Hot Sheets (8 page)

"Argh!" Goldie
cried as the whip lashed her again. "Mike, please!"

"Good, isn't
it?" he chuckled. "Paul's a bloody genius!"

"He's a bloody
drunkard! Argh! Please, stop now!"

"This is God's
punishment!"

"No, it's
not!"

"Yes, it is!
This is God's punishment for sucking off the colonel's knob! When
your cunt's nicely juiced-up, I'll fuck you for your
wickedness!"

"Ah, oh, oh!
Ah, that's nice!"

"I knew you'd
come to like it."

"Ah, my bum!
Ah, oh! God, I want to come!"

Losing control
of his senses, Mike lashed the girl's buttocks with all his might.
Her muscles contracting, her bottom crease closing tightly each
time the tails flailed her glowing skin, she cried out as her
clitoris throbbed and her cunt milk streamed down her inner
thighs.

"Mike, bring
me off now!" she begged. "Please, rub my clitty, I need to
come!"

Dropping the
whip as someone banged on the door, Mike dashed across the room and
turned the key, ignoring the girl's desperate pleas for orgasm.
"Who is it?" he called, opening the door an inch or so. "What do
you want?"

"I'm the
plumber," a fresh-faced young man volunteered, pushing against the
door, trying to get in. "I've turned the water off, you'll have to
let me in so that I can take the floorboards up to get to the
damaged pipe. I'll tell you one thing, this is going to cost you a
small fortune, mate!"

"You'll do it
for nothing, mate!" Mike grinned, grabbing his arm and yanking him
into the room. "You can fuck her in way of payment!" he chuckled,
pointing to the tethered waitress.

Staring
open-mouthed at Goldie's naked body, her weal-lined buttocks, her
ballooning vaginal lips, the plumber dropped his tool bag and shook
his head in disbelief. Closing and locking the door, Mike stood
next to the flabbergasted man, nudging his arm and grinning
wickedly.

"You can sort
her plumbing out before you repair the pipe."

"My God, I've
never..."

"You can give
her a good fuck in way of payment for the work. Get your drain rod
out and shove it up her inspection hole."

"But..."

"What's the
matter?"

"Well, I...
I've never come across anything like this before!"

"Haven't you?
You're not bent, are you? You're not a brown-hatter?"

"No, I
mean..."

"If you're
gay, shove it up her drain hole, if not, then screw her inlet."

"Mike!" Goldie
cried. "You can't..."

"Shut up,
Goldie! It's my hotel, and you're a member of my staff. If I say
the plumber can fuck you, then he can fuck you. Read your contract
of employment for confirmation."

"But I don't
have a..."

"There you are
then."

Leaning against the wall as the young man unzipped his jeans
and whipped his rock-hard tool out, Mike nodded his head agreeably.
The sex room would earn him a small fortune, he reflected. Apart
from the paying punters, there'd be plumbers, electricians,
maintenance men... he'd never have to shell out cash again!
How many fucks for new carpets?

Watching the plumber position his cock-end in the protesting
girl's vaginal valley and push his rod deep into her drenched
gulley, Mike realized the scope of his new business venture.
Might even talk the butcher into giving me free
meat in exchange for Goldie accommodating his flesh
stake
.

"God, she's
got a tight flange!" the plumber gasped, splaying the girl's
buttocks and focusing on her O-ring. "Ah, my rodding arm's in to
her end-stop!"

"Hurry up and
drain your ballcock!" Mike chuckled. "I want the pipe fixed."

"Yes, yes, OK.
Ah, God! What a manhole!"

"I'm supposed
to be running the bar, Mike!" Goldie protested as the plumber
vigorously rodded her stuffing box. "The lager's run out
and..."

"When you've
been well and truly sperm-flushed, you can go back to the bar."

"This isn't
fair!" the girl gasped. "You get the pipe fixed, and I get
fucked!"

"You'll get
double-fucked in a minute!"

"Coming!" the
plumber cried as his ball valve opened, sperm gushing from his
glans, filling her down pipe. "Ah, there she goes!"

