Little Ronnie

I'd learned.

Now I waited coolly outside 314, leaning against the bump-out where the bathroom was, taking mental bets whether he'd reach the door before I rang again. My finger was rising toward the button just as the door cracked open. I put on my most cynical grin. "We meet again, Mr Bourne."

He hesitated a moment, then with a sort of mental shrug I could feel through the door he let it swing silently open the rest of the way. "Hello there." If I was expecting Disney boxers this time, I was disappointed; no, now there was just a towel, held loosely around his waist as he blinked in the bluish light from the hall. Same chest, same lack of fur, but the flush of sex on his neck and a smile much less sheepish now. "I, uh, didn't call for more condoms."

I snickered despite myself, my eyes unable to stop themselves from dipping down to the modest lump in the towel where his dick dangled. "You, Mr Bourne," I began quietly, "would be scandalized if you heard what your neighbors told me you were saying just now." I pitched my voice low. "Something about 'thick meat?'"

Less sheepish? Much; now, his smile went outright feral. "Saying?" he sighed, puffing his chest out automatically. "It was probably more like gasping. But he heard right." He shrugged defensively. "I mean, she wasn't the only one. I was being pretty vocal, too."

"Holy shit." It came out of me without even thinking, the two of us shaking our heads, sharing the secret once again. "You're really something, Mr Bourne."

"What?" He shrugged elaborately, then turned to look over his shoulder. "She was enjoying it. I'm sorry. I'll make sure she quiets down."

How? I wanted to ask, reckless in the dead of night. By stuffing your dick in her mouth? I shivered despite myself, and he had to have noticed. She was enjoying it... "Just keep it down, Mr Bourne. Okay?"

He just winked at me as the door shut.

* * *

I had a new experience the next morning: Mr Bourne brought his friend with him when he checked out. She wasn't the nude blonde I'd glimpsed in his room that first time, but she wasn't Mrs Bourne either. She was a tiny little woman with mousy hair. He seemed impatient, as if he wanted to get out of there fast.

I could imagine. He was at risk here, within twenty miles of his school. Many people know vice-principals. I got the impression, from the smug look on the woman's face, that she'd insisted on coming down with him. "Hi! I hope you enjoyed your stay?" I asked them blandly, smiling into his face with a little twinkle in my eye.

"Oh, it was great!" she gushed, his arm clamped in hers. "You guys have great beds." She laughed loudly, expecting him to join in and only subsiding slowly when he didn't.

"We'll just take the check please, Veronica," he managed, and the woman snapped upright at once with a cold glance at me.

"Do you know her?" Her voice was a venomous hiss, low and brutal, and she stared at me with eyes to match. I found myself blinking dumbly with my mouth open.

"It's on her nametag, Gina," he grunted sourly.

"Oh." She relaxed a fraction. "Right." I widened my eyes at him as soon as she looked away, and he gave a small shrug. "Take me to Zimbardo's for breakfast," she commanded.

"Calm down, Gina." He was signing out.

"Tell me to fucking calm down?" she grated, muttering under her breath. I wondered how long she'd been off her meds.

"Thank you, sir. Ma'am," I added, gifting them with my most radiant look. I was pleased I'd taken pains with my makeup before the first airport shuttle. I looked good, my hair a mass of curls, and I made sure the mysterious Gina was looking the other way before I returned Mr Bourne's wink from last night. "We look forward to having you back!"

He trailed after her with a rueful grin, leaving me to wonder what he saw in a no-tits old whore like that. Like he couldn't get someone with some ass on her. I smiled to myself, rolling my own eyes. I mean, if he could make a chick like that scream, I had to wonder what kind of a pummeling he could lay on someone he could really sink his teeth into, doing the whole hair-grab-and-neck-bite thing... the kind of shit I could get into. The kind of shit DeVaunte avoided...

I sighed and smiled at the next guest.

* * *

I missed his next reservation, as January was sleeting its way into February; I had to take my Friday nights off because my little sister Meghan was going through this phase where she was convinced she'd become a rabbi someday, so she wasn't lifting a finger to help out Aaron after sundown, the little bitch. I spent it with my friend Marie instead, giggling at Meghan's firmly locked bedroom door while we shared a bowl and watched Inception. And when I did see him again, glancing curiously over at where LaFratta was back cleaning up another of Jules' messes, Bourne was checking in very late. I sat straight up in my little chair, having sent Lucy off to make sure the cleaners were already dealing with the fitness center.

