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From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM}  The Ethics Conference (MF F voy)  <*>
Date: Tue, 16 Nov 1999 17:10:00 -0500
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This work contains graphic depictions of sex acts.
Please do not continue if this makes you uncomfortable,
or violates laws in your part of the world.

This story is Copyright 1999 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com)
----------------------------------------------------------------------

THE ETHICS CONFERENCE 

ONE 

"What did you think of the presentation?" asked Heather Stanton.
She was dressed in a silk blouse and a pair of navy slacks, and
doing her best to keep the cookie crumbs from falling on her
outfit. 

Gerald Maytag looked over the tray of baked treats with a coffee
in hand, and managed a weak, "It was fine." 

"Fine? Is that a joke? I can't believe we came all the way out to
Chicago for a weekend seminar to hear, 'Organized crime often
uses legitimate men's clubs for money laundering operations.'
They may as well have flown us to Monaco to verify that, yes, it
really is a small country!" 

Mouth poised to bite into the brownie, Maytag paused. "I guess
you'd rather be on the Riviera then, meeting some tall dark
stranger for an evening of intrigue?" 

"Of course," Stanton said as she kicked a hunk of brownie away
from her ivory and navy pumps. "I would also settle for being at
home, catching up on laundry, anything that might actually be
productive." 

"I guess it was somewhat dull." 

"Somewhat? It looked like a meeting of narcoleptics anonymous in
there! You looked like you were on another planet yourself." 

"I was just thinking about this morning. Do you remember when we
checked into the hotel?" 

"Actually, no. I found that only marginally less interesting than
that last talk." 

"Let me refresh your memory. Just as I was getting my key, the
clerk said, 'You aren't here with the law enforcement group, are
you?' When I said yes, she said they had a special section for us
and moved me to another room." 

Heather Stanton stopped twirling her hair and nodded slowly. "I
think I remember that now. I saw her take back the key as I
approached you. I just assumed you were getting a non-smoking
room or something. So you're suspicious because the hotel has a
block of rooms set aside for a convention?" 

"Not just that," answered Maytag. "When I got off the elevator, I
noticed the room I would have gotten was 849, way on the other
side of this fine, early Twentieth century, U-shaped hotel from
811, the room I did get." 

Stanton removed the last trace of cookie from her hands with a
napkin, then patted it against her lips before saying, "I still
don't see a problem. Maybe some guests prefer their conventions
separate. Especially when the other guests happen to be police." 

Maytag nodded his head and said through a mouth full of peanut
butter cookie, "Reh, mhhhbe." 

The two threw away their trash and took their seats for the next
presentation. 

The second speakers were Mr. and Mrs. Austin from the
conservative group, "Citizens for American Neighborhoods", of
Atlanta. Mr. Austin outlined the topic, then introduced his wife,
Regina, who delivered the main address. She spoke on passing
legislation to regulate adult-oriented businesses that would hold
up against legal action by the industry. 

The strategy was to avoid language that specifically regulated
the style and nature of the performances, videos shown, or movies
sold. In the past, the U. S. court system had found many such
restrictions to be a violation of free speech. 

Instead, laws could be passed that restricted where these
businesses could operate. By establishing protection zones around
schools, playgrounds, and churches, many businesses could be
marginalized or simply eliminated. 

In this way, according to Ms. Austin, the debate would focus not
on the negative effects on free speech, but on the positive
effects of protecting children, families, and property values.
The Citizens for American Neighborhoods wanted a public safety
issue, not a debate on morality. 

"This may be of interest to law-makers," whispered Stanton to
Maytag, "But I don't see how it relates to law enforcement." 

Maytag did not respond. He was asleep. He woke up just in time to
hear Mrs. Austin finish her speech. 

"In conclusion let me say that although our focus is public
safety, there can be no doubt about what we wish to keep safe:
the integrity of our neighborhoods, and the sanctity of the
American family. Thank you." 

When the talk ended, the conference held its lunch break. Lunch
consisted of a simple iceberg lettuce salad, a skinless chicken
breast topped with a mild marinara sauce and processed mozzarella
cheese, accompanied with baked potato and steamed carrots and
peas. A meal designed to offend no one: unless, of course, they
had taste buds. 

As coffee was served, most people sat in their seats to trade war
stories, but small groups had formed to converse with the
morning's speakers. Mrs. Austin in particular had the most
attentive following, although Maytag and Stanton remained at
their table. Mrs. Austin had her back to them, and the faces of
her attendees, mostly men, smiled, laughed, and nodded in unison. 

"That's quite an audience," Maytag said. 

"They probably want to know what her talk had to do with law
enforcement," quipped Stanton. 

"You don't think they're just shaking their heads in agreement
because she's attractive?" asked Maytag. 

"Maybe. If tall, blonde, and leggy is your cup of tea." 

"Is that a touch of envy I hear?" Maytag asked. 

"It's a touch of annoyance. I guarantee no one is asking her any
tough questions." 

"Such as?" 

"For one, if The Citizens for American Neighborhoods care so much
about the quality of residential areas, why don't they include
bars and liquor stores in what they classify as 'Adult
businesses'?" 

"That's a good one," agreed Maytag. 

"Here's another one I'd like to ask: What's their backing? Until
today, I'd never heard of The Citizens for American
Neighborhoods. Is this a real grassroots organization with a
national membership list, or a small group without outside
funding?" 

"Another good one. But now you're thinking like an investigator." 

"Thank you! Lesley Stahl was my childhood hero." 

"So why didn't you get into journalism?" asked Maytag. 

"Don't be silly," Stanton replied. "Lesley Stahl doesn't get to
pack heat." 

