Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  "Here it comes!" he breathed, his belly loudly slapping her crimson buttocks.

  "Oh, oh!" Elizabeth gasped, her face flushing as her elegant form rocked with the anal fucking. "Oh, it's heavenly! Please, don't stop!"

  "Don't worry, I won't!"

  His sperm lubricating the debauched union, Mike grimaced, driving his orgasming cockhead deep into her bowels to the accompaniment of Paul's and Dave's sniggers. On and on he fucked her tight arsehole, filling her hot bowels with his second load of spunk, his balls slapping her sex-juiced cunt lips. Spanking her stinging buttocks with the palm of his hand as he made his last anal thrusts, Mike finally stilled his throbbing knob, his shaft stretching the tight sheath to her inner core as she hung limp, gasping, exhausted.

  Slowly withdrawing his penis, he watched her anal ring close as his knob emerged, sealing in his spunk. Releasing the abused woman, he hauled her plundered body upright and lay her across the bed, her vaginal crack gaping, glistening with illicit sex juices.

  "Now what?" Dave asked. "Another good fucking?"

  "We'd better leave her to rest," Mike decided, tugging his trousers up his legs. "She's been well and truly fucked and whipped, she's in no fit state for anymore yet."

  "We'll give her another three-hole rogering later!" Paul chuckled as he dressed. "God, she was bloody good!"

  "It's high time we gave Trudie and Goldie a three-hole fucking!" Mike laughed. "We don't take enough advantage of them. OK, I'd better go and see what's going on downstairs."

  "Christ, I've got to think about the lunches!" Dave breathed. "With no cooker..."

  "It's your own fault!" Mike growled. "And that reminds me, you owe me five hundred quid."

  Leaving the protesting chef to dress Mike made his way to reception, his sticky cock erect, in dire need again of his royal guest's snug anal roost. Flopping into the chair behind the desk, he relaxed, recalling the royal rump bent over the bar, Elizabeth's luscious lips ballooning between her shapely thighs, her inner sex petals protruding invitingly from her delicious girl slit. Shame she's going home, he thought sadly. An exemplary employee for room sixty-nine.

  Breaking his base reverie, Mrs Squeezeasy emerged from the bar, her long blonde hair tousled, alluring, au naturel. "All done!" she smiled. "Everything's prick and sperm. Er, I mean, spick and span. I had to spend several hours cleaning as the place needed a good going over."

  "Oh, good. Where is everyone?"

  "I met Trudie and Goldie earlier. I think they're doing the rooms. They're nice girls, aren't they?"

  "Christ, they know that someone has to be in reception at all times! Daft bitches!"

  "I said I'd keep an eye on things. Oh, by the way, there's a man in the bar waiting to see you. I couldn't find you so..."

  "What does he want, do you know?"

  "He's a priest, he didn't say what he wanted."

  "A priest? Oh, I wonder what a priest wants with me?"

  "I don't know. Right, I'll be going - I'll see you in the morning."

  "OK, see you tomorrow, Cecilia," Mike smiled, leaping up from the chair and walking into the bar.

  Eyeing the middle-aged man in a cassock and dog collar, he frowned, wondering again what he could want. The wedding on Saturday? Whatever it was, he'd get rid of him, he decided. The last person he needed snooping around his hotel was a bloody priest! Wandering over to the cleric, he held out his hand.

  "Good morning, my name's Hunt, Mike Hunt. How can I help you?" he asked.

  "I'm the Reverend Hardick. I'm not quite sure how to put this," the holy man began, shaking Mike's hand. "Haven't I seen you in the local paper?"

  "No, Father, I can assure you that you have not seen me in the local paper."

  "Oh, the likeness is incredible!"

  "Really?"

  "Yes, it's amazing. Anyway, a man came to confession."

  "Oh, yes?" Mike said, waving at the chair, inviting his visitor to sit. "What about it?"

  "He told me that he'd committed a terrible sin."

  I commit terrible sins daily. "Obviously, that's why he went to confession."

  "He'd committed a terrible sin with a girl."

  Lucky sod. "What has this got to do with me, Father?" Mike asked as he sat facing the priest. "What's the connection between this man's sin and me?"

