by Ray Gordon
"Where's Paul?" Mike asked, unplugging the machine. "I must say, Belinda, that you look well and truly fucked!"
"Oh, thank God!" the panting woman breathed, her head tossing from side to side as the dildos came to rest, embedded deep within her steaming sex shafts. "He... he's gone."
"How do you like the fucking machine?" Mike grinned, eyeing her opaque sex fluid oozing from her bloated cunt, drenching the rubber shaft.
"It's awful! I've never come so much in all my life!"
"You can have another couple of hundred orgasms later."
"Mike, you have to let me go! Don't you see what you're doing? You're digging yourself deeper and deeper into the... into the ground. That woman, Wendy, she'll go to the police and..."
"I've been thinking, Belinda," Mike said pensively, gazing at her swollen clitoris emerging beautifully from her open sex valley. "If you're a policewoman, then why has no one come looking for you?"
"No, it's an undercover operation. They'd hardly come here and..."
"But an undercover cop would make contact, call in and report. I don't believe you're a cop at all, which makes me wonder about the gun, where you got it from and what you were doing with it. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get the truth out of you, Belinda."
"And how do you intend to do that?"
"For a start, one of my bisexual waitresses will come up here and play with you for a while."
"You just dare to allow another woman to touch me again!"
"There's Goldie, Trudie, Nancy and Cecilia - they're all bisexual, sex-starved little nymphos. I'm sure that, between them, they'll extract the truth from you - and a few pints of fanny juice! They'll rub their dripping pussies over your mouth and..."
"My God, you're disgusting!"
"Yes, I do believe I am! You'll enjoy drinking from their hot cunts, Belinda. I'll go and find Goldie, she'll just love playing with your shaved pussy."
"Mike, no! Look, this is ridiculous!"
"Yes, it is. Just look at you with those fucking great dildos stuffed up your lust holes and your nipples... yes, it is ridiculous! I'll go and find Goldie."
"We'll do a deal."
"A deal?"
"Yes, I'll... I'll let you in on a secret - I'm not a policewoman."
"Big deal!"
"I'm a private detective. I set up my own business several years ago and... well, even though I say it myself, I've done very well."
"So, why did you come here?"
"Harold Gloom hired me. He said that his wife was planning to have him done away with, and he hired me to nail the killer."
"Harold's in his room, I'll go and ask him to verify your story."
"No, it's no good doing that because he'll deny it. No one knows he's hired me, he wants it to remain a secret."
"Why didn't he release you when he was up here? He let Wendy go so, surely, if he'd hired you to track down the assassin, he'd have let you go rather than fuck you?"
"I told him not to."
"You told him to fuck you?"
"No, I told him not to release me! It would have aroused suspicion and you would have..."
"I'll go and have a word with Harold, see what he's got to say about this."
Leaving the room, Mike pondered on Belinda's latest story. It was the best so far, he reflected. The policewoman tale was ridiculous, but a private detective held some credence. Yes, it made sense, he thought. Harold might well have hired Belinda to stay at the hotel and discover who the potential murderer was. Deciding not to mention it to Harold just yet, he took the lift to the ground floor and wandered into the bar.
"Good morning, Colonel," he greeted the old man as he sat next to him at the bar. "I'm sorry if I appeared to be rude the other day, it's just that I had problems."
"That's all right, old boy. Everything sorted out now?"
"Er... no, not exactly. Goldie, would you give me a large vodka, please?"
"Certainly," the sex-siren smiled sweetly. "By the way, Cecilia's in the cupboard under the stairs."
"She's still there?"
"Yes, she's asleep."
"By Jove!" the colonel grunted, knocking back a large scotch. "Asleep in the cupboard? There are some strange things going on in this hotel!"
"You can say that again!" Mike laughed.
"I'll go and wake her up," Goldie volunteered, passing Mike his drink and leaving the bar.
"She'll wear the bloody vacuum cleaner handle out at this rate! I'll have to have a word with her," Mike sighed. Turning back to the colonel, he frowned. "What are your long-term plans?"
"Plans? I have no plans."
"I'm thinking of..."
"Have you seen the road blocks?"
