Maid in America

The wheels of my cleaning cart squealed like the whine of a lecture hall full of undergrads being presented with a pop quiz. I'd gotten crushed earlier that morning along with most of my classmates by our chemistry professor's unannounced quiz. Once I was done with my part-time shift cleaning hotel rooms, I'd head back to campus and figure out how to put the pieces back together on a semester that was completely off the rails. I'd already lost my academic scholarship the semester before which was why I was cleaning hotel rooms in the first place.

I bent to scratch my knee as I reached the end of my last hallway. My light blue maid's uniform was a short-sleeve dress that looked like something out of the 1950s and was made of a horribly cheap wool that made my skin itch like nothing I'd ever felt before.

As my cart came to a stop, I consulted my room list. Room 545 was the first room on the list, and according to it, the occupants wanted a cleaning but wouldn't be checking out until the end of the week.

I approached the door and gave it a solid knock. "Housekeeping," I called out. I paused for several moments, and when I heard no response or other sounds from inside, I knocked again and announced my presence.

It was almost midday, so it made sense that the occupants were out and about.

I retrieved my room master keycard from my pocket and pressed it against the door's key lock. I swiveled the door handle and pushed the door ajar far enough for me to poke my head into the room. I called out one last time to announce my presence. There was still no answer, so I reached back for my cart and pulled it into the room then let the door close behind me.

Thankfully, the room wasn't in horrible shape, so it wouldn't take me long. Even though guests were entitled to take some liberties with their room, it always annoyed me when they treated the rooms like they were in a frat house.

I went to the far side of the room to grab the trashcan there. As I passed the bathroom door, it abruptly swung open to reveal a middle-aged man standing in the doorway. A nude middle-aged man with what almost looked like a third leg between his legs.

I quickly averted my eyes and put up a hand to shield my face. "Ohmigod, I'm sorry," I said as I scampered for my cart and the door.

"No, sorry, it's my fault," the man said. "Wait, hang on, I'll put something on."

I paused at my cart with my back turned. "I'll just come back."

"No, please wait, we could really use having the room fixed up." He spoke again after a beat. "Ok, I'm decent now."

I slowly turned around. 'Decent' was a relative word. He'd fastened a white bath towel around his waist and was meandering around the room as if nothing had just happened. During my time working at the hotel, I'd encountered people in all states of dress, so if he was fine with it, I was fine with it. The sooner I started, the sooner I'd be on my way.

I went back to begin tidying up the room while he laid back on the bed and turned on the TV. Before long, I noticed his towel had ridden up his legs and was getting dangerously close to him revealing his massive cock again. He crossed and then uncrossed his legs, spreading them wide. If I went past the foot of the bed, I'd surely be able to see it again. Thinking better of it, I decided to shift my cleaning focus to the bathroom.

There were several towels scattered on the floor, toothpaste on the mirror and counter, and the trashcan needed to be emptied. I stooped down and gathered up the towels and started to carry them to my cart then stopped. It would make more sense to clean off the mirror and counter and then gather up whatever towels were leftover.

I dropped the towels into a pile on the floor and went to my cart. As I emerged from the bathroom, a blonde middle-aged woman entered the room. Her eyebrows arched up as she looked back and forth from me to the man on the bed who slid off it and picked up a pair of black slacks that were laying on the floor.

"Heather! I thought you were going for a jog," the man said as he tried to pull on the pants.

'Heather' was dressed the part. She was wearing a light gray long-sleeve pullover with a half zipper that was at least a size or two too big given her small frame. The shirt hung down past her hips over a pair of dark gray pants that looked more appropriate for yoga than jogging around the neighborhood.

"I got downstairs and realized I forgot my phone and headphones." She turned to look me up and down. "Who the hell is this?"

"I'm housekeeping," I said quickly. I'm just here to—"

Heather made a 'be quiet' sign with her fingers and thumb. "I wasn't asking you." She turned her head back to the man. "Michael, who is this?"

'Michael' had managed to get his pants on and was looking around, presumably for a shirt. "That's just the maid. She's nobody."

"Uh-huh." Heather folded her arms and looked back at me. "It doesn't look like you're doing much cleaning...," she leaned forward, examining my name tag, "...Clarita."

