The Bellboy Gets It
Introduction:
Customer service at its best
‘Where have you been?’
Mr. Beans gives me the harsh look. He thinks he’s scary that way. It has never kept me from sneaking away for a smoke.
‘I was in the bathroom, Mr. Beans. I was just a minute.’
‘You know you have to be on call and rush over when you hear the bell. That’s why you’re a bell boy.’
‘Yes Mr. Beans. Won’t happen again, Mr. Beans.’
Behind Mr. Beans a lady in a long fur coat is giving me the once-over, a curious smile on her face.
‘Take Mrs. Flanagan’s luggage and bring it up to the Monaco Suite. Mrs. Flanagan is a distinguished guest and a dear friend.’
‘Yes Mr. Beans.’
‘I’m assigning you to Mrs. Flanagan, William. You will be at her beck and call for as long as she is with us. You will tend to her as if she were your mother.’
Mrs. Flanagan chuckles.
‘Yes Mr. Beans.’
‘I don’t want any complaints from her about your behaviour or lack of attention, you hear?’
‘Yes Mr. Beans. I mean, no Mr. Beans.’
Mr. Beans turns around, bends over, grabs Mrs. Flanagan’s hand and brings it to his lips. He thinks he’s quite a charmer.
‘Not to worry, Betty. You’re in good hands. William will be at your total disposal as your personal valet. I have arranged for the buzzer in your suite to activate his pager.’
Part II
Mrs. Flanagan is not the kind that travels light. There must be about five tons worth of luggage strewn all around the lobby. I’m needing three luggage carts to pack it all into the elevator.
Mrs. Flanagan strides around the suite like a general overseeing the troops, while I haul the suitcases and bags into the bedroom. She is on the wrong side of fifty and showing it, even if the Meg Ryan hairstyle and the heavy make-up try to deny it. Her face is round, dominated by an oversized crooked nose. Her lips are thin, the corners pointing consistently downwards, even when she smiles. She has green eyes that remind of a serpent, an impression that is accentuated by the heavy mascara.
She takes off her fur coat and flings it onto the bed.
‘Take care of this, will you? There’s a special hanger and storage bag in one of the suitcases. Keep it separate from my dresses.’
She strides towards the window. She’s wearing white tights that fit her like a second skin and leave little to imagination. The wide ass with flat buttocks succumbing to gravity, the fat rolls on her legs. The equally white top stretches around sagging breasts and a pot belly. I’m amazed and at the same time touched by the fact that she makes no attempt to hide nor embellish her wilting body. To the contrary, she seems to be flashing it before the onlooker’s eye, seemingly as a tease or a dare.
‘When you’re done staring at my ass, maybe you would be so kind as to unpack my suitcases.’
I’m rattled from my reveries. She’s still by the window, facing me now.
‘Yes, Madam. Right away, Madam.’
I rush to get her suitcases from the hallway and heave the first one onto the bed. The lady is watching my every move. I can feel her snake eyes burning a hole through the back of my head.
‘I want all the dresses, blouses, skirts and pants on hangers. The sweaters nicely folded in a drawer. Panties and bras in separate drawers. Do you think you can you handle that?’
‘Sure Madam. Don’t you worry, it’s all under control.’
‘Good. I’m going to Saks down on Fifth. Be back in an hour and I’ll expect everything to be in order. Understood?’
‘Yes Madam.’
‘Good. Here, this is for toting my bags.’
There’s a folded twenty dollar bill in her hand. Before I can reach for it, it slips from her fingers and drops to the floor. I squat down to pick it up, but when I straighten up again I feel my face slide into something soft and warm. I fall back landing on my ass. Looking up, Mrs. Flanagan is standing above me. There’s a strange dent in the crotch of her white tights and I realize I just had my nose up her cunt crack.
‘Damn, watch out, you idiot.’
I could swear she stepped closer when I went down to pick up the bill.
‘I-I’m sorry Madam. I didn’t realize…’
‘Well, be careful the next time. You could’ve hurt me.’
She straightens out the front of her tights, but all she accomplishes is pulling the seam of her tights further into her pussy, which leaves her cuntlips outlined in the crotch. Either she doesn’t notice or she doesn’t care; she grabs her coat and strides out.
I’m left alone with her suitcases. I start on the first, which holds mostly dresses and blouses, as does the second one. The third and fourth are skirts and pants. There are three large suitcases with coats, two with shoes and boots, and two smaller ones with lotions, perfumes, skin creams, day creams, night creams, facial scrubs, lipstick, eye shadow, make-up and a case with jewelry. The last suitcase holds the long awaited prize. More than the tips, it is this that keeps us bell boys happy in an otherwise dreadful and unrewarding job: female underwear. The silk, the lace, the soft colours, the smells. There are few pleasures more delicate and awe-inspiring, than passing the padded silk crotch of a pair of female briefs over your nose and lips, knowing a woman’s cunt has nested in that exact spot and exuded its peculiar fluids and aromas.
