Hot Sheets (18 page)

"Let me have
some, mate!" Trudie cried, pushing Goldie aside and sucking Smith's
spunking glans into her thirsty mouth. "Mmm!" she breathed
appreciatively through her nose as her cheeks filled with his
gushing cream. Swallowing hard, the girl thrust her hand up
Goldie's skirt and drove three fingers into her drenched cunt, her
own arousal soaring until her neglected clitoris throbbed and
almost came.

The evening of
unbridled lust had only just begun, Mike thought jubilantly as he
made his final thrust, jetting the last of his sperm into the
woman's drenched anal canal. Slipping his cock out, he zipped his
trousers and grabbed the whip. She could do with another thrashing,
he decided, grinning as he watched his spunk ooze from her inflamed
bottom-hole. The night was but young!

Gasping as
Trudie sucked out the remnants of his sperm, Smith hung limp from
the steel rings. His balls drained, his cock shrinking, he gazed at
the weals fanning out across his wife's burning buttocks, the sperm
dripping from her anal entrance as Cecilia continued her cuntal
finger fucking. The couple were certainly getting their money's
worth! Mike thought happily as a loud explosion rocked the
building.

Dropping the
whip and racing downstairs, Mike imagined the kitchen on fire, the
new cooker blown to smithereens. "What the fucking hell was that?"
he asked Dave as he hurtled into the foyer.

"I don't know!
I was in the kitchen and..."

"Listen!" Mike
exclaimed. "What's that rushing sound?"

"The basement,
it's coming from the basement! It sounds like water!"

"Jesus fucking
Christ, I'll bet it's the fucking boiler!"

Racing down
the basement steps, Mike held his head as he gazed at the buckled
boiler, the water gushing from broken pipes. Ordering Dave to go
and ring the plumber, he flopped onto an old chair, wondering why
God had it in for him. He obviously doesn't like my sex business,
he reflected, the water pooling around his feet, flooding the
entire basement. "Jesus Christ, I'm only trying to survive in a
state of governmental thieves!"

Having spent
half the night watching the plumber install a second-hand boiler,
Mike sat in the bar wondering what the day would bring. The Smiths
had left after their night of rampant lust, Trudie and Goldie were
sleeping after their exhausting ordeal, and Cecilia was busy
vacuuming the foyer. While Dave was making a futile attempt to cook
the breakfasts, Mike reckoned that Paul, who hadn't surfaced, was
either unconscious or dead from alcohol poisoning.

The early morning sun shining in a clear blue sky, he would
have preferred to go for a stroll along the prom rather than spend
another day stuck in the hotel. Life's what you make it, he
reflected, wishing he was rich as he poured himself a large vodka
and coke.
I will be rich and carefree -
courtesy of room sixty-nine
.

The cheeky
plumber had demanded free fucks for a month in return for his
labour and Mike had readily agreed, happy that he would never have
to shell out cash again. The girls would want a hefty chunk of his
takings, he reflected. The best way to minimise their cut would be
to make out that room sixty-nine was far less lucrative than it
actually was. Deciding to con the hussies by telling them that he
had to tax their illicit earnings, he looked up as someone came
into the bar.

"Good
morning!" the woman from room five beamed. "You were right, things
do look better this morning. I've decided that I'm better off
without my husband."

"Oh, I am
pleased," Mike smiled. "There's nothing like a good night's sleep
to help you to see things in a different light."

"Yes, so I've
discovered. Why are your shoes soaking wet?"

"A minor
incident in the basement."

"Oh. You know,
there's something about this hotel. I can't quite put my finger on
it but it has such a warm, homely, friendly atmosphere. I feel that
I've been here before, as if I'm part of the very foundations."

"Déjà vu?"

"Possibly,
unless I was buried beneath the building at the end of my past
life. Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself - I'm Nancy
Brown."

"You're not a
gay transvestite, are you?"

"Certainly
not! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, Nancy
and Brown. Nancy being a woofta and Brown being..."

"Oh, I see
what you're getting at. No, I'm straight - well, almost."

"Almost?"

"I'd rather
not talk about the school I attended. Suffice to say that there
were more biology lessons in the dorm than in the classroom."

