Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  "Shot?"

  "By the snipers."

  "Snipers?"

  "Go on, and hurry!"

  "OK, OK!"

  Rubbing his hands together as Goldie emerged from the dining room, stark naked, Mike grinned. "If I'm going down, I'll take that cunt Gill with me!"

  "Gill?" she echoed.

  "The fucking weights and measures bastard."

  "Where to?" the dumb blonde persisted, her blue eyes mirroring puzzlement as she clutched her shredded clothes to her biteable breasts. "Where are you going to take him?"

  "To the... shut up, you stupid girl. Right, when I say, now, go into the bar and fling yourself over Gill."

  "Don't call me stupid! Fling myself over him? What do you mean?"

  "Throw your clothes all over the floor and dive onto him and cry rape. Try and pull his knob out - if he's got one."

  "But..."

  "Fucking hell, Goldie; it's simple enough."

  "OK, you're the boss," she conceded, heading for the bar.

  "Not yet! Christ, wait for the cue."

  "There's no queue."

  "No, you thick-headed... wait until I say so."

  "Oh, I see."

  Waiting for Paul to return with Dickwipe, Mike scrutinized Goldie's naked body, her full vaginal lips, her gaping pink slit. This was a brilliant plan, one of the best he'd ever devised, he congratulated himself. If Goldie was convincing in her role as rapee, Gill would be dropped right into the bubbling spunk pot.

  Climbing a few yards up the stairs, Mike kept an eye on the door, his plan coming together as resoundingly as a simultaneous orgasm. "OK, now!" he ordered Goldie as the main doors opened. His timing perfect, he dashed down the stairs as Goldie shot into the bar and Dickwipe burst into the foyer.

  "What the hell's going on?" Mike bellowed, leaping down the stairs as Goldie's screams emanated from the bar. "Who the hell's screaming?"

  "Rape!" Dickwipe shouted, dashing into the bar.

  "Rape?" Mike echoed as Paul crumpled to the floor and passed out.

  "In here, Mr Hunt!"

  "My God! Goldie, are you all right?" Mike cried as he flew into the bar to find the naked girl struggling with Gill, her legs straddled, her pinken girl slit on display - gaping, glistening wet.

  "You!" Dickwipe yelled, pointing at Gill. "Put your penis away! You're bloody well nicked, mate!"

  "Oh, thank goodness!" Goldie sobbed, climbing off Gill and gathering her clothes. "He tried to rape me! He tore my clothes off and got his thing out!"

  "No!" Gill protested, staggering to his feet and slipping his penis into his trousers. "No, it wasn't like that!"

  "We'll let the judge decide!" Dickwipe returned. "You evil, psychopathic, filthy dirty sex fiend!"

  "No, you've got it all wrong! I'm innocent!"

  "I'm the only innocent person here!"

  "But..."

  "Silence! I'm in charge!"

  Grinning as the inspector spun Gill round and cuffed his hands behind his back, Mike winked at Goldie. Bloody perfection, he thought, stifling a laugh. The little bastard is going to have a job explaining this. As several truncheon-wielding police officers crashed through the main doors and bounded into the bar, Goldie made a dash for the foyer and shot upstairs to her room.

  "Take him away and book him for perverted indecent exposure, perverting justice, and perverting a female." Dickwipe ordered the men excitedly. "So, Mr Hunt, it all happens at Stokepot Towers!"

  "Good God, my poor waitress!" Mike gasped as Gill was dragged away, his feet kicking out at the arresting officers.

  "Who is the man, do you know him?" Dickwipe asked, pleased with the arrest.

  "Mr Gill, he's from weights and measures. I can't believe it. I was upstairs when I heard screaming and shouting, and when I came down... well, that's when you arrived."

  "It's a nasty business, Mr Hunt. But, with me as a witness, he won't get away with it - I can tell you that."

  "Yes, you saw the whole sordid episode, Inspector."

  "Indeed I did. Look, I'll need to talk to the girl at some stage. Oh, and the young man who came to enlighten me as to the occurring rape."

  "Yes, yes of course. Er... what's the road block for?"

  "I can't tell you, it's classified, top secret and all that."

  "Oh, I see. Well, I'd better go and see if the girl's all right, Inspector."

  "Oh! The young man seems to have passed out!" Dickwipe frowned as he left the bar and almost tripped over Paul.

