Maid's Revolt

Maid’s Revolt

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Copyright Oggbashan March 2017
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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I collapsed onto the hotel’s double bed absolutely shattered. Apart from jet lag, trying to enforce reasonable behaviour on a drunken minority of last night’s Stag Party had been wearing. The noise had been intolerable when most of the hotel’s windows were open because it was overheated.

It had taken the last of my energy to shave and shower. The room was much hotter than I wanted. I had made a mental note to contact maintenance in the morning. That was the last I remembered as I sprawled naked across the top of the bed.

+++

I woke up as a heavy body slammed across my back. My mouth was stuffed with a soft material and tied in place. As I tried to struggle my arms were grabbed, pulled behind my back, and my wrists lashed together. My attacker was sitting on my back as my thighs were wrapped and tied. My face was still pressed hard into a pillow as my feet were lifted from the bed, ankles secured and dropped back to the bed. A fist hit me in my stomach. I curled up to avoid another blow. Something was tied under my knees and around the back of my neck forcing me into a foetal position.

“It’s your turn to suffer!” A female voice hissed at me. I wriggled to roll over. A large well built woman wearing a maid’s uniform glared at me.

“You, or your friends, tied Martine up last night and shut her into a store room. She was there for a couple of hours and frightened stiff. I’ll let you go when I’ve finished this floor. Until then – see how you like being tied up. And you stuffed her into a dark place.”
She rolled a trolley to the side of the bed. There was a large canvas bag for dirty laundry. She rolled and lifted me into the bag before zipping it shut.

I heard her leaving the room. I struggled inside the bag but I had been tied too effectively.

She was back in ten minutes or so. She tipped the trolley on its side and pushed me out on to the bed.

She stood with her hands on her wide hips looking down at my futile struggles. Even surprised as I was I noticed that her dark blue uniform dress was too tight, strained across her breasts, the dress’s skirt too short showing thick thighs in dark stockings, and her small white apron more decorative than practical. Her name, Jean, was embroidered across one breast. Her uniform had overtones of a fantasy French maid, not practical wear for a hotel worker. She looked down at me with an expression of contempt.

“Martine was left in the dark for hours.” She said. “I left you ten minutes.”

She left the room again. I struggled on the bed. She had bound me too effectively, with what? I looked down and then in the mirror over the desk. I was gagged with a maid’s waist apron, my hands tied with another with more aprons around my thighs and ankles. Another apron’s ribbons were holding me rolled up.

Ten minutes later she was back. She untied the apron around my knees and neck and let me stretch out. My morning erection was standing proud. She flicked my erection with a finger.

“I suppose this means you enjoy sexual bondage,” she said. “Martine didn’t enjoy last night. If the manager hadn’t found her she might have suffocated, and you and your friends would be facing a murder charge, manslaughter at least. But I suppose I’d better untie you. I’ve already lost this shitty job for tying you up.”

She hauled me to a sitting position, pulled my head against her bodice, nearly smothering me in her cleavage as she tried to unknot the apron gagging me.

The room telephone rang. She pushed me back on to the bed, still gagged, and answered it.

“Room 253,” she said. “Yes, it’s Jean.”

Her face went white as she listened.

“Mr Bart is slightly tied up at the moment. I’ll pass the message on. His breakfast will be brought to his room in a quarter of an hour, and the manager will be available for Mr Bart at ten o’clock if that’s convenient? That the message? OK. Thank you, Helen. I’ll tell Mr Bart when he’s free.”

She put the phone down and turned to face me.

“Oh shit!” she said. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? You’re not one of the Stag Party, you’re a visiting regional manager, and I’ve trussed you up like an oven ready chicken. I thought I was... Never mind. Let’s get you free and dressed. The shit can hit the fan when you’re decent.”

She still had difficulty untying the apron gagging me. She had ****ted it tight. This time she was gentler as she unknotted the apron around my wrists. She held my head against her clothed breasts. She lowered me to the bed, rolled me over carefully, and removed the rest of the aprons.