Maytag laughed. "Well, Ms. Stahl, maybe the gentlemen aren't
thinking straight enough to ask good questions. Maybe they're
wondering what kind of underwear she's wearing." 

Stanton looked at her partner and smiled. "Or maybe you are! I am
shocked, Maytag!" 

"I don't mean to be offensive," Maytag protested. "That was just
a joke." 

"Or maybe blonde and leggy is your cup of tea, too," teased
Stanton. "I thought your little obsession for the weekend was
going to be the mystery of the room swap. I can see now it's Mrs.
Austin's underwear. Out with it, let's hear your little theory." 

"I don't have--" 

"Oh, spare me Maytag. You wouldn't have brought it up otherwise.
Spill it." 

"Fine, here goes: she's a spokeswoman for a conservative
organization, one would picture hip-hugging cotton undergarments.
White. But she is an attractive woman in her early thirties, and
not the stoic septuagenarian one might imagine, so maybe a simple
pair of panties. Maybe even yellow." 

"I don't think so," said Stanton. 

"Me neither," he agreed. "Now that I see how much she likes the
attention, I'd guess something flashier. There might be lace
under that skirt. Or satin." 

"Maybe some candy colored stripes on them," joked Stanton. "What
about black with a small red ribbon on the waist band?" 

"No," Maytag replied. "That wouldn't match her outfit." 

TWO 

Stanton was wrong to conclude that Maytag had given up on the
mystery of the room swap. Before the lunch hour ended he began to
ask people their room numbers. Word got around before the next
break and people were calling him "Maytag the Hotel Manager". Yet
everyone he asked had a room on the same side of the hotel as he
did, which only strengthened his belief that something was amiss. 

"Not only that," Maytag told Stanton at dinner, "But I checked
the numbering scheme and almost all of the rooms face outside the
U-shape of the building. I have one of the rare rooms looking
into the courtyard." 

"Maytag, I think this seminar is boring, too, but I'm not
inventing some conspiracy to investigate." 

"Yeah, well, something is definitely up because I looked over to
the other side and all the drapes were closed. All of them." 

"What does that mean?" asked Stanton. 

"What's the first thing you do when you get into your hotel
room?" 

"So you think there's no one even in that side of the hotel?" 

"Exactly!" 

"That solves the mystery then, Maytag. They're probably doing
maintenance on the weekend, and it's easier if one whole side is
unoccupied. Maybe they have the water shut off or something." 

"I can't say I'm convinced of that," said Maytag. "If that were
true why would the desk clerk have changed the room only when I
said I was with the seminar? No, I am not convinced." 

"And I'm not convinced there's anything to think about. Except
maybe where we can go tonight to hear some blues." 

Maytag took the hint and allowed the change of subject. "Yeah,
that sounds good. But it's still way too early for any club to be
open. Let's get back to the hotel, and we can head out later." 

Forgoing the solitary confinement of her room, Heather went to
the hotel bar to have a drink. She did not sit alone for long.
Her drinking companion was a tall man of slim build. He
introduced himself as Albert and said that he was scouting the
hotel for possible use. He was the member of a sculling team
hosting a meet in Chicago. Their usual preferred hotel was booked
for the weekend of the competition so different members were
investigating different hotels. Heather thought he certainly had
the look of a sculler: short hair, almost cropped, strong jaw
line, and of course, tall and trim. 

She told him he was here for a seminar and that she worked for
the Justice Department. Not entirely truthful, but not deceitful,
either. 

Over the first glass of scotch, they talked. Heather asked Albert
why they couldn't use their normal hotel, and he explained that a
high school formal was being held there. "Not exactly a good
mix," he said. Heather wasn't so sure of that. He looked capable
of amusing a gaggle of giggling teenage girls. 

During the second glass of scotch, Heather thought Albert might
do a fine job amusing her, as well. She imagined herself a
coxswain, crouching over this oak tree of a man and barking
orders: "Stroke! Stroke!" 

Then after an hour of what Heather thought was promising
conversation, Albert stood and announced that he needed to return
to his room. He said he needed to make a few calls and take care
of some business. Apologies were made, and he asked if he might
see her again that weekend. 

Heather guessed that the calls were to a wife or girlfriend.
Probably even one that was spending the night with him. In
response to his inquiry she only said, "You might see me around." 

THREE 

Maytag was on the way down to meet his partner Stanton in the
hotel bar. 

When the elevator doors opened, however, two men in their late
twenties walked out and turned to the left. They carried
suitcases and moved with confidence that stood in contrast to
their disheveled appearance. After two hours, these were the
first people he had seen on any floor go this way. He let the
elevator leave without him, then went fishing. Maytag waited for
them to turn down the corridor, and then he followed behind. He
saw the pair stop, then begin to open a door. "Hey, fellas," he
called down the hallway as he started a quicker jog to their
position. 

The first one had already entered, but the second one turned
around and lifted his head. He had a blond ponytail, and a cotton
print Hawaiian shirt. He resembled a heavyset surfer. "What's
up?" he asked in return. 

Maytag arrived at the doorway, and angled, "Sorry to bother you
guys, but I just got here and I don't know where I should check
in." 

The first one stepped out of the room after putting his baggage
down and said, "You might start with the front desk." 

That's funny Chuckles, Maytag thought to himself, but let's try
that again. 

"No, I know that." Maytag needed to recast. "I mean, I know how
to check into the hotel, I'm just looking for the rest of the
group." 

"Were you meeting people here?" asked the bloated surfer dude.
Maytag had one caught. Chuckles looked annoyed with his more
helpful friend. 

"Well, no not really," said Maytag. 

"You don't have any bags?" Chuckles asked. 

"Hey, man," said the Beach Bum, "if you weren't planning on
staying over, you could probably stay in our room for a while. Ya
know, help split the cost." 

