Hotel Encounters

I work as the head housekeeper in a slightly run-down but decent hotel. I don’t hate my job most of the time, but there are days when nothing seems to go right and I wish I worked anywhere else.

I was having one of those days last Friday. Two of my girls hadn’t shown up, using lame excuses to call off and forcing me to have to clean twenty of the forty-five rooms that had been rented the night before.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not lazy and I don’t mind hard work, but I do mind when people screw me over because they want to go party or shopping. To say I was a bit frustrated is a real understatement. Add to that a husband, who seemed to have lost interest in me and my own sexual frustration becoming unmanageable – well, I wasn’t in the best of moods. To keep from taking this out on my other staff, I took the rooms on the outside back of the building, the ones furthest from everyone else.

As I began stripping beds, my mind kept wandering to my husband and his sudden lack of interest. I’m not a bad looking woman, even at thirty. My body is still toned and tight, a lot of that due to the hard physical labor of being a housekeeper. Lifting mattresses and moving furniture all day is a good way to keep fit.

Did he have another woman on the side? Could that be the reason he seemed so disinterested lately? The guys that work at the hotel seemed to find me attractive, so why wouldn’t my own husband?

Taking a moment, I checked out my reflection in the mirror over the sink. My skin looked clear, still taut across the cheekbones and under my eyes. Green eyes sparkled with life, despite my confusion about my life. My body looked really good, even with the baggy T-shirt and shorts I had on for work. And I knew for a fact that several male employees like not only my body, but also my Irish pale skin and long, red hair.

Sticking out my tongue at my own reflection, I decided to table the inner discussion and get back to work. No point dwelling on something you aren’t going to find an answer to, at least not that day.

The last room I had to strip was one on the corner. The corner rooms had the most privacy of any other room in the entire hotel. Situated to where you had to be standing right in front of it to see in made them very popular with the one-night standers. They were also our most updated rooms, with new wallpaper and beds. Next to the honeymoon suite, these were the ones that I most often fantasized about having sex in. Usually with George Clooney.

The room didn’t even look like it had been used. The bed was still made and only looked slightly rumpled, like someone had sat down on it for a minute. Still, it would have to be checked and remade. I wondered if I could get away with just smoothing out the bedclothes instead of redoing the entire bed. I decided to go the lazy way and just smooth it out. Being frustrated often makes me want to do bad things, and if not making a bed made me feel a little bit better, than so be it.

I pulled the vacuum off the cart, grabbed some paper towels and glass cleaner and walked back into the room. We aren’t allowed to shut the doors completely behind us, even in the winter months, so I closed it as far as I could and turned on the television for some company while I worked. I found a music video station and started cleaning, dancing around, the beat of the heavy bass too tempting to resist.

I never heard the man at the door, didn’t notice when he pushed it open wider to get a better view of me as I danced. If I had noticed it might have turned me on even more to know I was dancing quite seductively for a total stranger. Would’ve thrilled me to see the lust heavy in his eyes.

The song changed to one with a slower, more erotic tempo and my hips followed right along. I was lost in my own little world, unaware that the stranger had moved closer. That is until he buried his hands in my hair and tested the texture of it between his fingers.

The scream that rose up inside me froze. I couldn’t breathe. My entire body had frozen and all I could think of was that I’d walked into this room thinking that I was safe and had no worries. Now I was about to be raped by a total stranger.

His touch was light, caressing instead of threatening, confusing my senses into releasing some of the fright I felt. I have no excuse for the sudden rush of lust that seemed to overwhelm me. I can only say that his touch made me feel reborn in some way, needed, and wanted in a way I hadn’t felt in so long.

His breath wasn’t easy, and it stirred against the top of my head, hot on my scalp. My own breathing was labored, from arousal and a touch of that fear that lingered. His body was lean; his stomach and hips pressed lightly to my back. And he was tall, much taller than my five foot six frame. I got the impression of being towered over, dominated, and I liked it. The breath I’d been holding rushed out on a sigh, desire making it rich.

