Room Service 67

There were ten things in Ella's life she treasured. She'd spent many hours pondering those ten things and, in idle moments, rearranging them to suit her moods. Yesterday, she was sure, alcohol had been in those ten things.

Today it wasn't.

There were vague shadows of memory that might explain why she was sat on her hotel room toilet for the second consecutive hour, wet and naked and tired of vomiting. There was probably some apocalyptic cocktail that she had enjoyed in the nine or so hours of her life that alcohol had hidden from her; that cocktail was probably the thing making her life miserable now.

She had showered. She had brushed her teeth. She had kicked off her stupid, impractical underwear and all the rest of her clothes. She had even, painstakingly, brewed her coffee and struggled to open the little carton of creamer without launching it all over the room in a spray.

She still felt like shit.

The sun had done her a favour though, rising high in the sky as morning moved on to afternoon, the beams no longer lancing through the curtains like evil bright blades.

She sat, on the little cream coloured toilet, smelling of fresh soap and toothpaste and looked glumly through the open doorway to the mess of her room; she felt her eyelids grow heavy again.

As the hotel room door clicked open, her eyes slid shut.

/////

Gina looked in wonder at the sheer devastation of the room in front of her. Suddenly, she didn't much feel like leaving a chocolate on the pillow of whoever was renting this one... this was going to take ages. Looking at a pair of pumps lying several feet apart and featuring tall, gleaming 'fuck me' heels, she hoped she wasn't going to find skid marks on the sheets and a used condom on the floor.

This room was blatantly going to be the wreckage of dirty monkey sex and she had to clean it up; quickly too, as her nostrils flared, seeking out the scents of intercourse. She shuddered. If she got fired from this job there was no way her tuition was going to get paid.

There was nothing for it, she was going to have to start at this end of the room and work her way towards the window, waging a war of attrition on messiness. Stooping, she went to work.

High heel to wardrobe, heel out. Coat on coat hangar and into wardrobe, umbrella removed from pocket, half-opened and then re-wrapped neatly. Second high heel to meet the first. Scarf folded and placed on bed.

The young cleaner huffed out her breath and stepped over to a pile of clothes, a slinky evening dress lying crumpled on the floor and with both hands she bent to pick it up. Straightening to throw the lot into the nearby chair, ready to sort out and fold if possible, she felt a tug under her foot and an elastic resistance from the bundle she was lifting.

There was a twang.

The world went dark. It went dark and it was filled with the scent of pussy... it had been very wet sometime in the last twelve hours, no urine smell. The darkness felt like lace.

The young cleaner was not aware that she had dropped the dress to the floor, she was not aware that her hands had crushed the material of the black, silken underwear to her face, inhaling in deep, sucking breaths. She was barely conscious of the growing tightness in her chest and the sound of stretching fabric.

The smell was wonderful for the maid, a heady aroma of sweat and feminine musk and arousal. She could feel her body shudder as a hundred reactions took place: her pulse rate shot up, the thick, proud nipples tipping her firm breasts swelled into hard little bullets.

She inhaled again, it was soooo good.

It was also, she knew dimly, a very bad sign.

/////

Marsha was not happy to help, no matter what her name-tag said. She was not interested in being the friendly security guard, she was not interested in using her athletic figure and pleasant looks to flirt with the customers... she was not interested in looking at the little flickering screens arrayed in front of her for the next six hours.

There was a hatch from her little cubbyhole into the reception area proper, giving her a perpetual view into something that someone once thought was a charming recreation of an exotic New World paradise, all weird waterfalls and rough-sawn-effect timber and cascades of flowers.

She slurped noisily at her soft drink and sulked prettily.

Nothing happened.

More of nothing happened.

She wondered if she had pissed off her girlfriend last night when she had been grumpy about cooking.

Nothing happened... again.

Then, visible through the open door into room 313, a cleaner's skirt was torn clean off a set of lithe, slender legs by a tube of fuckmeat the size of King Dong the Elephant Cock®. When she had received King Dong as a joke birthday present, she had thought that a silly penis wider around than her arm and longer than her truncheon was a laugh.

The penis she was looking at was not funny. It was not ludicrous, ridiculous, amusing or cute.