"Yes, I have."
"They're probably after a South American gangster. Do you know, back in..."
"Colonel, I'm thinking of closing the hotel."
"By gad! Where will I live?"
"You can stay here, but this won't be a hotel."
"What will it be?"
"Ah, Cecilia, I trust you enjoyed your sleep?" Mike smiled as the cleaner floated into the bar with Goldie, grinning like a Cheshire cat, juice coursing down her inner thighs.
"Er... I'm sorry about that. It won't happen again," she grinned sheepishly.
"Won't it? Look, I have things to do; I'll talk to you later, Colonel."
Leaving the bar with his drink, Mike sat at the desk. The more he thought about closing the hotel, the more the idea appealed to him. There'd be no need to hold a license for the bar, and drinking hours wouldn't apply. There was nothing illegal about owning a private bar, he mused. The till would have to go, of course, the room sixty-nine clients paying for their drinks before leaving. No fire inspections, no environmental health problems, no weights and measures...
Right, the videos, he thought, deciding to place an advert for the pornographic movies in a men's mag. I'll need another machine to make copies. "Bloody hell!" he gasped, pressing the eject button to discover that the tape had gone. "Where the hell... Ah, Trudie, have you taken the tape out of the machine?" he asked as the girl emerged from the lift.
"No, mate."
"Go and ask Goldie whether she took it."
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he watched the buxom brunette mince into the bar, Mike didn't recall removing the tape himself. Some bastard's nicked it! As Dave staggered in through the main doors lugging several bulging carrier bags, he leapt up and asked him whether he'd taken it.
"No, not me," Dave replied, dumping the bags on the floor. "Christ, that lot weighs a ton!"
"How much have you spent?"
"Er... not a lot. So, what's happening? I see that the cops have set up road blocks."
"Bloody philistines! Dave, I'm going to close the hotel."
"Close it? But..."
"I'm not going to explain now, suffice to say that you'll stay on as the chef, cooking for the room sixty-nine punters."
"Oh, right."
"The more I think about it, the more I realize that it's a fucking marvellous, brilliant, ingenious plan. No Gill, no tax man, no environmental... OK, put the food away and we'll all sit in the bar and discuss the future of Stokepot Towers."
"Will do."
It was an ingenious plan - somewhat illegal, but bloody ingenious! Feeling elated, Mike made the decision to close the hotel there and then. Leaping to his feet as Nancy wafted in, he closed and locked the main doors. One door closes, and another one opens. Five years at Stokepot Towers, and within seconds, the hotel was history.
"A new era, a new chapter!" he grinned, punching the air with his fist. "I've won! I've beaten the system, the establishment, the officious bastards!" Whoops, better not speak too soon.
"A new era?" Nancy echoed, wondering what had got into her unpredictable boss.
"I'll explain everything shortly," he smiled, gazing into her dark, sparkling eyes. "Go and wait in the bar, we're having a meeting."
"I'm just going up to my room, I'll be with you in a minute."
"OK, Nancy. Ah, Paul, where the hell have you been?" Mike asked as the young man wandered downstairs.
"In my room constructing some more equipment," he smiled, seemingly sober for a change.
"Did you take the tape from the video recorder?"
"No, I didn't."
"Shit! OK, I have a job for you. Take the till out of the bar and put it in my flat. Remove the drinks tariff, the Over Eighteen sign, the measures sign and all other notices. It's now a private bar, just as if it was in someone's lounge. No laws apply, there are no licensing rules or..."
"Does that mean that I can have free drinks whenever I want?"
"No, it fucking does not! Bring all the duty-free stuff up from the basement and stock the bar up. When Gill comes back, if he comes back, I'm going to have the time of my life showing him the duty-free fags and booze! Right, before you get started, go and wait in the bar. We're going to have a meeting."
There was a lot to sort out, he reflected. He'd have to officially cease trading and take his staff off PAYE, and the colonel would have to cancel his standing order and pay by cash each month. There were to be no cheques or credit cards, only hard cash. But there was still the problem of Belinda, he mused, again wondering what to do with her. And Widegroin!
