Maid's Revolt

Several people talked to me. They were worried about the change of ownership and whether it might mean staff redundancies. All I could say was that the new owners wanted to retain all the hotels at this time but this one had to improve. Every one of them knew that. A few mentioned maintenance problems. Jean made a point about poor disabled access. I agreed to let her show me what she meant during next week.

+++

I received a whole slew of emails on Monday morning, the first day of the new ownership. I was delighted that one of those emails announced that the two Tuckers were leaving, or rather had already left, for 'incompatibility with the new management'.

Most of the emails were to all hotel managers but one was to me personally. I was given authorisation to fire the two deputy managers forthwith because of their 'appalling' annual appraisals. Mr Tucker junior's endorsements on those appraisals had been considered by the new Personnel Director and cancelled.

I interviewed both deputy managers that day. I told them they could accept redundancy and leave immediately with a reference saying 'positions no longer required by the new ownership' or resign with no payment or be fired. Whatever they chose, they had to clear their offices and leave by the end of the day. They chose redundancy.

That gave me a small problem. As their posts were 'redundant' I couldn't appoint people to the vacancies now. Mr Simpson and I would have to cover their work for a few weeks. What we could do was employ assistants. I intended to make Jean my personal assistant. Mr Simpson chose Maria, another senior member of staff, to be his assistant. Neither would have been promoted under Mr Tucker junior because both of them had told him, face to face, that he was an incompetent asshole. They were right. He was. But now he was gone.

When I asked Jean whether she would be my assistant she thought I was joking.

"Mr Bart? Is this your revenge for what I did to you?"

"No, Jean. It's a serious offer. I need someone who knows this hotel and its staff. Mr Simpson recommended you. Mr Tucker junior's remarks on your appraisal helped too. You had annoyed him. I expect you to annoy me too. I don't want someone who agrees with me because I'm the manager. I want someone who can think for herself."

"You're serious?"

"Yes, Jean. I need you."

"What about my uniform? I was looking forward to the new uniform."

"You can wear it if you want to. As my assistant you can wear whatever you like."

Jean laughed.

"Whatever I like? A skimpy apron and nothing else?"

"That would be interesting, Jean, but I'd expect you to wear slightly more clothing than an apron."

"But I could keep my apron?"

"If you want to, Jean. Why?"

"So I can tie you up if you are too bossy?"

"That would be unlikely..."

"...That you would be too bossy, or unlikely that I'd tie you up?"

"I hope you wouldn't have to go to that extreme. Telling me would be enough."

"I'm disappointed, Mr Bart. I would like an excuse to use my apron on you."

"I don't think you would wait for an excuse, but if you are going to be my assistant...?"

I waited for her response.

"Yes. I will be."

"Then you should stop calling me Mr Bart. My name is Alan."

"Yes, Alan. I'll try to remember that as I tie you up."

"Why me? Haven't you got someone else to tie up?"

Jean's face fell.

"No. I divorced the useless bastard. I think that's why I overreacted to the Stag Party's abuse of Martine. They reminded me that my ex-husband used to be abusive when drunk. He had a very low opinion of women and was worse when drunk. He didn't abuse me physically because I was stronger than him..."

"...and you kept tying him up?" I suggested.

"Yes. He was smaller than me and when he was drunk his coordination was useless. But he found a stupid younger bitch to abuse before I divorced him. I know you are single..."

It was my turn to feel sad. My wife had died from cancer five years ago.

"...and a workaholic. The rumour mill says you haven't had a day off in years."

That was true. I had busied myself in work to stop thinking about who I had lost. A day off without my wife seemed endless.

"I'm not likely to have any days off soon," I said. "Mr Simpson is retiring. His two deputies have gone..."

"They have? I didn't know."

"They accepted redundancy today. They've left on paid notice. They won't be back."

"That's a pity. The staff would have liked to give them a proper send off."

"What do you mean by proper, Jean?"

"Something embarrassing like being thrown in the ornamental pond. Never mind. They've gone. Good riddance."

"And we have to manage this hotel better than they and Tucker junior did."

"That won't be difficult, Alan. The lazy bastards didn't do much for their salaries."

"Salary? That reminds me. As from today, Jean, you will be paid as a temporary deputy manager even if your title is assistant."

"Deputy manager? That's a big jump from being a senior maid called a team leader. Do I get a Deputy's star?"

"No Jean. You get the pay but not the title -- yet."

Jean and I discussed the hotel for the next hour. At the end I asked her to contact the local locksmith and get the faulty locks fixed as soon as possible. The locksmith arrived within the hour. He took two hours to fix or replace all the useless locks. He was surprised when I gave him a cheque for his invoice.

"Mr Bart, the hotel chain used to pay me months in arrear," he stated.

