The
Spanky Bottom Consultation.
By
Josephine Sanchez Vanner
Chapter
Two
– It's not a brothel if it's a
country house.
Rodney
did what he came into the bathroom to do, pee. He idly watched the
golden stream splash into the toilet bowl. Finished. Shook his penis.
Not bothering to replace the seat, crossed to the basin and washed
his hands.
Rodney
admired his naked body in Emily, she refused to tell him her last
name's, bathroom mirror.
His
consistent habit of working out 4 times a week in the gym had paid
off. Okay so he didn't have the 6 pack of a man 20 years his junior
but his body was on the whole firm and his butt showed no signs of
sagging, and he could still get his dick up any time he wanted.
“Why?”
He asked himself hadn't he thought of this earlier. Getting paid for
having sex instead of paying for it. Sex was the one thing he was any
good at. The only failing he would admit he had, was an addiction to
wanting sex with as many women as possible. He loved women. Getting
the odd blow job from Giles when the female form wasn't available
didn't count. A noise from the bedroom brought Rodney back to the
reason he was in a woman's bathroom.
Life he decided, had
it's mysteries, he sighed and went back to satisfy Emily's 500 bucks
worth of multiple orgasms
“Oh
Rodders.” Emily squeaked in anticipation at the sight of his, ready
for action, erection.
She
had a voice that tinkled like a wind chime in a Japanese garden and
the body shape of a cherry tree trunk. She wore far too much make-up
with colors that didn't suit her dyed blond hair, and her breath
smelt of the half bottle of vodka she consumed most days. No wonder,
Rodney thought, that her husband had given up the impossible task of
trying to satisfy her sexual appetites. He had to admire her though,
for her size and general inebriation, she did have stamina.
“This
needs your big delicious cock.” She pointed to the spot between
her open legs, just below her fuzzy black pubes
“Can't
wait.” Hasn't the wretched woman had enough?
With
a growing sense of unease that he wasn't going to make it to his next
appointment, Rodney straddled Emily's wide hips. Seconds later at the
sound of car wheels crunching up the gravel drive way, Rodney had
been thrown off onto the bedroom floor by an hysterical naked Emily.
Her
body had been reasonably bearable covered up beneath the sheets, the
afternoon light coming in from the partially drawn bedroom curtains
revealed a drooping belly that resembled a stuffed cushion, and a
pair of tits that could only stay in place with the aid of a
substantial under-wired bra. Rodney felt, he was sure earning his
money.
“Get
dressed.” She hissed scrabbling around for a lacy thong that did
nothing to hide the true horror he was experiencing at the sight of
her cellulite creased backside.
“My
husband's back early.”
For
a woman of such bulk he was surprised how quickly she sped around the
room gathering her discarded clothing. She was dressed before Rodney
had finished pulling on his pants.
“No
time.” She screamed at him throwing his clothes over his shoulders
and thrusting his shoes into his hands, “You'll have to dress
outside.”
“What?”
The
tread of a heavily built man could be heard nearing the top of the
stairs.
Throwing
open the balcony windows, Emily hastily pushed and shoved Rodney onto
the outside terrace.
“Now
what am I supposed to do?”
“Climb
down and fast. He has a temper. See you same time next week.” She
blew him a kiss then shut and locked the door on Rodney.
As
he heaved himself over the balcony balustrades, and climbed
downwards, feeling with his bare feet for the rungs of the flimsy
trellis holding up a rather dubious looking wisteria, Rodney became
aware he was being watched. As dogs go, she wasn't that large but as
a dog with a keen sense of territory, she didn't need to be.
Rodney
had met the dog briefly, in the hallway on the way up to Emily's
bedroom. She hadn't been friendly then and by the way she was baring
her teeth, he guessed she had no intention of changing her attitude
towards him.
“There,
there.” He cooed from just out of jaw range. From his somewhat
indifferent memory of her, he thought her breed to be a cross between
a Chihuahua and a smallish, Poodle. Lulu, was in fact a pure bred
Jack Russell terrier with grip that once attached to it's quarry,
rarely let go and who harbored a deep hatred of men she didn't know.
Rodney's
shoes lay where he had thrown them, some distance from the base of
his sanctuary. He cursed himself for not having put them on before he
did his quick exit. One hefty kick from his size 10 brogues and the
damn dog would be sailing towards the flower beds. As it was she was
readying herself to sink her teeth into his leg.
