Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  "You'll have hair of my balls in a minute! Have you still got an elastic band round your cock?"

  "Yes, I'd better take it off - I think my foreskin's rolled over my knob and covered the elastic band."

  "Christ, you're weird!"

  "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Or the knob calling the fanny pink!"

  "Yes, well... OK, get on with it and I'll be up later to see how it's going. You are what you think you are - think dirty and you'll be dirty!"

  Leaping downstairs, his mind brimming with obscene ideas for his sexual torture chamber, Mike wondered whether to turn the entire hotel into a brothel. It would certainly solve the problems the department of environmental health were causing him! he reflected as he grabbed the phone ringing at reception. Officious bastards!

  "Good afternoon, Stokepot Towers," he ventured wearily, flopping into the chair.

  "Do you have a functions room?" a woman asked.

  I have a sex room! "Yes, I do. Is it a wedding or..."

  "No, it's..."

  "A wake? There's nothing like a tragic death in the family to bring everyone together for a good piss up!"

  "Yoga."

  "Yoga?"

  "Yes, for our yoga class. We used to meet at the scouts' hut but they've pulled it down."

  "The scouts pulled their hut down?"

  "No, the council."

  "Fucking fascist bastards! Er... sorry."

  "I run a local feminist group and I'm looking for a fair-sized room for our weekly yoga classes - there are twelve of us in all."

  "Feminist group?"

  "Yes, we're The Splash Bay Women's Association Against Men."

  "Why are you against men?"

  "They're all chauvinistic, oversexed, lying bastards."

  "Oh, thank you - thank you very much!"

  "Don't take it personally. So, about the functions room."

  Fucking lesbian! "Yes, I can help you out there." Christ, leotards, the lotus position, gaping cracks.

  "Oh, good, I'll come in and have a look. Can you give me a rough idea of the cost? We'll only need the room for a couple of hours each week."

  "I'll work something out for you. What's the average age of your girls?"

  "The average age? Your mind's not riddled with disgusting sexual thoughts, is it?"

  Damned right it is. "I need to know for insurance purposes." For sexual purposes.

  "Oh, I see. Well, about twenty, I suppose."

  Perfect! "Right you are. What name is it?"

  "Miss Cleft."

  Miss cunt cleft. "OK, Miss Cleft. I'm here most of the time, I'll look forward to meeting you." And your band of leotard-clad birds.

  "Is there anywhere the girls can change?"

  Yes, in my bedroom. "There's a room next to the functions room, they can use that."

  "Excellent! Long live women! I'll be seeing you."

  "Long live... yes, right."

  Replacing the receiver, Mike decided to persuade Trudie to attend the yoga classes. I'd love to watch her curl up and lick her own cunt out, he thought wickedly, picturing the girl with her head between her thighs, her tongue lapping at her open sex hole. I might even join myself - I could suck my knob, give myself a blow-job. "Splash Bay Women's Association Against Men, my arse!"

  "Good afternoon," he smiled, rising to his feet as an attractive middle-aged woman approached the desk. "How can I help you?"

  "This is somewhat complicated," the woman began, her green eyes focused on Mike as she leaned on the desk.

  "There's only one thing in life that's not complicated, and women complicate it!" Mike muttered under his breath.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Why, what have you done?"

  "I didn't hear what you said."

  "I didn't say anything."

  "Oh. Look, my husband plans to commit adultery with a filthy young slut."

  "Does he? Er..." Lucky sod!

  "He's going to bring the repugnant little tart here."

  "And you want me to turn them away, is that it?"

  "No, give them a room."

  "But..."

  "Haven't I seen you in the local paper?"

  "No, you have not!"

  "Oh, the likeness is amazing! Anyway, I overheard my husband talking to the vile little strumpet on the phone. He plans to spend a night here with the slag, adulterous pig that he is!"

  "So, what do you want me to do?" Give you one up your arse by way of compensation?

  "Let me into his room so that I can catch him in his debauched act."

  "Well, I really don't know whether..."

  "I'll have witnesses with me, and a camera. Don't worry, there won't be a scene. All I plan to do is catch him, take a few photographs, and leave."

  "Well, it's somewhat unethical but I suppose it'll be all right. When's this adulterous act planned for, do you know?"