  "He said that he'd been here, to your hotel. He's a plumber and..."

  Bloody hell. "Er... I'm sorry, I'm not with you."

  "Oh dear, this isn't going to be easy. You see, as a man of the cloth, I have to be very careful. The plumber... he said that he came here to repair a burst pipe and... well, he had sex."

  "Did he? This is the first I've heard of the alleged act of wanton filth. I'm not surprised he went to confession. He should be sent to burn in the eternal fires of hell for his debauchery!"

  "He said you were there, in the room when he..."

  "I'll have him done over for slander, suggesting that I'm a voyeur! Roughed up and flogged, even."

  "He was quite serious."

  "I think he must have been having you on, Father," Mike laughed nervously. "A plumber having sex with a girl in my hotel? He was definitely having you on."

  "No, he wasn't. I was wondering whether I could... as you'll appreciate, in my position, it's not easy to..."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "I'd like to spend some time with the girl."

  "Oh, I see!" Mike gasped in surprise. "Jesus fucking Christ! Sorry, I mean... word travels fast."

  "There is a girl, then?"

  "Yes, there is. But I really don't think that... what about God?"

  "What about Him?"

  "He'd be upset if you interfered with a girl's privates."

  "It's all right, I won't tell Him about it."

  "Hell hath no fury like a God scorned, Father, you should know that."

  "He'll understand my carnal weakness. Please, would it be possible for me to see her?"

  "What sort of service is it that you require, exactly?" A blow job?

  "I just want to look at her. I haven't seen a naked woman for twenty-odd years. I just want to look, to admire the beauty of the naked female form."

  "Well, I suppose that can be arranged. When did you have in mind?"

  "Er... I have a funeral later, so now, if it's possible."

  "All right, wait there and I'll see what I can do."

  Slipping into the foyer, Mike pictured the priest gazing at Trudie's vaginal crack as she stretched her outer pussy lips apart and displayed her intimate pink flesh to God's servant. Bet he'll want her to wank him off, he mused, imagining the priest's spunk haloing the air and baptising his cassock.

  "Ah, Cecilia, you're still here," he smiled as the young woman emerged from the understairs cupboard clutching her panties. "I thought you'd gone. Why have you taken your panties off?"

  "They're sopping wet."

  "Oh, right."

  "I... I overheard you and the priest."

  "Oh! Er..."

  "I'll oblige, if you'd like me to."

  "Oblige?"

  "Show him the beauty of the naked female form. My naked female form is very beautiful."

  "Mrs Squeezeasy! You didn't mention during your oral CV that you're a prostitute!"

  "I'm not a prostitute! It's just that I'd like to show the priest my naked body. As you know, I need money. How much would I get?"

  "Well, I'm not sure. As he only wants to look at you, I'll charge him thirty pounds and you can have ten, OK?"

  "Yes, fine! Where shall we go?"

  "Take him to the fourth floor, room sixty-nine."

  Mrs Squeezeasy was proving to be more than just a damn good cleaner! Mike reflected as she popped her head round the bar door and summoned the priest. This was going to be a nice little earner - twenty pounds for doing nothing! Again he thought about room sixty-nine, the money it would spin. My saving grace! Winking at the priest as the diverse blonde led him into the lift, Mike turned to Dave as he leaped down the stairs into the fo
yer.

  "Ah, there you are!" he grinned. "Guess what, the cleaner has taken a priest up to room sixty-nine to show him her fanny."

  "What?" Dave gasped. "A priest?"

  "The new cleaning woman, she... never mind. Where's Paul?"

  "He went to his room."

  "He's not drinking, is he?"

  "I don't know what he's doing."

  "I'll bet he's knocking back my vodka and wanking!"

  "More than likely! I'd better start thinking about lunch, I'll see you later."

  "Seeing as there's no cooker, you'd better do a salad or something."

  "Will do."

  Smiling at the colonel and Miss Chaste as they mooched into the bar grumbling about their breakfasts, Mike rubbed his hands together. If room sixty-nine was a success, he could get rid of the elderly residents. Fill all the rooms with horny young tarts and earn myself a bloody fortune! So far, the only profit he'd made was a repaired water pipe, and there was a miserable twenty pounds to come from the priest. But the minute the advert was out things would change dramatically, he reflected. Gold coins from heaven!

