A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) (19 page)

Perhaps I was
taking business away from the Lodge. Many of my clients may have stopped attending if they had me to entertain them instead…

I helped the gentleman I serviced
overcome any fears they may have had about their desires in the bedroom and offered suggestions as to how they'd broach certain subjects with their wives. I also added the odd trick or two to their sexual vocabulary. This continued for some months and I felt very happy in both my work and private life. Occasionally I sought intercourse with some of the clients whose wives were agreeable and most of these occasions were very pleasurable. My client list grew to include friends of friends, with my techniques having had great success. However, I was left largely sexually unsatisfied and I yearned for some adventures of my own. Little did I know that a slice of that was just around the corner…

Like all the other strange happenings of my life, this occurred on a day that could have been just like any other. I was about to head home for the night after clocking off at ten. I had my winter coat and my bag ready and was almost out of the door when a member of staff came running up to me crying. The receptionist, Rochelle, had become an ally of mine. She was such a nice young girl and so bubbly. Someone like her got on with almost anyone. She had just had a call from a foul-mouthed man demanding that he be moved to another suite. The one he had was fucking disgraceful, he said, but all the other suites were occupied. I was good at dealing with people like that, for I never showed an ounce of retort to anything they might spew out of their mouths. I had years of practise. I gave the girl a hug and told her I'd deal with it.

The man was apparently unhappy about the fact he didn't have a whirlpool bath as pr
omised on the website. His tray of goodies also hadn't been delivered, apparently. Housekeeping often made that slip-up but few guests ever complained. I grabbed a ready-made tray from the storeroom, keeping my coat on but leaving my bag downstairs.

Laden with a fresh robe and slippers, bottled waters, luxury teas and coffees, fresh fruit, mini packets of biscuits, mint creams, Belgian chocolates an
d two miniature Irish Creams (the perfect nightcap), I headed upstairs prepared to give the man my profuse apologies and a winning smile to sweeten him up.

I knocked on his door and waited. He arrived, mobile to his ear, waving me in i
ndifferently. He was mumbling, “Yeah, yeah, no, don't do that…”

It was the generic spiel of some businessman trying to rid himself of an annoying interruption. When he finally deigned to look at me properly, his demeanour chang
ed entirely. He swiftly ended the telephone call.

“
You work here?” he asked.

“
I am the head housekeeper, and I was informed there was a problem.”

He had blonde hair. I admit, I have alway
s been a sucker for that shade. He also had terribly plump lips, my god.

“
Website said whirlpool bath. I have a shocking back strain I need to work out.”

His arms were long, solid and swinging dangerously. I momentarily imagined them wrapped around me.
I couldn't help but notice how wonderful his waist and bulge looked in his Armani trousers.

“
I was heading home, but came up here especially, after hearing how you treated our receptionist–”

“
Excuse me! Do you think you can talk to me like that?”

He was a classic dom
, but perhaps up for a little variety.

“
If you read the small print, only select rooms have a Jacuzzi bath, which is what you probably expected. You have a whirlpool attachment under the sink instead. It's written in the welcome pack. Just hang it from the side of the tub and away you go, bubbles galore,” I said coolly.

“
Oh, right,” he stammered, “well, I did have an image of a nice big tub to crawl into, not that puny thing.”

His southern accent was exceedingly arousing. His face had flushed since I had entered the room and this too ignited my senses.

“Well, we aren't exactly the Ritz, you know? And the receptionist is a trainee on minimum wage. Perhaps it's out of line for me to point that out, but she was in tears.”

“
Oh, sorry.” He was uncomfortable and looked down at the floor, mumbling, “Bad day. I do normally stay elsewhere but…”

“
Evidently,” I scorned him, feeling bad at seeing him rub at his head in shame. I offered, “Listen, this is not in my remit obviously, but you know, I once did a course in massage.” (Little white lies never hurt.) “Perhaps, I could at least give you a diagnosis? As a courtesy? And in the morning, you say a little apology of your own to Rochelle, downstairs?”

“
Fine,” he muttered, businesslike. A typical brash-mouthed cockney, I decided.

“
Sit yourself down on this stool then, and I'll take a look.”

When I got him sat down, his proximity knocked me sideways as I stood behind him. His hair was combed back in luscious waves and the blonde on top was complemented by dark-brown locks underneath. His neck was thick, his shoulders were wide and solid and to a woman of medium height like me, he seemed very tall at around six foot two.
I imagined being sat behind him naked, with my hands running all over him.

He pointed to his sides and it was obviously, really.

“Here?” I asked, rubbing his body.

“
Fuck it, ow! Yeah, right there, oh, yep, there too, and oh, that's only making it worse! It feels red hot back there.”

“
Kidney trouble, get it often? You're actually stone cold. Poor circulation, or something.”

“
Eh?”

“
Been drinking too much caffeine and booze, eating rubbish, no water?” I said, so he grasped my meaning.

“
Err, yeah, possibly.”

“
Seems feasible. Get these aches often?”

“
Only on business trips.”

“
Stress and burning the candle?”

“
Your diagnosis is annoyingly correct.”

“
Sink these bottles, have a swim, then bed I suggest. And stop abusing your body.”

“
I would much rather be abused by you. I never imagined I'd be getting a dressing down by a housekeeper today,” he sniggered, and I ignored the innuendo.

“
Obviously, you were in for a bit of luck, after all.”

