It was four AM, and the final drunken guest had staggered their way back to their room an hour ago. Dawn was beginning to creep up the streets outside, and Andrew was fighting a losing battle with sleep. He hated this time of the night. Early on in the shift there was still work to do – guests to check in, calls to answer, rooms to check. The other reception staff were wide awake and talkative – it even sometimes bordered on fun. As the hours rolled on, however, there was less and less work to do, less and less conversation, more and more yawns and tired faces.
He stared at his computer screen. He’d had nothing to do for the last hour, and he knew that there would be nothing to do for the next three hours either, not until the morning shift staff arrived at seven AM. There was nothing between then and now except a landscape of boredom.
“Andrew. Can I borrow you for a minute?” The sound of his own name jerked Andrew from his reverie. Monica – the duty manager for the night – was standing on the other side of the desk, tapping her keycard on its wooden surface.
“Sure thing,” said Andrew, fighting down a yawn. He locked his terminal and came around the desk. Monica beckoned for him to follow her, and they set off down one of the corridors. They didn’t talk – both of them knew that they were surrounded on every side by sleeping guests, none of whom would be best pleased to be woken by talkative members of staff.
Andrew wondered what she could possibly want with him. Nothing good, he imagined. Monica was famously strict, and she looked it too. She always dressed immaculately, in a sharp skirt, blouse, jacket and scarf. Her legs were clad in sheer black tights, and her blonde hair was combed back into a neat ponytail. When she first arrived at the hotel he’d not been the only staff member to harbour something of a secret crush on her. Sadly, however, she had never shown any interest.
They arrived at a room at the end of the corridor, and Monica used her keycard to let them in. The place was empty, immaculate, and ready to receive any guests who might arrive. Monica gestured him into the room, and locked the door behind them.
“So,” said Andrew, flicking on the light, “how can I help.”
Monica followed him into the room and flicked the light back off. Andrew turned to face her, puzzled. “Well,” said Monica, “to start with you can rip off my clothes, throw me down on that bed and fuck me.”
Andrew blinked. “I’m sorry?” he said, certain he must have misheard.
Monica rolled her eyes. “Don’t be cute. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You think I don’t notice? I know you probably fantasise about me while you’re jacking off of an evening. So here’s your chance. I’m bored, I’m horny, I’ve just split from my boyfriend, and I want to get laid. More specifically, I want to get laid by you.”
“I see,” said Andrew. In spite of himself his cock had already hardened beneath his clothes, and he found himself trying to imagine the shape of Monica’s body beneath hers. But… surely this couldn’t be real, could it? “Are you sure-“
“Ugh.” Monica made as if to stamp her foot in frustration. “You do want to fuck me, don’t you?” she said.
Andrew looked her in the eye. She was deadly serious. “Well… yes,” he said. “Course I do.”
Monica spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Then come on and fuck me,” she said, before stepping forward, grabbing Andrew by his lapels and drawing him into a fierce, deep kiss. After a moment of surprise, Andrew kissed back with a will, pushing his tongue into Monica’s mouth, his hands roaming over her body, feeling her softness beneath her clothes.
They kissed for a minute or two, and then Monica pulled back and looked him in the eyes. There was something of a challenge there – a dare, almost. And Andrew was ready to meet it. Without another word, he ripped away her scarf, and started undoing her blouse. At the same time her hands were at work on his shirt, fumbling the buttons. Quickly they ripped away one another’s clothes. Monica doglegged her hands behind her back and unclipped her bra, releasing her heavy, rounded breasts. Her nipples were already erect. She grabbed Andrew’s belt and, with deft hands, undid the catch. His cock sprang free, hard and erect. With a soft squeal of delight, Monica wrapped her hand around it.
Andrew couldn’t quite believe what was happening. A few minutes ago he’d been sitting at the reception desk, bored out of his mind. Now here he was naked with the duty manager he’d always secretly fantasised about, his hard cock being pumped slowly in her fist.
“I’m wet,” breathed Monica. “Feel me.”
Andrew needed no further encouragement. He reached between her legs and ran a hand over the soft mound of her pubis. His fingers dipped into her, and she was wet and soft and slick and ready. He felt his cock quiver with excitement, and – caught up in a moment of lust – he pushed Monica gently back towards the bed.
She lay back on the pristine covers, spreading her legs, giving him a view of her neatly-shaved pussy. It was small and pink, tight-looking, neat. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. The sudden rush of arousal was overwhelming. He fell on her, kissing her mouth, then her neck, then her breasts, his body pinning hers to the bed, his back arched, his cock seeking her heat.
Monica groaned long and low as he sank into her. He felt her shaking slightly underneath him, felt her insides clutching tight around his cock. She was so wet. So tight. For a second or two he simply lay there, enjoying the sensation of being inside of her. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, urging him deeper.
Andrew started to move, slowly at first, but picking up speed as the sensations of pleasure started to build within him. He made fists of the bedsheets and bucked into her hard, encouraged by her moans of pleasure. He could feel every inch of his cock sliding in and out of her tight slit, and he could feel the way she tightened around him. They were kissing frantically, their tongues wrestling, their bodies becoming one, blurred together.
When it came his orgasm was huge. It seemed to go on forever, spurt after spurt of tingling pleasure leaving him. Fireworks exploded all through his body, and he gripped Monica tight as he convulsed on top of her. Her teeth fastened on his neck, and she cried out with pleasure as he filled her, her back arching so that he could push deeper inside.
Finally, once his orgasm was over they separated and rolled apart on the bed. For a moment of two they both simply lay staring up at the ceiling, waiting for their breathing to return to normal. The, slowly, they both sat up.
“Well,” said Monica breathlessly, “that rather livened up the night shift, didn’t it?”
guest post ( Carla Frost )