Hot Sheets (7 page)

"Anal sex,
with me tied over the kitchen table!"

"Shush! You'll
give the old biddies prolapsed wombs!"

"I've shaved
my pubic hair off for him! I wear nipple clamps and vaginal lip
clamps to please him! I wear a gold ring in my pierced clitoris! I
masturbate in front of him with a vibrator!"

"Please,
Mrs..."

"Mrs
Crass."

That figures
.

"Is there a
problem, old man?" Colonel Buckshot grunted as he emerged from the
bar. "What's all the damned shouting about?"

"No, no it's
all right," Mike grinned bashfully.

"It's not all
right!" Mrs Crass wailed. "I've had twenty-eight years of anal
intercourse!"

"Ye Gods,
woman! Anal intercourse for twenty-eight years?" the colonel
echoed. "You must be damned sore! What!"

"My husband
strips me naked, ties me over the kitchen table with rope, and uses
me for anal sex!"

"Think
yourself lucky," the colonel grunted. "There's nothing like a
damned good rear-ender! Do you know, back in forty-four, there was
this sexy little..."

"I've never
complained, and now he's taken up with a dirty little
strumpet."

"Lucky devil!
What!"

"It's all
right, Colonel, I'll deal with this," Mike broke in.

"Deal with it?
The woman needs horse whipping!"

"Horse
whipping?" she sobbed, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

"Yes! It's
your duty to fulfil your husband's wishes. And if he deems it
necessary to find himself a dirty little filly, then the
prerogative's his. Back in forty-four, or was it forty-five?"

"Please,
Colonel, leave this to me," Mike sighed.

"Think
yourself lucky that your husband keeps you on!" the colonel laughed
as he returned to the bar. "Damned women, they've never had it so
good. Horse whip the lot of them, that's what I say. Or was it
forty-nine?"

Shaking his head as the distraught woman fled the hotel, Mike
flopped into his chair, wondering what other problems the day would
bring. Taking a magazine from a shelf beneath the desk, he
reclined, crossing his legs and opening it at the centre-fold.
Admiring the naked girl, the bird's eye view of her open pussy, he
sensed his cock swell. If I get room sixty-nine off the ground, I
won't have to put up with problematic guests and residents, he
mused, imagining his penis gliding into the girl's wet sex duct as
he turned the page.
God, all I ask is to be
left in peace
.

"Mike," Dave
called, emerging from the kitchen. "I thought I'd do a stew for
this evening but I'm out of stewing steak."

"Well, I'm not
giving you the money to buy any," Mike returned nonchalantly,
focusing on a pretty girl's slender fingers stretching her vaginal
lips wide apart. "As it is, you lose baking potatoes and... that
reminds me, what was wrong with the cucumber? Colonel Buckshot said
it tasted like a prostitute's bottom-hole."

"Er... it must
have been off."

"How could it
have been off? It was fresh yesterday."

"It's been in
the fridge for two weeks. What shall I do for this evening,
then?"

"Have a wank -
to use a filthy expression."

"No, what
shall I do about the evening meal?"

"Jesus, you're
the bloody chef! Use your creative culinary skills and set fire to
something, you're good at that. How about smoked baked beans on
flame-grilled toast? Fish and chips, that's the answer - charred
fish and burnt chips. "

"We're out of
fish. In fact, the freezer's just about empty."

"Turn it off,
then - at least we'll save on electricity."

"Seriously,
Mike, the cupboard's bare!"

"Last week I
bought some cheap, out-of-date dog food as a reserve. It's in the
basement, it'll make fine stewing steak."

"Dog
food?"

"It's meat,
isn't it?"

"Well, yes,
but..."

"But
what?"

"Mike, it's
probably horsemeat!"

"So? This
isn't the bloody Ritz, Dave! Don't worry, the punters will never
know the difference. Fine chunks of meat in a thick gravy with
marrowbone jelly, what could be better? It'll give them thick,
glossy pubes - that'll please Trudie!"

"Argh! I'm not
eating it!"

"Neither am I!
You can order a take-away curry for us."

Turning the
page as Dave wandered back to the kitchen, Mike grinned, focusing
on a huge purple knob splattering spunk over a pretty blonde's
mouth. Why I ever bought a bloody hotel, I'll never know, he
reflected, wishing he'd gone into pimping. Slipping off the chair
and hiding behind the desk as Miss Chaste hobbled downstairs, he
placed the magazine on the shelf and played dead.

