Jameson Hotel - the Dark Suite Series: Parts One, Two & Three

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JAMESON HOTEL

The Dark Suite Series

(Parts One, Two & Three)

 

C
opyright ©
2015 by
Aven
Jayce

Cover Image by
Alenaviad

Cover and Book Design by
Triple J Marketing

Published by
Mirror Call Press

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents
depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book can be reproduced, scanned, or
distributed in any printed or electronic form, including but not limited to
printing, file sharing, and email, without written permission from the author. The
only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Purchase only authorized editions.

DEDICATION

Thank you to everyone who has been following the story
of the Jameson family through NOVA and the Dark Scarlett, especially Michelle
McGinty
, a beautiful woman, an indie author’s best friend,
and a fan of dark reads.

 

JAMESON HOTEL is a dark series for mature audiences.
It includes
abusive situations, detailed violence,
harsh language, drugs & graphic sexual content. Please be warned - dark
novels may be disturbing or offensive to some readers.

 

MARK JAMESON is an arrogant prick, the type of
character readers love to hate or hate to love.

 

PART ONE

PROLOGUE

E
ager
for a change after losing custody of my son
and half of my possessions in an epic and savage divorce battle, I sold my porn
company, my house, and the remainder of my belongings to escape the shithole,
dehydrated city of Las Vegas.

I spent the next two years arguing with architects, and
countless months trying to get the proper building permits until I was finally
approved to have a hotel built on a piece of land between Carson City and
Sacramento. It’s a three-story structure with a rustic log cabin exterior that
melds with the landscape, and an interior that’s elegantly decked out,
comprised of dark-toned walls and rich earthy hues in the carpets and wood
floors. With high-end furnishings from the ground up, gold and red accents in
the corridors, and fresh Mariposa lilies strategically arranged in every room,
I’ve heard it referred to as luxurious and stately, similar to a manor house.

Located just off Route 50, my hotel is burrowed in the high
pines of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Replete with a remarkable view of Lake
Tahoe, it’s a place for anyone in need of an escape from their polluted urban
life of fast food, gadgets, car exhaust, and nine-hour days in front of a
digital blue screen.

I thought my time away from the porn industry and casinos
might sway my ex-wife to lighten up about my visitation rights with my kid,
Jack, who I never get to see. However, I’m beginning to realize that as the son
of the former king of porn, Paul Jameson, a psychopath who ended up face down
with a bullet through his head,
his
past will always be a part of
my
present. My ex-wife is fully aware of the disturbing life my father led, and
now that we’re no longer together, she’s using it against me, keeping my son at
a distance. She also believes I’m turning into a shielded, voyeuristic,
mentally ill man just like he was, and she could very well be right. What she
doesn’t understand is that I not only inherited part of my father’s estate, but
his enemies as well, and I need to protect myself.

Hiding behind every slot machine back in Vegas and now in
these tall mountain pines is someone who’s out to kill me. I don’t trust a
soul. Even at six thousand feet, with only one long road in and out of my
hotel, I know that someday, someone’s going to arrive and seek vengeance for my
father’s fucked up behavior. I
am
a
bit guarded.

I have cameras around my entire property, in the lobby,
restaurant, pool area, gym, laundry room, in all of the corridors, the
executive suites, and even some of the standard-stay rooms. While I know I
can’t legally observe and record my guests in their rooms, what they don’t know
can’t hurt them. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a security issue and one I don’t
take lightly, not after witnessing some of the shit that went down within my
father’s porn company. And, I hate to admit this, but sometimes watching people
screw in my hotel hardens my dick.

People traveling through these parts are mostly vacationers
hitting the ski slopes during the winter or hiking and boating during the
summer. They’re looking for a serene setting, to inhale the mountain air, and
to put their four hundred dollar a night bed to good use - fucking like wild
beasts every chance they get. With all the cameras in and around this place I
can catch some cock getting sucked or a pussy getting eaten out and poked
virtually any time of the night or day. And the best part is it’s goddamn real,
not a bunch of worn-out porn stars getting paid to unconsciously perform. It’s
fucking hot. Shit, even the baggy old
asshats
that
wander into my hotel get it on with their K-Y jelly for at least one night during
their stay.

I’ve also caught my staff screwing around on their breaks.
Housekeeping, restaurant workers, the doormen and baggage handlers, my
maintenance and grounds crew, every damn one of them have banged someone at
least once in this hotel, mainly one another, but sometimes the guests. The
chief badass offenders are my pool boys; three guys who are fresh out of high
school and at eighteen their dicks are pretty much hard twenty-four seven.

I may need to change the name of my place from Jameson Hotel
to Brothel in the Pines and, in all honesty, I’m just as guilty as the rest of
the whorish men and women who hang around here. For Pete’s sake, I’m not going
to live my life without pussy.

And just to be clear, I also don’t take shit from anyone.
People who fuck with me never check out. Lake Tahoe is the third deepest lake
in the United States with an average depth of a thousand feet. If some swine
finds himself sinking to the bottom with a concrete block tied around his chest
it’s because he was a threat to someone I care about, in which case he’s never
going to be found. Trust me on that one.

