Sex At Hotel Excel Pt. 01

Winning all my games and tossing a couple no-hitters the previous year made college scouts sit up and take notice. I had a devastating curveball but when my fastball reached 90 mph on a speed gun this season the pros took note.

"Mets, Phillies, Yankees and Red Sox this time."

A couple team mates let out low whistles.

"To hell with the scouts," I said. "I want to win conference this year. We are going to take the conference this year! We're going all the way THIS YEAR!"

"STATE! STATE! STATE! STATE!" chanted team mates gathered around me. A state championship was probably out our reach but we could dream right? I chanted right along with them.

Coach smiled. We made it to conference finals last year and semifinals the year before but lost. I wanted it all this year. The big trophy. The only one that mattered. Not second or third place. Those already adorned the trophy case. If we won the conference we'd get to the state tournament. One step at a time.

+++++

When I clocked in at three that Tuesday I was sent directly to Mrs. Devere's conference room. Her class had a half hour break. At her beck I carried another box of materials back to her suite.

"We don't have much time," she said locking the door behind me.

"Time for what?" I said.

She walked into the room, hiked her conservative charcoal grey business skirt, slipped panties off and bent over the back of the couch.

"Come on, Micheal," she said.

I set the box on the table, walked over to her, knelt and licked her juicy wet pink pussy popping her clit out from under its hood.

"I've been wet for you all day," she gasped. "Just put it in me."

This woman was in heat. I stood, dropped trow and plunged into her.

"Oooo easy, easy... I'm a little sore from last night."

I slowed my entry. She wore heels making her tall enough I didn't have to bend knees to fuck her.

"Oooo... here," she said handing back a tube of KY. "Spread it all over you. Make sure nothing gets on my clothes."

I pulled out, slathered my full length with lube, spread more inside her with my fingers and pushed in again.

"Oooo yes that's better... mmmmmm," she hummed.

A dozen gentle pushes and I was all the way in. I wiped the excess lube off my fingers onto her fine ass. I slid hands up under her skirt, held her waist and plowed her.

"Oh god," she hissed. "Oh shit! Oh fuck yes... Michael."

I slid one hand to her clit and raked it with my fingers. Her knees buckled then recovered.

"You don't have to wait for me," she gasped. "Just give it to me."

"Fuck!" I hissed pounding harder.

"Fuck me, Michael."

"Fuck!"

"Yes, fuck me Michael," she hissed. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

"Fuck yes!"

Passion destroyed speech but not our gasps. She pulled off her suit jacket, dropped it on the couch and held on pushing back to meet my thrusts slamming her body.

I came in less than five minutes then pulled her up to me, turned her head and kissed her from above and behind. Her hands held my arms around her.

"I have to get back," she said handing me tissues pulled from a box. "Don't let any of it get on my clothes."

I pulled out catching some of my come in my hand.

"Just stuff the tissue inside and I'll take care of it."

I followed orders. She went to the bathroom, let the rest of me drain out of her, checked her hair and freshened her makeup. I dragged comb through my hair. Then we checked each other's clothes and went back to work. She said my come dripped into her panties for the rest of the afternoon.

+++++

After hours that night I danced for her--a striptease--undoing my bellhop uniform bit by bit until nude save for my junk bouncing in jockstrap. It wasn't the first time I had danced for someone. It was the first time someone tucked money in my waistband while I did. The wicked smile on her forty-something face showed how much she enjoyed it. So did her fingers tentatively pulling at my strap and leaving small bills behind.

"Why the jockstrap?" she asked later when I was inside her.

I explained. Boxers and jockeys hadn't supported me well my first two days in tight uniform trousers.

"And here I thought you wore it just for me, Michael," she said.

When I told her the new trousers would be ready the next day she sighed and said, "Shame."

We fucked all over her bed for an hour finishing after midnight.

"You're not scheduled to work tomorrow night," she said from under the covers as I dressed.

"I have a baseball game at six."

She asked so I filled in the details. When I told her I was being scouted by major league teams she began looking at me differently.

"Will I see you after?" Mrs. Devere said from under the covers.

"What time?" I said pulling on pants. "Game should be over by nine."

"As early as you can, Michael."

"Keeping you up too late?" I teased.

She just smiled. Her eyes sparkled. "The envelope on the credenza is for you."

Another Franklin.

Chapter Three

Wednesday.

