Humiliated Hotel Maid
Isis Cole
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Isis Cole
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a coincidence, and takes place only in the imagination of the reader.
Other erotic novels by Isis Cole:
“Yes,” the wealthy and powerful man said into his smartphone. “I’m leaving the country later today. My flight lands in Paris at 8am tomorrow, and we’ll take it up at that time. Make sure my car is waiting when I arrive. Last time, it was fifteen minutes late. I’m annoyed by such delays.”
His name was Yves Savoir-Faire, and he was the Chief Minister at the World Foreign Bank. He stood nude in the bedroom of his penthouse suite high atop the Ritz-Fabulous Hotel in Chicago. The carpet was deep pile and was kind to the soft undersides of his pampered feet. The floor-to-ceiling windows in front of him gave a staggering view of the city’s late morning skyline. From up here, it really was a beautiful city.
“Yes, you heard correctly. I missed the Circle of Eight meeting. I did it deliberately. Yes, I know what they will say. But I cannot concern myself with that. I have enemies, all great men do. So what? When I am head of the European Union, the talk will worsen, not improve.”
Yves stood with the phone to his ear. The woman on the other end, his underling, continued to speak, but Yves was no longer listening.
The bank was paying $5,000 a night for him to stay here. Of course that was natural - he was an important man. He looked at himself in the wall mirror. He had an all-out, throbbing, ram of an erection. He held it in his hand and pulled it up for his own inspection. He was not a tall man, barely taller than some of the women who worked for him, but he did have a thick, gigantic cock. It was an almost freakish appendage, completely out of proportion to the rest of his body.
And the body itself was good. At fifty-eight years, he liked to think he had taken care of himself and was still as attractive to the opposite sex as he had been in his youth. Even more so - he was now at the height of his power.
“Okay,” he said, thankful that the phone call was finally ending. “I’ll see you then.”
He rang off the phone and sighed. During his career, he’d grown accustomed to many things. He expected the most luxurious surroundings, anywhere he found himself. He expected the finest food, and the best entertainment - theatre, dance, music - that any world-class city had to offer.
Finally, he expected, and indeed demanded, complete obedience from his underlings. His slightest whim, especially sexual, must be carried out immediately. He was an alpha-male, a dominant in a world full of submissives. It was very important that he be treated as such.
He always insisted on this. How else could he have risen to such heights?
This morning, his last morning in America, he was almost electric with excitement. Rather than breakfast in the hotel restaurant, he had ordered up a treat which he could enjoy here in the privacy of his room. It was a young black serving maid - a very quiet girl -who he had noticed cleaning his suite during his stay.
He had gotten her name from the tag she wore on her tight-fitting uniform. Angelique. It was a pretty name for a very pretty girl. Well, today she would finally get her chance to work directly under him. He hoped that she would be equal to the tasks he would demand of her. He had every confidence that she would.
When he called the front desk, he requested her personally. He told them there were some things he needed assistance with before he left for the airport, and he was impressed by the girl’s attention to detail.
She should be here in a moment. Yves retreated to the bathroom for a quick shower. He knew how young ladies enjoyed a man who smelled nice.
* * *
Ding - dong.
The large bathroom was filled with steam when Yves heard the doorbell to the suite ring. It had a pleasant, musical pitch. Yves had just stepped from the shower, and the wall-length mirror was so fogged, he could not see himself. He wrapped a plush white towel around his waist, held it closed with one hand, and opened the door to the bathroom just a crack. His cock was at half-mast from the shower, so would not be instantly alarming to anyone who saw the bulge. He peered through the crack in the door.
The girl let herself in. Yes. She entered the bedroom tentatively. Yves had a moment to drink in the sight of her. She was perfect - a pretty face with thick lips, full breasts pushing against her blouse, a small waist, and a lovely, enormous ass. Dark brown skin and shapely young flesh filled her ridiculous maid uniform. The ass was made for Yves’s cock. Her skirt could barely contain it.
“H’lo?” she called, in a voice with a subtle island accent.
Yves opened the door and walked out into the room. Her eyes widened at the appearance of the financier covered only by a towel.
“Oh, my,” he said. “You came too soon. I’m just stepping out of the shower.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She averted her gaze now, focusing instead on the tops of her own shoes. “Shall I go out?”
Yves waved that idea away with his free hand.
“Nonsense. You’re here now and I’ve only got a very few things for you to do. I’m leaving for the airport in an hour. Angelique, is it? You’ve been the girl cleaning this room all week while I’ve been here, have you not?”
Already, the girl seemed wary. “Yes, I think so.”
