The Confession I Never Wrote Down During My Night Shift

The lobby smelled of polished wood and the coffee Daniela had poured herself three hours earlier, which was already cold in the cup. It was almost eleven at night, her favorite hour of the shift: the guests shut away in their rooms, the hum of the air conditioning her only company, the wall clock running two seconds fast every hour as it always did.

She had been in the hotel industry for eighteen years, the last four at this establishment. She knew the rhythm of the night as well as she knew her own breathing. That was why she immediately recognized that something was straying from the usual when the sharp clack of heels shattered the marble silence.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

She looked up and for an instant forgot how to smile politely. The woman crossing the lobby walked as if the floor belonged to her. A short black dress, made of stretchy fabric that creaked with every step. Red heels. Lipstick the same color, looking freshly applied. She chewed gum with the calm of someone who knew she was being watched.

“Good evening,” Daniela said, adjusting her tie over her white shirt. “How may I help you?”

“You can help me a lot, sweetheart,” the woman replied. Her voice was husky, dragging out her s’s. “I’m here to see Mr. Sebastián Carrasco.”

Daniela typed in the last name. The screen returned the note: “One female companion is permitted access to room forty-seven.”

“Perfect. I need your name for the visitor log.”

“The slut,” the woman said without batting an eye.

Daniela blinked. She felt her ears heat up all at once.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the slut Sebas ordered,” she repeated with a crooked smile. “Or don’t I look like one?”

“I… I was asking for your name for the system,” Daniela stammered, trying to recover her professional tone.

“Sorry, gorgeous. My name is Camila,” the woman said, and at that exact moment she closed her lips and popped a gum bubble. The pop rang through the empty lobby like the crack of a starting pistol. “And you?”

“Daniela,” she answered in a whisper.

“Pretty name… and prettier woman wearing it. Will you show me up? I get lost immediately in places this elegant.”

Daniela nodded, not trusting her voice. She stepped out from behind the desk, took the master key card, and walked toward the elevator, unwillingly listening to the uneven symphony: her low loafers against Camila’s red heels, marking the pulse of a night that was only just beginning.

The elevator rose with a hydraulic purr. The cubicle was cramped, and Daniela could hear Camila’s steady breathing, the faint brush of her purse against the fabric of her dress.

“Have you worked here long?” Camila asked. Without the lobby noise, her voice sounded deeper, almost a purr bouncing off the steel.

“Four years at this hotel,” Daniela replied without taking her eyes off the digital numbers. “But I’ve been in the industry for eighteen.”

Camila gave a low whistle, a thread of air between her teeth.

“Eighteen years,” she repeated, taking a step closer. The click of her heels on the metal floor was sharp. “That’s a lot of people you’ve attended to, Daniela. I imagine that by now you recognize when someone enters a hotel knowing exactly what they came to find, right?”

Camila pressed herself against Daniela’s back. Daniela heard the creak of the leather purse, the gum being chewed beside her ear.

“Eighteen years of being a good girl, following the rules,” Camila whispered, her hot breath raising gooseflesh on Daniela’s neck. “Tonight, the only sound I’d like you to follow is my voice.”

The elevator kept climbing. Camila moved away slightly and looked her up and down.

“But you’re just a little girl,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Daniela’s cheek in a nearly maternal gesture that was loaded with intent.

“I’m thirty-eight,” Daniela replied, keeping her voice firm.

“Well preserved, then. How old did you think I was?”

“I wasn’t referring to your age. I was asking about your profession.”

The doors opened before Camila could answer. She stepped into the hallway first, and the sound of her heels on the carpet was all that could be heard until she decided to respond.

“I’ve worked as a whore since I was a girl,” she said with such naturalness that Daniela was left breathless. “And I don’t only service men, in case you ever get curious.”

They reached room forty-seven. Daniela knocked twice, sharply. The door opened, revealing Sebastián: forty-two years old, freshly shaved, white hair contrasting with a black silk robe.

“Well, finally,” he said. His voice was deep and commanding.

“The good stuff is worth waiting for, handsome,” Camila purred, entering as if she owned the place.

“Come in.”

Daniela made as if to leave.

“All set, I’ll leave you to it. Have a good night.”

“Wait, dear,” Sebastián stopped her. “Bring us up a bottle of champagne, please. The house one is fine.”

“Of course.”

The door closed with a final click, and Daniela stood in the hallway for a moment, leaning against the wall’s carpeting, a diffuse heat rising up her neck.

