The Spanish Hotel Page 24

  Phillips was soaking it up like an eighteen year old on his first visit to a lap-dancing club.

  This is it, this is your moment, thought Aisha.

  She tucked the whip handle into the front of her thong and gathered up the pashminas. She provocatively approached the bed. First she dropped the pashminas onto the bed cover by his feet. Next she retrieved the whip from her thong and started to gently slap the leather flails against his feet. She increased the strength of the strokes up to the point where he first started to flinch.

  “Take the corset off,” he gasped.

  “Later. I told you I would take my time.”

  Aisha smiled and started to tie one end of a pashmina to the large knob on the one side of the bed end.

  Phillips submissively moved his left foot over.

  The knot Aisha used to secure the other end to his ankle was well rehearsed. No amount of yanking would free his foot from it.

  To keep him on board, Aisha turned away from him, placed her hands on her thighs and lowered them down until she was gripping her ankles.

  “Gorgeous,” he panted. “I want to fuck you.”

  Aisha rose to an upright position and continued with her work. “You will fuck me, more than once if you’re up to it, but not yet.” She smiled as she secured his other ankle.

  “Hold out your arms like a good boy.”

  “My pleasure Mistress Natalie.” His face glowed with a sense of excitement.

  This time there were no knobs, she had to secure the pashminas to the bedposts under the headboard and close to the corners of the mattress. It was not long before she had him exactly as she wanted him. Her judgement was that it was time for another little tease.

  She climbed onto the bed on her knees and started to stroke his legs with the whip. Next she ran it up his stomach and around his chest.

  “Close your eyes and enjoy it. I want to please you.”

  His eyelids closed over his eyes. Aisha carried on caressing him with the whip for two more minutes. As she circled the flails around his groin area with one hand, she reached out for the fifth and final pashmina with the other.

  His eyes opened.

  Aisha leant forward and kissed his stomach. This was followed by a trail of kisses all the way up to his neck.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” she whispered.

  She really did not want to do it, but it had to be done. Aisha planted her lips on his. His mouth opened. She pushed her tongue inside and started to explore it with its tip.

  With her tongue still delving into his mouth she placed the pashmina over his eyes. He did not protest. Lifting her head away from his, she started to tie the pashmina behind the back of his head.

  A quick jerk and it was over his mouth. His eyes opened wide but it was too late, the tension was already applied. It cut into the corner of his mouth. He groaned as Aisha pulled the knot tight.

  His words were muted and stifled, but Aisha believed she understood them. “Did you say what the fuck is going on? Well there definitely won’t be fuck going on. There’s been a change of plan I’m afraid.”

  Phillips started to struggle; his legs were kicking, his arms were flailing. His erection was lost in seconds.

  Aisha pinched his nose and put her other hand over his mouth. “Now stop that, Douglas.” She loved the look in his eyes as she made it clear she knew whom he was.

  He stopped kicking.

  “That’s better. Now don’t worry, I’m not going to rob you. Though I have to say, I’m surprised that pathetic prick of yours hasn’t lost you your seat in the House of Commons long before now.”

  His face was now bright red. Beads of sweat were rolling down his temples.

  “Now, you lie still while I get a couple of things from my bag.” She climbed off the bed. “I have to say, the size of my handbag worried me a little. I thought you might rumble me. All those tarts in the club had bags at least half the size of mine.”

  The first item to come out of her bag was a camera. The lens shot out with a short buzz. “I thought your constituents would like to see the man they voted for.”

  One flash followed another until ten photographs had been captured.

  The second item to come out of Aisha’s handbag was a cutthroat razor.

  She opened it out and held it up for him to see. “I want you to listen to a story. If I don’t think you are paying attention, I will cut you.”

  Phillips nodded with a look of horror crossing his entire face.

  Before starting her story Aisha tidied the camera and whip back into her bag. She also laid her dress over the back of the chair by the dressing table.

  “Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman. She had moved to England with her parents as a teenager. This woman attended an English school and was even granted British citizenship. When her parents returned to Oman, she stayed on. That was because she had grown to love England in a way her parents had not.”

  “At the age of twenty-one she fell in love with a lovely Lebanese man who was close to the end of his degree course. His study visa was about to expire. They talked about marriage and tried to find out what their status would be if he became the husband of a British citizen. The woman decided to attend one of the surgeries run by her local member of parliament. His name was Douglas Phillips. He was a promising young politician at the time.”

  Phillips started to grunt loudly and shake his head violently. Aisha sliced his shin with the razor. A trickle of blood flowed onto the bed cover. Phillips fell silent.

  “Now where was I? Oh yes, the politician said he was unsure about the legalities in such a situation. But went on to say he would do his best for the woman. He then moved the conversation on to the up and coming election, and talked about how it was hard to find good party workers to help with the campaign. The woman did not realise straight away what her member of parliament was suggesting. After all, the British political system was held up as the best and least corrupt in the world. A proud picture of the houses of parliament even appeared on the bottle of sauce she regularly bought for her husband.”

  “Two days later the woman enrolled at his campaign office. Three days after that the two were alone in the office, late on a Friday evening. It was he that turned the conversation to her original question. The coded message was that if she did something for him, he would do something for her. Naively the woman did not realise how far she was expected to go. Before the night was out he stuck his dirty prick inside her.”

  “How many times have you used your position of power to stick your prick where it was not wanted?” fumed Aisha.

  Realising she was starting to shout, she breathed deeply and took control of her emotions again.

  “The impact of your actions was not left in that office, or even only in the woman’s mind, to torment her until the day she died. A child started to grow in her womb. The woman had a problem; the father could be one of two men. The man she loved or the man she hated.”

  “Not wanting their child to be born out of wedlock, the couple married. They had decided that he would apply for citizenship and they would take whatever decision came their way.”