“You think so. Terrific. Now that we have that squared away, here’s the first task I need you for. Please do it to the best of your ability, as I insist on exceptional service. Serve me well and I’ll put a good word in for you with the management of this hotel. All right?”
The girl shrugged, not quite sure. “All right.”
“And how old are you?” he said.
“I’m twenty-three.”
He smiled. She was very young, and looked even younger. “Twenty-three is a marvelous age. You have a long adventure ahead of you. So, I have a very bad back, and several of my travel items are under the bed where I can’t reach them. I need you to reach under the bed and pull out my bags, some shoes I have under there, and whatever else you find.”
The girl walked over to the end of the king-sized bed. She pulled up the comforter from the floor. She glanced back at Yves. “Under here?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
She sank slowly to her knees, then bent over onto her elbows and peered under the bed. From Yves’s vantage point, about all he could see was her ass pulled tight against her short black skirt, and her lovely muscular legs in sheer stockings. He moved closer and stood over her. Already, he was heightened again. His cock swelled with excitement. She was on the floor before him. It took nothing to put her there.
She pulled out a small gray carry case. She pulled out one loafer. Then another.
Yves removed his towel and let it drop silently to the carpet behind him.
“Angelique,” he said. “I left a brown leather wallet in the top drawer of my bureau yesterday. You might have seen it. There was money in it. When I returned, some of the money was missing.”
The girl stopped moving. She remained there, on her hands and knees, her head craned under the bed. Yves stepped even closer still. He was right behind her now. His erect cock towered over her. The issue of the money was all the more delicious for being true. He had left $1,160 in the wallet. When he came back to the room, $40 of it was missing - an amount so pathetic a rich man would probably never notice. Ah, but the wallet was a trap for Angelique to fall into, wasn’t it? Indeed, it was. And now the trap had sprung!
“I imagine your employers would be very sorry to hear of this,” he said.
She still didn’t move or speak. Yves resisted the urge to kneel behind her, pull her skirt up and poke his rod at her sexy stockings and underwear.
“Turn around, please,” he said instead.
Angelique backed out from under the couch, and made as if to stand.
“No. Stay on your knees, of course.”
She slowly turned to face him. His erection was almost perfectly at the level of her mouth. Her dark red lips were like a second vagina. His cock was no more than an inch from her.
“I don’t want you to lose your job, but I know you stole my money,” he said.
She spoke very quietly. “I will return it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Dear Angelique, it’s much too late for that. You never should have taken it in the first place.”
She swallowed some lump that was in her throat. “Sir, I am engaged to be married.”
He was fond of her. He enjoyed looking down at her from this angle, on her knees before his throbbing member. She was a beautiful young woman. He ran a proprietary hand along her head. He curled his fingers into her thick hair.
“In that case, we’ll just make this our little secret.”
Gently, but firmly, he pulled her head toward him. She resisted, but only for a second. She knew her options. Refusal meant dismissal. Yves would do it, too. She must have seen that in his eyes. He would report her.
His erection was almost painful. The head of his cock had swollen to a giant size. It seemed like it would never fit in her small mouth. He brought it closer, closer. Ah well, they would have to make it fit.
“Please have pity,” the young woman said.
“The strong have no pity for the weak,” Yves said. “And after all, it is only a few minutes of pleasure that I’m asking. It will keep you at this nice hotel and away from the street.”
A few minutes of pleasure meant she could keep her job. That seemed a plausible story. Only, Yves wanted more than just a few minutes from her. He wanted more than just a little pleasure. He wanted her to pay for her crime, and he planned to provide the punishment.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
* * *
Slowly, he slipped his throbbing cock into her open mouth. She groaned as he pushed it halfway to her throat, then held it there. The pleasure of it sitting on her tongue, enclosed by her hot, wet mouth, was exquisite.
He began to slide it in and out, taking it slow, fucking her mouth but in no rush. Having her like this made him think of old colonial days. He imagined himself a slave owner on the Ivory Coast, and she was one of his chattel. She had no choice but to suck him, or bend over for him, or do whatever he wanted, and afterward he would send her back to the slave barracks. Either that, or give her as a gift to one of his acquaintances, preferably a rude and brutal ivory trader.
The fantasy excited him. He gripped her head with both hands now and began to slide his cock faster, driving it deep and then deeper. He pushed it all the way to the edge of her throat, then held it there, choking her. She sputtered and gasped.
He pulled it out to let her catch her breath, then drove it in again. He pushed it until his balls rested on her chin. He cradled her head, holding her face there against his stomach. Slowly, he slid the cock out again.
