An Unusual Hotel….

An Unusual Hotel…..

As she drove out of the city, Sarah Dalton was angry. She’d just spent much of the afternoon arguing with men in caravans, and she still had a long drive home. She’d had to come out to the site herself, to see why the construction was so far behind schedule, and she’d gotten good and mad at the Site Engineer and the Works Foreman.

They’d initially been patronising towards her – but she was used to that. As a 29-year-old woman, with a pretty face, a good figure and a penchant for business suits with short skirts, most men in the construction industry failed to take her seriously. At least to begin with. She’d learned quickly how to make them pay attention. A burst of bad language usually did the trick, and this afternoon had been no exception.
She’d reminded the Engineer and the Foreman that she was not their boss, she was their motherfucking boss’s boss, and that all of them, including their boss, were sons of bitches who would be looking for new employment very soon if they didn’t get the damned project back on schedule pretty quickly, and back within budget too.

She was, on the whole, enjoying her new position though. As a young girl she’d always been practical, building things with Lego rather than playing with dolls as her younger sister did. Her parents had worried she was going to grow up a bit of a tom-boy, but their fears had lessened in her teens when she flourished into an attractive young woman. Her father had hoped that she would follow him into the family business, and become a partner at Dalton and Dalton, the law firm that had been started by her great-grand father in London fifty years earlier. However, she had other ideas. After four years at Cambridge University, she’d graduated with a master’s degree in Architectural Engineering, and had become a Project Manager for Last Resort International, a major global building firm. Based in London, England, she followed projects from the design stage, through the building process, right up to the last fix. She was the one who signed off the company’s involvement and figuratively, and even sometimes literally, ‘handed over the keys’ to the buildings owner.

She’d applied for the transfer to the American section of the company as a challenge, and also for the much higher rates of pay. She’d been in the US for three months now, and was starting to settle in.

Although Sarah had been quite sure of getting the job on merit alone, she’d ensured that she received the very highest personal recommendation from the CEO of the UK end of the operation. She’d worn the shortest skirt she dared to the formal interview, and she’d crossed and uncrossed her legs more than a few times. She was high enough within the company to have met the CEO a few times socially already; they’d flirted a little at a few company gatherings in the past, when the champagne cocktails had been flowing.
He’d virtually salivated over her at the interview, and hadn’t offered any resistance when she stepped around behind his desk, and had knelt and performed oral sex on him. She’d done a good job on it. As in everything else that she did she was thorough, and made sure she did it right. She’d run her tongue up and down his shaft, popping her mouth briefly over the top of it, fitting the head into her mouth, then releasing it. She’d licked and slurped loudly at it, while he’d moaned and groaned out loud with the pleasure. She’d spent some time darting her tongue around the spot just below the head, where the skin joins on, as she knew that was a particularly sensitive pleasure spot, until finally she’d angled his cock forward and had slid her mouth all the way down the shaft, then noisily slurped up and down it until he moaned out loud, and had shot his load into the back of her mouth.

She’d got up, wiped her mouth and had returned to her seat in front of the desk, picking up her hand-bag in order to leave the office, the interview completed. She’d theatrically looked into the open bag with surprise, and had pulled out a Dictaphone and said, in a mock dumb-girl voice “Oh my! It seems that I’d left this running, it’s probably recorded the sounds of everything we’ve just done!” he’d stared at her ashen-faced as she’d gone on “Well, it won’t matter will it? If I get that job and I’m off to America I’ll be a long way away from everyone – especially your wife, won’t I?” she’d looked him directly in the eye as she’d spoken that last piece, and he’d made sure that she got the transfer.

But for now she was cross. It was a four hour drive from here across the hot desert back to her rented apartment, and the sun was already low in the summer sky as she headed out of the city. The sun was shining directly into her eyes, so she pulled her Wayfarers from the glove box and put them on, then switched the radio on, turning the volume right up. She’d left her new Mercedes-Benz at home, and driven out here for the site visit in one of the construction company’s mud-spattered vehicles, and it certainly wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable, or as fast, driving this flat-bed Ford.

As she neared a corner she saw a young man standing there, waiting to cross. She slowed down to take a look, and admired his neat, trim behind. ‘Nice ass’ she thought to herself, and drove on.

