Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  The royal impersonator rocking her naked body, sliding her gaping sex valley back and forth over Trudie's hungry mouth, her darting tongue, she reached another mind-blowing orgasmic eruption. Crying out in her new-found utopia, she opened her eyes and gazed in horror between her swinging breasts.

  "Oh, a girl!" she shrieked, gazing in horror at the slurping Trudie. "Oh, my God, it's a girl! Ah, one's arriving in a girl's mouth!"

  "Don't you like it?" Mike asked, sitting at the top of the bed, his legs either side of Elizabeth's head, his erect penis wet with her sex milk.

  "I... I've never had a girl... oh, one's arriving again!"

  "Suck this while she licks your cunt out!" Mike chuckled wickedly, offering her his swollen prick as she raised her head to observe him.

  Opening her mouth, Elizabeth sucked Mike's ballooning knob inside, her tongue running over his salty glans, her taste buds alive with the heady blend of their mingled sex juices. Moaning through her nose, oscillating her head, repeatedly taking his purple globe to the back of her throat as her earth-shuddering climax rolled on, the exotic Princess Wannabe had truly found her Shangri-la.

  Locked in the three-way coupling, she prayed for Mike to spill his wild seed and fill her gobbling mouth with his orgasmic fluid. Sucking and mouthing on his solid organ as her clitoris erupted within Trudie's hot mouth again, her naked body shuddering, she emitted a low moan through her nose as the sex-geyser jetted, filling her cheeks. Swallowing hard, taking Mike's knob between her lips and sweeping her tongue over his throbbing plum as he gasped his pleasure, she licked and sucked until she'd drained his rolling balls.

  "That was something else!" Mike grinned as his saliva-wet penis slipped from the panting bitch's sperm-drenched mouth. "God, that was good!"

  "Ah, no! One's arriving again!" Elizabeth whimpered as Trudie's tongue snaked its way up her yawning sex groove and caressed her swollen clitoris. "Ah, don't stop! One's arriving again!"

  Slipping off the bed, Mike pulled his trousers on, grinning at the pretty females locked in their beautiful act of lesbian lust. Trudie's slender fingers masturbating her own throbbing clitoris as she sucked out Elizabeth's orgasm, the girl was oblivious to Mike as he opened the door and slipped out of the room. Wails of female pleasure drifting down the hall, he descended the stairs to reception, his penis wet, half-erect as he recalled the incredible sex scene.

  "Ah, Mike," Dave greeted his boss, ambling across the foyer from the kitchen. "Where have you been?"

  "I was... I've been busy."

  "I've searched everywhere for you."

  "You shouldn't have bothered. Did the breakfasts go all right?"

  "Yes, all done. Mike, I must talk to you about..."

  "Where's Goldie?"

  "Gone into town to get something from the chemist for Colonel Buckshot. Mike, I've just heard on the radio..."

  "Do you know if Paul's cleared out room forty-two yet?"

  "Yes, he has."

  "Ah, good! Things are about to look up, Dave! OK, so what's on the agenda?"

  "Trudie told me that there's a princess staying here."

  "Huh, she's no more a princess than I'm the fucking Pope's prick!"

  "She is a princess."

  "No, she goes round conning..."

  "I've just heard on the radio that Princess Christina of Skythuania has done a runner. She was last seen taking the Norwich train from London and..."

  "Princess Christina?"

  "Yes, she..."

  "The Norwich train?"

  "Yes, apparently she was disillusioned with..."

  "Christ, I've just fucked a real princess!"

  "What?"

  "I've just fucked Princess Christina! And Trudie's... oh, my God! Right, don't panic, everything's under control! Shit, I need a fucking drink!" Mike gasped, heading for the bar. "I've just fucked a royal cunt, and spunked in a majestic mouth!"

  Sitting dazed at the bar, Mike knocked back several neat vodkas, wondering why the princess hadn't let him call the police. Perhaps she likes a good fuck now and then, he pondered, recalling her curvaceous naked body, her right royal yawning vaginal slit. I know I do. Whether she'd liked it or not, dipping his cock into a royal cunt was cause for celebration!

