Room Service

by Caroline Jane Bradley

 

"Good evening Mr. Deveraux, here for another week? I’ll check you in to your normal room", Sally the receptionist smiled as she printed out the form and handed it to Simon Deveraux across the busy check-in desk of the Stakis Country Court Hotel in Bromsgrove, West Midlands.

The check-in formalities briskly completed, Simon picked up his computer case and suit carrier and walked quickly through the entrance foyer of the hotel smiling at the familiar faces of the staff as he made his way to room 224. He had been staying at this hotel for four weeks now, Tuesday though Thursday, as his new job meant he had to stay away from home. Relocation was out of the question as his daughter’s school was one of the best in the country and his wife had said that they needed to keep their roots where they were.

The electronic key opened the door to a well-appointed bedroom with a large double bed, separate en-suite facilities and a small sitting area with sofa. He unravelled his suit carrier and hung it up in the wardrobe, slipped out of his jacket and tie and ran a bath, pouring in the entire sachet of hotel bubble bath.

Dialling "0" on the room ‘phone, he ordered a light salad and a glass of Australian Chardonnay before returning to the bathroom to check on the temperature of the bath water. He had fallen into a routine in the last few weeks and knew that he had enough time for a close shave with his razor followed by a warm wallow in the tempting bath before the food would be delivered.

Sure enough, glowing from the hot bath and with a towelling dressing gown wrapped around him, there was a knock at the door and another familiar face greeted him as the food was delivered and signed for, he remembered to give the waiter a tip. Sitting on the sofa, he ate the meal and sipped the wine whilst watching a mind-numbing episode of his wife’s favourite soap opera. Relaxed, fed and warm, he padded quietly to the hanging wardrobe and opened the suit carrier; from an inside zipped pocket he withdrew a make-up bag and some fresh underwear.

The next two hours were spent in Simon’s favourite activity; the slow, delicate and very sensuous process of converting from the harassed businessman to a suave, sophisticated woman. He always kept his legs and torso hairless, having convinced his wife a number of years ago that the André Agassi look was sexy. His face was not too masculine and, at just over 5’ 8" and 150lbs he had a fair figure. All this helped the preparations without arousing suspicion.

The regular visits to the hotel had allowed him to build up a small cache of clothing and make-up from visits to the local shopping area. More specific items, like wigs and breast forms he had ordered over the Internet and had delivered to the hotel. This particular evening, he had bought a smart black business skirt/suit and a white silk blouse from the nearby Marks & Spencer store. With his preparations complete, he pulled on the blouse and zipped up the skirt, aligning the back zipper and lifting the skirt to pull the blouse down into shape. Slipping his black stocking-clad feet into his best pair of black patent court shoes, he sat in front of the mirror and applied glue to a set of stick-on nails. Once they were set he shaped them carefully before applying a single coat of nail varnish to match the deep burgundy of his favourite lipstick.

A few minutes later, he was admiring the reflection in the full-length room mirror. The new suit fitted very well, the jacket accentuating the curves produced by the light waist clincher; the skirt following the contours of the hip-enhancing girdle. His fingers sparkled from the fresh lacquer and the four rings adorning his fingers; his throat shone from a heavy gold necklace, which moved as, shaking his head, the long tresses of his black wig revealed a sparkle from the gold loop earrings. With a final check of his carefully-applied but subtle make-up, he spritzed perfume behind his ears and, seductively, up his skirt.

Walking across the floor of the bedroom, he basked in the delicious feeling of the nylon stockings as they brushed together at the top of his legs and the swish of the tight skirt as he walked. This was the climax of his evening and he moved slowly to the desk where his computer was already attached to a wall socket. Connecting through a free portal he joined to 20 or so other crossdressers in an evening of girl "chat" swapping stoires and blowing out unwanted private messages.

Evetually bored of the chatter, he logged off and stood up, smoothing down the skirt and looked once again in the mirror. The frank gaze of a sophisticated woman returned his stare and he smiled, touched up his lipstick, and returned to the bedroom. The rest of the evening was spent completing some unfinished work from the previous day; he loved the thought that no-one would guess that his diligent efforts in the evening were accomplished dressed like he was now. Work completed, he returned to the bathroom and stripped down to bra and pants; carefully tissuing off the make-up and cleansing his skin properly, he applied a night moisturiser and fresh lipstick before slipping into a full-length peach night-dress.

With the alarm set for 07.00, he slid luxuriously into bed. Glancing across the room into the mirror, he saw his fantasy of the woman of his dreams readying herself for bed. The satin feel of the night-dress and the smell of the perfume heightened his senses, he felt wonderful and drifted into a light sleep – dreaming of walking through crowded shopping malls in a light, floating dress everyone admiring how good he looked.

