Fairview Motel

I'm a cop. Now that the wussies and voy-curious have left the room, I must be speaking with just the hard-core peepers. Let me explain. First of all, I'm not one of those cops in blue wearing shades who handed you an invoice for $200 because his laser gun said you were 3 over the limit. Also, get that image of a cop in a flak jacket labeled SWAT out of your mind. I've never kicked in a door and hosed down a room full of hoods with my Uzi. I do my best work in a suit and all the people I catch wear suits as well. My most dangerous weapon is a sharp pencil. The Commercial Crimes Unit of the RCMP calls me a forensic accountant.

Don't think of me as an auditor with a badge. Auditors are clean-living anal-retentives who think that multiplication is "higher math". They're great for finding mistakes in somebody's expense account but they're as naïve as George W. Bush when it comes to discovering criminal flaws in the market mechanism. You probably enjoyed the work forensic accountants like me did in unraveling scams like ENRON or finding the financial links between Mohammed Atta and Osama bin Laden. When I find the money, I put it all back in the pockets of the people who were scammed. It's almost like a cop giving you $20 for not jaywalking. Even though I'm an accountant, I go to work in an accountant's suit and women think I look like an accountant, I have all the same powers to arrest a perp as the uniforms do. So, just keep quiet and no names please while I'm telling my story.

What is a cop doing writing dirty stories in Literotica? Call me the accidental voyeur. It all started when my Unit sent me out West to get the goods on an Internet pharmacy. I wasn't too enthusiastic about this assignment. Legitimate Internet pharmacies don't do any harm to anybody except maybe to the bottom lines of the big drug companies and chain stores. In the process, they help a lot of seniors stretch their pension dollars and improve their quality of life. The illegitimate ones, the ones that sell compressed goat turds as penis enlargement pills, those I would do a number on them for free. Too bad they're all located off-shore so I can't get to them.

So there I was in dreary Winnipeg in the middle of winter doing dirty work for some multi-national corporations. Revenue Canada sent in some auditors a week before but they hadn't reported back. When I got to the offices of the company we were investigating, one of the auditors was poring over the general ledger and the other was making sure all the payroll deductions and GST had been remitted to the Receiver General. I said hello and left them to put their red and green tick marks wherever they wanted.

That's not my style of investigating. Before I get into the details, I like to get a feel for what the company does so I can go right away for the money. I walked over to the executive offices to introduce myself to Egon Nerdelweiss, the President. The sign on the door gave the lofty title "President and CEO". Egon acted the part and ignored me for a couple of minutes and then finally acknowledged my presence. Shit, Egon was another arrogant second generation Kraut. He got really nervous and defensive when I said I was a Mountie from Ottawa. Probably he thought I was investigating his father's Nazi connections so I tried to calm him down by telling him I was Commercial Crimes, not Illegal Immigration.

"Well, everything's in order with our paperwork and I'm sure that you'll be back in Ottawa in a few days. You'll need to see our Accountant for the details. I prefer to liaise with our investors and stay out of little details. Is there anything else I might be able to help you with, Mr....?"

"It's Lieut. McIsaac, same as the faggy fiddler, Mr. Nerdelweiss. Yes, you could do something for me. Could you give me a quick tour of your operations and then I'll let you get back to your investors."

On the tour, a couple of things caught my attention on the tour. There didn't seem to be a lot of product going through the company. The pharmacists worked at a leisurely pace. I don't know about you but I've never seen a pharmacist in a hurry. Just the same, some of these people took half an hour to fill a straightforward order for some old fart's blue pills. The shipping room was also laid-back. Egon didn't seem to mind that half his staff was out on the loading dock taking a smoke. I also noticed that the President and CEO seemed to have a bad case of the sniffles but I didn't think much about it at the time. It was winter after all. At the end of the tour, Egon handed me over to his accountant, Trish or some kind of fuckall name like that.

"Trish, this is Sgt. McIsaac from Commercial Crimes. Could you assure the sergeant that everything's in order and make sure you give him everything he needs?"