As a rule our high school baseball games were not well-attended. To start the stands were small compared those of the football field. Basketball had ample seating in the field house. Baseball attendance ranked a distant third. Soccer matches were played on the football field but as least popular ranked last in attendance.

When we walked out from the locker room to the field for batting practice and warm ups the grandstand already half full. School was out for summer. A post season weeknight game meant many more parents would attend. Mine were already there chatting with others.

After fouling off a few easy batting practice pitches I sprayed some line drives around the outfield then blasted one over the right field fence. Then another. Whistles came from the crowd.

"Okay you're done," coach said.

"Just a few more," I said swinging the bat. I could do this all night.

"You're done, Mike. Go warm up."

I had already done initial easy stretches and tosses playing catch with team mates in front of the dugout. In the sideline bullpen I went through the rest of my stretching routine then climbed the mound, squeezed the resin bag and started throwing. No warmup sprints in the outfield for me with the rest of the guys. Save legs for pitching.

Nearby a group of spectators watched me throw from behind the sideline fence. Dad was there. Two old men looked like scouts. Two younger men--probably reporters--had cameras. Some ladies watched. One was my girlfriend Kim. I did a double take. One was Mrs. Devere.

"Good luck, Michael," she called out when she caught my eye.

"Yeah good luck Mike," a few others including Kim called out before heading to the stands. "Go get 'em! Give 'em hell!"

"I'll say prayer for you, Mike" said Sister Joan--one of my now ex-teachers. She had once doubled slammed me with demerits and detention in religion class. When she said we were like insects compared to God, I reminded her the Bible says we're made in his image and likeness. Class dissolved in laughter. She went red from the neck up like a rising thermometer.

I nodded and pinched the bill of my cap in thanks. Tall and slim but not flat chested Joan wore street clothes but the blue habit of her religious order covered her hair. At school she flirted a lot by teasing. She flashed her big toothy smile at me far too much to mean anything else. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to get her out of her clothes just to see those tits.

Mrs. Devere wore short light blue shorts, a sleeveless white top and white sneakers. I watched her smooth tanned legs as she walked away. I had been between them the last two nights and would be again that night. Her hips in tight shorts rolled in ways I could not ignore. Her chest stuck out in ways that turned heads.

Kim wore low-cut Daisy Duke cut-off Levis and a cropped halter which exposed her midriff. I watched her smooth tanned legs too. Her hips also rolled in ways I could not ignore. No bra either. Made quite a change from the school uniform she had to wear for four years--not that I hadn't seen her in this outfit before. Her firm C cups stuck out nicely. After graduation she had dyed her long light brown hair platinum blond.

Blood started flowing to my junk. Already cramped in a large athletic cup there was no more room in the inn. I tugged at it in a futile attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

"Release point," dad said to keep me focused, his fingers hooked in the chain link fence. My personal coach. He had taught me to pitch. After another dozen tosses he said, "Looking good son, have a good game," and left for the stands behind home plate.

My god. How close had he been standing to the woman I was fucking at work? How close had Kim been to Mrs. Devere?

She had asked the name of my high school but it's not like I gave her the address or invited her to the game. My next pitch--a fastball--sailed high. My catcher Greg had to jump up out of his crouch to snag it. He tossed the ball back, pounded his mitt and squatted again. He knew Kim. His smile said he understood what was happening.

"Easy there Captain," he said.

I don't know if I was more nervous about the scouts, Mrs. Devere or the tournament. Postseason meant single game elimination. I stood on the bullpen pitching rubber, took a few deep breaths, reset my focus and finished warming up.

Visiting team bats first. Big game jitters? You bet. They disappeared when I threw the first pitch--a blazing fastball--right down the middle of the plate for a called strike one. I struck out eight of the first nine batters. The beast had been unleashed.

I threw a complete game three hit shutout. We won 6-0. Between a 90 mph fastball and knee-buckling curveball I destroyed them. I hit a double off the top of the right center field fence missing a homer by a foot. My battery mate Greg drove me in with a single. With runners on first and third I drove in a run with a single. Later I singled and Greg blasted a homer to left to drive me in. God he could hit the ball a mile. Batting three-four he and I were a 1980 high school version of the Bash Brothers.

