Just one more room, Jay told himself, pushing the cart up the narrow hallway. One more room and then he could clock off, hit the bar and spend an afternoon drinking and gazing at the girls in their bikinis by the pool.

The season was wrapping up now and the hotel was quiet, but there were still a few late summer holiday-makers taking advantage of cheaper prices and quieter bars. As long as the guests were still in the rooms, Jay still had a job.

He’d thought it would be a bit more exciting to spend his summer working in an expensive resort hotel on the Mediterranean, and doubly so when he’d found work at an adults-only resort. His friends with similar jobs regaled him with stories of the wild times they’d had. These places, they said, were filled with horny women, away from home and all the responsibilities that came with it, reinventing themselves by jumping on every dick they could find. In the weeks leading up to flying out he entertained himself with thoughts of nubile 19-year-olds letting loose, of older women desperate to reclaim their youth through steamy nights with hotel bartenders. Sun, sand, sex, and a healthy bank balance when he came home. What more could he want?

And maybe he would have had more luck had he been working the bar, especially if he’d landed in one of the swim-up pool bars. The guys working there spent their days chatting up giggling girls in bikinis, over-pouring their drinks, closing the bar on a whim to go and get a sneaky blowjob on the tennis courts that nobody was using at this time of year. Jay desperately wished that was him.

But no. He’d landed a job as a cleaner, somehow. He spent his days in the dark, empty corridors of the hotel, mopping floors and making beds while everyone else sunned themselves outside. The most action he’d had was finding a used condom in a bathroom bin, or sliding his cart past locked doors from behind which the sounds of muted fucking filtered out, Do Not Disturb signs hanging limply from the handles.

He let himself into the last room, knocking to announce himself before propping the door open with his cleaning trolley.

“Housekeeping,” he called, his voice echoing off the marble and glass. “Anybody here?”

He’d surprised a few people over the last few weeks, but so far he hadn’t had a chance to live out any of the porn-fed fantasies he’d come here clinging on to. Nobody was waiting in their room for the cleaner to fuck them, more’s the pity. The closest he got was having to clean around dirty underwear dumped on the floor, and that wasn’t exactly erotic.

He knocked again, just to be safe. No answer. The room was empty, the curtains across the balcony doors partially drawn, letting in slices of warm Mediterranean sunlight. From behind the glass he could hear the muted sounds of splashing, occasional flutters of laughter or raised voices from the pool outside. He’d be out there soon. Just this room to do.

He sighed and got to work, stripping the bed first as he always did to give the sheets time to air while he cleaned the bathroom. He tugged at the rumpled duvet, revealing tangled sheets beneath. As he pulled the top sheet away, something tumbled from between the folds, landing with a soft thud on the hard floor.

He froze mid-motion. There, next to his foot, lay an unmistakable silicon object. Sleek, tapered, and clearly designed for a very specific type of intimate use. The flared base left no question about its intended purpose. The gemstone sparkling on the bottom of the base looked suspiciously like real crystal rather than painted plastic.

He stared at it for a moment, his mind racing between professional detachment and the vivid reminder that the guests in this room, in any room, had a sex life far more exciting than his own. It was almost mocking him, this abandoned toy on the floor of the last room of his shift.

He hesitated, unsure what to do. Did he dispose of it? Pretend he never saw it? Put it in the bathroom where its owner might expect to find it? He’d never covered this scenario in training, and somehow asking his supervisor now seemed both hilarious and mortifying. He tried to imagine communicating this in his broken Greek and had to laugh at the image.

Deciding that he couldn’t just leave it on the floor, he pulled on a pair of gloves from his trolley and bent to retrieve it, feeling a small thrill as he did so. Closer to it he could see that it had definitely been used and not cleaned, and despite knowing which part of the anatomy it had occupied, despite knowing exactly what sort of fluids were still on its surface, he suddenly found himself incredibly aroused.