Part III
‘What are you doing?’
Mrs. Flanagan is standing in the doorway, an assortment of large coloured bags in each hand. I peel the pair of black lacy panties from my face and try to apologize, but find myself unable to utter any sound at all.
‘Have you no respect at all?’
‘I-I… I’m sorry. I was just… I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to… ‘
‘You didn’t mean to? What do you mean you didn’t mean to? My underwear just sort of sprang out of the suitcase and landed on your face?’
‘No, no. I mean…’
‘First you ram your nose up my crotch, and now I find you sniffing my underwear. There is something seriously wrong with you, pal. I shall have to report you to the hotel manager.’
Despite the harsh words, there is a strange smile on her lips. It is the same amused smile she had down in the lobby when she gave me the once-over.
‘Oh no, Mrs. Flanagan, please, it won’t happen again, I promise. Just don’t say anything to Mr. Beans, he’ll…’
‘What? He’ll fire your ass? Well he damn well should.’
‘I’ll do anything, Mrs. Flanagan. Please. I… I need this job.’
‘You do that with every guest? Sniff their underwear?’
‘N-no, of course not.’
‘Then why mine? What’s so special about mine?’
She has dropped the bags and stepped closer.
‘Uhm, I… I don’t know, I was just…’
‘Is it the smell?’
She is now directly in front of me, her belly pressing hard against mine, her breath on my face. Her hand comes up. Long fingernails dig into the soft skin beneath my chin.
‘I got more where that came from, you naughty boy. Come here.’
She pulls me down painfully and I am forced onto my knees. Mrs. Flanagan lets go of my chin, only to grab me by the hair. Holding my head down so I cannot get up, she places her crotch onto my face and for the second time today I find my nose up her cunt.
‘So you like to sniff women’s underwear, huh? Well sniff this, you pervert.’
My head gets yanked up and down in long strokes while she rubs my face through her crotch. My nose gets impregnated with a strong smell of muff and fermentation.
‘Well, how do you like it? Does it smell nice?’
She pulls my head back and looks down at me, waiting for an answer. But I’m too flabbergasted to utter a sound and shyly nod instead.
‘Hmm. You like that, huh? Let’s see how you like this, then.’
Keeping my head in position, she swivels around with unsuspected agility and I find myself facing her ass. It is wide and flat, tightly packed inside the elastic white cloth of her tights. Mrs. Flanagan grabs me by the ears and forcefully pulls my head into her broad behind. Unhappy with the depth she is achieving, she pushes her ass backwards and with quick up and down movements slides my face further inside her ass cleavage.
‘Ready?’
Her big ass shudders as if under tremendous pressure, then freezes. I dare not move. Something is up, but I’m not sure what. I don’t have to wait long for an answer, though. Suddenly, a sharp sound like a trumpet breaks the silence. The sound emanates from her ass, right under my nose. I feel the fabric of her tights flutter against my lips. When it stops, a foul smell creeps up my nose. Before I can truly grasp what is happening, a second fart rips from her ass, this one even longer.
‘How’d you like that, huh? Don’t you just love that smell?’
Up above, Mrs. Flanagan is laughing her head off. All the while, she keeps on pushing fart after stinky fart into my mouth.
‘Oooh, got a big one coming. Wait…’
Her ass is shuddering again. But this time the sound is different. There’s a sputter and a squish, and then something warm and wet presses against my lips and expands downward onto my chin. It smells different too.
‘Shit!’
She lets go of my head and steps away from me. The white cloth of her tights, right where my face was just a second ago, now has a long brown stain. Mrs. Flanagan reaches back with her hand in an attempt to assess the damage, then walks over to the mirror on the far wall to look at her ass.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
She steps back to where I still am on my knees and thrusts her ass into my face again. The sour smell of diarrhea is unmistakable.
‘Look what you made me do, you bastard. See that?’
She grabs my head and pushes my face back into the brown spot on her ass.
‘Oh my, this is so embarrassing. Look at it! Are you proud of what you’ve done?’
She pulls me up by my hair and now her hooked nose is poking mine. Her piercing eyes drive holes into my brain.
‘None of this would have happened if you hadn’t sniffed my underwear.’
She’s breathing straight into my mouth. She has bad breath. I think I preferred the farts.
‘You’ll pay for this, bastard! This is all your fault.’
She grabs me by the hair and drags me into the bathroom. I stumble behind her, too stunned to resist. When she gets to the toilet bowl, she lets go of my hair.
‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
I have absolutely no clue of what she wants from me. I’m frozen with panic.
‘What kind of a personal assistant are you? Must I tell you everything? Get me out of this mess.’