"Sounds
interesting."

"It was."

"My name's
Hunt, by the way, Mike Hunt. So, what are your plans for the
future?"

"Well, I'll
have to get a job, I suppose. Before I do anything, I'll go home
and get my clothes and a few personal belongings."

Your
vibrator?

"The house
won't be my problem because it's rented."

"It's a good
job you haven't got a joint mortgage, they can be messy in times of
divorce. In fact, they can be messy at the best of times!"

"It was my
husband's idea to rent. Always thinking of the future, he was. He
likes renting things."

"Yes, it's good to plan ahead, plan for the unexpected. So,
what sort of work did you have in mind?" Mike asked, eyeing the
woman's shapely thighs, wondering whether she'd fancy working in
room sixty-nine.
At this rate I'm going to
have more girls than clients
.

"I don't know
what sort of work I'd like. Anything that brings in decent money, I
suppose."

"Anything?"

"Well, within
reason. I mean, I'm not going to clean public toilets or scrub out
bedpans!" she giggled.

"Cleaning
public toilets can be quite an exhilarating experience. Er... so
I'm told."

"That's as
maybe, but it's not for me. Rather than rent a flat straight away,
I'd like to stay here for a few weeks, which is going to be
expensive. I have a little in the way of savings, but I'll have to
earn some decent money."

Nancy was an
extremely attractive woman, Mike observed, appearing a lot younger
now that she was happier. The previous night, with her
tear-streaked, flushed cheeks, her bloodshot eyes, she'd looked
fairly mature, but now he reckoned her to be around thirty-five.
Her jet-black hair shining in the sunlight as she leaned animatedly
on the bar, her dark eyes alluring, inviting, her succulent red
lips smiling, she was ideal material for room sixty-nine. But he
could hardly suggest she work as a prostitute!

"What sort of
work have you done in the past?" he asked her.

"Secretarial
for a small village estate agent, nothing else. I had a sheltered
upbringing, you see. My mother didn't let me out of the house alone
until I was twenty-years-old, and then I had to wear white ankle
socks. Old fashioned, she was."

"Victorian,
I'd say!"

"She was very
staid in her views, so much so that she never married."

"So, who's
your father?"

"No one knows.
My mother hadn't a clue where I came from, poor dear."

Grinning, Mike
decided to put his feelers out. "We had a woman staying here once
who worked as a prostitute!" he chuckled, eagerly awaiting her
reaction.

"Really? Well,
I suppose that's one way to earn good money."

"Oh, it is!
She made herself a fortune over the years. Of course, you'd never
consider prostitution, would you, Nancy? I mean, with your
sheltered upbringing, you'd obviously reject the very notion."

Is she game?
he wondered, noticing her pensive expression. His thoughts turning
to sex, as usual, he imagined her full red lips closing around his
knob, his spunk jetting, bathing her pink tongue. Picturing her
ballooning pussy lips nestling between her thighs at the top of her
long, curvaceous legs, he sensed his penis twitch in
expectation.

"Prostitution?" she finally echoed, raising her eyebrows as if
giving the idea some serious thought. "There's nothing wrong with
it, as such. Actually, I don't like the word prostitute, it's
gritty, hard. Women are soft, smooth - I prefer to think of
prostitution as a physical joining of two people for a mixture of
mutual pleasure and lust, the money changing hands as a gift."

"You're not
against the idea, then?"

"I considered
it once."

"Did you?"
Mike gasped. "What would your mother have said if she'd found out
that..."

"I wouldn't imagine she's ever heard of the word
prostitute
, let alone
knows what it means. I considered prostitution a few years ago when
my husband lost his job. Things were pretty bad, financially, and
selling my body for sex crossed my mind."

"Really?" Mike
grinned, finishing his vodka and pouring another one. "Would you
like a drink?"

"What, this
early in the morning?"

"Why not?
It'll give you a kick start."

"All right,
just a small vodka and lime, please. God, what a change - I'm
usually cooking his breakfast and finding his clean white shirts at
this time in the morning!"

"A change is
as good as a rest, as they say. Didn't the au pair do that?"