  Dashing into the bar as Miss Chaste let out a blood curdling scream, Mike imagined the sex-crazed colonel attacking the old bag, tearing her bloomers off and fingering her slack pussy. He was going to have to do something about the lecherous old sod. Put bromide in his tea?

  "What is it?" he sighed, approaching the sofa to discover Miss Chaste trembling, her face flushed. "Colonel, what have you done to the senile old... to Miss Chaste?"

  "Nothing, old boy! Look at the TV, that's what's upsetting the old girl!"

  "Jesus! What the fucking hell..." Mike gasped, gazing at the crystal-clear picture of Mrs Squeezeasy standing naked before the priest, her fingers holding her sex slit wide open to expose her pinken inner folds, her swollen clitoris.

  "Dirty videos, what!" the colonel chuckled. "By gad, those were the days! Just look at the sex crack on the dirty little hussy!"

  "It's disgusting!" Miss Chaste cried as the priest lifted his cassock and Mrs Squeezeasy grabbed his erect organ, retracting his foreskin to reveal his glistening purple plum. "Please, turn it off!"

  "By gad, she's kneeling down and giving him a blow job!" the colonel laughed.

  "Colonel, please!" Mike cried. "There's a woman present!"

  "Yes, and the way she's sticking her rear end out, I can see right up her cock hole! By Jove, what a beautiful sight! Do you know, back in forty-six, or was it forty-eight?"

  Ambushing the TV set, Mike apologised to Miss Chaste, assuring the distraught woman that he'd complain to the TV station as he dashed out of the room and bounded upstairs. Paul was the culprit, he was sure. He'd obviously nicked a video camera from the local supermarket and, rather than install it in room eleven, he'd hidden it in the sex room.

  "Paul!" Mike yelled, hammering on the barman's door. "Open the door, you piss headed wanker of a mother fucker!"

  "Oh!" an old woman gasped as she hobbled down the hall with her Zimmer frame.

  "Who are you?" Mike asked angrily. "What do you want? You're not staying here, are you?"

  "No, I'm not. I was looking for a friend."

  "You won't find any friends here, go and look in another hotel! What do you think this is, a fucking nursing home? Get out of here before I yank your tits off!"

  "Oh! I have never known such..."

  "Paul! Paul, you alcoholic, knob-sucking spunk bubble of a cunt licker!" Mike stormed, rattling the door handle.

  "Oh, my goodness! I'll call the police!" the old bat cried. "I'll have you arrested!"

  "Get out of here before I twist your clitoris off, you senile, bearded old hag! Paul, unless you open this fucking door this instant I'll tear your cock off and shove it right up your fucking arsehole!"

  "What is it?" the startled young man asked, opening the door as the befuddled old woman hobbled on down the hall.

  "That's what it is!" Mike fumed, crashing into the room and pointing to the television picture of Mrs Squeezeasy sucking the priest's knob. "It's one thing hiding a camera in room sixty-nine, but you're pumping the pictures round the fucking hotel! The colonel and Miss Chaste were watching it in the bar!"

  "Oh, shit! I've crossed my wires somewhere!" Paul gasped. "Sorry, Mike."

  "You will be! God, it's probably on every TV in the building! I ought to tear your balls off and shove them down your throat!"

  "I'll sort it out, don't worry."

  "I wanted a camera in room eleven, Paul."

  "Yes, OK. Christ, I'd better have a drink!"

  "You just dare!"

  Back behind reception, Mike rubbed his forehead, wondering what else could go wrong. It was lucky Miss Chaste hadn't had a heart attack, he reflected. On the other hand... As for Colonel Buckshot, he'd probably spend the rest of the week in a state of rampant sexual arousal, chasing the young waitresses all over the hotel!

  "Good afternoon, Stokepot Towers," he said wearily, answering the phone.

  "Oh, hi," a young man replied. "I hear you've got a randy little tart for sale."

  "A randy little tart? Who is this?"

  "I'm an electrician - my mate told me that you've got a bird tied up and you sell her for sex."

  "Is your mate a plumber?"