I stuck my thumb over my shoulder and gestured toward the bathroom. "I'm cleaning the bathroom."

"With no cleaning supplies?"

"I—I—I mean, I was just about to start cleaning it. Ok, well first I was going to get the towels but then decided to clean it first."

Heather turned back to Michael. "And you're just sitting there naked?"

"I had a towel," he said quietly.

"I had a towel," Heather repeated, mocking him.

Michael's shoulders were hunched over, and he looked like he was folding in on himself. A far cry from the proud man with the huge cock from a few minutes ago. "I was just...I just got out of the shower."

"Yeah, I bet." Heather huffed. Her eyes flipped back and forth between Michael and me before something behind me caught her eye. She stalked past my cart, ramming it with her hip as she went. I stepped back out of her way as she stormed past and went into the bathroom. I looked at Michael who looked back at me and shrugged. A couple seconds later, Heather marched out of the bathroom and stepped right up to me and held out her hand. "Give it to me."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Don't play dumb. Give it to me right now and I won't call the police."

Michael stepped around the side of the bed. "What's wrong, honey?"

"What's wrong is your little cleaning whore here stole my tennis bracelet."

I was flabbergasted. "What? No! I never saw—I didn't steal your bracelet!"

"Where'd you leave it?" Michael asked.

"I left it right there on the counter and now it's gone. The only two people who've been in there are you and her. So, unless you stole it, then she did."

I took several steps backwards while holding up my hands. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I never saw a bracelet."

Heather pointed at my waist. "Empty out your pockets."

I pulled out the lining of my uniform's pockets and held up my arms. "I don't have anything." I twirled around in place. "See?"

"Don't patronize me, bitch. I know it's in there somewhere." She took a step toward me, but Michael moved to get between us.

"Are you positive you left it in the bathroom?" he asked.

"Yes, Michael! Why are you sticking up for her?"

"I'm not sticking up for anyone. I just think we need to be sure before we start accusing her of anything."

Heather closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Michael, get out of my way." Her voice was quieter and calmer, but she looked like a volcano about to blow.

Michael held up a hand. "Hold on just a—"

"Get out of my way!" she screamed.

Michael flinched and stepped back, moving so that my cleaning cart was between him and her.

Heather opened her eyes and glared at me. "I'm going to count to ten. And if you don't give back my bracelet, I'm taking it back."

"I don't have your bracelet!" I was on the verge of tears.

"One."

"Look! I don't have anything!" I turned around again to demonstrate it.

"Two."

"I don't have it!"

Michael eased around the backside of my cart toward me. "If you have it...just give it back." His voice was quiet.

"Three."

"I don't have it!" I shouted at Michael. I turned back to Heather. "I don't have it!"

"Four—fuck it." Heather moved toward me with the speed of a striking cobra.

I got my hands up just as Heather reached me. "What are you—"

Heather grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked it hard enough to pull me off balance. I grabbed her wrists as I started to tumble to the floor, pulling her down with me. As soon as we hit the floor, Heather clawed at my dress like a furious housecat. I grabbed at her arms trying to stop her.

"It's in her dress! Michael, help me!" she shouted.

A shadow appeared over us, and I looked up and saw Michael looking down on us with concern. "Come on, guys, don't do this."

"Michael!" Heather shouted as she yanked her hand back, taking my collar with it and popping off the buttons.

Michael knelt down next to me. As he reached toward us, for a moment, I thought he was going to break us up. His hands reached into the flailing mess of limbs that we'd become. But instead of separating us, he grabbed the other side of my collar and pulled. A distinct ripping sound followed. I cringed as I felt Michael's hand slip into the top of my dress. It slid across my upper chest and then settled onto my bra. He gave my right breast tentative squeeze.

"Fucking get off me!" I started kicking out with my legs, trying with renewed ferocity to break free.

He lifted his hand, and I thought he was going to remove it. Instead, he slipped it into my bra and grabbed my bare breast.

Meanwhile, Heather was screaming like a banshee and pulling the other side of my collar. There was another ripping sound. And then the top of my dress came completely open.

"I know it's in here." Heather reached into my dress and felt along my torso and the inside of my dress searching for a bracelet that I didn't have.