“Get dressed, please, Mr Bart. I’m already in enough trouble. I don’t want to be found with a naked man.”

I didn’t say a word. My mouth was too dry from the cotton of the apron gag. I grabbed a plastic beaker, filled it, and rinsed my mouth before swallowing.

“Jean, that is your name isn’t it? Explanations can wait. I’ll get dressed if you turn your back. When I’m dressed I want you to stay while I eat my breakfast, please.”

“Stay? I’ve lost this sodding job, got it all wrong, and you want me to stay?”

“Jean, sit down!” I ordered as I struggled hurriedly into my clothes. “And shut up!”

“Yes, sir, Mr Bart, sir,” Jean’s voice was mocking.

“Shut up!” I repeated as I put my suit jacket on. “And sit on the bed!”

Jean had stayed standing. She sat down on the bed.

“Hide those aprons,” I said.

Jean stuffed the crumpled aprons under a pillow.

“Thank you, Jean. When my breakfast comes, don’t say a word. Understood?”

Jean nodded.

“OK. I will want to know about what happened to Martine last night. I don’t want what you did this morning to be known. Not only would it cost you your sodding job, but it would be embarrassing for me, and more importantly for the hotel chain. So – we’ll pretend it didn’t happen. Got that?”

“Yes, Mr Bart,” she said quietly. She paused. “You’re not like the managers I have met.”

“I hope not. Your managers...”

At that point there was a knock at the room door. I opened it. A young man was carrying a large tray.

“Your breakfast, Mr Bart,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said as he put it on the desk.

He looked at Jean as he turned to leave the room. She gave him a weak smile.

I uncovered my breakfast and poured a cup of coffee.

“Like a coffee, Jean?” I asked.

“Why not?” she said. “I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.”

“You’re not going to be hung, Jean.”

I poured the coffee. Jean added cream and a half spoon of sugar to hers.

I talked to Jean as I ate my breakfast.

“Jean, first of all, what happened to Martine last night? I assume she is another maid?”

“Yes. Martine is one of our younger staff. She was twenty-one a week ago. She doesn’t normally work the night shift but we are short because there’s a stomach bug going around. You know there was a Stag Party here last night?”

“Yes, I am too well aware of that Stag Party, Jean.”

“It should have been only in the Conference Suite and nowhere near the guest bedrooms but some of them came into the main hotel corridors.”

“How? Only guests should have key cards to get into the accommodation?”

“Yes but the main door from reception to the bedroom corridors has had a broken key card reader for months. You can just push it open and it is obvious because there is a hole where the key card reader should be. It didn’t help that someone had propped it open with a fire extinguisher.”

“I see,” I said, “so the area is insecure?”

“Yes. And about half a dozen of the Stag Party came through. Martine met them on the first floor corridor. She told them they shouldn’t be there. They grabbed her, kissed her and then took off her apron. I think they wanted it as a souvenir but one of them thought Martine was making too much noise. He gagged her with it.”

Jean paused.

“Once Martine couldn’t object they went further. They removed her shoes and stockings. They tied her up with her stockings and took her into the store room using her pass key. She thought she was going to be ****d. They didn’t. They wrapped her up in several sheets, tied her in a mummified bundle and left her in the store room. She was frightened that one or two of them might come back later and **** her. She was there for a couple of hours. The manager came looking for her when she didn’t respond to her pager, saw her shoes in the corridor and went into the store room. He released her, took her back to the office. The other two night maids fed her cups of coffee and the manager sent her home by taxi this morning.”

“But why did you think I was involved?”

“Martine had seen you with the Stag Party, and later going into your room. She knew that the majority of the Stag Party weren’t staying but thought you were one of the few that were.”

