Deliberate Display - five erotic voyeur and exhibitionist stories by Sommer Marsden, Lucy Felthouse, John McKeown, Marlene Yong, Abigail Thornton
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Deliberate Display
by Abigail Thornton
I noticed them immediately as they made such an odd couple – at six foot, Ruth towered over her husband and there was something thrillingly Amazonian about her wide shoulders and gym-toned muscles. I couldn’t help but imagine Ruth dominating the bedroom; holding her husband down while she …
Those unbidden thoughts proved to be close to the truth; there were numerous complaints and, as the holiday rep, it was my duty to deal with them. Most of the routine complaints I dealt with day to day in my work related to levels of noise but these were very specific: allegations of “improper business” being conducted in one of the rooms. I had been pleasantly surprised by the details of what had been observed, but not at all by the perpetrators – the newlyweds, Ruth and Callum.
They’d been painfully demanding since they’d arrived and I’d upgraded them to one of the posh suites at the top of the hotel, both to shut them up and keep them out of the way. But they were still overlooked by hundreds of other rooms from the neighbouring hotels. And, this being Benidorm, most of those rooms were full as people grasped one last lingering taste of summer. The season was drawing to a close and I was feeling jaded; run down by the demands of the 18-30 crowd looking for a bit of sun, sea, sand and sex. As a way of getting away from it all, and my relationship break-up in particular, it had been a wonderful experience, but I was more than ready to get back to my friends and family. However, by giving in to Ruth’s initial demands, I’d set myself-up for a stream of calls, and, since I wanted an easy final week, I’d been inclined to say yes to her every request, rather than enforce company policy.
The complaints had gathered in the form of phone messages and bits of paper tacked to my desk. I don’t care, I thought to myself. Let them have their fun, they’re newlyweds – what do you expect? But then I’d been shown the photos, taken as “evidence” by the husband of a couple staying directly opposite the room in question. I dutifully copied them on to my laptop, then gasped at both the clarity and the content as I clicked on the thumbnails.
There were nearly 200 in total – enthusiastic “proof” of the whole sex session. Something struck me as odd about the lovemaking in the pictures: not only were the curtains open and the lights on, the couple were positioned awkwardly across the bed, facing the window. It seemed unnatural – not that I’m an expert. Were they doing it in purpose? Did they want to be seen, to be watched? Was Ruth’s final spunky smile directed at her own reflection in the window … or at the audience beyond? Had it been a deliberate display? Intrigued, that was what I set out to investigate as I caught the lift.
‘There have been, er, complaints …’ It was difficult to have a polite conversation with a man who had an erection moving under his towel. It was bobbing, throbbing – not that I was looking.
‘Complaints? What kind? About the noise?’
‘No – not about the noise.’
‘Who is it, darling?’ Ruth’s distinctive voice sounded from somewhere deep inside the suite.
‘It’s Julie,’ Callum said.
‘Julie who?’
‘Julie Thompson,’ he called back, having read my name badge. I felt a flutter of annoyance. There had been no mistaking the fact that Callum’s eyes had wandered from my badge to the subtle cleavage afforded by my regulation blouse. He was a newly married man and shouldn’t have been doing that. I had an urge to fasten another button but knew that it would be too obvious and would only draw further unwanted attention.
There was the sound of soft footsteps. Ruth arrived, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist. They were indeed a very odd couple, mismatched somehow: Callum was Irish, five-foot-seven, and liked to talk about the incomprehensible things he did with computers. Ruth, over six feet tall and with
by Abigail Thornton
I noticed them immediately as they made such an odd couple – at six foot, Ruth towered over her husband and there was something thrillingly Amazonian about her wide shoulders and gym-toned muscles. I couldn’t help but imagine Ruth dominating the bedroom; holding her husband down while she …
Those unbidden thoughts proved to be close to the truth; there were numerous complaints and, as the holiday rep, it was my duty to deal with them. Most of the routine complaints I dealt with day to day in my work related to levels of noise but these were very specific: allegations of “improper business” being conducted in one of the rooms. I had been pleasantly surprised by the details of what had been observed, but not at all by the perpetrators – the newlyweds, Ruth and Callum.
They’d been painfully demanding since they’d arrived and I’d upgraded them to one of the posh suites at the top of the hotel, both to shut them up and keep them out of the way. But they were still overlooked by hundreds of other rooms from the neighbouring hotels. And, this being Benidorm, most of those rooms were full as people grasped one last lingering taste of summer. The season was drawing to a close and I was feeling jaded; run down by the demands of the 18-30 crowd looking for a bit of sun, sea, sand and sex. As a way of getting away from it all, and my relationship break-up in particular, it had been a wonderful experience, but I was more than ready to get back to my friends and family. However, by giving in to Ruth’s initial demands, I’d set myself-up for a stream of calls, and, since I wanted an easy final week, I’d been inclined to say yes to her every request, rather than enforce company policy.
The complaints had gathered in the form of phone messages and bits of paper tacked to my desk. I don’t care, I thought to myself. Let them have their fun, they’re newlyweds – what do you expect? But then I’d been shown the photos, taken as “evidence” by the husband of a couple staying directly opposite the room in question. I dutifully copied them on to my laptop, then gasped at both the clarity and the content as I clicked on the thumbnails.
There were nearly 200 in total – enthusiastic “proof” of the whole sex session. Something struck me as odd about the lovemaking in the pictures: not only were the curtains open and the lights on, the couple were positioned awkwardly across the bed, facing the window. It seemed unnatural – not that I’m an expert. Were they doing it in purpose? Did they want to be seen, to be watched? Was Ruth’s final spunky smile directed at her own reflection in the window … or at the audience beyond? Had it been a deliberate display? Intrigued, that was what I set out to investigate as I caught the lift.
‘There have been, er, complaints …’ It was difficult to have a polite conversation with a man who had an erection moving under his towel. It was bobbing, throbbing – not that I was looking.
‘Complaints? What kind? About the noise?’
‘No – not about the noise.’
‘Who is it, darling?’ Ruth’s distinctive voice sounded from somewhere deep inside the suite.
‘It’s Julie,’ Callum said.
‘Julie who?’
‘Julie Thompson,’ he called back, having read my name badge. I felt a flutter of annoyance. There had been no mistaking the fact that Callum’s eyes had wandered from my badge to the subtle cleavage afforded by my regulation blouse. He was a newly married man and shouldn’t have been doing that. I had an urge to fasten another button but knew that it would be too obvious and would only draw further unwanted attention.
There was the sound of soft footsteps. Ruth arrived, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist. They were indeed a very odd couple, mismatched somehow: Callum was Irish, five-foot-seven, and liked to talk about the incomprehensible things he did with computers. Ruth, over six feet tall and with
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