probably trying to prove that it could be done underwater.
She found two of the quickie rooms still occupied. But unit forty-seven was open, the key in the door. Sharon flicked on the lights and hurried to the phone.
After ringing Nancy and telling her that forty-seven was available, she tore off the rumpled bedclothes. The under sheet was soggy with sex juice. She got out fresh sheets and began making the bed.
Just then Harve Keely appeared in the lighted doorway. He was a lanky, dark-haired, grinning boy of Sharon's age. He took in the scene and moved to the opposite side of the bed to fold the sheet Sharon had flung across it, while giving her his standard greeting, a thumb pressing his nose, fingers waggling.
She laughed. 'Screw you, too, Harve.'
'That's an idea! Let's!'
Giggling, Sharon asked, 'How're your parties in twenty-eight and thirty?'
'Strictly yuk. I dragged this paunchy drunk out of the pool – he had his clothes on – and took him back to unit thirty. There I found a hairy-assed guy fucking a broad who turned out to be the drunk's wife. On the other bed a couple of cunts were squirming together like worms. The drunk started to tear up the joint. The hairy-assed guy just kept on fucking. Then the drunk passed out on the floor, and his wife asked me to bang her after the hairy- assed cocksucker was done.'
Sharon was choking with laughter. 'Did you?'
'Hell, why? I'd rather save my prong for you.'
'You sweet boy!'
'You're a good fuck, Sharon. I tell everybody that. I tell them, no matter what you think of Sharon, she's a good fuck. And an excellent cocksucker.'
Still laughing, she hurried to the bathroom to check towels, washcloths, and plastic cups. A hand towel was missing. She replaced it and shortly she and Harve had the room ready for occupancy, lights out, door shut.
Outside, they, paused in the shadow of the overhang.
Sharon said, 'If you're going back to the office, take the key. I'm going to make a complete tour of the units.'
'Wait, Sharon.' Harve slipped an arm round her waist. 'I want to tell you what a delicious fuck you are.'
Eyes twinkling, she cuddled up to him. 'Yes, darling?'
He raised the back of her skirt and slipped a hand under her panty waistband. Slowly his fingers explored the plump globe of her left buttock.
Sharon stood stock-still. Harve's perpetual game was to tease. She had to keep her cool, no matter how sexy his caresses made her feel. The game could not go too far, at least not until about four in the morning when all the world was asleep and they had only Nancy to contend with. Then they often fucked in the employees' lounge.
Their sex games did not conceal their rivalry for Nancy's job. In fact, the teasing was a part of that struggle.
His finger now pressed down between her buttocks into the cleft, slipped in the first silky hairs, then pressed at the pucker of her asshole.
She said, 'That feels nice, Harve. Not exciting, but nice. Would you like me to play with your prick?'
'I'm afraid it would steam you up, Sharon.'
'Oh no, Harve. Not your thin little rod.' She fingered over his thigh to the robust erection stretching his pants. She caressed the length of it.
Her hand trembled and a wave of sex heat flashed through her. She gritted her teeth. Even worse, his finger was working into her anus. Loving it, she backed onto his piercing touch.
He said, 'You're hot tonight, Sharon. Want to go to the employees' lounge and knock off a quick piece?'
She backed harder, wiggling and rotating her ass. Her hand vised on the shank of his cock. Very suddenly she did want it. She needed fucking as badly as did Nancy. She should make a flip remark, display lots of cool, but couldn't. His finger was stirring up her inner juices. She massaged his prick and began jerking it off. She hated him for putting her down this way, but was saved from decision by the appearance of a couple rounding the corner of a unit toward them.
The man called, 'Is that unit forty-seven? The desk girl says the key is here.'
Harve groaned. He removed his hand, lowered Sharon's skirt into place, then strode off toward his drunken party.
Sharon gave the key to the new quickies. They went inside.
Leaning against the wall, she reached under her skirt and fingered her panty crotch. It was slick with cunt drool.
She and Harve were often interrupted during their fun and games. That was an accepted part of the tease. It had helped Sharon realize that sex must be used for pleasure or profit, but must never become a weakness.
But tonight was different. She tugged her panties aside and rubbed her palm on her silky mound. She fingered the juicy hair of her outer labia. Bending low, rubbing her ass against the wall of the unit, she bowed her legs, then stroked into the fiery gelatin of her split.
She heard the quickies talking inside the unit.
The woman, laughing, said, 'Gin always steams my twat.'
Sharon slid two fingers into her hole and thumbed the clit. She writhed against the wall. Juice was running down her leg.
She had to calm herself. Soon Bud Connoly would come to make his midnight inspection. Later, Buddy would arrive.
Maybe masturbation would do the trick. The woman in the unit said, 'I always love sucking it, honey.'
Sharon panted as waves of heat burned her face and her tits. Orgasm already! Her hips jerked and her legs seemed to bow out. Her twat wrung itself down to keyhole size. She lowered to a squat, thumbed her clitoris rapidly, and felt the bubble burst inside her, a scalding balloon gushing its contents on her impaling fingers.
She slumped, sat on the grass, moaning as the last hot waves throbbed out between her spread legs.
CHAPTER THREE
It was midnight, time for Bud Connoly's inspection tour.
Sharon always managed to be very busy at the lobby desk when he arrived. Tonight she had arranged two dozen room cards on the counter and was making up the early call list when she heard Bud's voice at the front entrance.
'Say, is this the Sunland Whorehouse?'
Sharon and Nancy looked up from their work, grinning.
Bud was a stocky man of forty. His hair was coal black except for gray streaks at the temples.
He wore a blue blazer and immaculate white slacks – expensive, tailor-made clothes. Yet he did not achieve elegance. He lacked height and his movements were too brusque.
At the counter he said, 'I have an itchy peter and ten dollars. What does that buy me in this cathouse?'
'Me,' Sharon said.
Bud swung a square hand across the counter and mussed her hair.
Nancy giggled, 'She means it, Mr. Connoly.'
He leered at Nancy. 'You look pretty juicy yourself, honey. Want a little action?'
He made the motion of unzipping his fly. During this horseplay his gaze swept the key boxes. Not a key in sight. His smile broadened.
He asked, 'How many quickies, Nancy?'
'Three. We're keeping an eye on them. I'll have to light the no-vacancy sign if somebody doesn't move on soon.'
'Nancy, the trouble with this town, people don't fuck enough. We ought to have a dozen units full of people humping away, changing off every two hours. That would make us a real dollar.' He turned to Sharon and said,
