The Wayklin Dream Pt. 01

Part One of a Three part series, released weekly.

After a lifetime of waiting, Sara was on her way to The Wayklin. She shuddered as she walked the streets toward it. The weather was toasty warm, but her nerves made her shiver. Ever since Sara was a kid, her dad and her said 'one day' when they walked past or rode the tram along in front of it.

The Wayklin was not just for the rich and famous, it was for royalty. A night in the smallest suite cost more than her dad earned in a month. The building oozed history and style. Warm, bright lights poured out through large arched baroque windows. The stonework was fashionably weathered. The bright red and gold uniforms of the porters gave welcome to the huge, domed, and marbled lobby. The enormous split staircase was the site of dozens of famous and glamorous photo shoots.

When her dad died, Sara vowed to uphold their dream; she would find a way to experience the whole hotel. She would take his memory and spirit in with her.

"Walk the halls, breathe in the bedrooms, stand on the balconies, look down on the boulevard below. The dining rooms. The gardens. The piano bar," Sara swirled in the mirror of her bedroom in complete excitement. She had found a way into the Wayklin.

Sara was about to start her new job as a housemaid.

It wasn't how her dad and Sara dreamed it would be, serving rather than being served.

"There is honor in it," her mother had said. She was not a dreamer. "Honest work, not leaching off the back of others."

At times like that it was better to say nothing. There was no arguing with her mother. The woman knew well about Sara and her dad's dream; she never quite approved, opulence was unnatural. Working at the hotel was a good compromise; she was more comfortable with Sara walking in the back door than the front.

Sara was assigned to work with an elderly lady called Donna-Marie. After a day Sara knew why. No one else wanted to be with her. Donna-Marie was a large woman with a bad back and the gait of a person with a stick up her ass. She moved slowly, barked orders, and complained bitterly about everything in the hotel. According to Donna-Marie, the big doors with stiff handles were the cause of her back. The posted beds made changing sheets neatly close to impossible. Why did the guests need to use the bath, the shower, and the spa if they only stayed one night? They should be forced to clean it themselves if they used more than any normal person needs in one day. She didn't mind taking the left-behind complimentary cookies and chocolates, though. And she was ever so polite if the guests were there. Sara shook her head; if only they knew what she had said about their toilet habits.

"Don't you like being here?" Sara asked on the third day. "You seem unhappy."

"Who would like mopping up after pretentious and pompous prats like stays here?"

"I like it here," Sara said defensively. "Just being in these rooms is a privilege."

Donna-Marie bellowed a laugh, the first time Sara had heard her do anything other than grumble.

"You are batty, girl. Why would you think it's anything other than shame in your face to be working in a place that makes sure you and your sort never get in?"

"My father...," Sara started, not rising to Donna-Marie's reaction. "He died. When I was little we'd always pretend we were coming to stay. It was a dream of ours, to come inside, to experience what it must be like."

"So you can stay here and the likes of me can wipe your ass and clean your shoes?" Donna-Marie scowled. Sara didn't get it, why was she so bitter?

"No!" Sara dismissed her. "It's the history, the smells, the sounds, the trimmings, the gorgeous furniture, the architecture, the uniforms, the smiles... I always thought the staff would adore being part of it. They must be so proud of their job."

"Only a batty young fool like you would think like that," Donna-Marie grumbled. "What are you, sixteen years old? Little princess dreams of being a princess."

"I'm twenty-two! You can't even work here until you're eighteen," Sara defended. Donna-Marie knew that, certainly.

"Well you don't look it, you look like you just hit puberty," Donna-Marie snarled. "Little thing like you can't even lift a mattress corner right. You should go down and work in the...."

Donna-Marie stopped mid-sentence. The guest was standing in the bedroom doorway. There was no telling when he had come into the suite or how much he had heard.

"Sorry sir," Donna-Marie said in an entirely different manner. Donna-Marie was polite, smiling, and happy. Her persona had turned on a dime. "We are just finishing up, we'll be out of your hair straight away. Is there anything particular we could help with, is the suite as you wish, sir?"

"Lovely, fine, thank you," the man said, not giving away any sense that he had eavesdropped. Sara and Donna-Marie finished the bed quickly, tidied up, and left.