“Oh dear. Martine was wrong. I was doing exactly as she had tried to do – to keep the Stag Party within reasonable limits. As a manager, even if not a local manager, I thought it was my duty to help keep the noise and disturbance to a minimum.”

“And I picked on one of the good guys...”

“I wouldn’t describe me as one of the good guys, Jean. I’m a manager after all, but I wasn’t one of those who attacked Martine.”

“...But I still tied you up.”

“Yes, Jean, very effectively. It seemed as if you might have had practice.”

Jean laughed.

“No comment,” she said. “I might incriminate myself.”

“No comment is accepted, Jean. But I have a few more questions before I go to see the hotel manager, if you don’t object.”

“If I can, I’ll try to answer, Mr Bart.”

“Thank you. First. How long has that door been insecure?”

“Two months I think. We keep complaining about it. So do the guests.”

“Second. Why do you wear that uniform? It isn’t normal for other hotels in the chain.”

“I’m not sure I can answer that. It means criticising someone in the management chain.”

“Go on. Be daring. I won’t reveal that Jean said a word. Who suggested this uniform?”

“Suggested? No. Ordered. We HAVE to wear it.”

“Short skirt, tight fit and skimpy apron?”

“...and stockings with suspenders.”

Jean hitched up her skirt to show a suspender.

“So – who?”

“Mr Tucker. He is the overall manager for the three local hotels.”

“Any relation to the Mr Tucker on the Board?”

“Yes – youngest son.”

“And Mr Tucker Senior is more than just a Board member, he is part owner of the hotel company, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Mr Bart. We all know that. Mr Tucker Junior doesn’t let us forget.”

“Jean, do you know that as from next Monday the company will have been sold?”

“No. Why should I? It won’t make any difference to me or my colleagues. We’ll still be working for low pay and in shitty conditions whoever owns the company.”

“But Mr Tucker Senior will no longer be on the Board...”

“...And his son?” Jean didn’t sound hopeful.

“Will not have his father’s protection and from what I have heard elsewhere, and now from you, isn’t like to be employed much longer. Head Office has a thick file of complaints about him...”

Jean was about to say something. I held up my hand to ask her to wait.

“Mainly from customers, not staff. As you know, customer complaints are treated more seriously than staff ones, even though we suspect some of the customer complaints were encouraged by the staff. But I have an appointment with your hotel manager. I’ll see you later. There is a staff meeting at 12 noon and another when the shift changes. I’ll be telling them about the sale and the changes. One of them will certainly be the uniform...”

Jean surprised me. She wrapped her arms around me, hugged and kissed me.

“Thank you,” she said as our lips parted. “This uniform makes our job harder. It encourages some guests to behave badly and is no real protection when we are working.”

“The new uniform will be chosen by those who have to wear it, and trousers will be an option.”

“I said it before; you’re not like our usual managers.”

“I hope not, but some of your managers have been unhappy with what they have had to do, rules like the uniform they disliked but couldn’t change, and general incompetence. Things will change. They might get better. They should but it will take time.”

“I hope things will change, Mr Bart. I, and several others, have considered resigning. We would have done that before if there had been any other jobs in this area. The hotel is close to a motorway junction but only our small village is within reach for staff. If the villagers didn’t work here the hotel would have real problems with recruitment.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Jean. I appreciate the local staff at all our hotels but this one has had the most customer complaints. The complaints are NOT about the staff but about the facilities and general incompetence. That we’ve got to change.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. Me and the staff. You’ve convinced me that I should sort out this hotel personally.”

Jean giggled.

“How did I convince you? My expert bondage?”

I grinned.

“That might have helped, Jean, but no. What I saw last night and what you’ve told me this morning. You’ll find out more at the staff meeting. Now? I’ve got to see your manager. I’ll see you later.”

Jean kissed me again.

“Please be gentle with the staff. They have been trying their best but they have been poorly led, and this bloody uniform hasn’t helped.”

“Thank you, Jean. I’ll try.”