Trish was in her mid-20's and easy on the eyes -- nice rack, hardbody, good complexion and shoulder-length dark hair. You get the general picture. I tried to string things out with some small talk but Trish was as vacant as New Orleans in a hurricane. I got right down to business and asked for the latest financial statements and the working papers with all the journal entries. That's when I realized that getting everything I needed included the Bribe.

"We have a rather unique accounting system in this company so you'll need some help interpreting the different entries in our system of accounts. Why don't we look these over tonight at my place. We can talk about it over dinner and then later you'll relax in my hot tub..." The Bribe is always a sign that I'm on to something. I didn't expect it quite so soon in my investigation. Not bad for an out-of-town cop on his first day of the investigation.

I cut Trish short with the excuse that I had to work on another case in the evening. It would take less of her time if I looked them over this afternoon and have any questions ready for her in the morning. Some cops I know would have taken this bribe to bed in a minute but it didn't work on me. I'm happily married and my wife is just terrific in bed. We have a happy marriage and I wasn't about to throw it all away on a fling with a guilty bean counter, no matter how good-looking she might be.

I took the papers and looked for a good place to work but the auditors had dibs on the only spare office. I needed more privacy than a cubicle could offer so I decided to check into the hotel the Travel Unit booked and look them over there. My hotel turned out to be a single story motel out of the 1950's with all the room doors opening onto a courtyard. Nothing is too good for my employer, it seems. At least the place was clean and it was the closest bed to the Internet Pharmacy offices.

I put all the documents on the desk min the room and starting poring over them. What jumped out at me was that the company had good revenues that didn't correspond to the volumes I saw being shipped. Then I looked at the cash balance and that was too big to carry the expenses the company was booking. That meant I had to investigate the bank and I would need a warrant to do that. I didn't have our lawyer's telephone number and he wouldn't be in the office anyway because of the time difference so an e-mail was the only way to get my warrant by tomorrow morning.

I plugged my laptop's modem into the phone jack and dialed up the RCMP Server. Shit, it was down. I looked around for wireless networks in the hope that I could get e-mail access. Luckily, there was one open network with a good signal so I clicked on it. I quickly connected and started up my browser. Instead of some sort of home page, I got a live feed of a maid making up the bed. I thought, "Even el cheapo motels now have an advertising channel." Then the maid found a half-mickey of cheap rye in the wastebasket and proceeded to chug it all down. This wasn't advertising for the pay channels -- this was REAL and live. I turned up the sound and, yes, there was a microphone planted in the room as well.

The maid left. and I was left with questions. I looked out the window and I could see the housemaid still going from room to room, a little bit unsteadier than before. Then I noticed that there was movement on my laptop's screen. I looked closely and whoever was running this show adjusted the camera to the light conditions. It was a middle-aged couple without any luggage.

The couple looked so ordinary. You've see hundreds of women like her pushing carts around the supermarket, dressed from the Dowdy aisle of Wal-Mart. They scrimp on themselves so they can buy their kids the overpriced cereal advertised on the morning cartoons. The guy was paunchy and bald looking like, I hate to say it, an aging accountant. She sat down on the edge of the bed with her purse on her lap looking as if she was getting second thoughts. I spotted a ring on her hand. They were obviously married but the way they talked, they obviously weren't married to each other.

"....if John finds out about us....He's always criticizing me...Stacy is 19 and she'll take care of the kids until seven...go to her night class...."

"....we're drifting apart....Margaret doesn't even care that I'm working late again tonight....hasn't had supper ready....I suspect she has somebody....haven't we been too loyal....we must .... today...."

The speakers on laptops are so crappy that I couldn't clearly make out what they were saying. The guy was persuasive and she let him take her hands to comfort her about being neglected. When the tears started, he got his arm around her and her purse tumbled to the floor. They clinched tightly and then he put his hand on her chin and they started kissing -- at first lightly and then they got their tongues in action. The guy worked slowly but he was good at it. He undid her dowdy dress while his tongue was down her throat so she didn't notice. At least she didn't notice until he undid her brassiere, liberating her boobs. Before she could protest, he had one hand on a tit and his tongue running around her nipple. She just let her head fall back and sighed deeply as he worked his magic on her boobs.

