Chapter 1: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter One


    It’s hot; stuffy and hot. I load my cleaning cloths and sprays onto the cart and push it along the corridor.


    It’s a high-ss hotel and normally it’s veryfortable working here, but the air-con isn''t working


    properly and so my daily job of room cleaning is very ufortable today. I take the elevator up to my


    next room, the penthouse suite and unlock the door. It is a stunning room, bright and sunny, and when I


    cleaned it through the day before, it smelled pleasantly of the upant, a mixture of expensive


    aftershave and a musky male scent. The scent still lingered, in stark contrast to my own mmy and


    sweaty odour.


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    I consider the owner of the aftershave for a moment as I open the window to let sunshine and fresh air


    in. I saw him leaving a few minutes ago, so I know I am clear to clean the room. He was dressed smart


    casual, wearing an expensive jacket with a loose linen shirt; perfect in this heat; and tight ck jeans


    cut to tter his noticeably male physique. He strode down the corridor with a bouquet of beautiful red


    roses, a briefcase, and a gleam in his eyes. Despite the briefcase, he did not look like a man with work


    on his mind.


    The room is clean and tidy, needing almost no work. In the office, I empty a wastebasket by the desk


    and dust the desktop. I make up the bed in the room I can ess. Some of the rooms are locked. I am


    supposed to do everything—all the work, every time. Vacuum the carpet, clean the bathroom, dust all


    the surfaces, wipe the windows, but the room is so clean already that I think I can skimp.


    I decide it is good enough and go to check the bathroom. Again, it is immacte.


    Why am I doing this?


    I am hot, sticky, and tired and working for minimum wage at a job I only took a few days ago to help me


    through my university studies. Already I hate the work, but I need the money.


    The shower looks so inviting. Temptation wins. I kick off my shoes and quickly unbutton my tightly cut


    blouse. I immediately feel better as the cool air washes over my sweaty, glistening breasts. Unhooking


    my low-cut ck bra, I drop it on my blouse and then unclip my hair. It is far too warm to wear my hair


    loose, but now freed, it cascades red and silky to my waist. Wriggling out of my short skirt takes only a


    moment, and my moist and sticky panties follow. I turn on the shower and step into the beautifully tiled


    enclosure.


    The water feels wonderful on my skin and hair, coursing over my arms, breasts, and belly, taking the


    heat, sweat, and fatigue with it. I stand, stretching luxuriously in the warm stream, with the needles of


    water massaging me.


    There is a click and the sound of a key in the lock.


    I freeze. Here I am, stark naked, in the shower of one of the hotel guests. Has he brought his date back


    to the room?


    Oh, God! What is his girlfriend going to say when she finds a naked woman in her boyfriend''s shower?


    Frantically, I turn off the water and reach for a towel, wrapping it around my naked torso to dry off as


    quickly as possible.


    Oh, God! Oh, God. Oh, God…


    Please don’t let hime in here.


    The bathroom door clicks open and the guy walks in. He has his back to me, but everything about him


    says pissed off. Has something gone wrong with his date? Still turned away from me, he almost rips off


    his jacket, hanging it up by the bathrobes. I can see him fiddling irritatedly with his tie as he slides it


    from around his cor and then hangs it with the jacket. He takes a couple of steps towards the mirror


    which has misted over from the warm shower.


    He pauses, apparently noticing the steam and the misting for the first time, and starts wiping the mirror


    with one hand. As the view clears, he sees me in the reflection, standing behind him, wrapped in a


    towel in his shower stall. He starts, then whips around, looking at first furious and perhaps rmed, but


    then rxing as he registers myplete harmlessness.


    "I''m sorry. I was so hot. I''ll go now …" I stammer.


    "Oh, no need to be so fast," he says, grinning. "Finish your shower. Is there anything you would like to


    tell me?"


    "Please don''t tell anyone. I''ll lose my job."


    He smiles. "Is that right? Yes, I suppose it wouldn''t look good, would it? Maid caught using guest


    facilities." He steps forward, still smiling. He really is very attractive, with deep blue eyes against tanned


    skin, and tall. "Are you going to make it worth my while not to tell anyone?"


    One finger hooks itself around the top of my towel. He tilts his head to one side as he moves still closer,


    and his other hand takes a curl of my long, wet hair, twiddling it around a finger. “Beautiful hair you


    have there,” he says.


    "I have to get back to work," I stammer. "I have other rooms to do."


    "I''ll tell the manager I had some extra cleaning for you to do—there''s no hurry. I''m sure the hotel would


    expect you to—service—the guests first …"


    The finger tugs ever so gently at my towel. It parts and then slides down to the floor.


    His eyes, meeting mine, smile as they follow the downwards path of the towel. I vaguely clutch at the


    damp cloth, but my heart isn''t in it, and the towel continues its journey south.


    "I think you owe me something," he says, and the towel finger wanders downwards between my


    breasts. I feel I ought to be frightened, but instead, my pulse is beginning to race.


    He reaches back and pulls his tie from the hook. Quickly, he binds my wrists together, ncing briefly


    into my eyes as he does so, looking for a sort of permission. Then, pulling my arms up over my head,


    he attaches my bound wrists to the shower wall fitting. He stands back, cocking his head, admiring his


    handiwork. I stand there, naked as the day I was born, stretched up and tied for the perusal of a


    complete stranger. I am growing warm and wet.


    His eyes lock onto mine. "And now, mdy, let''s see how well washed you are."


    cing one hand on my breast, he starts kneading as his mouth lowers to the other, first to suckle, and


    then nibble the nipple. His tongue circles, flicking the nipple to hardness. When he seems to feel he


    has a satisfactory result, his mouth and that tantalising tongue, move to the other nipple, while his hand


    slides over my stomach, descending. I feel him outlining the curve of my waist, over my hip and belly.


    His fingers entwine themselves in my curls before slipping in between my thighs.


    I can hardly contain myself. Wriggling, I hear his chuckle of approval as he feels how wet I am. His


    tongue circles the nipple, one finger mirroring the movement over my clit. Torn between the desire to


    stay still and just let it happen, or to grind my hips around his hand, I find myself simply trembling


    helplessly and my thighs growing wetter and wetter, and warmer and warmer, and my pussy juice


    beginning to flow.


    He pauses, standing upright. He looks into my face again, running his hands up and over and down my


    trembling torso, breasts, and shoulders, gauging my reactions. His pupils are wide and dark, and I


    know that he likes what he finds. Very slowly and gently, he runs his hands back around my shoulders


    and into my hair, pulling my face to his. He kisses me very softly on the lips and then starts nibbling at


    an ear.


    "Enjoying this, aren''t we …" he whispers. "Want to take things further?"