+++

My meeting with Mr Simpson the manager confirmed what Jean had told me. He produced a large file of maintenance requests that had been ignored, and staff grumbles about the uniform’s unsuitability. He personally was going to retire in two weeks’ time, and move to what had been his holiday cottage in Devon. I knew he was due to retire. I didn’t know it was in such a short time. He had two deputy managers both appointed by Mr Tucker Junior. He didn’t hold back his opinion of them as useless incompetents. He showed me their recent annual assessments and several warnings about their inactivity. The assessments had been ‘poor, needs urgent improvement’. Both had been amended to satisfactory by Tucker Junior himself. He had also cancelled their warnings.

“Mr Bart,” he said, “If I hadn’t been so close to retirement I would have applied to another hotel chain a year or so ago. Tucker Junior and his father are the worst aspects of the chain’s operation. The father wanted his son to take over a wider regional role but the rest of the board voted that down. Tucker Junior’s hotels are the worst run and least profitable and this one is the bottom of the three. It does have problems because of its location and would probably always have a lower occupancy rate than hotels that are better situated but it could do much better. I’ve tried and failed to persuade the company to move us out of Tucker Junior’s remit. This hotel has been neglected and overlooked for years. It needs money spent on it and a wholly new management team.”

“Thank you for that, Mr Simpson. I’ll do what I can. I hope that both Tuckers will be ex-employees by Monday. Your deputy managers will probably follow. Your reports on them, although overruled, are on file in the Personnel Department. They’ll have a choice. Resign now or be fired next month.”

“If they are gone before my last day I’d be delighted.”

“I’ll try. I have another question for you. I met Jean, a chamber maid, today. What is your opinion of her?”

“Jean? She’s a Team Leader, not usually a chamber maid. She was covering for someone else. Jean’s one of our longer standing staff. She has definite opinions and doesn’t mince her words about management. But her statements are fair and reasonable. If... If I were staying on I’d expect her to be promoted to shift supervisor at least. She might have been but my deputies couldn’t stand her, nor could she stand their incompetence. She’d never be promoted with those two as managers.”

“Anyone else you would consider worth promoting, Mr Simpson? Your recommendations would help me.”

“People I would have promoted except...”

“...for the current management?”

Mr Simpson nodded.

“Let me have a list, together with your assessment. Any bad apples?”

“Um. A couple but I think they could improve if I was allowed to give them a kick on their backsides. Not bad, just sloppy and lazy. They’re Matthew and Geoff. The other staff call them Mutt and Jeff behind their backs. They and the two managers were some of Tucker Junior’s drinking buddies. That is why they were employed. Now the Tuckers have gone? If I had good supervisors and managerial backing I think Mutt and Jeff might become good employees.”

“Thank you. One last question. Is there any time in the near future when the hotel has no bookings?”

“Yes. You should already know. In six weeks time the motorway will be closed for major repairs for a weekend, including the nearby junction. The local highways body has decided to repair the major road leading to the motorway so access to the hotel will be very difficult. The only way in and out of the village will be by small rural roads. Normally we would expect some of the motorway engineers or workers but they’ve block booked a hotel at the next junction. So we’ll have no people staying from Friday noon until Monday evening. I had asked for major maintenance work to be scheduled for that weekend but I’ve had no response.”

“Maintenance sounds sensible but we need some things done now, don’t we?”

“If possible, Mr Bart, yes. We’ve needed some things done for months.”

“Can you give me a list of those that are urgent and those that could wait until the closure?”

“Of course. I’ll get my secretary to give you a printout. I’ve been sending it to headquarters once a week...”

“...where it has been ignored?”

Mr Simpson nodded.

“I haven’t seen it. My remit was for a different area of the country. I’d heard rumours about Tucker junior but he had no responsibility for any of my hotels. When I read the complaints file at Head Office that was an eye-opener. It must have been awkward for you.”

“Awkward? He made my working life bloody miserable. I will be glad to retire and get away from the Tuckers.”

