Hot Sheets (16 page)

"Yes, here's
the key to room eight. Ring reception if you want anything."

"Thanks. You
haven't seen me, OK?"

"If you say
so, Mr Gloom."

"I don't
suppose you have any arsenic knocking around?"

"Knocking
around?"

"Kicking
about."

"No, I'm
afraid not."

"It was just a
wicked thought."

Wondering whether the man was a complete nutter, Mike sat at
the desk recalling Mrs Gloom's words.
Has
he met with a timely accident?
"Christ, he
might not be mad after all," he breathed. No doubt the evil bitch
would wait a while longer and then alert the police as to her
husband's disappearance, believing that the assassin had done the
job. Within a few days, there'd be a full-scale police hunt for the
man!

"Ah, Paul,
you've got the cameras?" Mike asked the young man as he staggered
through the main doors with a bulging carrier bag.

"I'm afraid I
could only get hold of three. The store detective nearly had me by
the balls! I think he recognized me because I'm often in
there."

"Don't worry
about that bastard. If he becomes a problem, I'll have him done
over. OK, get the cameras fixed up in the bathrooms as quickly as
you can. Make sure they're well hidden, I don't want to get myself
banged up for being a sad voyeur."

"But you are a
sad..."

"That's beside
the point. OK, fit the cameras and..."

"You want the
cable from each camera run into reception, do you?"

"Yes, so I can
switch from room to room."

"I thought you
wanted a monitor in your flat?"

"It would be
better, but I have to spend most of my time up here dealing with
the fucking plebs. I also want a video recorder installed on the
shelf beneath the desk, can you manage that?"

"Yes, of
course."

"Our first
punter arrives at seven. Tell Trudie and Goldie to be naked in the
dining room by seven with clamps and chains fixed to their nipples
and candles stuffed up their fannies."

"Chains fixed
to their nipples and candles stuffed up... yes, right. OK, I'll get
to work."

"Keep everyone
in the bar until the punter's had his meal and gone upstairs. I
don't want the colonel or Miss Chaste nosing about - and stay off
the vodka!"

As Paul lugged
the carrier bag upstairs, Mike rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Impatient as he was, he wanted everything up and running as soon as
possible - the cameras, the video recorder, and a couple more
fourth-floor rooms converted into sex dens. He'd also need another
girl or two if he were to cater for several men simultaneously. I
could always advertise, he thought as Dave peered round the kitchen
door.

"What's
happening about the hot water?" he asked.

"Not a lot,
the boiler's fucked. You'll have to use the kettle."

"Oh, great! By
the way, the new cooker's brilliant, but there's nothing to cook.
I've got to start the evening meals soon so what do you
recommend?"

"Is there no
dog food left?"

"No, 'fraid
not."

"Shit, I'll
have to get some more. I'll get some cat food, too - it'll make a
fine base for a curry."

"Christ,
you'll kill the punters!"

"That's the
general idea! OK, cancel the dinners. I've got a room sixty-niner
arriving at seven so I want the dining room clear of prying guests
and nosy residents."

"They'll have
to eat, Mike!"

"Christ,
they're a bloody nuisance! All right, take twenty quid out of the
till and buy some fish and chips - cheap fish, huss or some such
crap. And get a nice piece of steak for our first client. I want to
give him a really good meal with fresh veg and a choice of wines.
Hopefully, if things go according to plan, he'll be a regular
punter."

"You'll have
the law onto you, Mike!"

"Don't say
that, for Christ's sake! Shit, he's bringing his wife, I'd
forgotten about that! OK, two meals."

"Will do."

As Dave
wandered into the bar, Mike decided to go down to his flat for a
hard earned rest before the arrival of his first client. Hopefully,
Paul would have installed the video recorder by the time the
so-called Smiths were having their extreme fun in the sex room. I
could always blackmail the clients, he mused as he wandered
downstairs.

No doubt the
fire inspector would finish his rounds and send him the damning
report, listing a million reasons why he wasn't able to renew the
fire certificate. But there was one sure passage to a new
certificate, he reflected as he lay on his bed - Goldie's hot,
tight, wet, sex passage!