It is not until she gathers her blouse upward, exposing the white flesh of her round belly, that I catch her drift. I hesitate, but dare not refuse. Who knows what she’ll do. I have always been terrified of women in rage. So I get down on my knees before her. She puts a hand on my shoulder for support while I help her out of her soiled tights. Her legs are big and round, the skin white and amazingly smooth, although darkening in colour and gradually acquiring the aspect of plucked chicken skin where it turns inwards to where her cunt bulges the crotch of her panties. I am slightly discomforted by the closeness of her private parts, but at the same time I cannot deny a peculiar feeling of anticipation, not unlike a child when unpacking a present under the Christmas tree.
A slight tap on my head is my cue to continue. I hook my fingers behind the elastic band of her panties and peel it slowly downwards. A small patch of curly hair emerges, surrounded by short black stubbles. As the rim of her panties lowers even further, the skin turns darker and the hairy patch narrows down to a thin line, while the stubbles gain field. Then, the tip of her cunt cleavage appears. The skin is rough here, it becomes furrowed and shiny, the edge thick and leathery. Further down, the cleavage widens, pushed apart by the fleshy moist folds of her inner cuntlips that seem to be struggling to pop out. Her outer cuntlips are thick and bulging, the skin hard and grooved, the edges uneven as if some cruel butcher had ripped the flesh apart with a metal hook. There are thick dark stubbles of varying length sprouting out everywhere, even along the inside edge. Her cunt is truly an eerie sight.
‘You can stare at my cunt later. Get me out of my panties.’
I pull her panties all the way down, careful not to smear her legs, and help her step out of them. I fold them inwards and am about to toss them into the sink, when Mrs. Flanagan taps my head again.
‘No. Put them in your mouth.’
I look up at her, dumbfounded.
‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Put them in your mouth. The juicy part.’
I unfold the panties and look at the brown smear in the crotch.
‘Do you think I like shitting my pants in front of strangers? It’s the least you can do to make up for the embarrassment you put me through. Do it. Now!’
I slowly stuff the stained cloth into my mouth.
‘Go on, suck ‘em. The stain will never come out if it’s not cleaned immediately.’
The taste is sour with a hint of bitterness. I can’t believe I’m doing this, yet here I am. What amazes me even more is the pounding boner in my pants. I’m excited out of my wits by the whole situation.
‘While you’re enjoying that, aren’t you forgetting something?’
Mrs. Flanagan is still standing in front of the toilet bowl, half naked. She signals at the closed lid behind her. I stand up and reach behind her to open it for her.
‘Thank you. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be done in a minute.’
She sits down on the toilet. There’s a sputtering fart, and then a barrage of loud splashes as she dumps the contents of her bowels into the toilet bowl. A sour smell of fresh diarrhea reaches my nostrils, matching the taste in my mouth. A series of farts announce the end of her discharge.
‘You can take that out of your mouth now. Get on your knees. Right here.’
She signals in front of her. I do as I’m told. Mrs. Flanagan gets up from the toilet and turns her shit-smeared ass into my face.
‘Clean me.’
Dodging her ass, I reach for the toilet paper, only to get my hand slapped.
‘No. Not like that. I’m allergic to toilet paper. Use your tongue.’
I look at the broad ass before me. The ass cheeks are big and round and pockmarked. Her asshole is a thick knob pushing out between them. Her leathery cunt is dangling beneath it. A strand of light brown mushy shit is flowing slowly from her asshole, and there are shiny globs of shit around it.
‘Come on, I don’t have all day.’
I dive in, licking up the flow of liquid shit between her ass cheeks first, then cleaning up the immediate vicinity until she is spotless.
‘Mmm, nice. You have a velvet tongue. You can help me dress now.’
She strides out of the bathroom.
‘Be a dear and flush the toilet, will you?’
When I catch up with her in the bedroom, she has laid out a fresh pair of panties, a panty hose and a dress. Following her precise directions, I help her dress. Just when we finish, the phone rings. She answers it.
‘You’re right on time, honey. I just finished dressing up. I’ll be down in a minute.’
She hangs up and turns to me.
‘Take my tights and panties down to the laundry room. I want you to hand wash them and dry them in the dryer. Make sure they’re absolutely spotless. Oh, and do it yourself. Nobody needs to know what happened here. Is that understood?’
I nod.
‘Good. I’m going out to dinner. Wait up for me, I might need you later. I’ll buzz you if I do. Now hand me my fur coat.’
Part IV
It is after midnight when she finally pages me. I rush up to her room. An elderly man in a starched white shirt and black pants lets me in. He finishes buttoning his shirt, puts on the jacket of his tux, then walks out without a word.
‘William, is that you? Come here.’
I step into the bedroom. Mrs. Flanagan is lying on the bed, draped in a bed sheet.
‘I had such a wonderful evening. George is such a gentleman.’
She folds back the bed sheet, revealing her naked plump body.
‘You can clean me up now.’
