Hot Sheets (31 page)

"Christ, why
ever not?"

"He said that
you'd ordered him to leave the hotel. Apparently, you were rude to
him. He's upset, sulking."

"Daft old git!
All right, I'll talk to him later. Ah, Cecilia, you're late this
morning," Mike remarked as the young woman hurried in through the
swing doors. "Have trouble with your pussy, did you?"

"No, I was
waylaid," she replied, her white blouse falling open, revealing the
perfect roundness of her firm breasts rising either side of her
deep cleavage.

Must give her
a pearl necklace, Mike thought, imagining his well-greased knob
thrusting between her toned breasts. "Waylaid? Were you
robbed?"

"No. There's a
police road block and..."

"Fuck!"

"What?"

"Er...
nothing."

"Actually,
there are two road blocks. They're about two hundred yards away,
either side of the hotel. I've never seen the seafront road so
quiet. And there are policemen with guns, hiding in the bushes on
the green by the beach."

"Two road
blocks? Guns? Fuck my arse!"

"What
with?"

"I'll see you
both later," Trudie smiled, pulling her microskirt out of her
bottom crack as she entered the lift.

"OK, Trudie.
The road blocks... what's going on, do you know?" Mike asked
Cecilia.

"No, I don't.
Perhaps there's been a bomb scare."

"A brothel
scare, more likely! Dripping piss flaps!"

"Yes, I have.
Well, I'm already behind so I'll get on with the cleaning. Is there
any work this evening?"

"Yes, four
clients."

"Good! Oh, I'm
all hot and bothered, in dire need of a good... right, well, I'll
see you later."

"Oh, Cecilia,
I've been meaning to ask you something. How would you like to move
into the hotel?"

"Yes, I'd like
that very much. I could let my house and make some extra
money."

"OK, room
seven, take the key from the hook."

"Great!
Thanks, Mike."

Watching Cecilia dive into the cupboard and close the door,
Mike sat in his chair, contemplating the road blocks. Would
Dickwipe raid the hotel during the day? Surely, he'd be better
storming the building at night, when the illicit business, the
clients' balls, were in full swing!
Christ,
guns!

Placing
himself in Dickwipe's shoes, he pondered on the man's next move.
During the day there were no clients upstairs, no thrusting cocks
or rolling bollocks. But, as Paul had quite rightly pointed out, it
wasn't an offence to own a private sex room. The only incriminating
evidence was that shaved cunt Belinda.

"Ah, Mr Hunt,
I trust you've had a foul weekend?" Gill smirked as he breezed in
through the main doors, smarming his greasy hair down with the palm
of his hand. "I see the police have set up road blocks. What have
you been up to?"

"Nothing! And
if I have, it's no business of yours. What the hell do you
want?"

"It's good to
find you in such a jovial mood. Of course, my presence always
brings a smile to people's faces."

"I'm busy,
what do you want?"

"I'm here
about..."

"Mr Gill, do
you mind leaving?"

"Yes, I do
mind."

"I've just had
the most rotten fucking weekend of my life, and things are about to
get worse!"

"Really? I'm
so pleased to hear it. Allow me to make things even worse for
you."

"That's not
possible!"

"Oh yes, it
is! Believe me, Mr Hunt, I can make things far worse!"

"Go away, you
nasty little spunk bubble!"

"Why, thank
you! But, I'm sorry to say, compliments will get you nowhere. A
colleague of mine bought a packet of cigarettes yesterday."

"Really? My
God, how bloody fascinating!"

"They were
duty-free."

"Christ, life
never ceases to amaze me! Where was he, on a day trip to
France?"

Flattening his
bristling moustache, Gill focused his beady eyes on Mike's. "No, he
was here, in your hotel bar!" he chuckled. "He has a receipt, of
course."

"What's he
want, a refund?"

"No, not a
refund, Mr Hunt. Oh, God, this is the bit I just love! This is what
life's all about! OK, here goes - we're going to bust you for
selling duty-free cigarettes! Good, isn't it?"

"Bloody
marvellous! Tell me, Mr Gill, what is it about being a cunt-faced
fucking little prick that turns you on so much?"

"Ah, that goes
way back to my childhood days when..."