The alarm interrupted the pleasant dreams and Simon slipped out of bed, stretching luxuriously as he caught his reflection in the mirror, the wig, breast forms and long night-gown giving the continuing illusion of a tall slim woman. He opened the curtains and, as the daylight flooded into the room, called out,

"Can you leave it outside please?" as a rap on the door announced the room service breakfast. Slipping on a matching negligee he carefully opened the bedroom door and slid the tray into the room, catching the admiring glance of a passing businessman as he walked down the corridor. Breakfast completed, Simon reluctantly took off wig, night attire and underwear and carefully hung the items up in the wardrobe. He Washed the knickers through in soft soap and deftly hung them up on a rail conveniently provided over the bath.

Concentrating on his face, he carefully cleansed and moisturised; paying particular attention to his eyes by using a cotton bud to remove the last vestiges of mascara and eyeliner. A shave and shower, the latter in the hotel’s shower foam, followed by a brisk towelling and he was ready to return to being the efficient businessman. He checked the recently-bought items and returned the suit to a carrier bag, he would keep the blouse which he hung in the suit carrier. A swift check of the room to ensure the cleaners wouldn’t find anything too incriminating and he left for the office.

That evening, he returned to the department store and exchanged the suit without fuss – that was the great thing about these stores, you could try the clothes on in private and then return them all the time! He browsed the aisles without success and moved on to another late-opening women’s store where a short dress caught his eye. Ten minutes later he was back in his car with the new purchase on the back seat, he drove back to the hotel and began the night’s ritual.

This time, after the bath and a snack, he spent some time carefully shaping his toe-nails before applying two coats of a brilliant red varnish. Whilst this was drying, he sat at the dressing table and meticulously applied his make-up, choosing a very light shade to make his skin seem pale. Subtle frosted greys and blues accentuated his eyes as he applied a vivid blue mascara and a deft touch of light blue eyeliner; then with practised ease he wetted a pair of soft blue contact lenses and touched them into place. Without looking up, he pulled a blonde wig off the stand he had used to brush it into shape earlier, fitting and pinning it into place he looked in the mirror as he applied the final dabs of translucent face powder.

With lips carefully relaxed, he outlined their shape with a natural coloured liner and gently brushed a vivid pillar-box red lipstick onto their surface. Admiring the reflection of a pretty, blonde, blue-eyed woman he finished the preparation with long black earrings and matching beaded necklace.

Black lacy bra, matching knickers and the inevitable figure-enhancing girdle followed. Then sheer almost white-coloured tights, the new dress followed slipping into place and the zipper slid well up to the base of the back of the neck. The black court shoes were the only choice with this outfit as he applied the glue to the nails, pausing to carefully apply a coat of the same vivid red nail varnish. Standing in front of the mirror Simon admired the view; long blonde tresses framed a pale face with a perfect complexion highlighted by blue eyeshadow and a pink blusher. Red lips parted in a smile, blue eyes glinting with black earrings and necklace. The dress was a superb fit, almost nude in overslip with a black lace cover hinting at the delights below. Long shapely legs encased in sheer nylon into black patent court shoes. He reconsidered his shoes, removed them and zipped on a pair of knee-length black leather boots with 3" heels – the result was excellent and he twirled with delight into the mirror.

A final touch of lipstick with a gloss of Vaseline to the centre of the upper lip to enhance the effect, Simon could feel his excitement growing with the realisation of his best-ever feminine illusion. The soft rustle of his dress as he moved to admire the refection in the mirror was heaven, he pranced around the room revelling in the wonderful feelings and sounds of being a woman. Then an ear splitting noise hit him like an almost physical blow, wrenched back to reality he realised that it was the fire alarm – oh shit! Staring at the wide blue eyes in the mirror he rapidly assessed what to do, maybe it was a false alarm? No, he could hear other doors opening up and down the corridor and rushed footsteps went past the door.

A rap on the door was followed by "Fire Alarm, please leave your room immediately and follow the signs to the safe point".

Simon moved quickly, he grabbed his long overcoat and pulled it over the dress, remembering to fold it over in the opposite way to normal. Securing the belt by tying it around his narrowed waist he extracted a handbag and dropped the room and car keys into the empty bag, followed by his lipstick (just in case!). Taking a deep breath he opened the room door to see a number of people walking past, intent on leaving the building. With pounding heart he followed them, the unworn soles of his boots slipping slightly on the carpet. He smiled as a man held the fire escape door open for him and he stepped out into a blustery evening, the wind catching his coat and lifting it to give the man a glimpse of long nylon-encased legs. Walking swiftly down the stairs, he joined a crowd of people as they milled around the car park – Simon was petrified, he had never gone out en femme before and was absolutely sure he would be recognised. However, the crowd were generally jovial despite the windy early evening, and the light was fading fast. He stood quietly in a small group of women, who were chatting and passing lewd comments as the firemen arrived in their Tender, Simon forced a smile.