“You don’t need to retire to do that. They will be history within a couple of days.”

“It’s too late now. My wife and I have made plans for my retirement. I will be pleased if this hotel can be turned around at long last.”

“It will be. You and Jean have convinced me that I’m needed here for a while. I’ll take over from you as interim manager until we can get a new management team in. I would like that team to be in place immediately after the closure but I might be expecting too much too soon. It might take six months.

+++

The two staff meetings were very quiet. I told them about the change of ownership on Monday but I couldn’t say anything about the Tuckers, or their deputy managers. I did say that I would be working with their current manager Mr Simpson and staying on as the Hotel manager when he retired. The uniform would be changed with the staff being consulted on what would replace it. I had printouts of the uniform catalogues used by other hotels in the chain. I had to assure them that they wouldn’t be charged for the new uniform. I mentioned that there would be ongoing maintenance in the next few weeks which might cause some disruption. Major work would happen when the hotel was closed in six weeks’ time. After my speech I asked for any questions. There weren’t any until I made it clear that I would be in the bar available for anyone who wanted to talk to me.

Several people talked to me. They were worried about the change of ownership and whether it might mean staff redundancies. All I could say was that the new owners wanted to retain all the hotels at this time but this one had to improve. Every one of them knew that. A few mentioned maintenance problems. Jean made a point about poor disabled access. I agreed to let her show me what she meant during next week.

+++

I received a whole slew of emails on Monday morning, the first day of the new ownership. I was delighted that one of those emails announced that the two Tuckers were leaving, or rather had already left, for ‘incompatibility with the new management’.

Most of the emails were to all hotel managers but one was to me personally. I was given authorisation to fire the two deputy managers forthwith because of their ‘appalling’ annual appraisals. Mr Tucker junior’s endorsements on those appraisals had been considered by the new Personnel Director and cancelled.

I interviewed both deputy managers that day. I told them they could accept redundancy and leave immediately with a reference saying ‘positions no longer required by the new ownership’ or resign with no payment or be fired. Whatever they chose, they had to clear their offices and leave by the end of the day. They chose redundancy.

That gave me a small problem. As their posts were ‘redundant’ I couldn’t appoint people to the vacancies now. Mr Simpson and I would have to cover their work for a few weeks. What we could do was employ assistants. I intended to make Jean my personal assistant. Mr Simpson chose Maria, another senior member of staff, to be his assistant. Neither would have been promoted under Mr Tucker junior because both of them had told him, face to face, that he was an incompetent asshole. They were right. He was. But now he was gone.

When I asked Jean whether she would be my assistant she thought I was joking.

“Mr Bart? Is this your revenge for what I did to you?”

“No, Jean. It’s a serious offer. I need someone who knows this hotel and its staff. Mr Simpson recommended you. Mr Tucker junior’s remarks on your appraisal helped too. You had annoyed him. I expect you to annoy me too. I don’t want someone who agrees with me because I’m the manager. I want someone who can think for herself.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, Jean. I need you.”

“What about my uniform? I was looking forward to the new uniform.”

“You can wear it if you want to. As my assistant you can wear whatever you like.”

Jean laughed.

“Whatever I like? A skimpy apron and nothing else?”

“That would be interesting, Jean, but I’d expect you to wear slightly more clothing than an apron.”

“But I could keep my apron?”

“If you want to, Jean. Why?”

“So I can tie you up if you are too bossy?”

“That would be unlikely...”

“...That you would be too bossy, or unlikely that I’d tie you up?”

“I hope you wouldn’t have to go to that extreme. Telling me would be enough.”

“I’m disappointed, Mr Bart. I would like an excuse to use my apron on you.”

“I don’t think you would wait for an excuse, but if you are going to be my assistant...?”

I waited for her response.

“Yes. I will be.”

“Then you should stop calling me Mr Bart. My name is Alan.”