I thought I was big at 6-2+ and 195. Greg was a beast at 6'5" and 260. Center in basketball he had a penchant for knocking guys down in the lane. I won't say what he did to opponents in football. After the last out he tossed his catcher's mask, ran out to the mound from behind home plate and lifted me like a leaf.

+++++

I made it to Mrs. Devere's room a little after 10 p.m. in casual shorts and a polo.

"Were you surprised to see me there, Michael?" she said as I undressed.

"Completely."

"St. Michael the Archangel Catholic High School," she said slipping out of her bathrobe into bed. "And your name is Michael. I heard your name a lot."

"Two of my team mates are named Mike so it wasn't just me," I said climbing in with her. Michael had been the most common boy's name each year since the end of World War II. A dozen boys at school were Mikes.

"Yes but you're the one they meant when the crowd chanted MY-CALL, MY-CALL weren't you?" she said hands on my chest.

"Except when our shortstop was at bat. That was all him."

Kiss.

"And Hook? And Captain Hook?"

Kiss.

"Nicknames. I'm team co-captain and the curveball is called a hook," I said.

Kiss.

"So I gathered," she said. "The scouts were impressed by it."

Kiss.

"You spoke to the scouts?"

Kiss.

"Overheard them. Sat right behind them. One had a radar gun. It said you hit 92. They called it major league."

Kiss.

"That's what they want," I said. "Power. Hear anything else?"

Kiss.

"They mentioned control. You didn't walk anyone. How many did you strike out? Fifteen?"

"Yes," I said, "but high school games are seven innings not nine.

Shoulder kiss. It made her sigh.

"You look good in your uniform," she said.

Neck kiss.

"Oh?" I said. Stretch knit baseball uniforms of the 1970s & 80s were skin tight. My extra large cup stuck out in front.

Up under her jaw kiss.

"Very sexy," she whispered. "I like the angel slaying the dragon monogram."

"That's Michael," I whispered biting her earlobe.

"You're my angel Michael," she hummed.

"Am I?" I hissed sucking her neck.

"You slay me," she smiled.

"With my spear?" I said.

Patrice giggled.

Neck kiss then bite. She shifted beside me.

"Did you really turn down college scholarships?"

Ear nibble. Her breath caught.

"Weighing offers," I said sliding a hand down her belly. "I've been accepted but haven't decided which to take."

Kiss. Her legs opened to my hand. She was wet.

"Your girlfriend is very cute," she said. "Kim? You didn't tell me you have a girlfriend."

"You didn't ask," I said.

"I expected you did," she sighed. "Where is she tonight?"

"Out with friends," I said.

"Were you supposed to meet her after the game?"

"Yes."

"To fuck?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"You did."

"You blew off your girlfriend for me," she gasped her hips moving to my finger fuck.

"Yes," I said. "Is that bad?"

"Yes it is Michael," she replied. "Very bad. Not that I mind. Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Do you mind talking about your girlfriend while we fuck?"

"Does it turn you on?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't mind."

"They're interested in you, Michael."

"Girls? I know."

"Scouts," she said.

"They're in a bidding war."

"They want you."

"I want you, Mrs. Devere," I said rolling on top of her kissing her breasts and sucking her nipples then kissing down her belly.

I ate her out until she put me on my back. She slathered my cock with KY, straddled me and slid on. I rested hands on her thighs feeling them flex as they lifted and dropped her on me--but slowly.

"Do you think of Kim while you're fucking me?"

"Never," I said my cock full deep in her wet momma pussy.

"Do you think of me when you're fucking her?"

"We haven't done it this week," I said squeezing Mrs. D's tits the way she liked while she rode me.

"Do you let her ride your big fucking cock like this?"

"Every time," I said.

"You're not the kind of guy who always has to be on top."

"No."

"Most men are."

"I've heard that," I said.

"Does she enjoy riding you as much as I do?"

"Yes."

"Does she yell when she comes like I do?"

"Yes."

"How many others are you fucking besides her?"

"Three."

"Including me?"

"You make four."

"Have you fucked any of her friends?"

"Yes."

"Does she know?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell her?"

"No."

"How do you know she knows?"

"They all told me she knows."

"How many?"

"Four."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"Were they all at the game tonight?"

"Yes."

"Any older women at the game tonight you had?

"A few. And they had me."

"You mean they came after you?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. That's going to happen to you a lot Michael."

"It already has," I said. "Is."

"How many married women?"

"Three, four including you."

"There will me more. Many more."

