Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  "I'm going to my room, old man," the colonel announced, finishing his drink and sliding off the barstool.

  "Oh, so early?" Mike asked, surprised.

  "Er... yes, there's something I want to watch on television."

  "All right, I'll see you later."

  Wondering why the randy old sod had chosen to watch TV when there were naked women crawling all over the hotel, Mike frowned. "Er... Colonel," he called, a perverse thought coming to him as the man neared the door. "You're not going to watch a video by any chance?"

  "Er... yes, as it happens, I am."

  "What's it about?"

  "Well... I really can't remember. Wildlife, I think. Yes, that's it - the wild beasts of the African plains."

  "Would you be good enough to put the tape back into my video recorder when you've watched the wildlife?"

  "Oh, er... yes, right you are."

  At least that was the problem of the missing tape solved! Mike thought as the flushed-faced man scurried out of the bar. Dirty old sod! Deciding to check the sex rooms before the punters retired to the fourth floor for their night of rampant filth, he made his way to the lift. He didn't want any hitches - everything had to run as smooth as clockwork.

  Walking down the hall, he peered into each sex room to evaluate Paul's handiwork - the beds, leather straps, spanking frames... Four clients, eight hundred pounds! Entering the original room sixty-nine, he froze, staring wide-eyed at Wendy Widegroin.

  "Jesus Christ!" he gasped. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Oh!" the ravishing policewoman cried, turning to face him, her angelic face reddening, her mouth hanging open. "I... I was just..."

  "Just bloody what?"

  "Er... I came to collect something. I left my..."

  "You came back to gather evidence, didn't you?"

  "No, I forgot to take my... my shoes."

  "No, you didn't."

  "Yes, I did!"

  "Don't argue! Why isn't Prickwipe here?" Mike demanded, closing and locking the door.

  "Inspector Dickwipe is... I'm not at liberty to discuss confidential police business."

  "But I am at liberty to take liberties with you, WPC Widegroin. Strip off!"

  Watching the terrified woman tentatively unbutton her blouse, Mike wondered why she'd returned. The plot was more than thickening, it was bloody well solidifying! But nothing made sense - the road block, Widegroin returning, Harold Gloom disappearing, Belinda... Belinda was the most puzzling, he mused - no one else had stormed into the room wielding a gun!

  "Why did you come back?" Mike asked as Wendy slipped her white silk blouse off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, her erect nipples. "And what's the road block all about?"

  "I can't tell you," she replied softly, her long blonde hair cascading over her pert breasts as she hung her head.

  "I'll force you to tell me, Wendy. I have instruments of sexual torture."

  "Instruments of..."

  "I have a special bamboo cane, thin and very flexible. It's for thrashing a certain naughty part of the female body - the vaginal lips. Oh, and I now have some other interesting sexual equipment. My barman has created a fascinating machine, a copulating machine. It fucks women mechanically, their fannies and their arseholes simultaneously. We also have nipple clamps and..."

  "Please, I'm under oath."

  "You'll be under my pubic growth in a minute! Anyway, I know something that you don't."

  "What?"

  "This is no longer a hotel. I'm free of most of the problems I had, apart from you and Prickwipe."

  "No longer a hotel? But..."

  "Stuff that up your fanny and fuck it, Miss clever clogs! Do the road blocks have anything to do with me?"

  "I can't..."

  "OK, have it your way. I'm going to push my tongue up your wet cunt, and up your delicious bottom-hole. I'm going to wank over your face and come in your mouth. Oh yes, Miss Widelegs, I'm going to have some real fun with you! Now, strip off!"

  "But..."

  "I might consider roughing you up unless you do as you're told!"

  "You can't do that, I'm a woman!"

  "Well, I might rough your bum up a bit - give you a good spanking."

  He'd get the truth out of the woman if it was the last thing he did, he promised himself. Again placing himself in Dickwipe's shoes, he came up with a theory. The cops were planning to storm the hotel and Widegroin had obviously returned to be stripped and sexually tortured to worsen his situation. It was one thing being busted for pimping, but another to be arrested for kidnapping and raping a policewoman! Good filthy fun though it was!

  "Get dressed!" he ordered the perplexed WPC. "I know what your game is!"