I’m Mark Jameson.

Oh, and welcome to my hotel.

AFTERNOON

T
he face that
stares back at me in the bathroom mirror is more foe than friend. Six-feet tall
with blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a chiseled jawline, I’ve been
told time and time again that I look like a model. I’m the living, breathing,
shitting version of Malibu Ken, only I dress a hell of a lot better and I don’t
have a vinyl bulge for a dick. I also don’t believe there was ever a Ken doll
sold that was deranged. There’s no
Killer
Ken
in the toy stores, and certainly no
Fuck
Her in the Ass Ken,
so I’ve got a leg up on Barbie’s little squirrel
monkey.

But this face I keep gazing at each day... the quixotic man
who enjoys fine suits over Bermuda shorts even in eighty-degree weather, the
one who is past his prime in the midst of a mid-life crisis, if
that
man had his way he’d look like his
father - dark features, beady rodent eyes, large build, with fists of steel and
the laugh of a villain. Evil surged from every pore of my dad and anyone within
a hundred-mile radius sensed his wickedness. His presence was unsettling to
all.

Still, when I walk into a room, women pant while men stand
and want to shake my hand like I’m some fucking prince. My features are the
antithesis of the malicious man I’ve become. I didn’t inherit my father’s mob
boss appearance, but I did end up with his cruel, heartless, and merciless
genes.

And my looks are the reason it’s so easy to get away with
all the shit that happens in my hotel. I look like an innocent, good-natured
Boy Scout, and most of the time I’m calm in public. The ruthlessness of my
inner core only materializes behind closed doors.

“Mark, you said you’d be right back. Fuck’s sake, I’m drying
out over here. Come back to bed.”

“Use your fucking fingers ‘til I’m finished, alright?”

New guests arrive each day and I have my choice of some
strikingly beautiful rich women - lips plumped full of Botox, high-heels
clicking on my lobby floor, their asses snug and swaying in skin-tight dresses,
ready for a day of shopping, gambling, and sightseeing in town. Shit, they all
remind me of my
wenchy
ex-wife and I couldn’t care
less about any of them. Right now, I want the one who’s in my bed.

Julia.

I’ve had some mind-blowing oral suck fests
with her; a foul-mouthed blonde with long hair, nice tits, and a pretty smile
who works nights at the front desk. I asked her to arrive an hour early today
so I could take her to my private suite for an afternoon fuck before her shift
begins, hoping to finally get my dick wet, but she still refuses to open her
legs for anything other than my tongue.

She’s twenty-two and far from being worn out,
getting the dick-stick from a measly two inadequate guys in her life. She makes
me feel like I’m a teenager in the back seat of a car, begging my prom date to
spread ‘
em
wide. I hover over her, but as soon as my
cock touches her skin she clutches it and takes it in her mouth, never letting
my tip get close to her pussy. And then when cum dribbles down her chin, she
takes my hand and forces it into action for her own pleasure. She’s been
driving me mad.

“I’m about to cum. Finish me off, please!”

I knew the moment she walked into my office
for an interview that I’d have her
modelesque
body in
my bed before anyone else in this hotel laid a hand on her, but if I could’ve
predicted that a noose would start tightening around my neck because I have
feelings for...

“What the fuck was that!” I hear her rush
over to the bathroom door. “Mark?”

I admire the broken glass with a grin. “It
was nothing.”

She looks in and gasps at the shards in the
sink and surrounding my bare feet while the blood that flows from my cut hand
drips onto the tile floor.

“What the hell happened?”

“I guess I shut the medicine cabinet too
hastily. Sorry about that.” I wrap a towel around the cut and step away from
the glass. “Come on, let’s finish this.”

“Are you crazy? You
wanna
fool around while your make-shift bandage becomes soaked with blood and then...
no way, no thanks.” She turns away and I grip her soft sun-tanned shoulder,
bringing her body back to mine.

“Look,” I whisper and block her path to her
clothing. “We’re not finished. I kind of respect the fact that you want to wait
to feel my cock deep inside of you, but you don’t have all the control when
you’re in my room. Let me hear you cum. Now get back in my bed so I can make
that happen,” I say softly, steadily, and flash my warmest smile, hiding my
desire to throw another punch toward my sneering reflection.

“What were you doing in there, anyway?” she
asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading her legs like an open nut
cracker, waiting to crush my head between her inner thighs.

I smile when I kneel before her, grabbing her
hips and sliding her smooth twat closer to my mouth.

“Lean back.”

“No, I want to watch,” she whispers,
caressing my chin with her finger. “Pretend your hands are tied behind your
back so I don’t have to see the blood. And keep your eyes open for me.”

I’m giving her far too much control today and
I think her clit needs to be teased as payback for leaving my dick in a
continuous state of craving.

My tongue is soft and warm, not bristly and
cold like most men, and as it glides effortlessly from her ass upward, between
her folds and over her clit, she lets out a heavy moan.

“Were you about to cum a few minutes ago?” I
ask, as my heated
breath
travels over the saliva I
deposited on her flesh, causing her to shudder in sexual frustration.

