HOTEL MAID LEARNS THE ROPES

This story is fiction (unfortunately!): any resemblance to real persons or places is purely coincidental.


A couple of months after my seventeenth birthday, I discovered three things. The first was that I am a lesbian; the second was that I have an eager appetite for sex – I’ll spread my legs for almost any woman, any time; the third was not just that I am a slut, but a bondage slut – that I get my biggest thrills from being tied up and taken by another woman (better still, by women in the plural). The first was not a great surprise, but the other two were! This is how it all happened.

I lived then in a small country town, a few miles inland from the south coast of England. It is not a tourist resort, but it tends to attract better-off people as a pretty and peaceful base for seeing the countryside and the coast, and there are three or four medium-size and good quality hotels. These, and a few shops and cafes in the town square, were the only places that local teenagers could get part-time jobs on weekends or in the holidays, and there was a lot of competition for them.

Now I need to tell you about Kate, who had been my best friend since we met at the age of eleven, when we both started at secondary school (basically what in the USA is called high school, but it covers the ages from 11 to 18). Kate was quite tall – by the time she was 16, she was five feet ten inches – and had a lovely slim figure: the words lithe and lissom could have been invented for her. Her breasts started growing earlier than mine but quite slowly, so they were nicely pert but not all that large. She had light brown hair with some hints of auburn, and striking greenish eyes; she was full of energy – quite sporty – and nearly always laughing about something. We had a lot of fun together, but for the previous year or more I had found myself thinking about her, and sometimes looking at her, in ways that were rather warmer than even being best friends. When these events happened, my doubts about my sexual orientation had recently been stirred up by an incident with Kate.

Before going into that, I should describe myself at this time. I was shorter than Kate – my height was about five foot six inches – but I had developed a fuller figure. This had happened rather rapidly, and during the previous six to eight months I had really blossomed out. I always had a nice butt, in fact for a long time I thought it was my best feature: there was no excess weight at all, my hips had a shapely flare with buttocks that were taut and well-rounded. Now I began to realise why, as the jut of my ass was balanced by the growth of my chest into two swelling and shapely breasts, giving me a figure more like someone in their early 20s, with quite a cleavage and a profile that was eye-catching but not too overloaded. I have brown eyes with long lashes, and straight dark hair which falls to just below my shoulders.

Kate had become fascinated by the growth of my breasts, especially as she helped me shop each time I needed a larger size of bra. One evening we were alone at my house (I’m an only child, and my parents were out at a party until late) and messing about, when she asked to see them. I took off my t-shirt and bra, and was a bit startled when she then requested to touch them, explaining that she wanted to see if they felt different from her ones. I felt a little shy but also excited, like it was a dare, and said OK – if I can do the same. That surprised her, but she nodded as she could see it was only fair, and so she stripped off above the waist. Then, with a little hesitation and quite a lot of giggles, she took one of my breasts in each hand and started to stroke and squeeze them. It was an extraordinary feeling, and became even more so when – after a minute or so of paralysis – I did the same with hers. Both of us started breathing a bit heavier, and I remember suddenly realising that I was standing in my bedroom with my best friend, both of use nude from the waist up, fondling each other’s breasts. Unfortunately, I then lost my nerve, dropping my hand from her beautiful thrusting tits, and stepping backwards with a laugh. I made some sort of silly joke about it, and we quickly turned our attention to other things, although a few times I noticed her regarding me quizzically when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Not long before this, Kate had landed a Sunday job working at the largest and most exclusive of the hotels. It seemed generously paid and I envied her the extra money which it gave her, and the smart clothes she bought with it. So when, a couple of weeks after the breast-fondling incident, she told me there was another vacancy coming up and she could get me the job if I wanted it, I said ‘oh! yes – please!’, and gave her a big hug. Sure enough, she spoke to the owner, Miss Foster, and two days later I was seated in her office, being interviewed and then – as it seemed I was suitable – being told a bit more about the job. I didn’t quite take it all in, which at the time I put down to excitement at getting the coveted job, but in hindsight I think it was as much excitement about Miss Foster. She was in her late 30s, maybe near to forty, and kept herself trim and exercised. She was almost as tall as Kate, but with the fuller build of a mature woman. Her figure was partly hidden by the severe cut of the trouser and jacket business suit that she was wearing, but enough was visible to suggest there were curves where there should be. Her hair was dyed blonde, with some streaks of brown from the roots; it only came down to her collar, but was layered in a feminine ‘professional executive’ style. Although she was generally quite brisk and business-like (partly due to being efficient and well-organised), she was far from cold in her manner – it was more vigorous and confident, and she had a lot of charisma.

When the interview was finished, Miss Foster showed me round the hotel so that I would know where to go when I began work the following Saturday. The hotel had a long front section, built in the 1930s, with the kitchen, restaurant, bar and lounge on the ground floor, and guest bedrooms on the first and second floors. At one end of this, forming an ‘L’ shape, was a much newer block which Miss Foster had built about twelve years ago, not long after taking over the hotel when her parents retired. The extension had two floors, and there was just one doorway on the ground floor which led through from the older section. The ground floor of the extension had a number of single rooms and then at the far end were Miss Foster’s personal living rooms (her office was in the front main block); the upper floor of the new section was all bedrooms – mostly doubles. All the guest rooms in the hotel were quite large – actually more so in the new block – and comfortably furnished, and had en suite bathrooms. Miss Foster told me that the new section was called the Ladies’ Wing, because only female guests were booked into it. She explained that quite a lot of professional women found it more relaxing to stay in a part of the hotel where there were no men or couples, and that she had found this a profitable attraction – she said there were now quite a few women who came regularly, and recommended it to their friends. This was all true, but (as I was to find out) not quite for the innocent reasons that Miss Foster told me then!