  "Game?" she echoed, slipping into her blouse and veiling her succulent milk teats. "I'm not on the game!"

  "Huh, you lot think I'm daft - well, I'm not! OK, you're going into the cupboard!" he bellowed, twirling her round and pulling her arms behind her back.

  "Into the cupboard?"

  "Yes, the broom cupboard."

  "But I'm claustrophobic!"

  "Good! In that case, you'll find it therapeutic."

  Grabbing a pair of handcuffs from the bed, Mike secured her slender wrists. With Widegroin's arrival, he was positive that Dickwipe was about to raid the hotel. But the only way to the top floor was by the fire escape. Jam the fire door shut, and that would be that! And with Widegroin bound and gagged in the hall cupboard, hopefully, the raid would fail miserably.

  "OK," Mike grinned, grabbing a pair of girl-wet panties from the floor and stuffing them into his prisoner's pretty mouth. Who the hell do they belong to? Opening the door and marching the woman into the hall, he bundled her into the cupboard. "That'll keep you quiet! And don't masturbate, I've banned masturbating in cupboards!" he laughed, closing and locking the door as she sat on a cardboard box.

  The situation was getting out of hand, Mike decided, wondering whether to tell Dickwipe about Harold Gloom's possible imminent demise. At least Belinda hadn't got the gun, he reflected. Her and her bloody demands! She'd grass him up, he was sure. After all he'd put her through, she'd see him banged up for years! Unless he could trick her into returning to the hotel. Take her prisoner and... Christ, and what?

  Grabbing a length of rope from the sex room, Mike walked to the fire door, noticing that it had been left open. Lashing the rope to the handle and tying the other end to a radiator, he rubbed his hands together. "That'll keep the bastards out!" he breathed, realizing that the door had deliberately been left ajar in preparation for the raid. "Fuck the fire regulations!"

  But now what? he wondered. The clients would be finishing their meals soon and bundle into the lift, eager to get to the sex rooms - to the girls' wet cunts. Dickwipe, no doubt, was biding his time, waiting until Wendy was naked and bound to the frame and the punters were fucking the naked girls' pussies. Bloody coppers! he mused.

  Making his way back to the foyer, Mike entered the kitchen to see how the meals were faring. "No problem," Dave grinned, turning the sizzling steaks.

  "Christ, they're fucking huge! I ought to kick you in the bollocks for mismanaging my bloody money! How much were they?"

  "Er... not a lot."

  "Come on, how much? That reminds me, you still owe me for the new cooker."

  "A couple of quid each, that's all they cost."

  "A couple of quid? But they're at least sixteen ounces, Dave!"

  "Yes, well, they're not exactly beef."

  "Not exactly?"

  "They're a sort of blend of..."

  The backdoor bursting open, Mike froze as two men leapt into the kitchen wielding machine guns. They weren't Dickwipe's men, that was for sure! he thought, gazing at their deep-set dark eyes peering through holes in their balaclavas.

  "Where is cunt?" the tall one yelled in a foreign accent, pointing his gun at Dave. "We want cunt!"

  "You want cunt?" Dave echoed, raising his hands above his head. "I don't have a cunt!"

  "W
e want cunt! You give us cunt!"

  "You want girls?" Mike asked, backing towards the door.

  "Girls?"

  "Yes, you know, females with cunts."

  "The man, Mike Cunt, we come for him."

  Blimey! "Er... that's me," Mike grinned nervously. "I'm Mike Cunt... I mean, Hunt."

  "Ah, so you cunt, eh?"

  "Yes, me Hunt."

  "You touch daughter of our King!"

  "No, no I didn't touch her! Well, not exactly. You see, what happened was..."

  "Shut up! We come for you, we kill you."

  "Kill me? You can't do that!"

  "Why? Why we not kill you?"

  "Well, it's not the done thing. When in England, do as the English..."

  "We here in England to take cunt!"

  As Trudie jangled into the kitchen with chains hanging from her erect nipples and a huge candle emerging from her vaginal crack, she stared in horror at the men and gasped. Lowering their guns, the villains gazed in disbelief at the naked beauty, her gaping vaginal slit, her painfully distended nipples.

  "What is this?" the shorter man asked, glancing at Mike.

  "Er... this is girl."

