Hot Sheets (10 page)

"May I help
you?" he asked, making her jump.

"Oh! Yes, yes
I've come about the job," the young woman smiled, turning to face
him.

"Job?"

"You
advertised for a cleaner. I rang yesterday evening and spoke to a
young lady about it."

"No one ever
tells me anything! Mrs..."

"Er... Mrs...
Mrs Squeezeasy."

"Mike Hunt."
he smiled, extending his hand.

"I beg your
pardon?"

"Mike, Mike
Hunt. Come through to the bar and we'll have a chat."

Leading the
way, Mike reckoned this wasn't the ideal candidate for the job.
He'd had a middle-aged, headscarfed woman in a pinny in mind, not
an eminently attractive, fuckable female in her mid twenties! But
he'd have a chat with her, give her a chance, at least. I could
always employ her in room sixty-nine, he mused, eyeing her deep
cleavage revealed by her partially open blouse as she sat at a
table.

"OK, the job
entails arriving at seven in the morning, cleaning the bar,
vacuuming, polishing and what have you... plus the foyer and
reception areas, of course. As you'll appreciate, I have to be very
careful when employing staff. This is a highly respectable hotel
and..."

"I can assure
you, Mr Hunt, I'm meticulous. My cleaning skills are second to
none," the inscrutable beauty returned as he sat opposite her, her
sky-blue eyes sparkling with life.

"Yes, but
discretion and confidentiality are equally important in a hotel.
For example, we have a princess staying at the moment."

"Really?"

"Yes. A leak
to the newspapers and..."

"I'm reliable,
trustworthy and extremely discreet."

"I'm sure you are, but..."
Do you
fuck?

"I lost my
husband last month," the woman sighed, wringing her hands as she
crossed her long legs, revealing her shapely thighs. "I'm desperate
for money, he left me penniless and heavily in debt."

"Oh, I'm sorry
to hear that. Was it sudden?"

"Yes, it was
over in seconds."

"How awful for
you! Had he been ill?"

"He was the
epitome of health."

"Was it his
heart?"

"He said it
was but, if the truth were known, it was his rampant sex
drive."

"Good God! His
sex drive killed him?"

"No, it drove
him to take up with my best friend. My five-year marriage was over
in seconds - he upped and went."

"Oh, I thought
you meant... tell me about your previous employment, I need to
build up an overall picture of your experience in the whorehouse...
I mean, the workhouse... place."

"For several
years I worked for Broken Homes, a building company."

"As a
typist?"

"No, a
bricklayer - but I was laid off. I then worked for Shiver Me
Timbers, a ship building firm."

"As a
telephonist?"

"No, a sheet
metal welder."

"You've had a
varied career!"

"Checkered, as
my life. I also worked for Crude Shafts, an oil company."

"As a deep sea
diver?"

"No, a
secretary. My last job was... I find it difficult to talk about my
last job."

"Why?"

"I was
sexually... my boss, he..."

"It's all
right, you can tell me, Mrs Squeezeasy."

"I worked in
engineering, on the shop floor. I operated a capstan lathe and...
well, as much as I fancied him, my boss didn't want to know. I made
many indiscreet sexual advances, but he shunned me, leaving me
sadly neglected. I went to nymphomaniac lengths to lure him to my
bosom, but he ignored me. The episode drove me to question my
sexuality, my femininity."

"Yes, I quite
understand."

"I'm all
woman, Mr Hunt. I'm only twenty-five, young and sexy."

"Er... yes,
you are. Please, call me Mike."

"I'm Cecilia.
Do you find me sexually attractive?"

"Well, yes, I
do."

"Oh, thank
you. It means so much to me to believe that men find me sexually
attractive. So, about the job?"

"The job's
yours, Cecilia."

"Oh, really?
Thank you, thank you! When shall I start?"

"Now, if you
want to. The cupboard under the stairs in the foyer - it's in a
despicable mess, you can start there."

"Yes, of
course!" the joyous woman beamed, leaping to her feet, her skirt
riding high, affording Mike a glimpse of her bulging red panties.
"You won't regret bringing me off... I mean, taking me on."

No, I don't believe I will
.

