Her appearance was deliberately much more casual than it was on her arrival. Her white cotton dress adorned with blue flowers was just sheer enough to give a hint of the white underwear underneath it. White three-inch heels and a simple silver chain completed the outfit. Loose fitting for a loose woman, is what she had muttered to her reflection in the mirror before leaving the room.
The next port of call was the bar back at the hotel. She allowed four different men to buy her a drink. Each was rewarded with a salsa-style dance and an improved view through that dress as she deliberately stood close to a bright table lamp in the corner. There was going to be a party that weekend, and she needed an invite.
The invite came on the Thursday night. Señora Ortega arrived at the bar late in the evening. She arrived alone but knew most of the regular customers and was soon joining in the dancing. Kamela did not need an introduction to know who she was, she recognised her from the photo on Ortega’s company website. However, she did need an introduction to get an invite to the Saturday night’s party.
Kamela worked hard, keeping a fair distance most of the time, but occasionally getting close enough to get a whiff of the woman’s heavy scent.
Ortega left without the two women making each other’s acquaintance. Having spurned his approaches the previous night, it was time to give the young man known as Pepé the come-on. He was bound to be on the guest list.
Kamela moved over to Pepé’s regular position at the end of the bar. “Can I return the favour?” She had to almost shout to be heard over the top of the music.
He smiled and pushed his lips out a little. His eyes dropped onto the tops of her breasts. Tonight it was a turquoise dress with a plunging square-cut neckline. Lifting his eyes back up to meet hers, he nodded. Both parties took the nod to be the green light to sex that night.
Kamela caught Alfonso’s eye and placed a forefinger on the rim of Pepé’s glass. She placed her gin and tonic down next to it. There was no room to squeeze in beside Pepé, so she stood directly in front of him, feet a good eighteen inches apart.
“I am surprised you are on your own,” he said.
Guessing that local villagers shared information freely, she told him the same lie as she had told Alfonso earlier that day. “I was expecting my husband today, but he can’t get away from a business meeting in Cordoba. That means I am all on my lonesome until Tuesday at least. Is that Calvin Klein I can smell?”
“Yes.”
She moved her face to within inches of his. “I like what I smell.”
Unashamedly his eyes went up and down her body. “I like what I see.”
“I’m glad you do.”
Alfonso placed a fresh drink down behind Pepé.
“And you are looking for a younger man to keep you amused?”
“How old are you?” It was her turn to run her eyes over what was on offer. “Twenty-one? Twenty-two maybe?”
“You’re not too far from the truth,” he laughed.
“Well, there you go. Eight years or so, what’s that matter?”
“It doesn’t matter at all. I like fucking older women.”
Kamela positioned her mouth next to his left ear. “Well, you’re going to love fucking me.”
She reached round him for her drink, deliberately pressing her left breast against his arm. Then she turned on her heels, taking her drink with her. It was a calculated gamble; if he didn’t already know her room number, she gauged that he would not be too shy to ask Alfonso.
The invite Kamela was selling herself for came when she lifted her head up from between Pepé’s legs. She paused a moment, and then swallowed. “Not only do you smell nice, you taste nice as well.”
“There’s a party on Saturday night, I think it’s the sort of party you would enjoy.”
“Tell me more,” Kamela feigned ignorance.
“No. You trust me or you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you. Besides, what else is there to do on a Saturday night around these parts?”
“Dance and fuck, it’s not that bad.”
“Talking of fucking, how do you fancy taking an older woman out for dinner tomorrow night?”
“I can’t, it’s the back end of the ski season.”
“I’m not following you.”
“I work a bar up in the ski resort. It’s tailed off to weekends only, but I have to do it, I need the money.”
Kamela started to worry. “Hang on, one minute you’re inviting me to a party on Saturday, the next you are telling me you will be working.”
“Oh, don’t believe all you hear about après ski, most people are tucked up in bed by ten. Skiing is absolutely knackering, and you have to be up early for breakfast if you want to make the most of your lift pass. They’re not cheap you know.” He reached forward and lifted her right breast a little, as if he was estimating how much it weighed. “I’ll be here no later than midnight.”
“How about tomorrow night?” Having gone to bed with him for all the wrong reasons she had quite enjoyed it as first sessions go. The thought of a more relaxed second session quite appealed.
“I stay up the hill. You’ll have to find someone else to amuse you. I’ll meet you in the bar Saturday night.” He climbed off the bed and started to put his pants on. “Have a few drinks before I get there, it’ll get you in the right mood.”
There was no need to ask him to clarify what the right mood was, she had been planning this long enough to know exactly what he meant.
“You look like a man who is about to leave.”
“Yes, I have to be at work by midday, and you may have noticed, these are not the fastest roads in the world.” He pulled his shirt on and began buttoning it up.
“Shame, I thought I might be able to inspire you to a third wind.”
“I think you might well have managed it.” His eyes locked in on her pussy. “But what do the English say? When the devil drives, needs must.”
“Very impressive for a Spanish boy from the village,” she laughed.
