Little Ronnie

"Because I was actually just now thinking about what you could do for me," he replied. I could hear the smile in his voice and it brought a twinge straight to my vagina. I spoke through a sudden tingle, like before. In his room.

"At two in the morning?" I hoped I sounded super-cool. "You must have awfully boring nights."

A pause. "You have no idea." He chuckled, dry but warm, and I rocked a little in the chair with my short legs swishing just over the carpet. "Actually, I was calling for a specific reason, Ronnie. You really can help me. I need to cancel a reservation."

"Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that, sir." This was unexpected. I wondered whether I was supposed to flirt back. "I was, uh, that is we always look forward to seeing our, like, preferred guests?" Goddamn! He'd thrown me completely. Two in the morning! And he'd asked for me! If he wasn't calling for phone sex or something, then what was his deal?

"It's nice to be preferred," he rumbled back, smooth and calm. I could tell he was keeping it quiet, and wondered about the crazy wife Izzy had mentioned. The one I'd spoken to on the phone that night. "To be honest, I won't be needing the reservation I booked for your Valentine's Day Special."

"Oh!" I know I was flushing, my body twisting around to make sure Lucy was still slumped over. I cleared my throat. "Um, may I ask why?"

"Just... you know. I had a date for that evening, but it's looking like it won't be as good of a match as I was hoping."

I felt that grin again, pulling at my chapped lips. "Mr Bourne!" I marveled, my voice low and wicked. "Can it possibly be that you're getting dumped? Like, is that code?" I laughed suddenly, a throaty one, moved by the sheer illicit joy that he'd called me. And by the stir in my pussy. He joined me, that same easy chuckle as before. He was probably hard, I concluded, remembering how eating me out had given him that l long, thick erection. At the time I'd thought about him plundering that certifiable nutcase Gina, but now? Now I pictured him suddenly in a recliner before late-night TV, leaning back with his wife upstairs asleep while his hand found its way into his pajama pants. If I pitched my voice low and throaty, I figured, he'd cup his balls for me... "Who on earth would dump you, Mr Bourne?"

"The kind of woman who'd make a scene and get slapped in a hotel lobby," he sighed back. "You ever get in trouble for that?"

"Nah."

"Good." He paused, no doubt fondling himself. I thought about joining him, but Tony had cameras everywhere. "No. Honestly, Ronnie, I'm not getting dumped. I just don't think I'm interested in her anymore."

I felt a spasm way up by my cervix. "Not Gina? Is it the other one?" I asked candidly.

"Danielle. Yes." He hesitated. "Truth is, I've been thinking of, you know, scaling back."

Of pumping fewer hoes, you mean. "Oh?" I heard myself say brightly. I crossed my legs, my thighs squeezing. "Why would you want to do that, sir?"

"Well," he replied at once, "just maybe I've been thinking about someone else. A change of pace. Sort of a blast from the past, in a way?"

My grin became a gloat. "Mr Bourne," I said slowly, twirling my hair with my nervous finger, "I swear, if you bring Izzy Speier here..." I trailed it off, my lip between my teeth, praying he'd take it as a flirty joke and not a suggestion of some kind.

"Don't worry," he agreed, and my whole body lurched at what he said next. "She's old news. It's one of her friends I'm a little into nowadays."

I was thinking, quickly, the ideas tumbling through my brain and into place with a little mental snik, like puzzle pieces. Tony. Reduced occupancy on the night before Valentines. My tingle grew. "Um. Can I maybe talk you into rescheduling, sir? Perhaps some other night?" Some other pussy? I left that unsaid, holding my breath while silence rolled through the phone line, and when it had gone on as long as I felt I could stand I cleared my throat again. "Whenever you do rebook, sir, I promise we'll take good care of you..."

I heard him lick his lips. "I'll bet you will," he said at last, and he did a great job keeping the smugness out of his voice. I appreciated that. "That sounds great. Were there any dates you guys have, you know, a room free? Like, around then?"

"Let me pull up the computer," I purred, not budging at all; the 13^th was a chasm, a yawning empty gulf of unbooked rooms. I didn't need to check. "I could squeeze you in on the day before? The 13^th?" I didn't even think of the double-entendre until he snickered back, but by then I was too excited to try to play it off.

"Well. That sounds like it might work." I wasn't even thinking anymore, just reacting, my body in an uproar as my loose tongue took over.