***

The service area was the hotel’s other world: open kitchen, white fluorescents, steam from the griddles, and the constant clinking of cutlery.

“Tomás, can you take a bottle up to forty-seven?”

“Impossible, Dani,” the waiter replied without slowing down. “I have to take the order into thirty-eight right now.”

The metal hood covering the dish rang with a dry clank. Daniela sighed.

“All right. I’ll take it.”

She took the silver ice bucket. The clink of ice against the bottle accompanied her down the service corridor, through the employees’ elevator, and to the premium-room hallway, where the burgundy carpet muffled everything and only the dim lights remained, along with the feeling that the rest of the world was asleep.

She stopped in front of room forty-seven. She raised her knuckle to knock.

And froze.

Through the thin wood—for it was thin, she knew better than anyone, knew from the complaints that always came from forty-eight—the sounds were unmistakable. The smack of saliva. The rhythmic, greedy suction of a mouth working a cock down to the throat. Sebastián’s hoarse moans striking the door as if they wanted to get out. The creak of the mattress. A brief, vibrating laugh from Camila, broken by a soft gag, as if she had just swallowed the entire cock and had come up for air.

Daniela closed her eyes. She tightened her grip on the bucket. The clinking ice seemed ridiculous to her, a tiny sound compared with the storm on the other side.

She couldn’t leave without delivering the order. But she couldn’t knock now either.

Or at least that was what she told herself.

I’ll just stay until they finish and deliver it quickly, she thought. It isn’t voyeurism. It’s prudence.

The second thought was such a huge lie that even she didn’t believe it.

***

Inside, the rhythm changed. Daniela heard Camila pull away from the cock with a wet smack of her lips, one of those obscene plops only made by a glans leaving a mouth full of saliva. Then came short kisses all over the shaft, smack, smack, smack, moving down toward the balls. Her broad tongue licking from base to tip, one long, shameless slurp. Then a hoarse, murmured order:

“Spread your legs wider, handsome. Let me suck your balls properly.”

“They’re all yours, little slut,” Sebastián growled.

One slurp, then another, followed by the unmistakable sound of a mouth sucking on testicles as if they were candies. Sebastián’s breathing broke into choppy pants. Daniela heard Camila climb back up the cock, wrap it in her lips, and this time swallow it whole until the back of her throat drew a guttural gag from her, ghhhk, followed by a satisfied laugh.

“Your dick tastes so good, daddy. You make me drool.”

“Suck it all, don’t leave a single drop outside.”

The slurping became constant. Schlop, schlop, schlop. An obscene rhythm, heavy with saliva, with Camila talking between sucks, whispering filth with her mouth full.

“Look at how I take the whole thing, my love. Look at how I’m drooling over you.”

“God, you’ve got such a whore’s mouth.”

“All yours tonight.”

Daniela rested her forehead against the frame. The bucket was still in her hand, freezing her fingers against the metal. Her uniform suddenly felt two sizes too small. Without thinking, she loosened her tie. The knot gave way with a whisper of silk. She felt her panties grow heavy, soaked, sticky against her lips.

Inside, the rhythm changed again. She heard Camila rise, the frush of fabric falling to the floor, the mattress spring sinking beneath two bodies.

“Come here, sit up top. I want you to split me open with those tits,” Sebastián said, his voice even raspier.

“Oh, handsome, how you love my tits.”

The constant rubbing. A wet, rhythmic sliding. The soft slap of skin against skin. Daniela didn’t need to see to know what was happening: Camila had bent over Sebastián and was trapping his cock between her breasts, moving up and down, letting the glans poke out above her cleavage so she could lick it every time it emerged.

“That feels so good, my love. So delicious. Spit on it, come on, spit on it so it slides better.”

A long, audible ptuh. Then the splashing became smoother, louder, a rhythmic splosh, splosh of wet tits riding a cock to the point of breathlessness.

“That’s it, daddy, that’s it. Put the whole thing between my tits. Fuck my tits, fuck them hard.”

“Goddamn, Camila, what an ass and what tits. I don’t know what to grab first.”

Sebastián’s voice came from the back of his throat. It was the kind of voice a man had only when he had lost the ability to choose what he said.

Then, inside the room, there was a pause. And then:

“Fuck me like a bitch,” Camila said, with a gasp that was half plea and half command. “Put it all the way into my cunt, I want to feel it in my throat.”

Daniela bit her lip. She felt something melting inside her pencil skirt, a liquid heat that made her squeeze her thighs together.