It was awesome. Inspiring... So. Fucking. Hot.

For a minute or so, the huge length of dick bobbed in time with the heartbeat of the mystery woman. It stood rampant and proud and glorious in it's size and shape; this was the cock to end all cocks.

No one in the reception even noticed the metal shutters sliding down in over the security hatch as the electric motors drove them on. It just meant that Marsha could keep one hand down the front of her uniform trousers and her eyes glued to the monitor while she shut herself away from it all.

/////

Ella gave up when she had reached three quarters of being upright, her back and shoulders pressed into the tile of the bathroom wall, legs still straddling the pan of the toilet. With a puff to blow her fringe of red curls out of her eyes, she arched her back awkwardly and let the lid of the toilet seat drop into place with a quiet hiss of springs.

She sat down again and the world miraculously went from being incredibly complicated to tricky, but simple. The banging headache and double images in her eyes receded slightly and, while she could still see the awful outskirts of a truly enormous hangover looming, it was still very much in the far, manageable, distance.

All she could hear was her own breathing as her headache thumped merrily away, her body feeling enervated and listless.

She yawned, eyes scrunched up and hands cupping her face as she sat in the still-warm air of the en-suite.

Dimly, she was aware of a noise which wasn't usual, but it may just have been the weird white noise of yawn itself and she paid it no mind. She realised that all the effort she had put into her dress, the expensive perfume, her haircut and her makeup had bagged her precisely nothing last night. The wedding reception had been full of leashed studs, each standing next to a wife with eyes like fucking lasers, but she had still been able to have a bit of fun.

The best man had danced with her in the later hours, after his wife had begged off and returned to their hotel room. She could just remember the thick mass of his package grinding into her belly as they got a little dirty on the dance floor... his wife must have been delirious back in the day to find she had bagged a stud like that.

With a muzzy smile, she remembered how wet she had been and gave a consoling little pat to her mound as she sat on the seat lid, pulling aside her robe to expose her freshly trimmed landing strip. Absently, she ran a finger down her cleft and brought it, shining with fresh juices, to her lips and nose, inhaling the scent before popping her finger into her mouth.

It would have been so good.

She slid her finger out of her mouth again and let her head roll back, not even bothering to cover her mouth as she let out a hearty yawn.

It just meant that there were already four inches of throbbing, huge, fat dick in her mouth and pressing at the entrance to her throat before she could even think to scream, or wrestle her assailant away.

As if a hangover wasn't enough punishment, now she was going to choke to death on what felt like the cock of the gods.

/////

Marsha let her breath hiss out from between clenched teeth as she rubbed her mound, her fingers expertly teasing and then fluttering over her clit as she fantasised about the sheer size of that cock plundering her sopping wet box over and over again. She felt a tremor of orgasm run through her body and smiled dreamily as a small ripple of pleasure ran through her; she'd cum right there, just from staring at a cock.

The strangeness of it was breathtaking, this elephant cock bobbing regally at the top of a pair of legs shapely enough to grace any glamour shoot, the rest of the body cut out of shot by the door frame and the angle of the camera.

She saw the figure shift it's weight once, turning this way and that, the motion more like that of a tracking animal than a human. With a last turn, the figure darted around the corner and out of camera range.

What could that rampant dick be going after... it was mid-morning, surely the guest would be gone by now?

Marsha swore then and leapt to her feet, yanking her slick fingers out from her uniform trousers and stumbling over to the visitors' board.

308; empty. 309; empty. 310, 311, 312; all cleaned and empty.

313; occupied.

She ran back to the monitors and frantically paged through the screens, desperately counting door numbers.

It was amazing how quickly a flustered, sweaty and quite attractive security guard with a huge wet patch at her crotch could part a crowd, and as Marsha raced towards the stairs, that was exactly what she did.

/////

Ella grimaced as a whole lot of dick was pressed against the back of her mouth, her countless hours of casual cock-sucking and the rare sizeable cock that would require a proper deepthroat hadn't prepared her for this. The driving pressure increased and Ella found herself sliding off the toilet seat, the downward force enough to move her whole body.