The man's name was Godfrey, a god-awful name, so he always registered as he traveled as Byron, something far more romantic. It also shielded him from the attention that his real name brings. Being from old money, his family has long experience of people trying to part them from their wealth. Keeping his real name away from hotel registers had become a habit.

Late in the afternoon on day four of Sara's new job, he sat in his suite working at an oak desk. The room had a workspace in one corner of the huge, high-ceilinged living room. He stepped over to the doorbell ringing.

"May I turn the room down sir?" the housemaid asked.

"Yes, of course. Please."

'Byron' sat back at his desk with half an eye on the maid gliding around the room, moving things to their evening places. The coffee table fruits were replaced by chocolates, nuts, and mints. The teas went away, replaced by aperitifs and whiskies. The curtains were put in their place, and in the bedroom, she was likely putting away the bed covering and ornamental quilt.

"You were here yesterday," Byron said as the young lady came over to ask for anything else he needed. "With your... large colleague."

"Yes, sir," Sara smiled carefully.

"I heard you two talking, you know," he said gently.

"Yes, sir."

"You're not surprised?" he smiled. "You knew?"

Sara took a deep breath. "When I came to work today... my colleague... she had been reassigned to the laundry. I guessed as to why."

Byron nodded and smiled. "Hmmm. Do you think she will like her new duties?"

"No sir. But... I'm not sure she enjoys these, either."

"Look at you smiling," Byron grinned, "You are so beautiful like that. What's your name?"

"Sara," Sara said, holding her badge.

"Wow, you guys use your real name on the badges." He had to remind himself that not everyone was as careful using their name as him. "I can help you, you know?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Sara asked, confused.

"I can help you with your dream."

"My dream?"

"The one you told your colleague about. I heard you saying you dreamed of staying as a guest in this place...?"

"Oh, you heard that, too?"

"On Thursday I'm going to the Wayfarer, which is the original hotel in this group. It's older and even more special than here. I invite you to join me as my guest. My plus-one, so to speak."

Sara stood speechless. She was trying to comprehend the invite.

"My driver could pick you up Friday, you stay for three nights, then he can bring you home Monday. You can experience everything as a full guest."

"Stay at the Wayfarer? On the gulf, at the beach? With you?"

"Yes. I'll be your host. Your sponsor."

"Why?" Sara couldn't help but ask.

"It's your dream, isn't it? To be a guest, experience it all from the other side."

For a time Sara stood and said nothing. The excitement of the prospect tingled her nerves, she could feel goosebumps rise under her uniform. Could he mean it?

"What would I have to do... in return?" Sara brought herself to ask.

"You know the answer to that."

"Oh," Sara blushed, dreading that reply.

"Are you free? Can you get away from Friday to Monday? Do you have to work?"

Sara shook her head slowly. She wasn't officially meant to start until the seventeenth, she had come in a fortnight early to cover for a girl on leave. After one more day, she would be free for the following week.

"You mean... I'd need to...?" Sara asked.

"Yes. We'd be a couple for the weekend."

"Everything... you would need me to do everything?"

"You would be my girlfriend - only for a few days - so yes, you'd do everything a girlfriend would do. Shopping, restaurants, bars, beaches..."

"... and go to bed with you?"

"That too, of course."

"But you don't know me at all."

"Well, you're standing right here. I can tell you look good and you're a nice person. Spending a weekend with you would be a great privilege."

Sara shook her head. "But you don't know me."

"I know you enough," Byron assured her. "I heard you talking. I heard the yearning you have for your dream. I heard of your love for the history of these hotels. It's special, I agree, it's why I stay here, too. I can give you that dream. For the weekend, you can live as you wished. Anything you want."

"And if I do... in return, I would have to... sleep with you?"

"Yes. But it wouldn't be just that, you won't be tied to a bedpost, we'll do lots of different things."

"Oh," Sara sighed.

"Think about it. My card, that number to message me. If you say yes by Thursday, I will send my driver to pick you up."

"Your name is not here."

"I'm Byron. I'm leaving here Thursday for business, but I'll send the car for you."

"The beach is two hours away," Sara contemplated.

He laughed. "Okay. I'll send a helicopter."

"What?"

"The helicopter is quicker, forty minutes. I don't need it Friday. You'd have to come back by car on Monday, though. I'll need the chopper Monday."

"Oh, I didn't mean that. You don't have to do that."