  The lunches over, he leaned on the bar, gulping down yet another vodka, wondering what the hell Trudie had been doing in the princess's room for the last few hours. Dave had been complaining about a missing baking potato, Goldie hadn't returned from the chemist and Paul was unconscious on the floor behind the bar. This place will be the death of me, Mike concluded, rubbing his forehead.

  Recalling Dave's philosophical words, he smiled. Life's rather like my cock; it has its ups and downs. It was ironic. You emerge from a fanny then spend a lifetime trying to get back. Downing another large vodka, he focussed on Goldie's long stockinged legs as she drifted into the bar. Wondering why all he ever thought about were girls' tight, wet cunts, his thoughts turned to Goldie - to her wet cunt!

  "Where the hell have you been?" he snapped.

  "I went to the chemist for..."

  "That was hours ago!"

  "There was a long queue."

  "Fuck me, it couldn't have been that long! What were they queuing up for - cut- price strawberry-flavoured condoms?"

  "Walking back, I was delayed," the blonde doll replied, her clear blue eyes reflecting guilt.

  "You have no business being delayed. Where were you delayed?"

  "Well, I... I went into a pub and there was this hulk of a man..."

  "Holy piss flaps! I ought to twist your clitoris off!"

  "He was so big, Mike!"

  "I'll knock two hours pay off your wages for fucking in the firm's time! Now that you're here, you'd better get behind the bar. Paul, as is usual for this time of day, is unconscious."

  "Where is he?"

  "In an alcoholic coma."

  "Might he die?"

  "With any luck! He's down there, on the floor behind the bar. Mind you don't trip over him. If you do, make sure you kick him in the bollocks - hard!"

  "Can't we move him? I can hardly serve drinks with him lying there, I might drip spunk all over him."

  "Bloody hell, I suppose so."

  Moving behind the bar, Mike grabbed Paul's feet and dragged him across the floor, dumping his alcohol-saturated body behind a sofa. Who says life's not a bloody obstacle race? Sighing as he resumed his seat at the bar, he looked up at the notice Paul had pinned to the wall. I suppose he has his uses, he deliberated, manipulating his cunt-sticky cock through his trousers. Noble knobs! I've fucked a real princess!

  "Large scotch please, you naughty little filly!" Grinning as he wandered into the bar, the balding colonel eyed Goldie's microskirt, the milk-white bands of flesh above her stocking tops. "How are things, Hunt, old man?" he brayed, plonking himself next to Mike.

  "Things are fine, Colonel."

  "I see you're in the local paper."

  "I am not in the... Was your lunch all right?"

  "Ye Gods! The damned cucumber was off, all soft and gooey!"

  "Really? I'll have a word with the chef."

  "Tasted like a prostitute's bottom-hole, don't you know."

  "How do you know what a... I'm surprised it was off, the fruit and veg are delivered fresh every day." Well, almost.

  "I suppose the breakfast could be classed as passable. Which reminds me, I preferred the gobbling that was going on beneath the table at breakfast rather than above it!" the colonel chuckled, winking at Goldie.

  "Beneath the table?" Mike frowned.

  "Er... your scotch, Colonel," Goldie smiled nervously, her face flushing as she passed the ageing lech his drink.

  "Ah, top hole - or bottom-hole, what! Haw, haw, haw! I'll pay you for the other service later, you young hussy. Well, down the hatch! Bottoms up, and all that." Downing his drink in one gulp, he grinned at Goldie. "Did you, er... did you get what I wanted from the chemist?"

  Leaping to his feet as the princess materialized in th
e doorway wearing a short, turquoise skirt, Mike made his excuses to the colonel and hurried over to the alluring royal. Taking her hand, his face flushing with guilt and embarrassment, he led her to a secluded corner table and pulled out a chair.

  "Forgive me, Your Royalness, I'm so sorry about..." he began as she sat down, her virginal white silk blouse falling open to reveal her full bra, her regal cleavage. "Apparently, Your Highness's disappearance was mentioned on the radio. I thought you were a common, plebeian slag-bag of a fucking slut. Oh, I'm terribly sorry! For a cultured man I appear to be somewhat uncouth at times."

  "Yes, I'd noticed! So you now believe that I'm a princess?"

  "Yes, I do, Your Stately Imperialness. You see, the police..."

