Hi folks, thanks to everyone who read and commented on last week's story, especially those of you who took the time to email me. Without your interest I'd probably be doing other things. I'd also like to thank the writers here for inspiring me with their own great stories, especially the ones who bother to read mine. Most of all thanks to mikothebaby for editing this story. The difference between a good story and a piece of crap is often the editor. Here we go.SS06

The rules were there to protect us as well as the customers. They were very simple and so easy that even most of the illegals could understand them. Even the workers who barely spoke English could understand the rules.

The first rule was to always leave or prop the door open when cleaning a room. The second rule was to always leave the cart of cleaning supplies outside of the room, even if it might cost you a few extra steps and a little bit of time.

So when I saw Bertie leave her cart outside of one room and head into another with a customer, I knew that she was heading for trouble of one kind or another. She flashed me a wink and took the guy's hand. She added quite a bit more sashay to her walk, swinging her slim almost boyish hips with an added flair. As I returned to my own cart, I wondered if the extra shake in her ass was for his benefit or if she was just sticking it in my face.

Maybe it was just her way of saying, "Look Grandma, they don't pay us much here. So I'm gonna grab all the extras I can."

Bertie was only about twenty years old. She'd started working in the hotel about a year ago. She's a slim blond pixie type with barely any butt or boobs. She had a boyfriend named Ernie who worshipped the ground she walked on. She also had expensive tastes and a head full of dreams that will never be realized.

Bertie had barely escaped high school. She graduated number 203 in a class of 204. She avoided being last only because of attendance. Another student in the class had the exact same pitiful GPA as Bertie, but she was saved from the bottom because she'd actually attended class far more regularly than he did.

In a way, her performance was even more pitiful when you consider that she got the same grades that he did when he only showed up at school once in a blue moon and she was there every fucking day. Shit, they should have given her points for just attending.

In Bertie's mind, her two best chances of becoming rich or at least getting the things she wanted were A, the lottery and B, fucking the hotel guests for extra money. True, the fucking did cut down on the number of rooms she actually cleaned, but she broke even most days and it was easier to Bertie to make the money on her back. Besides, she couldn't really count on the lottery because she kept forgetting to actually buy the tickets. She did, however, sit there in front of the TV every night when they announced the winner. She was really saddened each time when she didn't win. "Tomorrow I'm going to buy a ticket," she said every time.

I guess I should have expected it. Bertie was, after all, a very stupid girl. That kind of stuff would only lead to Bertie someday being a very old, very lonely woman. I should know. I shook my head and pulled my cart in front of the room I was about to clean myself. I got lucky this time. The guest in the room I was cleaning was very neat. Holy shit, he even made his bed. I went into the bathroom and wiped down all of the surfaces with an antibacterial disinfectant and shook my head again. I could tell he'd been here recently and had showered. But everything, even in the bathroom, was so neat it was incredible. It was almost like he was used to keeping everything neat and clean himself. This was just easy money. I paused before leaving because something about the room felt very familiar though I didn't know what it was. Maybe it was a whiff of cologne, maybe it was just a feeling. I shook my head to clear it and got my mind back on work.

As I headed back for my cart, I could hear Bertie and her guest going at it. Bertie was just stupid. Anyone walking down the hall could hear her moaning and grunting while the guy did her. I was the supervisor for the cleaning staff so she didn't have to worry much about me, but the hotel manager or anyone else could have walked down that hallway.

Then it began to filter through my mind. I guess I'd been so locked into what I was thinking about that it hadn't registered at first. Bertie's moans and grunts had evolved into louder shouts. It took the words, "No, please don't," to launch me into action. Bertie was a fucking idiot alright, but she was my fucking idiot. No one would hurt any of my staff if I could help it regardless of what they were doing.

I used my passkey and entered the room in time to see the guest trying to force his dick into Bertie's asshole. She tried to push him away. "I already told you, I don't do that," she said. He reared back and punched her in the face hard. Bertie slid down the wall into a puddle and started crying.

