Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  "I can't do that, I'd get the sack!"

  "So, it might add a little excitement to your dull and mundane life. Besides, going around cutting people's electricity supply off is antisocial. You're not a member of the communist party, are you?"

  "Of course I'm not!"

  "I'm pleased to hear it! You'd be better off on the dole."

  "On the dole? No, I'm sorry, but I'm cutting you off."

  "Don't be ridiculous, you can't leave elderly people in the dark! What sort of man are you?"

  "You've had plenty of warnings, so it's no good having a go at me."

  "I'll do a deal with you."

  "A deal?"

  "How about an hour with two naked, dirty, filthy, randy, sex-starved nymphomaniacs?"

  "What would I say to my boss? I have to cut the supply off - naked, dirty, filthy, randy, sex-starved nymphomaniacs or not."

  "Tell him you've cut it off. What's wrong with you, are you mentally ill? Are you educationally subnormal?"

  "Certainly not!"

  "Sexually deranged?"

  "Of course I'm not! It's just that..."

  "Ah, Goldie!" Mike grinned as the young blonde emerged from the dining room, yanking her microskirt out of her bottom crack. "Find Trudie and take this gentleman up to room sixty-nine."

  "What for?"

  "What for? You know very well what for. Do it now, unless you want the sack!"

  "You can't sack me."

  "I'll sling you in the basement for a week of solitary confinement unless you're bloody careful!"

  Sighing as Goldie called Trudie and dragged the protesting man into the lift, Mike rubbed his forehead. He'd forgotten about the damned final demand, which reminded him that the Gas Board had also threatened to cut him off. "Bloody fat cat, capitalist fucking bastards!" he cursed, switching the monitor on.

  Watching his resourceful waitresses forcibly strip the young man, Mike grinned. Room sixty-nine was pulling him out of one shit hole after another, he reflected. The time would soon come when he'd be on top of the bills - and the fucking thieving establishment!

  Gazing at Goldie as she slipped out of her clothes and knelt before the electricity man's ignited penis, Mike grinned as she sucked his bulbous tool into her wet mouth, desperate to drink his gushing sperm. Tax my illicit earnings, if you can, Mr taxman.

  Switching the video recorder on, his cock twitching, desperate for a hot wet mouth, Mike cursed as the phone rang. "Every time I want to watch the bloody sex show some bastard interrupts me," he growled as Belinda emerged from the bar. "Good afternoon, Stokepot Towers," he answered irritably as his ex-wife leaned on the desk, trying to peer at the monitor.

  "Mr Hunt, this is Gill from weights and measures."

  "Oh, the right little bastard! What do you want, apart from a good going over?"

  "I've just had the lab report back. It's really good news! I'm delighted to inform you that there was only eighteen per cent alcohol in the whisky sample."

  "Delighted? Oh, does that mean that I'm..."

  "That means that I can now exercise my authority and become an evil fucking bastard - and have you closed down. Bloody good, isn't it?"

  "It's bloody marvellous! Never have I had such good news!"

  "It's at times like this that I really love my job."

  "Tell me, Mr Gill, are you married?"

  "Married? Good God, no woman in her right mind would marry an evil bloody bastard like me!"

  "Shame, I was going to blackmail you."

  "You can't blackmail me, Mr Hunt, I'm always one jump ahead."

  "The next time I see you, I'm going to..."

  "I'm also extremely pleased to inform you that you'll be receiving a court summons in due course. Have a good day, Mr Hunt. Or, should I say, have a bad one!"

  Banging the phone down, Mike was about to get rid of his ex-wife to focus on the obscenities going on in room sixty-nine when he noticed a light flashing on the switchboard. Room four, he mused, pressing a button and lifting the receiver to listen in. I wonder who she's phoning on her very private line.

  "Yes, Inspector, I'm in room four," Miss Widegroin whispered excitedly. "This is a private line so I can talk freely about Operation Harlot."

  "Don't talk too freely, WPC, you can't trust these wide-boy bloody hoteliers. OK, keep your eyes and ears open. Get to know Hunt, gain his confidence and try to discover more about this room sixty-nine business."

  "OK, Inspector."

