by Ray Gordon
Watching his knob drive slowly into her hot sex duct, Mike gasped. She was tighter than anyone he'd ever fucked! he reflected, gazing at his shaft as inch by inch slipped into her trembling body. Looking up at her angelic face as he completely impaled her on his granite-hard cock, he grinned. Her mouth open, gasping, her eyes closed as she tossed her head from side to side, the pretty fledgling had found womanhood.
"This is better than traipsing round museums, isn't it?" he whispered, his heavy balls pressing against her warm, rounded buttocks.
"Oh, yes, yes! Ah, my... my cunt! Fuck me now! Please, fuck me!"
"Like this?" Mike grinned, sliding his girl-wet penis out of her hot vagina until her pinken sex lips lovingly embraced his knob. Driving his tool deep into her cunt, he withdrew again. "Like this?" he repeated, again propelling his glans into her quivering temple.
"Yes, yes like that!"
Unable to hold back as he gazed at her taut cunt lips stretched around his pistoning shaft, he gasped as his spunk coursed up his cock, jetting from his throbbing glans, splattering the girl's cervix, lubricating her tight cylinder. Tears streaming down her face as her own climax gripped her convulsing body, she screamed, wailing her appreciation for Mike's huge cock as he repeatedly withdrew and thrust into her gripping pussy.
"I can feel your sperm!" she cried, lifting her head and focusing on his wet penis. "I can feel... oh, oh!" Flopping back onto the bed, her fingernails digging into the quilt, she arched her back as her orgasm peaked again, taking her to frightening heights of sexual ecstasy.
"Kirsty! Kirsty, where are you, girl?" Slipping his spent cock out of the girl's sperm-drenched cunt as Miss Knickerlace's bellows grew closer, Mike quickly concealed his glistening member within his trousers and leaped to his feet. Trembling in the wake of her earth-shuddering climax, the semiconscious girl was oblivious to the woman's cries, to Mike's warnings.
"Quickly, get under the bed!" Mike whispered urgently, dragging her trembling body upright. "The old bat's coming, get under the bed!" The delirious girl lying on the floor, Mike rolled her under the bed and pulled the quilt down to conceal her abused body. "For God's sake, keep quiet!"
"I've lost one of my girls!" Miss Knickerlace growled as she burst into the room, the door hitting the wall with a loud thud.
"Er... lost one?" Mike grinned, his face flushing. "What do you mean?"
"Kirsty, she's disappeared. Have you seen her?"
"No, I'm afraid not. Perhaps she went out for a walk. I hear you weren't feeling too well, are you all right now?" he asked, discreetly kicking the girl's moist navy-blue knickers beneath the bed.
"I still feel a little queasy. I think it must have been the steak and ale pie."
"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't! No one else felt ill, did they?"
"No, I don't think so. She is a bad girl, she really is!" the woman complained bitterly. "I'm going to search every inch of this hotel until I find her! She knows she's not allowed out of the building alone! If she's gone out, I'll..."
"She'll turn up, Miss Knickerlace," Mike reassured her.
"Yes, she will, and when she does, she'll be for the high jump! Right, I'll start by searching this room!"
The end is nigh, Mike surmised, gazing blankly at the grouchy old woman. If she searched the room and discovered the knickerless girl with spunk oozing from her cunt, there'd be hell to pay - prison, even! Life stinks, he reflected - life fucking stinks!
"What happened to you last night, mate?" Trudie asked as Mike approached the reception desk the following morning.
"I had to stay in hiding downstairs. That Knickerlace woman was searching for one of her girls and..."
"Oh, no! You didn't..."
"Bloody right I did! Hell's bells, she was tight! As tight as the Virgin Mary, I reckon - tighter, even."
"Mike, if you'd been caught with your trousers down..."
"Or with the girl's wet knickers down!"
"It's not funny!"
"It's all right, the old witch didn't discover what I'd been up to - I hid the sex-crazed little beauty under my bed. Christ, I just love fresh pussies!"