She cannot be serious. Licking up her shit is one thing. Although it was a first for me, I had fantasized about it countless times. But now she’s expecting me to lap some old geezer’s spunk out of her cunt. Everything inside me screams rebellion. But one look into her eyes is enough to convince me that she will not take no for an answer and that she will make true on her threat. I have little choice but to comply, and she knows it.
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘Well, then get on with it!’
She pulls up her legs and spreads them, leaving me enough space to crawl in between them. Her outer cuntlips are still swollen and red from the beating they took. Inside, a slimy white substance gleams in the overhead light. I crawl onto the bed from the foot end and squeeze my head between her thighs. A strong fishy smell invades my nostrils as I close in. Her hands come down between her legs and spread the thick cunt. Tiny brown inner cuntlips frame the upper part of her cunt, which is a dull pink in color. I cannot see her clitoris, but her pee hole is visible as a dimple underneath the dark arc of fleshy lace. Beneath it and covered in white slime, her dilated vulva is a dark cave with pink fleshy stalactites and stalagmites along the rim and all the way inside, for as far as I can see.
As my mouth closes in, her cunt twitches in a nervous spasm and a glob of white slime oozes out of her fuck hole. I know I can’t allow it to drip onto the bed sheet, so I quickly place my tongue under it and lap upwards. But that only makes matters worse, as more of the slime comes oozing out and builds up on my outstretched tongue which is now acting as a dam, barely able to hold back the flood. I realize there is only one way to successfully drain the fluid: into my mouth. I knew that was part of the deal when she first told me, but as with so many things, it is until actually dealing with the problem that the full implication of its solution hits you. I curl the tip of my tongue upwards while broadening it at the base as much as I can, then retract it into my open mouth. I have a gag reflex which I’m barely able to suppress. I close my eyes and swallow. I feel how the warm slimy mass slides down my throat. But there is no time to be disgusted. Already the next glob is overflowing her cunt, and I dive back in to spoon it up.
‘Oh come on, dig in already. Just licking the surface won’t do it.’
Saying this, Mrs. Flanagan grabs me by the back of my head and shoves my face deep into her cunt. My nose slides in between her fat cuntlips, and my outstretched tongue shoots up her vulva. Her grip on my head is strong and I’m having trouble breathing. In a bout of panic, I struggle to free myself from my predicament.
‘What kind of a sissy personal valet are, that you can’t handle a woman’s cunt? God, why do I have to put up with this?’
Mrs. Flanagan lets go of my head. There’s a squishy sound when I pull my face from the depths of her cunt. I breathe in hard. But before I have time to recover, I feel her right foot on my shoulder and with a violent shove, I am kicked off the bed. My back hits the floor hard, my legs are still up on the bed. I’m dizzy from the fall I took. The room darkens and I believe I’m fainting, but then I realize it’s the bulk of Mrs. Flanagan’s body blocking out the ceiling light as she stands above me and straddles my head. I look right up between her legs, where she is holding her cunt with one hand to keep it from leaking. With amazing swiftness, she squats down and smashes her slimy cunt into my face.
‘Now suck it in, motherfucker. I don’t have all night for you to finish! I have to pee and I would like to catch some sleep before the night is over.’
The slime is now oozing rapidly onto my lips, and I open my mouth to let it slide inside.
‘I said suck, shithead. I don’t hear you sucking. Suck it!’
She slaps the top of my head, and I suck her fuckhole as hard as I can, making slurping sounds. Mrs. Flanagan is bobbing up and down on my face, as if trying to push out the last of the slimy goo into my mouth. I hear her laughing up above.
‘Yeah, that’s it, drink it, you cocksucker. That’ll teach you to sniff a decent lady’s panties.’
Mrs. Flanagan is holding my head again with both hands, lifting it off the floor and keeping it in position. The movement of her hips has changed to the horizontal plane now, her pelvis tilting backwards and forwards in rapid succession while she fucks my face with her dripping cunt. There is a sloppy sound every time she slams it into my face. She’s grunting and moaning while she speeds up the rhythm, until she cramps up and thrusts me hard into her ripe womanhood. My mouth and nose are deep inside her flesh. The crack of her ass is on my chin and I can feel it quivering as she squirts her cum generously into my mouth.
‘Ooh, I needed that. George is quite a lady killer in the lounge, but once he makes it into the bedroom he forgets his manners.’
Mrs. Flanagan’s body collapses on top of me. She drops down on hands and knees, releasing my face from her cunt which is still dripping cum. I can hear her panting. But she doesn’t get up. After a short while, she pivots her pelvis again and her cunt is back on my face. Two fingers appear and spread her cunt in such a way that her cuntlips line my mouth. My nose sticks out over the top, so I can breathe. Just when I wonder what she might be up to now, my mouth fills up with a gush of warm liquid that sprouts from her cunt.
‘Hold still. How do you expect me to piss into your mouth if you don’t hold still? You’re soiling the carpet.’