“Yes, Alan. I’ll try to remember that as I tie you up.”

“Why me? Haven’t you got someone else to tie up?”

Jean’s face fell.

“No. I divorced the useless bastard. I think that’s why I overreacted to the Stag Party’s abuse of Martine. They reminded me that my ex-husband used to be abusive when drunk. He had a very low opinion of women and was worse when drunk. He didn’t abuse me physically because I was stronger than him...”

“...and you kept tying him up?” I suggested.

“Yes. He was smaller than me and when he was drunk his coordination was useless. But he found a stupid younger bitch to abuse before I divorced him. I know you are single...”

It was my turn to feel sad. My wife had died from cancer five years ago.

“...and a workaholic. The rumour mill says you haven’t had a day off in years.”

That was true. I had busied myself in work to stop thinking about who I had lost. A day off without my wife seemed endless.

“I’m not likely to have any days off soon,” I said. “Mr Simpson is retiring. His two deputies have gone...”

“They have? I didn’t know.”

“They accepted redundancy today. They’ve left on paid notice. They won’t be back.”

“That’s a pity. The staff would have liked to give them a proper send off.”

“What do you mean by proper, Jean?”

“Something embarrassing like being thrown in the ornamental pond. Never mind. They’ve gone. Good riddance.”

“And we have to manage this hotel better than they and Tucker junior did.”

“That won’t be difficult, Alan. The lazy bastards didn’t do much for their salaries.”

“Salary? That reminds me. As from today, Jean, you will be paid as a temporary deputy manager even if your title is assistant.”

“Deputy manager? That’s a big jump from being a senior maid called a team leader. Do I get a Deputy’s star?”

“No Jean. You get the pay but not the title – yet.”

Jean and I discussed the hotel for the next hour. At the end I asked her to contact the local locksmith and get the faulty locks fixed as soon as possible. The locksmith arrived within the hour. He took two hours to fix or replace all the useless locks. He was surprised when I gave him a cheque for his invoice.

“Mr Bart, the hotel chain used to pay me months in arrear,” he stated.

“I know,” I replied. “But the new management wants to change things.”

By the end of the week many of the minor maintenance tasks had been completed. The heating and air conditioning system had been serviced but parts would need replacing when the hotel closed in five weeks time.

I had interviewed most of the staff during that week. I found that I agreed completely with Mr Simpson’s assessments of them. I had considerable respect for his judgement and sympathy for what he had endured with Tucker junior and the two useless deputy managers.

Mutt and Jeff had already shown that they were starting to get better. I suspect that Jean and Maria, knowing they had their managers’ backing, had made their displeasure very plain. I didn’t ask how they had expressed their disapproval. I had heard rumours that the two men had been threatened with embarrassing humiliation from the female staff.

On Friday afternoon Mr Simpson and I, with our two assistants, went on a tour of inspection of the whole hotel and its grounds. Even within a week there were obvious improvements. All the staff seemed more willing to help the management. There were still maintenance problems that would take longer to fix. Apart from the heating, the kitchen equipment was the major need. Some of it was close to being too dangerous to use. We discussed with the chefs what needed to be done quickly. One set of ovens was disconnected by an electrician. The menu would have to be restricted until those ovens were replaced.

Jean and Maria insisted that they should demonstrate the failings for disabled access by trying to move me about in a wheelchair. Mr Simpson and the two of them were laughing as I hung on grimly, bounced over uneven surfaces and bumped up steps. I got the message very forcefully. The disabled access hadn’t been maintained and had been poorly designed.

We had a morning tea party for Mr Simpson’s retirement. His wife was presented with a large bouquet of flowers. He was given some good quality gardening tools from the staff. The management gave him vouchers for a cruise. I had to do the formal presentation of that. But most of the thanks came from the staff. Mr Simpson’s wife mock protested that he was being kissed too much.

