Ellie, Curatrix of Cruelty

Ellie thought she had seen it all until the Hendersons came to stay at the Manor Hotel. Now 23, she had worked there on and off since she was 18, first during her gap year and then during the vacations of her three-year university course in History of Art. Then, finding it difficult to find a graduate job, she had been there full-time again for the last year. She had much bigger ambitions, but it would do for now.

It was a small hotel created, as its name suggested, from a former manor house and located in the English Cotswolds. It was luxurious and refined, an elegant hideaway for the rich people who lived in the area or who travelled from London to enjoy it. Its small size meant that the staff were expected to rotate between different jobs, so that Ellie sometimes worked at reception, sometimes served at the small bar and restaurant, and sometimes cleaned and prepared the bedrooms and suites.

During the five years she had worked there, Ellie had seen guests who were obviously having an affair, and using the hotel as a discreet place to meet. She had been propositioned by male guests and, occasionally, female ones. Once or twice she had even accepted the offers. She had delivered a room service meal to find a man masturbating. On that occasion, rather than respond with the shock he might have expected she casually walked over to him, and with a few strokes of her hand brought him to orgasm. Another time, she had arrived to clean a bedroom and found a woman naked and handcuffed to the bed. That had required the hotel manager to call a locksmith, and caused considerable embarrassment all round, though Ellie had merely been amused. So she had good reason to think that she had seen it all.

When the Hendersons arrived there seemed nothing unusual about them. Ellie was at reception to welcome them and check them in. Like all guests at the Manor they were well-to-do, and that was confirmed by their reservation of the largest suite, the Mercedes coupe they had arrived in, and the quality of their clothes. Mr Henderson wore a classic, evidently expensive, Prince of Wales check suit and Mrs Henderson had the kind of elegantly simple blue summer dress that Ellie knew cost a great deal of money.

It was true that, as they checked in and Ellie leant forward over the computer, she noticed Mr Henderson looking down the front of her uniform dress, but there was nothing unusual in that from the male guests. If anything it was the norm. And Ellie didn't mind if they got a glimpse of the cleavage of her firm young 36C breasts or the lacy bra that framed it, especially if, as was often the case, it led to them paying her generous tips during their visit.

She knew she was attractive. Her slightly brown skin, almond brown eyes and brown-black hair, the legacy of her Moroccan grandmother, gave her a slightly exotic look which, combined with the genes which gave her a near perfect hour-glass figure, made sure that men noticed her. She had certainly had no shortage of boyfriends over the years. And when at work, the neat mint green dress she was required to wear was a perfect complement to her colouring, and was well-enough tailored to do justice to the curves of her body. Despite her demure appearance, she knew very well that she exuded an aura of sex.

So it was no surprise to her at all that Mr Henderson had taken the opportunity to look at her boobs, even though his wife was, herself, a striking-looking woman, albeit in a different way to Ellie. Mrs Henderson, who seemed to be in her late thirties, was what Ellie had heard described as an 'English Rose'. That is, she was tall, slim and willowy, with blond hair, well-cut to shoulder length, bright blue eyes, bright white teeth, and pink lips, to which lipstick added a deeper, darker pinkness. She was in good shape for her age, too, Ellie noticed, a tribute perhaps to the discipline of regular gym sessions.

As for Mr Henderson, he was a few years older, perhaps in his early forties, and good-looking too, in his way, and also in good shape. Slightly grey-haired, distinguished rather than handsome, Ellie thought, and polite in his manner to her and to his wife, despite that snatched look at Ellie's cleavage. Just two more ordinary guests, then, Ellie thought that afternoon as she checked in Sarah and Adam Henderson -- she now knew their names, as well as the fact that they lived in Kew, in West London - and she barely glanced as they made their way to their suite on the first floor.

It was only a few hours later that she began to realize otherwise, although it took a while to start to unfold. By then, it was about 6pm and Ellie had handed over reception to her colleague, Hazel, and was now working behind the bar. At that moment it was empty, but then Mr Henderson came in, on his own, and ordered an Irish malt whiskey. He exchanged some small talk with her, just pleasantries, although she noticed his eyes flicker lasciviously over her body and she had the impression that he was slightly nervous. At the time, she wrongly, though not unreasonably, put that down to him trying to work up the courage to flirt with her. But, if so, he lost his nerve, as instead of staying at the bar he went and sat at a table in the corner of the room, where he sipped his drink and read a newspaper.