The slap, slap, slap began almost immediately. His pelvis against her ass. The bed creaking at a rhythm that allowed no objection. Camila’s cries—a hysterical laugh, thick with pleasure—mixed with Sebastián’s guttural grunts.

“You’ve got such a hard cock, you son of a bitch! You’re breaking my cunt!”

“Take it, little slut! Take it! Take my whole cock, that’s what you came for!”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Harder, harder! Fuck me harder!”

“Do you like me putting it in like that? Do you like being my whore?”

“I’m your whore, I’m your whore, I’m your expensive little whore!”

Daniela felt every word like a lash. The next twenty minutes were the closest she had ever come to wanting to abandon a job in the middle of a shift.

She set the bucket on a console table in the hallway, a small altar with a vase of dried flowers. Her hands were shaking too badly to hold it steady. She loosened her tie completely and undid the first three buttons of her shirt. The plastic snap of each button sounded like a promise.

The hallway was deserted. The cameras in corridor forty were aimed toward the elevator; where she stood, directly in front of forty-seven, was a blind spot. She knew because she herself had mapped the blind spots during her first month. Every night receptionist knew them.

She pressed her ear to the door. The rhythm changed again. They separated. There was a drawer clicking, the sound of a plastic container, a froush of gel being spread.

“What’s that?” Camila asked breathlessly.

“What comes next. I’m going to put it in your ass.”

“That’s another price, handsome.”

“I’ll pay it. Whatever it costs. I want to wreck that asshole.”

Daniela clenched her teeth. Her ears were ringing. She felt her own breathing synchronize with theirs on the other side. She heard the schluck of gel coating Camila’s ass, the finger going in and out, the sticky squick of the lubricant foaming.

“Slowly, okay?” Camila pleaded. “You’re big, daddy. Put it in little by little.”

“Easy, little slut. I’ll go slowly. Open your ass wide for me.”

“Oh, aaah, aaaah… that’s it, that’s it, a little more, a little more…”

The new tone in her voice—higher, more expectant, her breathing broken by the pressure of the cock forcing its way in—tore through Daniela’s last seam of decorum. She hiked her pencil skirt up to her waist. The friction of the synthetic fabric against her thighs sounded like a fush. Her fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her panties and found what she already knew they would find: her cunt soaked, hot, pulsing in time with the moans on the other side. Her inner lips were swollen, her clitoris rigid as a button beneath the pad of her middle finger.

“Come on, daddy, put it all in! Break my ass!” Camila screamed, her cry sharp and clear, pierced by something that wasn’t only pleasure.

Daniela closed her eyes. She moved her fingers in circles, slowly at first, then faster, copying a rhythm that wasn’t hers, claiming it as if she had the right to it as an audience member. With two fingers she pushed into her cunt, feeling it squeeze and release, while her thumb kept punishing her clitoris. With her other hand she squeezed her breast over her lace bra, pinching her nipple through the fabric until it hurt. Her nipples ached, hard and unbearable.

“Aaaa-pa-pa-pa! You shoved it all the way in! All of it, daddy, all of it!” Camila’s next cry was wrenching and triumphant at once, the ovation of someone who had found what she had come looking for.

The slap, slap, slap resumed with renewed violence, deeper now, wetter, accompanied by the sticky squelch of lubricant churned between two bodies. The bed cried out beneath them. Sebastián grunted obscenities with every thrust.

“What a tight ass, goddamn, you’re milking my cock.”

“Break it, break it, break it!”

“That’s how you like it, bitch? You like being my ass-whore?”

“Yes, yes, yesssss!”

Daniela bit the back of her hand to keep from joining her with her own voice. She felt her wetness slosh against her fingers, a rhythmic schlap, schlap that under any other circumstances would have been heard throughout the hallway, but here was masked by the greater symphony from room forty-seven. She inserted a third finger, then stretched out her palm and brushed her asshole with her little finger as well, barely pressing, and the electric discharge that shot up her spine nearly brought her to her knees.

She was close. She could feel it rising like a tide, from her thighs toward her navel. She clenched her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut until they hurt. Her fingers flew now, a frantic rub over her swollen clitoris, her cunt spilling inside her panties, leaving a sticky thread running down the inner side of her thigh.

“I’m going to come!” Sebastián shouted inside. “I’m going to come now, I’m shooting, I’m shooting!”

“Where, daddy? Where do you want to leave it?”

“On your tits! Pull it out and get on your knees, I want to come on your tits and your face!”