  "Girl, eh?"

  "Yes, and that's her cunt," Dave broke in, pointing at the huge candle emerging from Trudie's dripping sex slit.

  "Why she have no clothes?" the other man asked.

  "It's an old English custom," Mike smiled. "We have more cunts... I mean, naked girls. Would you like..."

  "Shut up! We come for you, cunt!"

  "That's no way to speak to my boss!" Trudie objected. "You can't come barging in here calling people cunts, it's not nice!"

  "Shut up, or you die slow death! Why you have chains there?"

  "Because I can, mate. They're my nipples so I'll..."

  "You mad! English girls all mad! OK, cunt, you come with us. We take you back to Skythuania and we kill you - slowly!"

  "Er... sorry, but my passport..."

  "You no need passport, cunt."

  "Look, can't we come to some arrangement?" Mike asked shakily, wondering how to alert Dickwipe. "You can have some sexy fun with the girls."

  "Sexy fun?"

  "Yes, you can fuck them."

  "Fuck? What is this fuck?"

  "Sex, you can have sex with my girls."

  "OK, we have sex, and then we take you."

  "You'd better come with me, mate," Trudie grinned, slipping the wet candle from her vaginal sheath. "Come upstairs and we'll fuck."

  As Trudie led the tall man out of the kitchen, Mike watched the other one out of the corner of his eye. This was bloody marvellous, he thought. With four clients about to go up to the fourth floor, the last thing he needed was bloody machine-gun-wielding terrorists occupying the hotel! "You, cunt - you go with them," the short man ordered Mike, prodding him with the gun. "We go and watch sex."

  Entering the foyer, Mike thought it odd that the villains should leave Dave alone in the kitchen. Praying that his chef would have the sense to call Dickwipe as they took the lift to the top floor, he wondered why Princess Christina had told her father about her depraved escapades in England. Perhaps she could save him, he thought, wondering what Skythuania was like.

  Dickwipe was a fat lot of use, he reflected. Bloody road blocks set up, armed police hiding in bushes - and terrorists storming the hotel right under their noses! But that was life, he concluded. Whenever you want a blue boy, there's never one around!

  "This way, mate," Trudie smiled, leading the men along the hall to room sixty-nine. "OK, who's going first?" she asked as the men walked across the room and gazed out of the window.

  "What is this?" the tall man gasped. "It is police!"

  Smashing the window, the trigger-happy terrorists began firing at the road blocks. As Dickwipe's men returned the fire from the bushes across the street, Mike and Trudie dashed from the room and made for the lift. Machine gunfire reverberating throughout the building as they reached the ground floor, Mike bolted out of the lift, bumping into the girls and the naked clients.

  "Er... all go back into the dining room," he ordered as calmly as he could, forcing a smile. "I'll have the main course sent in."

  "What's going on?" Goldie squawked as the front of the hotel was sprayed with bullets. "Who's shooting at us?"

  "It's all right, there's nothing to worry about," Mike assured her. "All go into the dining room."

  "Nothing to worry about?" one of the clients gasped, his wet penis deflating as his libido melted with terror.

  "Er... they're making a film. Go back into the dining room."

  "What's happening, Mike?" Dave called, hiding behind the kitchen door.

  "Christ knows!" Mike yelled as the girls ushered the clients into the dining room. "You'd better take the steaks through, that'll keep the clients happy."

  "Have the gangsters gone?"

  "No, they're upstairs. Just keep the clients happy and let me worry about the..."

  As the firing ceased, Mike wondered whether the terrorists had been shot. Christ, now the whole bloody world will know about room sixty-nine, he mused as Dave closed the kitchen door. Rubbing his chin, he decided to go upstairs and see what had happened.

  Reaching the top floor and noticing that the fire door was open, he was relieved to discover that the men had left the building by the fire escape. "Thank God for that!" he breathed, closing and securing the door as shooting began in the street. Deciding that he'd better check his prisoner, he opened the hall cupboard and hauled Wendy out. Removing the wet knickers from her mouth, he led her into the sex room and stood her before the frame.

  "What was the shooting about?" she asked as he unbuttoned her blouse.

  "Terrorists and Dickwipe," Mike replied, slipping her blouse over her shoulders, revealing her firm breasts. "It's a good job your lot were out there or I'd have been taken away and..."

