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From: John D <johndstories@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Me and My Zapper Chapter 09 (MF, oral, 2500 words)
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Date: Tue, 29 Oct 2013 05:10:02 -0400
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This is the next edition of my series, Me and My Zapper. All the other 
chapters are available on USENET or are on my site 
athttp://www.johndstories.co.uk/me-and-my-zapper-chapter-09/

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It took over three months for the sale to finish, and for us to refit 
the hotel; it was sold to us at a knocked-down price because it needed 
extensive renovation, but Maisie came up with enough friends and 
tradesmen to help us without denting our budget too badly, and although 
she never told me what she did, I could make a very educated guess that 
their wives and girlfriends paid our bill for us.

We agreed that the secret of the zappers would stay a secret and so 
whatever Maisie did do, I'm sure her friends and tradesmen didn't know 
the whole story. She also made up with her parents and blamed her attack 
of lust at the pub on hormonal imbalance. Once her family thought she 
had a mild medical complaint, that she told them she was getting 
treatment for, they seemed to disregard the shameless public transgressions.

The same could not be said for Rebecca: the anger she felt for her 
parent's favouritism had not rescinded, and when Elsie and my new 
business partner (Maisie and I agreed to give her a third of our 
venture) met to discuss "that night" in a café in the centre of a 
shopping centre, they descended into fierce shouting, and Rebecca 
surreptitiously dosing her sister with a strong quantity of my zapper, 
before fleeing the scene; I know Elsie was eventually arrested, much to 
Rebecca's amusement.

As for me, I had not bothered to contact my sister; Maisie's 
negotiations would have left an ill-taste in the mouth for her, and I 
wasn't that sure what to say. The fact that I also saw the remnants of 
her sexual antics dripping down her legs, not to mention her engaging in 
pee play, were also good reasons not to open communication channels. 
Katie would contact me if she needed to, or we would see each other at 
Christmas and pretend nothing had happened; this cowardly apathy suited me.

The Lovers' Hotel was situated around thirty miles from the town I lived 
in, and was a fifteen minute walk from a tiny village that possessed a 
pub, a post office and a sporadic train service. It's previous use as a 
conference centre-cum-hotel meant that there were a couple of big rooms 
on the ground floor and we remodelled these to provided a "blue" room 
where the men congregated and had their "lesson" on seduction and sex, 
and a "pink" room where women had massages, before they both lead 
through big double doors into the dining room.

We could then send all the couples after dinner to the "couples bar" 
which had twenty high-powered transmitters in the bar, ceiling and wall. 
The three of us discussed the mechanics of this and decided that it 
would be wise to let them buy a drink each (for profits) before we left 
the room and turned on the hidden zappers. We only needed to be absent 
for thirty seconds, but it would be unwise to have the staff as loved up 
as the guests: it was our business not our pleasure.

We had six of our eight rooms booked for the opening night; Maisie had 
managed to find dozens of desperate people in sexless marriages on the 
Internet, and her website had persuaded four men and two women to join 
us for the night, with their partners. I felt butterflies as the first 
couple checked in - a dumpy woman with red, puffy eyes accompanying a 
scowling middle-aged gentleman - and Rebecca gleefully showed them to 
their room.

It didn't feel like a great start: arguing with each other would not 
make for a happy evening, and the second couple hardly looked much 
better. I wondered how many relationships were at "last chance saloon" 
and mentioned my reservations to Maisie but she scoffed as she busied 
herself with excitement.

Maisie had arranged for local masseurs to visit in the afternoon as a 
"standard outcall" and was banned from the room as Rebecca oversaw the 
nervous ladies getting a gentle massage from some incredibly sexy 
masseurs while Maisie and I had to "lecture" half-a-dozen reluctant men, 
while we wore white togas.

Maisie was brilliant and had organised so much of the experience by 
herself. Towels and togas, each colour-matched to their partner, and 
their allocated suite, awaited for the gentlemen on the seats and she 
argued with one of the guests when he almost point-blank refused to take 
his mobile phone upstairs as "Arsenal were playing later." There was 
reticence when she demanded nudity and angrily barked into the room, 
"who wants to get laid tonight? And make their partner orgasm repeatedly?"

Nervously, our students looked at each other, and disrobed, to sit on 
the towels provided while Maisie and I delivered a lecture using slides 
taken mostly from pilfered pictures and videos from the Internet. We had 
only rehearsed a couple of times together, but we discussed 
aphrodisiacs, foreplay, intercourse, "the art of compliment" and 
"effortless seduction" until a buzzer sounded and my business partner 
wrapped up her lecture and then put a picture of how to tie a toga on 
the big television screen.

