Lindsay K recommends the coffee shop, but Mary coaxes her into a picnic

Back at the registration desk, you catch Lindsay K before she goes off shift. "If you're looking for something quick, Mr. and Mrs. Forbes, the Coffee Corral is good. It's just across the street. Cross at the corner, we're right on the highway here, and sometimes the cars are going fast." Lindsay brushes a frosted curl back from her cheek and tucks it behind her ear. Most of her hair is held back tightly by a clip, but one stray curl had escaped.

"I love how you've done your hair," Mary says. "Why, my hairdresser Annabelle, it looks like something she does for curly hair. Me, she tells me I'm too easy, I'm just a trim, wash and set."

Lindsay excuses herself to hand over the registration desk to the new clerk.

"Lindsay's such a sweet lady," Mary says. "You think we might treat her to lunch, honeybear?"

Mary has that twinkle in her eye. You think she's set her cap for Lindsay. Your own hound-doggishness must be rubbing off on your wife.

"Ask her."

Roll +COOL(+1) to STALK Lindsay K, the hotel registration clerk: 11 + 1 = 12. On a 10+, you find her alone and ready.

Lindsay comes out of the office, having switched her hotel uniform jacket for a lightweight, colorful cotton print. Her hair is unpinned, shaking out in frosted curly locks like a hairdresser's halo, and the poofy bow-tie of the ladies' uniform is gone, revealing a simple gold necklace through the open collar of her blouse.

"Mary, did you say your hairdresser's name is Annabelle?" Lindsay says.

Mary nods. "That's right, a black lady, maybe fifty? She's so sweet, she bought the business from my old hairdresser Myrtle, and nary a bump, I was looking fine from Annabelle's first time."

"Same Annabelle!" Lindsay says. "I miss her. My mama took me to her when I was growing up. This is the 'do she gave me when I was ready for a grown-up style." She runs her hands through her curly locks. "I had to teach my new stylist." She grins. "Lyla Mae finally got it right."

"Well I declare," Mary says. "Well we're practically neighbors on account of Annabelle, let me and Brian treat you to lunch, you've been so sweet to us, getting us settled and all. I hope we get to stay over another night at least."

"That's so nice of you, Mary, Brian. I'd love to," Lindsay says. "I have to make a little stop in the ladies' room." She looks at Mary and tilts her head.

"Now that you mention it," Mary says. "I should go too. Be right back, honeybear."

When Mary and Lindsay get back, they're laughing together like old friends. Annabelle's name comes up a couple of times. You figure Lindsay's maybe late twenties, early thirties, so, young-ish to you and Mary, but not young like your own college girls who've just flown the nest, or like Tom and Taylor Jackson.

"We're going for barbecue, honeybear," Mary says. "Lindsay says she knows just the place, and we're going to have a picnic."

"going for a picnic" - how nice a place is it? (HOW): 6, it's really wonderful; - what's special? (DETAIL): 3S (Large, Mystical).

Lindsay takes you and Mary for a picnic in the sprawling gardens of an old historic estate she used to work at, so she knows the shortcuts and quieter areas.

Lindsay loads you into an old but clean and well-kept stick-shift Toyota sedan and threads through the streets of town until you scent hickory smoke. She parks behind a garage-like building with a thread of blue smoke coming up from a pipe. From the trunk, she takes an old-fashioned picnic basket with a hinged wood-flap top.

"Lindsay, hon, you go to work expecting a picnic?" Mary asks.

"I go everywhere expecting a picnic," Lindsay says. "I've never been unhappy to have it along." She changes out her colorful cotton jacket for a light-blue nylon windbreaker from the trunk. "Barbecue can be drippy, don't say I didn't warn you."

You, Lindsay, and Mary walk through a set of weathered old wooden picnic tables in the shade of some scraggly oaks to a serving window with a counter covered in red and white oilcloth.

"Pick what you like, my treat," you say.

Mary and Lindsay work up a picnic menu and tuck the brown paper bags and white waxed cardboard containers into Lindsay's basket. A big bottle of sweet tea, a bottle of lemonade, a bottle of RC Cola, and a can of light beer round out the picnic provisions.

Lindsay gets a handful of extra paper napkins. "It can get messy, like I said." she says. "Especially what we ordered."

It's a short hop by car to a sign for a historic estate and garden. Lindsay drives around the back, leaving the street for a dirt track, and parks behind a neglected old building, maybe a stable or small barn in the day. She leads you through a brick arch into a garden filled with trellises overgrown with climbing roses, red, pink, white, and maroon in a riot of blooms.

"Bless my soul," Mary says. "No wonder you're always ready for a picnic."

Lindsay laughs. "If it's a sunny day and I'm not at work, I'm here. I used to work here starting in high school, summertimes, but the hotel pays better." She waves her hand around. "They're still working on cleaning the back garden here and getting it ready for visitors. Until then, it's all mine, ha ha ha ha ha!"

You take a deep breath. Roses. Hay. Warm dust. Your nose tingles. Hot lady. Ladies. Lindsay and Mary are standing in the sun, and you like what your nose is telling you.