A string of saliva depended from the tip of his cock to her juicy lips. She breathed heavily, and closed her eyes.
“Angelique,” he said.
She nodded.
“I want you to look at me.”
She opened her eyes again, the saliva still hanging between them. She looked up at him. They made eye contact.
“Now, don’t look away or close your eyes,” he said.
Slowly, he pushed his cock into her mouth. They gazed into each other’s eyes while he pushed it deeper. “Good girl. Keep looking at me. I’m your master and I want you to look up to me.”
He began fucking her mouth again. All the while they gazed at each other.
Her mouth closed around the cock. “Mmmmm,” she said. “Mmmmmm.”
He was getting to her now. He was turning her on. She pressed her body against his legs. He wanted to rip her silly uniform off. He wanted to cum all over her.
“Are you a little slut who got caught stealing money?” he said as he pushed his cock deep once again.
“Ahhh,” she said. Her hands began to raise her skirt above her waist.
Another moment of this and Yves would indeed cum. It was too soon. The fun had just started. He slid his cock out of her mouth again. Her hungry mouth chased it as he pulled it away.
“No more of that right now,” he said. “First you must pay for what you did.”
* * *
Yves bent her over the bed.
He pulled her skirt up around her waist, and yanked her stockings and her panties down to her knees, leaving her ass exposed. He pulled her blouse up over her head, and left it there, covering her face, blinding her. Then he removed her bra and allowed her breasts to fall free. She remained there, supported on her elbows, her feet on the floor, her long legs spread, her round ass high in the air.
Now, he stood maybe ten feet behind her with his mobile phone. This was such a nice memory, he wanted to capture it. He snapped a few photos with the camera feature of the phone.
“Angelique, I haven’t seen an ass like that in some time.”
He put the phone on the bureau and approached her. He rested his hard, glistening cock on her ass. He liked the contrast of his white cock on her dark brown skin. Suddenly, he raised his hand and slapped her right buttock hard. It made a loud SMACK, and left a slight sting on the palm of his hand.
The maid whimpered in response.
It was exactly the response he was looking for. He moved to the side to gain a better angle for his spanks. He SMACKED her again, this time gripping and kneading the firm meat of her ass.
She whimpered again, louder this time, as the shockwave moved up her body. If possible, his erection became even harder, larger, more monstrous. It was nearly all-consuming. It usurped the blood flow to his brain, and he began to think only of her - of riding her, of abusing her, of degrading her, of consuming her.
He spanked her, again and again, harder, his hand becoming pink, her ass turning from brown to red. She moaned. She sighed. Her breath came in short, sharp rasps. He SMACKED her again. And again. And again. He could not control himself any longer.
“Are you a little slut who needs to be punished?” he said.
SMACK.
“Unh,” she groaned.
“Are you sorry you took my money?”
SMACK.
“Aaaannnhh.” She pushed against his hand. Her voluptuous body writhed.
“Are you pathetic now? Do you have to fuck to keep your lowly job?”
SMACK.
He stopped. He was out of breath himself. He slid his hand between her legs. He found the spot there hot and wet. Her thighs were soaked. He slid two fingers easily inside her, then added a third. They came out slick with her fluid. She raised her ample ass higher to give him better access.
“Please,” she said from under her blouse. “My boyfriend…”
He centered himself behind her. His raging cock pointed where it wanted to go. It towered like a grain silo now, so hard it felt like it might explode. He felt no mercy for her. Her body was ready for him, and she had brought this on herself.
“Your boyfriend can have you back when I am done.”
He pushed his cock into her. She was so wet that his first thrust went extravagantly deep. He rode her now, fucking her hard and fast. He gripped her, a hand on each side of her waist, pulling her body toward him as he thrust his pelvis toward her.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang…
He bent himself over her body, fucking her like dogs fuck. He went hard and long, banging, thrusting, out of his head, only in his body. He gasped for air, as did she. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on him, then dripped onto her back. She began to moan again, louder and louder. Her body began to shudder, and still he banged. Her orgasm drove him on. He hammered her like a piston.
She lifted her head. “AAAAAnnngggghhhhhhhh!”
He slowed down. He kept thrusting. “You little slut,” he said, each word punctuated by a thrust.
“You.”
“Little.”
“Slut.”
She collapsed forward onto her face, her arms unable to hold her any more, her body pressed again the bed. Still, she trembled.
He slid his cock from her. It was red and excited. Yves himself was out of breath. His body was drenched in sweat. A drop of perspiration hung from his nose. He glanced around the room, then set his eyes on the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave such an astonishing view of the city.