He moved to the windows, looking down at the pool and the mostly-naked bodies lying prone around it. He wondered whose room he was in, which one of the women he’d been lusting over all week had left this behind. He wondered if he’d ever spoken to her in the corridors, or by the poolside after his shift. Maybe he’d see her tonight, neither of them knowing that earlier in the day he had been one step removed from being inside her.

He realised he was standing and staring, butt plug clenched in his gloved hand, slowly stiffening in his shorts as his mind ran away from him, and all this with the door of the room propped wide open for anyone to see him. Hurriedly he moved back into the room, suddenly at a loss as to what to do with the toy now that he was holding it.

Clean it, he thought, feeling stupid. You’re a cleaner. Clean it.

He carried the toy to the bathroom, careful to keep it contained in his gloved hand. The opulent marble gleamed in the filtered sunlight, the haze lending this strange moment a surreal, dreamlike quality. He turned on the hot water tap, letting it run until steam ran from the basin.

He hesitated, suddenly aware that he knew nothing about the proper care for these sorts of items. Would regular soap damage it? Did these things need special cleaning products? He had no idea. But he couldn’t just leave it dirty, and he certainly wasn’t throwing away something this expensive-looking. Or taking it, he thought.

That gave him pause, and another little jolt of arousal. What if he took it? The owner wasn’t likely to complain that her butt plug had been stolen, surely. Who would do that? But then, he thought, what use would he have for it? He certainly wasn’t going to use it on himself. What was he going to do, sniff it while he touched himself?

That thought surprised him. Given where it had been, what it was likely coated in, the thought of sniffing it should disgust him. And it did, a little. But it also excited him, too, something about the taboo nature of the act, about how dirty it was, in every sense of the word.

The plug was halfway to his nose before he realised what he was doing and stopped himself.

He settled on cleaning it with gentle hand soap, lathering it carefully before rinsing it thoroughly under the hot water. The motion of running it through his curled fingers, over his palm, building the soap into a lather that coated every inch of the thing, was so much like wanking himself that he realised he was getting hard again. His mind began to wander to the owner. Was it the sleek blonde with the collection of black cocktail dresses? The confident brunette who always ordered pornstar martinis? The quiet redhead, who’d spent the whole week reading alone by the far end of the pool?

Once it was clean he patted it dry with a hand towel, then stood there, toy in hand, still no closer to knowing what to do with it. Leaving it prominently displayed seemed inappropriate, somehow, but hiding it felt wrong too. What if they did think he’d stolen it, and did complain?

Finally, he settled on wrapping it in a fresh hand towel from his cart and placing it discreetly on the bedside table. Not hidden, but not brazenly on display either, just obvious enough that its owner would find it, clean and ready for future use. With a small laugh he placed one of the mints reserved for pillows on top of it.

He finished cleaning the room in record time, his mind elsewhere as he wiped surfaces and mopped the floors. The entire time he kept finding his eyes drawn to the small white bundle on the nightstand, half expecting someone to walk in at any moment, almost disappointed when they didn’t.

That night, lying in his small room in the staff quarters, Jay stared at the ceiling fan slowly rotating above his bed. The cheap air conditioning unit rattled and hummed, barely keeping the room cool enough to sleep.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the room, the toy, its owner. In his mind he’d constructed elaborate fantasies about who it belonged to, what she looked like, what she might be doing right now. Had she returned to find his carefully wrapped package? Had she been embarrassed? Amused? Grateful?

Maybe the thought that someone had cleaned her toy had turned her on. She must know where she had left it, what state it had been in. Maybe she’d done it deliberately. Was she using it again even now, wondering whose hands it had been in? Was she thinking about him while he was thinking about her?

Without realising it he had slid his shorts down to his knees, had wrapped a hand around his cock, was stroking himself slowly while thinking about that plug being put to use again. His mind drifted back to the bathroom, to holding it in his hands. This time he did raise it to his face, drew in the warm, musty scent of it, breathing in the most intimate part of a perfect stranger. He pictured himself sliding it into his mouth, cleaning it with his lips and tongue, not caring where it had been.