"Let's set out lunch," Lindsay says. "No picnic blanket, sorry. There's a lawn by the main house, but it's always been keep off the grass, here."

Lindsay has you roll out a beat-up old wooden cable spool into the shady corner of a low wall that serves as your bench seats.

Between the buttered cobs of corn and the drippy barbecue, you have the gals laughing at you as you try and fail to catch the drips before they end up on your chin, or on the splintery wood of the table. Even Mary ends up with a couple of splashes of barbecue sauce on her denim shirt.

You nod at Lindsay. "I can see the point of your windbreaker." The light-blue nylon has picked up some rusty-red splashes of sauce.

"Yup!" Lindsay says. She lifts a sauce-splashed cuff to her lips and licks it clean. "Easy on, easy-off."

Mary laughs aloud. "I declare," she says.

"Learned it from my mom," Lindsay says. "My aunt sent me to learn tea party manners, but being a lady is really a dress-up game for me."

You smile at Lindsay. "Being a gracious hostess makes you a lady in my eyes," you say. "Sharing a special place like this is the kindest, most generous thing." You grin. "Picnic basket in your car, back way into a private garden with roses every which way. You take dates here?"

"Ye--es," Lindsay says, drawing out her answer.

"Well, I do feel special," you say.

Lindsay smiles. "Mary told me that you and she were on your first vacation, just the two of you together, for quite a while. A little bit of a second honeymoon, almost? So when you offered to treat me to lunch, I thought I'd treat you to something special."

"You've made my day, Lindsay," you say. You look at Mary, who is beaming a big smile toward you and Lindsay. "Our day. Why, if it were a warm evening with that sweet smell of roses all around like this, I could imagine a date going rather far around the bases, so to speak."

"Nobody's watching," Lindsay says. "You could go all the way round to home plate."

"Why, you're like to make me blush, miss," you say. You turn to Mary. "Sweetie-pie?"

Mary takes your hand. "Honeybear?"

"Did Miss Lindsay tell you about this place, that it was her special picnic place?"

Mary squeezes your hand. "Why yes," she says. "This is her Garden of Eden, only a few steps from touching Heaven."

"Oh. So this is a date," you say.

"Yes, honeybear," Mary says.

Lindsay just grins.

"Are you ladies feeling frisky?" you ask.

Lindsay giggles. Mary squeezes your hand.

"Well then, you'll have to tell me about what you're thinking."

Giggles. Another squeeze.

"Oh well, then," you say. "I have no idea. But maybe we should have a little dessert while you help me figure it out."

You feed bites of sweet potato pie off a fork - a nice one, from Lindsay's picnic supplies - to Mary, then Lindsay, then Mary, then Lindsay again.

"Aren't you going to have any pie, Brian?" Lindsay asks.

"I aim to," you say, looking at the crossed seams where her pants legs come together. "I think there might be a couple of pieces of nice pie still all wrapped up. I think." You look at Mary.

"I think that may be so, honeybear," Mary says.

"So I'm still saving room," you say. "More sweet potato pie, ladies?"

Roll +HOT(+0) (+0 Hot, +1 Submissive (Mary), -1 two girls) to MAKE THEM BEG: 3 + 0 = 3, Miss.

That second piece of pie goes down, a bite at a time at the end of the fork in your hand, between Mary and Lindsay. But despite all the smacking of lips and dainty licking of the fork you're holding, the gals are holding out.

"Let's take a little walk," Lindsay says. "I want to show you the gardens. Would you roll back the spool, Brian?"

Back goes the splintery old cable spool under cover, out of view.

Lindsay leads you and Mary through the gardens, telling stories from the family that owned the estate.

"They were wicked," Mary says.

"Without a doubt," Lindsay says. "I'm actually part of the family, on my mama's side. For as much as that means. They say my great grandma was conceived right here in the rose gardens. Her mama was the cook, and the story was that the young master was caught giving her the old one-two in broad daylight, no mistake, and enough people saw it that they couldn't make it go away. So they had to keep her."

Mary laughs and laughs. "And you get to tell their stories."

"I don't tell that story to just everyone," Lindsay says.

"Just to your dates?" you ask.

Lindsay winks and tosses her headful of frosted curly tresses. "Let's loop on back. I'm trying to decide something."

"Whether this is a date?"

"Whether I'm brave enough for that," Lindsay says. "Can we split your beer, Brian?"

"Sure," you say.

"You and Mary can tell me about, what did Mary call it, Loving Community?" Lindsay fiddles with her necklace, a simple gold chain.

There was a book on Mary's night table titled LOVING COMMUNITY: GOD'S PLAN FOR OPEN MARRIAGE.

"Well, Mary and I can tell you about ourselves," you say. "And Mary can tell you, well..."

"God loves love," your wife says. "God sends his angels with that message. It's all over the Good Book. Love is bigger and more than any one of us. Any two of us."