Piss keeps gushing from her pee hole in a thick stream that tickles the back of my throat. Although I gulp and swallow as much as I can, it is more than I can handle. My mouth overflows and I feel her piss trickle down my chin and neck. She pisses relentlessly for about half a minute, before the stream slows down to a thin trickle. Mrs. Flanagan’s cunt flexes as she flushes a series of squirts down my throat, and then I’m finally released. Mrs. Flanagan gets to her feet.
‘I’m done. You can wipe me now.’
I already know the cleaning routine. I start lapping the inside of her thighs, working up towards her cunt, which I end up sucking, just as I had started.
‘Get me my nightgown, will you?’
‘Yes Madam, right away.’
She bows her head and holds out her arms while I help her into it.
‘Did you bring my laundry, the stuff I asked you to clean?’
‘Yes Madam, I left it right there on the cabinet.’
‘Good. Put it in the drawer.
‘Yes Madam.’
‘And make the bed. I’m going to sleep now.’
‘Yes Madam.’
I make the bed and fold back the sheets.
Before she turns in, I assist her with brushing her teeth and rubbing her feet with alcohol.
‘You will wake me at eight sharp tomorrow. Coffee, orange juice, scrambled eggs, toast with real butter. Donut and cream cheese. Let yourself in with the master key.’
‘Yes Madam.’
Good night, William. Turn off the lights on your way out.’
‘Good night, Madam. I will, Madam.’
‘Oh, and William…’
‘Yes Madam?’
‘You need to shape up, William. I expect better service from a personal valet.’
‘Yes Madam. I will do my best, Madam.’
‘I will put you to the test tomorrow, William. If you don’t cut it, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for a replacement.’
‘I assure you that will not be necessary, Madam. I sincerely apologize for my shortcomings and the inconveniences I have caused you because of them. I will procure to serve you exactly the way you require, the moment you require it.’
‘We shall see. You can retire now.’
‘Good night, Madam.’
Part V
The moment I get to my little room behind the kitchen area, I sit down on the bed and stare at the wall in front of me. I am completely numbed out. My mind can barely assess what happened up there today. But a sudden realization awakes me from my reveries: my dick is, and has been all day, as stiff and hard as a baseball bat! The moment I touch my zipper to let it out, it starts jerking and a golden wave of pleasure jerks through my hips and explodes through the tip of my dick, right there in my pants. I lay back onto the bed, exhausted. Never have I had such a fierce and massive orgasm, much less without touching myself. This woman has completely shaken the foundations of my being. Even now, my sexual passion drained from me in such a profuse manner, a strong and desperate longing to return to the sweet haven of her complete and utter dominance over me wells up from deep within and pervades my every fiber. Dressed and soiled as I am, I gently sink into a deep dreamless sleep.
I wake up with a jolt. It is 7:35! I rush into the kitchen, where the morning crew is already busy. I order Mrs. Flanagan’s breakfast and hit it to the showers, picking up a towel from the laundry room on the way. Back in my room at 7:44, I hastily shave, spray on lotion and change into a new uniform. 7:53 sees me in the lobby plucking a rose from the fresh bouquet that is placed near the reception desk every morning, 7:55 has me back in the kitchen loading Mrs. Flanagan’s breakfast onto a service cart, at 7:58 I’m pressing the top floor button in the service elevator, and at 8:00 sharp I’m letting myself into the Monaco suite with my master key.
I knock softly on the bedroom door, which is still ajar as I left it the night before. Mrs. Flanagan is snoring between the sheets. I step up to the window and open the curtains. Mrs. Flanagan stirs, then opens her eyes.
‘Your breakfast is ready, madam.’
‘What time is it?’
‘It is eight o’clock, Madam.’
‘Help me up.’
I fold back the sheets and help Mrs. Flanagan up from the bed. Resting heavy on my shoulder, she takes me straight to the bathroom. When she starts to pull up her gown, I need no prodding. I’m down on my knees in a flash. Mrs. Flanagan, who seems to be still half asleep, casually places her cunt on my face as if that were an established routine between us. I have hardly time to open my mouth before her cunt starts gushing. Her morning pee has a particular strong taste, bitter and spicy. It is also copious. She pisses for almost a minute, and I am desperately trying to take in some air while the last drops of her discharge trickle into my mouth.
When she is done, I lick her clean. Then I take her to the breakfast table, pulling her chair for her to sit down. She hardly touches any of the food she ordered, just sips her coffee and nibbles at a toast with marmalade. But breakfast seems to wake her up. In no time she is her old bossy self again.
‘Draw me a bath. Not too hot. Did you find the bath salt when you unpacked my luggage? Use plenty.’
While I draw her bath, I lay out the towels and the bathrobe. She steps into the bathroom when the tub is almost full.
‘Undress me.’
