8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
My second visit to the Armada Hotel was a hell of a lot less anxious than the first.
That last one was pretty ironic considering what we were trying to do to Debbie.
This time, I walked right up to the front desk and looked the clerk in the eye.
It was the same fresh-faced concierge as last time, and though she clearly didn’t recognize me she didn’t look shocked to see me in the slightest. I was obviously not the only guy my age who came and went at the Armada for less than savory purposes.
“Mr. Cottrell,” she said as she she checked me in and handed me my room key. “You’re in 3125—the elevator is just over there by the bar.” A sly smile. “The other two guests registered to this room number are already upstairs.”
I figured they were, but it was good to have confirmation. I met her smile with one of my own. “Thank you very much,” I said.
McKenna was right: I’d gotten surprisingly good at telling women half my age what to do.
We’d set the night up with the same attention to detail as the lunch sting: I told the two girls what time to arrive (with a ten minute gap in between), which entrances to use so they wouldn’t be noticed together (different ones) and exactly what I expected to find when I opened the door to my hotel suite (you can guess).
The Tom Cottrell the two of them knew six weeks ago would’ve been too self-deprecating to express a preference. The guy who set up this threesome did it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And at some point between my first and second visit to the Armada, that’s exactly what it had become.
The elevators were right where I remembered them. The bar looked busy; even at the beginning of the evening, there was a good mix of travelers and patrons and sweet young things looking like they were gunning for an invite upstairs. Meat market, I thought with a smirk.
And then I saw her.
She was perched on a barstool on the periphery of the lounge, sipping a cocktail my brain refused to believe she was old enough to legally order, and she was looking right at me.
For a second, panic flared in my chest, and I wondered where I’d seen this girl before—or where she’d seen me.
The way she watched me didn’t feel like a girl looking for casual conversation—or even a working girl looking for an easy mark.
There was interest in her eyes, but something else, too.
Amusement? Suspicion?
The corner of her mouth curled in a smirk, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. She lifted her cocktail like a mock-tribute and took a sip, then gestured casually at the barstool next to hers. Like she wanted to know if I was free.
I won’t lie—if there’d been anything waiting for me up on the third floor other than the two most gorgeous coeds I’d ever met, I might have taken her up on it.
She’d clearly come to the Armada looking for a good time.
She had to be around Bailey’s age or a little older: a tight, expensive-looking dress hugged her curves, and her raven-dark hair hung around her face in shimmering waves.
Her skin was pale, her breasts small but perky—and when she shifted to the side, making her invitation more obvious, her dress stretched taut around an ass that was perfectly heart-shaped, practically begging to be grabbed.
As she placed her drink to the side, I noticed a tiny tattoo on her wrist: an uppercase letter P, with a lowercase x cutting through the bottom. It rang a vague bell in the back of my head—maybe it was from one of McKenna’s video games?—but I couldn’t place it.
Behind me, the elevator doors dinged.
“Sorry,” I said, flashing a smile. “Busy.”
The girl pouted theatrically as I stepped into the elevator. She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers as the doors slid closed, then winked and blew a kiss at the last possible moment.
Damn, I thought. She’d looked like fun.
I thought about her for a few moments as the elevator rose, but only a few. Bored college girl, probably looking for someone to treat her like a princess for the night. A fun prospect: but I had bigger things on my mind.
Later, I’d be thinking about her quite a lot.
The elevator doors opened soundlessly. The third floor of the Armada was every bit as swanky as the one where Bailey and I had our first meeting—and just as quiet.
The walls were so thick that you’d have to have some very athletic, very rough, very loud sex before anyone out here would hear it happening.
For most of the Armada’s guests, that was a comfort.
Tonight, I treated it as a challenge.
I straightened out my jacket and checked my watch as I made my way down the hall. Mickey Mouse stared up at me from the dial, scuba gear at the ready, scratch marks studding the glass. Still ticking, same as always. I smiled, thinking of how far it had carried me.