Chuckles was not pleased to hear that, but he was too late to
stop his friend. Maytag had no idea what was going to happen here
tonight, but now he had a fish to fry. "That would be great," he
offered, then smiled at Bloated Surfer Dude. 

"That's really nice of you," said Maytag extending his hand, "I'm
Gerry." 

"I'm Donald. This is Frank." 

Not content to lose so easily, Frankie Chuckles shook hands, then
said, "Yeah, well, we don't go three ways. You pay half, we pay
half." 

Don the Bloated Surfer took offense for his new friend and
replied, "If he's not even staying over I don't see why he
shouldn't just pay his fair share, man." 

"That does seem fair," added Maytag. 

Chuckles grimaced, then said, "Fine. But you're paying for the
pizza when it gets here." 

Downstairs, Heather Stanton grew tired of waiting for Maytag. She
stood up, finished her drink, exchanged greetings with some
people from the conference, then walked from the lounge to the
elevators. She took the first car, and pressed the button for the
seventh floor. 

The sound of girls giggling filled the hall, then a hand stopped
the elevator doors from closing. Stanton thought that maybe the
high school formal was running rampant, but the source of the
giggling was a little older. Two women spilled into the elevator,
laughing and somewhat out of breath. They looked like sales girls
from a mall boutique and they carried gym bags. 

Heather stepped to the side and allowed the cascade of tan limbs
and teased and dyed hair to crash against the back wall. One of
the women apologized while the other continued to laugh. She went
to press the elevator button, then pulled back when she saw that
the number seven was already lit. 

The woman snuck a sideways glance at Heather, then her companion
spoke, "Albert's going to be pissed that we're late." 

"Maybe he'll get one of his oars and spank us with it!" 

The laughter began again, echoing in the small enclosure now that
the doors were closed. Heather had heard what the boisterous duo
had said, but the full text had not fully registered. She asked,
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but did you say you were meeting
Albert?" 

"Yeah. Are you here for tonight? I'm Valerie." 

"I'm Natalie." 

"Hi. I'm Heather." Heather wasn't sure what 'here for tonight'
meant, but she wasn't going anywhere, and she was curious to see
if this was the same Albert from the bar Friday night. So she
added, "I'm here for tonight." 

Not the most expository of speech, but the other two seemed to
know what it meant. Valerie replied, "Well, we need to check in
with Albert. Is that what you're wearing?" 

"Yeah, you don't have any other stuff?" asked Natalie. 

The bell in the elevator rang and the doors opened on the seventh
floor, the girls walked out to the right, and Heather followed
behind them. They stopped in the hallway. 

"You don't think this is appropriate?" asked Heather. 

Valerie and Natalie looked Heather over as if she were about to
walk down a wedding aisle or a fashion runway. They asked her to
turn around. 

They touched the hem of her skirt and gauged the height of her
heels. Then Valerie spoke as they started walking again. "Well,
it looks ok. I guess you're going for that librarian thing,
right, with the hair up and that tough look?" 

Heather did not think she looked like a librarian, and she wasn't
going for tough, either. She was about to protest, but instead
said, "Well, I am somewhat new to this." 

"I didn't say you looked bad honey, just most girls wait to get
done up. Didn't Albert tell you we have a room for prep?" 

"He must have forgotten to mention that," said Heather. 

"What are you wearing underneath?" asked Natalie. 

If Heather had any doubt as to the nature of 'tonight', it was
vanishing with each question. "Bra, underwear." Stanton thought
for a moment and then added, "That was probably a mistake,
right?" 

"Not if you listen to some guys," said Natalie, "They say it
makes the peeping seem more real - if you aren't expecting it, no
need to wear anything fancy, right?" 

"Don't believe it, though," interjected Valerie, "They want to
get their rocks off spying but they want you in garters and
stockings. Like every woman wears that uncomfortable shit every
day. But, hey, it's their fantasy." 

"Listen, you ought to talk to Albert. we'll be getting ready down
the hall," Natalie said as they stopped outside room 842.
Heather's room, she noted, was at the end of the passage on the
other side. 

Halfway down that passage, Valerie turned and said, "Well, go
ahead and knock, honey." 

Heather did just that, and a voice from inside instructed her to
come inside. There, the sculler Albert, the one that got away,
was on the phone. He did a double take when he saw Heather, then
said into the phone that he would have to call them back. 

"Heather?" he said "How did you find my room?" 

"Oh, a couple of girls told me. A couple of working girls, I
believe..." 

"Heather, I can explain that. See--" 

"Stop." Heather said and put her hands in front of her. 

"No. Look. I know you're with the justice department, so I didn't
want to tell you. Normally I tell women, I'm not ashamed of what
I do. There's nothing illegal going on here." 

"What is going on here?" asked Heather. 

"This is totally legitimate. These girls are dancers; I hire them
to dance here to entertain people. No prostitution, I promise.
It's all on the up and up. I'm sorry I didn't just tell you the
truth." 

Heather waited a moment before speaking. "Actually, I thought you
were married when you left tonight to make your mysterious phone
call. This comes as something of a relief." 

Heather had to admit to herself that Albert looked good. Tall,
broad shoulders. He wore a tight crewneck shirt that clung to his
chest and caught on his triceps. His pants were pressed and his
shoes polished. Legitimate or not, he looked better than most of
the men in his profession that she had the duty to meet. She
could believe that he walked on the legal side of the business. 

"I hope you can forgive me," he said. 

"You know, Natalie and Valerie thought I was part of the hired
help." 

"I'm sorry about that, too. I would never confuse you for a
dancer." 