  "Today has been the best day of my life," the radiant young woman smiled, her pink tongue provocatively licking her succulent red lips. "You can't imagine what it's like being cooped up in a palace surrounded by armed guards and..."

  "Do you mind if I sit with you, Your Royal, Noble Majesticness?"

  "Of course not. And, please, call me Elizabeth."

  "Elizabeth, yes. Oh, I'm sorry - my name's Mike. Elizabeth, why did you allow me to... I mean, seeing as you really are a princess, why didn't you let me ring the police?"

  "Because, sexually, I'm a sadly neglected woman. I enjoy sex but, because of my station in life, it's denied me. Besides, the police would have contacted my family and I'd have been sent home. I'm not promiscuous, as you might think, it's just that I rarely have the opportunity of achieving sexual fulfilment - other than on the odd occasion when my father forces me to...."

  "Your father?"

  "Yes, the laws are different in my country."

  "You mean to say that he..."

  "He makes the laws."

  "Oh, I see. Don't you have a partner?"

  "No, it's not permitted. My father's very old fashioned, he likes to keep sex within the family. When you told me to take my underwear off and show you my..."

  "Did my uncouth, vulgar, common crudity shock you?"

  "Initially, I was shocked - but I then felt elated, my stomach somersaulted. Your vulgar words did something to me, roused a sleeping instinct, an inner desire."

  "Your clitoris?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Was your clitoris roused?"

  "Yes, indeed it was!"

  "How come your English is so good? You're from Skyth... Sky..."

  "Skythuania. I was educated in England, at Roedean. I spent fifteen years here."

  "Ah, Roedean! I once tried to get a job there as the matron, but that's another story. Bloody judge sent me down for five... so, what will you do now?"

  "I'll go home, eventually. I just need a break, a rest from it all."

  "What made you choose my hotel?"

  "I took the first train that came along and ended up here, in Norwich."

  "Well, I'm glad you came... came here, I mean."

  "I see you're in the local paper."

  "Jesus... er, mistaken identity. By the way, where's Trudie?"

  "She's just coming down. She's a lovely girl, isn't she?"

  "Yes, yes she is."

  "She seems to like baking potatoes."

  "Does she?"

  "Don't you know about that?"

  "It's funny you should mention potatoes because my chef was going on about... oh, how rude of me! Would you like a drink?"

  "Thank you, neat vodka, please."

  "Goldie!" Mike yelled towards the bar. "Get your arse into gear and bring a large neat vodka over for the... for Elizabeth, please!"

  "There isn't any vodka," the girl replied, pushing the colonel's groping hand away from her firm breast. "And the gin's low."

  "Then go downstairs and get some! There's some duty-free... I mean, there's a case in the cellar. God, you just can't get the staff!" he gasped exasperatedly, smiling at Elizabeth.

  "I like your hotel, Mike," she breathed huskily, reaching beneath the table and gripping his knee. "The service is very different."

  "The service is different, all right!" he laughed, his cock stiffening as the slender royal fingers crept up his inner thigh. "Er... look, I have things to do," he apologised, rising to his feet as loud groaning noises emanated from behind the sofa.

  "Yes, me too. I'm going out to buy a couple of things after I've had my drink."

  "OK, I'll see you later."

  "I'll look forward to it!" she beamed, her dark eyes sparkling with lust. "I'll look forward to it very much!"

  "So will I!"

  Dragging Paul out from behind the sofa and hauling him to his feet, Mike marched him through the door into the foyer and seated him at reception. "Christ, you are a fucking pisshead, Paul!" he snapped angrily. "We have a princess staying here, and you're out of your skull!"

  "Sorry, Mike, I... oh, my head!"

  "Your hair's all over the place and you look as if you haven't shaved for a bloody week!"

  "It was the orphanage, they didn't teach me right from wrong."

  "I thought you came from a decent family?"

  "I did, but my mother couldn't cope with me. She took to caning her naked buttocks."

  "Caning her naked buttocks?"

  "Yes, in way of punishment for what she saw as her dreadful failing as a mother. Things went from bad to worse and she forced me to cane her naked buttocks. I ended up in the orphanage when she disowned me - pretended to social services that she'd never seen me before in her life."

  "Well, I can't help your sad upbringing. Speak to a man of the cloth about it. Look, there's work to be done, you'd better sober up. God only knows why I employ you, you must cost me a bloody fortune in booze!"