He glanced behind himself to get a look at me. His face was quite handsome
in an Etonian, solid old bugger type of way. He was well-built but with boyish features. His eyes were emerald green in the lamplight with light brown lashes. His hair was unruly and I imagined all kinds of naughty things I would do with it. He was at least ten years older than me.

“
Fancy a nightcap?” he asked, winking.

“
You're married,” I said, glancing at his wedding band, “and very rude to hotel staff.”

“
She's leaving me, hence stress, lack of sound business sense and everything generally going down the pan.”

“
Oh,” I acknowledged. “Tell me what happened.”

I felt sorry for the poor guy, but I also s
potted an opportunity.

“
We just grew apart. I work too much, drink too much. She shagged someone else, and…”

“
Kids?”

“
None.”

“
You just cannot forgive her?”

“
It's not even that. It's just, I feel shattered. I have nothing else to offer her. No energy to make it right.”

“
But you love her?”

“
Yeah, I do. Always did. She's, well, she's my wife.”

“
How was the sex?” I asked, rather confidently. I didn't know this man from Adam but felt we had already made such tracks after our frosty meeting.

“
Lacking,” he freely admitted. It was bizarre how readily he was opening up. He told me, “When we did it, every blue moon, it was a chore. We just didn't seem to connect anymore.”

“
Umm, I see.”

“
We, I dunno, we didn't try to make it work anymore. Just stopped caring.”

“
It happens,” I said soothingly.

“
What's your story?” he asked.

“
My best friend died. He might also have been the love of my life. Now I'll never know.”

“
Shit, that's–”

“
I know. Pretty terrible.”

“
You have terrific eyes,” he said.

“
Don't,” I said.

“
No, darling, honestly. No motive, you have. If I were a scoundrel, I might actually try to fuck you tonight.”

“
Seems like the cheating wasn't only on her side?”

“
No, you're right,” he admitted. “I had planned to call an escort tonight, but, fucking back pain put me in such a bad mood.”

The staff in the hotel knew that men and women
staying there sometimes had a guest or two stay in their rooms. We always turned a blind eye. It was the done thing in such a profession – always had been, always would be. Thank goodness.

“
You paid for company before?” I enquired.

“
Nope. That's how lonely I was feeling.”

“
Man, that's low,” I said, ever drawing him into my confidence. “How long have you been married, if you don't mind me asking?”

“
Eight years. We were both almost 30 and the greatest of friends. It just seemed…”

“
Like the right thing to do, approaching 30 and all.”

“
Yeah.”

“
So, how do you entertain yourself during dry periods? Usually?”

“
Quick fucks with colleagues. Birds in bars. I don't know. Inane stuff. And a lot of wanking.”

“
That's quite sad,” I sympathised.

“
You don't have a boyfriend then?” he asked, eyeing me again. “You can't blame a guy for wondering! We seem to get on well, and you read me quite easily.”

“
I have several in fact, but it's complicated,” I admitted.

“
Really?” he looked back again, beginning to succumb, with my soft strokes against his hard, muscular back. He viewed me with lust.

“
I like to keep my options open,” I winked. I couldn't help flirting.

“
If you let me fuck you, you wouldn't regret it,” he said.

“
Why wouldn't I?” I said, laughing.

He stood up, brazenly, undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. I envisaged a
Full Monty
routine but he was much less artistic with it all. He dropped his trousers and a thick shaft stared back at me, up-risen already. He was undeniably tempting and well-endowed, but certainly lost when it came to the art of ensnaring a woman's libido.

“
I
am
in my own hotel room.” He raised his eyebrows as if in defence of himself.

“
You think that's all a woman like me needs?” I asked.

“
What else?” he asked, confidently.

“
Maybe we can have a little fun, but if I change my mind…?”

“
I'll wank off in the toilet and give Rachel a hundred quid tip in the morning.”

“
Done, but it's Rochelle,” I advised, “now on all fours.”

He leapt on the
bed so readily and I enquired, “Brought any toys in the old briefcase?”

“
Over there,” he pointed.

I rummaged in his carry case and found some handcuffs and lube, plus a dildo.

This could actually be fun
, I thought. Looking over at the bed, there was a huge hunk of man primed for my taking. But I was reserved for some reason. I saw something in his eye that I feared.

“
I like to be in charge,” I warned, placing the items on the bedside.

“
My day just improved tenfold,” he chuckled.

I took my winter coat
off and walked around the bed menacingly.

“
God, you are gorgeous,” he said.

I unbuttoned my shirt as I went. I was eventually circling him, with my bra and pencil skirt on. His mem
ber was raging hard and pre-cum dripped out of the tip.

“
I want to watch you fist yourself off first,” I instructed. “But remain on all fours.”

“
But–” he started to protest, before realising he was idiotic in trying to deny me.

I continued to patrol the perimeter of the bed, eyeing him closely as he worked himself up into a frenzy.
He was a large man in more ways than one. I would not have said he was beautiful or gifted with the sleekest bone structure. He was 100 per cent man, however. He had a thick back. His backside was full and sat above muscular legs. His arms were strong but not from the gym. Possibly from sport. He had a little bit of a stomach and wonderful, big bollocks. His cock was enthusiastic and stood between solid hips I imagined were good to crash down on.

“
Uh, uh, oh man, uh oh, bitch,” he moaned, as he worked himself hard and fast. “Oh, a bit of titty, just a bit,” he asked. He was accustomed with fast work, I could tell.