  "No, I don't - I'll ring you when I find out. I really can't believe it! We've been married for twenty-eight years, and this is what he does to me!" the distraught woman sobbed, tears forming in her eyes. "Twenty-eight years I've given him, body and soul, man and boy!"

  "Man and boy?"

  "Woman and girl! How could he do this to me?" she wailed hysterically.

  "Christ! Er... please, don't cry."

  "I've never turned my back on him in bed; I've always gone along with his every perverted whim!"

  "Please!"

  "I've even lowered myself to the role of filthy common slut and allowed him to bugger me!"

  "Please, keep your voice down!" Mike whispered urgently. "We have elderly spinsters staying here, you'll give them heart attacks! Go home and give me a ring the minute you find out when he plans to..."

  "Anal sex, with me tied over the kitchen table!"

  "Shush! You'll give the old biddies prolapsed wombs!"

  "I've shaved my pubic hair off for him! I wear nipple clamps and vaginal lip clamps to please him! I wear a gold ring in my pierced clitoris! I masturbate in front of him with a vibrator!"

  "Please, Mrs..."

  "Mrs Crass."

  That figures.

  "Is there a problem, old man?" Colonel Buckshot grunted as he emerged from the bar. "What's all the damned shouting about?"

  "No, no it's all right," Mike grinned bashfully.

  "It's not all right!" Mrs Crass wailed. "I've had twenty-eight years of anal intercourse!"

  "Ye Gods, woman! Anal intercourse for twenty-eight years?" the colonel echoed. "You must be damned sore! What!"

  "My husband strips me naked, ties me over the kitchen table with rope, and uses me for anal sex!"

  "Think yourself lucky," the colonel grunted. "There's nothing like a damned good rear-ender! Do you know, back in forty-four, there was this sexy little..."

  "I've never complained, and now he's taken up with a dirty little strumpet."

  "Lucky devil! What!"

  "It's all right, Colonel, I'll deal with this," Mike broke in.

  "Deal with it? The woman needs horse whipping!"

  "Horse whipping?" she sobbed, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

  "Yes! It's your duty to fulfil your husband's wishes. And if he deems it necessary to find himself a dirty little filly, then the prerogative's his. Back in forty-four, or was it forty-five?"

  "Please, Colonel, leave this to me," Mike sighed.

  "Think yourself lucky that your husband keeps you on!" the colonel laughed as he returned to the bar. "Damned women, they've never had it so good. Horse whip the lot of them, that's what I say. Or was it forty-nine?"

  Shaking his head as the distraught woman fled the hotel, Mike flopped into his chair, wondering what other problems the day would bring. Taking a magazine from a shelf beneath the desk, he reclined, crossing his legs and opening it at the centre-fold. Admiring the naked girl, the bird's eye view of her open pussy, he sensed his cock swell. If I get room sixty-nine off the ground, I won't have to put up with problematic guests and residents, he mused, imagining his penis gliding i
nto the girl's wet sex duct as he turned the page. God, all I ask is to be left in peace.

  "Mike," Dave called, emerging from the kitchen. "I thought I'd do a stew for this evening but I'm out of stewing steak."

  "Well, I'm not giving you the money to buy any," Mike returned nonchalantly, focusing on a pretty girl's slender fingers stretching her vaginal lips wide apart. "As it is, you lose baking potatoes and... that reminds me, what was wrong with the cucumber? Colonel Buckshot said it tasted like a prostitute's bottom-hole."

  "Er... it must have been off."

  "How could it have been off? It was fresh yesterday."

  "It's been in the fridge for two weeks. What shall I do for this evening, then?"

  "Have a wank - to use a filthy expression."

  "No, what shall I do about the evening meal?"

  "Jesus, you're the bloody chef! Use your creative culinary skills and set fire to something, you're good at that. How about smoked baked beans on flame-grilled toast? Fish and chips, that's the answer - charred fish and burnt chips. "

  "We're out of fish. In fact, the freezer's just about empty."

  "Turn it off, then - at least we'll save on electricity."

  "Seriously, Mike, the cupboard's bare!"

  "Last week I bought some cheap, out-of-date dog food as a reserve. It's in the basement, it'll make fine stewing steak."

  "Dog food?"