  "Yes, he shocks easily. He's probably stunned by the horror of the rape. He'll be all right."

  "Oh, I see. It must have been traumatic for him - and the girl, of course. Well, I'll be round with a WPC to see the girl at some stage." Cries of female orgasm emanating from the understairs cupboard, Dickwipe cocked his head suspiciously. "What's that?" he asked, confronting the cupboard.

  Christ, Cecilia! "Er... nothing, Inspector."

  "There it is again!"

  "Er... mice! Yes, it's mice. I really must do something about the little devils."

  "You need to get your hands on a big pussy, Mr Hunt."

  "Yes, damned right I do! Er... I mean..."

  "Well, good day."

  "Good day, Inspector."

  Kicking Paul in the bollocks as Dickwipe left, Mike made his way to the desk and sat down. Deciding not to confront Cecilia with whatever horrendous sexual activity she was engaged in, he shook his head in despair as further screams of female ecstasy resounded around the foyer. Some bloody cleaning woman she is!

  At least the problematic, right little bastard Gill had been temporarily silenced! he thought, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Goldie had done well, very well. She'd have to lie in court, of course, but that wouldn't be a problem. There's nothing like telling a few bloody lies to a homosexual old git of a judge!

  Feeling randy, and immensely wicked, in his rising elation, Mike decided to visit Belinda. She was ripe for a damned good session of sexual abuse! There's no time like the present, he reflected. And besides, time was fast running out. Shit, I might end up in the slammer!

  Recalling the chair with the cut-out in the seat, he pondered on Paul's handiwork. Paul hadn't done very well, he concluded. A wooden frame and a sawn-up chair were hardly instruments of sexual torture! The drunken bastard would have to do better than that!

  "Paul!" Mike yelled, leaping to his feet and kicking the young man in the bollocks again. "Get up, you piss headed hermaphrodite!"

  "Oh, Jesus!" Paul groaned, clutching his balls as he staggered to his feet. "God, my head! Argh, my balls!"

  "Where the hell's Dave?"

  "Gone out for supplies."

  "Wasting my bloody money on food again, no doubt! Do you call that a sexual torture chamber?"

  "What? Where?"

  "Room sixty-nine - is that what you call a sexual torture chamber? It's more like a bloody nursery!"

  "I thought you were pleased with..."

  "A wooden frame and a chair with a fucking great chunk cut out of the seat hardly constitutes a sexual torture chamber. I told you to think of the most imaginative things you'd like to do to a girl, and construct the necessary equipment to fulfil your fantasy. You've failed miserably."

  "You reckon?"

  "Dismally, even!"

  "I've been busy, Mike," the young man grinned proudly.

  "Busy drinking!"

  "You might think me a pisshead, but I've been very busy constructing several pieces of sexual abuse equipment."

  "Sexual abuse equipment? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I was going to surprise you. It's your birthday soon and..."

  "Shut up! I don't want my birthday mentioned. Where is this equipment?"

  "In the hall cupboard on the top floor."

  "Right, let's go and have a look. Belinda will, unwillingly, act as your guinea pig."

  Following Mike into the lift, the barman frowned. His boss had been so happy with his handiwork and now he was complaining! There's no pleasing
some people, he reflected as they stepped out of the lift and walked to the sex room. But he was about to prove to Mike that he could come up with the most debased and vile ideas imaginable. I'll show him, he gloated, hauling a large box out of the hall cupboard and dragging it into room sixty-nine.

  Walking over to the bed and staring at Belinda's naked body, he grinned. "Your ex-husband wants me to think of something really vile," he chuckled, eyeing the leather straps binding her wrists and ankles.

  "Vile?" she echoed, tugging on her bonds and focusing on Mike's dark eyes, searching for sympathy as he folded his arms and lounged against the wall. But there was no compassion reflected in his eyes.

  "He says that the work I've done in here is no good. He reckons that the wooden frame and the chair don't constitute a sexual torture chamber."

  "A sexual torture... what are you going to do?" Belinda asked fearfully.

  "Sexually torture you, I suppose."

  "No! Mike, help me!"

  "I have a job helping myself most of the time!" Mike laughed, his penis stiffening as he gazed at her hairless pussy lips, her yawning vaginal slit.

