The Open Arms Motel

Greg laboriously marked through a word on his newspaper, nodding to himself and mumbling, as someone would who was alone and bored often did. He went to 12 down and tapped it emphatically.
 "The _______ of Panama," he read to himself. His voice echoed hollowly in the small motel office. He thought for a moment, drumming his pencil on the desk. Ismus was the most likely word, but it didn't fit in the 7 spaces provided. The ice machine clattered, dropping a load of ice, and startling him out of his wits. He looked up in time to see a red Mercedes pulling close to the door. Water cascaded off the car so hard, that it was hard to tell that the car was red. Rain poured down in curtains.
 A man in a windbreaker opened the car's door, activating a myriad of custom interior lights. A long-haired, sensuous blonde turned to stare at Greg briefly, then looked straight ahead as if he no longer existed. The man ran inside.
 With a vision of the blonde burned into his brain, Greg gave the man his warmest smile. He would suck up to this guy, to get a better look at the blonde. She was high class material. There was only one room in the hotel fit for these people, room 1C.
 "Yes sir?"
 "I need a room," the man said with a slight English accent.
 "For two?"
 "Yes. And I want a room on the ground floor, so I can keep an eye on my car."
 They are all on the ground floor, moron, Greg thought to himself. It's a one-story motel.
 "I have just the room. 1C, right across the court. That way you can watch the car, and I can see it from here as well."
 "Well, thank you," the man was pleased.
 "More than welcome," Greg slid him the card and a pen. Predictably, the man took a pen from his own pocket, rather than using a "common" pen. How did Greg know he would do that? Because Greg had seen a hundred such pompous assholes like this. Some were rich and privileged, and some pretended to be. He knew exactly what they would do. For instance, he knew the man would ask for a bell boy, even though it was obvious that the motel didn't maintain a bell boy staff.
 "Can you have someone bring in our bags?" the man asked hopefully.
 "Of course, sir, it's a slack period right now, I believe I will handle that myself."
 "Well thank you," the man said, again pleased. He slipped Greg an extra hundred dollars, for his 80 dollar room.
 "You have too much here," Greg said, grinding his teeth in an effort to maintain his smile.
 "Just keep that between ourselves," the man said, patting his hand. Greg wanted to vomit, but he smiled and pocketed the money. He grabbed his poncho and threw it on, on the way to the door. He would have handled the bags for free, just for the privilege of watching those long legs swing out of the car. And, to make sure they put the suitcases in the right place. One suitcase in front of the mirror could ruin his entire evening.
 He was not disappointed. The blonde swung her legs out the door, then paused, looking up at the sky.
 "Yup, that's where it comes from," Greg mumbled, while staring at her long, slender legs. Her dress was slit up the side, revealing her entire leg clear up to her panties. She didn't seem to mind when Greg stared. In fact she turned and gave him a sultry look, before following her man into the motel.
 "That's a high class fuck," Greg mumbled, just as the man ran out into the courtyard. He laughed and pressed a button on his key chain. The trunk popped open automatically, which made Greg wonder why the asshole had kept him waiting in the rain.
 "Just two bags," the man said, lifting the lid. "That one and this," he said, taking a cosmetic case from the trunk. Greg took the huge suitcase from the trunk. He groaned as he lifted it, then sprinted for the door. He stopped just inside the door and opened the motel's complimentary suitcase holder. He laid the suitcase on the webbed belts of the holder, then turned it so it faced the bed. He resisted the urge to look at the mirror, across from the two beds. He started to leave the room, when the man forced another hundred dollar bill on him. He took it, of course. Doing crosswords was an expensive habit.
 Greg couldn't wait to return to his office. He leaped over the counter, and checked to make sure no lights were blinking on the switchboard, then he hurried into the back office. Leaving the door partially open so he could watch the front door, he turned on a television, then activated a vcr. He waited for the picture of the motel room to fill the screen. It was perfect.
 "TV 1C live is up and running," he mumbled in his best Bruce Willis imitation. He didn't record, there was nothing to see yet. The blonde was sitting on the bed, facing the bathroom, while the man washed his face and hands in the sink.
 "...no, Oak Ridge," the man called to the woman.
 "Oak Ridge will take three years and three million dollars to develop. We should start at Edgewood."
 "Wow, a killer body and brains to match," Greg mumbled.
 "Edgewood will take less development, but give us fewer returns. We may need the extra money which Oak Ridge can provide," he said, drying his hands on a white towel. He sat on the bed beside her and kissed her soundly, while his hand slid beneath her dress. She finished the kiss, then shook her head.
 "Money which may not be fully realized for 8 to ten years," she objected. "Edgewood is a lower class development which will give us instant returns. Face it Ethan, we have no choice, not if we want to borrow the money from my father. Father does not loan 3 million dollars over such a long period. He could do better with mutual funds."