“Come on, daddy, give me all your milk, bathe me in it!”

The brief silence that followed—the sound of Camila kneeling, Sebastián jerking his slippery cock with short, bellows-like pants, the dry fap, fap, fap of a hand against the lubricated shaft—was the second Daniela broke as well. Her whole body went taut like a violin string. A long, voiceless moan, pressed into the palm of her hand, escaped her throat. She felt the extended spasm, her cunt squeezing her fingers in waves, heat soaking her hand to the wrist, the hot cum running across her palm. On the other side she heard Sebastián’s guttural grunt as he came—aaaghhh!—and Camila’s delicious moans as she received the thick spurts, the unmistakable splot, splot of semen striking warm skin, her obscene laugh demanding more, more, more, down to the last drop.

“That feels so good, daddy, look what you did to me. My whole face, all my tits… it’s running down to my belly.”

“Suck it off your finger, come on.”

“Mmm… delicious.”

And the hallway spun around Daniela for a moment.

She remained leaning against the wood, forehead pressed to the door, hearing the storm on the other side come to an end as well: a rhythmic tchick, tchick, tchick—the last drips from a cock being squeezed to the very end—a soft laugh from Camila, a deep sigh from Sebastián, and then only the hum of the air conditioning and the beat of her own heart resonating in her ears like a distant drum.

***

It took her a couple of minutes to become herself again. She straightened her skirt, took a handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped her sticky hand, still feeling her own scent clinging to her fingers. She buttoned herself up one button at a time with fingers that were no longer shaking so badly. She tied her tie while looking at her blurred reflection in a metal panel in the hallway. She lifted the bucket. The click of ice against the bottle confirmed that the professional Daniela was back in place.

She knocked twice, sharply.

Knock, knock.

The door opened. Sebastián appeared still wrapped in his silk robe, his hair somewhat mussed and his face slack with the expression men wore only after being thoroughly serviced.

“What took you so long, dear?” he said in a relaxed, almost friendly voice. He took the bucket, the metal clanging against his ring. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy it,” Daniela replied with the professional smile she had spent eighteen years perfecting.

The door closed behind her. She walked down the hallway with her shoulders held high, her hands still, her heart pounding against her ribs as if it wanted to escape.

***

The wall clock read one twenty when the red heels shattered the silence of the lobby again.

Clack, clack, clack.

Camila walked toward the exit looking immaculate, as if the previous two hours had never existed. Her lipstick had been freshly touched up. Her hair was only slightly more disheveled. Her proprietress’s air remained intact.

As she passed the desk, she stopped. She placed a card on the marble. The soft tap of cardstock against the cold counter was the only sound in the room.

“What’s this?” Daniela asked, looking at the printed name.

“In case you want to call me. It’s my personal card. I service women too, remember? And I have a tongue that works miracles. I make cunts fall apart in my mouth, sweetheart.”

Daniela felt a flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with professionalism. Her thighs tightened beneath the desk, and she felt the wetness she had thought had dried beginning to surface again.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Oh, and take this.” Camila pulled two green bills from her purse and slid them across the counter. The crackle of the paper sounded like something Daniela wasn’t ready to name.

“This?”

“For the service, sweetheart,” Camila whispered with a conspiratorial smile. “You were an excellent audience. Next time, you’ll be the one on the other side of the door. I’ll suck your cunt until you beg me to stop.”

Daniela looked up. Camila watched her with absolute certainty, the same certainty with which she had entered the hotel two hours earlier. She knew. She knew perfectly well that Daniela had been on the other side of the door, her hand inside her panties, coming in chorus with them. Perhaps she had known since the elevator; perhaps even earlier.

“I don’t know what to say,” Daniela admitted.

“Don’t say anything. Call me. And come ready, because I won’t let you sleep until I make you come five times.”

Camila blew her a kiss—a loud, playful muack—and walked toward the revolving door. Her red heels disappeared into the distant noise of the street.

Daniela stood staring at the card. A name, a cell phone number, an email address. Nothing else. When she tucked the bills beneath the drawer—they technically weren’t for her, but that night all the technicalities had ceased to exist long ago—her fingers began trembling again. They still smelled like herself.

She sat back down. The hum of the air conditioning and the wall clock’s rhythmic gain returned the night to her. She had five hours left on her shift, eighteen years behind her, and a card in the pocket of her vest.

Call her tomorrow, she thought. Or the day after. Or never.

She didn’t believe the part about never.