He was a bit of a pill.
I mean, not to say he was without charms. He was, after all, a strapping young lad with a barrel chest and a face still red from his morning shave. Plus he knew all kinds of random facts about the Sultan of Brunei and racehorse genealogy, still he was also an accountant and not the kind that stammers and blushes when he admits it, Baxter was proud to be an accountant.
Besides being an accountant, he was a worm. I remember thinking that when he turned up in the hotel lobby crushing his hat in his sweaty nervous hands. I remember thinking that he may be somewhere north of six feet tall and solid as a redwood, but under that muscle he was a worm. That wasn’t a negative, by the way. There was just that particular way he couldn’t meet my eye and how his gentlemanly opening of doors for me went just beyond the norm.
A worm, but an attractive worm. Attractive in that way that when asked I would have to shrug and sigh and reluctantly concede. Yes, Baxter was handsome with his brown tweed three-piece and his chiseled chin and his boyish charm.
For the life of me I’ve never understood these mid-westerners though. He was from someplace horrid. I’ve burned the town out of my head, but it was rural and had a long Indian name and it was in one of those states that begins with a vowel that I try to avoid, even in the air.
Daddy said he was some sort of genius with numbers and I should take care of him. He’d just moved to the city and Daddy was always having me show clients or prospective hires around. Sometimes it could be absolutely fascinating, but Baxter it was a bore.
“There’s The Chrysler Building. There’s the Brooklyn Bridge. Don’t sit in that fountain, Baxter. Yes, those are pidgeon. It’s time for lunch.”
I’ve been accused of being spoiled, but I actually have genuine responsibilities. Dragging rubes around Manhattan was only one of them, but it was important. My father had a hotel empire and ran it like a machine and every little cog was important. Even the pretty cogs like me.
Sitting in the cab with Baxter as we headed back to the hotel after lunch I wondered what exactly he wanted. For all of his country politeness he evaded direct questions about accepting the job. He was a genius or something, after all, even if that big brain wasn’t quite socialized.
There are those careful calculations, even for those of us not inclined to do calculus. Ferreting out desires from banal conversation. Assessing needs and wants. Baxter’s needs and wants were written on his face every time I leaned in, every time I told him where to sit or where to walk.
Those “yes ma’ams” weren’t all gentlemanly.
When I asked to come up to his room to make sure his accommodations were up to snuff he was a bit confused. When I insisted, he conceded.
Daddy’s rooms were always lovely, but these suites were the best. The striped wallpaper, the tasteful moldings, the designer lamps. Baxter didn’t know any of this, but he did know that when a woman pushes you into the bed and straddles you, you ask as few questions as possible.
I pulled off his jacket and pulled off his tie and he looked up at me like I was threatening him with a gun.
In the cool of the room, in his crisp white shirt, he didn’t look so smart. With my hand in the back of his hair his blue eyes were huge and surprised, confused, scared but also full of want. I leaned down and spoke right in his ear.
“You’re not so stupid are you Baxter?”
The whimper he let out seemed foreign to his corn-fed stature.
“No, I mean, I–”
I felt that laugh slip into my voice. It was the laugh I couldn’t quite mimic unless I was there, with someone squirming under my eyes.
“No…?” I let the word drag on. A test, though I think I could take him without it.
“No, um, I mean…” the pauses were pregnant, hungry, tense.
And there was that laugh again.
“On your knees, pretty boy.”
I got up and he laid there unsure of what to do. I pulled him up by his shirt and turned him around until he was hands and knees on the bed, looking like a prize stallion. I pulled off his belt and pulled down his pants and his boxers and smacked him once on his hairy bottom. That made him jump.
He had a farmer’s tan on his legs and his ass was stark white against the blue of the bedspread and the red of his face. I smacked it again and he yelped. When I leaned down and kissed his hip and his cock sprang to life and oh what these farm boys lack in street smarts they make up for in size.
“You want me to suck your cock, Baxter?” I said playfully, encircling his balls with my fingers, letting my red nails dig in a little.
