by Ray Gordon
"You'll have the law onto you, Mike!"
"Don't say that, for Christ's sake! Shit, he's bringing his wife, I'd forgotten about that! OK, two meals."
"Will do."
As Dave wandered into the bar, Mike decided to go down to his flat for a hard earned rest before the arrival of his first client. Hopefully, Paul would have installed the video recorder by the time the so-called Smiths were having their extreme fun in the sex room. I could always blackmail the clients, he mused as he wandered downstairs.
No doubt the fire inspector would finish his rounds and send him the damning report, listing a million reasons why he wasn't able to renew the fire certificate. But there was one sure passage to a new certificate, he reflected as he lay on his bed - Goldie's hot, tight, wet, sex passage!
The guests and residents stuffed with fish and chips, Dave was preparing the steak while Goldie and Trudie hovered in the dining room. Both stark naked, with chains hanging from nipple clamps and large candles emerging from their girl slits, they were ready for Smith and co. Cecilia, stunning in a red microskirt and transparent black blouse, lurked in reception awaiting the clients' arrival. With Paul manning the bar, at last the scene was set.
Emerging from his flat at five to seven, Mike grinned at Cecilia. "You look great!" he praised the sexy young woman, eyeing her deep cleavage, her nipples clearly visible through her blouse. "Did you, er... did you do as I asked?"
"Shave my pubic hair? Yes, yes I did! Would you like to inspect me before I start my new job?" she smiled, lifting her apology for a skirt and displaying her smooth, hairless vaginal lips to Mike's wide eyes. "Well, what do you think?"
"Christ! I mean... perfect!" he beamed, focusing on her distended inner lips, her pink sex crack as his penis stiffened. "Right, I'd better check the girls."
"They're in the dining room, all ready to serve the meals."
"Great!"
Peering round the dining room door, Mike grinned to see the two naked beauties hovering by a table. Goldie seemed happy enough, her pretty face ecstatic as she tightened her nipple clamps and pushed the candle deeper into her tight vagina. But, wearing a scowl, Trudie appeared rather less comfortable.
"You both look great!" Mike complimented them as he entered the room.
"Mike!" Trudie snapped. "I thought you were joking when you said that we had to serve the meals with candles up our cunts and..."
"Trudie, Trudie! Think of the money you'll earn!"
"But this is the ultimate degradation!"
"No, it's not." As you'll soon discover. "Look, all you have to do is wait on the gentleman and his wife, just the way you serve the regular guests and residents. The only difference is that you're naked."
"Yes, with chains and... anyway, how much do we get for this?"
"I'll work it out later. Right, stand by the table, I think someone's just come in."
"I want at least a half-ton, mate!"
Dream on, baby!
In reception, Mike smiled at the smart, besuited businessman and his stunning wife as they stood by the desk. In his early forties, with well-groomed black hair, this was more like the type of client he was after, he thought. A far cry from plumbers and electricians - and as for priests! Wearing a short, blue satin skirt and a revealing blouse, her chestnut hair flowing over her shoulders, his wife was a real cracker, Mike observed. He wouldn't have minded joining in had he known what a little beauty she was. Keep your business head, Mike.
"Good evening, sir, madam, welcome to Stokepot Towers," he greeted his guests cordially.
"Ah, good evening - I have the money," Smith reciprocated, taking a wad of notes from his jacket pocket. "Four hundred pounds, that's right, isn't it?"
Four hundred? "Oh, yes, two hundred each. Right, thank you!" Mike replied, trying to conceal a wicked grin as he stuffed the cash into his pocket. "The girls await you in the dining room. Cecilia, would you be good enough to show Mr and Mrs Smith to their table, please?"
"Certainly, this way."
Leaping behind the desk as Cecilia showed the clients into the dining room, Mike wondered whether Paul had installed the cameras in the bathrooms. Turning the monitor on, he noticed a box with a rotary switch numbered one to five fixed to the wall. Turning the switch, he grinned as the sex room flashed up on the screen, followed by room eleven and the three bathrooms. Brilliant, he decreed as Miss Cleft entered the foyer followed by her eleven yoga girls. Shit, I'd forgotten about them.
"It's Thursday evening!" the dyke announced as she approached the desk.
