The Concierge

It was just about sundown when I pulled into the side lot of the hotel. I sat in the car, soaking up the last remaining moments of heat before shutting off the engine. I was tired, hungry, and frozen to the bone. Trekking through abandoned houses to evaluate their suitability for rehab isn't the most glamorous assignment to begin with. But doing it in the thick of a Minnesota winter only multiplied the misery. Abandoned means no electricity, which means no heat, which means those fuckers are colder inside than out. There are no socks warm enough, no gloves thick enough, and no coat heavy enough to keep that kind of cold out. The only upside is the mold has no spores and the dead mice don't smell.

I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder and headed around toward the entrance. There's a particular sound winter makes. Wind, muffled by the snow, punctuated by the crunching of the powder beneath one's boots. After nine hours I was sick of it. All I wanted was a hot coffee, a warm shower, and a nap. I picked up the pace, slipping in through the sliding doors out of the bluster into the shelter of the lobby.

The room was sparse, but comfortable. Low pile carpet. Tables and chairs. A plate of chocolate chip cookies near a newspaper on a stand. Two televisions streaming ESPN and CNN on mute. The bar was a nice touch. I scanned the whiskey labels and made a mental note to return later for a shot. Shivering I stepped up to the counter, peeling off gloves and searching my pockets for my wallet. It never seemed to be in the pocket I left it in.

"Tough day?" The voice was soft. Empathetic. I chuckled.

"That obvious, huh."

"Well, the cookies are fresh from the microwave. Still warm."

Finding the wallet I finally looked up. Behind the desk stood a beautiful Asian-American woman, probably in her late 20s, long black hair looped into a messy bun pinned with a pencil. Her fingers floated above her keyboard, waiting. She smiled.

"Checking in," she asked.

It suddenly occurred to me I had been standing and gazing, but saying nothing for who knows how long. Dammit. I flicked my license from my wallet and snapped it onto the counter.

"Yes," I replied. "Sorry, just...spaced out for a second."

She laughed, keying in my information. "January will do that to you here."

I took one more glance before turning away, feigning interest in the televisions. She was slim with smaller breasts, which nonetheless strained the buttons of her checkered collared shirt. The taper of her blazer revealed the flare of her hips, blue skirt terminating just above her knee. She was probably an athlete - or had been in college. Maybe soccer. Or track. I shook my head, cursing myself for staring. Like I'd never seen a pretty woman before.

"You're all set, Owen," she said.

I turned back. She handed me my license and the room keys. "We have you staying for two nights in room 504. The WiFi password is on the back of the key envelope. Breakfast is served behind the bar there from 5:30 to 9:30. And if you need anything just dial 0. My name is Sloane and I'll be here until 11:00. Welcome to St. Cloud."

Her name surprised me. "Thank you...Sloane," I offered, backing away.

She smiled again. Pointed past me. "Take a cookie."

I nodded, scooping up a pair. She was right, they were still warm.

I slipped all the cards into my pocket and headed for the elevator. As I rounded the corner I glanced back over my shoulder toward the desk. She was gone. I shrugged. The cookies disappeared before the car doors opened.

The next several hours were a blur. I remembered the coffee and the scalding shower. But nothing else, until I opened my eyes to find the clock on the night table flipped on it's side, the display reading 10:42. Took me a minute to realize I was the one on my side, not the clock.

I eased myself up in bed. Checked the clock again. If I booked it I could probably make it to the Burger King I'd passed on my way in. But that meant I'd have to go back outside. In the snow. And the cold. How hungry was I really?

I turned toward the window, immediately wincing. My neck was stiff and tight. I pinched the muscles between my fingers, looking down at the bed. The pillows were too flat. Rising slowly, I checked the cabinet for an extra one, but found nothing. I plucked one off the bed and folded it in half. Too high. I sighed, resigned to an uncomfortable night's sleep. Then, something clicked. I picked up the phone. Dialed 0. The voice on the other end was familiar.

"Concierge, how can I help you?"

"Hi," I replied, "this is Owen in 504. Is there any chance I would be able to get an extra pillow?"

"Of course. I'll have someone bring it right up."

I hung up the phone and sat quietly for a moment, massaging my neck. I was interrupted by a growl in my stomach. Maybe I had left a chocolate bar or something in my bag. I rummaged through the contents, fortunate to stumble across a half-flattened Snickers bar at the bottom. As I tore into the wrapper there was a soft knock at the door. I hauled on a tee-shirt to go with my gym shorts and headed toward it. Expecting one of the housekeepers I swung the door open, raising the bar to my lips to take a bite.

In the hallway stood Sloane, her hair freed from the bun, her blazer absent, shirt untucked, two pillows cradled against her chest. I froze.

"Hi," she said, her voice low. She seemed...nervous.

I turned quickly and flipped the chocolate bar onto the microwave stand. "Hi," I replied, pretending I hadn't just done that.

"I was about to clock out, so, I figured I'd...bring them up myself."

"Thank you." I smiled, glancing down at the pillows. "One would have been good enough."

"Yeah, well, um...," she gripped them in her fingers, "...the other one is for me."

She glanced over her shoulder down the empty hall, then stepped toward me. Stunned, I stepped aside. The door clicked shut behind her.