I didn’t knock. Bailey and McKenna knew to be ready for me; I swiped my card across the reader and watched the red light flash green. Unlocked.
I opened the door. Stepped inside.
And froze dead in my tracks.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“Hi, Daddy,” Bailey said, biting her lip.
My babygirl was draped across the foot of the bed like the centerfold of a magazine Debbie would’ve chewed me out for having if she’d found it in my desk drawer.
The clothing that hugged her body was all black silk—from her lace bra to her thong panties, along with a garter belt covered in delicate little hooks and a pair of thigh-high stockings that hugged her legs like a second skin.
All except for one thing. Her ribbon.
She’d tied that white ribbon—the one she wore to the Armada the first time, the one she’d had around her neck when I fucked her in Debbie’s bed—tight around her throat, the fabric moving along with the muscles as she swallowed hard.
Her blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders, there were spots of color on her cheeks from how turned on she was by the way I was watching her—and her nails were still that brilliant chartreuse shade she’d stolen from my ex-wife.
Jesus Christ. How are you so perfect? I’d asked her the first night we’d had sex.
I’d stopped trying to find the answer to that question. Now I was just enjoying it.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Bailey purred, her blue eyes sparkling with lust. “You look so good, Daddy. You like what you see?” She arched her back a bit, thrusting her tits in the air. “Did I follow my instructions like a good girl?”
As much as I’d planned—and as much as I’d told the girls I wanted both of them to be ready the moment I entered the room—I hadn’t been terribly picky about the actual outfits I’d be peeling off both of their bodies.
McKenna was coy about it, wanting it to be a surprise—and while Bailey would’ve worn literally anything (or nothing) if I told her to, my command to her had been a simple one.
Wear something I can unwrap like a present. And use the ribbon as your bow.
She’d complied to the letter and then some.
“Babygirl,” I growled, the door sliding shut and locking behind me. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week—”
I was halfway to the bed when McKenna stepped out of the bathroom.
“Getting started without me, Master?”
I turned.
And my jaw hit the fucking floor.
McKenna stood leaning against the doorframe in a sultry pose, one hand resting on a hip encased entirely in skintight white.
Her bodysuit clung to every inch of her so tightly she looked naked, the fabric cut in stark lines across her chest and down her thighs.
Over top of it she wore a lacy black dress, a slit cut in the side almost all the way to her navel, with a little window cut out of the front to show off her cleavage.
The bottom of the bodysuit fit her like a thong, cut close to show off her bare thighs and a pair of glossy black thigh-high boots with heels that had to be at least six inches high.
Fishnet hose peeked out of the top of each, with a lacy ruffle like an even sluttier version of Bailey’s ribbon as a fringe.
She had on glossy black gloves, a white wig with a black headband holding it tight, and a black blindfold.
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
I knew that outfit. I’d seen the statue of it on her shelf in the den a thousand times—that half-naked android McKenna kept next to her gaming setup. The one that made me wonder things about her—and that I’d always been too polite to ask about.
“You’re—” I started.
“2B,” McKenna said, striking a pose with one hand on her hip and the other extended, palm out, like she was blocking an invisible sword strike.
“YoRHa unit number two, type B. Glory to Humanity.” She tugged the edge of the blindfold up a fraction, not so she could see (I’d already figured it was secretly the see-through kind of blindfold) but so she could narrow an eye at Bailey.
“I thought you said he’d played this one. ”
“I said he’d recognize the character,” Bailey replied. “And that it’s so hot that it doesn’t matter if he played the game.”
My babygirl certainly had that right.
McKenna glanced back at me, tugging down her blindfold. “She’s from NieR: Automata. I’m guessing you don’t actually know what that is, Mr. C?”
“I don’t,” I admitted, shaking my head. “But I know I like it.”
McKenna snickered. “You’re damn right you do. Bailey helped me get the seams straight. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to get this outfit right…”
“Worth every minute,” Bailey said from the bed. She sounded genuinely awed. “You look fucking incredible, McKenna.”
