Maid for Christmas

Theodora James - Thea to those who knew her well - had never been inside The Whittan before, although she had glanced longingly at it on her commute or when it came up in hotel searches and city breaks. Given that it was one of the most expensive hotels in the continent, let alone the city, it was not somewhere she had expected to visit. Perhaps she had thought about it before her relationship had imploded - given that the thousand dollar a night charge would have been small change for Brett Sorenson, multi-millionaire CEO and the envy of a thousand eyes - but that had been then and this was now. Now she was back to simple things and zero pleasures and crashing every other night on her best friend's couch to avoid her latest heartbreak. Now she was back to dreaming of being swept away by a handsome, commanding man, instead of it actually happening.

Although, all that being said, she was standing in the sleeting night, with the gilded door of The Whittan being held open by a smartly uniformed doorman for her. She could feel the judgment in the doorman's brown eyes, even though she doubted she was the first or last paid companion to enter the building for even the night, and she murmured her thanks as she stepped into the foyer.

Her eyes widened as she took in the opulence and finery, the mahogany and oak furnishings with the softest of leathers over plump cushions, the thick rugs and beautiful artworks, all tastefully garnished with red, gold, green, black or silver decorations. The scents of expensive perfumes hung in the air, mixing with more traditional smells of Christmas - holly and cinnamon and gingerbread - and Thea tried to keep that all too familiar feeling of being a small fish into far too grand and large a pond, at bay.

She took a deep breath and approached the front desk. It was the first time she had ever had to do that - usually she would go straight to the room where the client would be waiting - but this client had certain rules and requirements, and one of them was for her to enter the room of her own accord.

"I believe Mr Grey has set a card aside for me," said Thea, with a dazzling smile and false bravado. "Helen McArthur."

The beautiful woman smiled back insincerely and tapped at her computer, before opening a drawer and pulling out a black key card with the hotel logo emblazoned in gold font. "We hope you'll enjoy your stay, Ms. McArthur."

"Thank you," said Thea, her eyes narrowing every so slightly as she took the plastic. She turned her back and mentally shook herself, trying to remember to hold herself as Brett had suggested, even as she angrily batted thoughts of him away.

She took a deep breath and began to stride confidently across the marbled floor, her black stiletto heels clicking as she went. She kept her head up high, not deigning to meet the eyes of any of the admiring, lustful glances thrown in her direction. Nor did she meet any of the envious, hateful stares that tried to shame her for her long, black stockinged legs and "fuck me" heels. Instead, she kept her myopic brown eyes on the elevator ahead, her scarlet nails secretly digging into her palms in the depths of her coat pockets.

She walked past the ten-foot-tall Christmas tree and into the elevator, quickly pressing the 'close door' button before anyone could join her. She let out a sigh of relief and pressed the button for the penthouse suite, slowly undoing the thick black buttons of her olive-green duffel coat. She leaned back against the bright, clean, shiny mirror and gently shook her perfectly made-up head, the ringlets in her dark brown hair bouncing as she did.

"Why the fuck did I agree to this?" she muttered to herself, adjusting the lace-tops of her black stockings once again. Thea knew why - it was because she was a sucker for helping out her best friend whenever Helen asked for it. And for some reason, some rich client had called out of the blue, asking for a tall (five foot six or taller), curvy brunette to play as his maid for the evening and none of the girls fitting the description on Helen's books were free.

Thea had never quite managed to ask Helen how she had come into the business of running a high-end escort service, but she had accepted it and did not judge. Of course the website was very clear on the fact that the men, women and others were not prostitutes and that inappropriate touching was unacceptable, whilst employees were adamantly told not to engage in sexual activities with the clients, but of course, some of them did.