  "I write all my drinks down on my tab."

  "Yes, but I never see the tabs! Right, I'm going to check out room sixty-nine."

  "I've cleared everything except the bed, as you asked."

  "Good. I want that room up and running ASAP. When you're in a fit state, come up and I'll tell you what I want done. And bring my tools up from the basement."

  Midway across the foyer, Mike stopped to hurl a verbal missile towards the kitchen door. "Dave!" he yelled. "Dave, you incompetent prick, where the bloody hell are you!"

  "I'm here," the chef replied, peering round the door. "What's the matter?"

  "As usual, everything's the matter! A large mug of black coffee for Paul, minus a shot of scotch! And remind me to kick you in the bollocks later."

  "Will do."

  Climbing the stairs, Mike rubbed his hands together gleefully as he entered room sixty-nine. Making his plans, he decided to fit a new lock on the door. Don't want Miss Chaste wandering in here, he thought, imagining the old bag walking in on a lesbian spanking session. Leather straps, he contemplated, gazing at the double bed. Chains fixed to the walls, vibrators...

  Realizing that the punters would demand really gratuitous sex if they were going to patronise his new business venture regularly, he thought of constructing a sexual torture chamber. Think filthy, he mused, picturing Trudie's naked body hanging upside down from chains fixed to her ankles, her vaginal crack gaping, a cucumber protruding from her abused bottom-hole.

  "Ah, Trudie, you little nympho - talk of the Devil!" he beamed as the girl skipped into the room, tugging her microskirt down to conceal her crimsoned pussy lips, her irrigating sex fissure. "Or, I should say, the Devil's daughter! Welcome to my new business venture, room sixty-nine."

  "Sixty-nine? But this is room..."

  "By the way, you've licked a real princess's cunt, tasted royal custard."

  "Yes, I know, we had a long chat after you'd gone."

  "Show me your cunt."

  "Mike! You are awful!" Trudie giggled, lifting her skirt and exposing her swollen girl lips, her gaping sex valley. "What's all this about room sixty-nine, and where's the furniture gone?"

  "This, Trudie, is going to be the sex room - room sixty-nine," Mike grinned, focusing on the globules of sex sap clinging to her protruding inner petals. "God, I could do wit
h some casual sex! You can oblige me later. OK, you said that you have lots of sex equipment, leather straps, vibrators and..."

  "Yes, I have. May I pull my skirt down now, mate?"

  "Yes, I'll fuck you later for your insubordination."

  "I haven't been insubordinate!"

  "That's irrelevant. Right, go and get your sex gear and I'll plan the transformation. Within a few hours, this room, a mundane hotel room, will become a ten-star sexual torture chamber!"

  "I'm not going to be sexually tortured, mate," the girl gasped, clinging to her breasts as if to protect them. "I had enough of that at school. The gym mistress used to..."

  "You'll do as you're told or I'll sexually torture you without further delay. And stop calling me mate. Go and get the equipment."

  Realizing that he could only cater for one client at a time, Mike rubbed his chin pensively. What would happen if six men all wanted the services of the girls on the same evening, he had no idea. To have only one man served by naked waitresses followed by a night of intense lust wouldn't be financially viable. Why just weekend breaks? he pondered. Any night of the week will do!

  "Ah, Paul, how's the head?" he enquired as the barman staggered into the room with the tool bag.

  "Aching like hell!"

  "I'm not surprised! You are a fucking pisshead! Remind me to sack you later. OK, what I want you to do is transform this room into a sex den. Steel rings in the walls for handcuffs and chains, leather straps fixed to the bed for restraining the girls, some kind of wooden construction for naked buttock spanking..."

  "Hang on, I can't keep up with you! A wooden construction for naked buttock spanking?"

  "Yes, a padded wooden frame or whatever for tying a girl over so that her bum is positioned for a good thrashing - or an anal fucking. Just use your imagination, Paul. Think dirty and you'll come up with something dirty. Think of the most imaginative things you'd like to do to a girl and construct the equipment you'd need to fulfil your fantasy."

  "Yes, OK. God, I need a drink!" Paul gasped, manipulating his penis through his trousers. "A quadruple vodka would go down nicely. You know, hair of the dog."