  "This could be a big one, WPC Widegroin, so don't blow your cover. If it's true, and he is running a brothel, try and get in as one of his girls. And remember, at the first sign of trouble, press your alarm button and we'll be there like a shot."

  "Yes, sir. I'll keep you posted."

  "Don't use the post, it'll take too long - ring me."

  "That's a big ten-four, sir."

  "Well done, you're doing a good job. This could put you in line for promotion, WPC."

  Replacing the receiver, his heart racing, his face pale, Mike looked up at Belinda. Smirking as if she knew what was going on, she swung round on her heels and flounced across the foyer to the stairs. "Bloody hell," Mike gasped, holding his hand to his mouth. "They're fucking well onto me!" At least he was in the know, he consoled himself, wondering whether or not to shag WPC bloody Widegroin.

  The evening approaching, Mike checked the dining room. There were four tables laid - one each for the two Smiths, one for someone calling himself Jones, and another for a client who'd refused to give his name. Trudie and Goldie were preparing themselves in their rooms and Cecilia was manning reception in her scanty slag-bag outfit.

  Sitting in the bar knocking back vodka, Nancy was eagerly awaiting her instructions. Mike was holding her back, keeping her under wraps until he'd scrutinized the clientele and decided which one was classy enough to get his cock in her delectable cunt. WPC Widegroin hadn't emerged from her room all day, and he suspected that she was going to make her move during the evening - start sniffing around and asking awkward questions. At least he knew what her game was, he reflected, downing another large vodka. Forewarned is forearmed. But he had to be careful, on constant guard.

  Fortunately Paul and a couple of roughneck, expletive-spouting builders had worked like Trojans all day and done a damned good job ripping the staircase out and patching up the ceiling. There was still a considerable amount of making-good to be done on the third floor landing where the stairs had been, not least, laying carpet over the bare boards. And the lift still travelled up to the fourth floor at the press of a button, which worried him. His only option was to switch the lift off and stick an out-of-order notice on the doors, only switching the power on for the clients to get to the top floor.

  Behind the reception desk, Mike winked at Cecilia as he checked the monitor. "I think we're just about ready," he said excitedly, making a mental note to fuck the woman at his earliest opportunity, or her earliest inconvenience, whichever was the sooner.

  "Well, I'm ready!" she grinned, lifting her short skirt and displaying her shaved pussy lips to his appreciative gaze.

  "God, you've got a beautiful cunt!" Mike praised her unashamedly, focusing on her distended inner lips, her firm, substantial outer sex hillocks. "Would you go and ask Paul to fill my glass up with vodka and ice, please? Oh, and tell him to give you whatever you want, on the house. In the way of a drink, that is."

  Alcoholic bastard though he was, Paul was proving to be an indispensable asset. The staircase, cameras, sex rooms - the young barman had done him proud, Mike reflected. Flicking the camera switch, bringing the three sex rooms on the fourth floor up on screen, the scene was set for a night of fruitful lust. The only two problems he had were the snooping sow and boring Belinda.

  Talk of the Devil. "Ah, Belinda," he smiled as she came down the stairs and crossed the foyer. "I trust you enjoyed your evening meal?" Shame it didn't kill you.

  "I must admit that it wasn't as bad as I'd expected, but I'd rather have eaten at six or seven, instead o
f five o'clock."

  "Ah, that's because we have a private function on this evening. Normally, dinner is served between six and eight. Are you going out?"

  "Yes, I'm going to have a look around town," she replied peevishly, trying to peer at the monitor. "Shall we have a drink and a chat when I get back?"

  I can't think of anything I'd hate more. "Yes, yes of course," Mike smiled, wishing he'd told her he was fully booked when she'd phoned. "Don't hurry back."

  Hovering in the foyer as his ex-wife left, Mike was beginning to feel nervy. Praying that Dave wouldn't fuck-up, that the meals would be up to standard, he checked his watch - five-thirty. There was plenty of time yet, he pondered, wondering why he was becoming panicky.

  "Ah, Mr Hunt," Inspector Dickwipe grinned as he appeared through the swing doors. "Mrs Gloom rang us - apparently her husband hasn't materialized."

  "Oh, er, hasn't he?" Mike smiled sheepishly. "He's probably still taking a walk."

  "He went out for a walk yesterday morning, Mr Hunt - I very much doubt that he's still walking."