"Are you
there, Mr Hunt?" the old woman called. "Hallo, are you there?"

All I ask is a
moment's bloody peace!

"What is it,
Miss Chaste?" Goldie asked as she emerged from the bar.

"There's a lot
of banging going on in the room above mine. I can't have my
afternoon doze with all that noise."

"Banging? All
right, I'll go and take a look."

"The hotel has
a ghost, you know."

"Yes, I've
heard the stories."

"They say he
walks the hallways at night looking for young women. Do you think
he's taken to banging up against the walls during the day?"

"Banging up
against the walls!" Goldie giggled. "No, it's probably Mike doing
some repair work. I'll go and take a look."

Peering over the top of the desk as Miss Chaste followed
Goldie into the lift, Mike breathed a sigh of relief. At least Paul
was getting some work done in room sixty-nine, he thought, wishing
he'd hit upon the idea of a sexual torture chamber earlier. But the
money would soon be rolling in, he knew. Dirty pictures, he mused,
grabbing his magazine, imagining huge posters adorning the walls of
the sex chamber.
Tarts dripping treacle,
cocks spunking cream, that'll wet the punters'
appetites
.

Leaping up
guiltily as a burly young woman approached the desk, Mike smiled
benevolently. "Good afternoon, welcome to Stokepot Towers."

"Good
afternoon, I'm looking for a room," the woman said, her voice deep,
husky - masculine. "I'd like to see the best double room you have,
please."

Money, money!
"I'll show you - Mike
Hunt," Mike obliged, holding his hand out.

"You'll show
me your cunt?" the visitor rasped, holding her rough hand to her
stubbly chin. "Oh, you naughty man!"

"No, I'll show
you the room. My name's Mike Hunt."

"Oh, I see! I
thought you meant..."

"Er...
yes."

"I want a room
for one night so my boyfriend and I... well, I just want a
room."

"You are a
female, aren't you?" Mike asked, eyeing her hairy arms.

"That's highly
confidential!"

"Ah, Trudie,
would you show this young man... young lady to room twelve,
please?" he asked the girl as she entered the foyer.

"OK,
mate."

All under control, Mike mused, watching Trudie open the lift
door for the transvestite. Recalling the colonel's words, he
wandered into the dining room.
I'll pay you
for the other service later
. Lifting the
old boy's tablecloth, he peered at the white stains on the carpet.
"Goldie, you dirty little bitch!" he breathed. "Right, I'll take
eighty percent!" Lowering the cloth, pictures of the girl gobbling
the colonel's knob filling his mind, he turned to see Paul
staggering towards him.

"Ah, how's the
room coming on?" Mike asked.

"Great! I
thought dirty and I came up with some dirty ideas. May I take five
minutes out for a drink?"

"No, you may
fucking not! I want you to install a hidden video camera in room
eleven, next to the functions room."

"What
for?"

"You'll
see."

"Where the
hell do I get a video camera from?"

"Use your
head, nick one from the local supermarket. Stick chewing gum over
the lens, I've seen it done in films. Make sure it's well hidden in
room eleven and wire it up to the TV in my flat."

"OK. Do you
want to have a look at room sixty-nine? I've built a wooden frame
and nailed it to the floor, I've set steel rings in the walls for
chains and laid Trudie's sex gear out on a table."

"Sounds good,
Paul!"

"Mr Hunt!"
Mike turned to see Miss Chaste hobbling into the room on her bandy
legs.

Fucking hell!
Now what?

"I was trying
to have a doze when..."

"Yes, the
banging's stopped now," Mike smiled, raising his eyebrows in
despair. "Get back to your room and stay there until..."

"No, it's not
the banging. Now, what was it? I seem to have forgotten. Oh, yes,
it's the water!"

"Water? Do you
want me to call a doctor?"

"A doctor? Why
call a doctor?"

"If you're
having trouble with your waterworks again, I'll call a doctor."

"No, no, it's
pouring through the ceiling!"

"You've pissed
yourself?"

"No, the
ceiling in my room, there's water..."

"Er... the
six-inch nails!" Paul gasped. "I heard a hissing noise when I
hammered one into the floor!"

"Fuck me
backwards!"