I help her out of her nightgown and escort her to the tub. She leans on my shoulders and lifts a leg into the tub, checking the temperature with her toes before stepping in. I hold her arm while she slowly lowers her big ass into the water.
‘Soap me up. Use the oatmeal soap from my toilet bag. It’s on the night table. Hotel soap gives me a rash.’
I get the soap from the bedroom and start soaping her back and her arms. She lifts her left arm so I can do her armpit, revealing a broad patch of stubbles.
‘What are you staring at?’
‘Oh, uh, nothing.’
I reach in, but she pushes my hand away and pulling her breast aside, looks at her armpit.
‘Did you bring the toilet bag?’
‘Uhm, no, just the soap you told me.’
‘Well go get it. There’s a razor blade in there and foam. It looks like I need a shave.’
When I return, she tells me to change the blade and holds up her arm again. I spray the foam. Her flesh is loose and I have to stretch the skin. When I’m done, she turns her torso and I do the other armpit. Then I continue with the soap. Her breasts are large and sag onto her belly. I have to lift them to wash the soft skin beneath them. Her large brown nipples do not escape my attention.
When I’m done, she signals me to help her up. I do her legs, reaching in between and around them, passing the soap from one hand to the other. She puts up her left foot onto the rim of the tub, leaning on my shoulders while I wash it. Then she puts up her right foot. When I’m done, she swings her knee to the right and pushes her pelvis forward, exposing her cunt. I drop to my knees and pass the soap over the inside of her legs and up through the bushel of hair on top of her cunt, but avoiding to breech the cuntlips. I read somewhere that mucosal tissue is sensitive to certain ingredients of soap.
‘Don’t be shy, go right in. It’s a special soap that doesn’t sting.’
Mrs. Flanagan reaches between her legs and spreads her cunt in confirmation. I do a thorough job through the fleshy ridges. Then I move up to her massive belly, which I have to lift up to get underneath the folds. Finally, she turns around and bends over, sticking her huge ass into my face. Her soft flesh shudders while I wash her buttocks. When I pass the soap through the crack, she reaches behind her and spreads her ass wide.
‘Be careful with my little rosebud. The poor thing is all sore. Can’t seem to shake off that damn diarrhea.’
Little rosebud? An inch-thick fleshy knob protrudes from the depths of her ass crack right where her asshole is supposed to be. I dab it lightly with a soapy finger, caressing carefully around and behind it. Her big ass looming above me, spread wide in total exposure, I can hardly suppress the urge to shove my face right into it. But I dare not. Instead, I get to my feet and put the soap away.
‘Done?’
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘Good. Hose me off, then. Be careful not to wet my hair. I just had it done yesterday.’
When I’m done, I help her out of the tub and dry her off with the bath towel I had laid out for her. She waves off the robe.
‘Bring the toilet bag. I have another job for you.’
I follow her into the bedroom, where she lies down on the bed, pulling up her knees and spreading her legs.
‘Clip the triangle, there’s a pair of scissors in the bag. The rest you shave. Be careful, my skin is extremely sensitive down there. I swear I’ll kick you in the head if you hurt me.’
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘Hand me my cigarettes and an ashtray.’
I get her cigarettes, lighter and an ashtray from the coffee table. When I step back into the bedroom, she has turned on the TV and is watching the news on CNN. I hand her a cigarette and light it for her. Then I get the scissors and the shaving gear from her toilet bag and crawl onto the bed from the foot end, right between her spread legs.
I place a towel beneath her ass, which she lifts up for me, bringing her magnificent cunt dangerously close to my face. I feel I’m getting hard again. Damn, she may not be the most attractive woman in the world, but her attitude really grabs me by the balls in a way no other woman has ever done. It is her cool matter-of-factness, as if what she was doing to me were the most normal thing in the world. The way she commands me, taking it as a given that I will not protest nor run out on her, so cocksure that I will do exactly as she tells me. I suddenly realize that my submission to her goes beyond her threats to have me fired. I’m mesmerized by this woman, by the power she exudes, by her easy control and superior air. Every time I set my eyes upon her, she begets an angel’s aura, and when she is not around, a slow aching warmth creeps through my body and clamps my yearning heart. I’m in love.
The task of shaving Mrs. Flanagan’s cunt is a tedious one. The skin is rough and furrowed, the stubbles coarse and thick. I try as best as I can to spread the leathery skin with utmost gentleness and pass the razorblade with short cautious, yet firm strokes between my fingers. Especially the rims of her cunt are tricky, as they are grooved and uneven and the stubbles continue all the way inside. The hairiest part seems to be at the top where her cunt cleavage starts. I cannot completely spread the skin and have to tilt the razor to reach inside the narrow folds. The part I especially cherish is below her cunt, around her asshole, although it is even harder to get into. Mrs. Flanagan, understanding my predicament, grabs her legs behind the knees and pulls them all the way up to her chest, enabling me unobstructed access to her ass cleavage and an unexpected panorama of her most intimate body region.
