The Spanish Hotel

by Gary Philpott

  Noticing the sideshow going on behind them, two men turned to watch. Rosita took hold of the hem of that little black dress and lifted it to her waist. Kamela was expecting it to go the other way. The hem continued upwards until it was just above her head, and then it stopped moving. A hand took a firm grip of her right buttock.

  “Nice,” murmured Rosita.

  The hand left her bum and the dress left her body. Kamela’s face emerged to the view of two happy looking Spanish guys. She raised her eyebrows up and smiled seductively.

  Rosita left her standing there in her scanty underwear while she stepped over to the nearest chair. She laid Kamela’s dress over the back of it.

  “Now, let’s see the rest of your delights.” Rosita unhooked the bra, pulled it down her arms, and hung onto it. A thumb hooked into each side of her panties, perhaps a little closer to the front than was ideal for knicker removal. Down they went, two thumb knuckles brushed close to her pubic mound.

  Kamela stepped her left foot out and lifted her right heel to present her panties to the waiting Rosita.

  Rosita held up the bra and panties like trophies. She shouted out in Spanish and then followed up in English. “What are you waiting for?”

  As the remaining clothed guests started to undress, Kamela walked over to the pool and dived in. The water momentarily froze her body but by the time she surfaced, it did not feel too bad at all.

  First she caught sight of Pepé undressing, then her gaze turned to Rosita. She was standing by the side of the pool in those pink heels, seemingly with no intention of going in, but happy to be looked at from a low angle by those in the water.

  No sex took place in the pool. Men swam between women’s legs, women jumped up and down to make their boobs bounce, others regularly duck-dived so for a fleeting moment their bums were the only thing above the surface, but there was no actual sex.

  There were lots of naked people standing around ogling, but groping of other peoples bits was limited to playful slaps and squeezes.

  The sex came inside the dark villa much later. Most did it in one of the two large reception rooms; other small parties ascended the stairs. Kamela made sure she was in the room where Rosita was having sex with one of the older gentlemen. Still with her heels on, she had her hands planted on the cushion of a sofa while he took her from behind.

  After dropping onto an armchair opposite the sofa Rosita was using to steady herself, Kamela opened her legs invitingly. A naked man in his late forties made his way towards her. Unashamedly he focused his eyes between her legs. She moved her knees a little further apart and licked her top lip. The message was decoded, and the man dropped to his knees before burying his face between her legs.

  Kamela looked on as the man ate her pussy. She could not fault his dedication to his duties, even if he was a bit rough at times. As he continued to pleasure her, she noticed the sky lightening to the west. The plan was starting to go pear-shaped; she had hoped most of the other guests would have been gone by dawn. She had intended to be one among few who slept it off in the villa. She would have to go away and come back late in the afternoon; her car would be her excuse to return.

  Before departing though, she wanted one more intimate contact with Rosita, she needed to cement something of a relationship, even if it was entirely sexual.

  Placing her hand on the muff diver’s head, she eased him away. “Let’s join them.” She flicked her eyes Rosita’s way.

  Muff diver looked confused but he stood up nonetheless. Kamela moved over and sat on the sofa next to Rosita. She opened her legs to invite a resumption of the previous activities.

  Her view was now very intimate. She was also close enough to reach out for Rosita’s pussy. Kamela went to work on her clit while the man continued to thrust into her. Muff diver’s good work was now going completely unnoticed.

  Rosita did not take long to respond to the helping hand. Not only did she groan as an orgasm swept through her, she dribbled as well.

  The man withdrew immediately. “Do you want to swap with Rosita?” he said.

  “Not at the moment, maybe later,” she lied.

  “Aagh,” Rosita stood up straight, “I need a drink.” She clopped off across the tiled floor in her heels.

  “Thank you, that was nice.” Kamela placed her hands on the sides of Muff diver’s head and guided him away from her pussy. She leant forward and pecked the top of his forehead. “Perhaps we can fuck later.”