"Oh? And why not?" Heather said coquettishly, "I don't look good
enough for that line of work?" She was looking forward to trying
to pick things up where they left off, and she was not going to
waste time on her second chance. 

Albert had not gotten the hint yet and he grew more defensive.
"No, I find you very attractive, it's just that you're obviously
an educated, mature--" 

"Mature?" Heather said as she walked toward him with the foot in
front of foot motion of a cat on the prowl, "Is that supposed to
mean I'm too old?" 

Sensing now that Heather was more playful than truly offended,
Albert relaxed a bit, and slowly backed away from her. "Of course
not. In fact, although I'm sure you don't need the money or the
hassle, I'm positive you could do this kind of work." 

"Are you?" said Heather coming closer to his face. 

"Absolutely. In fact, I often hold auditions right here in this
room." 

"Is that so," said Heather, inches away from his chest, looking
up at that chin, and the small hint of stubble on is jaw line.
She blew a pocket of hot air onto his neck and traced her face
down his chest. Gently, her nose touched him at his sternum and
his pectoral muscles. Albert was a solid slab of a man. 

Heather moved away slightly and began to unbutton her blouse. She
licked her upper lip slightly and asked, "Like this?" 

"Something like that," Albert responded. 

When Heather had the garment unfastened, she turned slightly, and
pulled it slowly away from her shoulder, revealing bare skin and
her bra strap. With her back completely to Albert, she removed
the blouse, then rolled her shoulders a bit. She walked away a
step, slowly, and felt his gaze drift from her shoulder blades,
leaving only the air's cool touch, to her calves, where her shoes
had long before initiated a dull constant burn. 

Heather was completely aware of her body as she tilted her head
back and let her shiny dark hair down. Increasingly, so was
Albert. 

**** 

In the lobby, Maytag gave the pizza delivery man a twenty and
told him to keep the change. He had looked for Stanton in the
lounge and called up to her room, but he was unable to reach her.
She probably went looking for him, he thought. 

Maytag opened one of the boxes on the way up to the room. Too
much cheese for his tastes, but it smelled pretty good. By the
time he got to the door, he was down to the crust of his first
slice. He fumbled with the door for a while before simply holding
the strip of dough in his mouth and freeing up his hand. 

When he opened the door, he saw Chuckles and Surfer Dude
shuffling around the room, plugging in wires and setting up
cameras on tripods. "Pizza's here!" called the Beach Bum.
Chuckles stopped what he was doing grabbed a beer from the night
stand and walked over to Maytag and the booty of melted cheese,
tomato sauce, and baked dough. 

"What's all the heavy equipment for, fellas?" asked Maytag. 

"Well, you don't think we'd pony up the $250 for the room and not
get a souvenir to take home with us, do you?" asked Chuckles in
reply. 

"By the way," he added, "You owe us $80." 

"Yeah, okay," said Maytag, fishing through his wallet. "Can you
guys break a hundred dollar bill?" 

"What do we look like, a bank?" 

"Funny," muttered Maytag, "That's exactly what the pizza guy
said." 

"I'll give you a twenty back," offered Surfer Don. He walked over
to his bag by the window and after stopping at the window said,
"Hey fellas, come look at this!" 

"Man," said Chuckles as he hurried to the window, "they're
starting early." He turned off the bedside light, leaving no
light in the room save what came through the window. 

"Holy shit," said Don, "There's a guy over there, too." 

"That's new," said Chuckles as Maytag joined them at the window. 

He turned to Maytag and said, "You got back with the pizza just
in time for the show, man." 

Maytag looked out at the far side of the hotel. Almost directly
across from them, and one floor below, he saw a tall figure with
a woman in front of him. She was bent at the waist, and pulling
off her dress. Long hair tumbled over the back of her head and
reached halfway to the floor. 

Almost completely doubled over, she wiggled her hips. Whoever the
lucky man was had one hell of a view, Maytag thought. Taking
advantage of the distraction, the brunette reached back and
unclasped her bra. While holding the loose bra in place, the
woman gently straightened herself, threw her head back, and
smiled unknowingly for the trio across the way. 

"Stanton!" Maytag exclaimed. 

**** 

"Oh, Heather," said Albert in the room across the hotel as he
gazed at her ass cheeks and the black satin panties that had just
pulled tightly against them. 

Heather turned around, removed her hands from her breasts and
pulled the cups of her bra away. The air in the room hardened her
nipples, and she looked up at Albert with smiling blue eyes. 

**** 

Chuckles looked away to ask Maytag, "You know her?" 

"What? No!" Maytag replied. "I said 'Dammit! ', as in 'Damn that
girl is fine.'" 

Surfer Don said, "Fuckin' fine is right. Man, she's got a great
ass, dude" although he didn't turn from the window to acknowledge
Maytag's exclamation. "Are we getting this on tape?" Bloated
Surfer Don asked. 

"Not yet," said Chuckles. "If you drop that pizza a second, we
can get the camera moved over. And turn off the lights, Gerry." 

**** 

As Heather put her arms around Albert, and their lips met, he
thought about the men on the other side of the hotel. They would
be in their rooms by now, moving chairs to the window, cleaning
the lenses of their binoculars, unzipping their pants. They would
not expect to see this athletic couple cavorting in his hotel
room, but they would gladly watch. 

He put his hands on Heather's shoulders and felt her warm smooth
skin. His hands descended her back, to the taper of her waist and
the flare of her hips and ass. He grabbed her ass and squeezed.
With his fingers he pulled the far side of her underwear towards
the center of her ass, exposing more of her cheek. 

The audience would appreciate that. They would appreciate every
part of this bonus performance. But as Heather's tongue untangled
from his, and she pulled away from that first long luxuriant
kiss, a different thought emerged. He looked down at the
sparkling eyes and bright red lips that stood out from her white
skin, and remembered that her earlier strip tease was intended to
be a private show. 

