Flash Fiction: The maids of dishonour

For those that don’t know, I am trying to write a piece of flash fiction a day for April (as well as my A-to-Z challenge), so my WickedWednesday will be a piece of fiction.

I know her boss is a touch eccentric; after all, how many managers have their maids, dressed as French Maids, as they clean their hotel? That’s the whole shebang as a uniform: silky and frilly tops that display their ample cleavage, a short flimsy skirt, garter belt, fishnet stockings, stilleto heels and a white headband; they look like any man’s dream and come straight from many fantasies. Mrs Buckingham demands it and her three cleaners oblige.

I know this, as I became friendly with Chloe over the course of a week.

I was put up in Mrs Buckingham’s establishment by my insurance company after a water leak at my house rendered it inhabitable for a few days. I didn’t object when Chloe bounced into my room the following morning as I dialled into work on my laptop. She smiled broadly, while I ensured my body stayed covered with my complementary dressing gown: I wasn’t expecting any guests.

The fair-haired girl was unfazed by my presence: she leant over to the floor, to deposit her cleaning box on the carpet, ensuring that her short frilly skirt, rose seductively to reveal dark fishnet stockings and deliciously creamy thighs under her black lacy trim. I grunted appreciatively at her impromptu display, watching open-mouthed as she adjusted her skirt, to reveal the peachiest, most beautiful arse, split with a thin black thong.


I was watching her; openly ogling the beautiful woman as she rummaged in the box; I wanted to slide over to her and kiss the beautiful cheeks of the sexy maid, running my hands over her pert bottom and touching her heaven within. I wanted to feel her soft skin on mine, allowing this lonely mind to seduce her and worship her inner sanctum. I wanted, but I wouldn’t have.

I desperately tried to fight my self-discipline back to the work laptop as she took her feather duster and flitted around the room. She apologised for bothering me, but if she had seen my hard cock, she would have known that no apology was necessary. Instead, she cleaned everywhere, her meticulous attention to detail was breathtaking as every nook and cranny was cleaned; each time she bent over, her outfit rose to ensnare my attention. She cleaned my desk on her knees, giving me the most amazing view of her cleavage, while her head was inches from my erect cock.

She left my room and returned with fresh bed linen, fresh towels and a fresh dressing gown. “If sir could please disrobe.” I froze. “I have a freshly laundered gown for him.”

“Ummm …” I spluttered and she winked at me.

“It’s hotel policy,” she whispered, and bit her lip as she held out a replacement white gown to the one I was wearing. My erection was prominent, and clear; I didn’t want to stand up and walk to the bathroom in front of the young lady waiting patiently. I was wearing no underwear, but neither could I change in front of her. “You appear to be afflicted,” she giggled as contrasting thoughts fought in my mind.

Her soft feminine curves and wily understanding was tempered by her incongruous expression of naïve innocence: she knew what she had done with her flirtatious cleaning in her scandalous outfit that had injected dozens of carnal fantasies into my mind. I had accomplished no work in the previous half hour and moments after she left I had a seriously crippling bucket of arousal I needed to dispose of, with the help of half-a-dozen tissues and some privacy.

“Let me help you,” she muttered, leaning across me, and parting my gown. “There, that’s the problem,” she teased as my erection stiffened in the open air. “All your blood is there so you can’t move.” She giggled mercilessly as she backed away from me and traced her finger down her body, blowing me a kiss. “Perhaps if Sir could make it less … stiff … he could move? Perhaps I could … help … in some way!”

I gulped; what was she suggesting? She glanced at me, and fiddled behind her back, allowing her skirt and little white apron to fall to the floor. “Errr … Miss,” I panted, but the minx ignored my protestations.

She groaned, thrusting her fingers into her black thong as her body fell onto my bed: her legs splayed obscenely so I would watch every touch on her cunt. I could barely believe my eyes, watching intently as her fingers slid over her cleft and played clearly with her clit, making gentle, circling motions.

I could not resist, pumping my cock in full view of the maid as she squirmed on my bed. Suddenly, the consequences of my actions were meaningless: the heat of her lust and the wanton desperation in her eyes pierced my rationale as I focused on nothing but the flirting, teasing and pornography she had provided to my eyeballs.

I felt myself reaching my pinnacle rather quickly; the soft motion of her delightful fingers poking at her hole send shivers down my spine and guttural mews from my voicebox. This was a service not in job description, but she was giving this customer undeniable satisfaction. She was giving herself satisfaction too as her body quivered and shook with unmistakeable ecstasy.

It was enough for me to spurt cum over my dressing gown, sighing loudly and looking at the sticky mess I had created. She blew me a kiss and passed me the tissues from the night-stand.

“Your new gown Sir,” she said with a giggle as the dirtied garment slipped from my shoulder. She changed my bed linen, in her underwear, as I cleaned myself up before getting dressed.

“And that’s the ninth of the week for me,” she added with a wink as she wrote in her notebook. What did she mean? “I’m top of the leader-board and I intend to stay there!”

“Right. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I muttered as she blew me a kiss.

“Definitely,” she replied. “I get double points for a blow job and triple points for a fuck,” she added as she left. “I might need you to be … more naughty,” she teased as she left, leaving a slightly embarrassed but satisfied man behind.

I had no idea where to go with this, so I went looking on Flickr for a picture for inspiration, found this and based my story around it! 

Photograph used under a Creative Commons License; credited to Tim Street / French Maid TV.

Wicked Wednesday

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