Thea was strictly a no sex companion. She did not mind teasing them, did not mind losing a bit of clothing here and there as long as they complied with the no touching rule, but she was definitely not jumping into anyone's bed for money. Especially as she was not even one of Helen's employees. She was in fact a curator in a boutique art gallery, but she would occasionally help her friend out if Helen was in dire straights in fulfilling an exceptionally large pay check, especially since Helen knew all the right buttons to push to get her to agree. Helen would always sweeten the pot with promises of a larger cut and a week's worth of lunches to boot, but they both knew that whatever Helen said, Thea would help her in the end. Besides, she felt somewhat indebted at the moment, given that Helen was letting her use the spare room since she had broken up with Brett for the fifth and final time.

*Urgh, Fuck him,* Thea thought angrily, wishing that she would stop thinking about him.

For three weeks she had managed to avoid him. Of course, the first couple of times he'd called after upsetting her, she had ignored him. Then, as was her typical pattern, after he had sent flowers, she would answer. He would apologise and promise to do better - that he would abandon his phone whilst they had dinner or that he would not cancel something they had arranged weeks in advance - and she would go back, hoping that this time, he meant it. And for a week or so, he would ignore his phone whilst they were together, until little by little, it once again became a problem.

She understood his need for control, understood that he felt a need to be involved in every little decision that his business made, but she also could not understand how he would not turn off his phone for an hour or two to have dinner with the woman he claimed to love and give her the attention he claimed she deserved. And despite all the rationalisations and second chances, every time he chose to answer his phone, a little piece of her heart would break. Thus unable to reconcile her need for him to change and her desire to accept him the way he was, Thea concluded that the only option was to walk away for good... and she had every intention of sticking to it.

***

Thea adjusted her thick purple glasses and bit the inside of her lightly painted red lips as the lift came to a stop, the sleek metal doors opening onto beautifully decorated and expensive carpets. Normally she would wear contacts when helping Helen out with these kind of favours, but apparently this particular client had a thing about spectacles. She took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door before using the key card to open it. "Hello? Maid service courtesy of Helen's," she called out into the fairly dark suite. The only light to be seen were those twinkling on the large, tastefully decorated white Christmas tree. "Mr Grey?"

Of course it was a pseudonym. Seventy-five percent of the men using the service for the first time used the name Mr Grey, closely followed by Mr Smith and Mr Jones. For the women, it tended to be Ms. Steele or Mrs Robinson. According to the details given to her via Helen, this Mr Grey was exceedingly wealthy, handsome, early 40s, with voyeuristic fantasies involving French maids with glasses. Evidently, he liked to maintain an air of mystery given that he had told Helen that he would leave written instructions and the money in the room for the girl upon her arrival. He would potentially put in an appearance depending on whether he liked what he saw and anything more would be down to chemistry and the willingness of the girl. All things considered, she was far from the ideal choice for this kind of gig, but Helen had been insistent; her friend was probably hoping that she would let her hair down and accept the advances of a mysterious stranger in an uncomplicated sexual transaction. She thought it unlikely, but she had to admit, it did not sound completely unappealing at this juncture... something about Brett had awakened a sexual appetite she could never have imagined possessing.

Thea shrugged and entered the room, switching on the light. She carefully hung her coat and bag in the cupboard beside the door and double-checked her appearance in the mirror. She supposed she looked the part - albeit a very slutty version of the part - and she plumped out her hair, adjusting the little white cap attached to an alice-band, and smoothing down the short black skirt and white apron (along with several white petticoats) that barely reached the corset-detail lace-tops of her stockings. Her long legs seemed even longer in the black stiletto heels, giving them an arch and definition that she had never noticed before. She felt like somehow they were making her breasts more noticeable too, although the bow of the black corset-ribbon was certainly designed to draw attention to the low cut neckline and her emphasised bust. Her make-up was still flawless and Helen had assured her that it would be almost impossible to smudge. She let out a long breath and shook her head again, reminding herself why she was there and what she was doing.

It did not seem to matter how many times she was treated to such places, Thea still found them breathtaking. Her eyes widened at the sight of the luxurious, tastefully expensive suite (mostly in shades of grey and red), the tall windows with the stunning view of the city below, and the beautiful, elegant Christmas tree decorated with black and red baubles. She stepped into the sleek, black-and-chrome kitchenette and had a brief look in the cupboards. She had not expected to find any cleaning supplies, and she chided herself for not thinking about it sooner. Not that there was anything to clean and she rather doubted that Mr Grey was actually interested in watching her clean, so much as he was interested in watching her.

