Room Service

Once or twice, in the privacy of her single bed, she has tried to take... matters... into her own hands, but even at home, a good ninety minutes of public transport away from room 317 and the room at the end of the corridor and the group of five - three men, two women - that occupy these rooms and still have not checked out, she does not want to give them the satisfaction.

The things she has seen were not about her at all. The five Normal People don't even know her name, they didn't care which of the three dozen cleaning ladies would walk through that door. The display was meant to humiliate the man with the, uhm, piercing, not to gratify her.

Still.

Still, the buzzing in her blood does not entirely subside, and neither do the echoes, or the ideas that bob through her brain like soap bubbles that burst every once in a while, or split into two smaller bubbles, and into four, and eight...

Two days later she is back on that same floor. It is her rotation, has been for almost three years. There is no good reason to disturb the routine she and her co-workers have established so long ago.

Yet her knees shake a little as she pushes her trolley full of towels and soap bottles through the opening doors of the elevator; yet she sighs in both relief and disappointment when the corridor is deserted and not a single burgundy red 'room service required'-hanger nor any brown 'Please do not disturb'-hangers are in sight.

As she finishes the third room on the floor, the door to 317 opens, and four people spill out.

The two men. One built like a rugby player, with - she now knows - a tongue like a lash and enough upper arm strength and grip to hold a thrashing woman down as he feasts on her vulva. One taller and more lithe, with - she now knows - a long, thick, veiny cock that spurts forth goopy white semen across women's faces. One woman, small and delicate on the outside, but a fierce, violently demanding lover on the inside.

And another man walking in their midst. She knows that his chest is a little hairy and that the head of his cock is adorned with a silver ring, and that he moans like a woman when he is desperate, and like an animal when he orgasms.

Her mouth goes so dry the polite "hello, good afternoon" comes out as a croak.

The lone woman in the group of four gives her a long, knowing look as they pass by her and her trolley. That look alone is enough to make her belly do funny things, and for sweat to break out hot and cold all over her body. The woman's grip on the new man's upper arm - loving and clutching at once - and the way she leans her cheek against his shoulder as they walk do the rest.

An arrangement? Or blackmail? She cannot say which one seems more enticing a story.

She looks after the Four Normal Hotel Guests like they are her lovers departing. Even long minutes after the door to the room at the end of the corridor has fallen shut, she is still standing there, the skin underneath her ponytail, the pits of her arms and the small of her back drenched in the sweat of dread and anticipation, her hands clinging to the handlebar of her trolley like a lifeline.

One room. One suite is all she manages to clean before the curiosity is too great to bear for another second. Fumbling for the all-access key card dangling in her lanyard, she swipes it across the panel of 317 and slips inside the room.

The frustrated, animalistic howl of a woman strapped to a chair in front of a large TV - a ball gag jammed between her teeth and stretching her blood-red lips, her legs spread wide by straps around her ankles and knees, the lips of her achingly empty, weeping pussy lined with clothes pegs, a vibrating toy buried inside her bottom - drowns out the soft click of the door falling shut.

"Hello, room service," she says and slowly steps towards the woman.

FIN

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this story.

Remember to always be kind and polite to service providers!

Thank you for reading!

xo cydia