Watching the spunk pouring out of Goldie's overflow as the
plumber drained his reservoir, Mike again pondered on the scope of
his sex den. The sky was the limit, he mused, imagining the money
rolling in. But word would soon get round, he knew. The plumber
would tell his mates about the escapades in room sixty-nine and
there'd be a queue of sex-starved tradesmen lined up outside the
building.
Better stick with discerning
businessmen
.

"OK, you've
had a quick fuck," Mike said as the young man slowed his pistoning.
"Say nothing to anyone about this. If you do, I'll rip your header
tank off and tear your bloody piping out."

"No, I won't
say anything," the giddy plumber gasped, slipping his tool out of
the girl's brimming gulley. "God, I've never known such a tight
fit!"

"Now get your
other tool out and fix the pipe," Mike ordered him, releasing
Goldie's trembling body from the frame and helping her to stand
upright. "Get dressed, Goldie, and then you'd better go back to the
bar."

"I've been
fucked!" the waitress complained, slipping into her clothes,
veiling her glowing, naked body. "He made me come without my
consent! I'm not here to be fucked and taken to orgasm by all and
sundry!"

"You'll be
fucked by whoever I say you'll be fucked!"

"It's not
fair!" Goldie returned, sperm dripping from her inflamed pussy slit
and pooling on the floor.

"Stop
complaining or I'll have the plumber stop your mouth with his
cockhead!"

Leaving the
satisfied young man to lift the floorboards and repair the damaged
pipe, Mike followed Goldie downstairs to reception, reminding her
that she owed him forty pounds as she staggered into the bar.
Money, money, money, he pondered happily. Frowning as a frumpy,
middle-aged woman led half-a-dozen girls into the building, he
wondered whether he'd forgotten a booking.

"May I help
you?" he asked the woman, eyeing the giggling girls' knee-length
white socks, their blouses straining to contain their tits.

"I'm Miss
Knickerlace - is this a brothel?" she demanded.

"Er... a
brothel?" Mike echoed, surprised.

"A house of
ill repute?"

Not yet
. "Are you looking for a
brothel?"

"Certainly
not! I've read about these seedy hotels - are you sure this isn't a
house of ill fame?"

"No, of course
it's not."

"A
whorehouse?"

"No!"

"Are your
staff competent?"

That'll be the day
. "Yes,
very."

"Is the food
good?"

"The food's excellent. We're having Stokepot stew this
evening."
Horsemeat stew
.

"We need a
room for tonight."

"Just one
room?"

"Yes, and we
have no money."

"Well,
I..."

"Our minibus
has broken down and the scruffy, incompetent man at the garage said
it won't be ready until tomorrow. You'll have to bill the
school."

"Oh, I see. Well, I don't have a room with seven beds, I'm
afraid."
I could always fit three or four
naked girls into mine
.

"Can't you use
your initiative? It's quite simple, all you have to do is take beds
from the other rooms," the matron snapped agitatedly.

"I can't do
that. Where would the other guests sleep? Good grief, I've never
known such an uncaring, selfish attitude. Look, I'll see what I can
do to accommodate you. If you'll wait in the bar, I'll..."

"I can't take
the girls into a bar."

"Why not, Miss
Knickerlace? There's plenty of seating, and there's a TV."

"They're too
young to be introduced to seedy bars!"

"It's not a
seedy bar! How old are they?"

"Eighteen."

Yes, please!
"Er... there you are,
then."

"Are there any
drunks in there?"

"Well, no, I
don't think so."

"Aren't you
sure?"

"Yes, of
course I'm sure."

"Sexual
deviants?"

"Where?"

"In the bar,
are there any sexual deviants..."

God, I wish!
"This is a respectable
hotel, I'll have you know!"

"It had better
be. Bring us six orange juices and one coffee. All right, girls,
follow me."

"Order the
drinks from the bar!" Mike snapped.

Raising his
eyebrows as he watched the young beauties follow the grumpy woman,
Mike focused on the backs of their knees, his dark eyes wandering
up their unblemished legs to their pleated skirts, billowing
provocatively with their rounded buttocks. Christ, I'll bet they're
tight and wet, he chuckled inwardly, his penis stiffening, his
heavy balls rolling as he entered the kitchen.

