Shady Waters Hotel Pt. 01

Shady Waters is a cool dark oasis for those who like to watch. In this first chapter you will meet the hero and heroine - a middle aged man and a younger woman. If this doesn't 'float your boat' this story may not be for you. All players are consenting adults over the age of 18.

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SHADY WATERS

Built in the early seventies, the tackiest of all decades, Shady Waters boarding house was once a top-class hotel.

In the good years, it catered to all sorts of famous people. Burt Reynolds lived there for a while, Barbra Streisand rented the whole place for two weeks (when she toured the east coast) and Mel Brooks lived in 4C for nearly three years! Wrote Blazing Saddles there.

But that was forty years ago. Since 1990 Shady Waters has become a boarding house, with the occasional shorter stay... maybe a family on a cheap holiday or a businessman going to a conference in the city.

The cheap flats for rent are the ones at the front of the building, on the main road. Over the years the old hotels beautiful manicured lawns and gardens have given way to the highway so it's pretty noisy. In fifty years the once quiet, tree-lined avenue has grown into a four-lane highway. Cars and trucks whiz by all day.

At the back, the accommodation is much grander and caters to a more affluent clientele. The apartments all face wide green lawns and gardens, as well as a sweeping view of the St Laurence River where willow trees grow on the bank. There's even a swimming pool. George lets it go green in winter but manages to get it back up to scratch for the summer months. The caretaker loves a woman in a bikini.

From the outside, the building is a red-brick cube. Aluminium windows have corroded in the salty air and air-conditioning units stick out all over like a nasty skin condition. Inside, the foyer takes up the ground floor and the four levels above are apartments, one suite in each corner of the floor - 1A, 1B, 1C, 1D, then 2A, 2B, 2C, 2D, and so on, up to level 4.

These days the old hotel is as about as shabby and rundown as it can get - but if you look real close you'll still see hints of a more affluent time. A time when Shady Waters was a posh hotel and not the shitty boarding house it is today.

The tall glass entrance doors have SHADY on one side and WATERS on the other. They open into a foyer where once a magnificent glass chandelier glowed over luxurious furnishings - thick afghan rugs, deep easy chairs and ottomans.

Now it's lit by track lighting - fluorescent tubes that cast a stark blue-white light from 6am to midnight. All the opulent rugs and luxurious armchairs are long gone, replaced by dozens of straight-back wooden chairs, lined up along the walls like a skid row medical clinic - dotted about, here and there, with those floor-standing ashtrays you see around sometimes... the sort on chrome stands, where you push the black button on the top and the cigarette butts fall into the chamber below.

The carpet hasn't been replaced since the 80s. It's still a deep rich blue around the skirting boards but over the years it's been trampled down into a faded goat track that leads from the front door to the once bustling reception area. The front desk is tucked into a nook between the lift and the stairs. Even though George gets the clanky old elevator serviced every year or so it is generally considered unsafe by the permanent residents who mostly use the wide marble staircase.

To your right, you'll see an arched opening into a large once opulent ballroom - but it hasn't been used in twenty years. There's a proper timber bar along the back wall where there used to be six beers on tap and complicated cocktails were concocted. But there's no alcohol anymore and if there was, there's nobody to serve it. Nowadays it's just a great big, high-ceilinged room full of dusty ghosts and bric-a-brac.

George Carter is the caretaker/manager. He and his wife have lived at Shady Waters for over thirty years... in apartment 2D, the second floor at the back overlooking the river.

They'd moved in as a young married couple feeling like they had the world at their feet. Shady Waters was only ever going to be a temporary stop on their way to money and success. He was on his way up as a go-getting young sales representative at the local Ford dealership and she was going to have three children... two boys and a girl.

Years went by and no children emerged. Apparently, George was shooting blanks. He plugged along in his dead-end career for twenty boring, predictable years until he lost his job to someone younger and hungrier. After that he was unemployed for a year before he landed the caretaker gig at the sad little hotel they'd promised they would be out of in six months. At the time he felt lucky to get the job. He couldn't find work anywhere else and the Carter's were just about broke.