Heather knew nothing of the spectators, and they already saw more
than they deserved. Even if they were his customers, theirs was
only a professional trust. The contract he and Heather were in
the process of negotiating was more personal. The voyeurs would
get what they paid for from Valerie, Natalie and the rest. Albert
walked to the window and closed the drapes. 

**** 

"Don't bother rushing," said Surfer Don, "Romeo across the way
just closed the curtains on us." 

"Shit!" Frankie Chuckles cursed. "Juliet was looking good, man."
He sighed, leaning against the camera. He looked at Maytag and
asked, "So, Gerry, you ever see the kind of equipment we've got
in this room?" 

"Actually," said Maytag as he reached into his back pocket and
removed his badge, "the FBI has all this and more." 

"Aww, man," said Chuckles, "it's The Cheese!" 

"What?" said Surfer Boy as he faced the other two men. "Gerry,
you're like Johnny Law?" 

"Yes," answered Chuckles, "And you invited him into our fucking
room, dumb ass." 

"That's right. And Romeo across the way isn't the only one
shutting down tonight's entertainment." 

**** 

Albert moved from the window, and saw that Heather had removed
her shoes and climbed onto the bed. Even with her arms stretched
out over her head, she barely extended more than the length of
the mattress. The effect of her languid pose, however, was as
strong as that of her defrocking. Heather's breasts flowed over
her ribs as if poured from ladles of liquid sex. The nipples
stood like gumdrop garnishes, and Albert felt compelled to bend
over and lick them. 

The taste was a salty contrast to the sugary gumdrop image, but
the rush to his olfactory senses was better than anything a kid
on Halloween could ever hope to have. 

Heather cooed with the sensation of his teeth on her sensitive
flesh, and the slight scrape of his chin on her breast. She
raised her right leg, and felt the tug of satin against her
moistening cunt. She moved her left hand through the short hairs
of Albert's head, and brought him up from her tit for a hot
open-mouthed kiss. 

Albert pushed off his shoes with the backs of his heels and slid
onto the bed. His hands found Heather's breasts, left them for
her hips, and her shoulders, the returned for another cycle. The
kisses moved in smaller, tighter circles, and Heather felt the
work of the day melt from her back into the cool sheets beneath
her. 

At a measured pace, Albert moved from her lips, down her neck,
then between her breasts. Heather put her hands on his broad
shoulders and felt the cables of his trapezius muscles underneath
his shirt. By the time he passed her navel, hooked his thumbs
through her panties and slid them down her hips, Heather had gone
from the fever of immediate arousal to the warm glow of relaxed
indulgence. 

The first lick of his tongue against the folds of her labia was
not the shocking dart of a harried affair, or the deep relentless
sensation of a building orgasm. It was simply another stop on
this man's loving tour of her body. He continued on that journey,
too, pausing only for a moment between her legs and then treating
her thighs, calves, knees, and ankles to the same delicate touch
of his lips. 

If she could get this on every trip, Heather thought, she would
travel more often. 

**** 

"So you guys do this often," Maytag asked the surprised duo,
"Come up here and videotape people at the hotel?" 

"Relax, man," said Chuckles, "It's just a show. It's all staged." 

"Who stages the show?" 

"Dude," said Surfer Guy, "This happens like every couple of
months. This guy gets on the 'net, and he announces that there
will be girls who like to show off at this hotel or that hotel.
Then you call the hotel and reserve with his special code, and
you get a good view." 

Maytag put away his badge and picked up some hotel stationery. He
began to take notes. "Where on the Internet?" he asked, "Is it a
website?" 

"Yeah," said Chuckles. "Double u double u double u dot hoover
wore dresses dot com." 

"OK, Frank," Maytag said. "I thought we could straighten this out
here in the hotel, but I guess you'd be more comfortable tonight
in the rooms that the Chicago PD can provide." 

"Aww, don't be that way, Gerry," said Surfer Don, "We get this
stuff off usenet. Alt dot sex dot voyeurism. The guy uses a
forged address, but the info is always spot on, man. Just wait
ten minutes and you'll see." 

"What about the hotels?" asked Maytag. 

"They seem to go along with it," Chuckles said, noticeably more
cooperative. "It's always a business type place. I guess it's a
good way for them to fill up the odd weekend rooms not taken up
by weddings." 

"They charge extra, too," added Surfer Boy. 

"They probably kick back some money to the girls. They look
pretty professional." 

"Sounds like you guys are paying a real premium just to watch,"
said Maytag. 

"That's it man, no sex," said Surfer Don. "Honest." 

"I don't believe a word of it," replied Maytag, "This is illegal
surveillance, and I'm turning you over to the Chicago police." 

"No way, Kojak!" said Chuckles. "We didn't do anything!" 

**** 

Heather relaxed and did nothing. She clutched the pillow behind
her head, and buried the side of her face in it. Albert had
completed his tour de Stanton, and now concentrated fully on her
pussy. With two hands full of her ass, he rimmed and probed and
circled and stroked her with his tongue. 

Relaxation once more gave way to excitation, and Heather spread
her legs and opened herself to the growing pleasure. Albert made
a continuous assault on her lips and clitoris. Heather began to
wonder how and when he breathed during his cunt lapping. 

When she involuntarily bucked her hips and pushed her pelvis
against his face, Albert responded by moving one hand between the
cheeks of her ass and plunging as far into her cleft as his
tongue would allow. Heather shifted again to meet his mouth. 