"Good to know," I said.

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

"Do you believe in marriage?"

"I believe in liberation.

"You're... mature... for eighteen."

"Unexpected?"

"Surprising. You'll marry someday. Most people do."

"I know."

"Are you in love with me Michael?"

"Every inch of you Patrice."

"Oh god! I love every inch of you too!" she moaned still grinding on all my inches.

Hands planted on my chest she began pumping her hips in wild circles then sat upright, stretched arms over her head, closed her eyes, leaned back, put hands on my knees and enjoyed the ride.

"God I love your BIG COCK!" she gasped.

She wasn't the first to say it. She wouldn't be the last. We did it for an hour all over her bed. I put three loads of teen seed into her. Another white envelope sat on the credenza for me. Another Franklin. Three nights with her. Three Franklins for four hours of fucking. Was this what my summer as a bellhop would be?

Chapter Four

Thursday.

When I got there that afternoon at three I was sent directly to her suite. This time Mrs. Devere had me sit on the couch. She kicked off heels, shed panties and straddled me. Her tongue quickly invaded my mouth as we kissed.

"We don't have long," she said opening my belt and pants. "Get these down."

I shoved trousers and jock down to my knees. Patrice lifted her skirt, wrapped fingers around my rod and guided it in her.

"Oh god. Oh fuck," she gasped.

She rode me fully dressed. I slid hands up inside her suit jacket moving her breasts through her blouse.

"Ooo, here," she gasped handing me the tube of KY and getting off. "Use lots of it."

She watched as I slathered my rod heavily then slid on again. Her tits bounced in her bra while she urgently pumped her hips, mouth open, face contorted in passion, her arms over my shoulders holding the back of the couch.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. We froze. Patrice put fingers to my lips. A second knock soon followed.

"Housekeeping," a voice said.

We listened. The maid tried the doorknob but the bolt had been thrown from the inside so she left. The room had already been serviced before lunch. When Patrice looked at me I shrugged a little.

"Maybe they forgot towels or something," I whispered.

After a few more minutes of silence Mrs. Devere resumed dancing on my cock. Letting go of the couch she leaned back, planted hands on my knees and began pumping her hips in delicious circles. Her eyes stayed on mine saying we have to be quiet. My thumbs moved back and forth over the nipples pushing through her bra and blouse.

The phone on the end table next to us rang three times before she said, "I can't reach. Pick it up."

I handed it to her.

"Yes? Yes this is she. Oh. Oh I see. Can we substitute shrimp cocktail? Yes I can hold."

She kept pumping her hips while she waited. She put three fingers over my lips. Her sly smile said she liked talking on the phone while fucking.

"Oh. Okay. Are you sure you have enough? Oh good. That's excellent. Yes. Yes, thank you very much. Yes, you're welcome. Thanks for calling. Bye, bye."

She handed me the phone. I set it back on it's cradle.

"Where were we?" she hissed not missing a beat.

Trying to fuck without making any noise clearly distressed her. An agonizing look swept her face. When a loud moan escaped she clasped a hand over her lips. I swept it away and clamped a large hand over her mouth. Her eyes went big. As she tried to pull away from me I put my other hand on the back of her neck and clamped tightly over her mouth. Her hands tugged at my arms to no avail. I began thrusting powerfully under her. She lost control her hips. A muffled scream issued from her throat as she came.

She slapped my face when I unclamped her mouth. I clamped her waist in place and pounded her hard from underneath until my load let loose.

"That was fucking incredible," she said after as we straighten our clothes before going back to work. It was a quickie. We were done in ten minutes.

She said she wouldn't be sleeping with me that night. As her last evening there she had to host a party for her conference. It would go late. We wouldn't be able to meet.

They held the party in the hotel lounge. She made a short speech. Then came the entertainment. Some of her conference participants put on comedic skits. The crowd voted on the best. Prizes were awarded. Then a hired jazz trio played. Food and especially drink flowed. Since overnight guests had no need to drive heavy drinking ensued in the party atmosphere.

As her gofer I liaised with catering. Mostly I stood aside and watched her work the room. Socializing. Networking. She spoke with everyone in her conference. Occasionally she summoned me to fetch a copy of her book for those who wanted a signed copy. Later a small party of six or so moved to her suite. Still at her beck I stood just outside her door. They dwindled away one or two at a time. The last left at midnight.