Bed-making and room tidying was not exactly the job description that Vicki envisioned for herself, when she looked for ways to sustain herself during her junior year of college. But it was less stressful than trying to explain a three dollar late charge to a redneck video store customer, or waiting tables at the local TGWGA (Thank God We've Got Attitude) restaurant. What might seem like domestic tedium to some actually gave Vicki the opportunity to let her mind wander, an appropriate exercise for an English major with a bent toward creative writing. And after all, no self-respecting aspiring writer would be satisfied with a job title like "housekeeping associate." No, Vicki preferred to think of herself a something of a modern chambermaid, without the short skirt uniform, feather duster and faux French accent.
The Stay-A-Week Residence Inn was within walking distance of campus, and featured a nice stable clientele of business professionals that needed something more than a two or three night accommodation. The regular maid service was limited, compared with standard hotel/motel operations, but instead of antiseptic, tiny rooms there was a more homey touch that appealed to the nomadic consultant/contractor class and dot com refugees.
She was cleaning a suite that had been the home of a web consultant during the earlier part of the month, and had newly been vacated by a convention event organizer whose stay coincided with the monumentally dull gathering of philanthropic executives. During the week, the room had been the responsibility of Inez, who wasn't exactly known to be a paragon of detail when it came to maintaining guestrooms. Reliability was the hallmark of Inez' employment, which made her a good candidate for the day to day cleaning of occupied guest rooms. But once the guest had checked out, the head housekeeper preferred someone with a more discerning eye to clean and prepare a room for it's next occupant. That ability to observe may have been what spotted the book in the first place or maybe it was her basic interest in literature that led to her to its discovery. It must have been there for some time, as it left a dust-bunny-free zone on the carpet when she retrieved it.
There was something different about the book, something unique. Nestled in her grasp, it practically caressed her fingers with a leather binding that was rich and sensual. Embossed in gold on the spine, the title "Chain of Fantasies" seemed more intriguing than any of the paperbacks or video tapes she'd found in other rooms over the past months. She couldn't resist the opportunity to leaf through the pages, taking in the incredibly erotic Victorian style illustrations.
From the first story of a young shopkeeper named Elsie, detailing her deflowering at the hands of a much older man; to a chance encounter of two strangers in a book store, and another two on a bus, each episode offered a new look, new passions. An hour passed before she realized she'd been lost in its pages, and she resolved to relax a bit before (if ever) she turned it into the hotel's lost and found collection. With a slight sense of larcenous glee, she hid the volume among the linens on the housekeeping cart, until she was able to transfer it to her backpack.
Her shift ended with a lecture from the weekend supervisor, on the merits of completing tasks in a timely manner. Vicki assured her that this was just a challenging day for getting things right, and promised to make beds and clean bathrooms with greater dispatch from here on out. Meanwhile her thoughts were with the illustrations and stories she'd newly discovered, silently resolving to "get behind my own door. As if I really want to read those stories amid used towels and God knows what!"
The walk back to the dorm was pleasant and mercifully quick. No chance meetings or spontaneous gossip sessions conspired to create any serious delays. In fact, the only person to speak to her was a handsome blonde guy, standing at the entrance to the dorm, looking slightly befuddled by the security system. With the realization of some anticipatory wetness between her legs, Vicki couldn't help but think "oh baby, would you like to share my new pillow book with me?" But she checked herself and inquired with a more formal "Are you looking for someone?" With just barest trace of a Nordic accent, he responded "yes, I'm here to visit my friend Monica, I understand that she lives on the fourth floor."
"Lucky Monica," thought Vicki. But then Monica was always lucky, thanks to her raven black pageboy haircut, slim waist, provocative wardrobe and the type of bust line that inspired questions along the lines of "are they real?" Vicki always consoled herself with thoughts that she was just as good looking as Monica, only that she was not quite as brazen as her acquaintance "the little slut!"
"I can't let you go beyond the lobby," she smiled politely, "but I can tell Monica you're here, her room is just a few doors down from mine."
"Would you please? That would be so nice of you, just tell her that Eric is a bit early."
"Not a problem" while in her head a little voice said "and if Slut Girl doesn't answer her door, maybe he'd like to cuddle up with you and a good book." The only thing missing from her imagination at that moment were the miniature angel and devil having a spirited moral argument atop her shoulders.
Monica was waiting as Vicki exited the elevator, wearing a decidedly un-Monica sweatsuit. Vicki couldn't resist a little teasing "big plans tonight?" question as they exchanged places between the common room and the elevator, to which Monica responded with flippant response that was lost behind the closing doors.
She unlocked her room, retrieved the book from her pack and sprawled across the bed; reminding herself that it was worth the extra two grand per semester for a room minus the roommate and their potential for embarrassing entrances. "Chain of Fantasies" did not disappoint! It's stories varied by era, style and composition. The one common thread being that each story detailed an erotic encounter of some kind or another. Whether it was young Elsie losing her virginity in the barn, the woman being ravished by an unknown lover in the bookstore or even the two elderly neighbors who discovered that their libidos were not as dormant as they thought; the eroticism was undeniable.
Midway through the "Passing Kiss" she found herself undoing her jeans, to allow her fingers more room to stroke and pleasure herself. Squeezing her legs together simply wasn't sufficient, and by now she was soaked anyway. So she read on, delicate fingers spreading her cleft, and playing with her clit; orchestrating a lovely self-administered orgasm.
Prior to beginning "Mr. Atchison's Surprise" she retrieved the little pocket rocket she kept hidden in the drawer, and was well on her way to something more intense until it's batteries began to fail midway through "Hours of Bliss." Not to despair however, she still enjoyed a second cum, it was just a little more restrained than it could have been, leaving her with a Chinese dinner sort of afterglow, one that would probably evaporate all too quickly.
By now it was dark, and the dorm had settled into it's eerie Saturday night lull, most of the occupants had already left for dinner, dates etc. Later things would perk up as the other girls returned with or without their dates, sober or not. A shower seemed in order before a late dinner, and what the heck, she was already partially undressed. So Vicki stripped off the rest of her clothes, pausing only a moment or so to inspect her ass in the full-length mirror hanging in her closet. Her strawberry red hair cascaded down to the middle of her back in all of it's thick and curly unmanageable glory, and she allowed herself a little evil smile as she played with her breasts. "They might not be huge, but they'll be more than adequate for a lifetime. By the time that Monica turns forty, she'll be playing soccer with her knockers!"
