The manager entered the room, leaving the door open behind her, a door Mike was certain had been locked earlier. She had the air of a school teacher, but not the stern kind, the one that was well liked by her students. Her eyes were kind, a brilliant blue framed by wavy blonde locks; a few strands dangled either side of her face. Though she appeared friendly, she stood with that air of authority reserved for sharply dressed women in heels. Alina retreated back a few steps, holding the device and a cum-soaked napkin behind her back, uncertain of how best to proceed. Mike held no such reservations.
"So are you going to tell us what the hell is going on here?" He asked
"I'm sure you have questions," she remarked, she had a New Zealand accent that gave a sing-songy tone to her speech, "I'll do my best to answer them for you, but please don't put me in your crosshairs. What's happening to you has little to do with me."
Mike was taken aback by this bluntness, his aggression was tempered, and his curiosity peaked.
"This room is due to be cleared in a moment," she spoke softly and with a subdued but cheery tone, a small smile curling her lips as she spoke, "Why don't we talk in my office?"
As she turned to lead the way, Alina reached immediately for her bag, dropping the device and napkin inside and zipping it away. She wanted to put distance between herself and the room, as if the sinfulness of what she had done was part of the room, and the shame was burned into the walls. Mike collected up his things and followed them out the door.
They were led down a short hallway, then left and into a small office. In that time Mike examined the manager in more detail. She wore medium heels, white, formal and stylish. She was a little taller than Alina, with a slim build but carried herself with an air of confidence that Alina lacked. As they walked, she looked back at them flashing a trying smile. Her skin was lightly tanned, with the hint of freckles beneath smooth makeup. She looked tired. Slight creases at the edges of her eyes and smile. Mike guessed she must have been in her early or mid-thirties.
"Take a seat," she offered, closing the door behind them and parading around to her desk chair. The room wasn't especially large, the furnishings were minimal, but it was a nice bright space with white walls. The desk was white too, and was almost entirely clear, not a single photograph or document on show, but a small plaque told them that her name was Miss Annabelle Collier, Hotel Manager. On the left wall was a large canvas of a flowery meadow, the only decoration on any of the walls, though the large window behind Miss Collier was certainly a focal point. The glass pane took up much of the wall, and was mostly frosted for privacy, but it gave the room lots of natural light, and a blurry view of the vibrantly sunny garden. Mike and Alina couldn't have felt further from the glorious outdoors. Sitting there with her, they felt like two deviant children summoned for a telling off. No one said a word.
Miss Collier rolled her chair over to a tray set on the window sill. She poured three glasses of chilled water and set them on the table. Mike took one look at it, and left it untouched. Alina was sitting with her eyes down, hands folded in her lap, unmoving. All that headstrong decisiveness had left her now, perhaps from being practically caught in the middle of such a lewd act. Mike had to tear his eyes away from her as he recalled that his cum had been dripping down her face just moments before, and that now she was sat there with no panties on. Alina crossed her legs, acutely aware of it as well.
"So," the manager started, taking a deep breath, "My receptionist said something about a shower! You'll have to forgive the staff, they know even less about these matters than I do, in fact I try to keep their knowledge of it next to zero. Still, it's not the first time I've heard that nasty shower trick employed... it must have been quite traumatic for you both."
"Traumatic!?" Mike's anger spiked, but he took a moment to simmer down before continuing, "Listen, I want to know what the hell is going on here. What is all this?"
"To be honest, I just don't have a lot to tell you. I have my theories, but I don't get any more information than you do. A few times a year, I get people like yourselves in my office screaming for answers I can't give them. In all likelihood I suspect there are countless more cases that don't get to me." She continued, evading eye contact and sitting upright in her chair. It seemed she didn't like the situation any more than they did. Her words seemed almost scripted. Like she'd had this conversation time and time again, "The situations are all as... sexually charged as your own experience, and the people involved are usually young and good looking, sometimes even strangers to one another. As I'm sure you can appreciate, I need to be careful with what I share, or I could end up landing myself in some trouble that's best avoided."
Mike was quietly in awe, mouth agape. He'd been ready for an argument fight, maybe even to be beaten, the idea that she was as much in the dark as him and Alina wasn't one he was prepared for. She seemed so frank, he even detected a hint of irritation, but she showed no sign of deceit. He didn't know where to begin. Still, he was here now, he had to try and get something. Looking to Alina, it was clear she wouldn't be saying anything any time soon, her mind had retreated inwards. She was slouched, her eyes glued to the floor and arms holding one another.
"If it isn't you? Who the fuck is behind all this?" he spoke almost in a whisper, a simmering palpable rage in his tone.
"I'm don't know, but whoever it is has some involvement in the ownership of the hotel a-"
"How do you not know this? Are you fucking serious?" He cut her off.
"Mr Hatton, please calm down and I wi-"
"You said this happens year round? What kind of fucking hotel is this?! You're lucky we haven't gone to the police already!"
"Mr Hatton," she persisted, a sigh escaping through her flared nostrils. She was trying not to raise her voice, her eyelids closing as if his vitriol was water passing over her face. She spoke in a flat tone, repeating until he stopped to listen, "Mr Hatton please calm down. I'm not trying to antagonise you, okay? I'm just telling you what I know."
"Mike..." Alina muttered, placing a hand on his arm to soothe his frustration. He groaned loudly, and sat back on his chair in angered resignation, "Miss Collier, can you help us?" she asked more timidly. Miss Collier seemed relieved.