"Excuse me for
a moment, Mr Gill," Mike interrupted as Paul came staggering down
the stairs. "I have an urgent phone call to make. Why don't you go
into the bar and wait for me? We'll continue our fascinating
conversation when I've finished."

"Yes, I will.
I'm enjoying our little chat, and I'm really looking forward to the
next bit when I tell you that... "

"Er... I won't
keep you a moment."

The right
little bastard disappearing into the bar, Mike instructed Paul to
stay put. Dashing across the foyer to the dining room, he grabbed
Goldie's shoulder. "Ah, I hoped you'd be in here! Quickly, strip
off!"

"What?" the
girl frowned, pushing Mike away and brushing her golden locks away
from her pretty face.

"Strip off!
Hurry, take your clothes off!"

"Take my
clothes off? You aren't going to fuck me and force me to come, are
you?"

"No, of course
I'm not! Strip off and go and wait in reception," he ordered her,
ripping her blouse open, the buttons flying in all directions.

"Oh, you're
raping me!"

"I'm not
raping you!"

"Of course you
are!"

"I am not
raping you, girl!"

"Oh, what a
shame."

"Come on, get
out of your clothes, I have a job for you."

"Mike, I'm
supposed to be..."

"Goldie, strip
off now or I'll whip your William Pitts!"

"My William
Pitts?"

"Tits!"

"All right,
all right! God, talk about above and beyond the call of duty!
Anyone would think that I was nothing more than a life-sized doll
to be stripped naked and the wet hole between its legs used
for..."

"Stop arsing
on about dolls and holes!"

"Sorry."

"Tear your
clothes up and take them with you to reception."

"Tear them up?
Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I
am! Look, I'll explain later."

"OK, but only
if you buy me a new set of..."

"Yes, yes all
right! Just bloody well do it!"

Leaping into
the foyer, Mike kicked Paul in the bollocks before dragging him to
his feet. "You fucking, piss-headed, drunken fucking pervert!" he
rasped through gritted teeth. "Get out into the street and find a
bloody copper - preferably Dickwipe."

"What for?
God, my head."

"Find Dickwipe
and tell him that someone's being raped. He's bound to be lurking
out there by one of the road blocks."

"Raped? Who?
Where?"

"Just go and
get Prickwipe! And mind you don't get shot."

"Shot?"

"By the
snipers."

"Snipers?"

"Go on, and
hurry!"

"OK, OK!"

Rubbing his
hands together as Goldie emerged from the dining room, stark naked,
Mike grinned. "If I'm going down, I'll take that cunt Gill with
me!"

"Gill?" she
echoed.

"The fucking
weights and measures bastard."

"Where to?"
the dumb blonde persisted, her blue eyes mirroring puzzlement as
she clutched her shredded clothes to her biteable breasts. "Where
are you going to take him?"

"To the...
shut up, you stupid girl. Right, when I say, now, go into the bar
and fling yourself over Gill."

"Don't call me
stupid! Fling myself over him? What do you mean?"

"Throw your
clothes all over the floor and dive onto him and cry rape. Try and
pull his knob out - if he's got one."

"But..."

"Fucking hell,
Goldie; it's simple enough."

"OK, you're
the boss," she conceded, heading for the bar.

"Not yet!
Christ, wait for the cue."

"There's no
queue."

"No, you
thick-headed... wait until I say so."

"Oh, I
see."

Waiting for
Paul to return with Dickwipe, Mike scrutinized Goldie's naked body,
her full vaginal lips, her gaping pink slit. This was a brilliant
plan, one of the best he'd ever devised, he congratulated himself.
If Goldie was convincing in her role as rapee, Gill would be
dropped right into the bubbling spunk pot.

Climbing a few
yards up the stairs, Mike kept an eye on the door, his plan coming
together as resoundingly as a simultaneous orgasm. "OK, now!" he
ordered Goldie as the main doors opened. His timing perfect, he
dashed down the stairs as Goldie shot into the bar and Dickwipe
burst into the foyer.

"What the
hell's going on?" Mike bellowed, leaping down the stairs as
Goldie's screams emanated from the bar. "Who the hell's
screaming?"

"Rape!"
Dickwipe shouted, dashing into the bar.

"Rape?" Mike
echoed as Paul crumpled to the floor and passed out.

"In here, Mr
Hunt!"