When she was just right, he let her go gently on her back and worked her panties off her fat bum and down her legs. The woman wore the most sensible underwear off the dollar rack at the Army and Navy store. John obviously wasn't into buying his wife sexy lingerie. While I was speculating about John's spending habits, the guy dropped his pants and gaunches and opened her legs wide. He had a good, hairy bush for his target. He had his back to me so all I could see of him was his hairy butt as he dove between her legs. She gasped audibly at what I assumed was his dick entering her.

"Omigod it's so big and hard.... It's good......Slow. Take it slow....You're hurting me. You're too big. Take it out...now put it in slow again...It's just that I haven't had this for such a long time.....Yes, that's it....deeper now..."

The woman was a talker. There's nothing wrong with a talker if she encourages the guy to give it to her the way she wants it. The guy's bum started to bounce up and down rhythmically as per her instructions, giving the dick slowly at first and then quicker. She brought her legs up, letting the guy go in deep. The woman's face glistened with sweat, becoming more and more contorted as she got closer to orgasm. She started moaning and panting:

"Don't stop now. Faster! It's good, it's good."

Then she screamed in a 100% genuine orgasm. He came at the same time in a series of grunts. He rolled over and she got up and ran to the bathroom. When she got back, she had a wad of Kleenex to clean up the shot spots on the bed. You can take the wife out of the house but you can't take the housekeeper out of the wife, even if you're having an affair with her. They talked for about a quarter of an hour and then got dressed. They both had a sad look as they kissed on the way out. I peeked out the window and saw them coming out of a unit across the courtyard. They got into different cars, looked around to see if they were noticed and left.

The show was over and the maid came in to tidy up the room again. I closed the browser and managed to contact the police server and send my e-mail. Why would someone hide a camera in a motel room? Was it motel security trying to catch staff raiding the minibar? Was it a private operation out to catch wayward husbands? It couldn't have been motel security or they would have canned the maid for drinking on the job. Maybe John had some fine digital photos of his wife getting screwed by an accountant in next week's mail. I went over in my head what I just witnessed. I watched a woman get the best lay of her life. It was real people, so much more erotic than paid porno stars. The whole scene made me so horny that I pulled the blinds and jerked off for the first time since I was a teenager.

I had a late supper at a Korean restaurant just off the edge of the industrial area. I knew that the next morning I would regret eating kimchee but I just love the stuff. I got back late to the motel. I was going to turn in but I couldn't get the afternoon show out of my mind. I turned on my laptop again. There was another couple in the room, a cute aboriginal teenager and a middle-aged redneck. This mismatched pair could only be a paying proposition. He was an ugly bald dude with tattoos all over his arms. They were monochrome badly drawn prison tattoos, not like the fine impressionist art you see on Angelina Jolie's fanny. She was cute and I could see that she smart, given the way she negotiated a good price with a compleat asshole. If she was so smart, why she was in the profession, I wondered?

Once the deal was made, he undressed and got on the bed. She pulled a condom out of her pocket, rolled it on his dick and sucked him hard. Then she reached under her mini. took off her thong and mounted the redneck. She took a couple of bounces on his gut but he looked bored. Seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere, he sat up, grabbed her thighs and walked her over to the wall. He gave her a wall job on three different walls of the room and then came over and banged her on the desk. That's when they knocked whatever the spy cam was hidden in off the desk. All I saw from the floor was the desk lamp and the guy standing between the girl's dangling legs. I could hear the teenager fake an orgasm and ask politely, "Are you finished yet?"

I heard a thump as the girl got off the desk. I was left staring at the lamp. Then the toilet flushed. I could make out the guy saying, "Wasn't that great, baby?". The girl's answer was non-committal. Then the door slammed and a pickup truck with a broken muffler started up and left the courtyard. I peeked out and looked across the courtyard. The girl got into a car with her pimp and they left for the next client. The evening show was over. I tossed and turned all night, partly from the pickled cabbage fermenting inside my guts and partly from worrying that Headquarters would find some trace of my peeping on my computer.

