Hot Sheets (14 page)

The advert out
in Wankers' Weekly, Mike was looking forward to taking bookings for
the sex room. For the first time in five years things seemed to be
looking up at Stokepot Towers - not least, the resident cocks! The
misfit family of three had behaved themselves, so far, and Mrs
Squeezeasy had reported for duty at seven that morning. Apart from
masturbating yet again in the understairs cupboard with her wet
panties adrift round her ankles and the vacuum cleaner handle
embedded deep in her spasming sex bucket, she'd done a good job,
Mike reflected. And, to his greatest relief, the identity parade
had inexplicably been called off.

The officious
little prick from weights and measures hadn't made further contact.
But to safeguard himself, he'd risen early and put things to rights
in the bar, the optics now dispensing accurate measures and the
spirits containing the correct percentage of alcohol. It was only a
temporary measure, he reflected - with things soon back to normal,
the punters would be ripped off, as usual.

The only thing
playing on his mind were several mysterious phone calls he'd
received the previous evening concerning room sixty-nine.
Obviously, word was spreading fast. What with the plumber opening
his big mouth, it was only a matter of time before the wrong people
started sniffing around. One caller who'd asked for details of the
new venture had sounded remarkably like Inspector Dickwipe with a
handkerchief stuffed in his mouth! With the advert out, keeping the
clandestine business under wraps wasn't going to be easy.

"Good day,
Colonel," Mike greeted his randy resident as he returned from his
afternoon constitutional.

"Ah, Hunt, old
boy! A TV behind the desk, eh?"

"Er... no.
It's security, closed circuit TV," Mike smiled, turning the monitor
away from the colonel's prying eyes.

"Got any more
dirty videos, old man?"

"Er, no, I
haven't. Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Yes, a fine
day for a stroll along the prom! All the girls are out in their
short skirts and skimpy tops, don't you know!"

"I wish I had
the time to take a walk, the sun always brings the little beauties
out in force."

"Damned right
it does! What!"

"You know what
they say, don't cast a clout till the birds are out."

"The birds
have certainly cast theirs! Do you know, back in the summer of
fifty-three, or was it fifty-two?"

"If you'd like
a scotch, Colonel, Goldie's in the bar."

"Is she? By
gad, now there's a little beauty! She can serve me any time, what!"
the old boy grinned as he headed for the bar. "Or was it
fifty-four?"

Adjusting the monitor, Mike admired the sex room, imagining
Mrs Squeezeasy tethered to the frame, her naked buttocks repeatedly
lashed with the cat of nine tails. The colour picture was perfect,
depicting every detail, and he couldn't wait for the next sordid
performance to commence. Pressing a button on the monitor, the
picture changing to room eleven he rubbed his hands together
gleefully, imagining the yoga girls slipping into their leotards
that evening, their toned breasts and erectile nipples captured for
posterity.
Cheers, Paul
.

"Ah, Goldie,
my horny little hussy," he grinned as the girl wandered out of the
bar, tossing her curtain of blonde tresses over her shoulder. "The
electrician... I mean, the doctor rang earlier - he's on his way
here to fuck you."

"Mike, I do
wish you wouldn't look upon my fanny as a commodity!" she
complained. "I'm a person, not an object to be sold and
fucked."

"Yes, and a
lovely person you are. But we need money, Goldie, and you have the
goods, your cunny, to bring us money. Look at it this way, what is
your cunt, exactly?"

"What is it?
Well, it's my cunt, isn't it?"

"Look at it
objectively, it's just a wet hole with sort of half-moon-shaped
fleshy bits around the entrance. Think of being fucked simply as
having a man use your cunt to wank in."

"Oh, thanks a
lot! So my cunt's just a wanking pot, is it?"

"Basically,
yes - and your mouth."

"Mike!"

"Sorry.
Anyway, let's not waste time discussing your cunt, let's put it to
good use and earn some money. God made man, women make money - or
something like that. Talking of cunts, I miss Elizabeth."

"Yes,
according to Trudie, she was a bit of all right."

"She was more
than a bit of all right!"

"I never did
get to... by the way, that Gloom woman's been moaning. She's
demanding a reduction because she reckons the food's so bad she
can't eat it."