Watching six middle-aged men try to tie togas was amusing, and I had to 
help a couple fasten the unwieldy cotton sheets: "real men wear togas," 
Maisie cried: she had been a fantastic actress all afternoon as she told 
them the act of wearing the toga signified their successful completion 
of the seduction course. I could not believe that they were so gullible, 
but in my heart I knew that most of them were here because they needed 
hope. They wanted to believe it was true, and that they had new found 
powers to woo, please and satisfy their partner.

The aphrodisiac-laden dinner, cooked by our part-time retired chef 
looked delicious: griddled asparagus spears, oysters with ginger 
followed by avacado, banana and honey salad and chocolate chilli figs. 
The intimate dining room with flickering candle lights, smiling and 
flirting, was buzzing with excitement and our business plan seemed to be 
working.

After coffee, the couples joined me in the bar and every man happily 
charged £60 to their account to buy a bottle of pink champagne for him 
and his partner: Maisie's small lie that it was a proven aphrodisiac 
(and we gave them a glass with their dinner), seemed to convince the 
desperate men to part with their money, and we happily sold six of the 
overpriced bottles of cheap bubbly.

I must admit my nerves were a little frayed as I stepped outside the 
bar; if the zappers failed for whatever reason at this point, then our 
entire scam would be rumbled and I closed the door to the bar as I 
entered the store room and watched the six couples on the CCTV camera we 
had set up. My clammy fingers hovered over the key to activate my 
technology and slipped as I turned it, priming the zappers before I 
unleashed several seconds of intense arousal into the bar.

The reaction was immediate: every member of the bar held onto their 
toga-clad crotch with a pained expression and I breathed an audible sigh 
of relief as I counted the half-minute before wandering back to our 
guests. Two couples frantically grabbed each other as they hurriedly 
left the bar, scrabbling at their togas as they scrambled towards their 
private rooms.

The other four couples were not waiting, and we suspected some couples 
might not when we designed the hotel. I watched as the first couple - a 
slightly dumpy, dour woman on her knees with her equally as uninspiring 
partner's cock bobbing in her face. I had wondered throughout the day if 
there was a wild tiger hidden inside her dreary exterior, and she was 
far from the colourless lady I first thought.

I watched, and they didn't care, as she took the cock in her mouth, 
sliding her mouth down the six-inch cock with ease until her nose was 
tickled by his pubic hair. Her tongue effortlessly flicked his glans and 
her right hand pressed against his ass, eager to slide against her 
partner's prostate, while her left hand encircled her clit.

She came into his cock, her cries and moans squealing down the manhood 
occupying her mouth and the middle-aged woman looked up at her husband, 
waiting for him to grab her head and face-fuck the eager fellatrix.

My eyes glanced around the room: there was a clear initial reticence 
from our patrons from doing too much in the hotel bar, but as the first 
couple openly engaged in lustful behaviour, this served to encourage the 
remaining couples as togas were discarded with rampant alacrity.

I watched, watched the tall blonde woman pushed her hesitant husband 
onto the leather sofa and eagerly slid her hands over his rotund, hairy 
body. He sighed, and struggled, glancing at me and the other writhing 
couples, and gulped as she pressed her hand against his erect cock.

He sighed, wriggling from her touch and enjoying her fingers gliding 
firmly down his shaft; her expression oozed lust as she watched his 
face, smiling at his lustful fog and squirming body. He grunted, and she 
swung her leg over his head, settling her crotch against his face as her 
hands closed around his cock.

She groaned as her partner licked her slit, squealing as his tongue 
probed her, and her breasts hung to rub against his naked body. She was 
loud, they all were, but her cries reverberated around the intimate 
room, as her husband drove her towards her climax. His cock, spewing 
pre-cum was being expertly massaged as she ran the palm of her hand over 
his glistening tip while her fingers grasped his shaft, pulling it upwards.

He shuddered, filling her hand with his semen as she bucked her hips, 
writhing her body to the rhythm of his tongue as she squealed: louder 
and louder than ever before. The entire room was about to experience her 
orgasm as the cacophony of lust filled my ears; she was staring at me as 
I watched her heaving breasts. I wanted to play with them; I wanted to 
touch her gorgeous orbs and rub her nipples in my fingers as she writhed 
and groaned. I wanted to cup her smoothness and stare into her eyes as 
her husband made her orgasm. I wanted, but I couldn't have.