With mounting urgency she reached up to push the throat fucker away, mewling sounds escaping her mouth as her vision went blurry with tears and her hands were slapped away once, then again with more force.

A pair of small hands gripped her head with surprising strength and there was an accompanying jerk as more cock was stuffed into her mouth, her neck muscles giving under the assault and a sudden six, monstrously thick, inches bloated her throat out massively. The driving force was insistent and more and more cock was stuffed into her face.

The edges of her vision wavered after an infinite few seconds, her heartbeat growing in speed and volume in her hearing, like a fast approaching funeral drum. Her body convulsed once and then again as her inner muscles sought to eject this oral invader. Her jaw was stretched wide open until it creaked and her muscles had no power through which to bite down; drool ran down her chin and her tears of shock and pain and fear joined it, her eyes glittering with moisture even as her vision slowly grew dark and closed in.

The cock left her throat with a sucking gurgle, the swollen shining head leaving her slack lips with a pop and her chest seemed to explode with the glorious in-rush of air. Her scream of bewilderment and fear was sucked inwards on a gasp and her hands reached to clutch her neck, feeling the tingling pain of a bodypart much abused. Twice, she dry heaved and then finally spat through lips made puffy and pink from the exertion, banishing the desire to vomit after a second or two.

Dragging a forearm across her face, she tried to wipe the tears away and see her assailant, but those hands pulled her arm out of the way and crammed the cock back into her mouth. It was a little easier this time and she was at least ready for it, but the sensations were intense again and she could do little but struggle and endure as the monster log was rammed down her neck again.

Air.

Cock.

Air.

Cock.

Ella struggled into a seated position finally, her hands able to grab the base of the cock and lift her attacker by the root, a huge portion of the dick already in her mouth. Her eyes snapped open and she looked up as the action brought a plaintive whine from the be-cocked one, a soft, sighing, feminine sound that should not be attached to a stick of beef like the member that was ruining her throat for anything smaller than a family sized bottle of soda.

Able to move her head slightly, she drew in a breath around the invader and reached up wipe her eyes.

It was odd.

The girl raping her head was actually quite pretty.

/////

Marsha huffed and puffed as she flew up the last flight, sliding past a pair of elderly tourists, another maid on her round and finally reached the abandoned cleaning trolley parked outside 311, just a door and bit down from the open portal to room 313.

Her heavy boots creaked and squeaked as she pounded down the corridor, her clomping treads muffled by the carpet. Still, even over the sound of her pulse and the rush of blood she got from the run, she could hear the noise building.

Gluk, glursh, glurch, hglch, gluk, gluch, gluj.... gluckgluchglukglukggGGRRRKKKHH...

And then it stopped.

To the accompaniment of two panting gasps, syncopating in mutual effort, Marsha gripped her nightstick and stepped into the room, her eyes darting about in twinkling anticipation and the surge of fresh adrenaline.

There she was.

Couldn't have been much over 5'5", slender, deliciously curvy with a bubble butt and the kind of pouting, sensual pussy that alone would have stirred the loins of Marsha, Dyed-in-the-Wool Dyke. The maid's skirt was a tatters and her top had been ripped open down the line of buttons by a pair of huge, puffy nippled, tits. The beauty's flesh would have normally had that hint of European duskiness that Marsha found lovely, but for the heady flush that darkened the skin of the girl's labia and areolae into a warm, nutty brown.

If that was it, that body and a face as youthful and erotic as any teenage fantasy, all pouting film-star lips and large, heavy-lidded eyes, it would have been enough to stop Marsha in her tracks.

But it was the simply enormous cock that was disappearing into the mouth of some red-faced, flame-haired wet dream that held her attention, like a snake that had hypnotised it's prey. She hadn't known, hadn't even guessed, that cock of this magnitude could be part of a package so feminine and delightful as the maid obviously was.

For the first time in a history of unthinking action, mild overtime-hours-only bravery and night-long duels with an erratic coffee machine, Marsha froze.

/////

BREED.

Gina felt like a passenger in her own body, in her own mind as she basked in the roiling sensation of pleasure and lust and fear. She could feel the eggshell thick veneer of good cheer, kindness, warmth and compassion cracking and splintering as it had done time and again, the Gina of the everyday replaced then by the ravening sex beast, the avatar of lewd, heavy dicked fertility.