Watching the young woman leave the bar, Mike frowned. A
strange one, he mused, trying to imagine her on a building site,
laying bricks.
Still, it takes all
sorts
. The place did need a woman's touch,
he thought, wiping thick dust off the table. Whether a bricklayer,
a sheet metal welder, was up to the job or not, he'd find out soon
enough.
A capstan lathe
operator?

"Good
morning," a greying, besuited man smiled as he entered the bar and
dumped his briefcase on the floor. "Any chance of a drink?"

"Well, it's
rather early..."

"Just a quick
snifter."

"We're not
open but... OK, what would you like?"

"Neat scotch,
please - a single."

"I've not seen
you around before," Mike commented as he stood behind the bar and
pushed a glass to the optic. "Just visiting, are you?"

"You could say
that. Haven't I seen a picture of you in the local paper?"

"No!"

Watching the
man place his briefcase on the bar, Mike became suspicious. An
officious little bastard, he observed as the mysterious visitor
opened his case. What was his game? He wore a sly grin and a small
black moustache. With his greasy black hair smarmed back, he looked
like a little Hitler.

"Mr Hunt," the
man said, looking up from his case as Mike placed the drink on the
bar. "I sense that you're wondering about the nature of my
visit."

"Er... no, not really," Mike lied.
Here comes trouble
.

"I'll
enlighten you as to my name and why I'm here, Mr Hunt."

"How do you
know my name?"

"It's my
business to know your name. I have to tell you that I'm a nasty
piece of work."

"Are you?
Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose. If we were all the same, the
world would be pretty boring."

"I'm a right
little bastard. I make the Gestapo look like a bunch of namby-pamby
nancies wielding pump-action water pistols."

"Are you the
type who'd kick his mother's arse?"

"Worse, I'd
kick her fanny!"

"You might
lose your foot."

"Are you
suggesting that my mother has a large fanny?"

"Not at all, I
was merely..."

"As I said,
I'm a right bastard, an evil little sod. I reckon I've been called
every name under the sun during my ten years in this job."

"Certain lines
of work attract foul comments. What is your job, are you a traffic
warden?"

"Worse!"

"Jesus, you're
not a tax inspector, are you?"

"Now they
really are evil little bastards! But they're not as evil as me, Mr
Hunt. Christ, I'm such an evil little bastard that it sometimes
frightens me!"

"At least
you're honest."

"I'm far from
honest, Mr Hunt! My name's Gill, I'm from Weights and
Measures."

Oh, my
God!

"I'd like you
to watch me pour the scotch you've just served me into this
measure," he said, taking a glass from his case. "As you can see,
the scotch falls way short of the line. Now I can exert the
authority that comes with the job and become a right little
bastard!"

"I can't see
the line," Mike frowned, taking the glass from the counter. "Oh,
I've spilled it! How clumsy of me!"

"Yes, how
clumsy. Would you serve me with another single scotch, please?"

"Sorry, the
bar's closed," Mike grinned. "I wouldn't want to break the
law."

"Mr Hunt, I've
come across all types in my business. I know your game and, unless
you serve me with another single scotch, I'll come down on you like
a ton of shit!"

"A ton of
shit? That sounds like a threat to me. Are you a sixth short of a
gill, Mr Gill?"

"I must warn
you that you're bringing out the bastard in me, Mr Hunt!"

"Bringing out?
I thought it was out!"

"You've not
even seen the tip of my bastardry yet! Right, I shall take what's
left of the scotch and have it analysed. Our lab will check the
percentage of alcohol by volume. Are you aware that duty-free
spirits are higher in alcohol?"

"Yes, of
course."

"You'll be
closed down if this sample proves to be over forty per cent by
volume."

You'll be lucky if it's twenty per cent
. "Do you enjoy your job, Mr Gill?"

"Yes, I love
my job because I can be myself - a first-rate bastard! Anyway, no
doubt we'll meet again, Mr Hunt," the man grinned triumphantly as
he poured the sample of scotch into a container and closed his
case. "Have a rotten day."

"Yes, no doubt
I will!" Fuck off!