Michael withdrew his hand from the inside of my bra to my relief. But to my horror, he grabbed the top of the cup and yanked it down, exposing my breasts. Heather didn't seem to notice. She also didn't seem to notice as Michael put one hand down the inside of my dress and began groping my ass while he passed his other hand across my breasts and then back, copping a feel both times.

My dress was practically in shreds and dangling off my body. And yet, Heather kept pulling and digging and clawing.

"Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted.

My shouting miraculously seemed to pull Heather out of her haze of rage. She pulled her hands out of my dress and rolled away and sat back. She looked on as Michael continued to grope me under the guise of searching for her bracelet.

"Let's just take her dress off. It's in there somewhere," Heather said.

"No! Stop!" I kicked at Heather as she approached.

Michael took his hands out of my dress. He grabbed my flailing forearms and pulled my hands away from where I was trying to get a grip on Heather's shirt. He pulled them back and up, effectively stretching me out on the floor. Heather grabbed the hem of my dress and worked it up and over my hips despite my physical and verbal protest. Together, the two of them managed to work the shredded material up my body and off my arms, leaving me in my panties and bra that was pulled down below my breasts. I moved to pull it back up and then curled up on the floor. Heather pulled my torn dress toward herself and hoisted it into the air like a trophy before digging through it. Michael looked on as Heather turned my dress over in her hands and picked through it as she conducted a misguided search for her bracelet.

After several moments of searching for it, she dropped it on the floor and stared at me with blazing eyes. "Where is it?"

"I already told you I didn't have it," I said.

Heather walked over and stood over me. "Where is it!?"

Michael extended his arm and placed it between us. "Heather, take it easy. You already searched her dress. Maybe she doesn't have it."

"Why do you keep defending her? Did you give it to her? Is that why you were sitting on the bed with your dick out? You gave her my bracelet and she agreed to fuck you in exchange? Is that it?"

She was totally unhinged.

"You've got it all wrong?" Michael pleaded.

"Then where is it?"

Michael turned his head and looked around the room. "I don't know."

"How convenient," Heather muttered.

The room fell silent.

"You know what? Fuck it then. Let her keep it." Heather stomped toward the door.

Michael moved to cut her off. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving, Michael. Stay here and fuck your Mexican cleaning whore." She turned to me. Her eyes were filled with madness. "You hear that, whore? You can have it."

Michael put his hand on Heather's hip. "Wait, please calm down."

"No, I'm not going to calm down. I'm leaving. Go fuck your whore."

"Heather, this is crazy."

Heather swiped at Michael's hand, dislodging it from her hip. "Don't touch me. Go touch your whore. What's the matter? Can't get it up? What else is new?"

"That's not fair," Michael muttered.

"Here, I'll help you." I looked on in amazement as Heather unbuttoned his pants. He didn't resist as she dropped them to his ankles and his huge cock flopped into view. She sank down to her knees, lowered her head, and tipped it to the side to capture the head of Michael's cock in her mouth. She was only able to get the first few inches past her lips but went to work sliding them back and forth along his thick shaft.

Michael moaned and put his hand on Heather's head. She responded by smacking his hand with enough force that the sound of it filled the air. She continued to suck him until his cock rose like a flag going up a pole.

Heather pulled her lips off. "Wow...you actually managed to get hard for a change." She got to her feet and gestured toward me. "Go ahead, knock yourself out." She walked past me and looked me up and down. "I can't believe you're actually into her. She looks like a cow with those big udders."

My face felt like it had caught on fire. She looked like a skeleton wearing a trenchcoat. I had to bite my tongue to avoid saying it out loud.

Michael grabbed his cock at the base. It looked like three more hands could fit on it. He gave it a slow stroke and then angled it in the air like he was posing it for me.

"Just fuck her already," Heather grumbled. She sank down into a chair and folded her arms.

Michael raised an eyebrow at me.

I didn't know what he thought I was, but I wasn't the least bit interested. "Can I have my uniform back? If I don't get back to work, they'll come looking for me."

Heather wagged a finger at me. "Unh uh. You're not going anywhere. You were just about to fuck him when I walked in. So, go ahead. Don't stop on my account." She turned toward Michael but continued to speak to me. "I'm just his wife, after all."