We then walked into the original part of the hotel to the housekeeper’s room – this was Miss Foster’s main assistant, a thin blonde woman in her early 30s whom I was introduced to as Miss Deacon. She seemed a bit harassed and busy, but gave me a pleasant smile as she looked me over and then deftly measured me for my uniform. She produced from her store cupboard a maid’s uniform for me to try on, and I rather shyly took off my jeans and sweater. I felt a little uncomfortable with the eyes of the two women watching me as I stood for a few seconds in just my simple white bra and panties, and so I quickly slipped into the maid’s uniform. Miss Deacon knew her job, as it was a good fit but not restrictive for working in. The main part was a one-piece black dress which opened by a zipper from the collar to the small of the back; it had short sleeves, and the skirt came down to an inch or two above my knees. There was a separate white apron which fastened around the waist and over the shoulders, and a small black-and-white cap. Miss Foster asked me to turn round slowly, and nodded her satisfaction. She told me the uniform would be provided by the hotel and cleaned by them; I would come to and from work in my own clothes, and there was a room between the housekeeper’s and the kitchen where the staff got changed and had lockers for their personal items. I was instructed to wear black sensible flat shoes and black stockings – Miss Foster told me with particular emphasis not to wear tights, saying that the cleaning work made them too sweaty and the guests would notice the smell: her strict rule was either hold-up stockings or (best of all, she said) the traditional suspender belt with clips and old-fashioned stockings. Of course, at that point I didn’t know the real reason for her rule, and took her explanation at face value.

I would be working all day on Saturday, starting with serving breakfasts, then room cleaning, then serving lunches and dinners (the restaurant did quite a lot of business with non-residents); in the afternoon there would be a couple of hours break, but also other cleaning and general chores. I started on the next weekend, a month after my seventeenth birthday, and within a few weeks had got used to it and familiar with the other staff. I didn’t think it odd that they were all female: only Miss Foster and Miss Deacon actually lived at the hotel, and the others came in to work. There were half a dozen other local girls who helped out on the weekends and in the school holidays, which were the busiest times; I knew most of them from my school, apart from two who attended a private school in the next town. The only drawback was that Kate worked on Sunday, and so we only saw each other on Friday nights – by the time I finished on Saturday or she did on Sunday, we were too tired and it was too late to do anything other than go home.

It was on my sixth or seventh Saturday that my world changed for ever. The breakfasts had all been served in the dining room, when Miss Foster called me over and gave me a tray laden with two breakfasts. ‘I nearly forgot! she said; ‘take this to room L16, and then you may as well take a break for forty-five minutes – it’s too early to start on cleaning rooms’. I set off, a little bit intrigued as all the rooms with the letter L were in the Ladies’ Wing, which I had hardly set foot in since being shown round after the interview. L16 was on the upper floor, and in fact was one of the largest of the double bedrooms. I knocked politely on the door, and heard a voice in response telling me to come in. I was concentrating on balancing the tray as I entered the room, so it was not until I had carefully placed it on the table by the window that I took in my surroundings – and stopped abruptly. transfixed by what I saw.

The room had a large double bed – bigger than king size – and the duvet had been removed and was piled on the floor. Lying sprawled across the wide expanse of the pale yellow under-sheet was a beautiful young woman, apparently asleep – and completely naked. She was face-down, and her auburn hair fell in curls to her shoulders. I could see the outline of one breast, full and generous, and the rounded thrust of her buttocks. Most of all, her legs were spread quite wide apart, and from where I was standing at the foot of the bed I was looking almost straight up between them, where I could see the base of her vaginal slit.

Before I could react at all, another woman emerged from the en suite bathroom behind me and leaned against its door frame, looked at me appraisingly, and remarked: ‘she does look delectable, doesn’t she?’ This was the same voice that had called me to come in, and if the woman on the bed was a vision of youthful loveliness, this one over-trumped her with the gloss of experience and authority. She was partly dressed – but, oh!, how she was dressed! Looking at her, my knees nearly gave way, and I felt butterflies in my stomach and an unfamiliar warmth and wetness between my legs. The woman in the doorway was the older – mid 30s at least, whilst her companion looked around twenty-five. She had a well-kept figure with good curves that were more than emphasised by her outfit. This was entirely in black, and consisted of knee-high boots, traditional stockings held up by a garter belt, skimpy thong panties, and above them a laced corset-like basque that went from her hips to frame the undersides of her breasts, leaving the nipples visible.

I gasped, and unconsciously licked my lips; I must have looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. As she stepped past me and placed a twenty-pound note next to the breakfast tray, her younger companion lazily rolled over onto her back, with her legs spread even wider apart, and looked at me languorously. She had not been asleep at all – in fact the whole scenario had been staged for my arrival; I later discovered that Miss Foster had arranged with them to send over her ‘new girl’ at that time. The older woman said: ‘I’m Caroline, and this is Vicky – we’d like you to stay, and play with us for a while’. She came closer to me – I swallowed, but otherwise did not move or speak – and then her breasts were almost touching me as she reached for my chin, and gently but firmly kissed me on the lips. My mouth was already partly open, and I gave no resistance at all – in fact I opened wider, and my tongue sought hers. It was all the encouragement that she needed, and her hands dropped to my skirt and tugged it up above my hips. Then her fingers found the front of my panties, giving me a tingle as sharp as an electric shock.