  "It's meat, isn't it?"

  "Well, yes, but..."

  "But what?"

  "Mike, it's probably horsemeat!"

  "So? This isn't the bloody Ritz, Dave! Don't worry, the punters will never know the difference. Fine chunks of meat in a thick gravy with marrowbone jelly, what could be better? It'll give them thick, glossy pubes - that'll please Trudie!"

  "Argh! I'm not eating it!"

  "Neither am I! You can order a take-away curry for us."

  Turning the page as Dave wandered back to the kitchen, Mike grinned, focusing on a huge purple knob splattering spunk over a pretty blonde's mouth. Why I ever bought a bloody hotel, I'll never know, he reflected, wishing he'd gone into pimping. Slipping off the chair and hiding behind the desk as Miss Chaste hobbled downstairs, he placed the magazine on the shelf and played dead.

  "Are you there, Mr Hunt?" the old woman called. "Hallo, are you there?"

  All I ask is a moment's bloody peace!

  "What is it, Miss Chaste?" Goldie asked as she emerged from the bar.

  "There's a lot of banging going on in the room above mine. I can't have my afternoon doze with all that noise."

  "Banging? All right, I'll go and take a look."

  "The hotel has a ghost, you know."

  "Yes, I've heard the stories."

  "They say he walks the hallways at night looking for young women. Do you think he's taken to banging up against the walls during the day?"

  "Banging up against the walls!" Goldie giggled. "No, it's probably Mike doing some repair work. I'll go and take a look."

  Peering over the top of the desk as Miss Chaste followed Goldie into the lift, Mike breathed a sigh of relief. At least Paul was getting some work done in room sixty-nine, he thought, wishing he'd hit upon the idea of a sexual torture chamber earlier. But the money would soon be rolling in, he knew. Dirty pictures, he mused, grabbing his magazine, imagining huge posters adorning the walls of the sex chamber. Tarts dripping treacle, cocks spunking cream, that'll wet the punters' appetites.

  Leaping up guiltily as a burly young woman approached the desk, Mike smiled benevolently. "Good afternoon, welcome to Stokepot Towers."

  "Good afternoon, I'm looking for a room," the woman said, her voice deep, husky - masculine. "I'd like to see the best double room you have, please."

  Money, money! "I'll show you - Mike Hunt," Mike obliged, holding his hand out.

  "You'll show me your cunt?" the visitor rasped, holding her rough hand to her stubbly chin. "Oh, you naughty man!"

  "No, I'll show you the room. My name's Mike Hunt."

  "Oh, I see! I thought you meant..."

  "Er... yes."

  "I want a room for one night so my boyfriend and I... well, I just want a room."

  "You are a female, aren't you?" Mike asked, eyeing her hairy arms.

  "That's highly confidential!"

  "Ah, Trudie, would you show this young man... young lady to room twelve, please?" he asked the girl as she entered the foyer.

  "OK, mate."

  All under control, Mike mused, watching Trudie open the lift door for the transvestite. Recalling the colonel's words, he wandered into the dining room. I'll pay you for the other service later. Lifting the old boy's tablecloth, he peered at the white stains on the carpet. "Goldie, you dirty little bitch!" he breathed. "Right, I'll take eighty percent!" Lowering the cloth, pictures of the girl gobbling the colonel's knob filling his mind, he turned to see Paul staggering towards him.

  "Ah, how's the room coming on?" Mike asked.

  "Great! I thought dirty and I came up with some dirty ideas. May I take five minutes out for a drink?"

  "No, you may fucking not! I want you to install a hidden video camera in room eleven, next to the functions room."

  "What for?"

  "You'll see."

  "Where the hell do I get a video camera from?"

  "Use your head, nick one from the local supermarket. Stick chewing gum over the lens, I've seen it done in films. Make sure it's well hidden in room eleven and wire it up to the TV in my flat."

  "OK. Do you want to have a look at room sixty-nine? I've built a wooden frame and nailed it to the floor, I've set steel rings in the walls for chains and laid Trudie's sex gear out on a table."

  "Sounds good, Paul!"

  "Mr Hunt!" Mike turned to see Miss Chaste hobbling into the room on her bandy legs.

  Fucking hell! Now what?

  "I was trying to have a doze when..."