After a few minutes, a receptionist with a bull-horn announced that it was a minor fire in the kitchens and all was well. She thanked everyone for their patience and said they could all re-enter the hotel. As the crowd surged forward, the man who had held open the fire escape door brushed against Simon and said,

"Well, that was exciting, what’s next I wonder?"

Simon smiled and shrugged his shoulders in an attempt a non-communication, but the guy would have none of it. He chatted away without waiting for any response and, as they entered the glare of the brightly-lit reception area, he turned and said,

"Would you like a drink to warm up after that cold wind?"

Simon could do with a stiff drink, but not because of the cold. He shook his head as demurely as possible and, thankfully, the man walked away. Stepping carefully, Simon set off across the foyer towards the stairway, he desperately hoped that the strong lighting was not going to give him away, when he felt a pressure on his let arm,

"I’m sorry about that madam, I know most business women want to be left alone and that sort of guy can be a nuisance. I’m Anita Ward, the Hotel Assistant Manager, I’m sorry but I don’t know your name". Simon knew full well whom she was as they had often spoken before when he was checking in or out,

he thought quickly and summoned a husky quiet voice,

"Hello, I’m Stephanie Deveraux, my husband stays with you and I’m using his room – he went out".

"Well, Mrs. Deveraux, we know your husband well, he is a regular. Here, please let me get you some coffee or a drink to apologise for the inconvenience, after all, we don’t meet our client’s other halves very often". Without waiting for a reply, Anita guided Simon by the arm to a small table in the bar and sat down opposite. A waiter appeared promptly and, when asked what was wanted, Anita ordered two brandies.

"Here, take you coat off, it’s quite warm in here", Simon acquiesced reluctantly and immediately felt eyes swivel to the long legs and shapely form as the coat fell from his shoulders. "What a lovely dress, where did you buy it?" Simon shyly mentioned the local store at which point Anita launched into a long diatribe on the variable nature of the local clothes shops. Eventually, brandies drunk, Simon breathed a "Thank you" and got up, feeling the eyes returning to his shapely legs – he enjoyed the feeling immensely.

"Well, Mrs Deveraux, it was good to meet you. I hope we see you again, good night". Relieved, Simon walked slowly to the stairs and along the corridor to his room. Collapsing exhausted but elated on the bed he smiled to himself. The rest of the evening fell into its normal pattern – a retouching of hair and make-up before preparing for bed, this time in a short blue baby-doll nightie.. He quickly fell into a deep slumber and awoke the following morning to return to plain old Simon and to pack his bags as this was the last night this week.

Checking out, he saw Anita who came over to him,

"I saw your wife last night, is she here, I would just like to say goodbye"

"No, she left very early this morning, but she asked me to thank you for the kind hospitality"

Simon thought he saw a glint in Anita’s eyes as he walked out of the hotel.

The following Tuesday he checked in uneventfully, but this time was allocated a different room to the usual.. Opening the door, he smiled – it was a suite! A huge bedroom, separate en-suite with whirlpool bath and a large sitting room lead to a small dining area. The décor was clearly designed to be luxurious and he noticed a bottle of Champagne in an ice-bucket next to the bed. A note by the bottle read, To Mr & Mrs Deveraux from Anita, enjoy your stay.

Simon ran a hot bath and ordered from room service, he lay in the bath enjoying the jets of water from the Jacuzzi when the doorbell rang. Donning a dressing gown, he opened the door expecting the food delivery. Instead Anita stood there with his order on her arm,

"I’m sorry, I’d hoped Stephanie was here, but here’s your dinner. Enjoy." Before he could respond, she walked out and pulled the door closed.

Simon ate the meal and then proceeded with the ritual of turning into Stephanie, as he called he female alter-ego. This evening he wore a new, long, cream sleeveless cotton dress with a matching over-blouse; tan stockings and tan ankle-strap shoes. A mid-brown shoulder-length wig and brown eye make-up with a dark burgundy lipstick finished the preparations. He walked around the sumptuous apartment, swaying his hips and admiring the swirl of the fabric as it followed his movements. Standing in front of the large full-length mirror in the sitting room, he first opened and poured a glass of Champagne, downing it quickly. This was the life, he thought as he raised the glass in a toast to himself.

He had just recharged the glass with Champagne when there was a knock at the door, a quick check of the spy-hole revealed Anita standing outside. She knocked again and then, before he could think, the door opened – she had used her pass key.

"Stephanie, I like the change in hair colour. How are you? Your husband said that you weren’t here and the girls on reception haven’t seen you come in." Anita stood there smiling, "Well?"