Understanding that this position is not very comfortable for her, I endeavor to do a quick job down there. However, before I can apply the shaving foam, a wet sputter of farts that blow shiny bubbles from her protruding asshole warn me that the position she has placed herself in is taking its toll on her tortured intestines.
‘Oh my, oh my, there I go again. Quick, do something! Don’t let me mess the sheets.’
I’m not sure what I can do. I try to cover her ass with the towel I stuffed underneath her, but she kicks me in the back with her heels in signal that this is not what she has in mind.
‘Stop fumbling around and dive in there. I can’t hold it any longer.’
To accentuate her words, she digs her heels into my back and pushes me into her. I slam face first into her cunt. I feel a warm viscose liquid dripping onto my chin and pull back. Yellowish globs of diarrhea are spurting out of her asshole. The stench is formidable, but I know that the only way to contain the flow is using my mouth. I dive back in, this time locking my mouth around the thick knob that has started to spout liquid shit like a volcano. Once it is inside my mouth, I feel it expand and a massive stream of her fluid excrement hits my palate. I swallow hard to keep my mouth from overflowing, taking hardly the time to acknowledge the bitter sour taste. I feel her belly flex above me, and again the knob inside my mouth explodes with a loud sputter and I feel myself fill up with a new shitty load. This goes on for about ten minutes, until she has depleted the content of her bowels into my mouth.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have touched the food on the plane. It always gives me the runs.’
Mrs. Flanagan lowers her legs and looks down at my shit smeared face between them.
‘Oh my, I hope it wasn’t too bad for you. I’m sorry about that. You will have noticed that at my age it becomes increasingly difficult to keep complete control over your body.’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Flanagan. It is always a pleasure to be of service.’
I wipe my face with the towel and fold in the yellow stain.
‘You really mean that, don’t you?’
Mrs. Flanagan has an amused and endearing look on her face that sends my heart off in a somersault of love.
‘OK, you know the drill. Clean me up and finish the shaving. I don’t want to be late.’
She pulls her legs up again, slower this time and not quite as far, and I lick the remnants of her accident from her ass. The fleshy knob has expanded to twice its original size now and is a shiny dark blue in color. She twitches when I lick carefully around and over it, and I know I will have to be particularly careful with the shaving. When she is clean, I apply a minimal layer of foam with my finger and gently shave the hairs inside her ass cleavage, careful not to touch the inflated knob with the metal.
When I’m finished, Mrs. Flanagan lowers her legs again and motions to get up, then throws herself back with a jerk.
‘Damn, these hemorrhoids are killing me.’
For the third time this morning, she pulls up her legs and exposes her most tender parts to me.
‘Only one thing we can do now. Listen carefully, I’ll only say this once. It is embarrassing enough for a lady to be in this predicament, so don’t make me repeat the instructions. Are you listening?’
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘I want you to take the …, you know, the things down there, into your mouth and I want you to massage them with your tongue. See if you can soften them up and push them back in. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, Madam.’
Again I am between her legs. She still smells of sour shit down there, but I have started to like that smell. I gently take the bluish knob between my lips and start massaging it with my tongue. Mrs. Flanagan twitches again at the first contact, but then her ass slowly subsides into a soft grinding and I can hear her silently moaning. As my tongue passes over the knob, I can feel it gradually soften up to the extent I can move it around inside my mouth and dent it with my tongue.
Suddenly, the phone rings.
‘Don’t stop. Keep going, you’re doing fine.’
Mrs. Flanagan reaches for the phone on the night table beside the bed.
‘Yes? … Oh, Susan, what a surprise. Where are you? … London? Are you going to the Sofcam conference? … Yes, that’s on Friday, the day after tomorrow. … Yes, Charlie delegated me, I’m flying out tonight. Stopping over in Paris for the meeting with the people from Pharmaplast. … Yes. … Oh, that’s great! … Hm hm. … No, I was on my way out but my you-know-what are playing up again. … Yeah, tell me about it. … No, William is taking care of it. … William, the bellboy. … Yes, at the Plaza. He’s new, I think. Didn’t see him the last time I was here. … Oh, absolutely. … Yes. … Sure. … OK, I’ll see you in Antwerp then. … Yes, Friday morning. It’s just an hour’s flight from Paris. … Love you too, honey. … Bye bye.’
All this time I haven’t stopped massaging her hemorrhoids. I try to push them back in with the tip of my tongue, as Mrs. Flanagan instructed me, but they keep popping out again. After a while though her anus seems to have loosened up and it becomes easier to stuff my tongue all the way inside. I notice then that her cunt has started oozing a clear jellylike slime. I lock my mouth onto her slit and lap up the slime, which makes her wriggle her ass even more underneath me. I expect her to assault my face again like she did last night, but instead she shoves me away.
