SCENE IN A HOTEL ROOM

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2011


There is no ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the door of your hotel room, so I knock – not too hard – and when you call out ‘Yes?’, I reply ‘It’s the chambermaid’, and you tell me to come in.

I am a little tentative about this, because I am still quite new at this job – I am only a couple months over sixteen years of age, working in this smart hotel in my seaside home town as a vacation job in the school summer holidays. The law is you have to be over sixteen for this sort of employment (even a temporary position), and this is my second week since starting – I was lucky to get the job, they wouldn’t normally take a girl quite so young and new, but my eldest brother who worked here last summer recommended me to the manageress, and because he was a reliable hard worker she decided to give me a chance.

My job is quite simple: I give a thorough clean to the rooms from which people have checked out and a quicker tidy to the rooms where the guests are staying on, including making the beds. This is an expensive, classy establishment, and to maintain that image I have a very traditional chambermaid’s uniform to wear: a black linen knee-length dress with a white frilly apron, tied behind the neck and at the waist, and a small white lace cap pinned in my hair.

You are staying at the hotel for a week (this is your third day), and obviously you are not lacking money as you have taken one of the best and largest rooms in the hotel, with a balcony view onto the sea, and you are paying for a luxury double-bed room even though you are a single woman alone. You have admired this peach of an innocent girl as she cleaned your room on the last two days, and you have chatted to her a bit – but casually, not leading anywhere, just a friendly exchange about the weather and so on. However, today you have decided to try to seduce her, to tempt her along the lesbian path – you like taking naive young teenage novices best of all, and what a tasty little morsel this pretty babe would be, if you can coax her into surrendering her pussy to your pleasures.

When I enter, I see that you are not fully dressed. At once, I apologise and say that I will come back later, but you smile and tell me to stay, that now is a good time, and with an attractive laugh you add that you enjoy seeing people working when you are on holiday.

You look very elegant and stylish – I think you are in your late 20s, ten or a dozen years older than me. You are a tall slim woman with straight blonde hair cut to collar length, and you have the classic cheekbones, clear features, slender height and long legs of a fashion model, which makes me wonder if perhaps you are or were? Certainly, I’ve noticed that you have great dress sense, your outfits are original and yet perfectly complementary and tasteful. Just now, you are wearing a lovely silvery-patterned ankle-length silk dressing robe, obviously of the best quality. It is only loosely fastened around your waist with a single tie, and it is falling open. I can’t help but see that underneath you have a sky blue bra – only a demi cup, and much of that thin lace, so your breasts are very prominently visible, making me blush when I see them (and you think to yourself: how pretty that looks, I’d like to give her something really to blush about). Although I don’t yet know this, apart from that, all you have on are matching the thong panties and suspender belt, and pale blue stockings.

I start to clean the room, and you sit on the chair by the dressing table. At first, you cross your legs – which causes the robe to fall away on either side of them, exposing your wonderful shapely thighs. The robe is also gaping open at your chest, and I can see much more of your bra and breasts. As you observe me, you slip one hand inside your robe and cradle one of the bra cups – I see this out of the corner of my eye, and look quickly away, unsettled and unsure of myself, and suddenly I feel that the room is very warm and stuffy.

You say what a very pretty girl I am, and ask my age. With a slight sigh – not because of you, but because I always have to explain; it’s because I look so young, most people guess my age at no more than fourteen. You nod and say that of course I must be sixteen to able to work here, and that you understand my frustration – you say that you always looked young when you were a teenager, but you still do and now you don’t mind it all! You give a rich conspiratorial chuckle, including me in our sisterhood of slim youthful fresh-faced blondes, and any irritation that I had is melted away by your charm. Guilelessly I ask how old you are, and then at once I blush and apologise profusely for such a personal question – but you smile at me with a twinkle, and I am staggered when you say thirty-four! I stammer something cringingly inane about hoping I look half as good at that age, and you touch me gently on the cheek and say softly that you are sure I will, that I’m even prettier than you were at sixteen.

You ask in a casually-friendly way if I have a boyfriend, and I shake my head decisively – I just haven’t wanted to get into any of that yet, perhaps because the boys at school are always pestering me to go out with them, and I know what they really want from me, just to get my panties down and poke me with their thing – and then boast about it to their friends, and call me a slut behind my back. That happened to poor Ellen, and I’m certainly not letting it happen to me! Anyway, I can remember them all in short trousers from primary school, and they don’t appeal at all.

Then you really shake my composure, because you ask in just the same tone of voice, perhaps then I have a girlfriend? I feel such a hot flush – because I think I know what you mean, and I stutter that, of course, lots of my friends are girls, I go round in quite a group … but your slightly raised eyebrow shows that we both know what you are really referring to. And part of my turmoil is because I have been having some strange thoughts for a while, mainly about my friend Denise, I’ve been noticing her cute ass a lot, I don’t know why (no! I don’t!), and sometimes I’ve been watching her when we undress, side by side, before gym class. I don’t think I’m a … you know, one of those … I’m not even going to say it! It’s just natural curiosity, because Denise’s breasts developed earlier and are bigger than mine, that’s all it is, really, I’m sure … I mean, sometimes she comes into my dreams at night, sometimes with her top off and saying she wants to kiss me, but that doesn’t mean anything, all sorts of weird stuff happens in dreams, and I only remember those bits because I wake up after them covered in sweat and trembling.

I smile shakily, and remember that I’m supposed to be working, not chatting with the guests. I return to tidying the room, and as I pull the covers back from the bed you watch me, apparently without a care – but actually you are like a hawk, waiting for the moment. As I move the pillow to straighten it, I find an object underneath and pick it up – before realising what it is (I’m not THAT innocent): a vibrator. I drop it like a hot potato, and feel myself blushing furiously. You give a rich laugh, and get lazily to your feet – you give a sensuous stretch that has the intended effect of undoing the tie on your robe, so that it falls completely open to both sides. You walk a few steps to the bed and pick up the vibrator, catch my eye with yours, give me a wink of woman-to-woman acknowledgement that I find enormously flattering – then you kiss the silver tip of the vibrator, and say: ‘my closest friend, I wouldn’t travel without her!’, and you put it away in your suitcase.

I am flustered, partly by finding an object that has been inside a woman’s cunt, partly by your assumption that I would completely know and understand (perhaps you assume that I have one of these things myself, dear God!!), and partly by your use of the female pronoun for your sex toy … yes, oh yes, I noticed that – I’m an observant girl, everyone says so.

You sit down again, but this time with your legs apart. The robe hangs loosely from your shoulders, concealing nothing at all, as if you have completely forgotten about it. I return to making the bed, smoothing out the undersheet – to do that on this side, I have to bend right over with my ass jutting out towards you, and somehow I know that you are looking at it, that your interest is far more than casual. I swallow, feeling a slight flush, completely unsure of how to handle this situation – after all, absolutely nothing has actually happened, right?

Then I glance over my shoulder, and I see that you are watching me avidly, your legs apart and one hand resting gently against the V shape crotch of your thong panties, slowly rubbing yourself, and your other hand has covered one of your bra cups and is slowly squeezing it.

I am shocked, frightened – and fascinated, and frightened of being fascinated.