"Ah, Miss Cleft, so it is! If you'll take the stairs to the first floor you can change in room eleven, next to the functions room."
"Right, thank you. There's the money," she smiled, passing Mike twenty-five pounds. "OK, girls, follow me! Long live women!"
Long live lesbians!
Watching the sexy little beauties follow their guru up the stairs, Mike realized that there was plenty of time to ogle them changing before switching to room sixty-nine for the lewd sex show. Switching to room eleven, he focused on the girls as they hurriedly slipped out of their clothes. Wondering why they were removing their bras and panties, he gazed at their toned bodies, their pert breasts topped with succulent brown teats - their pubic bushes, blonde, black, ginger... As they filed out of the room, naked, he frowned. I should have had Paul install a camera in the functions room.
Imagining the nude girls sitting in the lotus position, their vaginal cracks gaping, he turned the switch through the bathroom cameras to room sixty-nine. "What was that?" he breathed, switching back to one of the bathrooms. Staring at Mrs Gloom as she reclined in the bath, he couldn't believe his eyes. Her knees up to her ample breasts, her cunny lips bulging between her substantial thighs, she was thrusting a bar of soap in and out of her cavernous pussy hole, gasping as she massaged her clitoris with her free hand. At least the boiler must have fired up, he thought happily.
Her rubicund cunt lips engorging, her body trembling violently as the water lapped around the pistoning bar of soap, the woman cried out as her orgasm gripped her. Staring in disbelief, Mike watched Mrs Gloom's ample body convulsing as she massaged her clitoris faster, sustaining her obvious pleasure.
Poor old Harold, he reflected - hiding from his assassin in room eight as his wife brought herself off in the bath! And as for Mrs Gloom bringing her lover with her! Harold would surely be needing some sex - at fifty pounds a session, the waitresses were the obvious answer to the poor man's problems.
His thoughts returning to Mrs Gloom, Mike watched in amazement as she presented the bar of soap to her anal entrance and managed to push it inside her tight duct, her face contorting as she began her gentle rectal pistoning.
Squeals emanating from the dining room, he wondered what on earth the girls were getting up to with Mr and Mrs Smith. Another prime site for a hidden camera. Leaving the desk, and Mrs Gloom to her anal thrusting, Mike gingerly opened the dining room door and peered through the crack.
The sex had already begun! he observed gleefully as he gazed at Mrs Smith's naked body stretched out across the table, the kinky waitresses lapping wine from her firm, rounded breasts. The gasping woman's husband thrusting the thick end of a wine bottle in and out of her bloated cuntal sheath, she was obviously in her sexual element.
Cecilia, too, was enjoying herself. Smith's cock in her mouth, she was fervently sucking like a babe at the breast, doing her vigorous best to bring the cash - and the spunk - rolling in. Moving away from Mrs Smith's Liebfraumilch-wet nipple, Trudie stood with her thighs either side of the woman's head. Her mouth open, gasping, as she parted her drenched cunny lips, the girl was obviously enjoying her new job, Mike observed. Her vaginal crack gaping, her lust juices decanting, she bent her long legs, lowering her naked body, pressing her intimate feminine flesh against the client's cunt-hungry mouth.
A hideous scream resounding around the foyer, Mike tore his gaze from the sex spectacle and raced back to the reception desk. "Miss Chaste, what is it?"
he asked the distressed woman.
"There, on the television!" she shrieked, pointing to the picture of Mrs Gloom on all fours in the bath, the bar of soap emerging from her bottom-hole and a deodorant bottle appearing between her engorged cuntal lips.
"Bloody TV stations!" Mike cursed, switching the monitor off. "Good grief, have they no standards, no moral codes?"
"I'll write to my MP!" Miss Chaste cried. "It's not decent!"
"Er... no, there's no need for that."
"But something has to be done, Mr Hunt. It's because apathy rules that this country's in the state it's in."
"I agree, I'll write to my MP."
"Goodness me, what's that?" she asked as screams of female orgasm emanated from the dining room. "Is someone in pain?"
Hardly! "It's a private party," Mike grinned. "You go back into the bar. What are you doing out here, anyway?"
"I was looking for you."
"Isn't it your bed time?"
