In the Hotel

Carpets and underlay ripped up. (Revealing a trapdoor to a cellar no-one knew existed. Kitchen ripped out and a million cockroaches made homeless. Then steam cleaning everywhere. Even the bar went. 

Then new downstairs carpets, so the place has that ‘new’ scent to it. New kitchen equipment that meets my head chef’s exacting standards. (She’s moving from the pub to here. When we open in a months time, it is going to be a significant opportunity for her. Who knows, maybe Michelin will come a-calling.) 

Maria, the new manager is here and has been working like a slave. The car has been removed from the duck pond, and the swimming pool is no longer green. The outside has been painted (several times) and the place looks stunning. A new bar, (made from decent materials rather than thin plywood) and Phase one is complete. There will be more work, but first I want to advertise and get some customers in the door. 

I have my own room here now with an office attached. The dividing wall has been knocked through and a conference table installed. There are easy chairs and a sofa bed should I need to stay the night, but first and foremost, these three rooms (there’s a small bathroom too) are workspaces. 

And I’m horny as fuck! I’m always like this when I’m pursuing a vision. As I look down from my office window, several burly fellows are carrying the first of the new bar equipment in and round the corner, a beer lorry is unloading. I’ve been bombarded by certain breweries to become ‘tied’ to them. No fucking chance….i know how that goes. There are a number of small independent breweries around here and I’m going to try their products first.

Mmm, but I’m wet though. Even as I think about what’s to come next, it seems to have a direct connection to my clit. Unbelievable. The more I think about the plan, versus the “what ifs” the more juicy I’m getting. 

I step away from the window and sit on my new sofa bed, The door is closed but not locked, and my knees drift apart all on their own. My hand wanders up between my legs too. I wonder…..could I? Should I? 

Miss Brain digs up an old memory. Me, sitting in school on a hot Friday afternoon….the dreaded double Latin, and me sitting as far back as I could with my hand through the slit in my kilt, stroking myself through my panties and making myself cum….a “pantywank” I called it. It felt daring, rebellious and therefore utterly delicious. Yes, I could be walked in on at any minute….theres always a million questions for the boss…..but then that’s half thhe attraction for me. Fuck it, why not? 

My fingers find my crotch and the hard little nub of my clit. Even now I can feel the wetness and slickness of my panties. I close my eyes and immediately I’m back in the classroom chanting with the other girls, and all the while I’m fiddling with myself getting closer and closer, trying to hold off until the bell which nerve seemed to come….edging, they call it now. In my mind, the end of the lesson and the day itself sounded and I came into my panties, just as I am doing right now. I rock back and forth as the convulsions talk me, and holy moly this is a long-lasting one. I feel myself squirt too. One long ‘blast’ and several shorter ones. 

I quickly scoot forward leaving my crotch over the carpet so what my panties cant hold has somewhere to go. The back of my dress remains out of the firing line on the seat of the couch. Strange how quickly one learns to manage things like this. 

The orgasm fades and becomes a mere rumble in the distance. I stand up and take my panties off. No point in trying to find a dry patch to mop up with, so I take them through to my bathroom. I consider washing them, but then remember that Emily will put them to much better use. 

I clan myself up and resign myself to going commando for the rest of the day. 

The things a girl has to do.