"My God!
Goldie, are you all right?" Mike cried as he flew into the bar to
find the naked girl struggling with Gill, her legs straddled, her
pinken girl slit on display - gaping, glistening wet.

"You!"
Dickwipe yelled, pointing at Gill. "Put your penis away! You're
bloody well nicked, mate!"

"Oh, thank
goodness!" Goldie sobbed, climbing off Gill and gathering her
clothes. "He tried to rape me! He tore my clothes off and got his
thing out!"

"No!" Gill
protested, staggering to his feet and slipping his penis into his
trousers. "No, it wasn't like that!"

"We'll let the
judge decide!" Dickwipe returned. "You evil, psychopathic, filthy
dirty sex fiend!"

"No, you've
got it all wrong! I'm innocent!"

"I'm the only
innocent person here!"

"But..."

"Silence! I'm
in charge!"

Grinning as the inspector spun Gill round and cuffed his hands
behind his back, Mike winked at Goldie. Bloody perfection, he
thought, stifling a laugh.
The little
bastard is going to have a job explaining this
. As several truncheon-wielding police officers crashed
through the main doors and bounded into the bar, Goldie made a dash
for the foyer and shot upstairs to her room.

"Take him away
and book him for perverted indecent exposure, perverting justice,
and perverting a female." Dickwipe ordered the men excitedly. "So,
Mr Hunt, it all happens at Stokepot Towers!"

"Good God, my
poor waitress!" Mike gasped as Gill was dragged away, his feet
kicking out at the arresting officers.

"Who is the
man, do you know him?" Dickwipe asked, pleased with the arrest.

"Mr Gill, he's
from weights and measures. I can't believe it. I was upstairs when
I heard screaming and shouting, and when I came down... well,
that's when you arrived."

"It's a nasty
business, Mr Hunt. But, with me as a witness, he won't get away
with it - I can tell you that."

"Yes, you saw
the whole sordid episode, Inspector."

"Indeed I did.
Look, I'll need to talk to the girl at some stage. Oh, and the
young man who came to enlighten me as to the occurring rape."

"Yes, yes of
course. Er... what's the road block for?"

"I can't tell
you, it's classified, top secret and all that."

"Oh, I see.
Well, I'd better go and see if the girl's all right,
Inspector."

"Oh! The young
man seems to have passed out!" Dickwipe frowned as he left the bar
and almost tripped over Paul.

"Yes, he
shocks easily. He's probably stunned by the horror of the rape.
He'll be all right."

"Oh, I see. It
must have been traumatic for him - and the girl, of course. Well,
I'll be round with a WPC to see the girl at some stage." Cries of
female orgasm emanating from the understairs cupboard, Dickwipe
cocked his head suspiciously. "What's that?" he asked, confronting
the cupboard.

Christ, Cecilia!
"Er... nothing,
Inspector."

"There it is
again!"

"Er... mice!
Yes, it's mice. I really must do something about the little
devils."

"You need to
get your hands on a big pussy, Mr Hunt."

"Yes, damned
right I do! Er... I mean..."

"Well, good
day."

"Good day,
Inspector."

Kicking Paul in the bollocks as Dickwipe left, Mike made his
way to the desk and sat down. Deciding not to confront Cecilia with
whatever horrendous sexual activity she was engaged in, he shook
his head in despair as further screams of female ecstasy resounded
around the foyer.
Some bloody cleaning
woman she is!

At least the problematic, right little bastard Gill had been
temporarily silenced! he thought, rubbing his hands together
gleefully. Goldie had done well, very well. She'd have to lie in
court, of course, but that wouldn't be a problem.
There's nothing like telling a few bloody lies to
a homosexual old git of a judge!

Feeling randy, and immensely wicked, in his rising elation,
Mike decided to visit Belinda. She was ripe for a damned good
session of sexual abuse! There's no time like the present, he
reflected. And besides, time was fast running out.
Shit, I might end up in the slammer!

Recalling the
chair with the cut-out in the seat, he pondered on Paul's
handiwork. Paul hadn't done very well, he concluded. A wooden frame
and a sawn-up chair were hardly instruments of sexual torture! The
drunken bastard would have to do better than that!

"Paul!" Mike
yelled, leaping to his feet and kicking the young man in the
bollocks again. "Get up, you piss headed hermaphrodite!"