Room 512, The Gloria Hotel, Hyde Park, London

An empty champagne bottle lay on the floor of room 512. A half-eaten box of Belgian chocolates scattered its contents just to the left of the wastebasket.  A dozen red roses dripped dying petals onto the dressing table.
‘Don’t stop!  Don’t stop!  Don’t stop!’

Kelly Elson heard the creak of floorboards as another hotel resident paused outside the door in horrified fascination.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!’ her companion insisted.

Kelly continued to pump his cock like she was inflating a bicycle tyre.  Daniel always said he was coming at least three elbow-cracking minutes before it was true.  She shifted position in anticipation of the long haul.  She was sitting astride his legs so that his somewhat angry-looking penis stood up between her own alabaster-white thighs.  She looked down on his face dispassionately.  His eyes were screwed tightly shut.  His top lip was drawn back from his teeth in a peculiar pre-sneeze snarl that reminded her of a cornered dog.

Daniel managed, with great effort, to open his eyes to look at her.  Kelly immediately flicked on her best ‘porno’ face: the wet-lipped smile that said, ‘this is really turning me on too,’ in perfect Valley Girl American.  Anything to hurry him up.

‘Go on, baby,’ she said, hoping that a little encouragement might do the trick.  The hard work was killing her.  ‘Do it for me.  I want to see you come.’

‘Don’t say anything,’ Daniel choked. ‘You’re putting me off.’

Kelly gripped harder, half-hoping it hurt. More than half-hoping.

‘Come on, come on, come on,’ Daniel groaned. ‘Come on, you bastard!’

Clearly, Daniel’s penis responded more favourably to rugby-style heckling than sweetness.  Kelly felt a sudden and distinct increase in pressure inside the tube she had fashioned with her fingers as Daniel’s cock spasmed into life.

‘Swallow it!’ Daniel instructed.

No fucking way!  Kelly ducked to one side as a fountain of spunk sailed past her right ear.  If she hadn’t moved it would have caught her in the eye.  She let go of Daniel’s penis immediately, leaving it to flail about like an unattended fire hose, splattering sheets, pillows and headboard.  The faux suede headboard… Oh, fuck. Oh. Fuck.

‘That… was… brilliant…’ Daniel sighed when he had finished, already forgetting that Kelly had abandoned her post at the most crucial moment of all.  ‘Thank you.’  He reached out for her hand and went to kiss it, before noticing that her fingers were still sticky and thinking better of the gesture. 

‘My pleasure.’

Kelly jumped up from the bed and went in search of a tissue.

‘Want me to do anything for you?’ Daniel asked as she returned from the bathroom with a fistful of toilet paper. 

‘You don’t need to,’ said Kelly.

‘Good.’  Daniel lay back in the pillows looking smug.  He reached out and gave one of her nipples a tweak.
Kelly fought the urge to punch him. 
Oblivious to her annoyance, Daniel nodded towards the bottle on the floor.  ‘I’ll bring you some of that next time I see you. If you’re a good girl.’
‘Thanks,’ she said flatly.
Champagne. 
Again. 

‘I don’t think anyone will notice if one little bottle goes missing,’ he smiled.

Daniel Weston sold booze for a national wholesaler.  He visited the Gloria hotel once a month to sell his plonk to Montrachet, the hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant.  He liked to see Kelly after his appointments, if she could find an empty room.  And he always brought along a little present.  But it was never a bottle of vodka and some diet Coke - something Kelly actually liked to drink.  It always had to be some fancy wine with a name she couldn’t pronounce.  Daniel was pretentious about wine. Always spouting on about it.  Nose?  Legs?  What the fuck did that mean? Most of what he said went over Kelly’s head.  Except for the words ‘methode champenoise’, which came to mind whenever she held Daniel’s cock in her hand and went at it like a Formula One racing driver shaking a bottle of Mumm Cordon Rouge.   That thought passed through Kelly’s head again as Daniel squinted at the label on the empty champagne bottle on the nightstand. ‘Very nice,’ he said.  ‘This house used to be legend.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Kelly.

‘Bugger,’ Daniel suddenly looked at his watch.  ‘I should be at the Intercontinental in fifteen minutes.’

He gave his penis a perfunctory wipe and pulled his trousers up.

‘See you next month?’ he asked.

‘Sure.’

He left the soggy wad of tissue on the bedside table like a tip.  Next to the envelope he’d so neatly labeled with Kelly’s name.

‘Thanks a lot,’ said Kelly, counting out the five crisp tenners.  She tucked the envelope into her pocket and surveyed the damage around her.

The spunk on the headboard had dried into a patch the shape of America.  She would have to scrape that off. Kelly got up, tugged her badly streaked brown hair back into a ponytail and pulled the dirty sheets off the bed. She threw the dying flowers that had been bought for someone else into the waste-bin.  She had just ten minutes to get the room ready for the next check-in.

Last of all she picked up the champagne bottle that Daniel had so admired.
Champagne Arsenault declared the label.
'Champagne My Arse, more like,’ said Kelly to herself.
Then, not knowing quite why she did it, Kelly tipped the bottle upside down and caught the last drip of golden nectar on her tongue.

Actually, that’s not bad, she thought.  Not so bad at all.