Group SexThe Concierge: Extended Stay
This story is a continuation of The Concierge. It might help to read that story first for background on the characters.
Folding over the final page of the checklist I scribbled the rest of my note in the "remarks" box. The ink bled over the lines as the flakes of frost melted beneath it. I drew a deep icy breath and released it slowly, the fog swirling thick and white before disappearing into the stale air of the 16th unit of the day. Only six more to go.
I looked through the threadbare living room curtain at the dimming afternoon sun. Pinching a hand under my arm I peeled off a glove and dug my phone from my jacket pocket, careful not to let it slip from my numbing fingers. 4:40 pm. If I left now, I could make it back to the office in time to meet with the Director before she left for the day.
Slipping the phone back into my pocket I flipped the checklist booklet closed. The cover clipped the pen from my fingers, twirling it gracefully into the layer of sludge and black mold creeping up the wall at the base of the window. I stared at it, shaking my head. It was a good pen. Served me well for the past three days. But it belonged to the mold now. Twisting my glove back on I wrenched open the swollen steel door and left the unit.
The warm air rolled over me like a wave as I entered the office vestibule. I shed my hat and gloves and paused beneath the ceiling diffuser, soaking up the heat, feeling the blood return to my ears and fingers. My mind wandered. Back to the night before. And the one before that. To the hot shower. The hot breath on my neck. The pulsing heartbeat against my chest. The steaming moist….
The clank of the panic bar and the rush of air from the person brushing past snapped me out of the trance. Given the amount of time I'd spent daydreaming the past few days it amazed me I'd accomplished anything on this trip. Now confident I could form a sentence without chattering teeth I tucked the gloves into my pocket and continued inside.
"Freezing out there," the secretary declared as I approached. I nodded vigorously. "Would you like some coffee?"
I glanced behind the counter at the sludge in the bottom of the coffee pot on the warmer and decided I could wait the twenty minutes it would take to get back to hotel.
"I'm good," I replied, "thanks. Is the Director in?"
"She is. In fact, she's been hoping you would stop by. I'll tell her you're here."
Rising from the desk she disappeared down a hallway, returning moments later to buzz me in.
I followed her down a short corridor and through a red wood door into a spacious office ringed with bookshelves and a sprawling executive desk at the far end. Seated behind it was a professional woman in a light grey suit, speaking casually to someone on the phone. She smiled when she saw us, waving us closer. I continued in while the secretary slipped out. Momentarily the woman ended her call and rose from her chair to greet me.
"You must be Owen," she said, shaking my hand. "Molly Crane. It's so nice to finally meet you."
I estimated her to be early to mid-40s. Smooth skin, dark eyebrows, narrow features, straight brown hair tickling her shoulders. Attractive lady. More the type I'd expect to find in pharmaceutical sales than construction rehab.
"The pleasure is mine Ms. Crane," I replied.
"Molly, please," she corrected. "I'm not that much older than you."
I laughed. "I'm sorry. The pleasure is mine, Molly."
"That's better," she smiled. "Now, how's it going out there?"
"Cold. But I'm getting through it. I have six left, so I should be finished by noon tomorrow."
"That's terrific," she replied, seeming surprised. "I was expecting it would take much longer."
I shrugged. "I've got a good system, so I can get through them pretty quick."
"Well I know it's cold and some of them are in pretty rough condition, so I appreciate the hard work."
"Frankly, it's better that it's cold. Makes some aspects of the work easier."
As I was speaking, I heard a rustling behind me, followed by a soft knock on the heavy wood door. Molly glanced past me. Her face lit up. She beckoned to whomever it was, returning her attention to me.
"I can imagine. Listen, while you're here I'd like you to meet someone." She motioned to my left and I turned to look. "Sloane, this is Owen, our new architect. Owen, this is my daughter Sloane."
My heart stopped. A bolt of panic shot down my spine as I saw her standing before me in a bright blue jacket and white knit beanie, her cheeks bright and rosy pink from the cold. For a split second I thought I caught the same panic in her eyes. But her face slipped quickly into a warm smile and she reached out a hand toward me, tucking hair behind her ear with the other.
"Nice to meet you Owen," she chirped. Fighting to regain my composure I took her hand and shook it, her fingertips grazing my palm when I released and pulled away. A different sensation zipped through my core, stirring my cock to life.