"Oh, Mr Hunt!"
Miss Chaste cried, holding her hand to her mouth. "Never have I
heard such disgusting..."

"That's right
above Miss Chaste's room!" Mike bellowed, turning to Paul. "Call a
fucking plumber!"

"OK!"

Sighing as Miss Chaste followed Paul out of the dining room,
Mike wandered across to the window, again wondering why life was so
hard. What the hell do I do about the environmental mental
bastards? he wondered, watching a group of mini-skirted girls
skipping down the street.
And the local
fucking paper! Fires, floods, a feminist group, no
money
...

"Right, to the
sex chamber!" Mike breathed, dashing upstairs. Apart from bursting
a pipe, the water still gushing beneath the floor, Paul had done
very well, he observed, gazing at the wooden construction. The
H-shaped frame built with planks padded with velvet curtains, the
victim could either be bent over the horizontal plank or have her
hands and feet cuffed to the top and bottom of the vertical
planks.

"Ideal!" he
grinned, picturing Trudie's naked body tethered to the frame.
Gazing around the room, he focused on a chair, a U-section cut out
in the seat, obviously to gain access to the victim's yawning
vaginal crack once her naked body was bound to the chair.

"Ah, Goldie!"
he smiled as the girl breezed into the room. "My guinea pig!"

"Guinea pig?
What's all this stuff doing in here?"

"Take your
clothes off, I need you to test the equipment."

"I'm supposed
to be running the bar. I only came up to tell you that the lager's
run out."

"Fuck the
lager."

"I'd have a
job! What do you mean, test the equipment? What's this wooden thing
for?"

"Take your
clothes off and bend over the frame."

"I'm employed
as a waitress, not a..."

"Have you a
contract of employment?"

"No."

"There you are
then. I need to employ your naked body, so strip off."

"I've only got
a few minutes!" she sighed, resignedly unbuttoning her blouse and
slipping the garment off her shoulders. "There's someone waiting
for a pint of lager, I hope you're not going to fuck me."

Closing and locking the door as Goldie tugged her skirt down,
Mike scrutinized her delectable body. Her breasts were firm,
youthful, her nipples erect, pointing skywards - her pussy slit
clearly visible through her scant blonde pubes, her pink inner
folds protruding invitingly.
Jeez, she's
beautiful!

"OK, bend over
this," he grinned, watching the girl stand by the bar and lean
over, her hands gripping her shins to steady herself.

"Oh, you are
going to fuck me, aren't you?" she mumbled as he bound her wrists
to her calves. "This isn't fair, I want a contract of employment,
Mike."

"You can't
have one."

"I'll join the
union of badly-done-by hotel waitresses."

"Don't be
ridiculous! I'd be forced to sack you."

"I'd resign
first!"

"You'd be
breaking your contract, you can't have it both ways. Now, let's
have a look at you," Mike murmured pensively, standing behind his
sex stooge, eyeing her delicious pussy lips nestling beneath her
crudely exposed bottom-hole, bulging alluringly between her thighs.
"Yes, perfect! Right, now for the whip."

"Mike, I don't
want to be whipped!" Goldie protested as he took the cat of nine
tails from the corner of the room.

"Of course you
do! All girls crave a good buttock whipping, it's what their
buttocks are for - ask anyone. Besides, I know that you and Trudie
whip each other, so what's the problem?"

"I'm supposed
to be in the bar!"

"Fuck the bar!
You're better off over the bar! By the way, how much does the
colonel owe you?"

"Fifty
pounds."

"What for?
What vile obscenity did you commit upon his erect member?"

"Oh! Er... I
didn't realize that you..."

"I'll tell you
what bloody for! Gobbling his knob beneath the table at breakfast,
that's what he owes you money for!"

"How do you
know about..."

"Right, you
owe me forty pounds, that's my cut as your pimp."

"That's not
fair!"

"As you crawl
through life's shit-ridden sewer, you'll find that nothing's
fair."

Raising the
whip above his head, Mike brought it down with a loud swish, the
thin leather tails lashing the girl's tensed bottom orbs.
Shrieking, her body jolting with every stinging lash, she begged
him not to thrash her so hard. Grinning, his penis like granite, he
ignored her cries and brought the tails down again. The frame was
perfect, he decided, watching the thin pink weals fan out across
her taut flesh.