Clayton is a small village in
the Northeast corner of the Finchbottom Vale, with a large nucleus of
substantial dwellings and a greater number of more humble homes and of those
inhabitants who need to work for a living the largest employer in the area was
the Clayton Manor Hotel.
In the early summer a new
manager was appointed, Gary Playford, and he was an instant hit with the locals
because Gary was young, tall, dark and handsome, physically fit, well-toned and
had a reputation as a lothario, which had very much preceded him.
He was 28 years old, and his
father owned the Playford Palace chain of hotels, and he was grooming him to
one day take over the reins of his worldwide hotel empire, the problem was that
Gary had no head for business and he primarily thought with his dick.
Which could possibly have
been ignored but for the fact that he and his dick ended up sleeping with the
granddaughter of his father’s oldest friend.
So it was decided to send
Gary to the Clayton Manor Hotel where he could do no serious harm even if he
shagged everything in sight, and he very nearly did.
When he first found out he
was being sent to Clayton Gary was very unhappy, he was a city boy, born and
bred, and he viewed being sent to the country as purgatory, but no one was more
surprised than he was when he found that actually loved it, it was a beautiful
place, it was quiet and the air was clean and the women were as attractive,
friendly and willing as any city girl, if not more so.
There is a very apt saying
which goes “don’t shit on your own doorstep” which Gary had clearly never heard.
Because on his first day
shagged the head of housekeeping in an upstairs closet.
Although in truth he was
rather ambushed.
But it wasn’t just the female
members of staff or hotel guests that he considered fair game.
There were also the local
villagers and although he was normally the predator, within the village he had
become the prey.
Because for the lonely
widows, desperate singles, even more desperate divorcees, and the bored house
frau’s he was manna from heaven.
In
the quiet of his office, he sat and thought, as he nursed a large brandy, of
the tortuous events of the day, in particular an inebriated lady Bishop from
Nance and her form of sexual offertory which he had to decline.
That
was followed by the appearance of two very mature schoolgirls, Lisa and Honey,
in full uniform to report a problem with their room, he couldn’t remember the
nature of the problem as he was picturing them cavorting naked around his
office save for sundry items of lace and silk.
After
the horny schoolgirls had left, he took a walk across to the Gate Lodge to
visit Blaire who was on her day off and was one of his frequent flyers, but
alas she wasn’t in and was probable off wetting someone else’s balls.
As
he walked back across the car park, he was rerunning some of the sexual
encounters they had shared and it was only the sound of a car horn that ended
the Technicolor orgy in his head.
When
he looked round, he saw it was Dr Owens, another regular recipient of his
attention, driving away, she gave him a wave as she drove past, but that was
enough and there were images of her in his head, her beautiful naked body
beneath him, on top of him, on all fours, in the shower, and against a wall.
The
afternoon and evening were annoyingly taken up with work which required him to
burn the midnight oil somewhat but by the end of the day he got himself a
brandy and called it a night.
He drained his glass and
decided he would visit the lounge on one final prowl for a likely candidate for
his lust and there she was sitting alone in an easy chair reading a book.
When she looked, she smiled
at him and said
“Hello Gary”
And his mind went blank
clearly some woman he’d slept with at some time or other and the encounter was
so unmemorable he had obviously forgotten her instantly.
He tried to picture her
dressed in a different outfit, casual wear, uniform, bondage gear or work
clothes and then it registered.
“Lindsay Baker” he replied,
not a woman he had slept with after all and then instantly forgotten she was a
solicitor from Purplemere who he tried to sleep with.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
he asked.
“Not at all” she said,
“please do” and gestured to the neighboring chair.
“Can I get you a drink?” he
asked
“Thank you, yes,” she said,
and he signalled to the barman.
After he ordered the drinks,
she said
“I heard on the grapevine you
had been banished to the country, isn’t it a bit slow for a man of your propensities?”
“You would be surprised” he
remarked
“Really?” she said “tell me
more”
“A gentleman never kisses and
tells” Gary pointed out
“Well, you’re no gentleman so
spill the beans”
So, over the next fifteen
minutes he related to her some of his more interesting encounters.
“My word you have been a busy
boy” she said and squirmed a little in her seat.
“And what about you?” he
probed, and hoped he might probe further
“What do you mean?” she said
innocently
“You are not after all
without a reputation” he said ungallantly
“Well, that’s true enough,
though compared to you I’m an amateur” she said
“Come on out with it” he insisted,
and she regaled him with the lurid tale of one of her clients who attended
meetings in her office after hours and was shagging her senseless.
“Excellent” he said sporting
a boner as he watched Lindsay fidgeting.
“Another drink?” he offered
“In my room perhaps” she
replied
“A Nightcap?” he asked
“Something like that” Lindsay
said “Providing that “Nightcap” is Hotel code for Horny Hotelier fucks Slutty
Solicitor”
“We at the Clayton Manor
Hotel are here to please” he said
“Yes, that’s definitely what
I want” she said and stood up and as she walked ahead of him he could see a
damp patch on the back of her skirt.
“We’ve done the foreplay
then” he said to himself
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