"Christ, I
thought it was too good to last!" Mike sighed, switching the
monitor back to the sex room. "I ought to shove a rolling pin up
her arse! All right, I'll speak to the miserable old cow later.
You'd better go to room sixty-nine and prepare yourself."

"Who's going
to man the bar?"

"I'll keep an
eye on it, you go and get ready."

"What, strip
off?"

"Yes, ready
for the... the doctor."

"I want decent
money for this, Mike. I'm not going to be fucked and forced to have
a multiple orgasm for a mere pittance!"

"Yes, yes all
right! Go and get ready, he'll be here soon."

"I suppose
you're going to watch me being fucked on that TV?"

"Damn right I
am! I do wish those girls had left some dirty knickers behind."

"So do I!
Er... right, I'll see you later."

Wondering whether to connect a video recorder to the closed
circuit TV system and sell tapes of Goldie's obscene sexual
encounters, Mike reclined in his chair. What with the punters' cash
and money from the dirty video tapes he'd be on a nice little
earner! he mused, gazing at Goldie on the screen as she walked into
room sixty-nine. Adjusting the brightness as she unbuttoned her
blouse and poked her tongue out in the direction of the hidden
camera, he smiled.
Cheeky little bitch.
I'll fuck her for her insubordination
.

Slipping the garment off her shoulders, revealing her braless
mammary spheres, her elongated milk buds, she had a beautiful body,
he observed - a sperm-spinning, money-making body! Gazing at her
pert breasts as she turned side-on to the camera and tossed her
hair over her shoulder, Mike sensed his penis stiffen as he
imagined sucking on her brown milk teats. Women were lucky, he
reflected. Not only did they have pussies, but also tits to bring
them pleasure.
Nothing's
fair
.

"Ah, Paul!"
Mike grinned as the barman tumbled down the stairs into the foyer.
"If you're sober enough, go and nick a few more cameras from the
supermarket. I want hidden cameras in the bathrooms, wired up to
this monitor."

"God, my
head!" the young man groaned, gazing at Goldie on the screen as she
tugged her skirt down her long naked legs, exposing her knickerless
girl slit to the camera. "Christ, I had a hell of a lunchtime
session! I'm absolutely fucking pissed!"

"Can't you do
something about your drink problem? You're no use to me if you're
permanently pissed out of your head!"

"Sorry, it was
my upbringing, the orphanage - I turned to drink."

"Why, what
happened?"

"There was
this woman there... she used to whip me with a tree branch until I
spunked. Sex mad, she was! She forced me to lick her pussy out and
fuck her six times a day. It drove me to drink."

"There's
nothing wrong with..."

"She was
eighty-five."

"Argh!"

"Exactly!
Talking of drink..."

"No,
Paul!"

"OK, I'll go
and borrow a few cameras."

Noticing the report from the Department of Environmental
Health lying on the desk, Mike decided that the time had come to do
something about it. Deal with all the problems, he mused, sifting
through a pile of income tax demands.
Get
all these communist bastards off my back so I can get on with
making some real money behind their backs
.

Ringing his
bank manager, he attempted to arrange a loan. "I'll put my
waitresses up as collateral," he told the groaning manager.
"They've got to be worth a few grand."

"I can't take
girls as collateral, Mike!"

"Why not?
They've got nice pussies, they must be worth buckets of cash. You
could sell them on the black market for..."

"Get real,
Mike! As it is, you're into us for twenty grand!"

"Just another
ten thousand, Kev, that's all I ask," Mike wheedled. "I'm about to
earn a small fortune, you'll have the whole lot back later this
year."

"A small
fortune?"

"Yes, trust
me."

"Trust you?
Christ, I'd rather trust a gay pervert with my cock than trust
you!"

"You can fuck
both my waitresses if you lend me the money."

"Really?"

"Yes,
really."

"Every
week?"

"Twice every
week. And the cleaning woman."

"OK, you're
on. I'll arrange it today."

"Thanks, Kev,
you're a mate!"

"I'm a bloody
fool! See you."