Really, George is caretaker in name only. He does the barest minimum of actual work - collecting enough rent to keep the owner happy and maybe even some simple maintenance if you're lucky. The rest of his time is spent in an orgy of hedonistic self-gratification, jerking his big cock to the bazaar goings-on in the hotel.

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PASSAGES

If you ever manage to get behind the reception desk, and through the heavy, usually locked timber door, you'd find yourself in George's small windowless office. A big old desk takes up most of the room along with a filing cabinet, an iced water cooler, and a big black leather lounge where George sleeps when he argues with his wife... which is often!

Like just about every room at Shady Waters (except the white-tiled bathrooms), his office walls are lined with dark timber paneling from the floor almost to the ceiling. The molded oak would be considered an unheard-of luxury today but when the hotel was built there was no expense spared.

In George's office, these decorative panels are covered with photographs of earlier times. There are a bunch of big long pictures showing the staff from bygone years - fifty or sixty people in rows like a school cohort or a football team - right down to smaller portraits of a particular manger or a maid, or a busboy, famous for doing something or other.

Just about every bit of wall space has a picture hanging on it except, if you're real observant, you may notice a panel that is conspicuously empty. If you look even closer, as George did one day, you may discern a fine line, a break in the wood-grain...

Back in the day, Shady Waters Hotel boasted service that was second to none. They had cleaning staff, busboys and bellgirls galore, as well as a maid for every room - an amazing extravagance.

The guests rarely ever saw any staff thanks to a rabbit warren of hidden service corridors. Maids and cleaners could access any apartment through a little door perfectly disguised like a portion of the timber wall paneling and, above each door, is a camouflaged spy-hole that the anonymous employee could use to check if there were any occupants in the room. These little openings are placed at eye height and covered by a timber slide. Cleverly positioned in the elaborate timber moldings, they are all but invisible from the other side.

Ten years ago, when George found the secret door in his office, he became the only person alive who knew about these service corridors. He found he had access to every room in the building. Nobody but him knew about the hidden spiral staircase that wound up to the other floors or the winding maze of corridors that snaked through the hotel.

It was a dream come true for a man like George. He could think of nothing better than to spend the rest of his life in the dark, jerking off, peering through the cracks into people's sordid lives. He was born to it you see because, for all the shit life had dealt him, the balding, potbellied man has been blessed with three things.

Firstly, his cock was well over a foot long and too thick to get his hand all the way around. Huge as it was, it was unusually responsive - especially for such a big one. A passing horny thought or an accidental bump would have him achingly erect in seconds. He liked to jerk it off with both hands, rubbing and teasing the fat, super sensitive dome head with one hand and pumping the base with the other. Thick, gnarled and ridged, like an old baseball bat, George could play the massive tool like a virtuoso violinist.

Second, the Gods (or evolution depending on what you believe) gave George the ability to cum dozens of times a day. He could cum once and then within fifteen minutes easily jerk off a second big load. At an early age, he had discovered that the more he did it the more he could do it and it hadn't diminished one bit as he got older. Over the years of jerking off so much, he had developed remarkable upper body strength and had bulging muscles in his upper arms and wide shoulders like a gorilla. He found applying a thick industrial-strength moisturizer to the shaft before bed counteracted the friction of so much jerking.

The third thing was maybe the best thing. The degenerate wanker had a very rare condition where his body produced copious amounts of sperm when he orgasmed. This meant that every orgasm was around thirty seconds to a minute of delirious heart-stopping pleasure. He shoots off like a water pistol, spraying cum everywhere... enough to fill a brimming teacup full of warm thick jitz. It was no wonder he masturbated so much.

So, if you ever see the BACK IN 30 MINUTES sign on the front desk, you may as well come back the next day. George will be a lot longer than that. Stripped down to his white Y-front underpants he'll be moving like a ghost through the web of secret hallways - on his way to his next voyeuristic rendezvous.

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ALISON COLEMAN

Alison lived with her mother and older brother.

