It is Winter 1966. When five couples find themselves stranded at a remote high class inn by extreme weather conditions, they amuse each other by relating stories of an erotic nature, as well as taking part in all kinds of private and group sexual activities.
The Host began with a tale about a birthday orgy involving a current top film star. The Theatre Company Manager's tale was of her oral exploits with a famous actor and the Marketing Director's tale of how the 'Wife of Bath', with her daughter, had seduced a whole management team. The Politician's tale was about the husband's violent revenge, and the Model's tale about a country girl finding heaven between her legs - with the aid of her pastor. For the morning story of the fourth day, The Stockbroker's Tale showed how two resourceful women turned the tables on their partners who were trying to deceive them, whilst the Aristocrat's tale was about a sexual orgy, incest and murder in the stately home. The TV Presenter's related her experience of group sex with an African Chief and his bodyguards, whilst Jake, the actor, had a delightful story about an African tribe whose Princess found her Prince and enjoyed the sexual rites of marriage with the whole village. On the morning of the sixth day, the Author told her tale of two French pen pals vying to fuck their English correspondent - one of them got the mother instead. After lunch, they had enjoyed a Grecian romp amongst the soft fruit, chocolate sauce and cream.
Chapter 20. The Director's Tale. The Wedding Nuptials
After dinner the guests made their way into the lounge. Everyone was in a jolly mood. Emma sat with Bill in one of the copious settees whilst Mary and Anne, both wearing only leather thongs for a halter bra, a heavily studded leather belt round the waist, and calf length black leather boots, served coffee and liqueurs.
The contrast between the two ladies caused much good humoured comment. Mary with her shaven groin, inner thighs and vulva except for a circular patch of close cropped curly hair on her swollen mound contrasted with Anne's genitals, which were covered with a prominent expanse of lush, black curly hair reaching a peak at her navel, spreading from hip bone to hip bone, down the inner sides of her thighs, entirely covering her vulva - so that her clitoral hood peeped out of the thicket rather like a small penis - continuing into the cleft of her bottom.
Emma had rarely seen such a thatch on a man, let alone a woman. The two women allowed themselves to be teased good-humouredly, their nipples to be kissed and nibbled by the men and the cheeks of their bottoms stroked, as they served the drinks.
Julie called the guests to attention. 'Tonight's story is from George. It's about a succession of mistaken bedrooms, I believe.'
George was a Director of a large international food company, whose wife, the insatiable bubbly Susan, was a best-selling author. At thirty-seven, he was a highly sexed man and boasted to be able to ejaculate at least three times a day and, being a handsome man, was attractive to women. His secretary and another of the office girls were attracted to him and he frequently took both of them together in his office during the lunch hour and Susan at night. Even then, he sometimes had to masturbate to keep his sexual demands satisfied. In his younger days would masturbate frequently. He was in very much love with his penis.
George settled down with a happy chuckle. 'For this story, I want to take you back to the days, not all that long ago, when hotels were staffed by page boys who carried messages, boots who collected shoes from outside the bedroom doors in the early hours of the morning to have them polished, maids who brought tea and biscuits to your room if requested, and your morning cup of tea to the bedside.
'They even filled the bath with hot water if you asked them to. In those days you couldn't take a companion other than your spouse to your bedroom and hall porters were expert in spotting non-guests crossing the foyer - they claimed that it was an inevitable look of guilt in the eyes which gave them away. The central figure in my story is called Barry.'
This was his story.
Barry was feeling a bit depressed. He'd been told by his manager that he was to help with staffing an exhibition stand for his company which he had joined only a few weeks earlier straight out of a secretarial college. He was only twenty.
This duty involved driving up North on Saturday morning to meet up with two older colleagues in the exhibition hall after lunch. He hadn't met either of them before, but understood they would be travelling separately, one with his secretary.
Barry was made welcome, and they spent the rest of the day, up to dinner, checking the exhibits, preparing the hospitality cupboard - having freely sampled the bottle of brandy - and making sure that the coffee machine was in working order. In short, doing the thousand and one jobs that need to be done before an exhibition hall opens its doors.
Mary helped the day to pass with her cheerful banter. She was in her late twenties and still a spinster, though she was attractive enough. Barry was mildly curious to know why she was still single. He didn't know her well, since she was from the Yorkshire regional offices.
Kevin was one of the sales managers and Mary's boss. For a Yorkshireman, he was fairly quiet but, as Barry would later find, had a genuine sense of humour. He was a slender six feet tall with auburn wavy hair and a neat moustache. Barry guessed him to be in his mid thirties.
Jack was the eldest and a Mancunian. Running to fat with an unhealthy complexion, hair turning grey at the temples, he had a dry sense of humour. His conversation was liberally peppered with swear words. He couldn't construct a sentence without them. As the day wore on Barry found that Jack did as little manual work as he could, using his authority to persuade Barry to do most of it.
'I've bloody done enough of these bloody exhibitions in my time. I've bloody sweated enough! It's the youngster's bloody turn now,' was typical of his view.
Mary and the two colleagues kept Barry amused - and each other for that matter - with a flow of lively banter which helped the day to pass without boredom.
After finishing the work, they went across to their hotel, which was just on the edge of the town, to freshen up and change before dinner. When they got there, they found a wedding party in full swing in the ballroom, with a dance band and couples gliding round the floor. There was a lot of laughter, with tables groaning with cold meats and other delicacies. The four workers agreed to meet up in the bar in half-an-hour's time after freshening up.
It was an olde worlde tavern, full of character and charm, not unlike this one, but short of the full range of modern amenities. Well, it was still the early fifties, after all! There was a wide, central staircase with heavily carved rails, leading to a rectangular gallery, around which were a number of bedrooms. At each corner of the gallery were toilets and bathrooms.
Barry's was a comfortable room, decorated with mock-tudor panels (or perhaps it was real Tudor for all Barry knew about these things), a double-bed covered with a fluffy eiderdown, a central four-branched chandelier, and a vanity unit in the corner by the window. The thick piled carpet and bedside table lamps added a touch of luxury. Never having stayed in a proper hotel before, Barry had nothing to compare the facilities with. As far as he was concerned, it was a very comfortable room. And so it was.
He put his suitcase on the stand behind the door, closed the heavy, lined curtains and, since he was to stay their for four nights, unpacked his clothes into the wardrobe and drawers. After a quick shave and wash, he changed into casual slacks and blazer. Then down to the bar.