The guests and
residents stuffed with fish and chips, Dave was preparing the steak
while Goldie and Trudie hovered in the dining room. Both stark
naked, with chains hanging from nipple clamps and large candles
emerging from their girl slits, they were ready for Smith and co.
Cecilia, stunning in a red microskirt and transparent black blouse,
lurked in reception awaiting the clients' arrival. With Paul
manning the bar, at last the scene was set.

Emerging from
his flat at five to seven, Mike grinned at Cecilia. "You look
great!" he praised the sexy young woman, eyeing her deep cleavage,
her nipples clearly visible through her blouse. "Did you, er... did
you do as I asked?"

"Shave my
pubic hair? Yes, yes I did! Would you like to inspect me before I
start my new job?" she smiled, lifting her apology for a skirt and
displaying her smooth, hairless vaginal lips to Mike's wide eyes.
"Well, what do you think?"

"Christ! I
mean... perfect!" he beamed, focusing on her distended inner lips,
her pink sex crack as his penis stiffened. "Right, I'd better check
the girls."

"They're in
the dining room, all ready to serve the meals."

"Great!"

Peering round
the dining room door, Mike grinned to see the two naked beauties
hovering by a table. Goldie seemed happy enough, her pretty face
ecstatic as she tightened her nipple clamps and pushed the candle
deeper into her tight vagina. But, wearing a scowl, Trudie appeared
rather less comfortable.

"You both look
great!" Mike complimented them as he entered the room.

"Mike!" Trudie
snapped. "I thought you were joking when you said that we had to
serve the meals with candles up our cunts and..."

"Trudie,
Trudie! Think of the money you'll earn!"

"But this is
the ultimate degradation!"

"No, it's not."
As you'll soon
discover
. "Look, all you have to do is wait
on the gentleman and his wife, just the way you serve the regular
guests and residents. The only difference is that you're
naked."

"Yes, with
chains and... anyway, how much do we get for this?"

"I'll work it
out later. Right, stand by the table, I think someone's just come
in."

"I want at
least a half-ton, mate!"

Dream on,
baby!

In reception, Mike smiled at the smart, besuited businessman
and his stunning wife as they stood by the desk. In his early
forties, with well-groomed black hair, this was more like the type
of client he was after, he thought. A far cry from plumbers and
electricians - and as for priests! Wearing a short, blue satin
skirt and a revealing blouse, her chestnut hair flowing over her
shoulders, his wife was a real cracker, Mike observed. He wouldn't
have minded joining in had he known what a little beauty she
was.
Keep your business head,
Mike
.

"Good evening,
sir, madam, welcome to Stokepot Towers," he greeted his guests
cordially.

"Ah, good
evening - I have the money," Smith reciprocated, taking a wad of
notes from his jacket pocket. "Four hundred pounds, that's right,
isn't it?"

Four hundred?
"Oh, yes, two hundred
each. Right, thank you!" Mike replied, trying to conceal a wicked
grin as he stuffed the cash into his pocket. "The girls await you
in the dining room. Cecilia, would you be good enough to show Mr
and Mrs Smith to their table, please?"

"Certainly,
this way."

Leaping behind the desk as Cecilia showed the clients into the
dining room, Mike wondered whether Paul had installed the cameras
in the bathrooms. Turning the monitor on, he noticed a box with a
rotary switch numbered one to five fixed to the wall. Turning the
switch, he grinned as the sex room flashed up on the screen,
followed by room eleven and the three bathrooms. Brilliant, he
decreed as Miss Cleft entered the foyer followed by her eleven yoga
girls.
Shit, I'd forgotten about
them
.

"It's Thursday
evening!" the dyke announced as she approached the desk.

"Ah, Miss
Cleft, so it is! If you'll take the stairs to the first floor you
can change in room eleven, next to the functions room."

"Right, thank
you. There's the money," she smiled, passing Mike twenty-five
pounds. "OK, girls, follow me! Long live women!"

Long live
lesbians!