Rodney
was a quagmire of indecision. He saw no point in trying the swift
kick in the face method. She was likely to seize his foot before he'd
a chance of landing a useful boot to her snout.
Divine
intervention brought the end solution to his problem. The nails that
had been used to keep the trellis fixed to the wall, were now old and
rusty. Rodney's 6 foot frame was just too much for them. The nails
removed themselves with considerable ease and deposited the trellis
along with Rodney on top of the unfortunate Lulu.
Unreservedly
thanking his guardian angel, Rodney limped back to the safety of his
car that he'd had the sense to park some considerable distance from
his 'clients' house.
The
nice thing about the wife of the right honorable David Doesgood,
member of parliament for Lecton Heath South, she wasn't that
demanding in bed. It was why he always made her appointment after
Emily, whatever her name was.
Jennifer
Doesgood, simply needed, as she put it, I only want to be
understood. That, and an
audience while she masturbated.
Sitting
at the bottom of her bed, imparting his usual grunts of encouragement
as she violently rubbed and squeezed herself, a thought occurred to
Rodney. He'd been lucky so far in not getting caught and beaten to a
pulp by an outraged husband. Next time he might not be so lucky.
Rodney had always hated physical violence, especially when he was on
the receiving end of it.
He
needed a secure place to work. A place where no husband was going to
turn up unannounced. An environment he knew the layout of. No dogs,
other than his own. No need for trellising that didn't stay where it
was supposed to. In short. Rawlings Hall, his country estate, or what
was left of it.
His
house had 10 bedrooms, 2 morning rooms, 3 drawing rooms, a library
and a music room, all of which he had had sex in at one time or
another. It stood back some distance from the road, had no immediate neighbors and ample parking space for a fleet of cars. Added to that
it was impressive enough to charge a small fortune to the well-off
ladies who were so eager to make use off his manly services. In other
words - the perfect place for a brothel accommodating his female
clients.
“You're
going to do what?” Giles exclaimed when Rodney finished explaining
his plan to turn Rawlings Hall into a brothel where women came to get
laid by men.
“But
what about your sister Audrey?” Giles continued.
“Fuck
Audrey.”
“No
thanks. What I mean is, won't she stop you? After all, isn't it
technically her house too.”
“She
can go screw. I inherited the house, she only has the right to come
and stay here when she chooses. She's welcome any time. She can even
have sex with you, so long as she pays the house service charge.”
Audrey
had never been a consideration in Rodney's life and he didn't intend
to make her one now. Thanks to a crying need, by lonely mature women
to be complimented on their lovemaking skills, and bodily beauty, by
a man who was old enough not to make them feel like perverts, Rodney
had accumulated a fairly sizable cash savings fund. Cash being the
only currency he took.
“What
the tax man doesn't know about, is more for me to spend.” He'd told
Giles as he carefully wrapped his earnings in plastic bags before
stashing them in his wall-safe.
Rawlings
Hall was built by the first Augustus St John in the late half of the
sixteenth century. A man of fortitude and high moral principles, none
of which had been passed down the genetic chain to Rodney. Originally
built with creativity, embodied in an elegant red brick building,
it's beauty had been destroyed by generations of St John's, adding
various different styles of architectures, few, if any, of which
complimented each other. To this monstrosity Rodney's parents had
added a hideously ugly white PVC conservatory for a swimming pool and Jacuzzi. Rodney had never really enjoyed the pool and had let it
green over. A mistake he quickly rectified when Giles pointed out the
benefits of skinny dipping, coupled with sex and champagne in the hot
tub.
A
few extra modifications to the bedrooms, mirrors on the ceilings,
hand-cuff hooks, black silk bed linen, plentiful supplies of Viagra
and half a dozen men of mature age who needed the money with a
healthy attitude towards getting paid for sex and the Rawlings Hall
brothel was open to pleasure sexually frustrated ladies and whatever
fantasies they desired.
Coming
soon -
Chapter
3 – Equality and a gay attitude to live.
The
characters in this short novella are not based on any real person and
are purely fictional from the author's furtive imagination.
Thanks
for reading this post.
Josephine
Sanchez Vanner
photo
freedidgitalphotos.net
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