  He did not speak. Instead he smiled and took one last look at her pussy before standing up. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the man turned and headed out of the room.

  Kamela went in search of her clothes and that small plastic bag. Five minutes later she was dressed again but her underwear was still sitting on a chair. She looked at it and whispered, “I’ll come back for you later.”

  After retrieving her other shoes from the car, she was ready to set off on a walk up through the olive groves and back to the hotel. It took quite some time but the sun rising up over the valley made it a very pleasant walk indeed. It also provided plenty of thinking time during which her late afternoon plan was hatched.

  A tired and weary Kamela arrived at the villa a little after three in the afternoon. She was pleased to see only her white Seat and a silver Mercedes parked on the block-paved area out the front. After a deep breath she put on a cheery look and rang the bell, and she waited. Two minutes passed before she went to ring the bell again, then she heard a sound from inside. It was a different looking Rosita that peered round the half open door. Without her make-up, her true age was much more evident.

  “Oh, hello.” She opened the door wider. “Sorry, I was asleep on the sofa.”

  Kamela laughed. “What time did your last guest leave?”

  “Ten, eleven maybe. Come in. I think I need a coffee. Can I get you one?”

  “Let me do that, it will be my way of saying thank you for a wonderful night.”

  “You enjoyed it then?” Rosita closed the front door.

  “Most definitely. It was great.”

  “What brings you back?”

  Kamela let out another fake loud laugh. “I had to come back for my car, but more importantly, I left my bra and panties out by your pool. In normal circumstances I wouldn’t have bothered but I am quite fond of them.”

  “I will go and get them for you.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you look like a woman who would benefit from some air. Why don’t you go and sit in one of your sunloungers and I’ll bring you out a coffee and collect my undies at the same time.”

  Without speaking, Rosita walked towards the arched doorway that led out to the garden and pool. Kamela could not believe her luck, she had expected to have to wangle a soft drink by the poolside, but here she was heading for the kitchen to make the old tart a coffee. She lifted the front of her dress and pulled the plastic bag out of the bikini bottoms she had worn in the hope of being invited for an afternoon dip.

  Ten minutes later Rosita’s drug-laden coffee was on the table beside her. Kamela walked round the side of the pool.

  “Here they are,” she shouted, and quickly moved back to the shelter of the terrace where Rosita was sitting.

  “Ooh dear, I must have overindulged, even this coffee tastes awful.”

  Another fake laugh left her mouth. “Maybe, but maybe I don’t make coffee the way you like it. You look like you need it though.”

  “Oh, I need it. Are you not having one?”

  “I didn’t like to presume.”

  “No problem. Make yourself a cup and then join me for a chat. I hardly know anything about you.”

  “Would you mind if I had an orange juice rather than a coffee?”

  “No problem.”

  Kamela paused to make sure Rosita was going to drink her coffee. There was always the back-up plan but this way would avoid any blood spillage.

  After returning with her ice-laden orange juice, Kamela sat on the sunlounger next to Rosita. T
he research she had done on overdoses of sleeping pills led her to believe it would not take much more than half an hour.

  As they chatted, Kamela surveyed the scene in front of her, working out a route back and forward to the pool that would minimise the risk of revealing her presence to prying eyes.

  Just as the drugs were taking effect Rosita started to ask the questions Kamela did not want to answer. On the other hand dead women don’t speak, so why lie.

  “You said your mother is from Oman.”

  “Yes, she’s a lovely lady. Never has a word to say against anyone, no matter how horrible they are. I sometimes tell her to stand up for herself, be more demanding.”

  “It sounds like…” Rosita put all five fingertips of her right hand to her forehead. “Sorry. It sounds like she does not take your advice.”

  “No. I think it is her pride.”

  “Do you have hermano or hermana?” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I mean, any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, my father did not hang around long enough to have more than one child. Well, with my mother that is.”