She avoided stepping on the deep-pile rugs given that she was still getting used to the heels on the thick carpet and ran her fingers over the soft suede of the crimson sofa, marvelling at the huge, flat screen TV and gasping at the beautiful flower arrangements. She smirked to herself as she wondered who the mysterious Mr Grey might have upset - given that there were only a few very specific shades of reds and oranges, carefully offset by white baby's breath, and only three or four different types of flowers, it was obvious that they had been carefully chosen and not just a standard bouquet - and her smirk faded as she realised that if he had upset someone, he had thought carefully about his apology. Unlike some people. She pushed her thoughts aside, reminding herself that she was here to do a job, not think about her ex. She picked up the envelope addressed to 'To the maid' and took out the carefully printed card.

- Make yourself at home. Feel free to explore; eat, drink, get comfortable. Leave your panties around the stem of one of the champagne flutes. -

She looked over and saw two elegant glasses upon a frosted glass coffee table; one had been filled with a sparkling pale-yellow liquid with a single strawberry; the other was empty. An expensive looking bottle of champagne was open, lightly resting against a white cloth and chilling within a silver ice-bucket. A bowl of strawberries sat beside it and a selection of luxury chocolates on a delicate China plate sat beside that.

There was another note inside the envelope reminding her that she could leave at any point, with payment, and that there were cameras situated around the suite, but Thea had never been one to shirk her end of a bargain, and it was her intention to comply with the cards until she was asked to do something that she was not comfortable with. She looked around, but nothing stood out as being a camera. She stood next to the table and lifted her skirt, slowly unhooked the straps connecting her stockings to the garter belt, and eased her hands into the back of her white lace boy-shorts, caressing and groping her shapely ass cheeks. She moved her thumbs around to the side and slowly sashayed her hips, rolling the thin white material down as far as she could without bending her knees and letting them fall the rest of the way. Then she very deliberately stepped out of them and carefully hung them around the empty glass, hoping that it was what the mysterious Mr Grey was wanting.

Thea picked up the drink and lightly swirled the liquid, smiling slightly at the faint trail of pink bleeding from the fruit. Brett had introduced her to strawberries and champagne. Brett had introduced her to a lot of things, but this was one of the few that didn't turn her cheeks red and set her body on fire. He had dragged her to some company function - some tedious affair where the majority of men seemed to have come with their trophy wives or mistresses, insipid vacuous creatures without an ounce of shame, integrity or intelligence between their perfect facades - and had stifled his laughter, noting her attempts to hide a grimace with every sip of her champagne.

He had led her to the buffet table and they had stolen a brief moment, the sort where time stands still and the world fades away just because their eyes were locked and their fingers touched.

"You don't like it," Brett said, smiling at her, his blue eyes crinkled with amusement.

"You might need to be more specific," Thea retorted in a falsely cheery tone.

"This is why you need more champagne," he said. He knew she hated these things - he was not a fan of them himself - but he had certain social obligations and this was one of them. He had to admit though, he did enjoy having an excuse to show her off and know that she was there for him and nothing else. And even though she hated the heels and the make-up and what she called "needlessly expensive dresses", she did look stunning... when her beautiful eyes were not wrinkled and full of distaste, her lips pursed as she tried not to show that she did not like the taste of something that everyone else was drinking so easily.

"I'd rather have a whiskey and coke," Thea mumbled, rolling her eyes.

He gave her a look that suggested he was not above putting her over his knee and spanking her, but instead smiled patiently and picked up a strawberry from the silver platter. "Try this."

She was being deliberately teasing, keeping her dark eyes on his, her deep red lips curving slightly as she arched a finely sculpted eyebrow. She parted her lips slightly and leaned in a little closer.

Maybe he had forgotten about the rest of the world as well, or maybe he just did not care what others thought in the way she did, but he had run that strawberry across her lips as lightly as a timid first kiss, before slowly feeding it to her. She caught that glint in his eye when she let him hold it there between her lips, loving that little hiss of breath as she merely let the tip of her tongue move.