"She did very
little in the house. Actually, she did a hell of a lot, but not in
way of housework!"

"Oh, yes, of
course. Going back to money, I've had some financial problems
lately," Mike enlightened Nancy confidingly as he poured her drink.
"I was in a really tricky situation with income tax and the
fucking... sorry, I mean, the VAT man."

"How are
things now?"

"I'm heavily
into the bank, but things are getting better by the day. Nancy, if
you want to live here and you're looking for work, you can work for
me."

"What sort of
work?" she asked as she took her drink from the counter.

"Excuse me for
a moment," Mike apologised, grabbing the ringing phone from the
wall. "Good morning, Stokepot Towers. Yes, I can fit you in this
evening, sir. Er... two hundred pounds including an evening meal
and a night of... a night of pleasure. Oh, yes, discretion is
guaranteed. Yes, a special room with a fine range of... a range of
equipment. The girls? Yes, of course they've got tight cunts! Good,
I'll look forward to meeting you. Mr Smith, yes, I thought as much.
Fine, until this evening, goodbye."

Replacing the
receiver, Mike turned to Nancy and offered her a sheepish smile.
Had she gleaned the nature of his game? he wondered as she sipped
her drink. From his telephone conversation, it must have been
pretty obvious what he'd been talking about! he reflected, catching
her sparkling eyes as she grinned at him.

"So, what sort
of work?" she asked again, licking her delectable red lips as she
hooked her ebony tresses behind her ear.

"Well, you
said that you'll need decent money if you're going to stay here for
any length of time, so... I really don't know how to put this."

"Are we on the
same wavelength, Mike? Are we tuned in?"

"Yes, I think
so. I hope so!"

"How
much?"

"Er... if we
are talking about the same thing, full board and I'll pay you fifty
pounds a week."

"They say the
wages of sin is death. Not much of a prospect, is it?"

"Life's not
much of a prospect, Nancy!"

"Full board
and one hundred a week, for starters, and I'll begin today."

"Oh... er...
right, begin this evening."

His penis now
fully erect, bulging his trousers, Mike gazed at the refreshingly
upfront young woman's deep cleavage, revealed by her open blouse.
Noticing him staring, Nancy sat upright on her bar stool, jutting
out her firm breasts as if exhibiting them for his adjudication.
Indeed, there was nothing he wanted more than to take a closer look
at them, at her sweet pussy, her bulging sex lips. Before giving
her the job, he decided, he'd suggest she show him her wares.

"Before I take
you on, I'll have to have a look at... what I mean is, I'd like to
see what you have to offer."

"Is there
anyone around this early in the morning?" she asked, unbuttoning
her blouse.

"No, the
cleaner's gone home and the chef's in the kitchen - probably
attempting to blow up the cooker."

"Oh, does he
usually do that?"

"Often! It's a
peculiar abnormality he picked up from the Gas Board."

"Then, if
we're alone, I'll show you what I have to offer," she smiled,
sliding off the bar stool and slipping her blouse over her
shoulders.

Watching with bated breath as she unhooked her bra and
stripped the silk cups away from her delicious mammary melons, Mike
focused on her long, brown milk buds, her delicious chocolate
areolae. She certainly had a fine pair of tits, he observed as her
areolae darkened and her nipples stiffened in the cool morning
air.
Lickable, suckable -
biteable
.

Kicking her shoes off, Nancy tugged her skirt down her
unblemished legs, unveiling her black suspender belt framing her
triangular thatch, her long vaginal slit. No panties, Mike thought,
admiring her distended, pinken inner lips protruding alluringly
from her sex crack.
How many women don't
bother to wear panties?
More than one would
imagine, he was sure.

Kicking her
skirt aside, she unhooked her stockings and rolled them seductively
down her long shapely legs, leaving only her suspender belt
sensually adorning her curvaceous, naked body. Why on earth had her
husband screwed the au pair when he had such a sexy young wife?
Because he's a normal man, Mike concluded. Besides, au pairs were
made for fucking.

"Well?" Nancy
smiled, placing her hands on her slim hips and one foot on the bar
stool, her vaginal crack opening wide, completely exposing her
unfolding inner petals. "Do I get the job?"