  Releasing the woman's ankles, Paul held her feet high in the air with her legs wide apart. Her vaginal crack gaping, he focused on her delicate inner sex flesh, eager to degrade and humiliate the horrified woman. Dropping her feet onto the bed, he moved to the wall and grabbed a length of rope tied to a steel ring. Lifting her left foot, he bound the rope tightly around her ankle. Her leg almost at right angles to her naked body, he moved to the opposite wall and grabbed the rope hanging from the other steel ring.

  "This will keep your juicy cunt wide open," he smiled, holding her right foot high in the air and binding her ankle with the rope.

  "Please!" she cried, her legs painfully parted, virtually at right angles to her slender frame. "Please, leave me alone!"

  "That's a start, Paul," Mike grinned evilly, focusing on his ex-wife's crudely gaping pussy hole. "But you'll have to do better than that!"

  "Oh, I will!" Paul smirked, gazing between Belinda's parted buttocks at her brown anal eye. "She has a nice arsehole!" he chuckled, forcing her taut buttocks further apart and stretching her brown ring open. Determined to prove himself, his perversity, to his boss, he was about to humiliate their prisoner in the extreme. "A very nice arsehole!" he repeated. "Look at the beautiful brown tissue surrounding her anal entrance, waiting to yield to my knob! Yes, I'll slip my cock up her bum later. Right, now for the birthday surprise!"

  Delving into the cardboard box, Paul lifted out a large metal box and set it on the chair at the end of the bed. Walking to the hall cupboard, he returned with a broom handle and fixed the end into a metal socket protruding from the box. "You'll love this!" he chuckled, flashing a grin at Belinda as she raised her head and gazed in horror at the intended instrument of torture. Taking an awesome-looking double dildo from the box, he attached it to the free end of the broom handle.

  "This looks interesting," Mike said pensively, watching Paul position the chair closer to the bed, the dildos only inches from Belinda's indecently exposed lust holes. "Very interesting!"

  "It is!" Paul beamed, aligning the rounded ends of the black rubber dildos with the woman's sex portals.

  Gently pushing the phalluses into her yielding sheaths to the accompaniment of her gasped protests, Paul parted her fleshy vaginal lips, her rounded buttocks, and completely impaled her on the massive rubber shafts. Her pelvic cavity bloated, her green eyes wide with fear, she watched as he ran a cable from the metal box to a wall socket.

  "No!" Belinda cried as the box hummed and the dildos thrust in and out of her bloated sheaths. "Please, stop it!" Turning a control on the box, Paul quickened the mechanical fucking, the young woman's body jolting as the dildos repeatedly emerged from her tightening ducts and thrust into her defenceless body. "Mike, please stop him!" she pleaded as Paul moved to the cardboard box.

  "Stop him?" Mike chuckled wickedly. "Don't you like having your cunt and your arse mechanically fucked?"

  "No, I don't!"

  Laughing, Paul settled by Belinda's side and screwed homemade nipple clamps to her long, sensitive milk teats. Her face grimacing, she gazed in horror at the clamps tightly squeezing her erect brown buds, darkening her areolae.

  "You have been busy. Well, done." Mike praised the diligent barman, watching him return to the box. "What other delights do you have in store for our lucky prisoner?"

  "I've got two metal clamps here for her fanny lips," Paul grinned proudly, delving into the box as the copulating machine whirred on. "The idea is to hold her pussy lips wide apart so we can shove things up her cunt. You know, hairbrush handles, candles, cucumbers, deodorant bottles, cocks..."

  "Mike!" Goldie cried as she burst into the room, her blonde tousled locks partially veiling her angelic face. "There's a man here from the department of environmental health."

  "Fucking fascist bastards! Fucking communists! All right, go and tell him that I'll be down in a minute. Paul, I'll leave you to attend Belinda-the-bitch. I'll see you later."

  "OK, Mike. I'll have some real fun with her. Real dirty fun!"

  "Mike, please," Belinda sobbed as her clitoris swelled, the machine taking her to her enforced climax. "Ah! Oh, oh! Mike, I'm..."

  "Coming? Yes, I know - and I'm going!"

  Stepping out of the lift, Mike scrutinized the besuited man hovering by the desk. Obviously, he'd come to check that the demands he'd listed had been complied with. The fridges and glass washer had been installed, but the kitchen lighting, the extractor fan, the door closer... what with all the recent horrendous happenings at the hotel, he just hadn't got round to the rest of the chores. And put into perspective, they were the least of his worries!