The small, quiet, logical part of his brain, the bit not flooded with arousal, knew that later he’d feel some small shame about this fantasy, a tinge of disgust at the idea of sucking on something that had been inside someone’s anus. But right now, in this moment, the thought made his cock twitch and throb with excitement. The fingers of his free hand were in his mouth, pushing over his lips, gently fucking his own face while he imagined that it was the plug in there.

The fingers of the hand around his cock drifted south, grazing against his balls which contracted tight against the base of his cock at the slight pressure. Suddenly he was stroking the hard nub of skin below them, that no man’s land at the very base of his body that he only ever touched when cleaning himself in the shower.

His fingers dipped further south, pulled by some latent curiosity he didn’t know he’d had, something awoken by finding that plug. He flinched slightly as his finger found his puckered hole, as he caressed it with the softest of touches.

He gasped as an orgasm flooded over him, coming completely out of the blue, no build up or warning. Just a release of surprised pleasure, his brain not able to keep up with the new sensations and so simply letting go. And then, hot on the heels of his pleasure, a slow, creeping shame, his lucid mind cringing at the thought of what he’d just done to himself, of how for a second he’d craved the feeling of being filled by something, a thought he’d never once had before.

The next day the room had a Do Not Disturb sign hanging outside it, and the next day, and the day after that. It was nearly a week before he found himself opening the door again to clean. Every single night he’d found himself unable to sleep for thoughts of that plug and the woman who might be using it even now, lying awake until he gave in and wanked himself to sticky completion. He hadn’t touched himself in the same way again, hadn’t allowed himself to give in to this new fantasy that he felt so conflicted over, this desire to open himself up and probe inside, but each time he’d been thinking about it as he released all over his stomach.

Once again he knocked and let himself in, finding the room empty. He wondered whether he would once again find the toy in the bed.

He didn’t need to wonder for long. This time it was sitting on the bedside table, clean and unused. And beside it, a bottle of anal lubricant.

He felt his face flush with embarrassment and something else, a thrill of forbidden excitement. The toy and lubricant were arranged almost deliberately, as though left out for him to find. Had the mystery guest known he would be back today? Had they somehow sensed his fascination?

He glanced back at the door, still propped open with his cleaning cart. Anyone walking past would see him standing there, staring at someone else’s intimate possessions. He should ignore them. Clean the room as quickly and professionally as he could. Move on with his day.

And yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The gemstone at the base caught the morning light filtering through the curtains, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the wall.

He forced himself to start cleaning, stripping the bed with mechanical movements while his mind raced. No matter how he tried to lose himself in his work, he kept finding his attention pulled back to the bedside table. His cleaning circuit would eventually bring him there. He’d have to dust around these items, acknowledge them properly.

Jay finished the bathroom, slower than usual, his mind elsewhere. Finally, with nothing left to clean, he approached the bedside table, duster in hand. He carefully wiped around the objects, not touching them directly.

The door was still open. Anyone could walk by. But the hallway had been quiet all morning, everyone outside as always.

He glanced at his watch. He was ahead of schedule on his rounds. Nobody would miss him if he took a little longer with this room.

His hand hovered near the plug. Just picking it up to examine it wouldn’t be crossing any real line, would it? He’d already done that, days ago.

Jay turned and walked to the door, checking the corridor in both directions. Empty. Silent. He pulled his cart inside and let the door swing closed with a soft click.

The room felt different instantly; intimate, secret, a space where the regular rules didn’t quite apply. He felt the thrill of being in someone else’s space, somewhere he knew he shouldn’t be. The soft hum of the air conditioning - no cheap units in the guest suites - was the only sound as he stood there. Not even any laughter from the pool today.

His heart pounded in his chest, racing with the knowledge that he was about to make a decision that would change something fundamental about who he was and the boundaries he was willing to cross. He could still decide not to do this. Take the cart, open the door, leave.

He found himself across the room, jewelled plug in hand, his other hand massaging himself through his thin shorts, already stiffening. He realised dimly that he’d known all week that this was going to happen if he ever got back into this room.