"I look forward to meeting your needs, sir." I knew I sounded breathy, maybe even a little desperate, but after what his mouth had done to me? I needed more. "I'll try to remember to wear a skirt," I blurted, glancing around again at Lucy.

"Oh," he said slowly, still with that lazy frat-boy confidence, "I doubt it'll matter all that much." And I swear, I nearly came right there in my office chair.

It probably came off as me playing hard-to-get, the long pause that followed, my silence as he breathed into the phone at my ear, but in fact? I just didn't have any fucking clue what to say to that. I took a deep, shuddery breath, waiting until I could be confident I'd sound like I was in control of myself. And even then, I doubt I managed it. "I'll just book it then, sir, on your normal credit card." I said it low and husky and horny, and I know he heard all that. "Was, uh, was there anything else you needed tonight, sir?" That part came out in a rush, ad-libbed, me cursing myself for my awkwardness, but from the sound of his voice he didn't seem to mind.

"Plenty," he mumbled back, "but not as much as I'll need on the 13^th. Just make sure you're working that night."

"Oh, don't worry about that." I was already nearly panting. "I promise you'll be in good hands." Hands, mouth, pussy, ass, wherever I'd let him put it; my face was scarlet as I replaced the phone.

I have no doubt DeVaunte wondered what had gotten into me when I hustled over to his place that afternoon and, for all intents and purposes, raped him; I got him inside me, fortunately, but even after I'd left him dreaming and cuddly with his balls emptied into my unsatisfied pussy, I needed more. So much more.

* * *

I did something that February 13^th that I'd never, ever done before: I gave deep and careful thought to my underwear selection before going to work. This was not something I ever really worried about, as a rule: as long as my butt doesn't show any lines and my tits aren't flopping around, I usually don't give a rat's ass what I'm wearing.

But tonight might be special.

I'd bought the set on clearance from Secret Whispers last fall and they'd been in the bottom of my drawer ever since, a thong set in wine-colored lace. I knew the moment I strapped the bra on that it wasn't going to be a comfortable shift; the underwire gripped me too tightly, but as I glared at myself in my bedroom mirror I had to admit to myself that I looked delicious, like a cream pastry. So I did the same thing I'd done with my shoes at my cousin's wedding: I took off the sexy one and threw it in my purse until needed, then threw on a comfier bra.

The night went smoothly enough through the dinner service, with an epically small number of drinkers at the bar, but Jules wasn't worried. He'd ordered a shit-ton of prime rib and champagne... for tomorrow night. Hell, he'd even left early, something he never did, so that he could be in top form for tomorrow's big Valentine feast.

Lucy was obviously bored, but just as obviously burning with curiosity about what had gotten into me. Because I'm always pretty energetic, but that night? With my itchy pussy and a party bra in my purse? I was bouncing off the walls. "Jesus," she sighed at one point, "sit down for a second, why don't you?"

I stared hard at her, still undecided about what I was going to tell her. I'd not been around when Mr Bourne checked in, but the computer told me he was right up there in good old 303, where I'd booked him out of some misguided sense of nostalgia. And I was going to head up there at some point and get laid, and I'd be gone for at least an hour on a job where I usually just took nothing more than the occasional ten-minute break to grab a coffee over at Ahab's.

"Slow night," she sighed at last, as the restaurant closed down and the last few guests headed up from the bar. She was gathering her thin hair into a bun at the top of her noggin.

"You can say that again," I muttered, punching up the last of the orders for tomorrow. A vacuum cleaner whined up on the mezzanine, the night crew getting their clean on. I hesitated, my plan still not clear, then opened my mouth and decided I'd figure everything out as I went. Lucy was a good girl; she'd never rat me out. But what if something critical went down while I was up there... "So." I licked my lips. "Let's say I wanted to take off for, like, an hour." I watched her carefully as she glanced sideways at me.

"'Take off,'" she mused. There was a pregnant pause while she nodded to herself. "Like, somewhere outside the hotel? Or nearby?"

"On the premises," I said quietly, my face getting hot. I didn't want her to guess what I'd be doing, so I was hoping to answer as few questions as I could. "Like, very close by. Like, reachable if Tony comes in."

"Oh." She shrugged abruptly. "No problem, then," she smiled over at me, "for twenty bucks."

I rolled my eyes; she made just shy of $15 an hour here. "Fine," I bit out, "but in that case, I might take an hour and a half."

Her head swiveled slowly toward me, her eyes unreadable until they rolled once. "It's dead tonight. Just keep your phone on you."