"It's okay, it can pick you up from the roof here. Send me a message back by Thursday and I'll get it organized. I hope you give me the chance to spend a lot of money on you, Sara."

"I don't understand why you would spend any money on me at all..."

"I like you," Byron said truthfully. "And you look great. I would adore your company for the weekend. It would be a privilege to have you in bed, and it would make me happy to help you get your dream. Win-win."

"But I'm not even... very good."

"At what?"

"At being in bed."

"Of course you're not!" Byron laughed. "You don't look like you are. Which makes you more interesting. Take the night to think. I hope you come, it would be lovely to give us both a great weekend."

Byron led Sara by hand to the door. Before he opened it, he moved his hand to the small of her back and leaned in to gently kiss her face just in front of her ear.

"Call me. Please," Byron whispered, then opened the door and let Sara into the hall. She smelled nice. He hoped so much she would come.

"Mom," Sarah said at dinner. "I've been asked away for the weekend, by someone at work."

"Some boy?" her mother's eyes squinted.

"No way, not a boy!" Sara blurted out quickly. Byron was anything but a boy, he must have been at least forty.

"Good," her mother said. "You're not ready to be with men. You've lived a too sheltered life, hidden away in lockdown all your college years."

"It wasn't that long!" Sara protested. "It was only a year and a bit."

"Where are you going?"

"The Gulf."

"Why you don't seem happy? It's good to make friends from work."

"I don't know them. Not properly," Sara mumbled.

"You had your background checks, they must have had theirs as well?" her mother countered.

"Hmmph," Sara muttered. There were no checks on guests!

"You worry about money? I can give you a little."

"No, no it's a... voucher. No one has to pay."

"Well then? Go! Enjoy yourself before your job starts full-time."

Sara took a deep breath. She sent a message 'This is Sara from the hotel. I'll come. What time do I need to be where?' And then she rummaged through her draws for any clothes that might be appropriate. She sat exasperated on her floor surrounded by a pile of dreary outfits.

"Oh god, and underwear, what on earth am I going to wear for him to see?"

"So, you've had a nice afternoon?" Byron asked Sara. She was on the sofa in their suite with a gorgeous high tea set placed on the ornate side table. She looked pretty with the light from the picture window behind her, although her yellow sundress was plain.

"Yes," Sara nodded, blushing.

It was four in the afternoon. Sara had flown in around midday. Byron and she had talked by phone, but this was the first time they'd met since the hotel room in the city. Byron had the hotel staff bring her things to the room, show her around, and let her have the seafood buffet lunch by the pool then ninety minutes in the spa.

"The hotel looked after you?"

"Yes, very much," Sara shivered in the warm air.

"The spa?"

"Was wonderful, thank you."

"And the trip here?"

"It was completely... special," Sara beamed. It truly had been a once-in-a-lifetime day. When she walked into the Wayklin with her weekend bag and told reception she was taking a flight from the roof, she was treated like royalty. The hotel was so big and the staff numbers so large, no one knew Sara after just a few days as a housemaid, she hadn't met any of the front counter staff. They recognized neither her name nor face, all they saw was who ordered the transfer for Sara. And given she was so clearly not a prostitute, they assumed some she must be family - and treated her accordingly. Private elevator to the roof. Morning aperitif while the flight was readied. And then the most incredible experience of flying from the city to the sea by helicopter. The pilot was gorgeous and nice, and a wonderful, informative host the entire way, explaining what they could see.

On arrival, a friendly and handsome concierge showed her to the room, walked her past the spa where her appointment was later, then showed her the pool buffet and told the staff to send him the account later - he would personally put it on the room.

"Anything she wants," he told the staff. "Pick your table, Miss Sara. Take whatever you wish from the cocktail menu."

And on top of that, the waiters were all so helpful, guiding her through her naivety and inexperience with fine dining and drinks. Oh, and the spa, what a dream. Well, except for the waxing.

"The umm, hair treatment... did it hurt?" Byron asked.

"Yes," Sara admitted, going beet red. "I've not had that before."

"Let's take a look, shall we?" Byron said calmly.

Sara blinked, not sure what she thought she heard.

"May as well take the anxiety out of the weekend straight away, don't you think? I've got one more video meeting at five, so why don't we use this hour to have sex? Then when my call is done, we can relax and enjoy the evening, yes?"

Sara didn't know what to say. She knew it was going to happen but thought it would be in bed, in the dark, in the night.