  "He might be training for the marathon."

  "Were it not for the fact that the marathon's finished, I might have seriously considered your suggestion. There's something afoot, I can sense it. I have a feeling about this whole business - call it intuition."

  "Intuition."

  "What?"

  "You said call it intuition, so I did."

  "Yes, very droll."

  "By the way, why was the identity parade called off?" Mike asked.

  "There have been new developments concerning Operation Flasher. Er... there's no need to concern yourself with that. When did you last see Mr Gloom?"

  When he was wanking in the bath with a pair of silk panties tied round his cock. "Yesterday morning, just before he went out."

  "Was he acting in a suspicious manner?"

  "No, not at all. Should he have been?"

  "You tell me, Mr Hunt - you tell me. By the way, there's been a spate of thieving recently. Several video cameras have been stolen from the local supermarket by a thief."

  "By a thief? Good God, is there no honour left?"

  "There's also been a mindless act of vandalism committed at the Salt Spray hotel by a mindless vandal. The control panel in the lift has been ripped out and several ashtrays and glasses have been stolen."

  "Well, thank you for letting me know. I'll have to keep my eyes open for thieving thieves and mindless vandals."

  "The strange thing is that a member of your staff was seen lurking in the Salt Spray Hotel. Also, the very same member of your staff was seen acting in a most suspicious manner in the supermarket."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really. What with Harold Gloom's disappearance and the other mysterious incidents, I'm putting two and two together."

  "And coming up with five?"

  "Four-and-a-half, Mr Hunt."

  "Do you suspect Mr Gloom?"

  "I don't suspect anyone - yet. There's another thing which intrigues me."

  "Life intrigues me!"

  "It would. We've received a complaint from an elderly lady. Apparently, a man fitting your description was offensive and abusive in the extreme when she was here looking for a friend."

  "Fitting my description? I haven't been abusive to anyone! Well, not really abusive."

  "Not really abusive?"

  "Well, I have been known to shout and swear at my staff, but only when I've been driven to it by despair, exasperation."

  "You never swear at guests or visitors?"

  "Never, guide's honour!"

  "Guides... we've also heard from Miss Knickerlace again. She's now claiming that one of her girls, who stayed in this very hotel, was accosted by another man fitting your description."

  "There are two men fitting my description?"

  "More than two, by my reckoning."

  "Good God! So, you're saying that a girl was taken advantage of in this very hotel?"

  "Yes, this very hotel. It would appear that your hotel is the hub of the complaints and allegations."

  "Well, I really don't know what to say, Inspector. Apart from categorically stating my complete and utter innocence. Girls sexually abused in my fine hotel? I really can't believe it!"

  "What are you trying to do, Mr Hunt?"

  "What am I trying to do? I'm simply trying to survive in an impossible situation."

  "There's more going on here than meets the eye, far more. I have some detecting to do, I'll be in touch - goodbye."

  "Goodbye, Inspector - and mind how you go."

  What with Dickwipe sniffing around and WPC Widegroin installed in the hotel, the net was closing in, Mike thought gloomily. The new business venture was barely off the ground and news was already spreading like fanny juice poring down a prostitute's inner thighs! How the hell Knickerlace had learned of the girl's so-called sexual abuse he had no idea. But that was the least of his problems. The important thing was to ensure that the evening ran smoothly - and what better way to begin than by locking WPC Widegroin in her room?

  "Ah, Cecilia, there you are," Mike smiled as the enigmatic Mrs Mop emerged from the bar with the drinks. "I'm going upstairs to imprison a bitch. If the guests arrive, show them into the dining room. The girls will be down soon, they can take it from there."

  "OK, Mike," Cecilia sang, sipping her drink. "I've just met Nancy, she seems quite excited."

  "So am I! This evening's going to go very well, I can feel it in my juices. Right, I'll see you in a minute."

  Creeping upstairs, Mike realized that he couldn't lock WPC Widegroin's door from the outside. "Shit!" he cursed under his breath as the undercover beauty emerged from her room dressed in a very short skirt and loose fitting blouse. "Oh, good evening!" No bra!

  "Good evening," she smiled. "I'm going down to the bar for a while."

