Behind the Reservation Desk By David Holly
(Note: "Behind the Reservation Desk" is one of the stories in my e-book titled Off-Beat. Check my website http://gaywriter.org for more information.)
The night was Tuesday, quiet, with only thirty of the hotel's rooms occupied. I had bicycled through the South Florida humidity and come on duty at 11:00 p.m., listened to the detestable switchboard operator Berta obsess over her love life (a flop), her finances (a crash), and how much better things had been back in Jamaica (a paradise). Berta also delivered barbed comments about American boys wearing Levis behind the hotel reservation desk and claimed that if I must wear them (notice how she moved conspicuously from the general to the specific—me), why did they have to be so tight as to show off my behind (well worth showing off) even while I was standing up straight (whatever that had to do with anything).
Since we worked staggered shifts, Berta left at midnight. With mingled dread and anticipation I was waiting for my first glimpse of the new night bellhop. The bellhop who usually worked midnight until eight had departed abruptly. The night bellhop's duties involved carrying the luggage of late arrivals, answering the switchboard, coping with security duties, arriving on time in a sober condition, and leaving still sober. The last two conditions had spelled the downfall of my previous bellhop.
"I heard he's a fruit," Berta suddenly announced as I glanced at the clock.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The new bellhop. Consuela in housekeeping says he looks like a fruit." There was a world of meaning in her barbed comment.
I was posting room and tax to the guest bills, punching the numbers onto the cards in the old NCR 4200, when I heard a tap at the front desk door. Berta rarely got out of her chair for anything, but the arrival of her relief was the exception. Her fat ass was out of her swivel chair in a flash and she grabbed the doorknob.
Berta had tossed the long distance telephone receipts into a wire basket under the switchboard, so I took advantage of her departure to retrieve them. Stooping, I heard a soft click as the door opened, followed by a tiny gasp.
I half turned and saw Berta bolting toward the lobby doors; she hadn't even introduced herself to the new bellhop, whom she was supposed to train on the switchboard. Completing my turn, I beheld a guy about my own age, dressed in white jeans and a tropical shirt. He smiled warmly. He stood an inch taller than I, and he had thick chestnut hair worn to his shirt collar and a thick mustache.
"I'm Ricardo," he announced without a trace of Latin accent. I introduced myself and held out my hand. He held it a bit longer than one would for a handshake, which made me feel warm down in my Medici briefs.
I showed Ricardo how the switchboard worked, which should have been Berta's duty. "When a guest picks up a phone in his room, it'll start beeping. Plug a cord from the back row into the lit hole. You call out with the front row."
I hovered over Ricardo while he answered a couple of calls. Then I had to check in our last arrival of the night. The man let Ricardo help him with his luggage, so I answered the switchboard while Ricardo was earning his meager tip.
With so few rooms occupied, I finished the audit by 2:00. The lobby was deserted and the lights had been dimmed for the night. I could see the hotel dining room and piano bar across the lobby, and the lobby doors, which gave onto the breezeway and provided a view of the light summer traffic on the streets of Coral Gables. To my left and out of sight was a hallway that led to the elevator, the lobby restrooms, the management and accounting offices, and the housekeeping department. Ricardo had returned to the switchboard, asked a few intelligent questions, and watched me with interested eyes. I decided that I was free to strike up a conversation with him, but he chose the subject matter first.
"You have nice buns, Dave," he said suddenly. It was the first time another guy had said such a thing to me, and again I felt that deep warmth.
"Uh," I gulped. I didn't know what to say.
"My first look at you," Ricardo continued, "you were bent over to pick up something. Man, I nearly came in my pants. Your ass is nice and round in those tight jeans; it really sticks out, you know."
I was blushing, hot, and still no words would come. My dick was hardening in my jeans, and there was no way Ricardo would miss that. His smoky dark eyes could plainly see how his words were affecting me. Then he was out of his swivel chair and his hands were upon me. He circled my waist, his hands leisurely gliding down my back and over the swell of my buttocks. I had no will to resist; indeed, I wanted his hands on me though I was afraid. I glanced nervously into the lobby.