"Ah, Dave,
we've just had a party of seven book in," he imparted, leaning over
a huge saucepan of bubbling stew. "Fucking hell, it smells like a
prostitute's armpit!"

"It's the
horsemeat, Mike. The punters will probably throw up after eating
that shit!"

"No, they
won't. As I said, a party of seven have just booked in, so you'd
better break out another four or five tins of dog food. Christ,
can't you bung some spices in it? Anything to disguise that bloody
awful stench!"

"I have! I've
put anything and everything into the pan, but it still reeks to
high heaven. Shall I pour some bleach into it?"

"Bleach? I
know what to do, we'll call it steak and ale pie - chuck a pint of
bitter into the pan. And take it from the drip tray, not the pump.
Christ, it looks like boiling shit!"

"Stokepot shit
pie!" Dave laughed.

"What's for
starters?"

"Ah, the
chef's special!" he grinned proudly. "Marrowbone jelly soup. It's
over there, ready to be nuked in the microwave."

"Fuck me! What
are those black lumps in it? They look like bits of burnt
toast."

"They are, I
saved them from breakfast. I'll make out they're croutons."

"Good
thinking, you're learning fast. Right, everything's under control.
I've got it!"

"You've got
what?"

"Fruit salad
with half a bottle of vodka chucked in."

"Vodka?"

"There are six
girls out there - they'll get pissed out of their heads on the
fruit salad and they'll be anyone's!"

"It's unlike
you to waste good booze!"

"If I get to
fuck the girls, it won't be wasted, will it?"

"No, I suppose
not."

"OK, I'd
better go and kick the plumber's arse! See you later."

Leaving the
kitchen, Mike was about to leap up the stairs when Miss Knickerlace
entered the foyer. Scowling, her lips pursed in anger, she placed
her clenched fists on her ample hips as she confronted him.

"This simply
won't do!" she growled.

"What won't
do?"

"There's a
dirty old man in the bar!"

"Really?"

"Yes, a
disgusting old man with a waxed moustache. He keeps making lewd
remarks about my girls' inner thighs!"

"All right,
I'll have a word with him," Mike sighed, entering the bar.

"And he keeps
trying to look up their skirts!"

Thank God for normality
.

Shaking his
head as he gazed at the colonel ogling the pretty girls sitting in
a row on the sofa, Mike took the old man to one side. "Colonel, I'd
like you to..."

"By gad, old
boy! A fine gaggle of birds!" the colonel grinned wickedly. "They
could have me eating out of their knickers any time! What!"

"Colonel, Miss
Knickerlace, their chaperone, has asked me to..."

"Any chance of
sending one of them up to my room? I haven't eaten pussy in
years!"

"I'll see what
I can do. But you must leave them alone, Colonel. Go and sit at the
bar and stop ogling them, And, please, don't make lewd remarks
about their..."

"What do you
reckon the chances are?"

"Chances?"

"Of you
sending one up to my room."

"I don't know,
I'll do my best. It'll cost you, though."

"Anything, old
boy - anything! Do you know, back in forty-three..."

Wandering down
to his basement flat as the colonel droned on, Mike flopped onto
his bed, picturing the six juicy pussies tightly closed as they sat
on the sofa above his bedroom. There had to be a way of getting
into their knickers, he pondered. He could charge the colonel a
bloody fortune! Lure one of the girls away during the night, while
Knickerlace was sleeping, and take her to the colonel's room.

Closing his
eyes, he dozed off, dreaming about fresh pussy cream bathing his
face, teenage clitorises throbbing in orgasm beneath his sweeping
tongue, hot mouths fervently sucking on his spasming knob.

Waking with a
start, wondering what the time was, Mike focused on the clock.
"Shit, it's eight o'clock!" he gasped, climbing off the bed.
"Christ, what are you doing down here?" he asked the pretty girl
standing in the doorway.

"Miss
Knickerlace has been looking for you."

"Oh, er...
right, I'd better get upstairs."

"You needn't
bother, she's been taken ill - she's in bed."

"Ill? She's
not dead, is she?"

"No, of course
she's not."

"Which room is
she in?"

"I don't know,
the barman took her up to a room when she threw up after
dinner."

"Christ,
that'll be the... is anyone else ill?"

"No, only
her."