“I’m going to take your ass,” he gasped. “But not here. Not on the bed.”
* * *
“I’m afraid,” she said. “Someone might see.”
He had disrobed her completely. She stood nude, like him, in front of the gigantic windows. Her body was a perfect hourglass. Her breasts defied gravity. Her nipples were erect and startlingly long, like double pencil erasers. She did not shave under her arms. The sight of her was so carnal that Yves was heightened more than ever.
He had to own her in every way. She seemed to realize this, and made no attempt at resistance. There was no sense resisting. He was unstoppable, a juggernaut.
He looked out through the glass at the bright day outside. They were so high up that the people on the streets below were like insects. The nearest building of similar height was quite far away. Perhaps someone with a telescope could watch them, or someone passing nearby in a helicopter.
“I wish they could see,” he said. “But I’m afraid they can’t.”
He stepped closer to the window. He spit a wad of thick saliva onto the glass. It slid slowly down. He spit another one just to its right, and a third companion to its left.
“Tell me, Angelique,” he said. “Do you do windows?”
She looked at him, big pretty eyes wide with confusion. “Do I…”
He padded back to her and positioned himself behind her. Her big round ass protruded just in front of him. He spit into his hand now, and rubbed the saliva all over the head and shaft of his cock, lubricating it. He spit again. Then again. The third time, he took the saliva and rubbed it between the crack of her ass. He ignored her small gasp as he inserted a finger and pushed it deep.
“Yes,” he said. “Do you do windows?”
“Why, sometimes I do.”
“Good. I want you to do these windows.”
He pushed her firmly toward the window. When she was close enough, she raised her hands and braced herself against the glass. She put a flat palm on either side of the three places where he had spit.
“No,” he said. “Not like that.” He pulled her arms down, first one, then the other, then pushed her face and body up to the window. He pushed her cheek into the saliva, and squashed her breasts against the glass as well. Enough saliva had dropped down that her breasts got as wet as her face. He moved her face and body around in the spittle in a circular fashion, pushing and then pulling. Her skin made a squeaking sound against the glass. He longed to see what this might look like from the other side.
“Like this,” he said. “This is how you wash a window. You rub your face against it. You rub your tits against it.”
He held her in place with one hand, then leaned back. He dropped some more saliva into his free hand, then lubricated his cock one more time. He slid it against the tiny hole of her ass, and pushed. Slowly, slowly, the hole opened to accommodate him.
“Unh,” she said as he drove it in, her face against the glass, her breasts against glass, her ass pushed out against him.
He glanced down and saw that her own hand had drifted between her legs. Her fingers rubbed and massaged there. He pushed his cock deeper while she rubbed and rubbed. He held it there, allowing her to masturbate while impaled on his cock. He loved this girl! He had spanked her and humiliated her, rubbed her face in his spit, and still she was aroused. She knew her place. She wanted him to degrade her.
Slowly, gently now, he pushed his cock in and out. She worked herself with her fingers, her heat rising and rising, her body shuddering now, going far beyond the first climax, transcending it, her face flushing red. He filled her ass as one orgasm after another tore through her. He waited, and when she was done, pulled out.
She slid down the glass, first to her knees, then to a crumpled heap on the floor at the base of the window.
* * *
“This will be the big finish,” he said.
They had moved to the bathroom. She kneeled on a towel before him. He had given her the towel because the tile floor in the bathroom was hard. He didn’t want her to hurt her knees. He had grown quite fond of her.
He had moved them to the bathroom because of the wall-length mirror. When finally he came, he wanted to witness it.
He was quite close. He held her head with one hand, fingers wrapped in her hair. With the other, he jerked and stroked himself, all the while watching himself in the glass. His throbbing cock was impressive. It had done a mighty job today. It looked like a large snake hovering over her. He felt the orgasm rising with in him. It approached, rising from some depth that seemed to come not from inside his body, but from somewhere beyond it.
The first spasm ripped through him, and he fired a load, draping it across her forehead. Another load came and then another, and he deposited them on her cheek and on her chin. The white cum looked so sexy on her face. He groaned and then giggled with physical relief. He glanced at himself in the mirror again.
He smiled. He stuck his tongue out.
“Okay,” he said, releasing her head. “You get cleaned up and then come see me out in the bedroom.”
He left her, closing the door behind him. He stood in the bedroom, looking around. It had been quite a morning, and he felt drained. A heaviness settled into his legs, and a fog drifted into his brain, the fog that often comes after sex.