I forced a laugh. "Obviously. And if Tony calls, tell him I'm fixing the ice machine up on the second floor." I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, entering a last few mindless items, without the foggiest idea what I was supposed to do next; I'd not spoken to Mr Bourne since he'd booked, and it wasn't until I realized I'd typed the same thing four times that Lucy looked over my shoulder and giggled.

"Just go," she clucked. The vacuum was still whining above, the hotel in trembling stillness otherwise, and I blinked a few times at her. Already the tingling was starting. Our eyes met, and she must have seen something that told her what was up. She hesitated, then burrowed under the counter for a crinkly Grab'n'Save bag. I started. "Might as well," she shrugged, holding it out to me; there was still one box in there, with one or two condoms rattling around inside.

Fuck. This was happening.

"Yeah," I said dully, my eyes roving around the lobby, and then I was off to the elevator with my purse swinging and my pussy juicing.

* * *

I had no idea what I was walking into. But Brett Bourne was in the building, single-occupancy, and he'd clearly understood I meant to fuck him. Possibly, just maybe, he'd be in 303 with one of his other bitches. Danielle, probably. Hell, maybe his wife. Perhaps I'd show up to him in his boxers, sweaty from fucking, with another woman peering out curiously from around the bathroom corner. But something told me not; my gut guessed he was here to take me. And my spreading tingle was telling me I wanted him to.

It didn't occur to me then, as my elevator rose with the lobby spreading out in the big windows behind me, that I was already thinking of myself as another one of those bitches.

I stopped off on the second floor for a moment, flitting past the vending machines to where the employee lounge waited behind an unmarked door in the corner. It was a nice lounge, actually, but it was deserted now: the night cleaners tended to kill their time down in the laundry room, where it was warmer. I ran my eyes around the room, past the lockers to the bathrooms, through the kitchenette, and then I locked the door behind me while I swapped bras.

It amazed me, how hard my nipples already were. They bobbed at the tips of my heavy breasts like dark, rigid little pinnacles jutting out from my wide areolae, my body already fully ready to get fucked. I sighed at the sudden relief as my tits sprang free for a moment, then slipped my arms quickly into the dark sumptuous dark red of the Secret Whispers set, the underwires locking me into place, and when I looked down my cleavage was a deep and tempting gully.

He'd been so hard, before, from eating me out. This bra would make him an iron bar.

I took a deep breath, watching my boobs jiggle on the exhale, and the eyes I saw in the mirror gleamed wild. I nodded at myself. "Go get it, bitch," I muttered, and when I slipped my shirt back on I only buttoned it a little more than halfway up. I tossed my purse in my locker, gave myself a motivational nipple tweak, and headed back out past the vending machines.

It wasn't until I was standing once again outside Room 303 that I remembered I'd left the Grab'n'Save bag in the lounge. Oops, I told myself, realizing with another rush to my pussy that I didn't much care, my overheated body ready to let crafty old Mr Bourne do anything he wanted to me. I wonder if he'll want to eat me out again... I thought to myself, but by then my trembling hand was already rising to the doorbell, pressing it with a deliberation that surprised a part of my mind, and when I heard the dull little tone from inside I leaned against the bump-out with my arms crossed under those trapped tits of mine and waited.

His voice came rumbling through the door. "Yes? Who is it?"

I took another deep breath, hoping I sounded confident. "Veronica, from the front desk?" All around me the hallway was quiet, its identical doors marching down along the dimly-lit purple carpet, the whole hotel asleep. Except for Bourne and I. I'd checked, earlier; there were just five rooms occupied on this floor. I cleared my throat briefly.

The rape bar squeaked aside from inside the door, and I caught my breath despite myself as the knob turned. He stood in the gap between the door and the jamb, and I felt my lips swing into a grin when I saw that he was wearing his Disney boxers. And nothing else. He matched my grin when he saw how far down my shirt was unbuttoned. "Ah. Ronnie. Did I call down for something?"

I was on instinct now, the roller coaster already on its way down the slope. I made a show of peering around his shoulder into the darkened room. "Are you alone?" When his eyebrows rose, I added, "You're listed as a single, sir, but we've been having problems? With, uh, people sneaking in guests?"

He nodded, mock-serious. "I see." He craned his neck back over his shoulder, that smooth chest of his twisting in the purplish hall light, and I caught my breath. Soon, I cautioned my pussy. Soon, you'll be able to lick that skin... "No, I'm afraid I'm all alone, Ronnie."

