Me and My Zapper

"I think it works," Rebecca added unnecessarily as we reached my car in the next street. "We should tell Maisie we are good to go!"

"Indeed," I muttered and slid my hand into her open handbag to remove the pink, female zapper. She smiled at me as I pressed it, thinking it was the car key and gasped as an uncompromising lust welled inside her. "Just so it's fair," I teased and beamed as I opened the car door.

Rebecca just swore at me, and then fumbled at her clothing. I was spent; she needed to take care of herself, much to her frustration and disgust.

Until she pulled out the male zapper again and aimed it at my chest; I was about to get a big enough dose to satisfy her needs!

To be continued.

Chapter IX

It took over three months for the sale to finish, and for us to refit the hotel; it was sold to us at a knocked-down price because it needed extensive renovation, but Maisie came up with enough friends and tradesmen to help us without denting our budget too badly, and although she never told me what she did, I could make a very educated guess that their wives and girlfriends paid our bill for us.

We agreed that the secret of the zappers would stay a secret and so whatever Maisie did do, I'm sure her friends and tradesmen didn't know the whole story. She also made up with her parents and blamed her attack of lust at the pub on hormonal imbalance. Once her family thought she had a mild medical complaint, that she told them she was getting treatment for, they seemed to disregard the shameless public transgressions.

The same could not be said for Rebecca: the anger she felt for her parent's favouritism had not rescinded, and when Elsie and my new business partner (Maisie and I agreed to give her a third of our venture) met to discuss "that night" in a café in the centre of a shopping centre, they descended into fierce shouting, and Rebecca surreptitiously dosing her sister with a strong quantity of my zapper, before fleeing the scene; I know Elsie was eventually arrested, much to Rebecca's amusement.

As for me, I had not bothered to contact my sister; Maisie's negotiations would have left an ill-taste in the mouth for her, and I wasn't that sure what to say. The fact that I also saw the remnants of her sexual antics dripping down her legs, not to mention her engaging in pee play, were also good reasons not to open communication channels. Katie would contact me if she needed to, or we would see each other at Christmas and pretend nothing had happened; this cowardly apathy suited me.

The Lovers' Hotel was situated around thirty miles from the town I lived in, and was a fifteen minute walk from a tiny village that possessed a pub, a post office and a sporadic train service. It's previous use as a conference centre-cum-hotel meant that there were a couple of big rooms on the ground floor and we remodelled these to provided a "blue" room where the men congregated and had their "lesson" on seduction and sex, and a "pink" room where women had massages, before they both lead through big double doors into the dining room.

We could then send all the couples after dinner to the "couples bar" which had twenty high-powered transmitters in the bar, ceiling and wall. The three of us discussed the mechanics of this and decided that it would be wise to let them buy a drink each (for profits) before we left the room and turned on the hidden zappers. We only needed to be absent for thirty seconds, but it would be unwise to have the staff as loved up as the guests: it was our business not our pleasure.

We had six of our eight rooms booked for the opening night; Maisie had managed to find dozens of desperate people in sexless marriages on the Internet, and her website had persuaded four men and two women to join us for the night, with their partners. I felt butterflies as the first couple checked in -- a dumpy woman with red, puffy eyes accompanying a scowling middle-aged gentleman - and Rebecca gleefully showed them to their room.

It didn't feel like a great start: arguing with each other would not make for a happy evening, and the second couple hardly looked much better. I wondered how many relationships were at "last chance saloon" and mentioned my reservations to Maisie but she scoffed as she busied herself with excitement.

Maisie had arranged for local masseurs to visit in the afternoon as a "standard outcall" and was banned from the room as Rebecca oversaw the nervous ladies getting a gentle massage from some incredibly sexy masseurs while Maisie and I had to "lecture" half-a-dozen reluctant men, while we wore white togas.

Maisie was brilliant and had organised so much of the experience by herself. Towels and togas, each colour-matched to their partner, and their allocated suite, awaited for the gentlemen on the seats and she argued with one of the guests when he almost point-blank refused to take his mobile phone upstairs as "Arsenal were playing later." There was reticence when she demanded nudity and angrily barked into the room, "who wants to get laid tonight? And make their partner orgasm repeatedly?"