She reached the open road, and got herself into the fast lane, trying to get as much speed out of the old Ford as she could. The air-conditioning was playing up, so she wound down the window until she could feel the cool wind in her hair.
It was still hot even though it was nearly sundown, and she raced along the dark desert highway. There was no traffic at all; in fact the only other vehicle in sight was a truck heading towards her, although it appeared to be several miles distant. Far off she could see a spectacular electrical storm rage, long streaks of lightning flickering towards the earth. She watched the spectacular show for a few moments, then fumbled in her handbag on the seat alongside her, and pulled out a cigarette. She stuck it in her mouth, and then rummaged in the bag for a lighter. She couldn’t find one, and this made her angrier. She kept one hand on the wheel as she bent over to the passenger seat, peering into her bag in an attempt to find the lighter.

She fumbled for a few moments until suddenly, above the sound of the radio, she heard a loud horn blaring, and the car filled with light. As she shot upright she found she was staring at the front of the truck heading towards her, only a few yards away!

Several thoughts raced through her mind simultaneously – she realised that as it had gotten darker she’d forgotten to put her headlights on, and that, in the absence of other traffic to remind her, she was driving on the wrong side of the road again, a force of habit after learning to drive in the UK. The cigarette fell from her lips as she wrenched frantically at the wheel, to turn the pick-up out of the path of the oncoming truck. Tyres screamed as she closed her eyes and braced herself for the crushing impact she thought would surely come, and she imagined she felt that impact judder through her, and a flash of light as the car exploded, but she opened her eyes to find that she had somehow missed the truck, and was skidding across the road. She braked to a halt, and with trembling hands picked another cigarette out of the pack, finally located the lighter and inhaled deeply, sitting and smoking for several minutes as she realised how close to death she’d just been.

She threw the butt out of the open window and, making sure that the lights were on, and she was on the right side of the road, she drove on, a little slower this time. The Ford became progressively harder to steer, and she realised that one of the tyres was probably running flat, possibly because of the sharp braking and swerving a few minutes earlier.

She cursed as she struggled to use her phone, she’d call someone to get them to come out and help her change the wheel as she didn’t fancy trying to jack this big flat-bed pick-up thing up by herself. She drove slower now, and swore as she saw that there was no signal.

A mile or so further on, she saw a flickering light just off the road, and as she neared it she saw a large building set back from the road. She couldn’t remember seeing it on the way out here this morning, but it was the only building within sight so she turned off the highway, and into the driveway of the building. The sun was beginning to finally set now, and it had dropped behind the building, outlining its domed towers and the tall palm trees that grew on either side of the drive. Her architects’ eye regarded the building. ‘Art Deco,’ she thought to herself ‘very avant-garde too. Impressive. Wonder why I didn’t see it earlier?’

She parked at the front of the building, next to a black Mercedes-Benz sports car, not unlike her own, and saw a large awning sticking out over the front entrance, sheltering a broad length of deep red carpet. She got out to look at the front of the big Ford and saw that one of the tyres was indeed flat, if she’d carried on much longer she’d have been driving on the rim. Wherever she was, this was where she was staying for the night.

She picked her hand-bag from the passenger seat and, not bothering to lock the Ford, walked towards the entrance of the building. As she walked along the red carpet and up the two steps to the buildings entrance she was puzzled by the lack of any sign identifying it. There was only a discreet brass plaque to one side of the entrance, bearing the letters ‘thc’. She pondered briefly on the significance of the letters. Were they aware what thc was, she thought?

Tetrahydrocannabinol – she’d smoked enough of it during her time at Cambridge, most of the students puffed on the odd joint now and again, and she’d certainly been no exception. As they were all posh kids, none of them had been so crass as to call their drug of choice ‘pot’ or ‘dope’ or ‘grass’ they’d always called it ‘t-h-c’ as that had seemed much more intellectual, much more refined.
She allowed herself a smile at the memory – there’d been quite a lot of ‘thc’ smoked during her four years at uni, and with a few pretty boyfriends too – she hadn’t exactly been a shrinking violet in that respect either.

Sarah was a little surprised when she entered the building to discover what appeared to be a relatively normal room in the style of an upmarket hotel reception. She crossed over to the desk and hesitantly coughed to attract the attention of the somewhat stern-faced woman behind it. The woman turned, welcomed her to ‘The Hotel’ and politely enquired what could she do to help.

Sarah explained about her flat tyre, and that she still could not get a signal on her phone. She said she really needed somewhere to stop for the night, or failing that, could she use their phone to call someone.

The receptionist politely explained that everyone was suffering the same loss of mobile phone signals, and that the landlines were out too, possibly because of the severe electrical storm that had passed nearby earlier. She told Sarah that she could stay for the night; there were plenty of rooms – she could even give her a discount as a last-minute guest, although there was a small problem.