Hot Sheets (21 page)

Having booked
another two room sixty-nine punters for that evening, Mike rubbed
his hands together, putting the problems to the back of his mind.
Nancy Brown and Cecilia Squeezeasy would help the waitresses
satisfy the sex-starved clients while he counted out the money and
recorded the sordid show on video tape. The only foreseeable
problem would be keeping Belinda at bay. If she were to wander up
to the fourth floor and discover... Contemplating the potentially
horrendous situation, and the puzzling phone calls, Mike realized
that if there was only private access to the top floor, no one
would stumble across his sex dens - inadvertently or otherwise.

Rip out the
staircase to the top floor and extend the ceiling to cover the
hole, he mused. Pondering on the idea of fitting a key switch to
the lift for private access to the fourth floor, Mike poured
himself another double vodka. No one would ever know there was a
fourth floor, he thought - they'd all assume the third floor to be
the top floor. And should Dickwipe start nosing around, he'd find
nothing and believe Knickerlace to be mentally deranged for
suggesting that there was a sex room in the hotel.

"Ah, Paul,"
Mike smiled as the young barman appeared. "I've just had a bloody
marvellous, fucking brilliant idea."

"Mike, I
forgot to tell you, there was a man in reception earlier asking
questions about room sixty-nine."

"Who was he, a
would-be client?"

"I don't know.
He had a suit on, he looked professional. He didn't want a room, he
just asked whether we have a room sixty-nine or not."

"Ball bags!
What did you say?"

"I said we
hadn't."

"Good. Look,
we're going to have to be bloody careful, Paul. I don't want the
plebs prying, asking awkward questions."

"He might have
been a cop."

"God, I hope
not! That bollock-face Dickwipe's already suspicious. The last
thing I need is a raid! OK, rip out the staircase to the top floor
and extend the ceiling with plasterboard to cover the hole."

"I can't do
that, it would take me days!"

"The money's
rolling in, so get a builder to help you. On second thoughts, offer
him dirty, rampant sex instead of cash. I want a good job done,
artexed properly so there are no signs of there ever having been a
staircase. Are you able to fit a switch in the lift so the only way
to access the top floor is by using a key?"

"Well, yes, I
suppose so. But it'll be pretty obvious that there's a fourth floor
because the lift buttons show it."

"Yes, you're
right. OK, nip along to the Salt Spray Hotel, they've only got
three floors. Rip the panel out of the bastards' lift and fit it to
ours."

"That'll put
their lift out of operation, Mike!"

"That's their
bloody problem, not mine! I don't want other people's problems to
become mine, go and do it now."

"If you say
so."

"I do! And
while you're there, see if you can nick some ashtrays and pint
glasses, we're getting low. I want this work done ASAP. There's no
one staying on the top floor so now's the time to rip the staircase
out and fix the lift. How are you getting on with the sex
rooms?"

"All done,
although I've had to share the handcuffs and stuff between the
rooms. There's not really enough to go round."

"OK, I'll
order some more equipment from a seedy, back-street sex shop.
Cameras, Paul - we'll need cameras in the new rooms."

"Christ, I
can't nick any more! That bloody store detective's already
suspicious, I'll be banged up!"

"Of course you
won't! What's the matter with you, where's your spunk? Go and do it
now, I want them working by this evening. If the store detective
gives you problems, give him a good going over, he probably
deserves roughing up anyway. And ring a builder before you go - a
builder, not a cowboy."

Wandering contemplatively across the bar and gazing out of the
window as Paul shot off, Mike wondered where Nancy had got to.
Again, he thought that she was too good to be fucked by common
tradesmen. One of the sex rooms should be equipped to cater for
professional, classy clients, he decided.
Classy clients will demand classy cunts
.

There were
cunts and cunts, he pondered. They were all more or less the same -
hot, wet and tight - but their owners were completely different.
Posh, common... each cunt had to be classified by its owner's
status - poor cunt! Nancy's cunt was one of the lucky ones, having
such a fine owner - and Elizabeth's was just about the luckiest of
them all - a royal cunt! I suppose cocks are the same, he
contemplated, turning as Belinda breezed into the bar.