  "Yes, the banging's stopped now," Mike smiled, raising his eyebrows in despair. "Get back to your room and stay there until..."

  "No, it's not the banging. Now, what was it? I seem to have forgotten. Oh, yes, it's the water!"

  "Water? Do you want me to call a doctor?"

  "A doctor? Why call a doctor?"

  "If you're having trouble with your waterworks again, I'll call a doctor."

  "No, no, it's pouring through the ceiling!"

  "You've pissed yourself?"

  "No, the ceiling in my room, there's water..."

  "Er... the six-inch nails!" Paul gasped. "I heard a hissing noise when I hammered one into the floor!"

  "Fuck me backwards!"

  "Oh, Mr Hunt!" Miss Chaste cried, holding her hand to her mouth. "Never have I heard such disgusting..."

  "That's right above Miss Chaste's room!" Mike bellowed, turning to Paul. "Call a fucking plumber!"

  "OK!"

  Sighing as Miss Chaste followed Paul out of the dining room, Mike wandered across to the window, again wondering why life was so hard. What the hell do I do about the environmental mental bastards? he wondered, watching a group of mini-skirted girls skipping down the street. And the local fucking paper! Fires, floods, a feminist group, no money...

  Chapter Three

  "Right, to the sex chamber!" Mike breathed, dashing upstairs. Apart from bursting a pipe, the water still gushing beneath the floor, Paul had done very well, he observed, gazing at the wooden construction. The H-shaped frame built with planks padded with velvet curtains, the victim could either be bent over the horizontal plank or have her hands and feet cuffed to the top and bottom of the vertical planks.

  "Ideal!" he grinned, picturing Trudie's naked body tethered to the frame. Gazing around the room, he focused on a chair, a U-section cut out in the seat, obviously to gain access to the victim's yawning vaginal crack once her naked body was bound to the chair.

  "Ah, Goldie!" he smiled as the girl breezed into the room. "My guinea pig!"

  "Guinea pig? What's all this stuff doing in here?"

  "Take your clothes off, I
need you to test the equipment."

  "I'm supposed to be running the bar. I only came up to tell you that the lager's run out."

  "Fuck the lager."

  "I'd have a job! What do you mean, test the equipment? What's this wooden thing for?"

  "Take your clothes off and bend over the frame."

  "I'm employed as a waitress, not a..."

  "Have you a contract of employment?"

  "No."

  "There you are then. I need to employ your naked body, so strip off."

  "I've only got a few minutes!" she sighed, resignedly unbuttoning her blouse and slipping the garment off her shoulders. "There's someone waiting for a pint of lager, I hope you're not going to fuck me."

  Closing and locking the door as Goldie tugged her skirt down, Mike scrutinized her delectable body. Her breasts were firm, youthful, her nipples erect, pointing skywards - her pussy slit clearly visible through her scant blonde pubes, her pink inner folds protruding invitingly. Jeez, she's beautiful!

  "OK, bend over this," he grinned, watching the girl stand by the bar and lean over, her hands gripping her shins to steady herself.

  "Oh, you are going to fuck me, aren't you?" she mumbled as he bound her wrists to her calves. "This isn't fair, I want a contract of employment, Mike."

  "You can't have one."

  "I'll join the union of badly-done-by hotel waitresses."

  "Don't be ridiculous! I'd be forced to sack you."

  "I'd resign first!"

  "You'd be breaking your contract, you can't have it both ways. Now, let's have a look at you," Mike murmured pensively, standing behind his sex stooge, eyeing her delicious pussy lips nestling beneath her crudely exposed bottom-hole, bulging alluringly between her thighs. "Yes, perfect! Right, now for the whip."

  "Mike, I don't want to be whipped!" Goldie protested as he took the cat of nine tails from the corner of the room.

  "Of course you do! All girls crave a good buttock whipping, it's what their buttocks are for - ask anyone. Besides, I know that you and Trudie whip each other, so what's the problem?"

  "I'm supposed to be in the bar!"

  "Fuck the bar! You're better off over the bar! By the way, how much does the colonel owe you?"

  "Fifty pounds."

  "What for? What vile obscenity did you commit upon his erect member?"

  "Oh! Er... I didn't realize that you..."