Watching the sexy little beauties follow their guru up the
stairs, Mike realized that there was plenty of time to ogle them
changing before switching to room sixty-nine for the lewd sex show.
Switching to room eleven, he focused on the girls as they hurriedly
slipped out of their clothes. Wondering why they were removing
their bras and panties, he gazed at their toned bodies, their pert
breasts topped with succulent brown teats - their pubic bushes,
blonde, black, ginger... As they filed out of the room, naked, he
frowned.
I should have had Paul install a
camera in the functions room
.

Imagining the
nude girls sitting in the lotus position, their vaginal cracks
gaping, he turned the switch through the bathroom cameras to room
sixty-nine. "What was that?" he breathed, switching back to one of
the bathrooms. Staring at Mrs Gloom as she reclined in the bath, he
couldn't believe his eyes. Her knees up to her ample breasts, her
cunny lips bulging between her substantial thighs, she was
thrusting a bar of soap in and out of her cavernous pussy hole,
gasping as she massaged her clitoris with her free hand. At least
the boiler must have fired up, he thought happily.

Her rubicund
cunt lips engorging, her body trembling violently as the water
lapped around the pistoning bar of soap, the woman cried out as her
orgasm gripped her. Staring in disbelief, Mike watched Mrs Gloom's
ample body convulsing as she massaged her clitoris faster,
sustaining her obvious pleasure.

Poor old
Harold, he reflected - hiding from his assassin in room eight as
his wife brought herself off in the bath! And as for Mrs Gloom
bringing her lover with her! Harold would surely be needing some
sex - at fifty pounds a session, the waitresses were the obvious
answer to the poor man's problems.

His thoughts
returning to Mrs Gloom, Mike watched in amazement as she presented
the bar of soap to her anal entrance and managed to push it inside
her tight duct, her face contorting as she began her gentle rectal
pistoning.

Squeals
emanating from the dining room, he wondered what on earth the girls
were getting up to with Mr and Mrs Smith. Another prime site for a
hidden camera. Leaving the desk, and Mrs Gloom to her anal
thrusting, Mike gingerly opened the dining room door and peered
through the crack.

The sex had
already begun! he observed gleefully as he gazed at Mrs Smith's
naked body stretched out across the table, the kinky waitresses
lapping wine from her firm, rounded breasts. The gasping woman's
husband thrusting the thick end of a wine bottle in and out of her
bloated cuntal sheath, she was obviously in her sexual element.

Cecilia, too,
was enjoying herself. Smith's cock in her mouth, she was fervently
sucking like a babe at the breast, doing her vigorous best to bring
the cash - and the spunk - rolling in. Moving away from Mrs Smith's
Liebfraumilch-wet nipple, Trudie stood with her thighs either side
of the woman's head. Her mouth open, gasping, as she parted her
drenched cunny lips, the girl was obviously enjoying her new job,
Mike observed. Her vaginal crack gaping, her lust juices decanting,
she bent her long legs, lowering her naked body, pressing her
intimate feminine flesh against the client's cunt-hungry mouth.

A hideous
scream resounding around the foyer, Mike tore his gaze from the sex
spectacle and raced back to the reception desk. "Miss Chaste, what
is it?" he asked the distressed woman.

"There, on the
television!" she shrieked, pointing to the picture of Mrs Gloom on
all fours in the bath, the bar of soap emerging from her
bottom-hole and a deodorant bottle appearing between her engorged
cuntal lips.

"Bloody TV
stations!" Mike cursed, switching the monitor off. "Good grief,
have they no standards, no moral codes?"

"I'll write to
my MP!" Miss Chaste cried. "It's not decent!"

"Er... no,
there's no need for that."

"But something
has to be done, Mr Hunt. It's because apathy rules that this
country's in the state it's in."

"I agree, I'll
write to my MP."

"Goodness me,
what's that?" she asked as screams of female orgasm emanated from
the dining room. "Is someone in pain?"

Hardly!
"It's a private party," Mike
grinned. "You go back into the bar. What are you doing out here,
anyway?"

"I was looking
for you."

"Isn't it your
bed time?"

"No, not
yet."

"Well, go back
into the bar, then. You're not allowed in the reception area or the
dining room after seven o'clock, Miss Chaste."

"Oh, is it a
new rule?"

"Yes, a new
rule. Go back to the bar and don't come out."