"Hi!" she
smiled, sliding her rounded buttocks onto a barstool. "I thought
I'd find you in here."

Here we go again
. "Oh, and why's
that?" Mike asked, refilling his glass with a large
vodka.

"Because you
were always attracted to shabby bars."

"I own the
hotel, Belinda, and at the moment I have to man the shabby bar,
OK?"

"Any old
excuse for your alcoholism!" she sneered. "I've met your
waitresses, by the way. Or, should I say, pathetic excuses for
waitresses."

"Oh, have
you?"

"Yes, just as
I'd expected - common strumpets! I don't know why you're always
fascinated by the lower classes, Mike. You could have done so well
had you had finesse, style, a little refinement."

"I had a
princess staying earlier this week, I'll have you know - Princess
Christina."

"Really? She'd
obviously made a mistake and come to the wrong hotel. I doubt that
she'll be back again!"

"She's booked
two weeks in the autumn, as it happens."

"That tie
doesn't go at all, and it looks as if you've slept in your shirt!
Still, you never did have taste or dress sense, did you?"

"According to
you, I didn't."

"I hope the
evening meal is going to be edible. If breakfast is anything to go
by, I think I'll give dinner a miss! I've had far better food in a
transport café."

"Do you often
frequent transport cafés on your travels, Belinda?"

"Hi, Mike!"
Nancy beamed, putting in an appearance.

"Oh, Nancy,
how are you?" Mike grinned, watching his ex-wife out of the corner
of his eye. "This is Belinda - Belinda, meet Nancy."

"Hallo,
Nancy," Belinda droned drearily, flashing Mike a scowl. "Are you
staying here?"

"Actually,
I..."

"Nancy works
for me," Mike interrupted, wondering how to fire Belinda's
jealousy. "She lives in."

"You live
here? Oh, you poor thing!"

"I rather like
living..."

"On the
streets, were you?"

"No, I..."

"No doubt the
DSS is paying for you out of my income tax."

"I pay my own
way, thank you!" Nancy returned. "Mike, I was wondering about this
evening. What time do you want me to start and where... where will
I be working, exactly?"

"Er... I'll
speak to you about it later, Nancy. Be available from around six
o'clock and I'll show you where you're needed."

"OK. I must go
home to collect a few things. Bye, Belinda, it was nice meeting
you."

"Likewise, I'm
sure."

Watching Nancy
leave the bar, her short skirt displaying her long curvaceous legs,
her shapely thighs, Mike knew that Belinda was seething with
jealousy. She shouldn't have been jealous six years after the
divorce, but that was Belinda for you! Of course, now that he was a
free man, she had absolutely no say, no control, over him, and he
decided to play on his freedom - beginning with another drink!

"She's a
lovely woman," he smiled, pressing his glass to the vodka
optic.

"You drink too
much!" Belinda snapped, shifting uneasily on the stool as her anger
rose. "What sort of work does she do?"

"Nancy? Oh,
she does this and that. She earns me about eight-hundred a week,
which isn't bad."

"Eight hundred
pounds a week? How much do you pay her?"

"Her room and
board, and some pocket money. Well, I'd better get on," he grinned
as Cecilia peered round the doorway to say goodbye. "See you
later!" Mike called. "No doubt I'll see you later, too,
Belinda."

"Who was that
tart?"

"Tart? Oh,
that's Cecilia - she works for me, too. She's another lovely woman.
I'm surrounded by lovely women, it seems! Well, until later," Mike
grinned, leaving his ex-wife to simmer in her resentment.

Installed at
the reception desk, he contemplated the wedding reception the
following afternoon. He still hadn't spoken to Dave about the food,
and time was fast running out. Making a rough list, he jotted down
the minimum amount of supplies for forty he reckoned he could get
away with - naturally, all past their sell-by date!

Hammering emanating from the basement, he was about to go and
kick the plumber in the bollocks when a strikingly attractive woman
in her late twenties materialized through the main entrance.
A turn-up for the books
.
Mike smiled, scrutinizing the young woman's firm breasts ballooning
her tightly fitting blouse. Her long nipples torpedoing the cream
silk material, she obviously wasn't wearing a bra, he observed.
This little beauty deserves a damned good fuck, he surmised,
admiring her long golden locks cascading over her shoulders as she
approached the desk.

