Watonini's Velvet Embrace

The elevator hummed, a silent, confident ascent to the penthouse suite, its polished chrome reflecting the opulent interior. The Bellhop, a man built like a brick wall with a disconcertingly charming smile, gestured with a flourish, “To the right, down the end of the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Watonini.” The doors swung open, revealing a breathtaking panorama of excess. It wasn’t just an apartment; it was a miniature Versailles, a testament to obscene wealth and unapologetic indulgence. Five-foot wide crystal chandeliers dripped light onto Chippendale settees, the floors gleamed with golden-brown marble, and a riot of Casablanca lilies filled a circular Queen Anne table. The air hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume and anticipation.

Jennifer’s breath caught in her throat, a genuine, unadulterated delight washing over her as she took in the sheer scale of the place. “Oh, Tom,” she breathed, her voice laced with wonder, “I adore you. You’ve outdone yourself.”

As they stepped into this world of opulent excess, they were oblivious to the silent, swift work of Louis, the long-serving butler, who had been discreetly vaporized by a miniature, high-tech device hidden within a Louis XIV-inspired side table. The Plaza’s finest, they were, and they were about to have a night they would never forget.

The tour, initially perfunctory, quickly escalated into a lavish display of extravagance. Burton, the impeccably dressed and utterly bored concierge, pointed out the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, and a guest bathroom. Then, he unveiled the library, filled with leather-bound first editions, and the guest bedroom with its adjoining bath. Finally, he dramatically pulled open two ten-foot high, intricately carved doors, revealing the master suite, a sanctuary of indulgence. Jacuzzi, steam bath, sauna – every conceivable luxury was crammed into this sprawling space. The sheer opulence was almost overwhelming.

“This place is drop-dead, Jennifer,” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief, “You certainly know how to spoil a lady. I’m afraid to ask, but how much did all this cost?”

Tom simply shrugged, radiating an effortless confidence that bordered on arrogance. “Forget about the money, this is our Wedding Night,” he said, his voice smooth and low. “I wanted it to be something we’d always remember.” The pursuit of cost was immediately abandoned; the only objective was the experience itself.

As dusk settled over the city, casting long shadows across the vast living room, the atmosphere shifted. The stereo pulsed with the sultry tones of Barbara Streisand, a carefully chosen soundtrack for the impending intimacy. Tom, sensing her nervousness, gently wrapped his arm around her neck and shoulder, a comforting gesture that sent shivers racing across her skin. Goosebumps erupted across her arms, legs, and neck, a physical manifestation of her mounting excitement.

“Hey honey,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble against her ear, “Why don’t we order a few drinks? I have to be honest with you, I’m a little nervous.”

“Me too,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Relieved by his honesty, he asked, “So, what would you like?”

A sigh of relief escaped her lips, like a captive finally released from a dark cell. “Extra dry Martini,” she blurted, her voice trembling slightly, “In fact, make it a double.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tom replied, ordering the same for himself. He’d never had a Martini before, but he’d seen enough James Bond movies to know the drill.

With remarkable speed, he summoned room service, requesting the drinks to be shaken, not stirred. The waiter, a young man with a perpetually bored expression, arrived moments later, presenting a silver-serving cart laden with an assortment of fruits, cheeses, nuts, and a liter carafe of dry Martini. “Compliments of The Plaza, our little gift to the newlyweds,” he offered with a detached smile.

“Why thank you,” Tom said, accepting the basket with a grateful nod.

“Sir, Roger, whom you may have met before, made all the arrangements,” the waiter continued, glancing discreetly at a portrait of a distinguished gentleman hanging on the wall. “He’s the one who deserves the thanks.”

Tom inquired about the Martini supply, noticing that the carafe, despite containing just over a third of its volume, still held a generous amount of liquid. "Holy cow, we have enough Martinis to service my Frat House for an evening!" he thought, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

They toasted their glasses, then proceeded to devour two miniature, perfectly formed Tini’s with alarming speed. Jennifer’s face relaxed completely, the goosebumps vanished, replaced by a blissful sense of release. The sultry music seemed to intensify, fueling her mounting arousal. Tom, feeling the heat rising within him, couldn't resist the urge to push the boundaries.

"Another Martini?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

“Sure why not,” she chuckled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

As he poured the third Martini, she commented, recalling a story from the Golden Age of Hollywood, "Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald used to drink enormous quantities of Martinis when they stayed at The Plaza. Then they’d walk across the street and dance around the great fountain. Scott thought it enhanced their love life.”

Feeling utterly uninhibited, Tom continued, “How about we skip the fountain idea and head straight to bed?”

“Agreed,” she replied, her voice a breathless whisper.

They struggled to disentangle themselves from the deep, plush cushions of the oversized couch, Jennifer stumbling backwards in laughter. The sheer indulgence of the situation, combined with the potent effects of the alcohol, was pushing her to the edge.

Tom, emboldened by the intoxicating atmosphere and the anticipation of the night to come, took her hand and led her towards the master suite. The king-size bed, draped in silk sheets and plush velvet pillows, awaited them like a decadent invitation. As they lay intertwined beneath the covers, the city lights twinkling outside the panoramic windows, the promise of a night filled with passion and pleasure hung heavy in the air. The first step towards a truly unforgettable Wedding Night had been taken. The Plaza had delivered, exceeding all expectations and ensuring that this couple would forever cherish the memory of their lavish escape into a world of unparalleled pleasure. The scent of Casablanca lilies mingled with the rich aroma of the Martini, a potent reminder of the decadence and indulgence that defined their perfect beginning.

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