Heat pressed against my back, a combination of his body and my own, but his hands remained at his sides. It struck me that I had no idea what this man looked like, and didn’t want to know. The attraction was mutual and that was all that mattered to me at that moment. I wasn’t myself anymore; I was a wanton, a woman who felt instead of thought. For the first time in my life I wasn’t worried what a man thought of me, whether he liked my looks or my body, whether he noticed the little bit of extra weight I carried on my butt and hips.

Finally he touched my skin; his hands slightly callused as they stroked down my bare arms. Electricity sparkled along my flesh, the hair standing up in response. My body seemed to flow back into his without any thought from me. Through the thin cotton of my T-shirt I could feel the buttons on his shirt, the outline of his tie against my spine.

Little hints like these led me to wonder if this was his room, if someone had screwed up and it wasn’t supposed to be on the cleaning list. Whatever the reason he’d come inside, I was glad. I’d never wanted anyone so quickly. Never thought I was one to crave the darkness of anonymous sex. But, here I was, straining my ass against his body, begging for more.

Those slightly rough hands came up under my shirt, rubbing up my back lightly, then down harder, his short nails raking the skin just enough to entice. A little moan formed at the back of my throat but I managed to suppress it, barely. It might not always be so easy to do if he kept up this strangely gentle seduction.

My eyes fell closed. Part of me was afraid to open them. I didn’t want to see this man, know whether or not he would match the fantasy image of him that I had created. I was happy with what I knew of him and was attracted to the anonymous aspect of this act. My arms reached back, stroking the muscled hardness of his thighs through the thin dress material of his pants. They felt so good, so strong and tight. My body tightened deep inside, wetness spreading to the passage where I hoped to have him inside me very soon.

The stranger didn’t even try to speak. It was almost as if he were reading my mind. Or maybe it was nothing more than both of us wanting the same thing. If I had spoken, would he have? I’ll never know. It was enough that his body was very blatant in its arousal. He wanted me badly, and it made me feel powerful and beautiful.

When I didn’t protest to any thing he had done so far, he got bolder. His hands came around my sides and up the flatness of my stomach to brush against the undersides of my bra-covered breasts. I caught my breath at the slight touch, arching fully, trying to get more of his hands on me. He took the hint and covered the right one with his entire hand, running his palm over the achingly erect nipple pressing against the cotton. This time I didn’t even bother trying to suppress the moan that rose.

In one swift motion, his other hand expertly released the hooks at the back of my bra, both hands raising to remove the bra and shirt up and over my head. The cool air coming in the open door rushed over my nipples, making them almost painfully erect. In the next moment his warm hands covered them, flushing my flesh with heat. His talented fingers rolling my nipples while still cupping my breasts with his palms intensified the seesawing sensations.

Even though he was concentrating on my arousal, I could tell he was preoccupied with some thought. He seemed torn by something, but I couldn’t ask without breaking the unspoken rules of this game we were playing. His sudden movements took me by surprise, as did the feeling of abandonment I felt when he moved away from me.

Something soft came down over my eyes, his scent dominant on the fabric. He tied the fabric tightly; making sure nothing could be seen around the silk of what I assumed was his tie. I got the sensation that he was waving his hand in front of my face, testing the bond. He made a sound that conveyed his pleasure and I heard his move away to shut and lock the open door. There would be no turning back now.

In my mind I could see him – dark eyes and hair, deeply tanned skin. He wrapped my hair around his hand and pulled gently, a moan of pure need broke from my lips to fill the room. His own moan mingled with mine, his voice like deep, fine whiskey.

The lack of sight gave me a boldness that I didn’t know I possessed. I could be whoever I wanted, could do whatever I desired. In my mind we were no longer two strangers in a run-down hotel room, but two lovers in an exclusive and lush five star suite. He was no longer just a man but more, a God who knew exactly what I needed and wanted.

