Author's Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.
Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
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When Martin Boyd of Boyd Investments Group purchased the Acadiana Motel from Cindy Torres, recent widow of David Torres, he failed to do a proper assessment of the property. The one time the astute investor failed to do due diligence, it wound up costing him, and his investors nearly two hundred thousand dollars in unnecessary renovations. Although needed, very few of the clientele of the cheap motel would appreciate, much less even notice the upgrades.
Martin assumed that the thirty two room motel just needed some sprucing up in order to attract a better clientele. So he had the pockmarked parking lot resurfaced and painted stripes indicating parking spaces. The drab cinderblock façade was painted a cheerful light blue with bright festive yellow trim and deep brown doors.
The dilapidated mattresses, clumpy foam rubber pillows and heavily stained, ripped polyester bed coverings were replaced. The plumbing was upgraded with water saving fixtures and the towels and face cloths were thrown out and replaced with sturdy towels that had 'Motel Acadiana' stamped on them.
The heavy pressboard low dressers and end tables that were still serviceable remained; they were heavy and still functional. The heavy clay lamps also remained but the old 25 watt light bulbs were replaced with energy saving LED light bulbs. The tube televisions were replaced with 32 inch flat screen models.
Finally, Martin had a small kidney shaped swimming pool installed in the rear of the two story building. He reasoned that the pool would be a welcome haven for road weary travelers and their kids.
Had Martin bothered to check, he would have learned that the vast majority of guests often departed in less than three hours after check-in. They weren't there looking for a low budget quality motel; they were looking for a room to use to fuck their secretaries, a wife of their bowling league's team captain, a high school student making a failing grade on his Biology exam. Nine out of ten times, the towels were never unfolded, the soaps were never unwrapped, and the comforters were never even pulled down to expose the fleece blanket and flat sheets underneath.
The secretary would check her cell phone and see the room number her boss texted her. After looking around, she would climb the steps and give a quick knock on the heavy metal door. The wife would rush in and caution the afternoon fling to 'watch her hair; she just had it done at Miss Helena's.' The tear streaked face of the high school student would burn with shame as he opened his mouth for Mr. Patel's sweaty cock. And in two hours, the room would be empty again.
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Despite the thousands and thousands of dollars spent by Martin Boyd, Michelle Ruiz was pushing a housekeeping cart that had one rubber tire that kept working itself loose from the hard plastic wheel. Pushing the cart from Room 101 to 103, Michelle would have to lean her hand on the left side, holding the right front wheel slightly off the ground. And from Room 103 to 105, the tire would come off the wheel and the cart would limp along to the next door.
"God damned piece of shit," Michelle muttered darkly, pushing a lock of her thick black hair out of her eyes.
A quick check of her print-out showed Michelle that no one had been in Room 105 so she wiped the sweat from her forehead and pushed on to Room 107.
The smell of sex was heavy in the room. The television was silently playing male homosexual pornography and Michelle paused to watch a few moments of one very cute looking young man being roughly sodomized. He gave the camera a little smirk as his lover pounded a very large cock into his greased anus.
"Whatever," Michelle said, turning the television off and placing the remote control next to the flat screen monitor.
The bed was a complete disaster; the evidence of sexual activity was quite liberally distributed around. The bathroom was also in complete disarray. Michelle knew she would be discarding these latex gloves the moment she stepped out of this room.
No one had been in Room 109 since yesterday when Michelle had cleaned it so Michelle pulled the cart around the corner to Room 111. Pausing by the door, Michelle looked over and saw a young blonde swimming in their pool. Swiveling her head around again, Michelle looked at the three automobiles that were currently parked in front of Rooms 104, 115 and the parking space for Room 202.
The heat and humidity of the summer day in Southwestern Louisiana was brutal. For a brief moment, Michelle wished she could say 'fuck it' and jump into the cool waters of the AM pool and splash around with the young blonde.
Room 111 was a quick one. The garbage can had three condoms in it and the bedspread had a wet spot on it. Michelle changed the bedspread, checked the bathroom then ran the vacuum cleaner over the carpet.
Leaving Room 111, Michelle barked her frustration as the loose tire again popped off the wheel. Again, she looked at the motel's pool with some longing but pushed the cart down the open hallway.
Room 115 had the 'Do Not Disturb' sign dangling from the doorknob. She placed her ear to the door and could faintly hear the bedsprings creaking and a man's grunts. Another splash drew her attention to the pool area. Parking her cart, Michelle strode across the parking lot to the enclosed pool area.
"Ma'am? Hi, ma'am," Michelle said, walking over to the eddge of the pool.
The cute blonde pretended not to hear her. The young woman swam away from where Michelle stood.
"Ma'am, you can either answer me, or the manager," Michelle snapped, irritated at the girl's behavior.
"What?" the blonde snapped, adopting an entitled attitude.
"Ma'am, are you a guest here?" Michelle pointedly asked.
"Yes," the girl said, sneering. "Happy."
"Ecstatic," Michelle snapped. "What room are you staying in?"
"What? I don't have to tell you," the girl declared, diving underneath the water.
"You can either tell me, or tell the police; you are trespassing," Michelle said when the girl broke surface.
"Fine! Jesus," the girl snarled, climbing out of the pool.
The blonde grabbed a ratty looking towel from one of the brand new chaise lounges and briskly toweled herself. With a smirk, Michelle noticed that the girl was nearly flat-chested and had very little meat on her buttocks. Her thighs were pencil thin as she swiveled, toweling herself off.
With a sneer in Michelle's direction, the girl wiggled into a long, heavily stained Yum Yum Ice Cream tee shirt. Then, slipping her feet into some cheap flip flops and looping some ratty looking shorts over her shoulder, the girl pointedly slapped her way from the enclosed pool area.
"Bitch," the girl hissed just before opening the gate.
Michelle had been willing to let the girl leave. She'd been willing to let the matter drop; when she'd been younger, on a hot summer day like this she'd been known to sneak into apartment complexes and take a quick dip in their pools. And, upon being asked to leave, Michelle had complied.
But to be called a 'bitch' was more than Michelle was willing to put up with. The girl was trespassing on private property. As an employee of Boyd Investment Group, Michelle was acting on the stead of Martin Boyd.
"Ack! Hey! Nuh uh, come on bitch, let me go!" the girl cried out when Michelle grabbed a handful of wet blonde hair and jerked the girl, hard toward Room 109.