Ringing a
local electrical wholesaler, he ordered two new fridges and a glass
washer for the bar. "I also need an industrial extractor fan and
some decent overhead lighting for the kitchen," he added.

"How are you
going to pay for this lot?" the man asked.

"I'm a monied
man, I'll have you know! I'll pay by cash."

"OK, the
earliest we can deliver is tomorrow morning."

"Good. Oh, I
don't suppose you sell vibrators?"

"Vibrators?"

"Yes, you
know, body massagers."

"Yes, we
do."

"Great, I'll
take two, please."

"Right you
are."

"Thanks!" Mike
grinned, banging the phone down.

Writing a
cheque to the Inland Revenue, he knew that room sixty-nine was his
last chance to save the hotel. The sex room was his salvation! The
money from the bank would keep him going until his little earner
had become a thriving business, and then he'd be more than self
sufficient! Better pay the VAT man, he decided, writing another
cheque.

"What ya,
mate." Mike looked up to see a good-looking young man grinning over
the desk.

"What ya,
mate? Where were you thrown up, in the gutter?"

"Do what,
guv?"

"You're not a
lager lout, are you?"

"Only when I'm
pissed."

"My God, you'd
never make royalty. Look, I'm busy, what do you want?"

"I've come to
see the bird."

"Come to see
the bird?" Mike echoed, placing the cheques into prepaid envelopes.
"What do you think this is, an aviary?"

"No, the
featherless type. You know, a bird, a tart, a chick."

"Good God,
have you no etiquette?"

"Do what,
squire?"

"Etiquette,
have you no... never mind. Bloody philistine!"

"I rang about
shagging the bird."

"Shagging
the... oh, you're the... the supposed doctor."

"Am I? Oh,
yes, that's right."

"OK, take the
lift to the fourth floor and walk straight down the hall to room
sixty-nine. Money up front, please."

"Yes, right,"
the lusty youth grinned, pulling a wad of notes from his jeans.
"There you go, guv, fifty smackers."

"Thank you.
Enjoy your half-hour stay, sir!" Mike beamed, stuffing the notes
into his pocket.

"I will, mate
- I bleedin' will!"

Sitting eagerly at the desk as the young man entered the lift,
his eyes transfixed to the monitor, Mike grunted with annoyance as
Mrs Gloom stormed down the stairs.
God, now
what?

"I've lost my
husband!" the ugly grouch complained.

"Lost him? Is
he dead?"

"Huh, I wish!
Er... what do you know about that?"

"About
what?"

"Has he... has
he met with a timely accident?"

"No, not as
far as I know, Mrs Gloom. Why do you ask?"

"No reason, no
reason at all. The sea... is it high tide?"

"I don't know,
look in the local paper. Er, on second thoughts you'd better
not."

"I don't
understand it, he went out this morning for a walk on the pier and
he's not come back. He missed lunch and..."

"He's probably taking a stroll along the promenade."
To get away from you, you old
hag
. "Give it a while longer, Mrs
Gloom."

"This is
typical! I should never have brought him with me!"

"Surely, it's
nice having your husband join you on holiday?"

"Nice? The
only reason I brought him was so that I could have him done away...
so that I could keep an eye on him," she barked, making for the
stairs. "And another thing, the tap's dripping in our room. My
husband can't sleep!"

Nor could I, next to you
. "Yes, all
right, Mrs Gloom, I'll get it seen to," Mike smiled
patiently.

"You'd
better!"

"I'll bet it's
healed up."

"What's healed
up?"

"Sorry, I was thinking aloud," he grinned as she climbed the
stairs.
Christ, she's an ugly
bitch
. At least she hadn't mentioned the
food - yet!

Focusing on
the monitor again, Mike grinned to see the young man kneeling
behind Goldie's rounded buttocks, his tongue lapping the gaping
pink crack between her bulging labia. Her naked body over the
padded bar, her hands tied to her lower legs, her buttocks jutting,
exposing her bottom-hole, the girl presented a perfect picture of
voyeuristic debauchery. Definitely worth recording, Mike decided.
Copies of the X-tapes would fetch at least thirty pounds each, if
not more. Of course, he wouldn't tell the girls about their
indecent exposure.