BREED.

The imperative was written across her soul like a brand, twined into her genes and turbocharged beyond anything human. She knew dimly that the motherfather she had never met must have also borne this message scrawled across her mind in letters of fire. She knew indeed that she was the offspring of that need, that singular drive that had chased her like a wicked shadow from job to job and campus to campus.

BREED.

She could feel her body hauling in mouthfuls of lust scented air, feel her swollen breasts bounce as she ravaged the face and throat of this woman beneath her, feel the mammoth phallus that was the physical reality of her lust... but it was all distant. It was happening to the shadow Gina, it was being enjoyed by the amoral, pitiless Gina that lurked in her libido.

For the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time, Gina sat in a corner of her mind and was fearful of the savage torrent of lust and pleasure, terrified that to stick a questing toe into the water would cause her frail, eggshell self to dissolve.

BREED!

In the hormone laced chemical stew of her mind, the little maid began to sense the change, the alignment of the heavens rolling into a new position as hidden, extra internal organs churned into life. She could feel her pulse in the flesh of her breasts, she could feel her belly tumbling and flipping as her internal testes began producing fresh, virile sperm. It was coming, she was cumming, she was going to cum...

She came.

/////

Ella was looking up into the face of a lithe goddess, all fertile curves and smooth, beautiful flesh. She moaned around the cock stuffed into her face, bubbles forming in the froth of spit around her lips, her eyes locked on those of her face-rapist.

Her blue eyes met the dark brown gaze of the dickgirl and she saw that this genetic freak was crying too. The pouting lips were drawn back from teeth in a snarl, too cartoonish to be real rage or lust, like the act of ferocity rather than the fact of it. There was pleasure in the girl's expression, but no joy, the eyes fevered, desperate and dull like those of an addict. This wasn't right.

No shit, Lady Sherlock, a part of Ella thought bitterly, you're smoking more pole than an arsonist in a logging camp.

This was a rage born of innocence, a reaction that was not learned, not moderated and barely even human.

In a moment of clarity, she reached out with her soul and touched something animal; in the same way a wild beast would be driven wild and savage by fear, she saw that her assailant was simply riding a wave of furious sensation that boiled up from a sea of terror. Something needed to be done, a sign given that this could somehow be OK.

I've got a hangover and someone is skull-fucking me, how is this OK?

Finally, she gave in and gripped the firm, rounded ass of this be-dicked beauty and pulled those slender hips towards her, driving that cock down her thoroughly stretched gullet as it swelled and bucked and heaved in her body.

Ella could feel the first shots blast into her belly like a warming shot of whisky, but ten, twenty, thirty times the volume, heating her up from the inside out. She instinctively clutched at her tummy as it grew taut around the slowly growing load inside her stomach. With a heave she drew her head back and broke the grip of the smaller dickgirl, the cock emerging with a slurping gurgle even as it continued to blast spunk into her throat and mouth and across her face.

Mustering her courage, she gripped it by the base and jacked it all over herself, satisfying the animal lusts of the trembling, hung, jizz-spraying girl. In the moment, she barely even noticed the flood of her own pussy juices on the seat.

In the silence, she hoped that she had soothed some of the raw edges, but although this slender, beautiful vision was visibly calmer, the air still vibrated with the force of her wildness.

One of the girl's arms rose, fist cocked and ready to strike down at Ella.

It hadn't worked, it wasn't enough... Ella wasn't enough to make this situation right from something that had started so wrong.

The fist came down.

/////

Marsha yelled and her hand darted out by instinct, the threat of violence moving this scene from a weird fantasy hinterland into the realms of her daily grind. Once a fist was balled in anger or a hand raised to strike, it became another day, another drunk guest, another bit of paperwork to fill out.

The hand in hers stopped, inches away from the seated red-head's sodden face, the tendons in the arm of the dickgirl vibrating with a need to strike and dominate the spunked-upon girl before her. As soon as the hung maid felt the resistance, felt her will stymied, she began to struggle and Marsha had to get in close, wrapping an arm around the svelte midriff of the girl.