“Well, French is the language of love, English is the language of fucking. Throw me my jeans would you?”
She lay across the bed and retrieved his jeans from the floor. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” He stayed silent while putting his jeans and shoes on.
Kamela watched closely. Watching a man dress can almost be as sexy as watching him undress, she thought.
On Friday, Kamela got out of the village and stayed out until bedtime. The first part of the job was done. Now she needed to disappear into the woodwork as best she could.
Breakfast was taken early on Saturday, and then it was a walk to the small supermarket to get provisions for the rest of the day. By one o’clock Kamela was sitting at the dressing table in her room, popping sleeping pills from a blister pack and grinding them down with the back of a teaspoon. She then scraped the powder into a small, resealable plastic bag, a bag that could easily be concealed under a skimpy outfit.
During the afternoon she drifted in and out of sleep as she relaxed on the bed. It was going to be a long night, she wanted as much rest as she could get. The evening was spent reading a novel she had picked up at while waiting for the ferry in Portsmouth.
Finally the clock was moving towards midnight. Kamela started to dress. It was a bit old hat but the classic little black number usually did the trick for her. Once that was decided, the rest followed without debate, everything else had to be black. The silk thong went on first, followed by a half-cup bra. Black silk stay-ups were next. After that she slipped on the little black dress that did not reach too far past groin level.
Unfortunately there was no ice, but she did need a drink to get her in the mood as Pepé put it. She poured herself a gin and tonic. Before taking it out onto the balcony, she turned all the lights off and put on a pair of red court shoes.
The glass was almost empty when a slim dark shadow meandered its way down the hill towards the hotel. Only when he was within twenty metres of the balcony could
Kamela be sure that it was Pepé. Things were going to plan.
She waved without shouting or even speaking.
He waved back. As he smiled, the moonlight reflected from his teeth.
Standing below her he looked up and asked: “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’ll be right down.”
“I’ll pop in the bar and call us a taxi.”
She responded quickly, “No, I’ll drive us.”
Pepé shrugged.
Kamela vacated the balcony, picked up the plastic bag containing two bottles of red wine and her fuck-me heels. Her muscles tensed a little, she breathed in deeply. “It’s been a long time coming girl, don’t bottle it now,” her voice was little more than a whisper. It was time to go. She opened her room door and stepped out into the hallway. After turning the key in the lock, Kamela made her way down to join Pepé.
He leant forward to kiss her on the lips. “What’s in the bag?”
“A couple of bottles of wine and a different pair of shoes.”
“Keep the shoes but lose the wine.”
“Why?” Kamela started to walk towards her car.
Following a few steps behind Pepé said: “Our host is rich, not the sort of lady to have a bring a bottle party.”
“I’ll leave the wine in the car then, but I’m changing my shoes when I get there.”
“Are they red like those? I quite like how the red contrasts with the black.”
“They happen to be black, but you’ll like them.” Using a little role reversal to calm her nerves, Kamela opened the passenger door of her car for him.
As Pepé climbed in he said: “You’re not planning on driving back are you? This place may be out in the sticks but the local police know this party is taking place. They’ll be on the lookout for drink drivers.”
“I’ll leave the car down there.” She shut the door for him.
Kamela paused on the pavement to let a car go by. She walked round and opened her own door.
As she settled into her seat Pepé looked straight at her. “You know where it is then? You know it’s downhill and not uphill?”
“Yes.” She smiled and bought herself some time by reaching for her seatbelt. “I have spoken to other people since you visited my bed you know.”
“Okay, you seem to have it under control.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I assume I turn left down the bottom of this first hill but I will need directions from there.”
The journey only took about five minutes. Kamela was surprised to see all the shutters on the villa pulled down. The only visible light was one on the porch.
“You’re right, I do like those shoes,” said Pepé as they approached the front door.
“I wouldn’t like to walk too far in them,” she laughed, “but they’re good party shoes.”
“Oh, believe me, they will go down well here.” He took her hand to help her up the three marble steps.
Kamela pulled the hem of her dress down as Pepé rang the bell. “They do know I’m coming, don’t they?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “It was…” Pepé broke off as the door was opened.
“Ah, Pepé.” Señora Ortega embraced him like a son she had not seen for a year. They exchanged a few smiling words in Spanish.
“This is Kamela.”
“I am so glad you could come. Come in, come in. Mind you do not trip.”
Pepé allowed Kamela to step into the dark house first. In the dim light she paused to look at two paintings. They were very Spanish in their content, but very modern and quite erotic in style. The one on the left wall of the entrance hall was of a bullfighter facing away from the viewer. His tight grey trousers hugged a very muscular and curvaceous backside.
On the other wall was a flamenco lady. Her swirly red dress arched up at the front to give a glimpse of her crotch. Her bosoms bulged out of the top of the dress, her nipples distorting the thin fabric. Kamela judged that they were both originals and probably quite expensive.
Once they were shown through into the main hallway, the only illumination came through an open kitchen door. Even then, only low wattage under-cupboard lights were switched on. A marble staircase with wrought iron banisters turned twice as it made its way up to the first floor.
