Snug Harbor Lodge is an in-demand fishing location for many anglers, mostly Americans.
Year after year the return clientele keep the lodge booked to capacity during the open season on trout, bass, pickerel, pike and muskies.
The lodge is located on the rocky shore of Georgian Bay in the Thirty Thousand Island district.
It is composed of the main lodge building with sleeping and eating accommodation for twenty-four guests at a time.
A week at the lodge all-inclusive costs fourteen hundred dollars Canadian, a five hundred dollar deposit required by each February to reserve a booking.
My husband Steve looks after the operation of the fishing part of the operation while I am in charge of housekeeping and feeding our visitors.
Each year we hire several students to help around the place, young boys to look after the boats and girls for housekeeping and working in the kitchen.
Steve and I have our own year-round accommodation in a cozy log cabin Steve had built himself the first year we owned the property. The students bunked in a couple of cabins set back behind the main building.
Trophy fish were not the sole attraction to Snug Harbor Lodge. We discovered early in our venture guys on fishing trips are looking for one thing, a good time!
The abundant availability of prize-winning fish is the number one drawing card but fishermen on vacation are also looking for booze and pussy. It was our intention to make both available.
Steve looked after the booze. Each week he would take the pickup into Parry Sound and load up with boxes of spirits and cases of beer.
Pussy was my department. At twenty-seven I was a fine looking redhead standing five foot six with a body built for comfort. My 40DD boobs drew just as many customers as did the small mouth Bass.
In addition to myself one of the students I employed was a sex machine. Bonnie Baxter was a well-built blonde attending Muskoka College studying nursing. Bonnie had a boyfriend but augmented her income by doing the one thing she loved, fucking.
Between Bonnie and myself we had no trouble keeping a dozen guests happy.
It was an ideal setup, charges were entered on the guest's credit card and it would go thorough the lodge's books just as any other transaction. The government got their taxes, the guests got their dicks wet and Bonnie and I were rewarded for our efforts.
As I said, most of our clientele were "regulars'. They were well aware of the extra services we provided. Every night after a day's fishing the guests would congregate in the lodge's large Trophy Room to relive the day's adventure over a glass of their favorite brew and perhaps select Bonnie or me to help them relieve the day's tension.
Some nights Bonnie and I would put on a brief performance dancing for the guys and stripping down just enough to get their blood flowing. When we were down to just the minimum we would adjourn to one of the bedrooms to service a willing customer.
How did my husband feel about dozen of guys fucking his wife you ask? Each winter we spent two week in the luxury of a Cancun resort during which time Steve got to sample some of the lovely Senoritas.
It was mid-June and the weather had been great. Guys were pulling Bass out of the water almost as fast as they could cast.
We had a party of eight businessmen from Michigan booked for the week. They had flown in to Parry Sound for a week of R & R at the lodge.
The guys were an older, forties, fifties and perhaps sixty-year-old group of lawyers and judges looking to vent the frustrations of a winter of the seamy side of life.
"The Michigan guys want a gang-bang." Steve said.
"Get Bonnie to do it, that's a young girl's game." I answered.
"They asked for you." Steve insisted.
"O.K. But it will cost them!" I gave in.