"I know," I replied. "But the new management wants to change things."

By the end of the week many of the minor maintenance tasks had been completed. The heating and air conditioning system had been serviced but parts would need replacing when the hotel closed in five weeks time.

I had interviewed most of the staff during that week. I found that I agreed completely with Mr Simpson's assessments of them. I had considerable respect for his judgement and sympathy for what he had endured with Tucker junior and the two useless deputy managers.

Mutt and Jeff had already shown that they were starting to get better. I suspect that Jean and Maria, knowing they had their managers' backing, had made their displeasure very plain. I didn't ask how they had expressed their disapproval. I had heard rumours that the two men had been threatened with embarrassing humiliation from the female staff.

On Friday afternoon Mr Simpson and I, with our two assistants, went on a tour of inspection of the whole hotel and its grounds. Even within a week there were obvious improvements. All the staff seemed more willing to help the management. There were still maintenance problems that would take longer to fix. Apart from the heating, the kitchen equipment was the major need. Some of it was close to being too dangerous to use. We discussed with the chefs what needed to be done quickly. One set of ovens was disconnected by an electrician. The menu would have to be restricted until those ovens were replaced.

Jean and Maria insisted that they should demonstrate the failings for disabled access by trying to move me about in a wheelchair. Mr Simpson and the two of them were laughing as I hung on grimly, bounced over uneven surfaces and bumped up steps. I got the message very forcefully. The disabled access hadn't been maintained and had been poorly designed.

We had a morning tea party for Mr Simpson's retirement. His wife was presented with a large bouquet of flowers. He was given some good quality gardening tools from the staff. The management gave him vouchers for a cruise. I had to do the formal presentation of that. But most of the thanks came from the staff. Mr Simpson's wife mock protested that he was being kissed too much.

By that time the female staff had their new uniforms. There had been some animated discussion about which styles to order. Eventually a compromise had been reached. The hotel chain's logo would be shown on every upper piece of clothing but a reasonable variation of styles was allowed. The maids, if they wanted to, could wear normal jeans, not ripped or distressed, with a tunic that came halfway down their thighs. If they weren't wearing jeans but black trousers they could wear a shorter top.

That afternoon Jean and Maria were sitting in my office as we discussed what we needed doing when the hotel would be closed for the weekend in a few weeks' time. We had a list and most of the expenditure had already been approved by the board.

When we had completed the list I rang for some coffee. Over the coffee we talked about ways to improve the hotel. We already had a suggestion box. In the first week some of the suggestions had been explicit. The ideas for punishing the two Tuckers and the departed deputy managers had been interesting if not practical. The current pile of suggestions was more realistic and helpful.

I opened my desk drawer to pull out two sealed envelopes.

"Jean, Maria? These are your letters of appointment as Deputy Managers, approved by the company board. They are dated today, but backdated two weeks."

Despite having acted in those roles for a fortnight they hadn't expected to be appointed so soon. Maria queried it.

"Why Alan? And how? We were persona non grata with the previous board. Now we are deputy managers?"

"Thank Mr Simpson. He has been recommending you two for a couple of years."

"I don't believe that you had nothing to do with it, Alan," Jean said accusingly.

"Of course I did but without Mr Simpson I would have had to wait six months at least. He knows that you are appointed today. It is recognition of his sound judgement. Things could have been much worse at this hotel if he hadn't fought for it and the staff."

"And now we can't thank him," Maria said.

I grinned.

"I think his wife thought he was thanked too much this morning. But you haven't opened those letters."

They did. As I expected they were surprised and shocked. They were being given a higher salary than the previous two deputy managers had received plus a cash bonus for previous unpaid responsibilities.

"Maria? Now?" Jean said cryptically.

"Now," Maria answered.

They both stood up while reaching into their handbags. They stood either side of me but slightly behind. Jean whipped an apron around my waist tying me to my chair. Maria tied my hands behind my back.

"We can't say thank you to Mr Simpson," Maria said, "but we can to you, Alan. I won't do more than this..."

Maria kissed me full on the lips with an arm wrapped behind my head.

"...because I'm a married woman but I'll leave Jean to show just how much we appreciate what you have done and are doing for us, the staff and the hotel."

Maria walked out of my office shutting the door quietly. Jean was standing in front of me.

"I didn't need Maria's help to tie you up, did I? You didn't resist us."

"No, Jean. I trust both of you. That's why you are managers."

I might have said more but Jean's kiss stopped me. She kissed me longer and harder than Maria had done.

"I want you, Alan, and not just as my manager. It's too soon but you had better get used to the idea that I'm claiming you."

She unfastened her blouse to show her bra clad breasts.

"I held you against these when we met. Now..."

She pulled my head against her cleavage.

"...this is just a sample. You'll get more later but I need to get back to work."