Wrapping her legs around his head she pulled him closer. Heather
dug her nails into the pillow and bit at the covers. Her body was
sliding down a rope. A thick heavy rope that rubbed hot and deep
against her cunt as she accelerated. She tried to anchor herself
by squeezing her legs and tugging at the pillow, anything to stop
the sliding, but the heat, the burn, grew despite her efforts. 

When it reached its hottest moment the rope seemed to bury itself
inside her, and no longer able to stop the sliding, her muscles
simply gave out, and Heather let go of the rope and dropped. She
fell, unable to breathe, turning in midair, almost numb, until
the shaking stopped and she crashed into the springs of the
mattress and returned to terra firma. 

**** 

"You've got no ground to stand on," said Maytag after he finished
his phone call to the Chicago police, "and even if I do believe
you, there are no guarantees that you are using this equipment
only to videotape willing participants and not to film other
unwitting guests of this hotel. Such as the couple we saw here
earlier." 

"We didn't film them," said Chuckles as he sat handcuffed to the
bed. 

"That's because they closed the shades before you had a chance." 

"Are the handcuffs necessary," asked Surfer Dude. 

"Why? Don't tell me you have to piss. You can hold it for five
minutes." 

"Well, actually, I was kinda hungry and wanted to get a slice of
pizza." 

Maytag looked at the two and then back at the pizza. If they were
telling the truth, then all he had done was ruin a night's
entertainment for the two. The hotel was truly at fault for
placing their guests in this situation and for illegally
operating a cabaret. If you could call it that. 

He brought the box over to them, and said, "Why should I believe
that anyone would pay a premium basically to see strippers from
one hundred feet away?" 

"Man," said a disgusted Chuckles, "Have you been to Chicago strip
clubs? Those places suck! You have to road trip to East St. Louis
for anything half decent in the Midwest. What do you think this
is, Vegas?" 

Maytag thought for a moment, then spoke. "Listen fellas, I'm
actually starting to believe you. But this whole scene is no
good, and Detective Lawson from vice is on his way. I need to
think of a plan, but in any case, I would be neglecting my job if
I let you go. So stay tight a minute." Maytag left his handcuffed
informants and headed for the door. 

**** 

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Heather. 

"Don't worry," Albert replied. "I'll be right back." 

Albert had only removed his shoes, so it only took him a moment
before he was ready to leave the room. And it seemed like only a
moment later when Heather heard a knock at the door. 

"Did you forget your keys?" she called mockingly as she walked to
the door. She opened wearing nothing but a smile. In an instant,
even that was gone. 

"Maytag! ", she cried as she hurried to close the door and duck
behind it at the same time. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Stanton, we need to talk," he responded through the narrow
aperture that Stanton left him. 

"Uhh, I'm a little busy right now," she said. 

"Well, there's some illegal activity going on in the hotel, and I
just wanted you to be aware that the police might be sweeping
these rooms soon looking for strippers." 

"Uh, Maytag," said a confused Stanton from inside the room, "how
did you know I was in here?" 

"Just get back to your room," he said, "I'll explain it all
later." 

Maytag took note of the rest of the room numbers on the floor
before taking an elevator downstairs to the lobby. He went
through the revolving door and waited outside with the doorman
for the Chicago police to arrive. 

Upstairs, Heather was left to think what to do. Maytag mentioned
sweeping for strippers. Albert was involved with the strippers,
he had said so himself. Although Albert assured her there was no
prostitution involved, Maytag had clearly found something amiss.
She had no idea what to do when Albert came back. 

Nor did she have the luxury of too much time. Albert returned
before Heather could even dress. He entered his hotel room
holding a bottle of champagne. "The bubbly is here!" he
announced. "Valerie does this champagne routine, so I knew she
would have a bottle around. Problem with strippers is they know
when a man really wants something and they have a keen sense of
profit. You wouldn't believe the mark-up she charged me!" Albert
looked up to see Heather staring at him, biting her lip. "Hey,"
he said. "Something wrong?" 

There was something wrong and Heather Stanton knew it. Staying in
the room was folly. Warning him of the danger was probably
illegal. Leaving him was just plain undesirable. 

"Heather?" Albert asked again. 

Heather snapped out of her trance. "I'll get the glasses!" she
said with a forced enthusiasm. She floated to the bathroom. Every
time she inhaled she felt as if she were pushing against a heavy
weight strapped to her chest. She felt as if she were in the
middle of an accident in progress. If only she could break out of
this mess. 

Heather spotted a small tray with two glasses, each covered with
a small paper cap bearing the hotel's hallmark, indicating their
cleanliness. She was about to take them, in the same mechanical
way she entered the bathroom, when inspiration told her
otherwise. Instead she lifted the tray, held it over the floor,
and deliberately turned it over. 

The sound of the glasses smashing the floor, shattering and
littering the tiles with countless tiny shards, split the air
with a loud high pitched clap. Heather braced herself for it, but
it still jarred her. Albert shouted. He darted to the bathroom
doorway, champagne bottle in hand, mouth agape. "Are you OK?" he
asked. 

"Fine," said Heather. "But I just made a mess. Shit!" 

"Be careful," Albert said, looking down at the minefield of sharp
pieces of glass. "Don't move, you'll cut your feet." 

Heather had forgotten that she was still barefoot. Albert stepped
carefully onto the floor. He smiled at Heather, and put an arm
around her shoulders. He bent down, hooked another arm under her
legs and scooped her up. Heather hung tight while he carried her
over the hazardous debris. 

"How nice of you," she said. 

"My pleasure," he answered. 

"Sorry about that." 

"Not a problem. I'm glad you're not hurt." 

"Maybe we should go to my room and break the glasses over there,"
Heather suggested. 

"Or maybe we can just skip the glasses and pour the champagne
over each other," Albert suggested. 