Nervously, our students looked at each other, and disrobed, to sit on the towels provided while Maisie and I delivered a lecture using slides taken mostly from pilfered pictures and videos from the Internet. We had only rehearsed a couple of times together, but we discussed aphrodisiacs, foreplay, intercourse, "the art of compliment" and "effortless seduction" until a buzzer sounded and my business partner wrapped up her lecture and then put a picture of how to tie a toga on the big television screen.

Watching six middle-aged men try to tie togas was amusing, and I had to help a couple fasten the unwieldy cotton sheets: "real men wear togas," Maisie cried: she had been a fantastic actress all afternoon as she told them the act of wearing the toga signified their successful completion of the seduction course. I could not believe that they were so gullible, but in my heart I knew that most of them were here because they needed hope. They wanted to believe it was true, and that they had new found powers to woo, please and satisfy their partner.

The aphrodisiac-laden dinner, cooked by our part-time retired chef looked delicious: griddled asparagus spears, oysters with ginger followed by avacado, banana and honey salad and chocolate chilli figs. The intimate dining room with flickering candle lights, smiling and flirting, was buzzing with excitement and our business plan seemed to be working.

After coffee, the couples joined me in the bar and every man happily charged £60 to their account to buy a bottle of pink champagne for him and his partner: Maisie's small lie that it was a proven aphrodisiac (and we gave them a glass with their dinner), seemed to convince the desperate men to part with their money, and we happily sold six of the overpriced bottles of cheap bubbly.

I must admit my nerves were a little frayed as I stepped outside the bar; if the zappers failed for whatever reason at this point, then our entire scam would be rumbled and I closed the door to the bar as I entered the store room and watched the six couples on the CCTV camera we had set up. My clammy fingers hovered over the key to activate my technology and slipped as I turned it, priming the zappers before I unleashed several seconds of intense arousal into the bar.

The reaction was immediate: every member of the bar held onto their toga-clad crotch with a pained expression and I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I counted the half-minute before wandering back to our guests. Two couples frantically grabbed each other as they hurriedly left the bar, scrabbling at their togas as they scrambled towards their private rooms.

The other four couples were not waiting, and we suspected some couples might not when we designed the hotel. I watched as the first couple -- a slightly dumpy, dour woman on her knees with her equally as uninspiring partner's cock bobbing in her face. I had wondered throughout the day if there was a wild tiger hidden inside her dreary exterior, and she was far from the colourless lady I first thought.

I watched, and they didn't care, as she took the cock in her mouth, sliding her mouth down the six-inch cock with ease until her nose was tickled by his pubic hair. Her tongue effortlessly flicked his glans and her right hand pressed against his ass, eager to slide against her partner's prostate, while her left hand encircled her clit.

She came into his cock, her cries and moans squealing down the manhood occupying her mouth and the middle-aged woman looked up at her husband, waiting for him to grab her head and face-fuck the eager fellatrix.

My eyes glanced around the room: there was a clear initial reticence from our patrons from doing too much in the hotel bar, but as the first couple openly engaged in lustful behaviour, this served to encourage the remaining couples as togas were discarded with rampant alacrity.

I watched, watched the tall blonde woman pushed her hesitant husband onto the leather sofa and eagerly slid her hands over his rotund, hairy body. He sighed, and struggled, glancing at me and the other writhing couples, and gulped as she pressed her hand against his erect cock.

He sighed, wriggling from her touch and enjoying her fingers gliding firmly down his shaft; her expression oozed lust as she watched his face, smiling at his lustful fog and squirming body. He grunted, and she swung her leg over his head, settling her crotch against his face as her hands closed around his cock.

She groaned as her partner licked her slit, squealing as his tongue probed her, and her breasts hung to rub against his naked body. She was loud, they all were, but her cries reverberated around the intimate room, as her husband drove her towards her climax. His cock, spewing pre-cum was being expertly massaged as she ran the palm of her hand over his glistening tip while her fingers grasped his shaft, pulling it upwards.

