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.”
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.
“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