He was still struck dumb by what was happening. When I licked a finger and put it against his puckered pink ass he made a sound I can’t even describe. Pure fear? Pure pleasure? He said nothing in any language I knew of, but as I worked that finger in his body shook and that big cock only got bigger.
Two wet fingers up his lily white ass and he was whimpering and mewling like a confused little calf.
“Aw, no no, that’s not supposed to feel good is it Baxter? You can’t like it too much can you? You know what that will make you?”
The practiced flexing of fingers and he was shaking his head and his cock was bobbing up and down.
When I let him go and walked into the bathroom to wash my hands and take off my clothes I wasn’t sure what he’d do. When I came back he was still there, pants around his knees, ass and face red from my abuse.
“Will you lay down, Baxter? I want to sit on your face for a little bit.”
His arms and legs and head all went in different directions as he tried to obey the little instruction. Finally he pulled his Sears pants, which were still around his ankles, off and laid on the bed in a dress shirt and black socks. I was laughing again as I swung my leg over and felt the lovely sensation of his overeager mouth on my pussy.
There was a give and take in this. His body was solid under me and his mouth was strong. Still, he was trying to be gentle, he was very much the pleaser. Usually the lapping of a clueless farm boy would be boring, but on top of him I felt like very much the queen. In the cool of the room, the beautiful carpet, the damask patterns on the wallpaper, his big cock pointing right at me. Perhaps I was a bit spoiled.
I leaned forward a little and smothered him. My pussy over his mouth, my ass over his nose. I wiggled and felt him try to lick, try to keep going, but the fear was coming. The body didn’t really have a choice; at a certain point it would do whatever it could to get air.
When I let him up he gasped and sputtered and took in deep breathes. His face was a little purple and red, his ear almost glowing. I got up and turned and smacked him right in his square jaw.
Now, smacking a man has a variety of reactions and you have to be careful. Even the really wormy ones will sometimes flip and get mad. I think I had a good gauge of old Baxter though and just like I imagined he nearly broke into tears.
“Aw, Baxter, I’m sorry. You were doing well,” I said in an extra sweet tone, petting his face.
Now that I was facing him I straddled his hips and continued to soothe him and pet him. When I moved back and let the hardness of his cock slip just barely near my crotch he gasped. Sitting up I put his cock between my legs, but not inside of me. I sat on his cock with it pointing up at him. I rubbed myself along the length a few times and Baxter’s whole body tightened and clenched.
When his hands came up and grabbed my legs I smacked him again, harder.
“Put your hands down you little fucking worm,” I said with the other voice, the cold voice, the voice that stopped traffic.
He put his hands at his sides and I smacked him again. He whimpered and whispered apologies, “ma’ams,” and those meaningless ramblings of boys who will say anything.
I rocked on his cock some more and he whimpered and whined and his fists clenched. I wondered if I could make him so hot he had to take it. I wondered if there was a line in which all of his nice boy charm and shyness and submissiveness would crack and he would just grab me and roll on top of me and take what he wanted.
But looking down I saw that this was what he wanted.
“I could just move a little and it would slip right in Baxter,” I whispered, dreamy, breathy.
“Please!” he croaked, the word more jumping out of him than him actually saying it.
I rocked forward and stopped. The head of his cock just near the opening of my pussy. I was wet from smacking him, from rising his face.
“It would slip right in it’s so wet,” I whispered again.
“Please… ma’am, please, I’ll do anything, please, please, please,” he cried, he was actually starting to cry, poor Baxter.
“Well, maybe I will put it in once, but you can’t come,” I said with the mock seriousness of a school teacher chiding a child.
He nodded and nodded and his hands almost came up to touch me again, but he kept them at his side. His face was crimson now, the veins in his forehead bulging.
“If you come you’re going to be in big trouble, Baxter,” I said grinding down against him.
He didn’t have any more words, he didn’t have much of a mind left. I smiled and lifted myself up a little and his cock sprung up and then I hovered there, I aimed, I felt the thick head just touch the very opening.