He shuddered, filling her hand with his semen as she bucked her hips, writhing her body to the rhythm of his tongue as she squealed: louder and louder than ever before. The entire room was about to experience her orgasm as the cacophony of lust filled my ears; she was staring at me as I watched her heaving breasts. I wanted to play with them; I wanted to touch her gorgeous orbs and rub her nipples in my fingers as she writhed and groaned. I wanted to cup her smoothness and stare into her eyes as her husband made her orgasm. I wanted, but I couldn't have.

She was a paying guest, and was beyond my touch; my erection pressed against the insides of my trousers and I stared, meeting her gaze as she screamed obscenities into the room and rocked against his face with a desperate passion and lust. She was coming, orgasming aggressively and passionately on his startled face.

I looked around the room; I had missed the removal of the deep red togas from the nearest couple to the window, or the cunnilingus that the stout woman received from her nondescript husband, but I did not miss what was to follow afterwards. Pulling her onto his lap, he effortlessly glided his cock into her welcoming pussy and she groaned loudly with a driven, animal passion that rattled my consciousness. This was not a woman who was wanted sexual satisfaction, but a woman who's soul screamed desperation as her body buzzed in sweet delight at the rampant forwardness of her lust-crazed partner.

He barely broke rhythm as his cock slid into her wet cunt and he thrust deep into the mewling wife; her vocal utterances of carnal delight competed admirably in the room swimming with sexual ecstasy. She sunk her nails into his flesh, grabbing his back and pulling him closer to her, as he rammed his cock forcefully into her slick cunt.

She snatched at her breathing, frantically gasping for air as her lover passionately used her; she relished his new found confidence and was savouring his unyielding desires with increasing volume.

I felt a pang of jealousy, but could do nothing but watch; watch as he reached his peak, several moments after she climaxed for the third time and then fill her cunt with his warm seed. I could only watch as she yelled obscenities and profanities at him and push his face into her cum-soaked crotch, before climaxing again as he lapped at her dripping cunt. Watch as she ground her orgasming cunt against his sodden face before grabbing his hand and leading the naked man out of the bar as the lovers frantically ran to the sanctuary of their bedroom, leaving behind their discarded togas.

We had loaded the rooms with condoms, lubricants and transmitters in the ceilings that would periodically dose them on lust until the small hours and then wake our guests in time for a screw before breakfast.

I nodded politely as the naked couples left the bar, making eye contact with them as if everything was completely normal, as they hurriedly left the room to partake in further sexual shenanigans. I tidied the bar and sat down, helping myself to a glass of pink champagne; six couples were currently trying their best to wear out the bedsprings, and Rebecca and Maisie smiled as they joined me in the bar. "Lazy little ..."

"Enough of that," I replied. "I've sold hundreds of pounds of champagne." I pointed to six bottles of half-drunk bubbly on the bar -- the lust had seen to the fact that they no longer worried about the ludicrously expensive pink wine they had just bought -- and returned the cheeky grins. "I think that went well," I added, unbuttoning my shirt. "If I could just hit one or both of you two ..."

"No chance," Maisie and Rebecca replied in unison and giggled. "Not on a working night," Rebecca added. It was another agreement we had had: playing with the zappers together was technically fine, but not one one of the six days a week the hotel was open. We had to separate work life and fun, and while I was not dating or going out with either of the two ladies, they were amenable to some after-hours sex, in the right circumstances.

I stretched in the seat and looked up as the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Maisie muttered and disappeared out of the bar, only to return was a very wet, and very dishevelled young lady. I didn't recognise her at first, but as Rebecca and I both looked at each other, it dawned on me: she was the bargirl from the Italian restaurant who I had so enjoyably screwed.

"Eva," I cried, having to wrack my memory for her name. "What's ... what are you doing here?"

She gulped and squeezed her wet jacket. "I ... I ... I ..." She stammered and I calmed her down, pouring her a glass of someone else's champagne and passing it to her. She hesitated and gulped. "I had to find you," she said, her hands trembling around the cold glass. I tried to get her to remove her cold, wet clothes but she refused and looked at Maisie. "Is this your girlfriend?"

"They are my business partners," I replied, truthfully. "What are you doing here?"