She was a paying guest, and was beyond my touch; my erection pressed 
against the insides of my trousers and I stared, meeting her gaze as she 
screamed obscenities into the room and rocked against his face with a 
desperate passion and lust. She was coming, orgasming aggressively and 
passionately on his startled face.

I looked around the room; I had missed the removal of the deep red togas 
from the nearest couple to the window, or the cunnilingus that the stout 
woman received from her nondescript husband, but I did not miss what was 
to follow afterwards. Pulling her onto his lap, he effortlessly glided 
his cock into her welcoming pussy and she groaned loudly with a driven, 
animal passion that rattled my consciousness. This was not a woman who 
was wanted sexual satisfaction, but a woman who's soul screamed 
desperation as her body buzzed in sweet delight at the rampant 
forwardness of her lust-crazed partner.

He barely broke rhythm as his cock slid into her wet cunt and he thrust 
deep into the mewling wife; her vocal utterances of carnal delight 
competed admirably in the room swimming with sexual ecstasy. She sunk 
her nails into his flesh, grabbing his back and pulling him closer to 
her, as he rammed his cock forcefully into her slick cunt.

She snatched at her breathing, frantically gasping for air as her lover 
passionately used her; she relished his new found confidence and was 
savouring his unyielding desires with increasing volume.

I felt a pang of jealousy, but could do nothing but watch; watch as he 
reached his peak, several moments after she climaxed for the third time 
and then fill her cunt with his warm seed. I could only watch as she 
yelled obscenities and profanities at him and push his face into her 
cum-soaked crotch, before climaxing again as he lapped at her dripping 
cunt. Watch as she ground her orgasming cunt against his sodden face 
before grabbing his hand and leading the naked man out of the bar as the 
lovers frantically ran to the sanctuary of their bedroom, leaving behind 
their discarded togas.

We had loaded the rooms with condoms, lubricants and transmitters in the 
ceilings that would periodically dose them on lust until the small hours 
and then wake our guests in time for a screw before breakfast.

I nodded politely as the naked couples left the bar, making eye contact 
with them as if everything was completely normal, as they hurriedly left 
the room to partake in further sexual shenanigans. I tidied the bar and 
sat down, helping myself to a glass of pink champagne; six couples were 
currently trying their best to wear out the bedsprings, and Rebecca and 
Maisie smiled as they joined me in the bar. "Lazy little ..."

"Enough of that," I replied. "I've sold hundreds of pounds of 
champagne." I pointed to six bottles of half-drunk bubbly on the bar - 
the lust had seen to the fact that they no longer worried about the 
ludicrously expensive pink wine they had just bought - and returned the 
cheeky grins. "I think that went well," I added, unbuttoning my shirt. 
"If I could just hit one or both of you two ..."

"No chance," Maisie and Rebecca replied in unison and giggled. "Not on a 
working night," Rebecca added. It was another agreement we had had: 
playing with the zappers together was technically fine, but not one one 
of the six days a week the hotel was open. We had to separate work life 
and fun, and while I was not dating or going out with either of the two 
ladies, they were amenable to some after-hours sex, in the right 
circumstances.

I stretched in the seat and looked up as the doorbell rang. "I'll get 
it," Maisie muttered and disappeared out of the bar, only to return was 
a very wet, and very dishevelled young lady. I didn't recognise her at 
first, but as Rebecca and I both looked at each other, it dawned on me: 
she was the bargirl from the Italian restaurant who I had so enjoyably 
screwed.

"Eva," I cried, having to wrack my memory for her name. "What's ... what 
are you doing here?"

She gulped and squeezed her wet jacket. "I ... I ... I ..." She stammered and 
I calmed her down, pouring her a glass of someone else's champagne and 
passing it to her. She hesitated and gulped. "I had to find you," she 
said, her hands trembling around the cold glass. I tried to get her to 
remove her cold, wet clothes but she refused and looked at Maisie. "Is 
this your girlfriend?"

"They are my business partners," I replied, truthfully. "What are you 
doing here?"

She twirled her black hair around her fingers and downed her drink, 
staring at the pattern in the wooden table. "I had to find you. I asked 
the dating woman for your address and she refused but when I told her 
why I needed it, she let me have it, and I went 'round there and it was 
empty but your neighbour said something about this hotel and I've just 
walked from the station and ..." She took a deep breath and gulped. "I'm 
pregnant."

"Fuck!"

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To be continued.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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