Story: Partcular Woman, Particular Predicament

PARTICULAR WOMAN, PARTICULAR PREDICAMENT

By Tcheser

The hotel elevator opened to divulge the harried manager, Mr. Withers, two of the security guards and a nearly naked girl which they held firmly between them. Working at the check in desk, I had no idea what the commotion was and couldn’t help but watch with rapt attention as they half dragged half led the girl straight up to my desk.

From her angry red face and the way the guards warily held her, it appeared that the girl had been caught doing something naughty, and judging by the angry red scratches on both the guards faces, she had put up quite a struggle, not that she stood much chance against the two burly security guards. The girl looked to be about 12 or 13 years old, maybe a fraction over five feet tall and skinny as a rail. She couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds sopping wet. Her only clothing was a pale pink t-shirt with frolicking kittens on it which I recognized was from the gift shop. It must have been an extra small because it barely covered her privates and was tight enough for me to see every detail of her mosquito bite like breasts. Her tiny nipples looked hard.

“Mr. Fields,” the manager addressed me as he mopped his brow, “This girl was caught wandering the 8th floor hallway, completely nude, she claims to be the lady who checked into 802 yesterday afternoon. If I recall correctly you were working that shift and most likely checked her in. Do you recognize her?”

I nearly laughed at the very idea, but kept my cool. There was no way however that this short little barefoot girl, with the messy brown pixie haircut, muddy brown eyes, skinny flat-chested body and baby face was the haughty lady I checked into that room. No I remembered that particular lady quite well. She was just a couple inches below my height, had long flowing blonde hair, large shapely breasts, had her makeup done impeccably and wore the finest designer clothes and jewelry money could buy. She also had the most remarkably blue eyes I had ever seen. I didn’t know who this mousy haired little barefoot scamp in the too small pink t-shirt was, but I was certain she wasn’t the lady I had checked into room 802.


“No, sorry I’ve never seen her before,” I replied honestly.

“I thought as much,” the manager harumphed, clearly pleased with himself.

The girl however, whomever she was, was much less pleased, “What? You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m staying at this hotel! I’m Ms. Lords, you have to believe me. I just got locked out of my room after taking a shower.”

“Ridiculous, she’s a homeless runaway most likely. It wouldn’t be the first time one of their kind snuck in here to hide in one of the rooms and order room service on someone else’s tab.” Mr. Withers informed me, completely ignoring the girl.

“Please if you go to my room you’ll find all my stuff. Just give me ten minutes in there and I’ll show you I’m really who I say I am!” the girl pleaded tears welling up in her eyes.

Mr. Withers just shook his head and laughed though, “Ten minutes to rob the place and slip away is more like it. No you’re leaving right now.” and with that he signaled the guards who began to drag her away from the check in desk. Not wishing to go, she clung to the edge of the desk with all her strength. This tussle led to her little t-shirt riding up giving me a glimpse of her round little buns. They were bright red. That was why Mr. Withers was so overcome, he had been forced to spank the naughty little hellion! The thought of prim and somewhat prissy old Mr. Withers turning the foul mouthed magpie over his knee and smacking her bottom in order to get her to obey was something else. Mr. Withers who refused to so much as enter the maids dressing room even when it was empty. It was all I could not to laugh at loud.

“Where are you taking me?” the girl with the apple red bottom gasped when she was finally pulled away from the desk.

“To child protective services of course.” Mr. Withers replied.

“No, you can’t!” she cried and with renewed energy grabbed onto a statue to once again halt their progress in dragging her to the door.

“We can and we must. They will ascertain who you really are and get you back to your parents or guardians.” Mr. Withers explained with what he believed was a comforting smile before pulling her away from the statue.

“No, Stop this!” the girl cried as they reached the door to the street, “I’m a lady! I’m a grown up, not a damn child!” Though at the moment she looked far from ladylike clinging to the doorframe with her legs spread, exposing her bare little pussy to the world. And with one last joint effort they broke her grip, and got the squirming, crying little minx out of the hotel and into the car to child protective services.

Things were quiet after that. Then around the end of my shift a maid came and asked if she should clean room 802. She hadn’t seen the lady that was staying there since the day before. Curious I went up to the room and knocked on the door. When no one came after the third try I entered using my key.

I didn’t find anyone inside and wondering if the lady had left without checking out I searched for signs. No, her bags were still there. Getting worried I then checked in the restroom to make sure she hadn’t slipped in the tub. She hadn’t, but while in the restroom I did make a startling discovery though.

Laid out on the counter were a wide variety of makeup and beauty products as you would expect to find in the dressing room of sophisticated woman. What was more startling though was the wig I found on the wig form. Long and wavy and golden blond. Just like the ladies hair. There was also a bra and panty hanging on a towel rack. The bra was heavily padded like the kind someone would wear if they had almost no breasts at all. Likewise the panties had foam inserts to give someone a more shapely figure. Then there were the fake eyelashes, the fake nails and the blue colored contact lens. The pair of high heeled shoes with the 2 inch platform and five inch heel were what sealed it for me. What I had found was everything that it would take to transform someone into a bombshell of a hot blonde.

Then it hit me. That girl in the lobby. With all of this fakery on, the padded bra and panties, the makeup, the fake eyelashes and nails, the blue contact lens, the fancy clothes, the high heels and of course the blonde wig, she could very well have actually been who she said she was. It was possible, just possible that the ragamuffin girl the manager caught naked in the hallway was really the glamorous Ms. Lords, simply without everything that she used to disguise an otherwise girlish and unremarkable appearance.

I knew then and there what I should do next. I should call Mr. Withers so we could race down to child protective services and rescue Ms. Lords before they put her in foster care or something. That was what I knew I was expected to do and by rights should already be doing. Somehow I hadn’t moved though and after a moment I realized why. I didn’t want to do so. Sure I noticed how Ms. Lords was an attractive lady when I checked her in and had a fantasy about the two of us in a hot tub, but she was also rather curt, if not downright rude to me, as if I were so far beneath me that she didn’t need to be nice. No, I would smell her undies and take a pair as a souvenir, but she was going to have to find her own way out of this particular predicament.