"May I help
you?" he asked as he stood up, focusing on her slender fingers and
wondering whether or not she masturbated.

"Yes, I'd like
a single room, please."

"Certainly,
Miss..."

"Miss
Widegroin, Wendy Widegroin."

Wendy Widelegs!
"Will you be staying
long?"

"Er... as long
as it takes," she replied hesitantly. "I mean..."

"As long as it takes?"
What, to bring
yourself off?

"About a week,
I think."

You need a vibrator!
"Room four, up
the stairs and along the hall," Mike smiled, passing her a key. "Do
you have any luggage?"

"Er... no,
it's coming later."

So am I! "Right, I'll have it sent up to your room. Would you
like tea or coffee?"
Or a quick anal fuck
to settle you in?

"Nothing,
thanks. Oh, is there a phone in the room?"

"Yes, there
is."

"It's a
private line, is it? I mean, I don't want people listening in."

"Er... a
private line, yes."

"Good. I'll go
to my room and wait for my luggage."

More money,
Mike gloated as he watched the delectable young woman climb the
stairs. Filling in the register, a wave of elation rolled over him.
The future looked brighter than ever now that the cash was coming
in and he was taking plenty of bookings for room sixty-nine. The
future was brilliant!

"Mr Hunt?" a
man in blue overalls asked as he approached the desk.

"Yes, how can
I help you?"

"Electricity
Board, I've come to cut your supply off."

"Cut my supply
off?"

"Pull your
fuse."

"I'll pull
your bloody fuse in a minute!"

"You haven't
paid your bill for the last... you were in the local paper, weren't
you?"

"Don't ask!
What's the matter with you? You can't cut my supply off, think of
the residents and guests! You'll be denying them tea and
coffee."

"I can't help
that, mate. I'm only following orders, doing my job."

"Well, don't!
And don't call me mate. Take a day off, go wild for a change and
forget about your job."

"I can't do
that, I'd get the sack!"

"So, it might
add a little excitement to your dull and mundane life. Besides,
going around cutting people's electricity supply off is antisocial.
You're not a member of the communist party, are you?"

"Of course I'm
not!"

"I'm pleased
to hear it! You'd be better off on the dole."

"On the dole?
No, I'm sorry, but I'm cutting you off."

"Don't be
ridiculous, you can't leave elderly people in the dark! What sort
of man are you?"

"You've had
plenty of warnings, so it's no good having a go at me."

"I'll do a
deal with you."

"A deal?"

"How about an
hour with two naked, dirty, filthy, randy, sex-starved
nymphomaniacs?"

"What would I
say to my boss? I have to cut the supply off - naked, dirty,
filthy, randy, sex-starved nymphomaniacs or not."

"Tell him
you've cut it off. What's wrong with you, are you mentally ill? Are
you educationally subnormal?"

"Certainly
not!"

"Sexually
deranged?"

"Of course I'm
not! It's just that..."

"Ah, Goldie!"
Mike grinned as the young blonde emerged from the dining room,
yanking her microskirt out of her bottom crack. "Find Trudie and
take this gentleman up to room sixty-nine."

"What
for?"

"What for? You
know very well what for. Do it now, unless you want the sack!"

"You can't
sack me."

"I'll sling
you in the basement for a week of solitary confinement unless
you're bloody careful!"

Sighing as
Goldie called Trudie and dragged the protesting man into the lift,
Mike rubbed his forehead. He'd forgotten about the damned final
demand, which reminded him that the Gas Board had also threatened
to cut him off. "Bloody fat cat, capitalist fucking bastards!" he
cursed, switching the monitor on.

Watching his
resourceful waitresses forcibly strip the young man, Mike grinned.
Room sixty-nine was pulling him out of one shit hole after another,
he reflected. The time would soon come when he'd be on top of the
bills - and the fucking thieving establishment!

Gazing at Goldie as she slipped out of her clothes and knelt
before the electricity man's ignited penis, Mike grinned as she
sucked his bulbous tool into her wet mouth, desperate to drink his
gushing sperm.
Tax my illicit earnings, if
you can, Mr taxman
.