He was running late. Indeed, there was no time for another shower. He would simply have to dress and go if he wanted to catch his plane. His suitcase was mostly packed. He had left some clothes out for himself on the sofa. He slid on his briefs and then a pair of casual tan pants.
The girl came out of the bathroom, still nude. She padded to the bed and sat down. Her face was clean now, but she made no move to put her clothes on. Yves didn’t mind. She had a beautiful body. It was a wonder to look at.
“Why did you do that?” the girl said.
Yves slid the belt into the loops of his pants. “Do what?” he said.
“Attack me. Rape me. Why did you do it?”
Yves laughed. “My dear, I didn’t rape you. We had what’s called consensual sex. Did I treat you poorly? Yes. Did I use you like a sex toy, and then throw you behind like a rag doll? Yes. But that often happens between two people of our different stations in life. That doesn’t make it rape.”
“I say you raped me,” she said.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you say.”
She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. “I wonder what the police will think?”
He pulled on a new white dress shirt and began to fasten the buttons. He found himself irritated by the turn in the conversation. He felt like he would soon become short with her. “No policeman will believe you,” he said. “And no judge or jury will take your side over mine.”
She was silent for a long moment. During the lull, he tucked his shirt into his pants. Then she nodded, as if to herself, and said: “I want to show you something.”
She leaned over to the table, and took up the hotel pad and pen there. She scribbled something on the top page of the notepad. He watched her all the while. He really must be going very soon. The thing about airplanes was that they didn’t wait.
She ripped the top sheet off and handed it to him. He gazed down at what was written there.
- You do indeed have enemies, great man. I work for them. They have recorded every second of this incident -
He looked at her.
She gestured around the room with her head. She placed a finger to her lips. Then she smiled. Her teeth were very white. Her pretty smile could light up a room.
For the first time, Yves could not find words. His brain seemed to have frozen. They were taping him. Anything he might say would sound incriminating. He glanced in the corners of the room. A nervous feeling gnawed at his bowels. Were they videotaping?
Deftly, the girl plucked the piece of paper from his trembling fingers. She crushed the paper into a ball, popped it into her mouth, chewed it for a few seconds, and swallowed it. Then she silently held her empty hands up as if to say:
“See? All gone.”
* * *
Yves was on his third glass of champagne.
He sat in his comfortable pod in the gleaming first class section of the jumbo jet airplane. Outside his window, he watched the lights of the runway in the darkness. The plane crouched uselessly on the tarmac, the engines revving and falling. He found himself growing increasingly frustrated, almost frantic, by the delay. They hadn’t even pushed away from the terminal yet.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he said into his mobile phone. “Yes, I will be glad to see you, too. Maybe we can sit in the garden and just have a bottle of red wine together, like in the old days. I would enjoy that.”
His wife. God, how he missed her. All this travel was taking its toll on him. He should try to be home more often. He found himself thinking about the romance of their early days together, the time before he was so prominent, back when the children were young. He longed for those days. He cupped his head in his free hand.
“Am I sad?” he said. “No, not sad. It’s just that all this running around is making me exhausted. These meetings… This city, Chicago, it’s such a hateful place. I can’t wait to take off from here, and I can’t wait to return to you.”
He looked up at some commotion in the cabin. Three uniformed police officers had entered first class, along with one man in a trench coat. The man in the coat was tall and heavy, with a doughy face and the huge, strong hands of a dock worker. His hard eyes seemed permanently set in a cynical squint. The sight of him made Yves sick to his stomach.
The man glanced around at the numbers above the individual pods. He seemed unfamiliar with the arrangement of the first class cabin on a trans-oceanic flight. Eventually, however, those eyes settled on Yves. The eyes were blank. There was nothing in them - no humor, no anger, no emotion of any kind.
“Mr. Savoir-Faire? I’m Detective O’Reilly of the Chicago Police Department Sex Crimes Division. I wonder if you would come with me?”
On the phone, Yves’s wife was still talking, speaking some reassuring words about the garden, about a tray of cheese and salmon, a sunny day, perhaps a trip down to the house on the coast.
“Sweetheart,” Yves said. “I’m sorry, but I must go now.”
# # # #
About the Author
Isis Cole is the pen name of a bestselling and critically-acclaimed author. Her other works, written under her real name, have appeared throughout the world and in numerous languages. She has also been an exotic dancer, a bartender, a publicist and an advertising executive. She loves to travel, and has visited more than 40 countries.
Humiliated Hotel Maid is her third erotic story. Humiliated Husband and Humiliated Teacher are her others.
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