As Dave left the kitchen and crossed the foyer, Mike followed him into the bar. Perched on stools at the bar, the staff were eagerly awaiting his enlightening speech. Their future in the balance, as well as his, they could only hope that he was leading them in the right direction, making the right decision. As Nancy breezed in and joined the group, Mike stood behind the bar and served a round of drinks.
"Ok, the plan is this," he began excitedly. "As from now, the place is closed. The doors are locked, it's no longer a hotel. No one's to book in any more ordinary guests. This is now Stokepot Towers Brothel."
"By gad, a brothel?" the colonel gasped in surprise.
"Yes, Colonel, a brothel. Do you still want to live here?"
"Damned right I do, old man! By Jove, fancy living in a brothel!"
"Nancy, Cecilia, Trudie and Goldie are the... the girls. Dave, you're still the chef, creating excellent meals for the clients. Paul, you're the barman, and you'll also be responsible for the video equipment and..."
"What about me?" the colonel barked. "What am I?"
"Er... as yet, I'm not sure, Colonel."
"Can I be number one client?"
"Yes, if you can afford it. OK, so we'll all muck in with the cleaning and general running of the place. Are there any questions?"
"Money," Goldie declared, gazing at her boss suspiciously. "Presumably, we won't be getting our normal wages? Not that we often did!"
"That's right, you're all officially unemployed. Don't go signing on, though, it'll cause problems. I'll work the money out later."
"Will I get paid?" the colonel asked.
"Er... no, you'll pay for your room and food as usual. I'll talk to you about that later. Right, I must notify the Inland Revenue, Customs and Excise, the fire inspector... Paul, you have your work cut out. Dave, I think lunch might be an idea. Everyone else, busy yourselves with cleaning or something."
"What about me?" the colonel asked. "Shall I busy myself?"
"No, just sit at the bar and enjoy your drink. The first thing I must do is sort out a small problem I have on the fourth floor. OK, let's go for it!"
Taking the lift to the top floor, Mike felt high with fresh hope and optimism for the future. But his elation was marred by the prospect of Dickwipe's raid. There must be a way to discover what the man's plans were, he thought, gazing out at the road blocks from the top floor window. Why block the road? Why have armed men in the bushes? It didn't make sense - unless he'd got it very wrong and Dickwipe's plan had nothing to do with the hotel. "No," he breathed, turning and striding purposefully towards room sixty-nine. "The surprise cop-shop visitor would have been Widegroin - and Prickwipe's planning a raid!"
Entering the sex room, he held his head and gasped. Belinda had gone. "The fire escape! But who..." Dickwipe must have crept up the fire escape and rescued the woman. But why do that if he was planning to raid the place?... Harold? Mike pondered. No, he couldn't get to the top floor without a key for the lift, and he wouldn't have climbed the fire escape. One thing was for sure, there was no way Belinda could have escaped without an accomplice.
"Bloody hell, now I'm really in it!" Mike cursed, agitatedly rubbing his chin. But all he could do was wait - there was no point in panicking. If and when the raid took place, he'd have to play it by ear - and pray! So near, and yet so far, he thought. The potential of the new business was incredible! There were four clients booked in for that evening alone. "Eight hundred pounds, cash! Dickwipe can't ruin it!"
Returning to reception, he decided not to tell the others that Belinda had done a runner. What with Widegroin on the loose and the missing video tape, there was no point in causing them more concern, he mused, sitting behind the desk and answering the phone.
"Hi, Mike!" Belinda giggled.
"How the hell..."
"It doesn't matter how, the point is, I'm free. OK, my demands are..."
"Demands? You needn't think you're going to blackmail me, you fanny-shaved bitch!"
"Call it blackmail, if you wish, but my demands are..."
Deciding to bluff the woman, Mike grinned. "Belinda, I know all about you, your game."
"Game?"
"Yes, I know everything."
"Don't bluff me, Mike. Look, you're running a brothel, you held a policewoman prisoner, not to mention me... living off immoral earnings... you're in one hell of a mess."
"I'm not in a mess at all."
"This is the deal - I'll not back up that policewoman's story, or mention what you did to me, if you give me half your earnings."