"Good evening, sir," I grinned, and as soon as his squinting eyes found mine he drew himself up a bit taller and strode with a little more schwerve.

"Hi there." He seemed genuinely pleased to see me, his eyes crinkling.

"Checking in?"

"Why, sure. I'm getting sort of a late start this evening." He glanced back at the glass doors fronting the parking lot, where Tony was trying to get LaFratta to at least turn off his blue lights. Motherfucker was parked; there was nothing to be gained by letting the lights keep flashing, other than making people think the Back Bay Suites was, well, ghetto. "I never see you when I arrive."

"Well, you should arrive later then." I made no move to get him checked in, instead leaning my chin in my hand on the counter. I was a little thrilled, now, when his eyes took their accustomed place between my breasts as I leaned forward. "It's not like I'm hiding down here."

"Good point." He licked his lips and glanced back at the door. I noticed.

"She's late, hmm?"

"Well, she can be a little unreliable." He hesitated, then arched his eyebrow. "Oh! And I, uh, might have forgotten protection. Want to come up later, or should I just take a box now?"

I let him see me roll my eyes. "Should I be honest, Mr Bourne?"

"You better be." He propped his hands on my counter, settling in to flirt.

"If it's that same woman as last time? The one you came down with in the morning?" I shuddered for effect. "I think I'd rather just leave you to it, if it's all the same." I was gratified when he laughed, his eyes rolling, and I reached beneath the desk. "Ribbed again?" Becca had replenished our stockpile.

"Sure." He paused. "Yeah, Gina can be a little much. She's a teacher, but at a different school." The pause that followed once I'd put the box beside his hand, as I waited for the computer to pull up his reservation, was a little awkward. "Thanks," he added, mostly just to fill in the silence, and when I saw that his eyes were back on my tits I wasn't surprised.

"You seem to have a lot of friends." I threw it out. "If you weren't paying the double-occupancy rate, I'd be suspicious." He joined me in a chuckle, raising his hands innocently.

"What can I say? People like me." He hesitated, and when he spoke again that smirk was back. The one I'd seen a time or two before, the one that made him look like a rogue.

The one I could feel, suddenly, as a quick spasm in my pussy. It shocked me.

"I'll just say," he went on quietly, still with that leer, "that some women seem to think I've got skills in some ways. And that I'm grateful for their... their interest." I could tell he had something else he wanted to say, so I made sure my face looked its most benign as my hands automatically pulled out a blank keycard and stuck it into the machine. "You used to hang out with Izzy, right? At school? Izzy Speier?"

"Only by default," I laughed. "We used to do Hebrew school together when we were kids. We still hang out from time to time. Why?" The card machine beeped, my hand automatically swiping it. "You're in Room 301 tonight, by the way."

"Thanks." He pocketed the card and the condoms, then shrugged as he picked up his bag. "Izzy's one of the ones whose interest I'm grateful for," he said, smirking, leaving my chin to drop as slowly as my eyes opened wide. "Apparently, she hasn't mentioned it. Good." He nodded, waggling his fingers at me with another wink, and it was several hours before I could think straight.

Even the sight of the Gina the Assless Wonder, her nose buried in her phone as she arrived to meet up with Mr Bourne, wasn't enough to shake me out of my shock. As soon as the restaurant closed the kitchen and things calmed down, I texted Izzy and told her to meet me for lunch.

Soon.

* * *

The croque monsieur tasted flat and uninspired with smoked salmon substituted for ham, but Izzy was still observant and I didn't want to offend her. So I choked it down with a smile and a healthy amount of iced tea while I steered her around to the point in the conversation where I could decently ask her whether she'd actually taken our old vice-principal's cock. And when.

"So," I tried, looking into those gorgeous little eyes she had. They were her best feature, frankly, the rest of her already beginning a downhill slalom toward middle age; she'd gotten boobs before I had, but now she was losing them before I was too, both of them de-perking in fairly dramatic fashion. Mine were still nice and firm, thankfully. Still. She was one of my favorite people. "How's your love life going these days? You broke up with Tyler, right?"

"Oh, fuck yes. Tyler just wanted to get married and settle down, and that's a big fat no from me!" She shook her head at her own lack of commitment. "Me? With kids? At twenty-four? Fuck no." She sipped at her diet Coke. "Besides, he's Lutheran. My parents would have freaked."

"Aw." I didn't care about Tyler's religion, but I tried to look like I did. "So, no flings? Maybe, you know, someone you might have reconnected with recently?"