"Nice to meet you as well," I replied, relieved I completed the sentence without stammering.
What were probably barely seconds felt like eternity as I frantically searched a foggy brain for something to say. I turned back toward Molly with the most curious expression I could muster. "Are you sure you're not sisters?"
Molly blushed before breaking into a chuckle. "We should have switched architects years ago," she remarked, eliciting a laugh from her daughter. "Owen is in town evaluating the rehab units for us," she added. My eyes flit back and forth between the two, searching in vain for the family resemblance.
Sloane turned to me, her smile innocent, her eyes mischievous. "How do you like St. Cloud," she asked, knowing full well how I liked it.
"It's been great," I replied. "Charming little city. Everyone's really friendly. I wish I didn't have to leave."
"Well, there's plenty more work for you and your firm, if you're interested," Molly laughed. Sloane's head tipped slightly.
"You are interested, aren't you?"
My eyes darted to Molly, trying to decipher whether her daughter's questions sparked any suspicion. But I couldn't get a good read, and the longer I was silent the more awkward things would be come.
"Of course," I answered quickly, "That's what I do. What we do. As a firm."
I cringed behind my smile while the corners of Sloane's mouth curled upward. I needed to cut out before I said something truly stupid. I turned to face Ms. Crane.
"I really should get going," I announced. "You probably want to get out of here and get dinner and I have an early morning tomorrow, so…." I extended my hand, and she shook it once again. "It was very nice to meet you."
"Thank you for stopping by," she replied. "I hope we'll see you again soon."
I nodded, gave Sloane a quick wave, and strode out of the office, not slowing until I pushed through the vestibule back out into the cold.
Pulling into my now usual space in the hotel parking lot I shut off the car and slumped back in the seat. Of all the stupid shit that had happened to me on work trips, banging the client's daughter stood alone at the top of that list. While I had never seen an explicit prohibition against such a thing in the employee handbook, I was pretty sure it would — at the very least – be frowned upon by management. I shook my head, wishing I could shake away the last 30 minutes.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ditched the gloves and dug it out. A text from Sloane. Asking if we were still on for tonight. I clicked it off and tossed it on the seat beside me. No, we were not still on for tonight. Of course I enjoyed her company. And her conversation. And her laugh. And her lips. And her ass. But none of those would pay the bills if I lost my job. Shivering, I slung my bag over my shoulder and shuffled inside.
After a quick, scalding shower I headed out for dinner. Instead of the brew pub across the street I decided to find something different, something…further away. Just in case. A few miles up the road a little pizza place caught my eye. I slipped into a booth by a window and ordered a small supreme.
How could my luck be this bad? Why would the daughter of a developer work at a hotel? How were they even mother and daughter, there was no resemblance whatsoever? My phone buzzed now and then while I ate. Messages from Sloane. I should have answered them. I just didn't know what to say. 'Hi, I'm sorry your mom is my boss, but it was fun though?'
I rounded out dinner with a glass of bourbon, sipping slowly, taking my time. We were supposed to meet at the bar in the hotel lobby at 9:00 pm. Maybe if I waited long enough, she'd get bored and leave, and I could just concentrate on finishing my work and getting the hell out of St. Cloud. I lingered in the booth, clearly annoying the waitress. At 20 after I left her a good tip and headed out.
I stopped at the convenience store on my way back, picking up a soda and some cookies for dessert. Killing time. When I finally arrived at the hotel it was nearly 10:00. I surveyed the cars, looking for Sloane's. Until I realized I had no idea what she drove – if anything at all. My phone had been silent for about an hour. I was probably in the clear. Just in case, I entered through the end door, far away from the lights of the lobby.
I wandered the third-floor hallway toward my room, the dark gray carpet crunching softly beneath my boots. The sound of a television filtered through a door as I passed. First television I'd heard outside the lobby since I'd been here. I hadn't had any use for mine before tonight. Shuffling to a stop at my room I dipped the keycard into the slot and waited for the green light. I guess I'd have to find something to watch.
With a deep sigh I twisted the lock shut and flipped on the entry light. Stepping into the room something caught my attention in the corner of my eye. My head whipped round toward the sofa, my body frozen in place. Stretched out across the cushions in smooth black yoga pants and a light blue tank top was Sloane, patiently drumming her fingers on the back of the couch. My stomach fell.
