Occasionally my job takes me up and down the country for conferences, meetings and so on. When I am away I prefer to stay in rural B&Bs rather than the anonymous rooms of the hotel chains. It was on one such recent visit that I experienced service above and beyond the call.
I arrived late the night before, having travelled down and attended the course. It was dark but a crystal clear early spring evening with a hint of frost dressing the trees as I looked out from my bedroom window. There were a few other cars in the drive as I surveyed the farmyard to the limits of the view.
The room was small. It had two single beds crammed into a single room, drawers with tea making facilities, a television and a small en suite. It was cool and had a faintly musky aroma. It was late so I decided to turn in.
I wake early in the mornings and was down for breakfast promptly at 7.30. After a wee chat with the proprietor and his wife, a few acknowledging nods to the other guests and a hearty breakfast I decided to avail myself of the opportunity and have a wander around the quiet countryside.
It was a lovely day, the air was crisp and clean and the fields dressed in the white of a slight frost. I had been told to take the driveway to the road, take a left and then follow the stream to the village. It was indeed a pretty route but rather long. It was past 9 when I returned and judging by the lack of cars everyone had checked out for the day.
I was sweaty and decided to have a quick shower before my 10 o'clock taxi took me back to the airport. I bounded up the stairs past the cleaner noisily hovering out the room over the small landing from mine.
The room was cold and so I placed the largest of the towels over the warm radiator in the bedroom before stepping into the shower. I wasn't long, perhaps 10 minutes but when I stepped out and into the bedroom the towel had gone. Just at that moment the door burst open and in came the cleaner clutching a blue bag, inside which I noticed the large white bath towel.
I hastily looked around the room for something to cover my modesty. There was nothing within reach and the cleaner stood directly in front of me. Her eyes weren't fixed on mine either -- she just stood there open jawed staring at my flaccid cock.
It was cold and my ball sack had wrinkled, I covered my wet cock with my hands the best I could but she just stood there, transfixed.
She was perhaps in her thirties, shorter than me at about 5 foot 6 inches, with dyed black hair, complete with red streaks. Her piercing blue eyes were wide open and fixed at my groin as she finally found some words.
"Oh, er, sorry. I'll just get you a fresh.." She spoke with a thick west country accent and motioned over her shoulders.
I was dripping wet and getting colder by the minute when she returned. She dumped a bail of towels down on the end of the bed nearest me and grabbed the top one. She threw it towards me, making me break my cover.
It was small, just bigger than a flannel and barely covered my chest, let alone the rest of me.
"Sorry!" She exclaimed and made a better play for the largest towel on the bottom of the pile.
She stepped up and wrapped it around my shoulders. I was still trying to cover my modesty with the miniature towel and so she decided to try to help me dry off by dabbing at my skin through the plush cotton material.
I wore the large towel like a cape and she stepped into the hollow at the front, carefully dabbing at my back by reaching around my chest. I felt her hot breath and caught a sniff of her perfume as she pushed herself, and her breasts, confined in her tight cotton blouse, against me. She glanced up and at last made the slightest of eye contact before concentrating fully on her task.
I wasn't sure what to say or do as she patted lower and lower until she was drying my backside. She said nothing but just continued down. She sank to her knees and patted down the backs of my thighs.