  "Yes, that's right, squire."

  "I'll tear his bloody plumbing out, the big-mouthed lout!"

  "Well, have you got a bird or not?"

  "Yes, but we only cater for discerning businessmen, not vulgar tradesmen."

  "Oh, that's not what my mate said."

  "I don't care what your mate said. We only cater for professional people - priests, solicitors, MPs and the like."

  "I lied, I'm not an electrician, I'm a... I'm a doctor."

  "Why lie?"

  "I didn't want to reveal my profession. I'll give you a ring when I'm able to make it, guv."

  "All right, but it'll cost you fifty pounds for half-an-hour."

  "Blimey! That's a bit much for a bit of cunt, isn't it?"

  "Life's a bit much! Take it or leave it."

  "I'll take it. You'll be hearing from me."

  Banging the phone down, Mike decided to strangle the plumber if he ran into him. Big-mouthed bastard. But the new business venture was off the ground, he mused as Goldie came down the stairs clutching a pile of dirty sheets. Better tell her that she's going to get fucked again, I suppose.

  "Ah, Goldie, you're going to be fucked by an electrician."

  "I am not!" the petite blonde returned, scowling at Mike.

  "He's going to ring, so don't go taking any days off. In fact, all days off are cancelled as from now."

  "I am not going to be fucked by an electrician! As it is, I've been fucked by a bloody plumber!"

  "Actually, he's a doctor."

  "Who, the plumber?"

  "No, the electrician."

  "I don't care if he's the Prime Minister, I am not..."

  "You're dismissed, sacked, fired!"

  "OK, I'll let him fuck me."

  "What was your previous employment?"

  "What?"

  "If I'm to interview you for the job of waitress at Stokepot Towers, I have to know about your previous employment."

  "I work here."

  "You did, but I've just sacked you. So, you'd like to work here as a waitress, would you? Tell me, miss, why are you attracted to waitressing? What is it about the job that makes you think...?"

  "What are you talking about? I'm going to take these sheets downstairs, I'll see you later."

  "Don't you want the job? Oh, well, I'll just have to advertise for a waitress to replace you."

  "Mike, shut up!"

  "Oh, sorry."

  Money, money, money! Mike chuckled inwardly as Goldie grouched off. Turning to face a middle-aged couple as they walked through the main door with a teenaged boy, he frowned. Slapping the slight man around the head as he dumped several suitcases on the floor, the plump, headscarfed woman obviously wore the trousers! Cowering as his wif
e wagged a threatening finger at him, he offered Mike a weak smile.

  "The family of three?" Mike ventured.

  "Yes, we're a family of three!" the woman replied irritably. "What about it?"

  "No, I mean, are you the family of three?"

  "The family of three? What are you talking about? What's the matter with you?"

  "What he means, dear, is..." the timid man began.

  "Shut up, Harold!" the woman snapped, pushing him aside. "We've booked one double room and one single."

  "Yes, right. Mr and Mrs Gloom, isn't it?" Mr Gloom and Mrs Doom!

  "That's right. Where's the complaints book?"

  "Er... we don't have a complaints book."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, no one's ever complained."

  "I always complain!"

  "I'm sure you'll have no need to complain about your stay at Stokepot Towers, madam," Mike assured her.

  "Of course I'll have need to complain! What's the matter with the weather?"

  "The weather?"

  "It's dull, overcast. What sort of town is this? I want sunshine!"

  "I can't help that!"

  "Why, are you completely incompetent?"

  "No, it's just that..."

  "Ah, you, girl!" the battleaxe called as Trudie minced into the foyer. "Take our cases and show us to our room! And smarten yourself up - you look as if you've been dragged through a hedge!"

  "Rooms eighteen and nineteen," Mike sighed, taking the keys from a hook and passing them to Trudie.

  Watching the family bundle into the lift, Mike knew the old hag was going to be nothing but trouble. They'd booked in for a week, he reflected. No doubt a week of hell! Deciding to instruct the chef to poison her, he wondered whether her downtrodden husband would enjoy an hour or so in room sixty-nine. The poor sod could probably do with a damn good fuck, he thought, imagining his wife allowing him to taste the missionary position twice a year.