Room Serviced

Carson drummed his nails against the marble counter, surveying the drab grey figures as they lingered about the hotel lobby. Clarissa peered up from her desk.

"I'm going to bite your fingers off. Stop that."

He glared at her. "And I'll report you to HR."

"Hey, I got you this job," she snapped. "Don't think I won't get you fired."

He hoisted himself onto the counter and slumped, defeated.

"I'm sorry. I'm just bored."

He tugged at his collar and felt a drop of sweat slither down his chest. When he first got his bellboy uniform at the Hotel Bravard, he thought it was cute. A red velvet tuxedo and a red bowtie-he looked like a sexy red velvet cupcake. He was so into his new look over the last few months that his Finsta was plastered with selfies, his friends commenting, "We know, Carson. You have an ass!"

It was true, and this uniform was only doing it favors.

But now it was summer, and the velvet was stifling, and he wondered whether it was possible to be cooked alive.

Suddenly, a cool shadow fell over him.

He looked to see a bulky, broad frame in a dark blue suit moving towards the countertop. Clarissa perked up.

"Mr. Armisen," she broke into a nervous grin. "We've been expecting you."

Carson's eyes went wide as he took in this imposing figure. The suit was square and blocky, tailored to fit his frame, but Carson suspected that the expensive cut was just one flex away from tearing. The fabric was tugging at his every inch, and Carson couldn't help but picture it ripping at the seams.

Hello, Daddy.

"Here's your room key, sir," Clarissa said. "Carson will help you with your things."

The suit turned to look at him-his eyes hidden behind Ray-bans, his thick lips unsmiling.

Carson blinked. "I'm Carson."

"So... Are you taking me there?"

It was an earth-rumbling voice, deep and rich and rough at the edges. Carson felt it resonate across the counter, tickling his anus. He hopped down and nodded, his mouth dry.

"Right this way, sir."

Carson took his luggage and led the guest down the hallway towards the elevators, the giant's footsteps thundering behind him. As they shared an elevator, Carson realized he was sweating. He glanced over at the giant. He must've been at least 6'4". His hulking frame seemed to take up the whole box. And in the heat his scent was thick; even his cologne couldn't mask his manly musk.

They arrived at the fourteenth floor and Carson led him down the hall to his suite. It was huge-a grand marble bathroom, a giant master bedroom and a private bar. The giant breezed through the door, completely unimpressed. He slipped off his suit jacket and slung it over the back of an armchair.

"Fuck, I'm sore," he moaned, rubbing the small of his back, just grazing his ass.

Colin gulped. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just this flight," he said, pulling off his Ray bans to massage the bridge of his nose. "These fucking airlines are shrinking those seats every year, I swear to God."

Carson wasn't so sure it was the airline's fault as he watched the guest rub his beefy cheeks.

Then the giant stretched, arching his back and puffing out his chest.

"Ahh..."

Carson was hypnotized, watching as his pecs swelled against his shirt, drenching the fabric with sweat. His nipples denting the cotton.

THWACK. Something struck Carson in the eye and tinkled to the floor.

"Ow!" Carson doubled over and fell.

"Oh shit, kid. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Carson wheezed, covering his left eye.

He felt a firm grip pull him to his feet, slinging all of Carson's weight with one powerful stroke.

"Lemme see that."

Carson pulled his hand off his eye and felt a callused, muscular thumb brush against his cheek.

"What was that?" Carson asked, his vision blurry.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Armisen laughed. "I think it was a button."

Carson looked down. A button had popped off his shirt, and now he could see a tuft of curly black chest hair peeking through the hole.

Carson laughed. "Be careful where you point those things!"

He froze. Did he just say that out loud?

But the giant just laughed-smokey and sexy.

"I can't contain these boys," he said, slapping his pec with a meaty thud. "Let me get you some ice."

He walked over to the bar and wrapped some ice in a towel, placing it over Carson's eye. Carson couldn't breathe as the Goliath's face came inches from his own. Roughly hewn, with deep set brown eyes and long, thick lashes. A straight nose. A thick dark beard. A faded crew cut, flecked with salt and pepper. He must've been in his forties, at least.

"Well again, I'm sorry about that kid," said the giant, handing him a hundred dollar bill.

Carson's one good eye popped wide. "Uh, no problem."

Carson took the bill and stepped outside. Oh shit, he thought. I'm hard.

Carson was dizzy as he made his way back down the hall, and as the blood in his body flooded from his swollen eye to his penis he felt all the pain subside. All he could picture was Mr. Armisen's rosy lips and dark chocolate eyes piercing his own.

He floated back to the counter, where Clarissa gasped at the sight of him.

"Carson!" she cried out. "Are you alright?"

"Uh-huh," he said, holding the towel against his face where the power of Mr. Armisen's beefy tits had sent a button flying like a bullet. "Never better."