"Take a bite, then a sip of your drink," he said, his lustful eyes watching her lips.

He had then suggested that if she found champagne too dry or lacking in sweetness, to try adding strawberries, particularly bright red, plump, ripe fruit that would cut the slight bitterness and make it far more palatable. He had probably been in two minds about that advice when she had drunk a little too much to deal with the tedium and had become unashamedly playful in the car ride home.

Brett had often tried to get her to play with him in the car, but she had always refused, feeling far too self-conscious and aware of Ernie to ever go much beyond some passionate kissing. That night though, with the buzz of the alcohol in her veins and their constant flirting and teasing with one another, had - for a short while at least - freed her from certain inhibitions.

This time, when Brett's hand began creeping up her stockinged leg, rubbing the pale flesh of her inner thigh, she didn't stop him. Instead, she ran her hands over his chest, gripping his gunmetal gray Italian silk tie and pulled him closer, kissing him hard.

Brett's hand rose a little higher and she moaned as his fingers, brushed against her moistening pussy.

"Mmmm," she murmured, tilting her neck, letting him kiss her throat, whilst his other hand began to caress her sensitive breasts, rolling the nipples through the satin bodice of her dress.

She let him feel her up for a little bit longer - his thick, deft fingers teasing the entrance to her throbbing sex, before stroking deep inside, his fingers curling in a 'come here' motion that made her arch hungrily - before straddling him, looking deep into his blue eyes as she reached down and rubbed her hand along the hard thick bulge in his fancy Italian suit pants. His hands were on her waist, that infuriating smirk on his lips, his eyes full of appreciative lust. She loved the way that gaze made her feel sexy, adored, beautiful and confident; loved the way his hands just took hold of her and made the world disappear; loved the way his lips could make her melt completely in a hundred different ways.

She pressed down a little more firmly, rubbing for a few more moments before slowly unbuttoning and unzipping him, taking out his thick hard cock. She squeezed it firmly between her fingers, coating them in pre-cum, keeping her eyes on his as she sucked each finger in turn. She could not help but smile as he twitched and thickened in her palm, amazed that she could make him even harder, still stunned that he could desire her that much. She quickly unbuttoned his shirt, loving his smooth hard chest, broad shoulders and strong back, knowing how he loved to feel her nails biting into the skin when her arousal was at its peak.

Kissing him, she guided his cock into her wet pussy, feeling it stretch as she began to take him inside. Rocking gently, grinding her hips as he began to kiss and caress her neck and back to try and help her to relax, feeling his groans against her throat as she expertly began to ride him, taking him deeper and deeper until his entire length was enveloped by her tight, wet sex.

"Ohh god yes, Thea," he moaned, pulling down the bodice and sucking upon her breasts, flicking her flushed nipples with his tongue. Kissing and sucking on the flushed dark skin of her nipples, making her moan and her pussy clench in desire as she began to ride him harder. Circling her hips, flicking them as she lifted up, coating every inch of his glorious cock in her juices, his cock so big and thick, whilst her pussy was so tight that she could feel every vein, dint and bump rubbing against her walls. He lifted his hips and felt his cock thicken as it bottomed out in her womb, her gasps making him harder and more frantic to feel her orgasm.

His fingers slid down and began to play with her tight little asshole. She hadn't let him put his cock up there yet, but she was letting him prepare her for it. He pressed his finger inside, loving that little squeal and moan, that sound that suggested she was too full but that she wanted more... and he really wanted to give it all to her when she was ready.

"Cum for me, Thea, cum for me baby," he groaned against her ear.

She moaned, the words sending shivers down her spine, her eyes closing in bliss as she rode him harder.

"No," she gasped, her words punctured by the slamming deep in her womb. "But I'll cum with you." She clenched her pussy around his cock, flexing the muscles as her orgasm crept closer, her fingers beginning to claw at his torso, not quite knowing what she needed in order to fall.