Suddenly, Ricardo was turning me around so my back was toward him, and I felt the bulge of his hard-on through his pants as he rubbed it across my ass. Meanwhile, he was unbuckling my belt and unfastening my jeans.
"If someone should come...," I gasped in weak protest. "I need this job."
"It is only we two, Dave," Ricardo whispered into my ear as he pushed down my pants.
Then my jeans were around my ankles and Ricardo cupped my butt through my briefs. When he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, I whispered "no," but my protest was faint, and I really meant "yes." Truth to tell, I wasn't certain what I did want, but whatever it was, I wanted it.
After my underwear joined my jeans, I was standing pantless behind the desk, my cock jutting, with Ricardo behind me. Unhurriedly, lingering with anticipation, Ricardo slipped to his knees, and I felt his face against the mounds of my ass. He kissed my buttocks, kissed and licked. His mustache tickled pleasantly as his face gradually parted my butt cheeks. I gripped the edge of the reservation desk and bent forward to let his tongue into my crevice.
I thought that I would explode as his tongue progressively licked up my crack. Up and back down until he settled upon my hole. His tongue was moist and hot against my asshole, and I emitted a moan of pleasure. I had never imagined such a thing could feel so good.
My heart was hammering in my chest; it was truly the most glorious and the terrifying circumstance of my life. The risk was so acute. What if the elevator should open, or a late hotel guest stroll through the front door? I could only imagine what the hotel manager would say as he fired my ass—that's if Ricardo and I didn't get tossed into jail for public indecency. Yet, even as I swiveled my head fretfully from side to side, alert for approaching spectators, the danger added zest to the adventure.
Ricardo was circling my asshole with his tongue even as his hands caressed my buttocks. My cock was so hard that it seemed ready to burst. Ricardo licked up my crack all the way, down again, stopped at my asshole, and bit by bit pushed inside.
I had never felt such a thrill—the thrill of breathless exhilaration painted with breathless apprehension. I stood with both hands gripping the edge of the marble counter, bare-bottomed to anyone who happened to enter, and trembling with desire and dread. Just as my body was ready to explode with my conflicted desires, I heard a familiar whine. The damned elevator was descending.
My buttocks seemed to slam shut, closing upon Ricardo's face. Then he heard the elevator as well and leaped to his feet. I yanked up my pants, bringing up my briefs rather painfully in a roll. I fastened my jeans and zipped up even as the elevator doors were swishing open.
Ricardo sat at the switchboard, giggling like a pre-adolescent while I checked out the guest with the early departure. However, the guest seemed to notice nothing strange in our behavior. He yawned as I prepared his bill and ran his credit card through the old knuckle buster. Itching to adjust my underwear, which was cramping my balls, I waited while the guest signed the slip, give him his copy, and bid him to return.
When the departing guest was safely out the door, Ricardo burst into a series of hooting guffaws. "We almost got caught, Dave," he managed at last, chortling with glee.
"It's not funny," I declared. "I nearly died."
That statement sent him off into another chorus of horselaughs. Finally, holding his sides, he arose and I saw that his cock was bulging the front of his jeans. In an instant, the close call was forgotten. I watched his concealed member with fascination. It had to be the biggest one I'd ever seen.
"You want to see it?" Ricardo asked, observing my interest. "Come on. I have to go to the bathroom."
Where's the harm in that, I thought as I adjusted my bikini underwear. Just two guys going to take a leak. I followed Ricardo down the hallway and around the corner to the public restrooms.
I really did need to take a leak, but as I stood at the urinal Ricardo stepped up to the one beside me and opened his zipper. Out came the most magnificent cock I'd ever seen. It was long—oh, was it ever long—and it was thick. It was reddish in hue, and the tip had been circumcised, which considering the proportions could not have been a significant loss. The head was a bit flapped—like it had wings, and it was distinctly purplish—like it was mad and wanted to be stabbed into something—an eager mouth or asshole would serve.
My urine stream dwindled and stopped as my own cock tensed. Ricardo saw my dick hardening and knew that my seeing his own cock was the cause. "Do you want to touch it?" he asked, knowing the answer.