"Get away from her," I yelled loudly at the man. He turned to face me.

"You already got what you wanted from her anyway," I said.

"She said I could have anything I wanted," he said. His voice was so emotionless that it scared me. He threw a few bills at Bertie and turned to me.

"Now if I'd seen you first, that little tramp wouldn't even be here now," he said smiling at me. "You're more my type. You're older, so you have more experience. You're probably used to a few more uhm ... unusual tastes and can appreciate the differences."

As he walked towards me, I started backing out into the hallway. I hoped that being back in full view of anyone passing would make him more inhibited.

"You're also built better than her," he continued. "You're much more to my liking. Sure you're a little old, but those big titties and that big ass are much better than fucking a bag of bones."

"I don't do that," I said, backing away even faster.

"You will for me," he said. "Remember part of your job is making sure the guests are satisfied. And I want you to make me real satisfied."

"I already told you, I don't do that," I said. "I just clean rooms and nothing else."

"I pay you double what you get," he said. "Shit make it triple, but I'll be expecting for you to do whatever I want for as long as I want it."

"I said no," I said, even louder. I had backed up all the way out into the hallway and against the wall.

"Well, fuck you then you uppity bitch," he said. His face morphed into a mask of hatred and his fist rose again. It was cocked back and ready to strike. I guess I blinked or I flinched, expecting to be hit by a blow that never came.

He was grabbed from behind by someone who pulled him off balance and threw him on the floor with that same arm that he was about to hit me with.

"She said, No," said the man who'd rescued me. He was standing over the asshole as if he was waiting for either a chance or a reason to continue their altercation. I looked up and saw my rescuer and everything froze. My head exploded with recognition. I ducked my head down hoping that he wouldn't see me.

I was saved by Bertie running out of the room. She grabbed my arm and dragged me away from there as our hero still stood over the man. "I'm reporting you to security," said Bertie. Her face was already swelling.

"No you won't," laughed the man. "Because then you'd have to tell them why you were in my room in the first place. The way I see it, they'd throw me out of this shit hole and in less than an hour I'll be in a better hotel with prettier whores ... I mean maids. But you'll be out of a job. So you won't say shit and we both know it. Neither will your curvier friend. Even though she claims not to be a whore, she's already tried to rescue you once. She doesn't want to see you get fired either."

He started laughing. It was a very sick sounding laugh. It was the kind of laugh that only a man who doesn't care about anyone else can give. That kind of man saw most people as being beneath him and only existing for his benefit. It was as if in his own mind he was some twisted version of the chosen one. In his sick little fantasy world we all existed only for his pleasure.

The situation was extremely ironic because I'd been in it before. In fact it's the reason I'm here now doing what I'm doing.

The bastard laughed at us but only for a very brief second, because after the first ha ha, my would-be rescuer kicked him in the side so hard I was sure I heard a rib snap. The bastard got really God damned quiet after that.

"Thanks mister," said Bertie over her shoulder, as she dragged us out of there and onto an elevator. We could come back for our carts later. I was done cleaning the room I was doing anyway.

"What am I going to do Blanche?" asked Bertie, in tears. "What am I going to tell Ernie?"

"What are you going to tell Ernie about what?" I asked. "What are you going to tell Ernie about the bruises on your face? Or did you mean what are you going to tell Ernie about the bruised and tearing on your vagina? Or maybe you meant, what are you going to tell Ernie about the bite marks on your neck and those little pimples you call breasts?"

I know that I was being hard on her but I was pissed. She'd almost gotten herself ass-raped and maybe hurt a lot worse and she'd almost gotten me hurt as well. I knew that someday this was going to catch up to her and God damn it today was it.

Then all of a sudden, in a moment of clarity, I thought about the victim in all of this bullshit. Maybe it was my rescuer who made me think about it. I did the nastiest thing I've ever done ... well, the second nastiest anyway.

I looked deeply into Bertie's stupid trusting cow-like eyes and lied to her. "Don't worry Bertie," I said, hiding my anger. "I'm going to make this all better."