The Coleman's were a tight-knit, working-class family who'd been doing it tough ever since Ali was a little girl. Her father had left before she was born so the two children relied completely on their hardworking mom to feed and clothe them.

Eve Coleman worked as a cleaner or maid from early morning to late at night most days, cleaning up after wealthy people who treated her like dirt... people who didn't care about the sacrifice she was making for her family. It meant she left her children to their own devices a lot of the time.

There was rarely enough money for school books and uniforms, let alone the nice clothes her friends were wearing. She didn't go out unless it was to a friend's house and only then if she could persuade her mother. Eve Coleman was extremely protective of her children, especially Alison.

"You got to be careful Ali," she'd say. "We just don't have the money to have any slip-ups."

For most young girls this would have been oppressive and unpleasant but Alison Coleman was made of tough stuff. She had to be. She didn't have the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. She just made do.

In the last few years, Alison had grown like a weed, six inches in two years. Her lithe young body was in a state of flux and seemed to be all gangly limbs. Young and unfinished as she was, it was pretty safe to say she was going to be a beauty.

Her face was elfin - a high forehead, a cute upturned nose and a sprinkle of adorable freckles on her high cheekbones. Her full red lips were perpetually parted and her eyes were large, wide-spaced and strikingly green. They seemed to look right inside you.

To her great relief, her ass and breasts had recently begun to show hints of maturing. At least I don't look like a boy anymore, she thought, studying her curves in the bathroom mirror. But my hair...

Alison hated her hair the most. It was fire-engine red, short, frizzy, springy - a birds-nest that she couldn't do anything with. As a little kid, her mother let it grow out and it turned into a big red afro that her friends thought looked amazingly cool. But Alison didn't feel self-possessed enough to wear it that way. The beautiful teen kept it as short as she could... like a frizzy red mop and that looked cool too.

Everybody but her could see she was gorgeous. Everywhere she went people looked twice but the sweet humble kid didn't see it. Like teenagers since time began she spent all her time wanting to grow up so everything would be better, wishing away the best years of her life.

More often than not it was Alison Carter that George searched out.

The degenerate man has seen some very kinky things in his time, things that had blown his perverted, oversexed mind (and his massive cock), but the beautiful teen was number one on his sex parade. He'd spent countless hours ogling her, jerking off as he peered lecherously into her bedroom.

To get to her 2C apartment, you have to go up the spiral stairs for two flights, turn left, turn left, and then take the second corridor to the right. Alison's bedroom is the second one along. You'll know when you get there because, if you look close, you'll find the figures #2C-3 embossed on a small steel plate - feel for them with your fingers - it means the third bedroom in flat 2C.

When George first starting exploring he had to feel his way through the labyrinth of tight claustrophobic halls, dragging his hands along the plasterboard walls to find openings left or right. He would never forget the desperate panic he felt getting hopelessly lost - which happened a lot at the beginning. The thin corridors and abrupt turns were hidden in total darkness, the only illumination coming from an occasional chink or crack in the walls. In some places, the way was less than two feet wide and he would have to go through sideways. In places there were abrupt steps up or down, nasty tripping hazards if you have no lighting. He didn't use a torch because he thought someone may see the light flashing behind their bedroom walls.

Now the labyrinth was second nature to him. George always knew exactly where he was. The chunky middle-aged man moved as quietly and efficiently as a cat to the small peephole outside Alison's bedroom.

The randy old caretaker thought Alison was lovely. In fact, he thought she was fabulously hot. Her sweet young body was a ripe succulent peach ready to be plucked.

Some mornings he'd jerk off watching her get sleepily out of bed, having her shower or getting ready for school. Or in the afternoon he might be there when she got home, watching her strip out of her uniform and get into her 'civies'.

Spying on Alison at around bedtime was the best though.

The peephole in the bathroom let him watch Alison soap her sweet teen body in the shower or lay her supple young body down in a bubble bath... her burgeoning bell-shaped boobs... floating like little islands in the suds...

Mmmmm, fuck yes baby, he'd think as he pounded his gigantic cock.

