodka and tonic please.”
“Any particular brand of Vodka madam?” the waiter enquired.
“Anything Polish please,” she replied, momentarily stunned to be asked the question; the places she frequented sold vodka and that was it, but she'd once been given a bottle of the Polish stuff and had enjoyed it.
“Okay Franco and I'll have my usual thanks.”
“Very good sir,” the waiter said and disappeared just as discreetly as he's appeared.
He arrived back at the table with the drinks within minutes. He placed the vodka and tonic in front of her and what looked like a large bourbon in front of him.
“Thanks,” she said, adding the tonic to the spirit. “Is that rye whisky you're drinking?”
“No single malt.”
Just as he'd finished speaking another spectre-like waiter appeared and gave them menus. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the prices. She decided, at these prices, she'd just have a main course.
“I can recommend the oysters,” George said, looking over the top of his menu at her. “Will you share a dozen with me to start?”
She scanned the list of food and saw the price. Oh fuck it she thought, he doesn't care what it costs.
“Sure,” she replied. “Are we going to need them later?” and then smiled.
“Hopefully. What about a main, care to share a lobster or two and is Pinot Grigio okay for you?”
She had an aversion to how they were cooked but loved the taste of lobster so she nodded. The waiter returned and took their order and very soon the first course arrived at their table together with a bottle of wine that was opened with deference. Having seen the price on the wine list, she wasn't surprised it was treated like liquid gold. As they ate they chatted. George, she found out, was a businessman with lots of interests in various African countries. She had no idea whereabouts in Africa most of the places were that he mentioned but recognised the names. She imagined him travelling to exotic cities where people wore bright clothes and they had even worse traffic problems than New York. He listened intently intently as she told him about herself, carefully missing out any details that would pin-point her home town. After they'd finished their main course and followed it with a dessert, George ordered coffee.
“There's something I need to ask you,” he said, lowering his voice a little. “Do you have any firm limits and what is your safe word?
“I don't do blood, in any way shape or form. I'm not into s**t either but pretty well anything else is up for discussion. As for my safe word, it's red.”
“Okay, I have that, he said. I assume you're using the usual traffic light thing where red really does mean stop but you use yellow too? Ready to go back to my place now to play?”
“Yes, I use yellow, but I say amber. There's something else I need to be very specific about.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“If you fuck me you must use a condom. I'm a fertile woman and I don't want to get pregnant. If you want to use my ass or you want me to give you a blow job then there are no barriers. I'll suck you off and swallow, it's just if you have any intention of putting your cock in my cunt then I really must insist on a condom.”
“That's not a problem. You have my word, if my cock goes anywhere near your cunt, it will be sheathed.”
“Yanks, I feel reassured. Shouldn't we pay the tab before we leave?”
“It will go on my account, along with ten percent for a tip.”
She'd realised he ate here often but now she'd found out he had an account here, he was obviously far more loaded than she'd thought. They walked out to the front of the restaurant. As they approached the doors the Maître De spoke.
“Everything okay for you Mister Roberts?”
“Yes Benito, everything we fine and Greta enjoyed her meal didn't you?”
“Yes, yes, everything was lovely,” she stammered, unexpectedly put in the spotlight.
“Your cab is outside,” he said as George slipped him a fifty.
She wasn't aware of any conversation about a cab. Obviously there were things she hadn't noticed. When the fuck had he ordered a cab? What was more, George had handed out more in tips than she would have spent on a special night out. They walked out into the busy street and got into the waiting cab. She didn't expect George to tell the driver where they were going and, as he pulled out from the kerbside, she wasn't surprised when he didn't...
Miracle
- 29.10.2022
- 18
- 0