"How?" she asked, stifling her tears and sniffles. "I really love him, Blanche. I just got caught up in all of this."

"I know honey," I said, lying again. In the back of my mind I was screaming at her. "No one gets caught up you stupid bitch. We always have a choice and you made the wrong one."

"I'm going to fix everything," I lied.

"M'kay," she said. She tried to wipe her face and it stung her.

"Remember, last year when you smashed your hand in that drawer and had to take a week off until you could move your fingers again?" I asked. She nodded stupidly.

"We'll do the same thing," I lied. "We just need to figure out a different way that you hurt your face. And of course you're going to have to avoid having sex with Erne until the bite marks and the swelling go down. But shit that man loves you so much, he's just stupid about you. He'll probably spend the next few days waiting on you hand and foot like he did last time."

"Like I deserve," she smiled. More than anything else, I think it was that smile on her stupid cow's face that made me change my mind. She went from "hurt little girl in love" to "conniving bitch" in a heartbeat. I knew what I had to do.

I smiled at Bertie and led her down the hallway when we got off of the elevator. We went straight to the staff area of the hotel. I had a small office there and I sat her down. I grabbed my phone off the desk and handed it to her. "Bert," I said. "Call Ernie."

She dialed his number and handed me the phone. I smiled at her as I heard the ringing in the background. I knew that this would be hard on Ernie. He was a good guy. He worked long hours and still went to night school so he could make more money for the two of them. On the days that he didn't have classes, he pulled double shifts and still found time to study. I'd helped him out a few times in classes that were hard for him. He was always so appreciative and so polite. He didn't deserve any of this, just as Den hadn't. Eight years ago came back so sharply in focus. As if I hadn't spent the last eight fucking years reliving it and just wishing I could turn back time.

About a half hour later, Ernie came running into my office. A few of the other maids and cleaning staff were outside of the office so I closed the door as he came in. I'd briefly left Bertie alone while I spoke to the manager. Some of the girls had already heard whispers of what had happened. There were no secrets in the hotel.

Ernie looked out of breath and very upset. I could tell that, as usual, he was only concerned with Bertie's welfare.

"Bert, are you okay, honey?" he asked. Bertie bravely nodded her head. I couldn't tell whether or not the tears in the corners of her eyes were faked or not. But Ernie was eating her performance up with a fucking spoon.

He turned to me, hoping I'd be able to tell him what happened and make sense of all this.

"Ernie, she's going to be fine," I said. "You know Bert. She always lands on her back."

Ernie looked at me and smiled. "You mean on her feet," he said.

"Nope," I said, smiling back at him. "She always lands on her back with her legs spread wide open. Ernie, there wasn't any accident. Bertie was fucking one of the guests for money. She's been doing it for a long time. You're out there working double shifts and trying to go to school while Bert fucks guys for a few extra bucks so she can buy a better cell phone or some green shoes she saw in a magazine." Bertie's jaw dropped open in shock and I smiled at her.

"Anyway Ernie," I continued. "The guy she picked today, turned out to be a real bastard. After she gave him some of her nasty little pussy, you should have heard her moaning, I could hear her all the way down the hall. But back to the point, he tried to fuck her ass then and she didn't want to do that. Maybe she wanted to charge him more for it. I heard her screaming and went into the room just into time to see him bust her in the face."

"She's joking," yelled Bertie, trying to smile and look at me at the same time.

Bertie was sitting there nervously twitching. "Is this a joke?" I said, whipping Bertie's skirt up

Ernie's eyes got bigger and the set of his mouth got angrier. "If everything is so clear and on the up and up, why isn't she wearing any panties?" I asked. "I wonder what kind of a mayonnaise that is dripping onto her thigh?"

Ernie crossed the room and yanked open her uniform's top. He saw the angry looking bite marks around those tiny breasts that he'd considered his own. He stood there staring at her for a long time, still holding the top of her uniform. Gradually the anger faded from his eyes and morphed into pain. With a sound like a wail of agony from the deepest bowels of the darkest corner of hell, he asked, "Why?"