She pulled back and started to button her blouse again. She turned to walk away.

"Jean?" I said quietly.

She stopped.

"Yes, Alan?"

"You can't leave me like this."

"I might. Both of those aprons have 'Jean' embroidered on them. They mark you as mine. Do you object?"

I shook my head.

"You don't?"

She ran back to me and kissed me fiercely.

Eventually she relented and untied me. She folded the aprons and put them in her handbag.

"They are staying there for whenever I need them. I'm grateful for the change of uniform but my aprons have other uses."

Jean kissed me again before leaving the office.

+++

Things started to improve around the hotel over the next few weeks. By the time the motorway junction shut for the weekend most of the minor problems with the hotel had been fixed. The occupancy rate was creeping up but I didn't expect much until the weather improved.

The staff helped the contractors over the closed weekend. They kept the workmen supplied with tea, coffee and meals. They also acted as unofficial Clerks of Works making sure that the work was in the right place and solving the real problems. The chef and his staff were delighted to have equipment they could trust.

One detail that pleased me was that a room behind my office had been renovated to be the manager's bedroom it had been designed to be. In Mr Simpson's time he went home to his house in the village.

The hotel chain and website were beginning to market our hotel as 'improved with new restaurant menu'. The menu wasn't really new. It was the menu we ought to have been able to provide before, but now the kitchens could.

Jean, Maria and I were on duty in shifts. Our busiest nights were Sunday to Thursday with business people. The hotel was a convenient place to stay overnight to attend meetings in the larger towns and cities further along the motorway. Even the road works had helped us. The access was better and the new signs around the junction brought passing trade.

Both Jean and Maria were hinting that it was about time I had a break. I had been on duty seven days a week ever since Mr Simpson retired. They suggested that I should trust them to run the hotel without me. I could but so much had been going on that I wanted to be sure.

One Friday evening at the end of March the overnight bookings were unusually low. At the end of the evening I had eaten in the restaurant with Maria while Jean kept herself available for any managerial need. Jean had eaten hours earlier while Maria was on duty.

At the end of the meal Maria went off to relieve Jean who was in the room behind the reception desk. That's where the duty manager was usually sited. Whoever was on duty could monitor the whole CCTV system or walk through to the reception desk if there was a queue. I stayed sitting in the restaurant watching the waiters, waitresses and chef working together efficiently.

Jean came towards me, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Can I talk to you in your office, Alan?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

I thanked the waitress and chef and followed Jean out of the restaurant. Once inside my office Jean grabbed my head and kissed me.

"What's that for?" I asked as she paused.

"Just because," she replied, "as is this..."

Her familiar apron wrapped around my wrists. It wasn't tied tight.

"And now?" Jean said, "Now you are going to have a night off. Maria is on duty with not much to do. She doesn't need you. I do."

Jean grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the bedroom.

"We are going back a few weeks to our first meeting, Alan. This time I'm not going to stuff you into a laundry bag. I'm going to stuff you inside me."

She untied my wrists and helped me to undress. She stripped and put one of her small aprons around her waist. She pushed me on to the bed. Jean straddled me. She pulled my hands behind her and tied my wrists with her apron ribbons. Her lips covered mine. One of her hands slid her apron upwards. Her warm cleft slid over my erection. She thrust downwards impaling herself on me.

Jean covered my mouth with a wadded apron tied around my head. I was moaning into that apron as Jean's breasts swung above me. I wanted to touch those breasts, to hold them. I struggled to release the apron tying my wrists. It was pointless. Jean was far too efficient at apron bondage. All I could do was hug her as she moved herself up and down on my erection.

I held on as long as I could. Jean was squealing above me as she reached ecstasy again and again. Eventually I could hold on no longer and came into her. She stroked my head as I shuddered.

She rested her body over mine and moved her head beside mine. She whispered in my ear.

"I've claimed you, Alan. You're mine. You aren't going anywhere tonight, held by my body..." she tensed her muscles around my slackness, "...and my aprons. I might untie the aprons but you aren't getting away from me."

She removed the apron gag but didn't untie my wrists until after we had made love again. We spent the night wrapped in each other's arms. In the morning she rode me again. This time I could reach her breasts and play with them. As she slumped on me again she said:

"Today is the First of April but what I have done is no joke. I have claimed you, Alan, as mine. Next weekend you are on holiday in my house for two whole days. Some of it might be in bed but for the rest of it I'll show you how enjoyable it is to be looked after by someone who loves you. You'll be wined, dined and fucked. If you even think of saying 'No' I've still got my aprons. I know what to do with them and you'll be in danger at any time. You will accept my invitation."

I kissed Jean. What else could I do?

She was right. I did enjoy that weekend and there are many more weekends in our future.