Free Two Strikes by Holley Trent

TWO STRIKES
    “ Three strikes and you’re out, and personally, I think that’s two too many. ”
    Giselle Burke turned her supervisor Ms. Gibson’s words over in her mind as she pushed the room service cart out of the staff elevator and onto the Hotel Beaudelaire’s gold level.
    “ We’re running a hotel, not a charity, ” Ms. Gibson had said.
    Giselle sighed and rounded the corner. She strode toward the long corridor feeling burdened by the sting of yet another reprimand. Having to go immediately from her “chat” with Ms. Gibson up to this particular floor was like a shiv to the gut, but Ms. Gibson couldn’t have known that. She didn’t know anything about Giselle, really, beyond what her employment application stated.
    To Ms. Gibson, Giselle was likely some lazy, twenty-something Millennial who expected to skirt the rules and never get her hands dirty—that she wanted rewards for doing no work.
    It wasn’t true.
    Yeah, Giselle dropped the ball occasionally. More than she would have liked, but it was so easy to get distracted at the hotel, especially during these weekends.
    The place was packed with happy, smiling people drunk on love and lust, and Giselle went home every night, aching and exhausted, only to fall into a cold, empty bed.
    For that reason, gold was her least favorite of the hotel’s partitions.
    Most days of the year, these were just typical rooms that bore the antebellum mansion’s highest rates. The gold rooms were ornate, but more importantly, large .
    They had to be, because several weekends per year, the hotel closed to New Orleans’s tourists, and converted into a den of sin. Gold rooms were set aside for ménage and swinger clientele. Those guests always left the hotel at the end of these long fantasy weekends looking so content. Fulfilled .
    She would be, too, if she had four hands and two mouths lavishing her with non-stop affection for two days.
    The only affection she’d been receiving lately was of the self-love variety. And, well, she’d been loving herself a lot , and who could blame her? She catered to the whims of the rich and gorgeous, who all heeded the Den’s rare invitations to let their hair down—to leave their inhibitions at the door.
    Uptight money managers, prim professors, doctors, lawyers, athletes—you name it.
    No matter how white-bread they presented themselves to the world, at the Den of Sin, they let it all hang out.
    All of it.
    The Den was a place for fantasies to come true…just not Giselle’s.
    Giselle navigated past an amorous couple in the hallway, and stole a look back at the passionate pair. Here they were—fucking like wolves in the wild against the wall and giving her no regard whatsoever.
    God, that man had to be strong, holding all that woman’s weight like that. She seemed to trust his strength implicitly, given her hooded eyes and parted lips. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall. She was utterly relaxed in his embrace as he drilled his cock in and out. In and out.
    Lucky them.
    Giselle paused in front of one dark wood door and straightened her crisp white shirt. She knocked, and while waiting for the room’s inhabitants to acknowledge her, risked one more glance at the couple.
    The man, as if registering somehow that her gaze was upon him, turned his head to the right, blocking the woman’s face from Giselle’s view.
    He dragged his tongue across his top lip and hitched the woman’s ass up a bit higher. His thrusts became longer, slower, as he presented his dick in Giselle’s view, over and over again.
    Long, hard, and thick.
    His wife was a lucky woman, as was the woman he was mercilessly hammering at the moment. The couple had been to The Den enough times that Giselle knew their names and could guess their kinks, not that they tried to hide them. Swingers.
    Giselle drew in a breath, her pussy clenching in want as she watched the brazen display. He seemed to be saying, “Would you like some? You can be next if you’d like.”
    Oh