By that time the female staff had their new uniforms. There had been some animated discussion about which styles to order. Eventually a compromise had been reached. The hotel chain’s logo would be shown on every upper piece of clothing but a reasonable variation of styles was allowed. The maids, if they wanted to, could wear normal jeans, not ripped or distressed, with a tunic that came halfway down their thighs. If they weren’t wearing jeans but black trousers they could wear a shorter top.

That afternoon Jean and Maria were sitting in my office as we discussed what we needed doing when the hotel would be closed for the weekend in a few weeks’ time. We had a list and most of the expenditure had already been approved by the board.

When we had completed the list I rang for some coffee. Over the coffee we talked about ways to improve the hotel. We already had a suggestion box. In the first week some of the suggestions had been explicit. The ideas for punishing the two Tuckers and the departed deputy managers had been interesting if not practical. The current pile of suggestions was more realistic and helpful.

I opened my desk drawer to pull out two sealed envelopes.

“Jean, Maria? These are your letters of appointment as Deputy Managers, approved by the company board. They are dated today, but backdated two weeks.”

Despite having acted in those roles for a fortnight they hadn’t expected to be appointed so soon. Maria queried it.

“Why Alan? And how? We were persona non grata with the previous board. Now we are deputy managers?”

“Thank Mr Simpson. He has been recommending you two for a couple of years.”

“I don’t believe that you had nothing to do with it, Alan,” Jean said accusingly.

“Of course I did but without Mr Simpson I would have had to wait six months at least. He knows that you are appointed today. It is recognition of his sound judgement. Things could have been much worse at this hotel if he hadn’t fought for it and the staff.”

“And now we can’t thank him,” Maria said.

I grinned.

“I think his wife thought he was thanked too much this morning. But you haven’t opened those letters.”

They did. As I expected they were surprised and shocked. They were being given a higher salary than the previous two deputy managers had received plus a cash bonus for previous unpaid responsibilities.

“Maria? Now?” Jean said cryptically.

“Now,” Maria answered.

They both stood up while reaching into their handbags. They stood either side of me but slightly behind. Jean whipped an apron around my waist tying me to my chair. Maria tied my hands behind my back.

“We can’t say thank you to Mr Simpson,” Maria said, “but we can to you, Alan. I won’t do more than this...”

Maria kissed me full on the lips with an arm wrapped behind my head.

“...because I’m a married woman but I’ll leave Jean to show just how much we appreciate what you have done and are doing for us, the staff and the hotel.”

Maria walked out of my office shutting the door quietly. Jean was standing in front of me.

“I didn’t need Maria’s help to tie you up, did I? You didn’t resist us.”

“No, Jean. I trust both of you. That’s why you are managers.”

I might have said more but Jean’s kiss stopped me. She kissed me longer and harder than Maria had done.

“I want you, Alan, and not just as my manager. It’s too soon but you had better get used to the idea that I’m claiming you.”

She unfastened her blouse to show her bra clad breasts.

“I held you against these when we met. Now...”

She pulled my head against her cleavage.

“...this is just a sample. You’ll get more later but I need to get back to work.”

She pulled back and started to button her blouse again. She turned to walk away.

“Jean?” I said quietly.

She stopped.

“Yes, Alan?”

“You can’t leave me like this.”

“I might. Both of those aprons have ‘Jean’ embroidered on them. They mark you as mine. Do you object?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t?”

She ran back to me and kissed me fiercely.

Eventually she relented and untied me. She folded the aprons and put them in her handbag.

“They are staying there for whenever I need them. I’m grateful for the change of uniform but my aprons have other uses.”

Jean kissed me again before leaving the office.

+++

Things started to improve around the hotel over the next few weeks. By the time the motorway junction shut for the weekend most of the minor problems with the hotel had been fixed. The occupancy rate was creeping up but I didn’t expect much until the weather improved.