"No, not yet."
"Well, go back into the bar, then. You're not allowed in the reception area or the dining room after seven o'clock, Miss Chaste."
"Oh, is it a new rule?"
"Yes, a new rule. Go back to the bar and don't come out."
"Oh, that sounds like an order, Mr Hunt."
"It is!"
"Oh, dear! You will write to your MP, won't you?" the confused biddy warbled, wandering into the bar.
"Yes, in the strongest possible terms."
Screams of female lust emanating from the dining room again as shrieks and giggles came from the functions room, Mike wondered what the hell he was turning his hotel into. A brothel, he reflected happily, thinking of the cash bulging his jacket pocket. He'd only need two room sixty-nine punters a night and his takings would total two thousand, eight hundred pounds a week - tax free! And if he could accommodate four punters a night...
Grabbing the ringing phone, he sighed, wondering how many other interruptions there'd be that evening. "Stokepot Towers!" he grunted.
"Inspector Dickwipe here."
"Oh, again?"
"Yes, again. Would you be kind enough to come down to the station, Mr Hunt?"
"When?"
"Now."
"Now? Christ, I'm very busy at the moment, Inspector, can't it wait?"
"No, I'm afraid not. It's in connection with a woman who was allegedly savaged by a pack of wild cats while she was taking a bath in your hotel."
"What? A pack of wild cats? In the bath?"
"Just come down to the station, Mr Hunt."
"Yes, yes, I'll be there in ten minutes." Give me bloody strength!
Chapter Six
Having wasted two hours at the police station convincing Inspector Dickwipe that he'd never set eyes on the psychopathic woman claiming to have stayed at Stokepot Towers, Mike returned to the hotel. Bloody Dickwipe should have realized that she's a complete nutter, he cursed, peering into the bar.
Fortunately, the colonel and Miss Chaste weren't around, and he prayed that they'd retired to bed. He was looking forward to an evening's uninterrupted viewing of the live sex spectacular. I'll strangle the next bastard who disturbs me, he vowed, wondering whether the colonel would part with a few of his thousands in exchange for a night of filth with the girls.
Switching the monitor on, he was surprised to see Mrs Gloom still thrusting the deodorant bottle in and out of her rubicund pussy sheath. Christ, she's been at it for hours. The bar of soap lodged deep in her bottom-hole, she was the picture of obscenity, and he decided to video the sordid scene. Looking beneath the desk, he grinned to see the video recorder in place. "Well done, Paul!" he sniggered, checking the tape and punching the buttons. The tape running, recording Mrs Gloom's wanton masturbation session, he couldn't wait for the old bag to complain again. I'll play the tape to her, he grinned, watching her quiver as her orgasm welled and gripped her naked body. Threaten to show Harold - that'll shut her up.
"Good evening, do you have a room, please?"
God, not now. Punching the monitor off, Mike turned guiltily from his stimulating entertainment to face an attractive middle-aged woman. "Er... certainly, madam," he smiled, praying that she'd turn a deaf ear to the erotic giggles and screams resounding throughout the hotel. "Just the one night, is it?"
"I don't know, I..." Bursting into tears, the woman wailed hysterically. "I've left my husband!"
Not another raving female! "Er... please, don't make too much noise!" he whispered. "This is a respectable establishment."
"I caught him making love to our au pair in the marital bed!"
"What's happening, Mr Hunt?" Miss Chaste quavered as she shuffled out of the lift. "What's the matter?"
Bloody hell. "I thought you'd gone to bed?"
"No, I only went up to my room to get..."
"Go into the bar and stay there until I say so, or I'll confiscate your pension book!"
"Oh, dear, another rule?"
"Yes, another bloody rule!"
"We've been married for ten years!" the distressed woman sobbed, brushing her raven hair away from her pretty face as Miss Chaste scampered into the bar like a frightened dormouse.
"Look, this isn't the marriage guidance..."
"I'm sorry, I'm all right now," the woman snivelled, composing herself. "Do you have a room, please?"
"Yes, I suppose so. How long do you think you'll be staying?"
"Forever, more than likely!"
"All right, don't distress yourself. Room five, up the stairs and first on the left," Mike directed, passing her a key. "Don't you have any cases?"