Almost shyly I ran two fingers down the shaft of his thick cock toward the head. It was hot to the touch and grew hotter as it engorged. As it rose, it did not grow much longer, nor did it need greater length, but it seemed to thicken as it stood up, until it was solid. I moved my fingers down to where it joined Ricardo's crotch. Making a circle with my thumb and forefinger, I could not close them around his cock's thickness; a tiny gasp of awe escaped my mouth.
Ricardo chortled as I gripped his cock. "It will fill your ass, Dave," he assured me.
"Fill my ass!" I panted. "It would kill me."
"I would never hurt you," Ricardo promised, his face paling at the thought—or from the blood rush to fill his cock. "You wouldn't have to take it all. Just a little way."
My cock twitched at the image, and I made up my mind. "Why don't you come home with me when we get off duty," I suggested.
"You leave before me," Ricardo protested, as though an hour were a major obstacle. "I could fuck you right here."
"We can't," I nearly howled in protest. I wanted that big cock so bad that his words sounded almost reasonable to me. "I can't leave the desk that long. Besides someone might catch us in here. I need this job, Ricardo."
"Then so it must be, Dave," said he. "You will go home and await my coming. Dress in something sexy."
With that promise, we returned to the desk. Ricardo sat at the switchboard, but he continued his sexual patter. He described how he would take me from behind, which positions he favored, and the quantity of his semen. His descriptions kept me so aroused that my cock had become perpetually hard, and my hearing was attuned for the sound of the doors or the elevator. My face was burning with sexual heat.
At 4:30, an hour before the housekeeper and the maids were due to arrive, Ricardo suddenly jumped from his chair. His huge cock made a thick loaf in his jeans, and I suspected it had leaked inadvertently. Without warning, Ricardo pulled my face to his and our lips pressed. His tongue slipped through my lips, over my teeth, and met my own tongue. The deep kiss turned my reason altogether, and when Ricardo's hands glided over my buttocks, I did not resist, but wiggled with desire.
Ricardo unfastened my jeans and let them drop. In my insane lust, I followed suit by unfastening his belt and the button on his white jeans. I freed his cock, gripped it with my hand, and stroked it.
"Wait," Ricardo urged, and pulled a tube of KY from his bag. He squeezed some into my hand so I could lubricate his cock, and when it was glistening with the slick jelly, slowly I turned away from it, gripped the cool marble reservation desk with both hands, and thrust back my ass.
"Oh, yeah, you want my dick, Dave. You want it bad," Ricardo crooned as he slid a slick finger up my hole. He twisted back and forth before giving me a second finger. He lubricated me and opened me up to receive his monster cock, while I gripped the reservation desk and wiggled my horny ass.
"You are ready, Dave," Ricardo assured me, removing his fingers. "Take a deep breath." I felt something tremendous pressing against my asshole and felt a moment of wild panic. As the empty hotel lobby stretched before my eyes, I could only wonder at what I was doing.
"Deep breaths, Dave," Ricardo urged. I felt an incredible pressure, followed by a mind-boggling fullness. Then excruciating pain.
"Oh, god, you're killing me," I cried, trying not to shout and bring the whole hotel down to see what was the matter. "It's too big. Pull it out."
"Relax, Dave," Ricardo assured me. "It's sliding in just fine. You're taking it, man. No problemo."
Sure, no problem of yours that I'm going to split in two, I thought. But even as I thought that, I realized that the pain had subsided. In fact, his cock was starting to feel pretty good.
"You can push it in a bit deeper," I suggested. "It's starting to feel good."
"Of course, Dave," Ricardo said. "Hey, man, is this your first time?"
He was the first to drive his cock up my ass, but I didn't want him to know about my pitiful lack of experience. "It's the first time I took one as big as yours."
"You can really take it, Dave. I got it deeper into you than any other guy I've ever fucked." So saying, he gave a thrust; the pressure increased but the pain did not return. Instead, I felt like I was about to shoot my own load. Then I realized that his lap was pressing against my buns.
"Dave, I'm in all the way," Ricardo nearly shouted. "You're taking my whole cock. You're the first guy who ever took the whole thing."
