Erotic Short Stories

Room 502

The nights at the hotel usually pass with a sepulchral calm. The guests rest; rarely does anyone arrive past midnight, and only a few hours remained until the end of my shift. I was alone behind the desk, ensuring everything was in its place. From my position, I could monitor the security cameras and often got distracted watching the bar, the last bastion of activity in the hotel where some guests used to kill time. A reservation powerfully caught my attention, registered under the surname King. It was a frequently heard surname, but this time, something piqued my curiosity. There wasn't much information available about the guest, only that he would arrive alone and stay in room 502. It wasn't particularly requested, although in literary circles it was known as the refuge where several writers had finished their great works; among them, Stephen King. That coincidence had captured all my interest.

An hour slipped by with no sign of the guest. I lacked details about his flight or whether he had reserved the hotel taxi, leaving me uncertain if he would arrive before my shift ended. I tried to distract myself by reviewing the reservation folder, stopping at the bridal suite. It was our best room, equipped with an imposing bed, spectacular city views, and a small private pool, usually attracting the most demanding guests. Surprisingly, it would be unoccupied all week, a rare event.

Absorbed in the documents, the door opened and in walked John Walton, no less. My favorite writer, whose novels had tinged my romantic relationships and strengthened my conviction that I deserved a love as grand as life itself, worthy of being narrated. He was taller than I had imagined, and his appearance as attractive as in the photos and interviews I had eagerly consumed. He removed his sunglasses, revealing his identity with a deep voice that seemed to echo in the confines of the hotel. It took me a moment to compose myself and greet him with the professionalism dictated by protocol.

"Mr. King, here is your card. Your room is 502. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you very much," he replied, before taking a few steps, returning to me, and adding, "I made a special request; please send someone up in a few minutes."

I nodded with a professional smile, and as soon as the elevator doors closed, I hurried to check his request. Among various writing items, he had requested a pen, a notebook with blank pages, chocolate bars, and a special coffee for the next morning in the restaurant. In the storage behind the desk, a box with these items was already prepared, to which I added complimentary sweets and sparkling wine with ice. I thought about calling room service to deliver the box, but my shift was about to end, and I decided to do it myself. I reorganized the box's contents, and after my colleague arrived, I took it myself in the elevator. During the ride, I dared to unbutton the top button of my shirt, looking at myself in the elevator mirror and seeing a determined and strong woman, like the heroines in John's novels.

However, when the doors opened, a sudden fear paralyzed me, preventing me from stepping out. The doors closed, and the elevator remained still, just like me. I looked at myself again, trying to regain the confidence I had felt moments before. I adjusted my clothes, observing my legs in nylon stockings, a small personal pleasure. I lifted my skirt slightly in front of the mirror, regaining confidence. I prepared to step out, full of security, and knocked on the door with my knuckles.

"Mr. King, here are your things," I said, with a smile that widened when I noticed his gaze fixed on me. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call me."

I turned around, but just a second later, he asked me to come back.

"This drink was not ordered."

"It's a courtesy from the hotel, sir."

"I'm not going to drink a whole bottle of sparkling wine alone, I assure you. Take it," he said, extending the bottle to me.

I took it, left speechless for a brief moment.