She was looking more narrowly at me now, her lips curving impishly upward. "Why do you ask, my darling Ronnie?"

I leaned conspiratorially in, my own smirk growing. "I ran into someone we know recently, and he... well, he might have mentioned you." I stirred the ice in my glass. "It's mildly scandalous, too."

"Gee," she giggled. "You know I'd never be involved in anything scandalous," said the girl who'd taken three different dicks on her eighteenth birthday. "Is 'ran into' code for 'took it in the ass from?'" she cackled, and of course I blushed as I always did.

"One time, Izzy. One time I got it in the backdoor. And even that was an accident." I'd been a laughingstock the summer after graduation, and all because my boyfriend Troy had missed the right hole once while doing me from behind. Then he'd told his buddies about it. None of my friends had ever let me stop hearing about it. "No. I mean ran into, like, at work. He's an occasional guest at the hotel."

"Yeah. I went there once, for brunch after New Year's. It was good!" I smiled, deciding not to try to explain to her that my job had nothing to do with that damn restaurant. "So," she cooed, "who'd you see?"

I paused while she settled in, wanting to see her face when I told her. "Mr Bourne, the vice-principal."

Those eyes of hers narrowed, then widened, then squinched shut as she threw back her head and laughed hard. "Oh shit!" she gasped, wiping at her eyes. "Mr Bourne? Wow. That takes me back." She got back under control, her shoulders still shaking a bit, her eyes turning toward the window for a gaze out into the street. "Wow," she said again. "Brett Bourne, huh?"

"In the flesh," I nodded, chuckling at her joy. "So, what? Spill. What's the word with you and him?"

She was still looking out, but it was into the past this time. "Me and him," she sighed, her mouth moving into a very womanly smile. "What did you say? He talked about me?"

"Just mentioned you. Like, in passing." I decided not to tell her I'd been flirting with him. "He remembered me," I lied, "and that we'd hung out back in the day. I just thought it was funny he'd bring up you and not Marie or Cassandra or anyone like that, you know?"

She snickered. "Well, I know the answer to that. It's probably because Marie and Cassandra didn't put out for him."

I noticed the verb tense; I'd been curious whether they were hooking up now. My eyes rose. "Wait. You fucked him?"

"That's usually what 'put out for' means, Ronnie. I mean, I know it's sort of an archaic term these days, but yes. I fucked him." Her eyes were still on the past, I saw, but now they topped a devilish smile, the kind you get when you're remembering urgent, sweaty grapples on the floor. "This was awhile ago, now."

I found my hand was tensed on my glass, and forced it to ease; my pussy had spasmed for no good reason, which troubled me. "When was it?" I forced my voice to meringue lightness.

She leaned back in the booth, sighing happily, those faraway eyes aimed at the ceiling now. "Let's see... I was in college. Sophomore year. I was looking for a student-teaching practicum." She frowned a bit. "Wait. Freshman year? Well. Somewhere in there, anyway. I was still living at home, so I figured I could save money by just doing the observations at good ol' North Adams. The university said it was fine, as long as I found someone there to supervise me." The smile was back, a twisted one. "So I found one."

"Mr Bourne."

"He supervised me, all right," she went on with a throaty laugh. Her arms reached for the ceiling as she stretched long and luxuriantly. "Vocally. He likes to talk."

I nodded, remembering that noise complaint from 312. Thick meat... "Wow. That's crazy."

"Nah. It's just sex, Ronnie. People do it all the time."

I laughed with her. "So one thing led to another?"

She nodded. "What can I say? There was chemistry. He came on strong, and I'd always thought he was sort of hot." She glanced at me with mischief in her eyes. "I'm not the only one, either, if I remember."

I blushed. I'd left my share of graffiti about Mr Bourne on the bathroom stalls. "I was attracted to a lot of my teachers," I protested.

She stifled a smirk. "Well. I suppose. Anyway. He was into me right away, like, during that first interview. I could tell. I wasn't really showing any boob or butt, because you know, it was sort of like a job interview? But his eyes were x-raying my shirt anyway, so I gave him an arch or two and he didn't look away."

"Slut," I laughed. I was getting a little moist, vicariously; I love it when a man isn't afraid to show he wants to fuck me, and I even love hearing about it from my friends.

She winked. "He offered me a coffee. I said sure, thinking he meant the Keurig. He didn't." We chuckled. "Dude took me out to Harborside. We didn't waste time. He was in my pants by four that afternoon." She smiled at the memory. "My place," she added, "that cruddy old apartment I had with Steph Lorenz."

