I rushed back into my hotel room - stupidly I’d left the dongle behind that I needed to connect my laptop up to the projector. I burst in through the door, nearly tripped over the laundry cart that was just inside, and bumped into the poor chambermaid.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching down to pick her up. She waved me off, muttering apologies.
“Excuse, excuse, I go now,” she was saying.
“No, no, it’s my fault. I just need to grab something then I’ll be out of your way.”
Wow, I thought to myself, she’s stunning! To be fair, most of the young women I’d seen during my tourist time on this trip to eastern Europe had been good-looking - thin, stacked, gorgeous and they knew it - but she was something else.
“I must go. Forbidden to be in room with guest.”
“I’ve got what I need, I’m already gone,” I said, rushing back out of the door and heading for the lift. “Sorry!” I shouted back down the hallway.
///
The next morning, I left a five euro note for housekeeping on the pillow, as was my custom, but this time with a little note beside it to say sorry for the incident. I hoped, at least, that the same chambermaid would be looking after my room for the whole visit. When I returned to my room, it was - as always - immaculately made up. But today, there were two little foil-wrapped mint chocolates left on my pillow rather than one. Apology accepted, I presumed.
I saw her along the corridor another time, bustling along with her cart, tucking unruly hair back into a bun behind her head. Something about that motion captivated me; I realised it was just like that blonde babe in the porn I was watching the night before, scooping her hair out of the way into a ponytail before blowing the horse-cocked dude. She caught me staring and looked away. Did she smile, or did I just imagine it?
Then there was the time I caught the secret lift. Obviously not really a secret; it was a tiny four-person affair just tucked away at the back of the hotel near my room, and offered a more direct route down to the dining room, rather than me walking halfway round the floor and then back again once I’d got to ground level. The doors pinged and slid open to reveal her and a massive laundry cage squeezed inside. I stepped into the tiny gap next to her.
“I leave, you have lift,” she said.
“No, it’s fine,” I said, watching the doors close.
“I must not be in lift with guest,” she said as if repeating some litany. “Bad things might happen.”
“I’m just going to dinner,” I protested, smiling.
But I couldn’t help but admire how the uniform strained at her chest, the grey material edged in lace, buttons pulling apart. The skirt, falling almost to her knees but clinging to her hips and rounded arse, black tights underneath down her long, long legs. There wasn’t really room to admire her properly, despite the mirrors all around, but that didn’t stop my cock from starting to rise from the view.
The lift pinged. “Excuse,” she said. But in order to leave she’d have to push past me, there was no space. I suppose I could have stepped out of the lift, but I guess I wanted her to have to touch me; during my indecision she began pushing through me to get to the doors, pressing that peachy arse into my crotch. There was no way she couldn’t have noticed my arousal.
As the doors closed, I could have sworn I saw her wink.
///
After that, I developed a bit of an obsession with her. Whenever I went along the corridors to and from my room, I looked around hoping to catch a glimpse. And at night, before I fell into a sweaty, sticky sleep, my last thoughts would be of her body moving against mine.
I started leaving bigger tips, with little messages. Can I see you? Which is your night off? But no replies, just those extra chocolates. Until one day, a note on the weather forecast slip they left every day. “Tomorrow - very wet at 3:30pm”, with a smiley face and a couple of kisses.
That night I wanked myself sore, and the whole next day I couldn’t pay attention during the conference. I was way too horny to concentrate. I kept looking at my watch, desperate for time to pass. An eternity later, the afternoon coffee break arrived, and I raced back to my room, heart pounding.
I sat on the bed, waiting. Half past. Twenty-five to. Twenty to.
Had I misunderstood the message? I looked out of the window; brilliant blue, not a cloud to be seen. Where was she?
A knock at the door. I checked the peephole; it was her, unbuttoning the top of her work blouse as she waited. I saw black lace holding that epic cleavage up and out to maximum effect.
“Yes?” I called out.
“Housekeeping,” she called back.
I opened the door. “You order turn-down service, sir?” It wasn’t a question; she stepped inside with her trolley and then pushed the door closed behind her.
No way would I be turning this down!
She grabbed my shirt, shoved me roughly against the wardrobe and clamped her mouth over mine while reaching between us and stroking my rock-hard cock through my thin suit trousers.
The kiss had me spinning, our tongues dancing, as she directed me into the main room. I tried to grab that luscious arse of hers, but she slapped my hand aside.
“No touch. Just look,” she demanded, pushing me backwards to collapse into a chair. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, with a bag from the trolley.
What was she doing? I wondered. My hand fell to my lap, stroking myself through the material. I started reaching for the zip, pulled it down, and my aching cock sprung free.
After a few minutes, the bathroom door opened, and she swayed back out. Her hair was now loose, hanging to her shoulders in messy curls. She’d made up her face; thick eyeliner and ruby lipstick.
She’d undone the grey work blouse and tied it tightly underneath her impressive tits, pushing them up and together, and revealing her toned stomach. The skirt had been rolled up at the waist; it was now indecently short, barely covering her modesty, revealing long legs in black stockings and suspenders. The pumps were gone, too, replaced by stilettos that must have been five inches high.
She was, basically, a wet dream personified.
“Fuck…” I breathed, slowly stroking myself as she walked towards me and right on by. It was hard to resist grabbing her and pulling her down onto me, but she’d been clear. No touching. I sat back and tried not to drool.
I watched as she did her job - stripping the bed, pillowcases and duvet cover, each motion stretching or bending, demonstrating her flexibility and dexterity. As she made the far side of the bed she’d lean forwards, offering me a spectacular view into her cleavage, tits swaying as she worked. And on the near side, right in front of my face, she bent forwards; the tiny skirt rode up over her perfect soft arse, underneath which she was naked except for the suspender belt. Her smooth pussy blossomed for me, puffed and ready, and I could almost smell her arousal. Unconsciously I licked my lips.
“You bad boy,” she was saying. I tore my eyes away from her moist pussy, looked up at her face. “Stained sheets.”
I did my best to look suitably chastised.
“You think of me?”
I blushed and looked away.
“Dirty old man,” she said, but with a smile.
She continued making the bed, in a slow sensual dance that was utter torture but total bliss. As she brushed the last of the creases aside, I dreamed of what those deft fingers might do to me.
“I do bathroom now,” she said. “Cannot get uniform stained.” And she undid the knot in the blouse and tossed it aside, revealing her large boobs encased in delicate lace. She dropped the skirt to the floor, then picked up both parts of the uniform and hung them up. “Be tidy,” she said, unclipping the bra and putting it on the table beside me. The smell of her perfume, with undertones of sweat, called to the beast inside me. I was painfully erect, edging myself.
She sashayed into the bathroom and started to clean the sink. I had a clear view of that glorious arse through the doorway as she stood, legs apart in those high heels, leaning forward at the waist as she wiped down the marble. I saw the reflection of her huge breasts swaying in the mirror, saw her looking back at me, making sure I was enjoying the show.
I wanted to leap from that chair, step up behind her and plunge my hard cock deep into her eager cunt. I wanted to fuck her so hard against the marble that it would break away from the wall. But I didn’t want this to end. I dared not break her rules. So I sat, stroking my dick over and over, captivated by her sensuality, desperate to know what she’d do next.
She was stroking the chrome of the showerhead wand, lovingly stroking it up and down, curling her palm over the end, as if she was worshipping a cock. She was licking her lips as she worked.