  "Oh, right. Is everything to your satisfaction?" Mike asked, eyeing her long nipples, blatantly displayed as her blouse fell open.

  "Yes, fine, thank you. Er... I'm into buildingology and I was wondering..."

  "Buildingology?"

  "Yes, I'm very interested in old buildings. Do you mind if I take a wander around the hotel later?"

  "Be my guest, Miss Widegroin. You've seen the ground floor so take a look around the first, second and third floors if you wish."

  "Thank you, I will. Victorian?"

  "Who is?"

  "The building, is it Victorian?"

  "Oh, yes, yes."

  "There should be four floors, then. A Victorian building of this style should have at least..."

  "Edwardian, my mistake."

  "Oh, right. Well, I'll take a look round later."

  Things were hotting up! Mike mused, watching the woman descend the stairs. But she'd never discover the fourth floor - would she? "Shit, the lift!" he murmured, dashing down to reception. "Cecilia, has anyone arrived yet?"

  "Yes, Mr Smith and Mr Jones, they're in the dining room."

  "Good! Have they paid?"

  "Yes, two hundred each. The money's on the shelf beneath the desk."

  "Excellent! Christ, we've taken four hundred smackers in a few minutes!" he chuckled excitedly, grabbing the wads of notes and stuffing them into his jacket pocket.

  "Mike, I really need to come, d' you mind if I nip into the cupboard and..."

  "Good God, no!"

  "But I'm oozing, it's running down my legs!"

  "Save it for later. Christ, look at the carpet! Use a tissue, woman! OK, put an out- of-order-notice on the lift doors. Oh, and make sure the clients are all right. I'm going down to the basement to turn the lift's master switch off."

  The lift out of action, Mike wondered what else he'd forgotten to do. Christ, I'm becoming a nervous wreck, he thought, grabbing his vodka from the reception desk and ambling into the bar. WPC Widegroin was leaning on the bar talking to Paul, no doubt trying to glean information out of the alcohol-ridden young man. But Paul wouldn't spill the beans, he was sure, as he sat next to Nancy.


  "So, we're all ready," he smiled, eyeing her short skirt, her inner thighs, as he recalled her incredible orgasm, the torrents of girl juice pouring from her rubicund pussy hole. "Two clients are here already."

  "Mike, that woman," she whispered, leaning forward and holding her hand to her mouth. "She's been asking a lot of questions about the hotel. Do you know who she is?"

  "Yes, she's a policewoman."

  "A police..."

  "It's OK, don't worry. Everything's under control, as always at Stokepot Towers."

  "I hope you're right! The last thing I want is to be busted for..."

  "Mind if I join you?" WPC Widegroin smiled sweetly as she approached, her blue eyes reflecting her evil intent.

  "No, no not at all," Mike smiled, slipping off the stool and inviting her to sit down. Shit, talk about getting herself behind enemy lines. "Nancy, this is Miss Widegroin."

  "Hi, Nancy - I'm Wendy. Are you staying here?"

  "No, just passing. I've known Mike for ten years and I thought I'd pop in for a drink."

  "Oh, I see."

  "Look, I'll leave you ladies to have a chat," Mike said, hearing someone enter the foyer. "I'll be back in a while."

  Emerging from the bar, he grinned, gazing at a middle-aged man talking to Cecilia. Another punter, he assumed, moving towards the desk. "Good evening," he greeted the good-looking man. "Mr Smith, I presume?"

  "Yes, good evening. I'm not too early, am I?"

  "No, not at all, sir. Er... shall we get the financial side of the evening out of the way?"

  "Oh, yes, two hundred pounds," the man replied, pulling a wad of notes from his jacket pocket.

  "Thank you very much," Mike grinned, trying not to grab the money as the man passed it to him. "Cecilia, are the girls in the dining room, yet?"

  "Yes, they are."

  "Good. Would you show Mr Smith to his table, please?"

  "Certainly - this way, sir."

  Rubbing his hands together jubilantly, Mike wandered into the kitchen to check up on Dave. The steaks sizzling, the fresh veg prepared and cooked, ready to be heated in the microwave, he couldn't believe that his incompetent chef had actually got his act together. Even the sweets trolley was commendable - trifle, gateau, fresh fruit salad, cheese and biscuits...