“You look ravishing my dear,” Señora Ortega interrupted her envious thoughts. “Kamela? That is not English?”
“No, my mother is from Oman.”
“And your father?”
Kamela hesitated before answering. “English.”
“I am sorry, I have not introduced myself. I am Rosita. Rosita Ortega. I am Spanish through and through. Please, collect yourself a drink and some food from the kitchen. I will see you out by the pool.”
Before speaking, Kamela waited for Rosita to be out of earshot. They were almost at the kitchen by the time she spoke. “Why so dark and dingy?”
“Privacy. Señora Ortega knows enough about what goes on in the village to know the hills have eyes.”
“I see. So the people here don’t want to be seen doing what they are doing?”
“Some of them don’t mind being watched, but they need to trust the watcher. Come on, let me get you a drink.”
“I wouldn’t mind a vodka and orange if she has it.”
“She will have it somewhere if we look hard enough. Ah,” he grabbed a bottle from the work surface, “here’s the vodka, and no doubt the orange juice will be in the fridge.” He opened a cupboard and plucked out a glass.
Kamela pulled open the fridge compartment of the nearest of three stainless steel-effect fridge freezers. “I seem to have hit the jackpot.”
The fridge was crammed full of neatly lined up bottles of juice. Orange dominated the upper shelf.
As if he knew where to go for it, Pepé opened the third fridge of the row, and pulled himself out a bottle of beer. “Tip some orange onto this vodka and put the bottle back.” He passed Kamela her glass and popped the top off his drink using a bottle-opener built into the fridge door.
As they walked back through the main hall, Pepé opened up the front of his white shirt to expose the fine black hair on his chest. This was it; she was walking onto her stage. A little gulp moved her Adam’s apple and the nerves evaporated. It was show time.
The age range of the assembled guests went from early thirties up to retirement age. Kamela and Pepé were the only ones there who were the right side of thirty. Without exception, it was clear all the women looked after their bodies and spent a small fortune adorning themselves with sexy clothes and expensive jewellery. A few of the men had stomachs to reflect the luxury lifestyle they led, but not many.
Most guests were sitting around in groups of four or five. On each table there was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne immersed in it.
No one was in the pool. Kamela had expected naked people in the pool by this time.
Pepé walked over and sat in the only vacant chair at a table on the larger patio area. Kamela did not follow him, she headed for a free chair where three women were sitting. Her chances of time alone with Rosita would probably increase if she appeared to be interested in women.
“Hi, my name is Kamela.”
The three women introduced themselves in turn.
“Jessenia.”
“Ivette.”
“Benita.”
The drink and the conversation flowed. Some of it was in English, but most of it was in Spanish. Kamela smiled when she thought she was meant to, or asked Jessenia to translate when she realised a response was required.
Over an hour passed before a small breakthrough came. Rosita strolled over in her pink dress and with a pink cocktail in her hand.
She leant over the table and spoke in Spanish. The conversation this invoked extracted a lot of smiles and laughter from the three women.
“I hope you will join in he fun,” said Rosita just before she walked away.
“What was that about?” she looked to Jessenia f
or advice.
“It is time for the second phase of the party. We have been asked to lead the way. It is time for a swim.” Jessenia stood up and started to strip.
The other two women followed suit. As they did so, Kamela hastily looked around for somewhere to hide the small plastic bag.
“Are you not joining us?” asked a naked Jessinia as she led the way towards the pool.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Kamela stood and tried to look like she was just enjoying the show. Casually, she lifted her foot onto a large pot a small palm was planted in. Twisting her heel she managed to drill a small hole in the sandy soil. As Ivette drew everyone’s eyes towards her by diving into the pool, Kamela reached inside her bra. With the pack safely clenched in her right hand she reached down and started to unfasten her shoe.
As Jessinia and Benita both jumped in bottom first, Kamela took the opportunity to bury the bag.
After taking off both shoes and her stay-ups, Kamela headed closer to the action, taking care to be more than a push away from the pool’s edge. Four men and two women joined the three ladies within a matter of minutes.
Kamela did not notice Rosita approach from behind. The sound of her voice almost made her jump.
“Why don’t you take a dip?”
She turned to see a naked Rosita, standing proudly in just her pink heels. Kamela deliberately allowed her eyes to express an interest in Rosita’s body. Go for it, she told herself.
“Would you mind undressing me?”
“I would be happy to.” Her hand moved up to the zip running down the back of her dress. Kamela felt it go down. Rosita undid the hook between her shoulder blades. “When I saw you in the bar, I thought you were a party girl. That is why I asked young Pepé to invite you.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise I had a formal invitation. Pepé did not tell me you had invited me.”
“Pepé always plays his cards close to his chest. He likes to be a man of mystery.”
“Do you know him well?”
“Any red blooded woman who lives in these parts knows young Pepé well. He is well worth getting to know.”
Kamela responded with an understanding grin.
The Spanish Hotel Page 11