Damn! Heather thought to herself, he does make it difficult to
get out of here, doesn't he? 

FOUR 

Special Agent Maytag, Detectives Fini and Hightower, and two
uniformed officers of the Chicago police department approached
the reception desk of the hotel. Maytag flashed his badge,
identified himself and asked to be escorted to the manager. The
clerk activated an electronic lock that opened a side door to the
reception area. The law enforcement agents filed through the
door, found their way to the office, and announced themselves. 

"I'm Fred Zimmer," said the astonished manager. "May I help you,
gentlemen?" 

"Yes," said Maytag, I need a floor plan for the hotel, in
particular the eighth floor rooms 830 and up. One that shows
where the windows are, if possible." 

The manager seemed visibly shaken. "What's this all about?" 

"We're investigating a possible malfeasance," answered Hightower.
"Your cooperation is appreciated." 

Zimmer did not press the issue. He did not ask what sort of
malfeasance, or if anyone was hurt. He might as well have told
them outright that he knew why they were there. After a moment of
shuffling, he produced a laminated color coded floor plan. "This
is valid for every floor from the third up to just below the
penthouse," Zimmer told them. 

"Thank you, sir," said Detective Fini. They started to leave the
office. Maytag looked back to the uniformed policemen. "One of
you should stay here with Mr. Zimmer in case we need his help
with anything." 

Zimmer sat back down, wondering what the hell to do next. He
scratched at his hair, and offered the officer some coffee. He
looked at the phone every few seconds, wishing he knew someone to
call. 

**** 

"Albert!" Heather called out. "That's cold!" 

"Well, you didn't expect warm champagne, did you?" Albert asked. 

Heather held on to the bureau to support her weight. Her legs
were straight, but she bent at the waist. The champagne ran from
between her shoulder blades, down the furrow of her back between
the small humps of muscle, and onto her ass. It was cold, and
sent shivers all the way to her toes, but she did her best to
hold the position. "I thought you were supposed to drink this
stuff from my shoe?" she asked. 

"Its not my fault you wore open-toed shoes," he said, after
slurping at the bubbly stream rushing past the small of her back,
between the two dimples just above her ass. "Now just relax." 

Albert moved his mouth down along her ass, and onto the furry
underside between her legs. It made it tougher for him to pour at
the same time, but no one complained. Heather parted her legs. As
Albert's tongue touched her, the champagne suddenly seemed
warmer. Maybe I could get used to this, she thought. 

Licking at Heather's juicy pussy, Albert lost track of his
pouring. He tilted the bottle too far forward, and a moment later
his face was flooded by a wave of champagne. He pulled his face
away and shook his head, snorting and fighting for air. Heather
laughed. 

"Don't drown on me," she said. 

"Never," he answered with a cough. 

"All right," Heather said. "My turn." 

**** 

"All right." said Maytag as they stepped off the elevator. "You
guys stay here. I'll go double-check the room numbers, then we'll
round them up." 

Maytag headed left down the corridor. He entered the unlocked
hotel room and found that his two handcuffed suspects had pulled
themselves, and the bed, over to the window. 

"Keeping busy, I see," Maytag remarked. 

"Can it, Narc! I'm trying to watch the show," said Chuckles. 

Maytag approached the window. It was difficult to wedge past the
bedpost and the pair of manacled malcontents. Gerry held field
glasses in one hand and the laminated floor plan in the other. He
looked outside through the binoculars to the other side of the
hotel. 

Directly across, on the same floor, there were three open windows
where women walked around in various phases of undress. To be
more precise, one of them was dancing slowly to some unheard
music, unbuttoning her blouse and doing a deliberate strip tease;
a second stood near the window and played with her nipples,
tugging on them and circling them with her fingers; the third sat
in an armchair, naked but for hot pink opera gloves that ran
above her elbows. 

She had one foot planted firmly on the ground, the other draped
over the arm of the chair, giving an open view to her dark red
pussy. Her hair was wet and flat against her head, her body
glistened with some sort of moisture. As Maytag watched, one
glove attired arm emerged from the side of the chair holding a
dark green bottle. She brought the mouth of the bottle to her
knee, dragged the green lip across her thigh and then slid it
along her twat before penetrating herself with it. 

"Oh my," Maytag said. 

"Not bad, huh, Smokey?" said Chuckles. "Kinda makes you thirsty
just lookin' at it." 

**** 

Heather had removed Albert's shirt and she looked at the hard
angles of his chest muscles that all seemed to point down, down.
It made her hungry just to look at him. Heather ran her fingers
over his hard body. The flesh didn't give at all, but it was warm
and smooth at the same time. She reached his waist and quickly
unfastened his belt and pants. Instead of unzipping him she just
pulled at both ends of the waist, opening his pants as if they
were a bag of cookies. 

Heather pushed his trousers over his erection and to the ground.
Albert wanted to step out of them, but Heather's face was in the
way. Better to let her work at her own pace, he thought. 

"I had you pegged for something more colorful," she said,
commenting on his plain white briefs. 

"It's a laundry day," Albert responded. 

Heather stood and turned to get the champagne bottle. Albert
pulled his feet away from the pants and yanked the socks off his
feet and used them to slap Heather softly on the ass. 

"Oh, you want to get cute, huh?" Heather asked. She spun around
and grabbed hold of the elastic waistband of his briefs. The tip
of his hard cock peeked out at her fingers, but she was above
distraction. Heather pulled the briefs away from his body and
poured a generous amount of champagne onto Albert's cock and
balls. 

"Ooh ooh," he exclaimed as he stood on his tiptoes. 