  "That's what they were there for," she enlightened him.

  "What, they knew about..."

  "Yes, they did. We received word that the King of Skythuania was sending his henchmen here to kill you. His daughter told us."

  "His daughter? So, the road blocks, the armed police, they were..."

  "Yes, they were there for your safety."

  "Dickwipe should have told me!"

  "You'd have panicked."

  "Damn right I would! So, what am I going to do with you? No doubt Dickwipe will be here shortly and..."

  "You'll have to let me go."

  "No, I don't think so," Mike grinned, tugging her skirt down to her ankles. "You know far too much, Wendy. I've kidnapped you, I'm running a high-class brothel, I'm..."

  "I won't say anything."

  "Of course you will! You're a policewoman, it's your duty to say something."

  Tying the flailing blonde to the frame, Mike moved back and surveyed her naked body, her full rounded breasts. He should never have taken her prisoner the first time round, he reflected. Screwing the princess, taking the WPC prisoner and knobbing her, having his ex-wife stay at the hotel - he'd made one dreadful mistake after another!

  Suddenly realizing that the four clients would be coming up to the fourth floor at any time, he left the room, closing and locking the door behind him. The thing to do next was to go and see Dickwipe and determine what had happened to the terrorists, he thought as he entered the lift. At least the hotel wasn't going to be raided! Thank God for small mercies, he reflected, stepping into the foyer.

  Opening the main doors as the bell rang, he was stunned to see Gill standing on the step. "What do you want?" he demanded as the objectionable man pushed past him. "I thought you'd have been rotting in jail by now."

  "You, Mr Hunt, are a bastard of the first degree!" Gill stormed. "I thought I was a right little bastard, but you take the biscuit!"

  "Compliments will get you nowhere," Mike laughed. "My God, you rape women and..."

  "The police know that I was framed," Gill returned, walking into the bar. "I'm out on bail at the moment b
ut..."

  "Framed? How do you work that out?" Mike asked, following the snide man. "You were caught with your cock out, struggling with a naked girl. Would you like a duty-free vodka?"

  "Duty-free?" Gill echoed, his beady eyes alight.

  "Yes, I have gin, vodka, whisky, cigarettes... all duty-free."

  "By your own admission, Mr Hunt, you're blatantly breaking the law. I shall go and find a policeman and..."

  "I'm not breaking the law, Mr Gill. This is a private bar in my private house."

  "This is a hotel. You have a barman and..."

  "Paul, this is Mr Gill," Mike introduced as the barman swayed in his alcoholic haze, leaning on the bar to steady himself. "This was a hotel, but it's now my private residence. Drink, Mr Gill?"

  "I'll have a scotch, please."

  "Certainly!" Mike smiled, watching Paul take a glass and pour the whisky straight from the bottle.

  "How much?" Gill asked as Paul slid the drink across the counter.

  "We don't charge, Mr Gill. As I said, it's a private bar - there's no till, no money changes hands."

  "You think you're clever, don't you, Mr Hunt? Well, let me tell you that I'm going to nail you if it's the last thing I do!"

  "Ah, Nancy!" Mike beamed as the naked beauty wandered into the bar. "This is Mr Gill, he's a rapist."

  "A rapist?" she gasped.

  "I am not a rapist! Why... why are you naked?" the little bastard asked, eyeing Nancy's long brown milk teats. "Where are your clothes?"

  "Why wear clothes?"

  "Well, because..." His words tailing off as the vision of Cecilia appeared, her shaved vaginal lips wet and swollen, her inner petals distended, he turned his glazed gaze back to Mike. "What is this?" he asked incredulously.

  "This is Cecilia. Mr Gill, why don't you spend some time with one of the girls? I'm sure you'd like to..."

  "A brothel! That's what this place is, a brothel!"

  "No, no it's not!" Mike laughed. "We're having a private party, having some fun. Relax on the sofa over there and Cecilia will pleasure you. Nancy and I will leave you to it. Paul, I'm sure you have something to do while... oh, he's passed out!" Mike sighed as the young man crumpled to the floor. "Drunken bastard! We'll see you later, Mr Gill. Cecilia, will you do the honours?"