  “I am sorry.” Her eyes shut again. This time they stayed shut.

  Kamela went to her car and retrieved her special toolbox.

  Once back inside the villa she put on a pair of disposable rubber gloves. The first job was to wipe the door handle where she had put her hand on it to get out. Next she wiped everywhere in the kitchen she had touched and washed the glass she had drunk from. It was good to see plenty of unwashed party glasses, crockery and cutlery. Kamela smiled at the thought of all the confusion that would cause.

  The next port of call was Rosita’s bedroom. Ten minute worth of rummaging later, she found what she was looking for, a blue bikini. It was not quite the right shade, but it was close enough.

  Then it was down to business outside on the terrace. Hugging the wall to keep out of sight, she walked round to the end of the pool to where a light breeze had taken the two lilos. Bending down she grabbed the end of one and pulled it out. She then dragged it back round the way she had come and lay it down beside Rosita’s sunlounger.

  Stripping the Spanish woman was easy: all she was wearing was a pair of yellow knickers under a lightweight lemon dressing gown. As she pulled the bikini bottoms up her legs, Rosita grunted. Kamela froze and her heart missed a beat.

  Ten seconds passed before she resumed what she was doing. The only difficulty she encountered in putting the bikini top on was fastening it at the back. For such a small-framed woman, she was very hard to lift.

  As anticipated, the hardest bit of this phase was getting Rosita’s hands taped behind her back and onto the lilo so she was facing upwards. First she pulled her to the far edge of the sunlounger, as far as she dare pull her without her falling off the wrong side. Then she rolled her back the other way until she was face down. Kamela had to tug the woman back to stop her falling off the edge.

  She yanked her hands behind her back and taped her wrists together. Quickly she placed the roll of tape in the right pocket of her dress. Another push and roll, and Rosita dropped onto the lilo, landing flat on her back as desired.

  It was then time to risk being seen. By keeping her face turned away from the direction of the village she hoped not to be recognised. All any onlooker would see was a woman dragging Rosita along on a lilo and sliding her into the pool. Maybe they would not have seen that exact scenario before, but they will have witnessed other similar forms of frivolity on many occasions.

  Once Rosita was afloat Kamela casually made her way to the far end of the pool. While waiting the fifteen minutes it took for the lilo to drift that far, she revelled in the thought of unsuspecting village voyeurs focusing their lenses on a sunbathing Señora Ortega.

  Kamela stripped down to her bikini and lowered herself into the water.

  First she taped Rosita’s neck, passing the tape round under the lilo and taking care to lay each subsequent layer of tape over the previous one. Now was not the time to rush things, it had to be done as neatly and as discreetly as possible. Next she taped her hips to the lilo, making sure the blue tape passed over Rosita’s blue bikini bottoms.

  Momentarily Kamela thought about going back on her original plan by taping the woman’s feet together. No, she told herself, no need for overkill.

  “Bye Señora Ortega.” She propelled the lilo back towards the villa. “See you in the morning.”

  Once she was back inside the villa, with her shoes back on her feet and her dress in her hand, Kamela realised she had a problem. She could not go back to the hotel with a wet bikini under her dress. Her underwear needed to stay on the chair by the pool, it was going to be her reason for returning the next day if anyone happened to be there. She took off her bikini and dried herself with a towel crumpled up on the floor behind an armchair. After stepping into her shoes and pulling her dress over her head, she picked up the wet towel and threw it back to where it came from. She could always say she dried herself with it the night before if need be.

  It was then time to gather her bikini and her toolbox, and time to get out of there.

  While driving away from Ortega’s villa, her heart was racing, her stomach was tied in a knot, and her head was in a mental grinder. At the top of the narrow road she turned right towards the village. Only when she rounded a bend and saw a car coming straight towards her, did Kamela realise she was driving on the wrong side of the road. She quickly corrected her mistake. The car coming in the opposite direction neither flashed its lights nor sounded its horn. Perhaps they had me down as just another crazy Spanish driver, she thought.