"No, I left with nothing. No clothes, no belongings - no love!" she sobbed.
"Christ! Go and have a sleep and things will look better in the morning."
"Better? How will they look better?"
"Well, different."
"He's committed adultery with the au pair, the night won't change that!" the woman howled as she walked to the stairs. "All the night will bring me is a wet pillow!"
"Go to your room and we'll fill the register in tomorrow - and change the pillowcase."
This wasn't on! Mike thought as the sobbing woman passed the colonel coming downstairs. With the continual interruptions, there was no way he'd be able to make a success of room sixty-nine. As the colonel lurched across the foyer, screams of female orgasm emanating from the dining room again, Mike inhaled deeply.
"What is it, Colonel?" he snapped. "I thought you'd gone up to bed."
"I had a change of mind. Any chance of a scotch, old boy?" the old man grinned, peering into the bar.
"Paul's serving, ask him to..."
"He's not in there. Disappeared into thin air, don't you know! He was there earlier, but now he's gone. Here today, gone tomorrow!"
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"Vanished! Evaporated!"
"I don't understand," Mike muttered, walking into the bar and leaning over the counter to discover the barman unconscious on the floor. Jesus Christ!
This really was too much! he decided, lifting the bar flap. Stepping over the comatose body and pouring the colonel a double scotch, he couldn't believe that this was happening. The phone ringing in reception, he passed the colonel his drink and deliberately kicked Paul on his way out. Drunken bastard. Things were going to have to change, starting with the sacking of the alcoholic barman!
"Good evening, Stokepot Towers," he offered irritably as he dashed across the foyer and grabbed the receiver.
"Mike, is that you?" a woman's voice asked.
"Yes, who is this?"
"Belinda."
Christ, the ex-wife! "Oh! Er... how are you?" he asked, raising his eyes in despair and cringing at the sound of her all too familiar voice. What the fuck does she want?
"I'm fine. Listen, I'll be in Norwich tomorrow, on business for a few days, and I was wondering whether you had a room?"
"Er... a room?"
"Seeing as you own a hotel, I thought I might as well bring you a little extra business."<
br />
Since when did she ever think of me? "Well, I do have a room, but I'm not so sure that it's a good idea, Belinda."
"Why ever not? We've been divorced for six years, Mike, surely you don't..."
"All right, I'll book you in." I never learn.
"Good, we'll talk about the old days."
"Will we?"
"Yes, it'll be nice to see you after all this time. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Right, bye." That's all I need!
Unable to get over the fact that his ex-wife wanted to stay at Stokepot Towers, Mike began to wonder what her game was. She was obviously after something, but what? She had plenty of money - at least, she'd had plenty when they'd split up. So what was she after? Sex?
As if the randy colonel and senile Chaste spinster weren't enough to put up with! he thought irritably. How the hell could he conceal his extra-sexual activities from his ex-wife? Nothing would ever improve, he reflected cynically. Turning as Smith bundled the three giggling girls and his naked wife into the lift, he was thankful that things were going well as far as the new business venture was concerned.
Switching the monitor to room sixty-nine, he gazed appreciatively at Mrs Smith's curvaceous body as she stood by the frame. He'd recorded enough of Mrs Gloom masturbating in the bath - now it was the Smiths' turn to fill his coffers with a wonderfully indecent sexual performance.
Grinning, he focused on Mrs Smith's pert breasts as the raunchy waitresses sucked her nipples while Cecilia slipped her husband's clothes off. Mrs Smith was a randy bitch! Mike concluded, gazing at the woman writhing in ecstasy as her fingers played between her swollen sex hillocks, ripening her bud. Had his own wife borne any resemblance he'd have stayed at home, instead of running off with a brazen young hussy!
In all fairness, Belinda hadn't been too bad, he reflected. She'd had a damned good body, but complained continually. Nothing he did or said was right in her eyes. If he wore one pair of trousers, she'd ask him what was wrong with another pair. The situation had reached the stage where he'd felt that if he breathed, she'd complain. In a no-win situation, he'd taken up with a young lady who'd had only one complaint - she couldn't get enough sex! I could always tie Belinda to the frame and whip her, he thought wickedly.
