6.2 Guesthouse

Sophie grabbed a pair of sunglasses and a digital camera. Threw a towel over her shoulders and got out to the terrace. A wooden deck with a plastic balustrade and the ground three feet below. The aluminium fence stood within reach, painted white.

I threw my wet clothes on the handrail and took the packet of cigarettes with me. We climbed over the rail and jumped to the low ground. An open space lay around the corner.

On the west side of the building, lying before the restaurant, bluish water of a swimming pool emerged to my surprise. A low fence painted white marked a border arranged with plastic loungers and blue umbrellas lined on both sides. An afternoon sun dropped gentle rays on the palms and ferns in the garden plots. Scattered clouds darted across the sky. A lot of blue returned after the rain shower. Immediately beyond the west fence, a six-storey building loomed with balconies and windows facing the swimming pool.

This pool lay south to north, 16 ft in length and 12 ft in width. This perimeter tiled in white.

We took wash under the showerheads and took a dip in the swimming pool. I was betrothed in capturing Sophie Nadz on camera. She took some arresting shots while in the pool and climbing up the ladder, lying on the lounger with legs spread or a knee raised, on a side or on her back with her bosom weighing down. From the front and from the rear, close-ups and little naughty shots too. She checked those images caught on camera from time to time. I thought this was the job she asked for.

She took some pictures of me. “Slip your panties down the hips!” she demanded, “A bit more!” She clicked, “One more!” I often glanced at the balconies. “I love your shave!”

I enquired, “What are you going to do with those pictures, miss?” I was thinking she would post them on the internet.

“For my album collection,” articulated the lady, “It helps at this age for my own pleasure, you know.”

I lit a cigarette.

“Smoking is a bad habit.”

“Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” she said, “Don’t stop. I’m not going to stop you from anything.”

I sat down on a distant lounger.

“I like young boys,” Sophie Nadz prattled while seated sidewise on her lounger, holding the camera in her hand, “You know, I can do a fingering this way that truly helps to my satisfaction.”

I was shocked slightly to hear her speak candidly using those words and phrases.

“Let’s go and have a drink!” she suggested.

She removed her undies and sat down in nude on the terrace. I poured her a glass and joined to talk.

Afterwards, she dropped in bed face down and seemed like she fell asleep. All I carried was a Nokia 3310 and it couldn’t take a damn good photograph of her nude backside. My friends often joked about my mobile phone calling it a walkie talkie for it looked big. Her big breasts sandwiched under her body. I began to masturbate on the terrace, watching her posture reflected on a mirror on the ceiling while she lay across in the big brass bed.

On the brink I heard knocks. I hurriedly pulled up my underwear. Sophie glanced at me, “Kawla, open the door!”

I entered holding an erection and hoping she did not notice, wrapped a towel and opened the door.

Amelia entered with three large paper bags. My apparels. She wore that uniform which I didn’t see earlier; a suit cut below hips and those shiny legs caught my eye. She brought brand new clothes and a pair of shoes, “Blue and grey, like you asked, ma’am.”

“Good,” returned Sophie Nadz from bed.

Amelia reached down and whispered something in Sophie’s ear, her hair fell on the bed.

Sophie rolled on her back, “Fill the tub! We take bathe now, Kawla.”

I entered the bathroom to fill the bathtub. She climbed down from bed and entered after me.

“Is that a uniform she’s wearing?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s a blazer.”

“I do like that uniform.”

“She’s Amelia. She’s from this house.”

“This is a big house.”

“Yeah, we will talk about big houses,” she bit my left ear lightly and whispered, “You and I, we are going to do a little peeping. It’s six-thirty. Come with me! Bring the camera!”

She tossed me a towel to wrap. She wrapped one around her big breasts. She reached a ladder by the side of the wardrobe, near the terrace windows, and climbed up to reach the ceiling. Sophie undid a latch and opened a hatch about two square feet in area. She gestured me to climb after her.

She clambered to the attic and I followed. It was a neatly kept deck and not dusty. “Shh!” she gestured to me, “Now be very quiet!”

An odd odour pricked my nose of aging wood. I glanced through the vent and caught to my utter surprise a gloom of light up there evenly spread between the wood floor and the barrel roof.

“Why are we…”

“Hush!” she shushed me like a teacher, “Quiet!” Sophie began to walk on the breadfruit timber beam.

When I came to stand on the timber, I figured on both sides of the aisle there were rectangular slots fitted with glass where light penetrated through; unbreakable two-way mirrors fixed right over the bed positions. She reached the third one and knelt beside the glass. Down below, a tall naked lady lay in bed.

“Take photos!” she gesticulated.

I began to take pictures. Then a bald naked man joined her in bed and rolled the girl on her back. She was exposed holding a long penis with trimmed pubic hair. We watched the old man get engaged on the shemale. And I was busy taking pictures. Rapidly, some fluid scattered on the mirror glass surface. She squirted.

A moment later, she whispered, “Did you get the shots?”

I nodded.

“Let’s get out of here!”