Billie felt the hand slide along her side and across her warm tummy to cup her breast. The hand played with her nipple for a few seconds, and then a rough, early morning, male voice said, "Honey, are you awake?"
"Mmmph," was all the reply she could manage.
The hand squeezed her breast and the voice said, "How about a little morning fun?"
Billie didn't bother to answer. She rolled on her side and pulled her up her knees. She felt the bed bounce and heard a drawer open and close. There was the whisper of a foil pack opening and then the bed trembled once more as her boyfriend, John, moved into position behind her. She felt a cool sensation as the lubricated condom nudged aside her pussy lips and John slipped his diminutive cock into her pussy. The bed began to sway gently as John pumped his hips. Billie wasn't sure which came first — John's little penis or her return to sleep.
Two hours later Billie shook her flame red hair into place before a mirror at work. She checked her face and then stepped back. The western resort where she was employed as a housekeeper used blue jeans and white knit shirts as a work uniform. At five feet — two inches tall, Billie wore size four jeans that were molded to her butt. The shirt she wore was much too large for her tiny waist, but only barley large enough for her D-cup breasts.
Satisfied with her look, Billie left the locker room and headed for the employee lounge. She got a cup of coffee and joined the other maids at a long table. Shortly, Gloria, their supervisor joined them and handed out assignments for the day. As the other maids left, Gloria and Billie got together. They had been best friends in high school. Gloria had married right out of school and taken a job at the resort. Now, at twenty-three years of age she was the resort's head housekeeper. Billy, on the other hand, had stayed single. She worked part time at the resort and attended college.
As they left the lounge, Gloria asked, "How was the big anniversary dinner last night?"
"John got us reservations at the Deerstalker," Billie said, naming an upscale restaurant. "It was good — lots of wine and dancing."
"And afterwards?" prompted Gloria.
"You mean in the bedroom?" asked Billy. Gloria nodded.
Billie stopped and turned to her friend. "Oh you won't believe it," she said in an exasperated tone. "I had candles lit and champagne ready for us. Then I stepped into the bathroom for like five seconds, and when I came out he was sound asleep, snoring like some big old bear."
Gloria laughed. "See? That's what happens when you get involved with an older man."
"He's only thirty-five," said Billie. "You'd think he could stay awake past midnight for sex." She was quiet for a second. "Actually, he did give it the old get it up, get it in and out this morning."
"Oh you're kidding," said Gloria.
"No. Anyway, I think he did. I'm not sure. I think I slept through it."
"It sounds," said Gloria, "like you two are an old couple already. You're going to have to get married or break up."
"He doesn't want to get married, and neither do I. When I graduate in a few months he'll probably toss me out for someone younger and prettier," sighed Billie. John was an instructor at her college. He was a nice, very considerate, and attractive guy. He always made sure that Billie got the classes she needed and at times that were convenient to her. But their sex life had never been satisfying. At least to Billie it hadn't. He was usually good for one attempt per week to really satisfy Billie, and he usually failed. The rest of the time, like this morning, he did a sort of apologetic quickie.
"He might be able to nail a younger co-ed," said Gloria. "But a prettier one with a better body just isn't going to happen."
"Thanks," said Billie with a genuine smile. "You've made my day."
"Here," Gloria said. "Your day gets even better." She handed Billie her assignment sheet. "You take the seventh floor. We're over staffed today, so take your time and get in some easy hours. Don't you let any of these old bitches talk you into helping them." Billie was a fast worker and the other maids often called on her for help when she had finished her own duties.
Billie laughed. "OK, boss. Anything you say, boss."
It was early afternoon when Billy came to the last room on her list. She knocked on the door and when she received no response, she used her passkey to enter. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It was a combination of stale alcoholic drinks and the lingering aroma of competing feminine fragrances. She looked around the room, and then smiled and said to herself, "Look's like someone's had a party."
There were several empty beer cans and wine bottles on the dresser as well as a couple of mostly empty bags of chips, and a depleted plastic tub of salsa dip. But the thing that caught Billie's eye was a pile of lingerie on one of the double beds. There must have been fifty pieces — mostly bras and panties — of different styles and colors. She imagined two couples in the room, with the woman trying on various combinations of sexy underwear and showing off their bodies to their boyfriends or husbands.
Now that was something she could do for John, she thought. She could put on a little lingerie show. Of course he'd probably just nod off as she changed from one sexy outfit to another.
Then it struck her that there were no masculine items in the room. She peeked into the bathroom; there were no razors, shaving cream, men's deodorant, etc. So it must have been a group of ladies doing the partying, she deduced. Now Billie imagined women dressing up for other women. Throw in the liberal use of alcohol, and you either had some hilarious party game, or something very sensual. Her mind went back to her young teen years when she and her girlfriends had practiced kissing one another at pajama parties. A couple of those kisses had left her breathless and with a wildly beating heart. But kisses were as far as she'd gone with another girl.
Billie snapped out of her daydream and went back to work. In a few minutes the room was clean and there were fresh towels in the bathroom. She had only to vacuum the rug and she would be finished. Billie lifted the upright vacuum from her maid's cart and plugged it in. When she hit the switch, there was a loud pop and then the motor began to hiss and crackle. Billie jumped back as a wisp of smoke appeared from the machine. She wasted no time in jerking the vacuum's plug from the wall socket.
Billie took a deep breath to calm herself. She walked over to the vacuum and gave it a soft kick. "You scared the shit out of me," she fussed at the now quiet appliance. The vacuum answered with the acrid odor of burnt parts.
Billie frowned. She couldn't leave the floor undone. There were too many crumbs from the party on the carpet. She could take the broken vacuum down eight floors to the maintenance shop in the basement of the resort, but there was a good chance that they wouldn't be able to fix it immediately or have a replacement available. Then she remembered that she might have one quick alternative.
Billie left the room and headed for the maid's closet. In there, under a shelf in the back she found what she had hoped would be there, a Branson 500 vacuum cleaner. The big silver cylinder must have been fifty years old. It looked as if the Branson Company had stopped making military equipment — possibly jet engines — and entered the market for industrial strength appliances. The machine was almost four feet long, and more than a foot in diameter. The body was cylindrical with indentations for the various attachments which were securely clipped to into place. The whole assembly was made of shiny steel and thick, black rubber; there wasn't a bit of plastic in sight.
The vacuum didn't have any wheels; it sat on a couple of skids. Billie grabbed its substantial metal handle with both hands and heaved it up against her thigh. As she struggled back down the hallway to the room she had been cleaning, she realized why the vacuum was still in perfect condition. Not only was it built like a tank; it was almost as heavy as one. The thing was probably used only in an emergency.
With a grunt, Billie lowered the Branson 500 to the floor of the room. She locked the heavy braided fabric hose onto the snout of the vacuum, and then unclipped one of the wands from its storage place. The wand was about three feet long. It was curved at one end to accommodate a thick rubber handle, and just behind that there was a metal ring that a person could use to regulate the amount of suction that was produced down at the business end. Billie ran her hand up and down the substantial metal tube that ran straight from the handle. The end was tapered and completely smooth; there were no clips. Evidently the attachments were held in place by friction. Billie ran her finger along the open edge of the tube; it was smooth and wouldn't cut warm butter. The thing was as thick as her arm and looked phallic as hell.
Billie giggled. Maybe if John's cock was as broad and long as this metal tube, then their sex life might be more exciting. She shook her head at her weird thoughts and affixed the wand to the hose, and then she tossed the assembly onto the bed. She pulled the vacuum's cord from its storage and plugged it into a wall socket.
.... There is more of this story ...