The staff helped the contractors over the closed weekend. They kept the workmen supplied with tea, coffee and meals. They also acted as unofficial Clerks of Works making sure that the work was in the right place and solving the real problems. The chef and his staff were delighted to have equipment they could trust.

One detail that pleased me was that a room behind my office had been renovated to be the manager’s bedroom it had been designed to be. In Mr Simpson’s time he went home to his house in the village.

The hotel chain and website were beginning to market our hotel as ‘improved with new restaurant menu’. The menu wasn’t really new. It was the menu we ought to have been able to provide before, but now the kitchens could.

Jean, Maria and I were on duty in shifts. Our busiest nights were Sunday to Thursday with business people. The hotel was a convenient place to stay overnight to attend meetings in the larger towns and cities further along the motorway. Even the road works had helped us. The access was better and the new signs around the junction brought passing trade.

Both Jean and Maria were hinting that it was about time I had a break. I had been on duty seven days a week ever since Mr Simpson retired. They suggested that I should trust them to run the hotel without me. I could but so much had been going on that I wanted to be sure.

One Friday evening at the end of March the overnight bookings were unusually low. At the end of the evening I had eaten in the restaurant with Maria while Jean kept herself available for any managerial need. Jean had eaten hours earlier while Maria was on duty.

At the end of the meal Maria went off to relieve Jean who was in the room behind the reception desk. That’s where the duty manager was usually sited. Whoever was on duty could monitor the whole CCTV system or walk through to the reception desk if there was a queue. I stayed sitting in the restaurant watching the waiters, waitresses and chef working together efficiently.

Jean came towards me, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Can I talk to you in your office, Alan?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

I thanked the waitress and chef and followed Jean out of the restaurant. Once inside my office Jean grabbed my head and kissed me.

“What’s that for?” I asked as she paused.

“Just because,” she replied, “as is this...”

Her familiar apron wrapped around my wrists. It wasn’t tied tight.

“And now?” Jean said, “Now you are going to have a night off. Maria is on duty with not much to do. She doesn’t need you. I do.”

Jean grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the bedroom.

“We are going back a few weeks to our first meeting, Alan. This time I’m not going to stuff you into a laundry bag. I’m going to stuff you inside me.”

She untied my wrists and helped me to undress. She stripped and put one of her small aprons around her waist. She pushed me on to the bed. Jean straddled me. She pulled my hands behind her and tied my wrists with her apron ribbons. Her lips covered mine. One of her hands slid her apron upwards. Her warm cleft slid over my erection. She thrust downwards impaling herself on me.

Jean covered my mouth with a wadded apron tied around my head. I was moaning into that apron as Jean’s breasts swung above me. I wanted to touch those breasts, to hold them. I struggled to release the apron tying my wrists. It was pointless. Jean was far too efficient at apron bondage. All I could do was hug her as she moved herself up and down on my erection.

I held on as long as I could. Jean was squealing above me as she reached ecstasy again and again. Eventually I could hold on no longer and came into her. She stroked my head as I shuddered.

She rested her body over mine and moved her head beside mine. She whispered in my ear.

“I’ve claimed you, Alan. You’re mine. You aren’t going anywhere tonight, held by my body...” she tensed her muscles around my slackness, “...and my aprons. I might untie the aprons but you aren’t getting away from me.”

She removed the apron gag but didn’t untie my wrists until after we had made love again. We spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. In the morning she rode me again. This time I could reach her breasts and play with them. As she slumped on me again she said:

“Today is the First of April but what I have done is no joke. I have claimed you, Alan, as mine. Next weekend you are on holiday in my house for two whole days. Some of it might be in bed but for the rest of it I’ll show you how enjoyable it is to be looked after by someone who loves you. You’ll be wined, dined and fucked. If you even think of saying ‘No’ I’ve still got my aprons. I know what to do with them and you’ll be in danger at any time. You will accept my invitation.”

I kissed Jean. What else could I do?

She was right. I did enjoy that weekend and there are many more weekends in our future.