He started rocking back and forth, fucking me with a steady rhythm. As he fucked me, his cock milked my prostate, and that combined with my extreme arousal brought me toward the edge of orgasm. Just as I was approaching the point of no return, when I would be committed to orgasm and ejaculation, a set of headlights swept through the breezeway. It was Mitch, the Coral Gables cop who checked upon me nightly. Sometimes Mitch came in for a cup of coffee and conversation. I waved to indicate all was well, hoping that Ricardo was concealed behind me. Fortunately, that night, seeing me apparently unmolested and standing at the desk, Mitch tossed me a friendly wave and barely slowed. For his part, Ricardo kept humping my ass as though he had not a care in the world while the police car drove away.
"Oh, Dave, I'm getting close," Ricardo moaned, and I realized that he was fucking me with his eyes closed. Still, the close call had not dimmed my lust. In fact, the peril had made the sex all the hotter and I found myself grinding my ass back to meet Ricardo's quickening thrusts, and I felt the first tingles in the head of my cock that signaled the approaching storm of pleasure.
"I'm gonna come," I moaned. "You're making me come, Ricardo."
"Wow," he said, thrusting harder.
I gripped the desk and let his cock bring me off. I rode his cock like a trooper, thrusting and grinding on it while he banged me maniacally. The tingles in my dick rose into a crescendo of sensation, a pleasure subterranean and delicious, forbidden and fantastic, dangerous and sublime. Then I was coming; yet the semen did not spring from my cock, but leaked thick and cruelly, milked rather than flung. My spunk splattered upon the worn carpet at my feet while Ricardo continued to thrust faster and faster. I heard his breath rasping in my ear.
"Come in me," I urged. "Give it to me, Ricardo. Shoot it up my ass."
"Ahh, man," Ricardo managed, his gasps hot and frantic. "Ahh, here I come."
I thought that I would feel the hot spunk being spurted into me, but I only felt his cock in my asshole, his flesh striking my buttocks, and the continuing deep massage of my prostate that caused me to leak my own fluids onto the floor. After a longer time than I would have imagined, Ricardo slowed his thrusting. He pushed his cock in and out a few more times, slowly, ever slowing; then he drew it out altogether. My asshole made a popping sound as he withdrew his cockhead.
"That was great, Dave," Ricardo enthused. He grabbed a cleaning rag and wiped his dick. Then he rubbed the carpet of my semen. "Got to get rid of the evidence," he said softly and kissed my lips.
Only after the kiss did I pull up my briefs, adjust them carefully, and pull up my jeans. Thus attired, I took a short trip to the bathroom. When I returned to the desk less than five minutes later, I saw Ricardo handing the housekeeper her ring of keys. We had timed it close.
Following my adventure behind the reservation desk, I had two days off. I never received a call from the hotel manager, so we apparently got away with it. Ricardo and I worked together several more nights, but we never repeated the indiscretions of our first night. We dated a few times, going to the movies and to the beach (seeing Ricardo's cock in a Speedo was an exploit unto itself). We fucked twice in my apartment, but private sex did not have the same kick as the dangerous anal play we conducted behind the desk. The fear of getting caught had heightened the experience.
Ricardo found a higher paying job after working less than a month at the hotel. We promised to keep in touch, but the thrill was gone. I kept his phone number for a few months, but I never called him. He sure never called me. Still, as the years drift along, and I remember that magical, insane night, a secret smile plays across my lips, and I wonder whether Ricardo ever dreams of the night he fucked me behind the reservation desk.
The End
About the Author
David Holly lives, moves, and has his being in Portland, Oregon and environs. He is fascinated by the human penchant for odd mythologies, bizarre rituals, diverse religions, forlorn hopes, and broken dreams. He lives in a garish apartment with multihued walls hung with Haitian paintings and shelved with two thousand books. Sharing the apartment are sundry fur-bearing fellow mortals. He is exceptionally fond of strong coffee, red wine, English bitters, rich stout, inverted roller coasters, nude beaches, and hot-looking guys. He wears bright colors, tight slacks, exotic underwear, and slinky swim briefs. He is joyously pagan and loves making merry in heathen celebrations, marching in pride parades, and frolicking naked on Sauvie Island's Collins Beach. Find out more about David Holly and his numerous publications at facebook.com/david.holly2 and http://gaywriter.org.