She pressed the pillows between us, her breath hot on my neck. I opened my mouth to speak but was met with an index finger across my lips and a subtle shake of her curls. The scent of lemon and sugar shampoo clouded my nostrils. My heart pounded. Blood rushed through my ears. My cock stirred.

Her finger slipped down my chin...my neck...becoming a hand on the center of my chest. She pushed. Gently. Easing me backward. Across the room. Into the recliner at the corner of the window. She stood over me. Hips cocked casually to one side, head tipped to the other. Her smile so inviting. So devious. I shifted in the chair, trying to hide my erection. It was useless.

She tossed one pillow onto the bed. The other on the floor between my feet. Her eyes locked with mine, she twisted the buttons of her shirt between her fingers, freeing them from their eyelets one at a time, top to bottom. She rolled her shoulders back and shrugged. The shirt fell to the floor. She slipped her thumbs between her hips and the waist of her skirt, tugging the fabric down over her ass until it crumpled around her feet.

She stood before me, goosebumps forming on her skin. One hand fingering the clasp of the white lace bra between her breasts. The other tracing it's way over the blue lace panties and between her legs.

Watching me she knelt on the pillow - first one knee, then the other, steadying herself with her hands on my thighs. She leaned in. Slipped forward, her fingers grasping my waistband. I eased up off the chair. She tugged the shorts down and out of her way, snapping my cock back to slap against my abdomen. She admired it, the shaft jumping with every pulse. Was she waiting for me? Should I...do something?

Again I tried to speak. But before I could breathe her right hand moved. Up, over my thigh. Her fingers curled around my cock. Gently squeezing. A wave of pleasure shot through my core. Her nose touched the tip of my glans. The warmth of her tongue pressed against my balls. My legs stiffened. Loosening her grip she grazed her lips along, up the thickness of the shaft, ending with a kiss on the head of my dick. I could not believe how hard I was. My cock strained toward her. She did it again, this time with her tongue instead. A drop of pre-cum clung to her lip. I sighed, my fingers gripping the arms of the chair. She went down one more time, her saliva coating my balls and shaft. When she reached the head she formed her lips, pulled my cock toward her and slipped it into her mouth.

Her lips were soft and slick, her cheeks warm, her tongue...magic. The heat of her mouth enveloped me, sucking me in, drawing me out. Her tongue cupped and rolled, swirled and massaged, her fingers digging into my skin. I pressed back against the chair, pushing my hips toward her. She took me a little deeper. Never slowing. Pressure constant.

I looked down, watching her work. She paused, looked up, lips sealed around my cock. Her free hand left my thigh, found my fingers gripping the armrest. She lifted my hand, placing it lightly on the back of her head. My breath bit my lungs. She released my hand. Nodded slowly. I steadied myself, drew a deep breath, and, ever so slightly, pushed. She exhaled. Her eyes closed. And her lips slipped down my cock until it touched the back of her throat. It wouldn't be long now.

Her fingers wandered...down...between her thighs, gliding over the slick heat of her pussy. She groaned, curving her hand, sinking fingers between her lips. Her ass squirmed against her feet, the sound of her wetness breaking over my ears. My hips thrust off the chair, working my cock down her throat, bumping her nose against my abdomen. With both hands now I guided her head, clutching fistfuls of black curls, pulling, pushing. Her mouth welcomed me. I never wanted to leave.

My pleasure overtook me. Starting at the core, radiating out, racing up toward the finish. One last thrust to the root of her velvet tongue. My muscles contracted, holding me in as deep as she could take. My cock strained...shivered...and finally erupted, pumping stream after pulsing stream of hot, thick cum into her suckling mouth and down her throat.

A delighted squeal escaped her at the splash of the first shot. Her ass shuddered, thighs rippled, goosebumps betraying her own orgasm. She swallowed again and again, until my fingers released her hair and my hips sank back into the chair.

She pulled back slowly, never breaking the seal until her lips slipped over the head of my cock, not a single strand of semen left behind. She lifted her eyes, then her head. Her chest flush, breasts heaving, breath ragged. I relaxed my fists, draping her hair over my thighs. She tasted herself on the tips of her fingers. Wiped the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. I could barely believe my eyes.

She watched me as she eased to her feet. Bending at the waist she slipped on her panties - translucent from soaking in her own cum - followed carefully by her skirt. Her fingers trembled so much it took a minute for her to button her shirt. She ran her fingers through her hair, flipping it first left, then right until she was satisfied with the look. She stepped closer, between my legs, until the hem of her skirt brushed my still pulsing cock. She leaned in, pressed her lips against my ear.

"Tomorrow night," she whispered, "I get the chair."

She made her way to the door. Twisting the latch, she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes reviewing me head to toe. That smile creased her lips again. She smacked a hand against her ass. Disappeared out the door.

I slouched in the chair, gathering myself. My breathing slowed. But my dick remained hard. The thought of her in the chair. My tongue on her clit. My cock squeezed deep in her pussy. I willed myself up, stepping into my shorts. I looked around for my phone, finally finding it on the microwave stand next to the candy bar. Mouth full of chocolate I dialed the number to my office. Four rings later the voicemail picked up. I transferred myself to the project manager.

"Hey Dan," I muttered, doing my best to sound tired, "it's Owen. Listen, this project isn't going as smoothly as we'd hoped. I think I'm going to need a couple extra days."