The next day, I picked up my warrant at the local detachment and one of the auditors from the Revenue Canada offices. The bank was ever so co-operative in letting us look through the paper trail of the Internet Pharmacy's account. I never get service like this when I show up without a warrant at my own bank. The first thing the auditor went for was to verify that all the deposits added up. Me, I took a look at a couple of deposit slips and the first thing I noticed was that most of the deposits were in cash. The number of cheques and credit card vouchers was about right for the amount of business I saw the company doing but where was all the cash coming from? On a whim, I asked:

"Does Mr. Nerdleweiss have any other accounts here?"

"Why, yes. He has one for every numbered company. Can I get those accounts for you?"

The other accounts were consisted of cash deposits only. I had stumbled on a money laundry. Egon Nerdleweiss' drug trade consisted of more than cut-rate Viagra. I left the auditor to track down exactly how much cash was going through all the accounts. Revenue Canada is like that, always in search of undeclared income. I went back to my motel to e-mail Headquarters that this was now a case for the narcs, not the Commercial Crime Unit. I checked the rest of my e-mail and tried to make an airline reservation back to Ottawa. All they had available was the redeye, so I had the afternoon and evening to kill.

I was bored since that my part of the case was over. What to do? My computer was still on so I opened my browser. A couple was already in the room and they were starting to get undressed. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about this particular couple until I put my finger on it. It was Egon Nerdleweiss and Trish the head accountant.

They were quite businesslike the way they went about having a fuck. Trish peeled and folded her clothes neatly on one chair and Egon made sure he hung up his suit so it wouldn't be creased when he met his investors. Then Trish and Egon did a dry-hump doggie without any foreplay. Trish was never in any danger of pain because, from what I saw of Egon's woodie, he could have used some of his own blue pills and maybe some penis-enlargement pills from his offshore brethren. Trish faked her orgasm and Egon grunted.

Well, that wasn't much. I wondered what they would do for the rest of their hour when Nerdelweiss reached for his banking portfolio. There was a pile of twenties inside and a bag of nose candy. They did a couple of lines of coke using rolled-up twenties, then they sat around bullshitting and talking coke talk.

"Like, how's it going with the auditors, Trish? Keeping them off the track, eh?"

"Like it's not a problem, Egon. I just throw them some small shit to keep 'em happy. They'll get tired of us soon. Auditors are dumb but that McIsaac has to be the biggest loser I've ever met. Can you believe that he didn't react at all to me coming on to him?"

"Yeah, man - he just sat there and ate up the snow job I laid on him. It must be true what they say about Newfies."

"Like, if I hear him say 'aboot' instead of 'about' one more time, I'm gonna die from the giggles."

I resented this turn in the conversation, especially since I'm from Nova Scotia and not Newfoundland. I had to restrain myself from telephoning their room and setting them straight that I'm a forensic accountant and not an auditor. OK, I couldn't blow two operations at once, mine and the fellow who had planted the spycam.

They stopped talking and insulting the accounting profession and did another couple of lines of coke. Trish really began to fly, dancing around the room, rolling on the bed and doing the spreads. Coke must have been what the man needed because Nerdleweiss got a nice woodie after that. and started chasing Trish around the room. He caught her without too much trouble and banged her standing against the wall until I could see the sweat pouring down his back. He carried her over to the bed and threw her on it. Then he grabbed her scarf and wound it around her throat. Trish was into choking. Egon pounded her beaver with the scarf in one hand and the other on her tit. Trish thrashed around under him and, I assume, came. Chokers don't make any noise, which is why I never was into it.

They got dressed and had a kiss at the door. I crept over to the window to get a peek at them leaving. By now I was a confirmed peeper. Trish got into her Toyota Echo and Nerdleweiss blew her a kiss goodbye. Then he opened the back of his SUV and did something with his portfolio in the spare tire well. So, that was where he hid his stash. I made a call to the narcs at the local unit as to where they could find an SUV parked with at least 50 grams of coke and exactly where it was hidden inside.

While I was killing the afternoon, I "accidentally" reformatted my hard drive and "oopsie" nothing was left on it. Well the Nerds in the IT unit would fix that. I was going home with a nice double bust on my résumé. Plus I had added voyeurism to my sexual repertoire. When I got back to Headquarters, I was going to make some new friends in Surveillance and see if they had interesting videos on file. Who said that a visit to Winnipeg was boring?