  All heads turned her way as she walked through the bar. She smiled at the small number of men who had started their evening’s drinking early, hoping none would have noticed her lack of underwear.

  There was no logical reason for it, but Kamela felt the need to shower and wash thoroughly. She did not step out of the small shower cubical until the water had turned lukewarm.

  Once she was dry, and back out in the bedroom, she paused to think what to do next. Even though she was not leaving until the morning, adrenaline drove her into packing her bags.

  Before settling down for the sleep she desperately needed, Kamela studied the villa and its pool through her binoculars. The two lilos had bunched together in a visible corner. Even though it looked like Ortega was sleeping off a heavy night, Kamela cursed the wind direction. It comforted her a little when no amount of tweaking of the focusing knob would make the tape holding Ortega in place visible.

  Finally she got dressed and lay on the bed. She preferred sleeping naked, but feared she might need to leave in a hurry.

  For four hours she lay on the bed, totally exhausted but unable to sleep. Once sunset had passed she could not fight back the urge to keep checking things were going to plan. Every ten minute she would stand up in the darkened room to look out of the window and down into the valley through her binoculars. If Ortega had been discovered, or if she had managed to escape, there would be at least one light on in the villa. It was always in total darkness. The recurring thought that she should have turned at least one light on tortured her burnt-out brain for hours.

  She looked at the clock for the hundredth time. It told her it was eight minutes to ten. Pepé would be arriving soon, she thought. Would he expect her to be in the bar? What would Alfonso think? After all, she had not presented herself as a woman who stayed in her room all night.

  Doing what she was doing was agony. Despite being exhausted, she needed to do something, and there was only one thing to do in the village at that time of night. Alternatively, she could put her bags in her car and drive down the hill to find somewhere discreet to sit in her car and wait.

  You are an assassin, a femme fatale, behave like one, she told herself.

  In an instant she was out of the door and walking down to the bar. When she opened the door, she was relieved to see it was business as usual.

  “Gin and tonic, please Alfonso.”

&nb
sp; He nodded without trying to reply over the loud music and background noise.

  Kamela made her way to where Pepé liked to stand. She did not have a real friend in the village, but Pepé was the closest thing to it and she wanted to be with a friend in her hour of uncertainty.

  She was half-way down her drink when he walked in.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” she said as he got close.

  He smiled. “Are you sure? You know what happened last time you did that.”

  “Not tonight. Not that I regret it though.”

  “Okay, my usual please.”

  Having unashamedly eavesdropped on the conversation, Alfonso did not need Kamela to make the order.

  Pepé bought the next round, and Kamela the one after that. On both occasions, Alfonso made sure a larger shot than usual went into Kamela’s glass.

  It was almost midnight when Kamela put her lips to Pepé’s ear. “Dance with me, would you?”

  “Are you sure? You look more ready for a lie down than a dance.”

  “We’ll dance close, and you can hold me up.”

  The music was not suited to a slow dance, but slow dance is what they did. Kamela was not aware of the male eyes that were upon the couple. Many had stayed for one drink above their usual Sunday night ration.

  Nor did she realise that Alfonso had deliberately changed the CD to the special sultry one he kept for such occasions. Pepé had been here quite a few times before. He started to deliver what the onlookers wanted.

  First it was a drop of a hand onto her backside. Then it was a brush of a thumb over the side of her breast. Kamela rested her head into his shoulder and pigeon stepped round in circles as he put on a show for the regulars.

  A few more tracks came and went before he pushed his thigh between her legs and pulled her tight against it.

  “Not tonight Pepé,” she murmured into his ear.

  “I thought you liked it.”

  “I do, but I’m tired.”

  “You don’t need to do anything, I will do all the work.”

  “You just want to get your end away.” Her words were close to being slurred. Three extra large gins tipped on top of gallons of spent adrenaline and mental exhaustion had decimated her brain.