"Really?" I pitched incredulity into my voice. "No way." When he was still smiling as her turned back, I arched my shoulders back a tad more. Goddamn, this bra! "A man like you? All alone in a room by yourself?"

He shrugged, now leaning casually against the doorjamb. "When I made my reservation," he went on pleasantly, confidently, "the manager informed me it would probably be pretty empty tonight. She appears to have been correct."

"Well," I wheedled, my pussy twitching, "she also told you we'd take good care of you. Was there anything you needed, sir?" I held my breath, wondering how this would play out, but he just yawned.

"Nah. I think I'm good." I felt my mouth drop open. He waited a moment, watching my face fall, then chuckled. "Did you want to come in? To check and make sure I'm alone? I'd be happy to let you..."

"Oh!" I flushed, knowing my whole chest would be bright red where my open collar showed it off. I could feel myself breathing deeply, the bra digging. "Well, sure. I'm happy to come on in and make sure everything's as it should be." I licked my lips again. "If you insist, you know."

"Sure, sure." He opened the door the rest of the way, then stood there in his underwear with his eyes on mine. "Make yourself at home, Ronnie. I'm just going to use the restroom real quick." I smelled him as I passed, a manly smell, sweaty but not stinky. I shuddered, remembering his mouth on my pussy.

"Um, sure." He'd turned on the bedside lamp, the room in that dusky kind of shadow that looks more sinister than sensual, but that didn't matter to me. The tingle was everywhere now, a plan scrambling together in my mind all of a sudden, my body waiting in those twisty shadows... "I'll just be a sec," I muttered, smiling up at him. "Or maybe a couple."

"Maybe." He was watching me as I walked away, I knew, the uniform pants tight along my curvy butt, and I heard the door click shut behind me, the rape bar replaced. Then the bathroom door snicked gently closed, and I let my breath out.

Fuck. The face that looked back at me in the big desktop mirror by the TV was in disbelief, mouth open and smiling, eyes wide. Holy fuck. Holy everloving fuck. This was going to happen. I shook my head, my pussy urging me on, kicking off my shoes even as my hands undid the rest of my buttons.

Young skin. The shadows from the bedside lamp...

It was clear in my mind now: he'd come out of the bathroom to find me in that sexy thong set in the gloom, advertising myself, showing off for him. I listened hard for sounds from the bathroom, for the tinkle of urine into the bowl, anything, but I heard nothing; I was undoing my pants, though, the waistband peeling over my hips when all of a sudden the toilet flushed, distant through the wall, and I realized blindly that I'd better goddamn well hurry.

My mind raced as my toes clawed my pants off my feet: should I dive onto the rumpled bed, lolling Marilyn-Monroe style? Should I make for the chair in the corner, just like the one he'd knelt before last time, when his mouth had found my thighs? Should I merely stand in the bathroom doorway, ready for him to collide with me as he came out?

The bathroom doorknob went, sliding open, and I was out of time: I whirled to face him, then collapsed on impulse to my knees beside the bed, among my cast-off clothes.

He found me there as he stood in the light from the bathroom, kneeling by his bed with my cleavage deep and tempting in the gloom, and with a fierce pulse of lust I understood that there was no way this could have gone any better. He laughed, low and quiet as I bowed my head, thick curls curtaining my face. "Look at you," he growled. I wondered whether my hammering heart was making my whole chest shake. "You, uh, checking under the bed?"

I sensed with an exquisite flash of certainty that I should say nothing, that my silently offered body was all he should want. So I held my tongue while, after a moment, his bare feet stepped toward me. The dueling shadows, the lamp and the bathroom, flickered through my hair as he stepped up to me, his toes halting quietly at the edge of my vision. I remained still, my back arched slightly, knowing my nipples were reaching out to him. Goosebumps prickled my legs.

"You look beautiful." His voice was thick, a low mumble that reached into my vagina and spasmed there, drenching my thong. "Fucking gorgeous."

I flushed on my knees, his words stirring me. As if I needed them to; my body was already tense, sluggish with lust and need, knowing it was going to get ravaged. I rested my hands on my thighs and stayed still while his feet drifted out of my view, passing me on my right close enough for his hairy leg to brush my bare shoulder. He was examining me like a product, like something in a shop window, and when I heard him behind me, stopping, staring at my ass, I nearly gasped.