About twenty minutes later, Mrs Henderson entered the bar and ordered a Finnish vodka and tonic but, once Ellie had served her, she did not join her husband but stayed at the bar, sitting on a stool. She had changed since the afternoon, and now wore a different dress, equally elegant but of a different style, a sleeveless black cocktail dress. Her hair was also pinned behind her ears, and her lipstick was red, rather than pink, and her fingernails were pained a matching colour. As well as the wedding and engagement rings on her finger, she wore a string of pearls around her neck and small pearl earrings. Ellie noticed these kinds of things, since clothes, hair, jewelry and make-up interested her greatly, and the kinds of clothes that Mrs Henderson wore were the sort of thing which Ellie, herself, would buy if she could afford them.

Having ordered her drink, Mrs Henderson didn't make any conversation with Ellie and, in any case, two other guests came in and wanted drinks. They were a young married couple who had come to stay every month for the last few months. Ellie knew, because the woman had told her in a confidential chat the last time they were there, that they were trying for a baby, and came every month, at her fertile time, to give a bit of romance to their efforts. She smiled a friendly, conspiratorial smile to the woman, who was about her own age, and served them their drinks. They also move to a table where they sat, having eyes only for each other.

Then at 6.30 another man came in. He was tall, quite rugged in appearance, and exuded an air of confidence. Ellie hadn't seen him before, and he wasn't staying at the hotel, but he clearly knew Mrs Henderson because he came straight to her, giving her a kiss. Ellie was surprised because, although it was a perfectly respectable kiss -- not a full-blown snog -- it was unmistakably more than a friendly one. It was the kiss a husband might give a wife, and yet he was not her husband, whilst Mr Henderson, who was, was sitting quietly just a few yards away.

Even more surprisingly, after the man had asked for a glass of Malbec and another V&T -- as well as offering a drink to Ellie, which she took as money - he sat on the stool next to Mrs Henderson and proceeded to have an intimate, evidently flirtatious, conversation with her. Their voices were too low for Ellie to catch more than the occasional word, but there was no doubt that that was what it was, and, had there been any doubt, it was dispelled by the way Mrs Henderson laughed, touched the man's forearm, bit her lower lip, and played with her hair. She was almost wriggling with desire. Ellie had flirted with too many men herself to mistake the signs. Yet Mr Henderson was, apparently, oblivious.

He was not, however, oblivious when, about twenty minutes later, Mrs Henderson and the unknown man stood up and walked slowly out of the room, towards the staircase. On the contrary, Ellie saw that he was watching them intently and that he, like Ellie from behind the bar, could see them start to walk up the staircase before disappearing from view. She wondered if she knew, as she did, having observed it when Mrs Henderson got off the bar stool, that his wife's long elegant legs were clad in stockings.

Ellie, who was very far from naïve, half-wondered if Mr Henderson would now follow, whether to join in a threesome or just to watch. Instead, he came to the bar and ordered another Irish malt. He didn't exchange small talk this time, and returned to his table. Shortly afterwards, his phone pinged, and Ellie saw him looking intently at its screen. Half an hour passed, during which, whilst serving the small number of other customers who came in, and seeing the young married couple through to the restaurant, Ellie kept half an eye on Mr Henderson but observed nothing beyond him sitting impassively, taking occasional sips of his drink. But then his phone pinged again and immediately after having looked at the screen he came to the bar.

"Would you be able to take a bottle of chilled champagne up to our suite?" he asked, blushing furiously.

Ellie was momentarily lost for words.

"Of course, sir," she said, eventually, striving for a professional tone. "Which champagne would you like?"

"I think my wife would like the Vintage Krug," he muttered after consulting the list.

"And how many glasses will that be?" Ellie forced herself to ask.

"Er, two, please, she'll need two," he answered, by now bright crimson.

"I'll see she gets it straight away," Ellie assured him.

He thanked her, and returned to his table. Ellie bustled around finding the Krug and an ice bucket, and putting them on a tray with a cloth and two champagne flutes. She ascended the stairs and knocked on the door of the Hendersons' suite.

"Come in," a man's voice called.

