"Nasty Sharon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roberta)

CHAPTER THREE

It was midnight, time for Bud Connoly's inspection tour.

Sharon always managed to be very busy at the lobby desk when he arrived. Tonight she had arranged two dozen room cards on the counter and was making up the early call list when she heard Bud's voice at the front entrance.

"Say, is this the Sunland Whorehouse?"

Sharon and Nancy looked up from their work, grinning.

Bud was a stocky man of forty. His hair was coal black except for gray streaks at the temples.

He wore a blue blazer and immaculate white slacks – expensive, tailor-made clothes. Yet he did not achieve elegance. He lacked height and his movements were too brusque.

At the counter he said, "I have an itchy peter and ten dollars. What does that buy me in this cathouse?"

"Me," Sharon said.

Bud swung a square hand across the counter and mussed her hair.

Nancy giggled, "She means it, Mr. Connoly."

He leered at Nancy. "You look pretty juicy yourself, honey. Want a little action?"

He made the motion of unzipping his fly. During this horseplay his gaze swept the key boxes. Not a key in sight. His smile broadened.

He asked, "How many quickies, Nancy?"

"Three. We're keeping an eye on them. I'll have to light the no-vacancy sign if somebody doesn't move on soon."

"Nancy, the trouble with this town, people don't fuck enough. We ought to have a dozen units full of people humping away, changing off every two hours. That would make us a real dollar." He turned to Sharon and said, "Excuse me, I shouldn't use words like fuck around a young innocent girl like you."

Sharon said, "I don't mind, Mr. Connoly. I have no idea what fuck means."

He burst into laughter. "Damn you two girls are fun. Where's Harve?"

Nancy explained about Harve's drunken party.

"Is he supplying booze?"

"I gave him one bottle of watered Scotch to sell them. I said to wait until you've looked them over before he takes them any more."

"Good girl. Nancy, I'll set you up with some Scotch watered down to piss that you can sell when they're really drunk. Then you won't have to ask my opinion. Now, if this party makes big trouble, phone Chief Jenkins at his home and say to get his ass here fast. That's what I pay him for."

Watching Bud, Sharon felt a mounting excitement. Her gaze strayed to his crotch. The bulge was monstrous. She knew that even if he were not the boss she would have hot pants for this virile man. But she was equally excited by his masterly control over the motel, which grossed a thousand dollars a night in unit rentals alone. Yes, a thousand. Her little white dream car would cost only three or four days' gross.

Most astonishing, Bud kept his staff from lapping up the usual motel gravy, the multiple rentals, the sale of after-hours booze at inflated prices, and the shakedown money from hookers. She guessed that Harve sometimes added five bucks to the set booze price. Sharon and Nancy were frightened to death of such practices, afraid Bud might send in a colleague feigning drunkenness to test them.

Sharon knew that if Bud said fuck, she would spread her legs. But damn him, he was faithful to his wife, Lita.

Finally he moved off in the direction of Harve's party.

Sharon's gaze slanted at Nancy. She saw that the other girl was flushed and biting her lip.

She whispered, "Nancy, do you have hots for Bud?"

"It's getting so that any man… Well, I'm too emotional."

"He's not your type?" Nancy shook her head.

"What kind do you dig most?"

"Blond men. Younger than Bud."

As though realizing she had said too much, she bit her lip hard and turned to her paper work.

Blond men. Younger. Buddy, Sharon thought, smiling secretly.

Bud had gone home to the embraces of Lita, a lovely little blonde a great deal younger than himself.

Sharon wondered about the Connoly's sex life. Gossip said Nancy had become manager by shacking up with Bud, but Sharon doubted it. She herself had tried every way of seducing him short of tearing his fly open. He had always fended her off with his cheerful, bawdy jokes.

His wife, Lita, was a strange number. Sometimes Sharon thought the woman gazed at her with lesbian eyes.

Buddy had to arrive pretty soon. Sharon's tension mounted. Unable to remain still at the desk, she set out to patrol the quickies, going by way of the drunken party.

Lights still glowed in units twenty-eight and thirty but there was no noise. She saw Harve leaning against a palm tree, arms folded.

She whispered, "I'm checking quickies. You coming along?"

"I better watch this gang a while longer."

She did not argue, but simply walked off using body language, rolling her ass. Soon she heard Harve's leather soles scrape the tiles behind her.

The quickies were still busy. She continued on to the employees' lounge. There Harve caught up.