 "Killer body, smart, and rich," Greg said, even more impressed. Edgewood, he thought to himself. There was an edgewood up by the lake. But it was a rural area with a few disreputable hunting cabins and trees. It was a nice area though, mostly made up of birch and a few maples. It was on a hill overlooking the lake. There was a carpet of leaves and very little underbrush, which made it ideal for hunting, picnicking, or just walking. If a man had money, he could buy up a big piece of it dirt cheap. The Edgewood sign had been put up by an old hunter who died three years before. People pretty much figured the sign was intended as a joke. Could it be the same place? Maybe, otherwise why would they stay in an 80 dollar hotel, when they were obviously used to an 800 dollar suite?
 Oh, oh, things were heating up. The man had his hand under her dress, rubbing the crotch of her panties, as he pushed her back on the bed, in the middle of a passionate kiss. Greg leaned forward and started the recorder.
 Even in the throes of passion, the woman planned ahead. She undid the man's tie and hung it over the swiveling light without even looking. Greg figured she must be using the force or something, then he realized that she was watching their reflections in the mirror. Kinky bitch.
 The blonde began undoing the man's buttons, but she was too slow. He sat up and finished the job for her, while she slithered out of her velvety dress. She wore a white bra with lace trim, and a matching white lace thong. Her bra and panties were startling white, against the perfect golden tan of her body. There were no annoying tan lines on her body, the tan was uniform and perfect from forehead to toes. She undid her bra and laid it over the chair.
 The man started to kiss her again, but she held up a hand to stop him. "Protection," she said simply. She leaned down and picked up the small case. Greg enjoyed the way her breasts jiggled and swayed, until he saw where she was heading. In horror, he watched her approaching the mirror, behind which the camera was hidden. He watched in agony as she sat the case below the camera and opened the lid.
 "No!" he screamed. The lid now hid the bed from sight.
 "Have you seen my diaphragm?" she asked. He saw the top of the man's head approach, barely visible over the top of the case. In a moment the girl disappeared. The man's head turned away from the mirror.
 Greg moaned in helpless agony. He had planned it out so well. Last summer when the manager of the motel went on vacation, Greg had closed up room 1D and ripped the wall out. He hardwired a high-priced surveillance camera into the motel's circuitry and hid it in the wall between 1D and 1C, behind 1C's mirror. He then replaced the mirror with a two way mirror which cost him a fortune.
 He realized that a modern miniature camera could be easily hidden inside the room, but he wanted high quality tape and sound so he could sell it. It took two weeks of agonizing work to finish the job in his spare time. If he had planned ahead, he would have made some type of access panel for the camera, or he would have mounted it higher, behind the two-way mirror. This was not the first time such a thing had happened. There had been many such disappointments. He should have realized that people would put their suitcases on the desk. People were slobs.
 The top of the woman's head returned. She snapped something shut, then closed the lid on the case. Her wonderful breasts reappeared so tantalizing and close he could almost touch them. He could even see a sprinkling of freckles on and between her breasts. She took the case down and set it on the floor beneath the desk then stood, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Even her belly button was sexy, Greg observed. It was perfectly round with a half fold inside.
 Greg wanted to run across the courtyard and kiss her. He couldn't be happier. This sweet lady would make him rich. He could get big money for an original x-rated tape with such a hot, high-classed babe on it.
 "You look good enough to eat," the man leered.
 "I am. I used the cherry flavored spermicide."
 "Wh... what?" Greg yelled. "Don't ruin my tape," he warned, shaking his finger at the screen.
 He saw the headlights of a car pull up outside. He should have turned on the "no vacancy" sign, but the manager would kill him if he saw it on, with only three cars in the courtyard. He stood undecided, with his body in the door, but his attention on the tv screen. An old man hurried to the door and stepped inside. Greg reluctantly closed the office door.
 "A game?" the old man asked.
 "Huh?"
 "You watching a game in there?"
 "Oh, no. It's a family... uh, video."
 "Sounds like they're fighting. I need a room."
 "Here you go, room 1M," Greg pushed the key across the desk.
 "Shouldn't I sign something?"
 "No, I trust you. Just give me 40 bucks and we'll call it even. Ok?"
 "Sure," the man said in surprise. He slid two twenties across the desk and left with the key, looking over his shoulder at Greg as he did.
 Greg busted through the office door to see the blonde now naked, laying across the bed. The man was on his knees beside the bed, eating her delicious looking pussy. The blonde was mashing her tits in her hands, withering and moaning with her face twisted in pleasure. Her golden hair was spread across the bedspread like a cascade of morning light. Her long, slender body was absolutely perfect, achingly flawless like a box of white fudge.
 "Oh - my - God," Greg gasped in astonishment. "Why can't I find a girl like that? Why do all my dates look... and smell, like washerwomen?" Probably because they were washerwomen, he thought with a smile. He mostly fucked the motel maids.
 The man watched the blonde's face, as he gave her a good eating. He plastered his mouth against her pussy and shook his mouth from side to side, while she made a loud keening sound.
 She lifted her legs and put one on each of his shoulders. He massaged her left leg, while continuing to eat. Finally she sat up and grabbed his head, lifting him. She turned over on her stomach with her knees on the floor. He sank down behind her, took his cock in his hand, and guided it into her wet pussy.

...CONTINUES IN THE MEMBERS SECTION