He raised the plug to his face, inhaled gently. It was clean today, smelled only of silicon, but he imagined he could sense the trace of something earthier, darker, like trying to pick out notes of fruit in a wine long past the drinking window. Maybe - probably - it was just his imagination, but that was more than enough.

His cock strained painfully against the inside of his shorts and he awkwardly shuffled them down with one hand, letting them bunch around his knees as he began to stroke himself. He was more excited than he’d been in a long time, the thrill of knowing that he could be caught at any time heightening his senses, bringing his arousal to a peak he had no idea existed.

Slipping the plug into his mouth wasn’t a conscious decision, it just happened, and the same was true of the groan that escaped from him when he did it. His cock lurched in his hand as his lips and teeth settled around the silicon, at once both pliant yet unyielding, and with a gasp he let go of his shaft as though it were on fire. Once again he’d almost finished in a fraction of a second, his brain and body overloaded, too excited to cope.

He stood, pants around his knees, sucking in deep lungs of air that gushed into his mouth around the plug between his teeth, clenching his lower half tight to keep himself away from the edge, to keep from covering the bedside table in cum. His mind flashed back to that first night, his finger teasing the part of him that had never been touched in that way before, and as it did so his eyes landed on the lube.

The immediate crisis had passed, and he pulled the plug from his mouth. It came away with a wet plop, dripping spit onto his chin. He held it up in front of his eyes, staring at it as it gleamed wetly in the light.

“That’s too far,” he said. His voice seemed too loud in the quiet of the room, was jarring to his ears. It was almost enough to snap him out of the reckless, horny madness that had come over him. But not quite.

Cautiously, like he was trying to sneak up on himself, as though if he went slowly he might not realise what he was doing, he lowered the plug to crotch level. Leaning over awkwardly he reached through his legs, pressed the wet tip in roughly in which his fingers had gone a few nights earlier. He felt it slip over the smooth skin behind his balls, the slight pressure sending a pulse of unfamiliar sensations up into the base of his stomach, pleasure tinged with pain and a little bit of fear. He kept groping backwards, arm and wrist rubbing roughly against his cock, the plug sliding around until it finally made contact with his anus.

He was breathing heavily, he realised, and for a second he saw himself as he must look, bending over and reaching between his legs to grope blindly at himself. Even though there was nobody to see, he felt a rush of embarrassment.

He stood up suddenly, pulled his arm back. He could feel the air cooling the wet patches he’d left on his rear end. The plug already looked much drier than it had before it ventured south.

“Not like that,” he said. But how, then?

This time he reached behind him, arm bent like he was wiping on the toilet. It was easier to find the right spot this time, but when he pressed up on the plug he felt nothing but discomfort and resistance. He pushed and twisted, grunting, trying different angles, but the more he tried the more tense he became and the more it began to sting.

Again his eyes fell onto the bottle of lube.

Before he could overthink it - before he could think at all, really, he was beyond conscious thought at this point - he pumped a liberal amount onto the tips of his middle and first fingers. He smeared it around with his thumb, marvelling at how it spread without soaking in, how it heated to his body temperature within just a few seconds.

He reached back again, questing with his finger tip, feeling for the little nub of rough skin. His breath caught as he circled around it with the tip of his finger, feeling the lube slide over his skin, and then with the tiniest bit of pressure he pressed up and in.

He didn’t know how he expected it to feel. It burned slightly, the very slightest pain that said this is new. It was uncomfortable, yes, needed much more pressure than he expected. His fingertip was caught in a tight sleeve of muscle, much thicker than he’d expected it to be. He kept pressing, could tell he was tensing, felt nothing but resistance, and after a few seconds he allowed his finger tip to slip out. His breath was coming in heavy heaves as though he’d just run a marathon. But as his finger retreated he felt the muscle suck at him, felt a moment of negative pressure beckoning him back in, and in that moment he felt a hint of the sort of pleasure he didn’t know he’d been denying himself.

How long did he stand there, slowly working the tip of his finger into his anus? He had no idea. He’d lost his erection some time ago, didn’t even care anymore. He was enthralled by these new sensations, by this new mission to delve just an inch into new territory.