Ellie went in, not quite knowing, though half-guessing, what she would find. She was right. The man, evidently naked, was lying in bed, his chest visible above the duvet. Mrs Henderson was standing by the window, looking outwards, wearing only a black slip which contrasted sharply with the creamy white of her skin. She turned, and Ellie could see her small, firm breasts through the almost translucent silk of the slip, and the hard points of her pink nipples sticking through. Further down, the outline of the triangle of her pubic hair was also discernible.

"Just leave it on the table," Mrs Henderson said.

Ellie obeyed and began to leave.

"Just a minute," Mrs Henderson said, and came over to the table. She glanced at the champagne.

"Vintage Krug, how generous," she remarked, glancing over that the man in the bed with a smirk. "Ellie -- it is Ellie, isn't it? -- yes, I noticed it on your name badge earlier - would you please say thank you to my husband? From both of us. Don't forget, will you? Thank him from both of us."

Ellie promised that she would do as she had been asked and left the room. As she did so, she heard Mrs Henderson and the man laughing, and saw that Mrs Henderson was beginning to shrug the thin straps of her black slip off her shoulders as she moved towards the bed.

Ellie returned to the bar and, hesitantly, approached Mr Henderson's table.

"I delivered the champagne, sir," she told him. "And, well, your wife told me to tell you 'Thank you from both of us'."

His face crumpled, and he let out a kind of anguished gasp. Fortunately, there was no one in the bar to hear.

"I'm -- I'm sorry, sir," Ellie said. "But she insisted I tell you, so I had no choice."

"It's not your fault. It's mine. Or Sarah's. I should be apologising to you."

"There's no need," Ellie said. "Look, I can see that you're upset and, well, I don't want to intrude but my shift is finishing now and I'm a good listener, if you need to talk."

Mr Henderson almost sobbed.

"It might do you good to talk," Ellie said. "I can see you are upset, and I can understand why. And, after all, I'm a complete stranger. It doesn't really matter what you tell me, does it?"

"I'd like that, I think," he said. "Will you sit down with me for a while?"

"Sure," said Ellie. "But not here, it's too public. Just wait a minute whilst I get my colleague to take over at the bar. Then come to my room. I live in, you see. It's on the top floor, directly opposite the top of the staircase."

"But my wife?" he said.

"I don't want to sound cruel, but I have the impression that your wife is going to be busy for a while yet," Ellie said quietly.

He nodded, and she left him, made sure that her replacement had arrived for her shift, and went to her room. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and she opened it.

"Come in, Mr Henderson," she said. "It's not very big, I'm afraid. One of the servant's rooms when it was a house, I think. But it comes rent-free with the job. So why don't you sit yourself down in the armchair? I've got a bottle of cognac, if you'd like a glass. I'm having one, now that I'm off duty."

He declined the drink, but accepted the invitation to sit down, and as he did so he suggested she call him Adam, rather than Mr Henderson.

"Alright, then, Adam," Ellie said, perching on the edge of her bed, and facing him, a glass of cognac in her hand. "Why don't you tell me all about it?"

"God, I don't know, Ellie -- is it ok to call you Ellie?"

"Of course."

"Well, I don't know, Ellie. I'm not sure you'd understand. I mean, you're so young ..."

"I'm 23, Adam, and, yes, that is quite young. But you'd be surprised what I understand. For a start, you're a cuckold, aren't you? Mrs Henderson is cuckolding you, am I right? I mean, she isn't just cheating on you, but she is doing so with your knowledge."

Adam stared at her.

"How on earth do you know that?"

"Well, I've got eyes, haven't I? I've seen it for myself, this evening. But it's not just that. I did History of Art at university, and one of the modules was on art and sexuality which included a lecture on 'kink sexualities', so I know a little bit about it."

Ellie didn't feel it necessary to mention that, after that lecture, she had approached the tutor with some questions. That was the beginning of what became a tempestuous relationship during which Ellie had learnt, first, to be submissive to a man and then what it meant to be a switch, and to dominate and humiliate him. It had been during her second year at university, when she had been 20, and the relationship had only lasted a few months but it had transformed her life.

"I'm astonished," Adam said, though he wasn't as astonished as he would have been if he had known that story. "Well, yes, of course you are right. But it isn't like the kind of thing you might have read about, where the husband asks his wife to fulfil his fantasies. It's the real thing. She takes lovers, or, often, not even lovers, just pick-ups, because, well, because ... oh, you wouldn't understand."