Bertie looked back at him and then down on the floor. Cows have extremely tough hides and tough skulls too. What I had done was the equivalent of hitting her in the head with a baseball bat. It finally got through to her and she felt some of both her own pain and his. She couldn't even look him in the eye. She was actually ashamed of herself. "Oh God," she said. She clutched her stomach and threw up all over the floor in MY office. That's why I can't have nice things, I thought.

They stared at each other for a long time with neither saying a word. Then Ernie started to form questions in his mind. "Why is there sperm dripping onto your leg?" he asked. "You always told me that we had to use condoms until we were married." He just stared at her.

"But..." she said.

"So I'm the only one who has to use condoms huh?" he asked. Ernie was backing up even as he spoke. "Check the laundry room when you get home," he said.

She looked at him curiously. "It's not the day we do laundry," she said. God damn it I have to give the girl credit. She's a cow to the end.

"I'm putting all of your clothes and the rest of your stuff in the laundry room," he said. "That way you don't have to bother coming up to the apartment to get it. If I left it in front of the building or in the hallway someone would probably steal it. I'd pick it up soon if I were you." Then Ernie turned and left. He'd pulled it together pretty quickly. He'd done it so fast that I almost hadn't seen the tears forming in his eyes ... almost.

Ernie slammed the door so hard on his way out that my ancient frosted glass pane cracked. That's why I can't have nice things, I thought again.

Bertie just sat there, stupidly staring at me. It was as if she expected me to bend over and pull a do over out of my ass. "Why?" she asked. "Blanche, why did you do that?" She looked at me with those big cow eyes and reminded me of what I'd said. "You said you were going to make it all better," she cried. Her emotions had finally begun to spill over through her shock. She finally realized that she was losing a good man who had loved her dearly. She was looking for someone to blame and it looked like it was going to be me. I smiled remembering it, she was in stage one.

"I did make it all better," I smirked. "I made it better for Ernie. He's a really good guy, Bert. He works hard and eventually he's going to make something of himself. It will probably take a little bit of time, but I think he's going to be successful. But he doesn't need to be tied down to a low class, bottom drawer, two dollar whore slash maid, who's too stupid to make her johns use condoms. In the short term he's going to be hurt. But long term he'll do better." I smiled, I was really proud of myself.

"But what about me?" she bawled.

"Don't worry," I said. "I took care of you too." She turned those cow eyes back at me again. I swear she looked at me like she was expecting some kind of magic pill that would make this all better. God damn I hate cows.

"How?" she asked.

"You're fired," I said, as if that explained everything.

"Huh?" she said, straining the limits of her bovine vocabulary.

"We pay you to clean rooms," I said. "We don't pay you to operate an unlicensed one woman brothel on the side. By firing you, I'm setting you free to go out there and fuck your way to riches. You no longer have to worry about dragging the cleaning cart around with you. And better still, you don't have to worry about Ernie finding out anymore. At this rate you'll be rich in only a few weeks."

I have to give her credit. She did appear to actually think about it before she said, "Huh?"

I took her hand and walked her over to the door. "You can come by and pick up your check tomorrow morning," I told her. She just walked out the door not knowing where she was going or even why. I was sure that when she first woke up this morning she never expected to be homeless, dumped and unemployed. I was even more sure that she never expected to have a big purple bruise on her face and have to do the walk of shame down the hall and out of the hotel with all of her former coworkers laughing at her.

I was just about to settle down to think about what I'd never expected to face, when there was a knocking on my door.

Before I could even answer, Dulce Martinez, one of the best cleaners on my staff and the closest thing I had to a best friend stormed in and closed the door behind her.

"Ho Boy, How are you doing? What are you going to do? Are you okay what do you want me to do? How did you take it?" she asked, all in one breath.

"I already fired her," I said.

"Not her stupid," she said. "I'm worried about you. You do know that I've figured it out don't you?"

"You figured out what?" I asked. "I thought everyone knew she was fucking the guests."