The common room of the lounge contained armchairs and writing desks. Doors marked Men and Women led off it. Harve grasped her wrist and opened the Men's door. He took her in and shut it. The room contained lockers and bunk beds for off-duty naps. It was dark.

Her back was to Harve. She felt his hands slip over her hips, up her waist and to her tits, cupping them. His stiff cock pressed her behind.

He whispered, "You know something? I really dig you, Sharon."

"You're just horny. Unzip my dress."

He opened it. Sharon flicked off the shoulder straps, then brushed the material down her tits, revealing the snowy swells, the caps dark in this meager light, aureoles puffed to cones from which projected the stiff nipples. Harve's fingers forked them and pressed her breasts back on themselves.

Sighing deeply, Sharon squirmed her backside against his rigid prick.

He said, "Sharon, the trouble is you don't give a shit for me because I'm no use to you. If you'd just once look at me the way you do at Bud…"

"Bud is the boss, Harve."

"Would you fuck with him?"

"You bet your sweet ass I would."

"But he's old!"

She almost laughed. Harve would never understand. Sometimes she thought his teasing sex games were cover-ups for romantic illusions.

But seeing his lean fingers knead her tits and feeling a warmth course through them, she was content. She arched her back, turned her cheek to rub his. He needed a shave. The bristles made her skin tingle. She kissed his nose.

Then she pulled his right hand from her breast and shoved it down to her crotch.

His fingers dug into her pussy. Moaning softly, she bowed her legs to make room between, then squirmed her buttocks on his stiff cock. She twisted in his arms to kiss him, and got a mouthful of strong, meaty tongue. She sucked it and felt everything connect, currents from her tit to the hand in her pussy, to the cock digging in behind, up to his mouth.

He broke the kiss, complaining, "I used to tell people you were my girl. A lie."

"But I adore you, Harve."

"You adore the main chance."

And so what? she thought. Who doesn't?

She fingered behind herself to his waistband. She unhooked it, opened his fly and seized the rigid meat.

"Ahhh!" he gasped.

She caressed the hot prong. The shank was lean, a perfect fit for her rather narrow cunt. It throbbed in her fist.

"Take down my panties, Harve."

He lifted her skirt and peeled the flimsy nylon garment down to her knees. She felt his hot meat stab into the cheeks of her ass. Panting now, she bent forward, grasping the supports of the bunk.

His long cock pressed lengthwise into her drooling trough.

Looking under herself, she could see between her hanging tits the red cockhead nuzzling her twat hair. She reached down and grasped the hot penis and tucked the head into her hole.

"I never felt such a wet cunt!"

"So fuck it, Harve!"

She backed up and gasped as the long rod curved up into her drooling twat. His pubic hair flattened on the cheeks of her ass. She pushed back, bending lower, now reaching for his scrotum. She caught it and tried to stuff a ball into her cunt.

"Don't! You'll make me come too fast!"

She released the squishy nuts and wrapped her arms around the bed stanchions, her head still hanging down, watching his balls swing up to slap her mound. She squeezed her snatch about the stiff rod and felt a little spasm, a tiny cum. She moaned loudly.

He asked, "Did you just have an orgasm?"

"Yes! A little one!"

"It felt like your cunt was trying to swallow my prick."

He began whacking, driving it into her with long, rhythmic thrusts.

Sharon found that the little cum had relaxed her. She settled down to enjoying this cleansing, impersonal fuck. It quickly dispersed her guilt over seducing Buddy.

Her cunt squished on every stroke. It began to feel like a melting cavern.

Harve said, "We better not take too much time."

"Does that mean you're coming?"

"Pretty soon. My cock feels, like a hammer handle, that long and hard."

"Wait."

She reached down her belly to finger her clit. The trouble with this position was the lack of clitoral pressure. She rolled the olive-slick bump, and quickly the palpitations of her snatch became long squeezings, stripping his pole each time it drew out, tightening when his head thrust back in to wedge her open. At the end of each stoke her cunt went loose and gushed.

Harve's groin was slapping loudly on her wet ass. "Take it!" he suddenly cried. "I'm shooting my balls off!"

Sharon erupted when his cream flew into the depths of her cunt. She felt her juice running down both legs. She groaned into the bedsheet.

Still he hammered her ass, his scrotum flying up, nuts whacking her belly. Another charge spurted into her.

Her cunt was stripping his spewing organ.

His last shot drove her into the bed, as her legs gave out. She clung for dear life as her cunt throbbed over the peak of orgasm and flopped into a slippery pink valley beyond.

Even as his strength withered, her snatch fluttered through another cum.