Back in the corner of the rose garden, you and Lindsay pass your bottle of light beer back and forth. After you've had a a few swallows, you let her hang onto it. She sips it while you and Mary take turns talking about your love lives, at home with each other, about your girlfriends on the road, where you're a repeat visitor and welcome if their regular man is away, and about Mary eating out her friends' slices of lady pie and keeping her oven poked by nice young men's wieners while you're out on a long-haul route.

Lindsay looks wistful. "It almost sounds like dating and hooking up, except you're married. With kids even. What a dream. It sounds so wonderful. But crazy too, you never had any trouble?"

"I'm not saying that we never had trouble," Mary says. "But back home, above our bed, we've got the words A perfect marriage is two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other. Starting out, I think, maybe it was like that? I prayed a lot. We prayed a lot. And then over our bed, too, Jesus, This is my command, love each other. So we do."

"Can I? Can I see you make love?" Lindsay says. "Here and now?"

You turn toward Mary. "Sweetie-pie?"

Roll +HOT(+1) to TELL Mary you want to FUCK HER: 11 + 1 = 12. She wants it, take +1 Forward.

Instead of Mary's face, you see her naked backside. She's bent over, her hands braced on the low wall. Her mom jeans are already puddled round her ankles, and her panties are down below her knees. Her inner lips are pouting out, swollen, bright pink and glistening with juice.

Roll +HARD (+2) to FUCK Mary: 4 + 2 = 6, Miss.

But while you're still wrestling to get Old Number One out from your trousers, you hear the clink of a glass bottle falling sideways. Lindsay makes a sound with her voice, not a word or a moan or a sigh exactly, but something in between. Lindsay brushes past you, crouches behind Mary's naked full moon butt, and thrusts her face into your wife's pussy.

Your wife is usually vocal when you're dicking her or eating her out, calling on Heaven and God and the angels, but while Lindsay makes a loud, slobbery meal of Mary's pussy, suddenly struck by cunt hunger, Mary has no words at all, only soft, low moans.

Well, here you are, standing like a fool with your dick in your hand, but you can't feel bad about it. Lindsay's loving it. Mary's loving it. You love to watch your lady taking tongue like that. How eager Lindsay is, how she's eating it up. Is this Lindsay's first time, or maybe...?

Maybe Annabelle is a lesbo, and she gave Lindsay her first tongue ride. So when Mary and Lindsay were carrying on about Annabelle, maybe that set things rolling.

Maybe Lindsay's cunt hunger has been cooking for years.

Roll +COOL(+1) to GET OUT OF TROUBLE. On a 10+, you can talk your way back into the scene: 9. It will cost you.

After Mary has a couple of body-shaking orgasms at the tip of Lindsay's tongue, she rises and embraces the younger lady, kissing Lindsay on the lips. Mary's not shy about pussy juice, her own or other ladies'.

Eventually they take notice of you, standing there with your dick in your hand.

"I want to see Brian shoot," Lindsay says.

"Don't just stand there, honeybear," Mary says. "You heard Lindsay."

"Go, Brian. Go. Go. Go. Go," Lindsay chants slowly.

It takes a few minutes to pump yourself up to the edge. You feel a drop of precum as you stroke up and down over your head. Mary's chanting along with Lindsay now, smiling and nodding her head. Lindsay's staring at your dick, her eyes wide, her lips moving. Go. Go. Go. Go.

You keep your mouth shut, so your nut catches you with a low gurgle. It's a good load and a long shot, wads of seed arching out at Lindsay and Mary.

"Oh!" Lindsay cries as your long shot leaves pearly splashes on the bottom of her windbreaker and on Mary's bare knees.

Finally you open your mouth and let out a sigh. "Thank you, ladies."

"Thank you!" Lindsay says. "That was hot!"

"Thank you, honeybun," Mary tells Lindsay. "You took me straight to Heaven. The angels touched you today."

Was it good for you? you wonder. Lindsay didn't come, but she's bubbling over with giggles and good feeling, so you suppose the answer is yes, yes, yes.

You tidy up as best you can -- bless you, Lindsay, for that stack of extra napkins -- and Lindsay drops you back at the hotel before saying goodbye.

"I have to get to my spin class."

There was a gym bag in Lindsay's trunk, next to the picnic basket. Well prepared, that gal.

Mary kisses Lindsay goodbye. You swear something about Annabelle passes her lips. One or the other of them.

"May your angels bring you joy," Mary tells Lindsay.

"I already have so much," Lindsay says.

You have 2 XP, +0 Hard, +0 Hot, +1 Cool, +1 Control, Eat Pussy, and Submissive (your wife Mary).

Did the hotel find a new room for you after they bumped you for the wedding guest block? (Yes/No, even: 5, 2 = yes.)

Will the RV be ready tomorrow? (Yes/No, likely: 6, 1 = yes, but). But: roll a Random Event: 6S,5D = Harm (mystical) History (technical). The shop discovers a recall on this model.

You're back at the hotel with Mary. Naptime? Finally time for second breakfast? Clean up and mingle with the wedding guests? (Not that you're dressed for anything fancy). Look for fast-talking troublemaker Linda from this morning?