“One lick’s not enough,” she states, staring
into my eyes.

I lean forward with my hands behind my back,
gazing at her diamond shaped young face and begin a powerful massage of her
pussy.

“That’s perfect,” she says.

With a twist of my hair between her fingers,
my head is quickly restrained in a tight grip. Her eyes become distant
indicating an orgasm’s on the rise. Distorted whimpering sounds leave her
mouth, echoing off every wall of my two-story suite.

“More,” she begs.

“Plead,” I whisper. “Tell me you want all of
me, including my dick.”

I pause and wait, but she doesn’t say it.

“How can you hold out like this?” I ask,
reaching under my bed for my strap-on facemask. Still, she doesn’t answer.
Fuck, I’ll get inside of her one way or another.

The toy fits securely over my head and once
it’s in place the giant cock bobs in front of her hole.

“What the shit, Mark? A man with a dick
hanging off his face doesn’t turn me on. If anything, it’s asinine and
frightening.”

“Release my hair and lean the fuck back or
you can get dressed and go to work with a twitching pussy. I gave you a few
minutes of power, now let me have some fun.”

She smiles and falls backward, “yes sir.”

I lower the strap-on to my chin, leaving my
mouth exposed and my tongue free for pleasure. Hell, if she lets me do this, my
actual cock will be in her within a day.

“Whoa,” she whispers as the black latex dick
starts to slide inside. “Holy shit. Stop!” She grips the shaft and pushes it
away. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”

I’d love to ram it inside and get it over
with, but I do respect the words “stop” and “no” from a woman, so instead I
lower the stiff toy against her ass and out of the way while my tongue swiftly
does its duty. Licking, swirling, and flicking until...

“Uh, uh, uh, Mark.”

That’s right, at this moment she’s completely
vulnerable. I believe if you’re going to kill someone, you need to do it when
they’re in this state. When the person you’re with can’t move, speak, breathe,
or open an eye, and when they don’t remember their name or what day it is.

“You good?” I ask, pulling off the latex
shaft, disappointed I’m still locked out. “I hope you let me loosen you up
later tonight.”

“Christ, that was strong. Nice moves, by the
way.” She breathes heavily and looks at me. “You think I’ll be in your suite
again this evening?”

“If I ask, you’ll definitely
come
.”

“You haven’t even kissed me today.”

“You know I hate that shit,” I mutter. “It
makes me feel weak.” I unwrap the towel and see that the cut’s not as deep as I
originally thought and shouldn’t require stitches. “You’re attractive and sexy,
Julia, but my mouth only enjoys certain kinds of lips.”

“You’re such a
nutsack
.
I’m not letting you fuck me if you can’t even dish out a simple kiss. And you
know I prefer Jules to Julia.”


Nutsack
?” She’s so
young. “That sounds like something my son would say. Get dressed and get to
work. It’s almost three.”

“Did you hear me? Call me Jules, okay? It’s
been my nickname since I was a baby.”

“I’ll try, but Julia sounds more
sophisticated.”

“You mean older, right?”

“No, that’s
not
what I mean... and I’ll call you whatever feels right at the
moment.”

She gives me the finger. “Great, so I can
call you dickhead because that’s what suits you at
every
moment.”

I toss her clothing on the bed, slip into my
boxers, and head to the bathroom for a bandage. I’m sure my hair looks like
shit from her finger play and the skin around my mouth probably has
indentations from the strap-on. I’ll have to wait a while before I make an
appearance in the lobby.

“You’re fully booked tonight,” she says, helping
me put on my white dress shirt. She buttons it slowly, feeling my abs as I
place the bandage on my hand. “I noticed on the schedule that you’re
interviewing for a new security guy this evening. Did you fire one of...

“Don’t ask so many questions.”

She drops her arms hastily and sighs. “Fine.
No kissing and no talking. You’re not getting very far with me, Mark.”

She snatches her purse off a table and starts
to head out. “If you want some inside information that might help you with your
decision, I met one of the guys who applied. He’s huge, bigger than your last
man and seems pleasant.”

“Name?” I snap my fingers. “What’s his name?”


Dayne
something.”

My hand is glued to her forearm before she
can take another step. “What the fuck did you say?” I push her up against the
wall. “How do you know
Dayne
?”

She stutters while trying to respond. “I... I
don’t.” Her eyes glance at my firm grip. She’s pissed. Damn it, I fucked up.

I release her and rest my hand on her
shoulder.

“I don’t know him!” she shouts. “And don’t
you ever be physically cruel with me!”

“I barely touched you!”

“I’m out of here, you crazy shit.” She races
down to my living area and slams the door on her way out.

“I barely touched her,” I exhale and stare at
the empty room, the blood, my hand, and the shattered glass on the floor. I
lean against the wall and lower my head. I’ve never been this irate and manic
in the past. Mentally, I’m losing it.

“I’m a
troll...
foldy
roll,”
I sing softly.

When you sing about trolls you have to
remember to pronounce each word slowly, using only your deepest voice.

“I’m
a troll,
foldy
roll... and I’ll eat... you up... for
supper.”

Hell, that afternoon didn’t go as planned.

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