Gameday Maid
Copyright© 2025 by Dark Calvary Fiction
Chapter 2: Gameday Showdown
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2: Gameday Showdown - When rowdy college boys flood the motel for Game Day weekend, Marlene—modest maid with a past and a body that turns heads—tries to keep her composure. But as the beer flows and the walls thin, temptation creeps in. One room, one reckless decision, and suddenly she's caught in the afterglow of youth, lust, and a wild morning she can’t quite forget. A seductive peek behind closed motel doors where curiosity turns carnal.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Sharing Group Sex Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts
It was two years ago.
But Lord, it still feels like yesterday to me.
The town was bursting at the seams that weekend—Gamecocks in town for the biggest rivalry game of the season. You could feel it in the air, thick as molasses. Folks driving in from all over, trucks packed with coolers and flags, car horns blaring, every diner and dive bar spilling onto the sidewalks.
By Friday afternoon, every motel room in town was sold out.
Ours included.
It was shaping up to be a busy weekend, no doubt about that. I had my cart loaded up and ready to go—fresh towels, extra soap, plenty of spare toilet paper. My uniform hugged every inch of me, stretched even tighter than usual under the afternoon sun, my chest practically threatening to bust free with every step.
I’d barely made it to the second row of rooms before the first whistle came.
“Nice jugs, lady!” one of the boys hollered from the open doorway, beer can in hand, a grin stretched wide across his young, handsome face.
I gave him a look—half warning, half amused—but Lord help me, I couldn’t hide the way my cheeks warmed up. They were young, yes, but full of that cocky charm only college boys carry, strutting around with their ball caps turned backwards and shirts already peeled off in the heat.
As I kept working my way down the row, I realized quick these weren’t just any guests.
They were party animals, through and through.
I could hear the music blasting from their room—some loud, thumping beat that rattled the windows. Laughter echoed down the hall as they chased each other around, half-dressed, drinks sloshing over the edges of their Solo cups. Every time I passed by, there seemed to be another bare chest or towel slipping just a little too low.
I tried to keep focused, I really did.
But they weren’t making it easy.
Later that afternoon, I knocked on one of their doors—Room 69, of course, just my luck—ready to swap out their towels. Nobody answered, but the door swung open all the same, and before I could even step inside, I froze.
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