"Half my earnings? You must be mentally deranged, woman! You need the services of a psychiatrist!"
"Think about it, Mike... think about it."
Suddenly realizing that he'd not gone through Belinda's belongings, searched her handbag, he changed tack. "I do know all about you, what you're up to," he said confidently. "I've been to your room and searched your bag."
"You've been through my things?"
"Yes, it was quite a revelation, Belinda."
Chuckling as she hung up, Mike replaced the receiver and dashed upstairs to her room. Why he'd not thought of it before, he didn't know. There must be something in her bag, something incriminating. If she were innocent, she wouldn't have hung up, he surmised, wondering what she was really about as he took the skeleton key from his pocket and entered her room.
"Perhaps she took the video tape?" he murmured, grabbing her handbag and spilling the contents out over the bed. "Lipstick, hairbrush, tampon, tissues, nail file, car keys, a letter... a letter?" Opening the folded paper, he read the neat handwriting. "We've booked in at Stokepot Towers hotel on the twenty-fifth, as you suggested. I do hope all goes according to plan as I'd like to look to the future and put this farce of a marriage behind me."
The letter unsigned, Mike wondered whether it was from Mrs Gloom or Harold. If it was from Mrs Gloom, then the implications were incredible - Belinda was the assassin! If Harold had written it, then Belinda was a private detective, as she'd claimed, trying to nail the would-be killer. "There's only one way to find out," Mike muttered, making his way to Harold's room.
Entering room eight, he was surprised to discover that Harold had gone. "The plot thickens!" he breathed, leaving the room. Pausing in the hallway, he realized the henpecked husband might be in grave danger. Dickwipe and his bloody raid were the least of his worries now. If he had knowledge of a murder plot, he ought to say something. But no, he decided. Belinda wasn't an assassin! She had a gun, but she wasn't a killer! She must be a private eye. She had to be - didn't she?
Chapter Eleven
The clients in the dining room enjoying their starters - and the pretty waitresses' most appetizing naked bodies - Mike wandered into
the bar and suggested that Cecilia and Nancy strip off. "It's a new and bloody ingenious idea," he imparted excitedly, smiling as he watched the colonel's eyes light up. "I want all the women naked whenever there are clients here. No matter whether you're in the bar, the foyer, or the dining room, you're to be starkers."
"That's fine by me!" Cecilia giggled, hurriedly unbuttoning her blouse, impatient to display her luscious breasts, her sensitive nipples.
"I'm game," Nancy declared, her long black hair veiling her pretty face as she eagerly kicked her shoes across the room.
"By gad, so am I!" the colonel chuckled, about to slip his tweed jacket off. "There's nothing like..."
"No! Er... not you, Colonel!" Mike interrupted urgently. "Just the women, not the men."
"Oh, if you say so, old boy."
Raising his eyes to the ceiling as he imagined the colonel naked, his shrivelled cock un-adorning his wrinkled ball bag, Mike shuddered. That was no way to turn the punters on! he thought, watching the women unveil their alluring temples. Blimey, if Dickwipe raided the place now, he ruminated fearfully, following the colonel's wide eyes feasting on the nude beauties. He'd have a bloody field day!
"Seeing as I'm number one client," Buckshot muttered, adjusting his bulging crotch, "may I have a little fun?"
"Er... later, Colonel," Mike smiled. "We have four clients in the dining room so the women will be pretty busy for a while."
"I wouldn't mind having some fun, too," Paul interrupted, helping himself to a large vodka.
"No one's having any bloody fun, apart from the clients!" Mike asserted. "And write that drink down on your bloody tab!"
Disappointed and rejected, the colonel leaned on the bar and sipped his drink. The poor old sod could probably do with servicing, Mike ruminated, but there was no time for that now. He would have his share of fanny later, at a discounted price. No, full price.
Ordering the naked women to go into the dining room and help the waitresses entertain the clients, he walked over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Gazing through the glass, he could clearly see the road blocks, the rows of red lights trailed across the street. Dickwipe and his colleagues didn't seem to be watching the hotel, so perhaps they were on some other business, although he very much doubted it.