"What are you doing here?" I stammered. She cocked her head, smiling.
"We were supposed to meet at 9:00," she said. "I texted you."
"Yes, but…here. What…how are you here?"
She pinched her eyebrows. "I work here, remember?"
I felt myself blink, several times, processing what she said. "Isn't that illegal," I asked finally.
She frowned. "Are you going to turn me in?"
Flustered I tossed my key on the counter and tugged at the sleeves of my jacket. "You can't be here," I replied, "You have to go."
"But you invited me."
"Well yeah, but that was…before!"
Her tone seemed confused. But her face did not. I threw the jacket on top of the key and kicked at my boots. "Before I found out your mother is my client!"
She paused for a moment. Then laughed. Not the reaction I expected. She eased herself up off the couch, stepping slowly toward me, her hips swaying side to side. "Is that all this is about?"
"What do you mean is that all?" Frustration crept into my voice. I couldn't understand why she didn't see the problem. "I have a professional relationship with your mother. I can't be off fucking her daughter on the side!"
She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. "Well," she said softly, "it's a little late for that, isn't it?"
I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I can't continue fucking the client's daughter now that I know she's the client's daughter!"
She stopped in front of me, slipping a warm hand around my waist. I tried to pull away, but my body wouldn't let me. "I think you're over-reacting," she offered.
"I don't. If my boss finds out — if your mother finds out — I will lose my job."
Her other hand curled over my hip, dipping down toward my ass. Again, my brain tried to break away. Again, my body refused to listen.
"How would they find out," she cooed. "I'm not going to tell them. Are you?"
"Of course not. But you know how shit works, somebody always finds out. And if somebody finds out, I get fired, and the firm's relationship with potentially our largest client — your mother — is ruined!"
She stood still, quiet, gazing into my eyes. The corners of her mouth eased upward, her bottom lip curling under her teeth. Her perfume clouded my head with the memories of the previous nights, waking an erection against the cold denim of my jeans. I tried desperately to will it down, to push the memories away.
"I don't know about ruined," a voice injected, startling the shit out of me.
Behind Sloane a figure emerged from the darkness near the bathroom. It rounded slowly into the soft low light. Black skinny jeans, a white lace camisole, straight brown hair tickling bare shoulders. My eyes leapt from my head. "Ms. Crane??"
She stood next to her daughter, a similar smile creasing her lips. "Molly," she reminded me. "And I think this could enhance your firm's relationship with its largest client."
Sloane raked her fingers through her hair, flipping her curls over her shoulder. She leaned into me, wedging her shoulder against mine, her lips brushing the side of my neck. I raised a hand to her waist to push her away, but my fingers clung to the fabric of her shirt, working their way underneath and over the smooth skin of her back. Molly's hand touched my chest and I flinched, backing a little closer to the wall. "I don't…," my tongue felt like a lump of dough, "…I…we really shouldn't be doing this.
Sloane smashed her lips against mine, kissing me like I'd just returned from the war. She gripped her mother's wrist and dragged her small palm and thin fingers down my abdomen, parking them emphatically over the growing bulge in my groin. I jumped when she gave it a squeeze. Molly's eyes lit up as she circled her palm around it.
"You swallowed all this?" she whispered to her daughter.
I twisted away from Sloane's kiss, my jaw slack, ears burning. "You told her?"
She shrugged. "I had to tell someone," she said. "It was too good to keep to myself."
"This is crazy," I muttered, shaking my head. "This can't…we can't do this."
Molly covered my mouth with a shushing finger. "If you're worried about Mr. Crane," she whispered, slumping against my chest, "he's not in the picture. It's just us."
"But…," I turned my head toward Sloane, "…she's…."
Sloane giggled in my ear. "We're not fucking each other, Owen. We're fucking you." She draped her arms around my neck and ground her pussy into my hip. "Now get over yourself and help us out of these clothes."
My cock flexed in Molly's grip. She reacted with a sharp breath and approving groan, smushing her breasts between us, her nipples stabbing me through the fabric of our shirts. Whatever willpower I had left melted into desire and seeped into my blood. It surged through my body, heating my skin and sharpening my senses. Wherever this night was going, I was all in.