My stranger didn’t waste any time removing the rest of my clothing. He ripped at them, almost growling in his anxiousness to see me naked. A low sound rose from my throat, the sound erotic to my own ears. I reached out, a great need in me to match his wildness, to wrench the clothes off his body the way he had mine.

Before I could even touch him, his hands rushed over me, lighting fires with each sweep of his long fingers. His voice rumbled but I couldn’t understand the words. They no longer mattered.

The musky scent of arousal filled the air – mine, his, it was hard to tell. The woman inside me roared to life, straining for more, more. He wasn’t gentle any longer, and I welcomed the roughness, gloried in it, returned it the best I could. My teeth sank into his flesh, my nails raking down the hot skin of his buttocks.

Vertigo hit me as he lifted my body, wrapping my legs around his waist. His strong arms supported me, hands digging into my hips. In a rush, my body slammed into the cold metal of the door, my back smacking deliciously.

I was trapped and I loved it. Unyielding metal at my back, hot male flesh pressed to my front, skin already tender and slightly bruised from his hands. And still I wanted more. I needed to straddle that line between pleasure and pain. And I knew he could take me there.

His upper body pressed into mine almost too painfully, holding me up by sheer force. His arms came up and under my knees, pulling them up and apart, his hands braced on the door behind me. My body dropped slightly and the thickness of him probed at my slick entrance. His breath rushed out, momentarily cooling the sheen of sweat that was beading my face.

Maybe it was the size of the man, maybe it was the position, but when he slid inside me fully it was like being stretched to the breaking point. I reveled in the sting, in the fullness, a scream of pure lust ripping from deep in my chest.

His body was powerful, primal, his movements sharp and precise. The sounds of our bodies slapping together, of my wetness, the dull pounding of my hips on the door, it all added to the animalistic greed of the moment.

It was everything I needed. He was the perfect mix of rough and skill. When he put his hands on the backs of my knees and pressed them against the door I knew every ache and bruise would be worth being with this man.

I became aware of a voice chanting huskily, ‘more, more, more.’ It was my own, desperately urging him on. He gave me more, frantically pounding his body into mine. I could no longer speak, each breath was a gasp, every muscle tight and focused on the orgasm that was building with each pulse of my blood. His head came down, his teeth biting deeply into the flesh of my breast. The pain was the catalyst; my body stiff, I came with a violence that frightened me.

The throbbing built again, my body making itself ready for him. A hot gush of fluid slicked me, his moans and growls bringing me once again to that edge. I hadn’t thought he could get closer, but soon it felt as if he were trying to climb inside me. My womb ached wantonly, each thrust thudding dully against the end of my passage.

I could sense the tension in him, felt it echo inside me. This time it was my teeth that were bared, mine that sank into the sweat slicked skin of his shoulder. The taste of copper on my tongue, the feel of him swelling even bigger sent me over the edge again. This time I took him with me, screaming out at the ecstasy of his liquid heat shooting into me.

He pulled out quickly, still hard, rushing to lay me on the bed. The ringing in my ears must’ve blocked out the sounds of him dressing. By the time my hearing and senses cleared, all I heard was the snick of the door as it closed behind him.

I never saw him, not even the barest glimpse. The only clues he left behind were the silk tie he’d used to cover my eyes and the fluid he left inside me. Still, I can’t help but wonder. Was he someone from the hotel? Or just an anonymous guest who couldn’t resist a little fun with a housekeeper? I guess I’ll never know.

I can’t stop thinking about that encounter. I refuse to clean that room. I went there one day not long ago and ended up on the floor frantically bringing myself to a massive orgasm just staring at the door. No, I’ll never go back in there.

Do I regret the encounter? Hell, no. Would I ever be bold enough to do something like that again? I don’t think so. It sure hasn’t helped my marriage any. Suddenly even when my husband wants me, he isn’t enough. In the end, it was amazing, erotic, and something that I will never forget….. I guess that will have to do.