"Not her stupid, you," she said again.

"I'm not fucking the guests," I said. "If I were, I'd know it. Shit, you'd know it since you seem to be more concerned with what goes into my pussy, or doesn't than I am."

Something told me that I wasn't going to be able to bluff my way out of this one. I looked into her eyes and saw only concern and intelligence there. I sighed.

"For the past two days all of the girls have been talking about Mr. Dreamy in room 206," she said. He drives that black Mustang that's always parked very close to the window of his room. Claudine went into his room the other day unannounced to try to catch a look at him naked."

"She yelled room service and just stepped into the room. He still had all of his clothes on and he was sitting at the window sill staring out at the car. She hinted around that if he was interested in ANYTHING she might be available." Dulce stopped talking and smiled a little smile to let me know that she'd noticed my interest.

"Not that it matters to you but he told her, "Thanks," but he wasn't interested. He also told her that it had been about eight years since he'd even thought about doing that. Claudine still wants to marry him. I think she thinks that he needs Viagra or something. But when she told me it set off my alarm bells ringing."

"Everything sets off your alarm bells ringing," I said.

"I have to admit," she said. "When I first saw him, I thought he might be perfect for you. He's about your age. He's good looking. He's polite and he keeps a very neat room. Then I found out the rest so it's your turn to tell me about it."

"Tell you about what?" I asked.

"Blanche," she said. "You have the same last name that he has. You come from the same town he lives in. And all of the girls told me that you nearly passed out when you looked up and saw him when he saved you from nearly being smacked by that puta's customer."

"He's your ex-husband and you still love him don't you?" she asked. "He's the reason why for the past eight years your pussy has been sewed up so tightly that nothing put soap, water and tampons can get into it."

As she looked at me, I did what I swore I'd never do again. I swore I was done crying about the things I'd lost. I swore my holiest oath that I would put the past behind me and never cry about Denton Dewitt again. And as the tears rolled unimpeded down my cheeks, I broke that promise yet again.

Instantly Dulce was on me, cradling me in her tiny arms and rubbing my back. She didn't say a word. She knew just what to do. She just held my hand and touched me until I got myself back together. Dulce is the epitome of a best friend. She's the kind of person who can just sit there with you for an hour and neither of you ever says a word but you leave the experience thinking that it was the best conversation you've ever had.

"Come on, honey," she said. "You can tell me about it at lunch. I'm buying." That was a shock. This was obviously important to her. Dulce and her husband Robert had four kids. They both worked but they still squeezed every penny so hard that Lincoln shit.

As we left via the back door, we had to walk past it. It felt creepy, kind of like when you have to go to class with your boyfriend's new love. You can't help but look her over and try to figure out what she has that makes him love her so much when he doesn't love you anymore.

Dulce caught me looking at it and gave me that look. "What?" I asked.

"It's not him," she said. "It's just his frigging car. It's not like it's a baby and he got custody of it."

Seeing my reaction it was her turn to ask. "What?" she asked.

"Den loves Mustangs," I told her. "He didn't have this one when we parted, so it's kind of like checking out his new love."

"Two things," she said quickly. "Number one, it's a tiny ass car with a great big motor that makes a lot of noise. The gas mileage is shitty. These cars are designed for two purposes. The first is to go fast and show off for other guys. The second one is to get pussy. You apparently don't want other guys since no one has been in your saddle since this guy dumped you. And I don't think you're interested in pussy since you have one of your own that I might add is going unused. The second thing is that he's probably sitting his ass on the window sill staring at the car right now."

I remembered what she'd said about Claudine so I started to walk away.

"Wait," she said, all of a sudden. "Does he really love this car?"

"He really loves all Mustangs and everything to do with them," I said. Without warning she pushed me and I lost balance and ended up leaning against the car. She grabbed me around my waist and began moving me back and forth.

"Come on," she said. "Shake it girl." Then she turned me around and had me do the same thing.

"What the fuck was that all about?" I asked.

"Exactly," she smirked. "Just in case."

