Clean Sweep

The sea hissed against the shore below our balcony, a rhythm that matched the pulse in my throat. I’d been coming to this hotel for three years, and every summer, the same cleaning lady—a woman named Lena with sharp green eyes and a way of moving that made the air feel thicker—made my workouts unbearable. She’d linger by the weight rack, pretending to dust, watching me curl. Today, I’d finally said something.

“You know,” I said, dropping the dumbbell with a clank, “if you’re going to stare, you might as well spot me.”

She smirked, tossing the rag over her shoulder. “Your form’s shit, Dima. You’re gonna hurt your back.”

“Then fix it.”

She stepped close, close enough I caught her scent—sunscreen and sweat and something floral. Her palm pressed flat against my lower spine, and my dick twitched in my gym shorts like a traitor. “Here,” she said, voice low. “Engage your core. Like you’re bracing for a punch.”

“Or for you.”

Her laugh was a breath against my ear. “You’re cute. But I’ve got four more rooms to clean.”

“I’ve got a shower. A big one. And a bottle of wine.”

She looked at me, really looked, and I saw the flicker—the same hunger I felt, mirrored. “You’re paying for this room, right? Then I’m just doing my job.” She pulled the door key from her apron pocket, twirled it once. “You’d better be worth the overtime.”

The moment the lock clicked, she was on me. Her mouth crashed into mine, all tongue and teeth, and she shoved me back against the wall. “Jesus,” I muttered, grabbing her hips. Her uniform skirt was thin, and I could feel the heat of her through it.

“Shut up and lift,” she said, and dropped to her knees.

She worked my shorts down with practiced ease, and my cock sprang free, already leaking. She wrapped her hand around the base, licked her lips, and then swallowed me whole. No teasing, no preamble—just her hot, wet throat taking me to the root. I groaned, fingers threading through her hair. “Fuck, Lena.”

She hummed around me, and the vibration nearly buckled my knees. She pulled off with a wet pop, stroking me fast. “You like that? You like your cleaning lady slobbering on your cock?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Fuck, yeah.”

She stood, turned around, and bent over the edge of the bed. Her skirt went up, and she wasn’t wearing panties. Her pussy was bare, glistening, already pink and swollen. She looked back at me over her shoulder. “Then stop talking and fuck me.”

I didn’t need telling twice. I lined up and slammed into her, and she gasped, fingers digging into the duvet. “God,” she moaned, “your dick’s so thick.”

“And you’re so tight.” I pulled out and drove in again, harder. The sound of our bodies slapping filled the room, drowning out the sea. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back. “You like it rough?”

“Yes—fuck—just like that.”

I set a brutal pace, pounding into her from behind. Her moans turned into broken little cries, and I could feel her clenching around me. “I’m gonna come,” she whimpered.

“Not yet.” I slowed, just to torture her, then reached around and pressed my thumb against her clit. She shuddered. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, Dima, I need it. I need you to fill me up.”

That was all I needed. I drove into her hard and fast, the bed creaking against the wall, and when she screamed, I came with her, my release spilling deep inside her. We collapsed onto the mattress, tangled and breathless.

Morning came with gray light and the smell of coffee. She was already dressed, but her hair was still a mess, and she had a bruise on her hip from the edge of the bed. She handed me a mug, and our fingers touched.

“Same time tomorrow?” I asked.

She smiled, slow and wicked. “You’d better leave a big tip.”

CATEGORIES: [Cleaning lady, Fitness, Hotel, Rough sex, Creampie]