“Tell me I’m the queen, Baxter,” I said plainly.
“You are! You’re the queen! You’re my queen! Please, please, don’t stop!” he voice was high and shrill.
“Am I? You’re not going to come are you?” I said grinding down on his cock trying to keep my composure even though it was huge.
He whimpered and I moved up and down the length of his sock slowly, squeezing every muscle I knew how to squeeze.
“You’re not going to come inside me, are you? Going to come in all that warm wetness? Come right into my pink pussy? You’d better not, Baxter,” I whispered as I rode him.
His eyes were closed tightly and his hands were balls. I saw him trying with every cell in his body not to come.
“Would you be my slave, Baxter? If I let you come inside of me? Would you do anything?” I whispered, my voice honey.
“I would, I am, I’m your slave, please, please,” he was almost weeping.
“If I let you will you lick it up?” I asked pushing down again.
He whimpered and turned his head, face and ears bright red.
“I-I-” he stuttered.
“You promise you’ll lick it all out of me, then maybe I’ll let you be a bad boy and shoot all your come in me, Baxter. It’ll be our little secret. Don’t you want to?”
“Yes,” he hissed.
I lifted myself up and dropped down on his cock again. I reached behind me and pulled on his balls, my fingernails grazing them. Then I slipped a finger back in his ass, a difficult thing to do while riding him, but I am an agile young lady.
“You’ll do it?” I asked, now feeling the burn of his thick cock stretching me out as I rode it.
“Yes, please!” he whined.
“You’d better come for me Baxter. You’d better do it right now, do you hear me?”
He was making all of these strangling sounds, as if he was trying to force his body to do many things at once. Then his jaw clenched and eyes opened wide and I was merciful and rode him hard and fast when he came.
When he was done he looked like he just came out of a haunted house. He was in shock. Sadly I didn’t have time to relish that because I needed to get off. I spun around on him like he was a pommel horse and I straddled his face, letting his come drip out and feeling the slight burn of his five o’clock shadow against the lips of my cunt.
There was certain slickness a man’s come made. How it felt against his lips. Then his probing tongue, so eager I didn’t even have to tell him what he was supposed to do.
“Lap it all up like a little puppy. Lap up your dirty little mess,” I said, clenching my thighs to squeeze his face.
As his tongue passed over the very edge of my hole I felt pleasure shoot up my stomach. I reached down and fingered my clit again.
“Just lick that hole and don’t stop. Just like that, just on the outside. Don’t you fucking stop you little fucking worm,” it was hard to get out the words because that was it. That was perfect. He was licking his own come out of me, in my father’s hotel, my hand in this pretty boy’s hair, tongue just on the edge-
I came so hard I didn’t notice I was sitting on his face, covering his nose and mouth with my wet pussy. When I let him breathe he was beet red and his eyes far away in bliss.
That was the only time I missed it. Being in his place. Watching him drunk on it, I remembered that feeling.
I patted his head and told him he was a good boy. I told him he did well. He was perfect. My little cunt licking puppy.
I don’t know how I know what kinky names people will like, but it’s sort of instinctual. When I called him a puppy he became one. He smiled wide and his eyes went big and stupid and I scratched his head and he was the happiest puppy in the world.
“It would mean a lot to me if you took the job, Baxter. It would mean we could maybe play sometimes. You could be my puppy once in a while. Wouldn’t that be nice?” I said in my best spoiled princess voice.
He nodded and nodded until I thought maybe he would give himself whiplash.
I rested on top of him for a bit, sitting on him side saddle. He started coming down from the high of the sex and the service and then got nervous and ashamed and I had to talk him through it. Then I tucked him in and wished him luck and gave him his first real kiss.
His mouth tasted like pussy and come and mint. He was a good boy.
Then I straightened myself and dressed and went back upstairs. I had to shower and get my face back on. There were more clients to take care of for Daddy. There was more work to do.