"So do I! Oh, I mean... what happened to the girl?"
"When the old bat had gone, I dragged her out and sent her upstairs - well fucked and spunked! I thought it best that I stay locked below deck for the rest of the evening. By the way, what was that loud bang earlier?"
"Er... nothing."
"It woke me up, I thought it was a bloody earthquake! It wasn't one of your earth-shuddering orgasms, was it?"
"No, of course it wasn't."
"Oh, that's odd - perhaps I was dreaming."
"You must have been because I didn't hear anything."
"Where did the girls sleep?"
"I don't know, Paul sorted them out."
"I'll bet he did!"
"They've gone, you'll be pleased to hear. The woman left the address of the school, it's in the diary."
"Thank God for that. It's a shame they didn't leave any dirty knickers for me to sniff!"
"Is that all you ever think about?"
"Yes, of course. Right, it's now eight o'clock so let's get this hotel into gear. How were the bar takings last night?"
"Pretty good, mate. We could have done with your help, Mike, it was really busy. I did the till and put the money in the safe."
"Excellent! I feel it's going to be a good day, Trudie. You know how you get that exhilarating feeling that everything's going to go your way? It's going to be a brilliant day! I can feel it in my bollocks, can't you?"
"I haven't got any bollocks."
"Well, in your ovaries, then."
"The only thing I can feel is my cunt, and it's dripping wet!"
"I'll lick it clean for you later. Dare I ask how the breakfasts are going?"
"That's a grey area."
"I'd better not ask, then."
"Er... no, you'd better not!"
"Come on, tell me what's happened."
"I don't think you'll be able to take it."
"Christ, I'm used to disasters!"
"Well, a minor incident in the kitchen, as you'd inappropriately put it."
"Go on!" Mike sighed.
"Well, you know you needed a new cooker..."
"Yes."
"Er... you'll have to buy one today."
"Why?"
"It was only a small explosion."
"Holy nipples! A brilliant day, my arse!"
"There's no real damage. Well, not much, anyway."
Dashing across the foyer, Mike burst into the kitchen to discover Dave dragging the charred and buckled cooker through the back door into the yard. Holding his head, he cast his eyes round the room at the pots and pans strewn across the floor, the smoke-blackened ceiling. I'll give him life's like his cock! I'll chew his balls off!
"Oh, hi, Mike!" Dave grinned bashfully as he entered the kitchen, wiping his greasy hands on a clean tea towel. "You'll never guess what happened."
"Your scrotum blew up?"
"No."
"You've done the breakfasts, successfully, for a change?"
"Well, not exactly."
"What, then?"
"It's a funny thing, really strange - the cooker exploded."
"Exploded?"
"Bang! Just like that."
"All by itself?"
"Well, yes."
"Where were you at the time?"
"Luckily, I was in the dining room. I could have had my bollocks blown off!"
"OK, I want the truth, or I'll stuff a hand grenade down your trousers and blow your bollocks and cock clean off!"
"I'd lit the grill and... well, I turned the oven on and... and I forgot to light it. The gas must have built up and when it reached the grill..."
"Bang?"
"Yes, bang."
"I ought to do you over for this, give you a good roughing up!"
"Mike!" Trudie called as she bounded into the kitchen. "There's a woman to see you in reception."
"Does sh
e want a room?"
"I don't know, I didn't ask her."
"Typical! Can't you do anything properly?"
"Sorry, mate, I..."
"Tell her I'm on my way. Dave, unless this kitchen is pristine within half-an-hour, the chef's special will be cock and ball soup - your cock and balls!"
Striding into the foyer, Mike scrutinized the pretty blonde standing with her back to him. Tall and slim, she'd be a good fuck, he reckoned, his eyes following the contour of her short skirt hugging her rounded buttocks - a good anal fuck! But, knowing his luck, she was probably trouble! he reflected, focusing on the backs of her shapely legs as he crept up behind her. Oh, to slip my cock up her tight arse!
"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. N
ow 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."