She twirled her black hair around her fingers and downed her drink, staring at the pattern in the wooden table. "I had to find you. I asked the dating woman for your address and she refused but when I told her why I needed it, she let me have it, and I went 'round there and it was empty but your neighbour said something about this hotel and I've just walked from the station and ..." She took a deep breath and gulped. "I'm pregnant."

"Fuck!"

Chapter X

"Pregnant!" Rebecca cried, causing the teenage barmaid to flinch. "As in proper pregnant."

Eva nodded and withdrew a pregnancy test from her bag that clearly showed a blue line where I would have hoped to see nothing. I wiped a tear from her eye, causing her to flinch again. "I thought I should tell you." She bit her lip as she fidgeted. "My parents and me ..." She shrugged as she stared into the knot in the wood on the table and looked up at me with red, puffy eyes. "... they said I was disgusting and threw me out." Our eyes met and she squeezed her bag tight to her waist.

"Where are you staying?" Rebecca asked.

My mind was a blur; as naïve as it sounds, it simply didn't occur to me what the consequences of uncomplicated and unsafe sex would be. I had taken advantage of the young lady that night and she was living with the consequences. I wasn't sure I was ready to be a father, but Eva's eyes were filled with the weight of expectation bearing down upon her, and were laced with fear. I had no right to be scared, she was the one who was set to become a teenage mother.

"I'm staying on a friend's sofa but I have to leave soon. Her parents don't like it." She passed me an ultrasound picture and I looked at it without saying a word. "I've gone past twelve weeks." She looked across the table, willing me to say something. "I so hoped it wasn't, but it was."

"I'm ... I'm so sorry," I muttered, but felt ridiculous for saying so. Her eyes watered further and she asked to go to the toilet; I pointed her towards an oak-panelled door in the corner of the room and watched guiltily as she made her way over to it.

"I said that it was dangerous," Maisie said, sniping at me the moment Eva had passed through the toilet door. "I ..."

"Yes," I interrupted. "No good preaching. How do you think I feel?"

"You feel?" Rebecca asked in surprise and indignation. "You've got an eighteen year old girl pregnant and she has been made homeless for it. She can't have an abortion and if her family are Catholic which they probably are, being Italian and all that, then that wouldn't be possible anyway. She is alone, scared and young. No idea where to turn to and you think we should care what you feel?"

I gulped. "But ..."

Rebecca jabbed her finger into my chest. "You've totally screwed her life up."

"You pressed the button," I moaned, but Rebecca rebuffed my words with a dismissive flick of her bony wrist. "And what do you expect me to do? I can't go back in time and ..."

"You should stand by her," Rebecca replied, forcefully in an aggressive tone. "Not as her partner, but you must help support her as she raises your child. Or you're not the person I want as my business partner."

"Nor me," Maisie added and crossed her arms, as they both stared at me. I gulped at the wine.

"But having a child is a big commitment and how do I know that this isn't some ruse to get some money out of me. And anyway, settling down with someone is a big deal and ..."

"You are having a child," Maisie interrupted. "And we didn't say settle down, although we do need to offer her lodgings for tonight." She cocked her head and glanced towards the toilet door. "She needs someone. And it doesn't matter if that person has only known her for one night. She needs some support."

I groaned, but they were right. Eva's predicament was my fault, and I had a responsibility. My business partners left the room before Eva returned and I was waiting with a hug and a cuddle, promising her that I would offer her support, where I could. Maisie returned with a key for "Room Eight" and I escorted her to the smallest suite in the building, and the room adjacent to my bedroom door.

Eva cried a bit, when I sat her on the bed, and put my arm around the young lady; she said she came to warn me I would be a father, and had been worried I would be angry or threaten her. How she thought I could be angry with a vulnerable girl whose problems were down to me, was a mystery. I was not happy about the situation, but she was blameless; I was very far from being blameless.

It was as she was sobbing, that I felt it: a surge of arousal engulfing me and looked at the pregnant teenager, gripping her crotch through her wet clothes and sniffing; either Maisie and Rebecca had deliberately turned on the zappers for the room, or they had forgotten to reconfigure the nightly cycle when they gave me the key. I groaned inwardly; sending shockwaves into the bedrooms was a key feature of our business plan, but I didn't plan to arouse the youthful Eva.