"You said that before, but I did understand, didn't I? So why not try me?

"OK, well it is because I can't satisfy her sexually. Because ... because my penis is too small," Adam muttered, painfully embarrassed.

"Is it really? Or is that just a kink? There's a thing called 'small penis humiliation', you know, but it doesn't necessarily mean the man is really too small."

"I -- well - I don't know. Sarah says it is too small for her, that's for sure," he said.

"Adam, would it help if I took a look? Maybe I could reassure you. I know you think that I am very young, but I've had more than my fair share of men, and I've seen a lot of, well, men's cocks. In real life, I mean, never mind about in works of art. It could be that Mrs Henderson is just, I don't know, finding excuses to be unfaithful?"

Adam looked unsure. It seemed to be a possibility he hadn't considered before.

"Well, it's up to you, of course," Ellie continued. "But that way you would know for sure and, since we're talking honestly, I did notice you eyeing me up earlier, so it's obvious that you see me as a woman, who is old enough to be perved over."

"Oh God, I know. I'm sorry. Sarah noticed me do that as well. That's why she texted me telling her to get you to send up the champagne. That was the second text. The first one said 'stop ogling that girl in the bar and look at this instead' and she sent a picture of her hand stroking that man's penis."

"I see. That must have been very painful for you. Well, maybe we'll come back to that. But, first, what about this idea she has given you that you aren't 'big enough'. Let's start with that, and then see if we can work out the rest of it. Are you going to show it to me now?"

Adam stood up and unzipped his trousers, pulling his penis from the fly for the young woman to inspect. It was semi-hard and wet with pre-cum, as it had been all evening. Ellie didn't say anything at first, except that she couldn't really see properly, and suggesting that he drop his trousers and underpants.

"It does seem quite small," Ellie said. "But to be fair it isn't fully hard yet. Lots of men get a lot bigger when they are erect. Maybe you just need some encouragement."

Saying this, Ellie, still sitting on the edge of her bed, slowly pulled her mint green dress up, to reveal the full length of her bare legs and, eventually her lacy panties, which, like the bra Adam had glimpsed earlier, were a matching mint green.

"Have a good look, Adam. No need for sneaky glances now. I'm giving you permission," she said. "Look at my legs, at my thighs, at the gusset of my panties. Look at the way my bush is straining against their gauzy fabric."

His cock twitched and grew a little, but still didn't seem to be fully erect.

"OK, let's try something else," Ellie said, reaching out to take his penis in her slim, cool fingers and working them up and down. Very quickly, he became fully erect and she took her hand away.

"Oops," Ellie said. "If I'd kept going for any longer I think you might have spurted, and I don't think Mrs Henderson would have liked that."

Ellie's tone seemed to have changed. Until then, she had sounded friendly, sympathetic, almost caring. Now, though, she seemed to be speaking with a mixture of teasing and dismissiveness. Adam waited for her verdict.

"Well, I have to admit that your wife is right. I mean, sorry, but it is very small, a lot smaller than average judging from my experience, and, well, I can't speak for all women, of course, but it certainly wouldn't be enough to satisfy me, either."

"So size does matter to women? I mean, people often say it doesn't, so I thought it might just be Sarah ..."

Ellie giggled.

"Oh, I think it does matter. Like I said, I can't speak for all women, but the women I know all say in private that it does. Personally, I expect at least eight inches from my boyfriends, and yours isn't even half that. I don't think I'm unusual. I need a cock that will really stretch me, open me up."

"That's what Sarah says," Adam admitted.

"I think she is right," Ellie said. "So things make more sense now. I can see why she needs other men, real men, I can see why she treats you with such disrespect. I mean, to be honest, I would do the same in her situation. It's hard to respect a man who doesn't have the means to satisfy a woman, you can see that, surely? Does she let you have sex with her at all?"

"Not for a long time," Adam confessed. "She, well, she gives me a hand job every so often."

"I wonder why she stays with you?" Ellie asked.

"Oh, that's easy," said Adam bitterly. "She stays for the same reason she married me. Because I'm rich. Rich and successful. So she can keep up with her friends and her family, and live the upper-middle class lifestyle she was born to, and expects her husband to provide."