I nodded. "Steph. The one who stole your boyfriend?"

"Yup. When I fucked Bourne, I did it on her bed," she snapped with a vengeful twist to her mouth. "Left a massive puddle."

I sighed, shifting in my booth, mulling. "So it was good?" I ventured.

She waited until I was staring at her, then gave it a few more seconds. For effect, obviously. "I'll put it this way," she said at last. "I fucked him off and on for almost two years."

"Holy fucking shit!" I blurted.

She smiled at my wide eyes. "I'm telling you. He was... well." She looked far away again, out the restaurant window. "We weren't exclusive. I think he's sort of a manwhore. And that kind of experience? Let's just say he knows what he's doing." Her hand went unconsciously to her chest, thumb rubbing at her nipple. "We did just about everything."

"Insane," I marveled, now quite damp.

"Right?" She shrugged. "I mean, I've fucked a few professors; there's always a little thrill. You know how it is." I nodded, lying. I'd never even thought about it. "But man, I tell you... there was such a naughtiness about it, with him. I wondered the whole time whether he'd have done me when I was a student." She shuddered along with me. "I never asked."

I had to clear my throat, feeling a little husky. "So why'd you stop?" I made myself sound normal, surprised at how hard it was.

"The usual story. He got all weird when his wife started sniffing around. Apparently, she's like super-jealous." She plucked one of her last French fries and dangled it into her mouth. "Not that I blame her. He's a lot of fun. I ran into her a few times back in the day; he took her to Prom, remember?" I nodded; a lot of the faculty brought their spouses. I remembered Mrs Bourne. "Her name is... Louise?" She frowned. "Lois? No! That Star Wars bitch. Leia? That, or Leah." Her grin slowly grew once more. "Maybe I should get back in touch..."

I shook my head vigorously. "Ten foot pole, Izzy. Remember how I said he was a frequent guest?" I was mobilizing, and quickly; it surprised me how badly I did not want Izzy hooking back up with him. "I've seen him come in with some real skanks. Like, diseased and shit." Her eyes widened. "Seriously."

"Really." She sniffed. "His standards must have declined. Back when I was banging him, he only stuck it in prime cooze." She cackled when I grimaced. "Oh, stop. Like you're a saint, taking it up the shitter from Troy that time."

"Shut up!" I hissed. "One time! I keep telling you, it was an accident."

"An ass-ident," she snickered. "Look, Ronnie, you know I don't judge. You want to be a little butt-slut, feel free." I sat there and blushed furiously, and why? Because I had a sudden thought about Mr Bourne sticking it in my ass, that's why.

Like one of his bitches...

I was gushing into my panties by the time I paid the bill.

* * *

I was sulky the next night, back at work after an unfulfilling morning date with DeVaunte. He usually came over then, when Meghan and Aaron were at school and I was supposed to be resting up for my night at the Suites. I'd booty-called him instead, all worked up after my lunch with Izzy and wanting to be treated like a dirty little whore. He'd done his best, but like always he hadn't been able to just let himself go and abuse my holes with that oversized dick of his. "Fuck me hard!" I'd wailed, teeth clenched as I'd stared over my shoulder at his chocolate body hulking behind mine.

Goddamn, I'd wanted him to destroy me.

"Yeah, bitch," he'd muttered, but again I'd felt that caution he had, the need to keep me safe, that shadow cast by years of exes with pussies he'd ruined because he'd plowed them too hard. And here I was, bent over and paying the price for their weak little vaginas!

Consideration from him was not what I needed that morning. Penetration was.

So I was in a bad mood late that night, my feet saucily up on my concierge desk as the janitors mopped up Jules' kitchen. Jeff was over at Reception, trying to track down a fold-out cot for 124 while simultaneously sneaking nips from a hip bottle of Jaegermeister. I scowled at my unsatisfied pussy, thinking about the wand I'd impulsively chucked into my purse when I left for work that night.

Wouldn't be the first time I'd snuck off to have a little personal time with a selfie-stick after midnight in the manager's office. If you know what I'm saying.

My earbuds were wedged firmly in around half-past midnight with the volume sky-high. I know you're not supposed to turn it all the way up, but when your playlist shuffles around to "Delivery" by Babyshambles, that's just something you have to do. Anyway, the music blaring through my head is why I missed the first part of what happened when the elevator doors slid open and vomited Mr Bourne's friend Gina out into the deserted lobby.