I was totally puzzled. "Dogs do it," she said. "And just in case there's some kind of mystical connection between him and that car. At any rate by rubbing your ass and your hoo hah all over his car you're marking your territory. And if he really loves this car ... and your pussy is all over it..." her voice dropped off.

"I still don't get it," I said.

"Transference," she said. "It's like they learn in psychology 101. If you're really pissed about something and someone reminds you of whatever you're pissed about, you tend to transfer the anger to that person even when they haven't done shit to you. If he really loves this car and your pussy is all over it, maybe..." We both burst out laughing as we headed to her car.

Dulce's car was a nightmare. I was very sure it wasn't street legal. The car had no airbags, the brakes squealed like the hinges on the gates to hell and the backseat wasn't bolted in. Just to keep the cops from stopping us the car had seat belts but they just wrapped around the seat giving the illusion that you were buckled in. Only one headlight was functional. The brake lights were on all of the time even when the brakes weren't on and its top speed was a jaw dropping 41 miles per hour. Of course, it took a minute and a half to get up to that speed and the car shook like a dog after a bath once you got past 35.

We'd actually tried to go on the freeway in it once. With the screaming and groaning of the car's frame and all of the shaking, I expected Scotty from Star Trek to jump out of the back seat and start screaming, "She can't take any more sir. The warp drives are about to implode and the dilithium crystals will be damaged. Then we'll really be fucked."

Luckily, the Pizza Hut that Dulce loved was only three blocks away and the speed limit was thirty all the way there. I still kept an eye on the speedometer because Dulce had a lead foot and it would be like her to try and push her luck going for thirty five just so she could say she'd done it.

"Okay," she said, after we were seated and before they brought us our pizza. "Spill it. Unleash this sad tale of lost love." She didn't realize it but that was what it really was. "How did he fuck up and what will it take to make you take him back? You also need to be mindful of the fact that your life's work is cleaning up other people's shit for barely over minimum wage, while the man of your dreams is driving a customized forty thousand dollar car. So think about forgiveness." I nodded.

"There's also the fact that you'll be forty next year and your biological clock is ticking so God damned loudly that I can hear it," she said. I nodded again. "A couple of times last week you looked so horny, I started to mount you myself. And the girls are complaining about you in the locker room."

"Why are they complaining about me?" I asked.

"Well, I didn't want to say anything," she began "Remember how steamy it used to be in the locker room?" I nodded my head. We'd considered buying a dehumidifier for the ladies locker room to prevent mildew and mold.

"They say that your pussy is so dry it just sucks all of the moisture out of the air down there, so it's fine now," she smirked. "So no one complains about the locker room anymore."

"Can I just tell the story?" I asked. She smiled and nodded.

"Before I came here, I was married," I began. "I was a legal secretary. I'd been the secretary for a lawyer in a big law firm and when he retired his son took over his position. His son was only a few years older than I was so I thought it was a great thing. My husband, Denton, worked as a staff engineer for one of the plants near our neighborhood. Back then, young engineers didn't make very much money for their first few years out of college so we actually made similar salaries."

"I loved Denton like there was no tomorrow and I was sure that he felt the same way about me. To him, the sun shone out of my ass. Hm ... maybe that was why he was always licking around down there. And these," I said lifting my breasts. "These were the things he most loved to suck on first thing in the morning. I tried to get him to try coffee; although I was glad he liked them better."

"Anyway things were going great, we had the whole plan. We'd both work for a few years until Denton started to make some serious money. We figured that by the time I was thirty two, I'd be able to quit working and start making babies. We both wanted a house full of kids."

"Things got kind of interesting at work. My new boss, Mr. Bryant junior, was nothing like his father. The father was very polite and very stuffy. He was as sweet as the day is long. The younger version was less formal. When he won a case it was like we all won something. Before I knew it we'd started going out for drinks to celebrate when we won cases. Then we were just going out for drinks sometimes period and before I knew it, one of those times I'd gotten a little bit too drunk and ended up in bed with him."