  "Ah, Mr Hunt," the visitor greeted him. "My name's Small, I'm from the department of..."

  Small-minded bastard. "Yes, I know," Mike replied agitatedly, glimpsing the long shining blade of the letter opener. Read all about it - gruesome murder at seaside hotel! "I haven't had all the work done because I've been too busy."

  "Oh, dear," the man sighed, probably delighting in Mike's predicament. "Well, as you're aware, the deadline..."

  "Yes, I'm well aware of the deadline, Mr Small, but you'll have to give me a little longer. I'm not bloody Superman!"

  "Have you done anything?"

  Fucked a few waitresses, taken two policewomen prisoner... "Yes, the fridges, the glass washer..." A brilliant, bloody marvellous idea suddenly surfacing, Mike smiled. "Actually, I'm closing down."

  "Closing?"

  "Yes, it's no longer profitable. What with you lot, the fire inspector, the tax man, the VAT man, the water authority, the electricity board... I'm closing down."

  "Oh, well, in that case... when do you propose to cease trading?"

  "At this rate, in about five minutes!"

  "In view of your news, my department will no longer have an interest in your hotel, Mr Hunt. However, I'll look in again next week, just to make sure you've closed. I'm sorry to hear that you're having problems."

  "Yes, so am I."

  "Until next week, then, Mr Hunt."

  "Yes, until next week, Mr Ball... Small."

  Watching the man leave, Mike knew that the time had come to change direction. He'd come to a crossroad and, in his mind, there was only one way to turn. Room sixty-nine would have to earn decent money from now on and he was going to have to put every effort into the new business venture - unless Dickwipe banged him up for ten years!

  "Trudie," Mike smiled as the horny little beauty emerged from the dining room.

  "Goldie reckons that she was raped, is that right, mate?"

  "It was an act, a ploy to... I've come to a decision."

  "Oh, what's that?"

  "From now on, don't book any more guests into the hotel."

  "What, you mean that room sixty-nine..."

  "No, I'm talking about the ordinary guests. We're closing down, as a hotel, that is."

  "Oh! But, wh
y?"

  "It's the only way out of the bloody mess I'm in. Closing the hotel will solve all my problems in one fell swoop. Stokepot Towers, as from now, is a high-class brothel."

  "What about the colonel and..."

  "Miss Chaste, as you know, is no longer with us. The colonel... well, I'm not sure what to do about him. The hotel's pretty quiet at the moment. Fuck me, that's an understatement if ever there was one! The place is empty!"

  "Have you told the others?"

  "No, I haven't. I'll call a meeting later and we'll discuss it. Obviously, you and Goldie will stay on as..."

  "Prostitutes?"

  "Well... entertainers. Yes, that's the word, professional entertainers. Presumably, you want to stay on?"

  "I can't speak for Goldie, but I'll stay. What else can I do?"

  "Great, I hoped you'd say that. Right, I'd better start making plans. But first of all, I need to know what Prickwipe's up to. Until I know whether or not I'm going to prison, I can't really do anything. He is a bastard, he really is!"

  "Why not run the hotel for a while longer, just until you know for sure? Sleep on it, mate."

  "Yes, perhaps you're right. God, it's been so slack recently!"

  "You haven't tried it recently!"

  "The hotel, not your fanny."

  "Oh, I see. Don't forget that there are four clients booked for this evening."

  "No, I won't. I'd better get up to room sixty-nine and see how Belinda is. Will you be down here for a while?"

  "Yes, I will. Goldie's behind the bar so I'll man reception."

  "Right, I'll be down later."

  "OK, mate."

  "Don't call me..."

  "Sorry."

  Entering the lift, Mike pondered on the idea of closing the hotel. He was right, it would solve all his problems. But what was Dickwipe up to? Reaching the fourth floor, he wandered down the hall and looked out of the window. The road blocks were still in position, much to his puzzlement. Surely, Dickwipe wouldn't need to block the seafront road off to raid the hotel? There again, Dickwipe moved in mysterious ways!

  Walking down the hall to room sixty-nine, Mike was pleased to discover Belinda gasping in orgasm, the copulating machine thrusting the rubber dildos in and out of her inflamed sex ducts. By the look of her scarlet face, her heaving breasts, she'd almost been fucked to death!