I got to my feet and slowly moved toward my uniform which was lying discarded on the floor across the room.

Heather jumped up and snatched it up

. "I said no. You're not leaving. Not unless you want me to call your boss and the police right now about my bracelet." She leaned to the side to look past me at Michael. "I really can't believe you. How could you give her my bracelet? The help? Really, Michael?"

The help?

I balled my hands into fists and dug my nails into the palm of my hands.

"I didn't give her the bracelet. I swear to you, Heather."

"Don't swear to me. Swear to your little brown goddess here." A small smile appeared on her face. "Actually, that's a good idea. Go on, pray to her. Get on your knees and pray to her."

"Heather—"

"Get on your knees, Michael!"

Michael looked from her to me and then down at the floor. His face was sunken. He looked like he'd just been hit with a stick.

He sighed and then lowered himself to his knees. Once there, he crawled toward me with his head down. He stopped about three feet away and looked up at Heather.

Heather nodded at me. "Go on. Pray to her."

"Uhh...beautiful goddess...I..."

"You're really going to do it? You're so fucking pathetic." Heather was practically spitting with contempt. "Couldn't you have at least picked someone better looking?"

I'd finally had enough.

"You've got a lot of room to talk. Did you steal that hairdo off a scarecrow?"

Heather's eyes flashed with outrage and her hand went up to her stringy blonde hair.

"And what's with those pants?" I continued, "did you get those out of the kid's section, or what?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but I turned my back to her. If she wanted to be mad about something, I'd give her something to be mad about.

I took a step toward Michael and ran my hand over his head. He responded with a smile and put a hand on the back of my calf. I shivered as he slid it up along my skin until it came to rest on my ass cheek over my panties.

"You fucking pig," Heather muttered.

I grinned and took another step toward Michael, closing the last bit of distance so that his face was practically touching my legs. He stuck his neck out and kissed the front of my thigh. I smiled down at him and moved my feet apart. He took that as an invitation to continue and began kissing his way up my thigh. His kisses shifted from the front of my thigh to my inner thigh.

Heather had another outburst as he reached the edge of my panties. "Oh, you're unbelievable! You won't give me oral sex, but you're really going to give it to that dirty bitch?"

I wanted to turn around and slap her, but what her husband was doing was better revenge. I'd only intended to let him touch me a little, but knowing how angry this was making her, I decided to let him touch me just a little bit more.

I grabbed the waistband of my panties and started pulling them over my hips. As soon as they got to the middle of my thighs, Michael buried his face between my legs. I cried out and had to grab onto his head with both hands to keep from falling.

His tongue sliced up and down along my pussy lips like a buzzsaw. He didn't neglect using his own lips and sucked the edges of mine into his mouth. I pushed my hips forward, feeding my pussy to him. He'd learned some skills from somewhere. She was missing out.

"Oh, yeah...that's good," I moaned.

"Shut up, nobody cares," Heather said.

I took my hands off Michael's head just long enough to reach back and unhook my bra. I pulled it off and dropped it next to us.

"Oh, sure. Yeah, go on and get your udders out. He'll love that, I'm sure."

And he did. Michael's eyes widened and swam across my chest. Apparently, he hadn't gotten a good look earlier when he was touching them.

I bent my knees slightly and ground myself against his face, wiggling my hips as I did. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Heather was sitting in the chair and had turned sideways with her arms folded.

"Oh yeah, Michael, that's it. Eat me. It's so gooood..." In reality, it was good, but most of my vocalizations were for Heather's benefit—or rather, for her aggravation. "Mmmmm...you really know how to treat a woman."

Michael continued to bathe my pussy with his tongue. There was a raw hunger in the way his mouth moved over me.

I accelerated my breathing for dramatic effect and let out small squeaking sounds that I'd never made at any time in my sexual life, but I hoped they would be convincing to Heather. I was right.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Heather swung her body around in the chair. "Just fuck her, so we can get this over with."

I was getting close to cumming, and probably would've made a better decision if I wasn't focused on getting myself off. Instead, I took a step back, separating my pussy from Michael's mouth and then moved my hands from the back of his head to the side of his face and gently pulled, trying to coax him up. He smiled and got to his feet as he wiped my wetness from his face.