Simon was like a rabbit caught in powerful headlights "I, I I….he stammered" Without responding, Anita walked over to the large television in the room, turned it on and inserted a video into the player installed beneath. Simon watched in horror as the screen flickered and then sprang into life, showing him as he was ten minutes ago, pulling on his wig and making the final preparations of his transformation.

"Well, I think you’ll have some problem explaining this to your employers." Anita was grinning broadly, "I must say you make a very passable woman but your walk needs some work and your voice is a give-away at close quarters".

"What, what are you going to do? Give me that video, I’ll pay you". Simon’s voice quavered.

"Stephanie, you don’t mind if I call you Stephanie as you are dressed like Stephanie – by the way, love the dress, we must go out shopping together. Where was I, oh yes, this is not the only copy of the video. We’ve had our suspicions of you and the underwear drying in the bathroom last week was a bit obvious. Never mind, you’re secret’s safe with me – I’ve always wanted to get to know a cross-dresser."

Simon relaxed a bit and, with great presence of mind, offered Anita a glass of Champagne.

"Listen, I have a proposal. I’ve got enough video evidence to destroy your career here and I know your home address, what would wifey think?"

"Please don’t tell them, or her. What have I done wrong?" Simon pleaded

"Nothing, really. But, to my proposal, you clearly enjoy the dressing up and I’m willing to help you to store your clothes here and to buy more for you so you can indulge your little fantasy. I don’t want to lose your custom, nor that of your firm, but I do need to increase the hotel’s income to meet my bonus this year. So, you have this room every time you stay here, you dress and perform your routine just like you have done this evening and I will video the entire event to be screened on the hotel’s adult channel at a premium rate for punters. Eventually, they will all get to hear of the live adult line and our takings will soar"

"But, I’ll be recognised," Simon shouted,

"Not with the lighting in here and your make-up’s really good. Just make sure that you don’t look into the main mirror until you’ve completed the transformation. Now, one final thing, we often have a number of women guests here who ask, discretely, for introductions. I’m assuming that you are not averse to helping them in their fantasies – at a price which we will split 50:50?"

Simon stood wide-eyed and started to say something, Anita put a carefully manicured finger against Simon’s lipstick, "Could you handle men as well?"

"Absolutely not!", he recoiled

"Shame, you could get a lot from the bored businessman tired of the cynical whores we get here", Anita seemed genuinely disappointed.

Before he could utter a response, Anita moved over and kissed him full on the lips. The effect was electric and they began to caress each other as their lips remained locked; Anita pushed him away and smiled,

"Wait here and tidy up your lipstick, I’ll be back", she quickly primped her hair in the mirror and walked out of the room.

Simon was in a whirl, he checked his make-up in the mirror, grinning at the smeared lipstick, which he quickly repaired with a tissue and freshly applied colour. Moving as if in a trance, he went to the bathroom and removed the figure-enhancing girdle and rearranged himself, straightening the knickers and suspenders. Smoothing the dress down, he carefully brushed his wig and reapplied perfume – paying particular attention to his groin.

There was a rap at the door and Simon opened it quickly. Anita had changed out of her manager’s "uniform" into a soft cotton dress. They embraced immediately and Simon felt Anita’s hands caress his stocking-clad thighs, her fingers tracing slow circles as they slid upwards on the nylon lifting the hem of his dress as they ascended. Simon was in heaven, he had always fantasised about being made love to whilst dressed – he had tried a few times in the early days of his marriage, but his wife wouldn’t play along.

He remembered a painful moment when he had lured her to bed and she had discovered that he was wearing her underwear and pantyhose, she laughed at him and walked away.

That was how it all got started. Simon has worked at the Bromsgrove office for 2 years now, resisting his wife’s suggestions that they move closer so that he doesn’t have to stay away so often. Aside from family holidays and work-related trips, which have to be agreed with Anita in advance, Simon is regularly available at the Stakis hotel on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. He has built up a regular clientele of visiting business women, never men; some of his favourites insist on buying him a romantic dinner and just talking girl to girl. Others ask for gentle non-penetrative sex and a cuddle.

The hotel’s bookings increased by over 30% in the first 12 months after Simon’s services became available. Anita is now a director of the company, but still works from the Bromsgrove hotel. The sales of the videos have netted almost £100,000 and Simon’s wardrobe includes some beautiful designer outfits, tailored to fit by local seamstresses. Everyone seems happy with the arrangements and Simon’s new-found contentment has helped in his work and home life. He knows his wife suspects him of having an affair, she has occasionally called him at the hotel in the evening and has been suspicious when the well-trained staff have said that he is not in his room when he is providing room service.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Caroline Bradley. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.