"Come over. Put your hands on this bench here."

Byron walked across the room and politely took Sara's hand. She stood and followed him, what else could she do?

"That's it. In front of the mirror. Put your hands there. Backside out a bit."

Byron lifted Sara's dress to her waist. He tried not to laugh at her panties, he said nothing and stayed calm. He walked to his bag to take gel, as Sara leaned stiffly against the bench, her hemline hiked up, panties on show. She looked like she was waiting to be caned. In a way, she was.

Byron walked back and put the gel on the bench, swiftly pulled Sara's panties to the ground, and helped her step out of them. Sara turned to the mirror to look at herself in disbelief as Byron dropped his trousers and trunks. He smeared gel on himself, and Sara jumped as he rubbed some into her freshly-waxed labia.

"A shot of sperm to take with you when we go out later."

Sara hadn't thought for any moment of birth control. She groaned as the cock went in, too afraid to ask if her host minded if she got pregnant.

"Ah, that's good," Byron sighed when he pushed all of himself in. "You've been fucked before, haven't you? I can feel you're loose."

Sarah nodded, blushing red again. Byron held her hips against his pelvis, soaking the juices of her pussy into his shaft.

"Take all your clothes off, let's take a look at what I've landed."

Sara awkwardly undid the buttons at the front of her sundress as Byron slowly humped her from behind, then lifted it over her head. She struggled to get her bra unsnapped before letting it drop to the floor. Byron pulled Sara up by the shoulders to look at them in the mirror. He reached around and grabbed her bare breasts as he fucked her pussy from behind.

"This will do nicely," he nodded. "As good as I hoped, a perfect handful, you have." And her breasts stood up, too. When Byron brought his hands back to hold her hips, Sara's tits kept shape nicely.

He fucked her long and slow at the beginning, feeling each stroke in and out of her pussy, and watching her face in the mirror. He could see anxiety, guilt, and embarrassment on her face each time he struck in. He made it last, though. He had an hour, there was no rush, and Sara was a stunning nude. She looked gorgeous as an accessory on his cock.

"You've got a seriously nice cunt," Byron said honestly. "I love it. You are lucky to have one this good. Guys must adore bedding you."

Sara didn't reply. It had been over two years since she had to open her legs to an erection. And the guys that had 'broken her in' that spring had complained bitterly that she wasn't sexual enough. Why was Byron full of praise? Was he just being polite?

"Come on, stand up a bit. Look at yourself, look at me," Byron pulled her up by the shoulder, brushed her hair away from her face then held Sara super gently by the neck. They looked into each other's eyes as Sara's gorgeous little breasts wobbled from the fucking. "This is nice."

Sara said nothing. What was there to say? She was letting a virtual stranger penetrate her at the price of her glamour experience. Her father should be turning in his grave.

"Your cunt is good," he groaned. "I love that it's hairless."

When Byron's hand went around to find and play with her clit as he humped, for the first time a tinkle of pleasure shot through Sara's spine. Byron noticed her eyes squint as she bit her bottom lip.

"You're allowed to enjoy it, too," he told her, smiling. The harder he played with her small bump as he fucked her, the more Sara's eyes glazed but Byron could tell she was holding back, forcing herself to keep calm and not lose herself to the sex.

"Okay," he said at her ear, "This is a nice start. We can do more later."

Sara looked at him in the mirror, confused. Was he going to finish fucking her? Could she stop? He didn't seem in the mood to just quit, and there was a lot of the hour left.

"Bend right over," he said, pushing her head down. "Im going to drop a load in you."

Sara gasped as Byron fucked her brutally for what seemed like minutes - and then he held deep in, twitched, and roped his semen as far inside her as he could reach.

"Fuck, it's good to cum inside you, Sara," Byron grunted, panting from his cum. "Seriously. You have such a great cunt."

Byron pulled her up and twisted Sara around to face him as his cock slipped out of her. He kissed passionately, their first kiss. He held her bare ass as Sara's pussy belched and splurged and gunk poured down her thigh or dribbled directly down to the floor.

"Thanks for coming," Byron said into her mouth. "And for letting me cum inside you."

Sara didn't reply, she simply allowed her nude body to be pawed and kissed as the sexual heat wound down out of Byron. He went to the fridge and got them both cold sparkling water. Sara went to pick up her underwear.