She really did. Elegant and lethal and completely unreal, just like a video game character. For one brief, dizzying moment, I understood why this girl spent so much time in front of a screen. If this was what she spent her leisure time getting to imagine herself as, I supposed I couldn’t blame her.
Something clicked in the back of my brain. “This took a lot of effort,” I said, looking her up and down. God, I could stare at her in that outfit all fucking night. “You did all this for me?”
McKenna blushed. “I did this one for you,” she admitted. “I do cosplay sometimes. It’s kind of a hobby. Helps a lot with my brand.”
“You have a brand?”
McKenna held up a gloved finger. “Let’s not talk about that right now,” she insisted. “Right now I’m not McKenna—I’m 2B, your personal android, and let’s just say serving humanity is my highest priority.”
I grinned. “Get in character, robot girl.”
It was honestly a little scary how well McKenna did it.
Her stance shifted—nothing huge, but suddenly she was less like a girl wearing a costume than an actual video game character brought to life.
When she spoke, her voice had an even, sultry quality that made me wonder how many people had played the video game she was supposed to be in one-handed.
“I brought you a delivery, master,” she said, gesturing at Bailey. “I found her wandering the city all alone. A human.” Her hand ran down her side. “She looks like she belongs to you.”
Behind me, Bailey giggled, writhing gently on the mattress. “I do,” she purred. “I belong to Daddy…”
I couldn’t take it any longer. “Come here,” I commanded, glancing over at Bailey. “On your knees, babygirl.”
I watched Bailey slide off the bed and onto the carpet, as eager as if she’d been waiting her whole life to hear that sentence. She grinned at McKenna, then me, the ribbon taut around her throat.
“Hands behind your back,” I said, already pulling down my zipper.
“Yes, Daddy,” Bailey whimpered. “Thank you, Daddy…”
I could practically see the puddle forming in her panties.
As McKenna watched, her shoulders rising and falling faster with each passing moment, I took my cock out and pressed it between Bailey’s lips.
My babygirl knew exactly what to do. Wet heat enveloped my prick as she opened her mouth and took me in, the crown of my cock pushing past her teeth and into her throat.
She gagged on it gently before pulling back and working her tongue around my crown, then running her lips up and down the side of my shaft in sloppy kisses before continuing to blow me.
The sounds of her wet slurps filled the hotel room.
“This is what I do to Bailey,” I told her with a smirk. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“It makes me fucking wet,” she groaned. The voice was McKenna’s, not the android’s.
Then she caught hold of herself and snapped back into character, radiating sex.
“I’m intrigued by this,” she said, watching as Bailey’s mouth worked up and down my dick. “I was designed for combat, but… my orders are to serve humanity. Whatever orders those might be...”
I liked the sound of that. “Take off the dress,” I told her, guiding Bailey’s mouth with a hand on the back of her head. “And the boots. Slowly. I want to hear it.” I paused, thinking. “Leave the bodysuit. And the stockings.”
Bailey’s mouth left my cock with a wet little pop. “Are you going to fuck her, too, Daddy?” she groaned, getting into character no less than her bestie. “Are you going to turn 2B into your personal sex robot?”
Six weeks ago, a question like that would have left me flushed and stammering. Tonight, I was standing in a hotel room directing two of the most beautiful women I’d ever met, and it felt more natural than the job I’d been doing for most of my adult life.
Which meant I knew the answer. “Maybe,” I told Bailey, stroking my cock a few times as I slapped it gently against her cheeks. “If she begs me for it.”
McKenna gasped. She hadn’t anticipated that. “Tom!”
“Robot girl doesn’t know my name,” I said without missing a beat. “In fact, robot girl is supposed to be taking off her dress right now.”
“Yes, Master,” McKenna purred, recovering. “Glory to humanity…”
Glory to one particular member of humanity, I thought, thrusting into Bailey’s mouth as I watched McKenna preparing to undress. Namely the guy watching both of these girls compete to see who can be the filthiest and the most submissive…
What a fucking competition, though.
I couldn’t wait to find out which one of them was going to win.