I hauled Sloane's tank top off over her head and flung it away, ogling the perfect B-cups adorning her chest. They were like magnets, drawing my hands to them. I lifted them, kneading them in my palms, my fingertips dimpling the firm tissue. Sloane threw her head back, sucking air through her teeth as my thumbs skimmed her nipples. She dug her nails into my biceps, her body paralyzed in the moment.
Molly pushed away, just far enough to free her arms. She peeled off her top and dropped it, soft, round C-cups dropping to her chest. She freed the button of her jeans from its loop and peeled open the zipper. Her eyes fixed on mine she shimmied the denim down over her ass, revealing first gently rounded hips, then a lightly tufted muff, followed by smooth, creamy thighs and calves, all the way down to her ankles.
She stood up straight and swelled her chest with a deep cool breath. My heart pounded in my chest as she stepped forward, stopping shoulder to shoulder with Sloane. Still watching me she plucked my left hand from her daughter's breast and turned it flat against her own tummy, guiding me down through wispy soft pubic fur to the heat concealed between her legs. I probed forward. She parted her thighs. A finger slipped in.
Her body shivered, sagging at the knees. She let out a sigh, pinching my palm between her legs to hold me in. I curled my finger, grazing the ridge on the roof of the tunnel. She shuddered this time, squirming on the balls of her feet, clutching for Sloane's shoulder to steady herself. Sloane smiled, twisting her neck to face her mother.
"I found him," she said, her tone chastising, "so I get dibs. You have to wait your turn."
Molly pouted but offered no retort. She stepped back, taking my hand in both of hers and raising it to her chin, sucking the glistening fingers into her mouth. I swallowed a lump in my throat, feeling like my cock would burst through my jeans at any moment. She released me, a hungry smile lighting her face.
Sloane glanced at the floor, then back at her mother, Molly nodded, shuffling behind her. Hooking her thumbs into Sloane's waistband she sank slowly to her knees, dragging the leggings and fire-red thong with her to the floor. She held on as Sloane stepped out of them, then sat on her heels as her daughter slipped a leg between mine, gliding her knee along the inside of my thigh and up against my balls.
I squeezed her ass with both hands, lifting her off her feet and holding her weight against me. I slouched against the wall to brace, hoping there was no one in the room next door. She buried her face in my neck; kissing, nibbling, breathing heavily. She humped against my thigh, tiny noises escaping her throat. Over her shoulder, Molly waited quietly, her fingers tracing tiny circles over bright pink areola.
Soon Sloane stretched out a leg, returning her weight to the floor. Cupping a breast she lowered her head, eyeing the tent in my pants. "Do you want to see it," she asked, her voice thick with lust.
"Can I," Molly replied, unable to hide her eagerness.
Sloane freed me from my shirt and motioned for Molly to join us. She crawled up on all fours, breasts swaying beneath her, ass rolling side to side. I could feel her breath on my abdomen when she stopped, curling her feet under her and straightening her back. She looked up at her daughter, awaiting permission. Sloane nodded. Deftly Molly worked the button open, followed immediately by the fly. Scrunching two fistfuls of fabric she yanked my remaining clothing off over my erection.
It sprang out, clipping the end of her nose. She giggled, grasping it by the base, attempting to wrangle it. I gasped at the chill of her hands. She inspected closely, noting her fingers were unable to close around the shaft.
"My god it's hard," she whispered, drawing my heat into her skin. "So thick."
"I told you," Sloane replied, a sly smile on her face. "Just wait 'til it's inside you."
Molly groaned, leaning forward while tipping her head back, touching her lips to the head before drawing them down underneath. I felt her tongue, moist and textured, curl around the curve of my cock before pulling away, leaving strands of saliva behind. She stroked it slowly several times, tip to root and back again. Then, fixing her gaze on me, she parted her lips and took my cock into her mouth.
I sighed, my eyelids falling shut, head resting against the wall. Sloane's breath was hot on my neck, her hands surfing across my chest. My hips eased forward toward Molly face, urging her to take me deeper. She seemed tentative, unsure of how far she could go, of how much she could take. She sealed her lips around the shaft, lavishing attention on the glans, the heel of her hand nudging my balls as she stroked.
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