Pouring himself a large vodka as the man left, Mike shook his
head and sighed. Part of life's rancid arsehole, he concluded,
knocking the vodka back in one gulp.
One
government department after another are trying to ruin me. So much
for encouraging private enterprise
.

Room sixty-nine was the answer, he knew. With bucket loads of
cash pouring in, he needn't worry about fiddling the optics and
watering down the spirits.
Where there's
muck, there's brass - and where there's fanny, there's
cash
.

"Mr Hunt?"
Mike turned from his reverie to see a youngish, butch woman with
short dark hair peering round the doorway.

"Yes, how can
I help you?"

"I'm Diana
Cleft."

"Ah, you've
come about the fucking room... er, the functions room."

"There's a
woman performing an unmentionable sexual act in the cupboard under
the stairs."

"An
unmentionable sexual act?"

"Yes, go and
take a look for yourself. I thought I'd better mention the
unmentionable sexual act as some people might take offence."

"Yes, er...
I'll have a look."

Hastening into
the foyer, Mike did a double take as he peered into the utility
cupboard. Sitting with her legs asunder, her drenched panties round
her ankles and a vacuum cleaner handle embedded in her fanny, Mrs
Squeezeasy was vigorously masturbating, her fingertips massaging
her clitoris as she gasped and tossed her head from side to side in
her sexual pleasure.

"Mrs
Squeezeasy!" Mike cried. "What the bloody hell do you think..."

"Oh, oh! I
was, er... I was just cleaning the cupboard out."

"You're
masturbating!"

"Am I? Oh,
yes, so I am. I have these uncontrollable sexual urges, I'm afraid.
I can't help it, something comes over me, and I have to come.
Please, do forgive me."

"You didn't
mention this in your oral CV, Mrs Squeezeasy."

"No, I thought
it best not to."

"You
deliberately kept the sexual truth from me!"

"Will you fire
me?"

Never!
"It's a course of action that I
might have to consider. I can't have female employees masturbating
in the understairs cupboard, it's against the health and safety
regulations!"

"I do
apologise," the flushed woman smiled, slipping the creamy-wet
handle out of her dripping cunt and crawling out of the cupboard.
"It won't happen again, I promise you," she assured him, rising to
her feet and tugging her stained panties up her long legs.

"I really can't have this sort of behaviour going on, Mrs
Squeezeasy."
Not unless I can join
in
. "I suggest you return to your duties
without further delay. I'll inform you of my decision as to your
future later."

Returning to
the bar, Mike smiled at the muscular, pixie-haired yoga teacher.
"I'm so sorry," he said, joining her at a table. "I've reprimanded
the cleaner for her disgusting sexual behaviour."

"Does she
normally do that sort of thing in the cupboard?"

"I don't know,
I only took her on today. I'm beginning to wish I hadn't!"

"I think she's
a fine woman. She's independent, resourceful, self-reliant... she
obviously doesn't need men."

"No, I suppose
she doesn't."

"She's
extremely attractive, she'd be welcome to join the Splash Bay
Women's Association Against Men any day."

"Er... yes.
So, about the functions room. It's a very large room, would you
like to see it?"

"No, there's
no need. As I told you on the phone, there are only twelve of us,
so I'm sure the room will be fine. I was passing by so I thought
I'd pop in to enquire about the cost."

"Twenty-four
pounds - two pounds each, if that's all right?"

"Make it
twenty-five, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Twenty-five
it is."

"Excellent!
Er... the cleaning woman, do you know whether she's interested in
yoga?"

"No, I'm
afraid I don't."

"Is she a
lesbian?"

"I really
don't know! Why don't you have a word with her on your way
out?"

"Yes, I will.
Thursday evenings."

"Thursday?"

"Our yoga
classes. Seven till nine every Thursday."

"Yes, that's
fine, I'll write it in the book."

"Good. I'll
see you on Thursday, then. Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye."

"Long live
women!"

Christ!
"Yes, long live..."

Wondering about Mrs Squeezeasy's peculiar masturbatory habits
as Miss Cleft left the bar, Mike thought seriously of suggesting
she work in room sixty-nine. She needed the money, he reflected, so
she might be more than willing to perform female masturbation shows
or have herself fucked rotten!
The more
girls, the more punters I can satisfy
.