‘OK, that’s enough. I might take you up on that later this afternoon before I leave, but right now I need to get dressed and be on my way. I’m late for my meeting already. Have somebody get me a limousine.’
I help her dress and while she does her make-up, I serve her another cup of coffee which she gulps down in one go. I accompany her into the elevator, where she instructs me to pack her bags except for her toilet utensils, a clean set of underwear and the beige travel suit. Her limo is waiting already.
Part VI
Mrs. Flanagan storms into the lobby at 15:30. It is obvious she is in a hurry and I catch up with her at the elevators.
‘Damn, I’m late, William. Meeting took longer than I expected. Always be sure for the lawyers to come up with a last minute problem. Did you pack my bags?’
‘Yes, Madam. All is ready as you instructed.’
‘Good. I’ll just have a quick shower and be on my way. My flight is at 18:25.’
‘Better hurry then, Madam. Traffic’s a bitch after five.’
We step out of the elevator and I show her into her suite.
‘Tell Mr. Beans to charge the room to the company, as usual. And have a limo stand by in exactly forty-five minutes. I’m going to make a call from the phone in the bedroom. We’ll meet in the bathroom in five minutes.’
‘Yes, Madam.’
I call Mr. Beans and relay Mrs. Flanagan’s message to him. I also ask him to arrange for Mrs. Flanagan’s luggage – which I have already sent down to the luggage storage area just off the lobby – to be loaded into the limo when it arrives. Mrs. Flanagan is still on the phone when I step into the bedroom. She is sitting in the armchair and her feet are up on the footstool. When I slip by her on my way to the bathroom, she grabs me by the seat of my pants and pulls me back. Still talking on the phone, she signals me to take off her shoes.
‘Hold on. … William, my feet are killing me. Be a darling and give them a tongue massage. You seem to be quite good at it. … Yes, you were saying?’
I have licked worse parts of her body than her feet, so I see no problem. But when the first shoe comes off, I am hit by the sour smell of foot odor. The smell is so bad that I almost wish I were back licking the shit from her ass. Mrs. Flanagan is still wearing her pantyhose so I look up at her with a question on my face. She catches my drift immediately and stands up. I pull up her dress and pull down the pantyhose. Mrs. Flanagan sits down again, never interrupting her conversation.
Her feet are swollen, and I massage the soft white skin with my hands first. Then I pass my tongue over the sole of her left foot, from the heel into the slight valley at the inside of her foot up to the toes. She wriggles her big toe and I know she wants me to take it into my mouth. I suck on it as if it were a big nipple, then pass my tongue between the little toes and suck them in one by one. Mrs. Flanagan hangs up the phone, but she doesn’t get up. Instead, she sits back with her eyes closed while I finish massaging both her feet. Then she gets up and drags me into the bathroom, where I strip her of her clothes.
‘I know we have something pending, but there is just no time. We’ll leave that for the next time. But don’t worry, there’s something else you can help with that is more urgent.’
She signals me to lie down on the floor, face up.
‘It’s a long flight and I won’t have anybody to attend me until I get to my hotel in Paris. So I must make sure my bowels are empty before I board the plane. Open up, darling.’
She straddles my head and squats down. Placing her hand on my forehead for balance, she settles her ass onto my face in such a fashion that the fleshy knob of her asshole is right inside my open mouth. Almost immediately, a steady flow of thick mushy shit flows from her ass into my mouth. Her intestinal infection seems to have improved considerably, although her discharge is still very soft and sour. While she is pushing her shitty load into me, her cunt is dripping piss into my eyes. I swallow down her entire dump before she resettles, locks her cunt onto my mouth and depletes her bladder into it. The piss washes away the bitter taste of her shit, leaving a more subtle flavor of nutmeg and ripe mango. She squirts a few times, then gets up, pushing herself up against my forehead where she had her hand throughout the whole scene.
‘Ah, you have no idea how good that feels. Now I really need to shower and be on my way. Help me, will you?’
I soap her in top to bottom and shower her off, while she stands in the bathtub. Then I dry her off and help her dress.
‘Have my laundry dry-washed and hang on to it until I come back. I should be in town again next week. If not, I’ll let Mr. Beans know where to send it.’
‘Yes, Madam.’
It is a quarter past four when we step into the lobby. I marvel at Mrs. Flanagan’s unfailing sense of timing. I check on the limo while she says goodbye to Mr. Beans. I see him look at me and smile while she talks to him. I wonder if he knows. I hold the limo door for her and close it behind her. She lowers the window and signals me to come closer.
‘You have been an absolute darling. I told Mr. Bean that he is not to let you go no matter what, and that I expect to see you here when I come back. Hopefully we’ll have more time then. I also told him he should give you the rest of the week off because you have worked very hard. Here’s a little something for your services.’
She stuffs something into my hand.
‘Thank you, Madam.’
She signals to the driver and the limo blends into the traffic. When I open my hand, there is a one hundred dollar bill in it.