"I told you it was cold," Heather said. It was cold, and it was
bubbly, and it had a slight tingle. Like a mild hydrogen
peroxide, Albert thought, with a French vintage. 

Heather let the waistband snap back against his firm abs. The
white briefs were now wet and transparent, and she could clearly
see the full throbbing length of his meat. Nice!" she said, "It's
like a wet t-shirt contest." 

**** 

"Sure as hell beats a wet T-shirt contest, huh, Gerry?" asked
Frankie Chuckles. "Just look at her fuck herself with that
bottle!" 

"We've got another couple, too!" Surfer Don exclaimed. 

"Where?" Maytag asked after clearing his throat. 

"One floor down, far right," Don answered. Chuckles glared at
him, wondering why his friend still had some need to help out
this goddamn cop. 

Maytag took a look, and there certainly was a festive pair. Some
blonde in stockings and a cream colored garter belt was bent over
a chair and taking it from behind. Her partner was working up
quite a sweat, and his hips were slapping her ass hard and fast.
She turned back to look at him, and Maytag saw her profile. 

"Well if it isn't Mrs. Austin of Citizens for American
Neighborhoods," Maytag said. 

"You know this one, too!" said Chuckles. "Man, I knew he knew
that fuckin' brunette. This is some kind of sting operation." 

"Gerry, do you really like know her?" asked Don. 

"Not really," he said. He watched as the man pulled out and sat
on the edge of the bed. Regina Austin turned around and licked at
his cock. Maytag looked at the man's face twist and contort with
the rush of his orgasm. "But I know her enough to know that man
is definitely not Mr. Austin." 

"No shit! We're seeing a real cheating wife, huh?" Don was
overcome with elation. "Damn she's really smoking that guy's
pole, huh?" 

Out of curiosity, Maytag asked, "Did you guys see what kind of
panties she was wearing?" 

"She wasn't," Don said with glee. "Just that garter belt and the
brown stockings." 

"How about that," Maytag said. Stanton and I were both wrong, he
thought. Maytag looked away from Regina Austin cleaning the cum
from her lover's dick. He looked back to the room where they saw
Stanton. The shade was still closed, but the light was still on. 

**** 

Heather pulled her mouth away from Albert's dick. The head was
flush with color. His prick was as hard as the champagne bottle
she held earlier, and a lot more inviting. She pushed Albert on
to the bed. 

"Oh, Heather, that was good," he said. 

"Just good?" she replied. "I think we can do better than that."
Heather climbed on to the bed. She knelt over his cock, but
maneuvered so that one foot was flat next to his knee. She took
hold of his cock in one hand and then spread her champagne soaked
cunt over top of its swollen head. That simple act of sliding
herself on to his cock felt like hands gripping her thigh, teeth
biting her nipples, and a tongue licking her clit all at once. 

It felt so good she was almost tempted to do it again. 

Instead she pulled up just so her lips passed over the crown of
his dick, and then she plunged down until her ass slammed his
balls. Albert let out a moan which turned to a howl as she
squeezed on his cock with her sex. Heather pushed off with her
foot and slid down again. She did it again and again, and each
time his dick seemed to grow harder and her cunt somehow grew
slicker. 

Heather grew so slippery that she worried about sliding off
entirely. She kicked the foot away from the bed and rested on her
shins. She bucked and rode against his cock. Albert bucked
underneath her, and his shaft tugged at her lips and clit as it
fucked in and out. 

Heather rocked back and forth on his shaft, but she was losing
her sense of rhythm and all sense of control. He felt so hard
inside her that she could practically feel him in her mouth
again. She gasped for breath and squeezed in response to her
orgasm, curling her toes, digging her nails into Albert's arms. 

Albert took her ass in his hands. He squeezed at her round
cheeks, and guided her back and forth on his shaft, prolonging
her orgasm and provoking his own. He came in long hot jets inside
her and the pleasure was intense. 

Their heavy breathing subsided. Albert looked up at her and
touched a finger to her cheek. Heather sucked at the fingertip. 

"That was better than good," he said. 

**** 

"We better get this right," said Maytag. You guys take 844, 846,
and 848. I'll take 842 here." Maytag waited for the men to take
their positions. He held his piece in his right hand and held up
his left to signal the rest. 

Three fingers in the air. Two fingers. One. Maytag made a fist
and all four men kicked in doors and stormed the rooms. There was
yelling and shouting throughout the corridor as police identified
themselves and strippers screamed in fright. Maytag heard it but
saw nothing. He announced himself as an FBI agent but had
actually kept his eyes closed. 

**** 

"What the hell was that?" Albert yelled. 

"Sounds like something downstairs," Heather said. "Don't worry.
It's probably nothing." 

"So do you have anything to drink in your room, Heather?" 

"Not really. Maybe we should call room service and ask for
another bottle of champagne." 

**** 

Maytag opened his eyes and saw that the room was empty. When he
stepped back into the hallway, he saw three of Chicago's finest
escorting three of Chicago's even-finer-still. 

"What now, Maytag?" Hightower asked. 

"Have the officer escort these ladies downstairs and take their
statements. Don't book them, we just need them to roll on the
organizer so he rolls on the manager. In the meantime, there are
two more 'performers' you need to pick up. A man and some hot
blonde number. Downstairs, on the far end. Room 750. I'll meet
you downstairs to talk to the manager." 

"Where are you going?" Fini asked. 

"I left my handcuffs on the other side of the hotel," Maytag
said. "I better go pick them up." 

END 
----------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed that, and I'd love to hear your comments.
This story and others can be found at http://www.jimmy-hat.com

Copyright 1999 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com)
Anyone wishing to charge fees for access to this material, through 
any media or publication, must receive the written permission of Jimmy Hat.

--
If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author.  Your comments
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