When he heard the feisty teen saying her goodnights to her mother and brother his big cock sprang into action. By the time she had closed her bedroom door, he was caressing his magnificent dick, ogling her getting ready for bed.

Every night was a little different. Sometimes she did some homework, sometimes she read a book for a while or texted a friend but it wasn't too long before the hot little slut was playing with herself.

Every night, without fail, before she turned off her bedside light Alison lay spreadeagled on her little single bed and rubbed her pretty little cunt to incredible back-arching orgasms and night after night George was there, watching her in her most private moments.

Sometimes she'd be wearing pajamas, unbuttoning her top and pulling the pants down around her ankles. Other times she'd lift her sweet teeny nightie up under her breasts. Then for a little magical moment, she'd lay there, spread out naked on her bed... eyes closed... her hands running over her gorgeous body... getting herself ready...

The sighs and moans of anticipation as she fondled herself drove George crazy. He would have given anything to know what she was fantasizing about... and he wouldn't have guessed in a million years!

Over the years he'd seen her develop a technique for playing with her nipples as she masturbated. She'd rub the little digits with the palms of her hand to begin. Then, the more she fondled and teased her pussy, she'd began tweaking them between her thumb and forefinger. Soon her fingers would be flying over her twat in a blur, pinching them hard, twisting and pulling...

As she got close, Alison fucked her virgin cunt with her fingers... sliding one or two in to begin and then a third... and a fourth...

George had seen her use the handle of her hairbrush, a cucumber that was almost as big as his cock, a thick carrot, bananas, and a thick yellow candle that she hid at the back of her socks and undies drawer. No matter how big it was her amazing little cunt seemed able to spread open and accommodate it.

Mmmmm, you'd love this baby, he thought as he floged his gigantic cock. I'd fuck you soooo goood...

Her slim athletic body responded like a Ferrari, arching off the bed as she fucked herself, frantically rubbing her clitoris, to earth-shattering orgasms. Sometimes she'd completely lose her shit, screaming so loud he was sure her mother or brother would come running...

George had come to understand her procedures and her bodies rhythms as well as he knew his own and really liked cum just when she did - blowing his huge load on the other side of her bedroom wall. A black-light back there would light the place up like daylight.

Afterwards, as George pulled up his underpants and slunk back to his office, Alison would turn off her light and lay cozy in her bed. Her pillow became her imaginary lover then. Her last postcoital thoughts, before a blissful contented sleep took her off to dreamland, were of George Carter!

Ironically, all those nights that George has been jerking off, watched her fuck herself to sleep, she was dreaming about him. Something so improbable would never have entered his kinky selfish mind. He was old and ugly and she was young and gorgeous. What could she ever see in him?

But it was true all right. Alison adored him.

She couldn't say exactly when her crush on Mr Carter started but he had always given her a big warm smile when he saw her and they had proper conversations that made Alison feel very adult and desperately happy. He was not like those stupid boys at school. He was a man, a proper man, tough and worldly. He knew what was what.

Love truly is blind because she thought the froggy looking man with his wide mouth and beady black eyes was extremely handsome and sexy in his crisp white shirts and baggy uniform pants. His thinning black hair, graying at the temples, she thought looked distinguished, mature and worldly looking. She thought his beer belly just made him more cute and approachable. He had big strong arms that she would just love to have wrapped around her and he was just the right height. He wasn't real tall and that made her feel more like she could maybe be his partner... his companion...

Like all young girls, when she fell in love, her thoughts about him ran deep and passionate.

I would make you feel like a real man, she'd think dreamily, imagining him loving her... putting his thing inside and doing her... mmmm... oh yes, fuck me, Mr Carter...

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ALISON MINDS THE FORT

One afternoon George was behind the reception desk when he saw Alison walking through the hotel foyer, coming home after her school day.

God, could she have been any more beautiful? he wondered. She sashayed towards him with a natural, sexy swagger that made him hard. The tartan school skirt was so short, her legs so long, the pretty white hills of her breasts filling her white school blouse...