  “The baby was born. Babies are funny little things aren’t they? Her husband suspected nothing for the first year or two. Things went well; he was allowed to stay in the country. The woman never really knew if things would have been different if she had not done what she did that Friday night. Would they have had to leave England? Sometimes she told herself it didn’t matter. Other times she suppressed her guilt by assuming they would have had to have gone to Lebanon if she had not done it. Her mind was full of guilt and confusion. She spent many nights wide awake, staring at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. Guilt stopped her seeking help from a doctor, she had no respite from the depression engulfing her life.”

  “The child was almost three when her husband started to express his doubts. The child was brown, but not quite as brown as either of its parents. The face was slightly more European than one w
ould expect. The doubt was etched on her husband’s face every time he came home from work and kissed his daughter on the forehead. The secrecy and guilt were too much to cope with. The woman broke down and confessed.”

  “The child may have been young, but the verbal warfare between her parents over the next few months never erased itself from her memory.”

  “It was not long before the girl’s father, her mother’s husband, packed his bags and went home to Lebanon. The shame was too much for him. The woman wanted to go with him, but he refused to allow it. ‘Whores are not welcome in Lebanon,’ he shouted. The woman had no choice but to stay on in England, to raise her child, and give it a good education.”

  “You’re probably wondering how I know all this.”

  Phillips lay motionless.

  “My mother told me all about it. It was about four days before she left to go back to Oman. I had finished college and got myself a temporary job while I decided what to do with my life. To be honest, I was still a bit screwed up at the time. I had found it hard growing up in London as a chocolate coloured misfit from a one-parent family. Though, to my credit, I think I was almost there. If she had not decided to leave me, I doubt I would be here tonight.”

  “Has the penny dropped?”

  Douglas Phillips nodded.

  “So what do you think of that then? You were about to pay to fuck your own daughter. Should I carry on? Freud says I want to. Should I fuck you?”

  He rolled his head from side to side.

  Aisha breathed deeply and tried to recount how many times she had imagined what she would say if she ever managed to get him in this position. It was impossible, she had fantasised about this moment far too many times to recall.

  “Do you realise I turned down two promotions just to have a chance of getting near to you? Instead I chose sideways transfers, all on the off-chance that I would find some way to exploit your weaknesses. I could have been an HEO at the Home Office by now. Who knows, maybe even higher than that?”

  Phillips grunted several times. Aisha did not even try to decipher them.

  “I’m sorry it has come to this. This was not my original plan. You should have been convicted of murder. Are you with me?” She gave him a moment to piece the jigsaw together.

  “That’s right, your Spanish slut. You were meant to carry the can for that, but somehow you got away with it. When that failed I thought about exposing the two of you for what you were; corrupt bastards in high places. That would have brought you crashing down to Earth with a bang. But then one day I was trawling through the bookings, as I did most days, I think they call it compulsive behaviour. I saw Douglas Phillips and Dubai on the same line. The urge to investigate further was overwhelming. Investigate I did.”

  “Why is he staying miles away from the conference? I asked myself. I already suspected the answer but then I thought no, not in Dubai, that sort of thing doesn’t go on in the United Arab Emirates.”

  “I researched the hotel, I surfed travel blogs, the picture slowly built up. You and I have both spent two nights at the most notorious hooker bar in town. I had the answer, that’s why you spurned classier hotels for this place. Here you could be anonymous and screw women who wouldn’t go near you if they didn’t want your money. Did any of them hint at marriage? My research suggests that is the ultimate goal for most of them, they want an American or British passport, and they will marry old farts like you just to get one.”

  “A new plan started to grow inside my head. At first I thought no, but within days the plan took over my life. From a little fantasy grew something that was too good to ignore. I had to at least try to execute it. It turns out it was a piece of piss.”

  “My, your prick has almost disappeared.” Aisha swung herself round and straddled his abdomen so she was facing away from him. She dropped most of her weight onto his stomach and pinched the end of his limp penis between her finger and thumb, pulling up on it to stretch it out.

  Phillips kicked his legs as hard as he could. He saw the blade glint as it moved through the air. He felt the sharp pain as it cut into him. Warm blood started to flow down his groin.

  Only a little of the blood spurted onto Aisha, most of it flowed onto the bed. The job was not quite done, she needed to saw through the final piece of flesh. Phillips was screaming behind her, but the gag was suppressing the sound. There were advantages to being in a room right at the end of the building.

  After climbing off the bed she put his penis in an ashtray and placed it on the bedside table. “There you go, I don’t mind if you talk to your old fellow in the third person now. Have a good look at what led you to your deathbed.”

  Phillips continued to kick and scream for a few more minutes. Aisha stood and watched as the energy flowed out of him.

  To her great disappointment, the blood flow reduced to a dribble.

  “Fuck,” she said. A brief moment of panic set in.

  More deep breathing calmed her down again. She looked at the pillows on the second bed, but then had a better idea. Sliding open the wardrobe door she found what she was looking for on the top shelf. She reached for one of two spare pillows wrapped in plastic bags.

  Phillips was not unconscious; he saw the pillow coming, but he was powerless to do anything about it. For two whole minutes Aisha pushed it down over his face as hard as she could. Finally her main job was done. His body gave up the battle for life. She pushed down for one more minute, just to be on the safe side.

  With his lifeless body between her thighs, she lifted the pillow away. Out of nowhere a feeling of euphoria gripped her body. Her hand delved inside her gusset and went to work. This was the biggest moment of her life, it deserved to be honoured with an orgasm.

  It was then time to be cool, stick to the plan and take things slowly. She walked into the ensuite bathroom and turned on the shower. Before stepping under the spray she took off her shoes and stockings, but left her PVC underwear on.

  Everything that was exposed had a thorough wash with the complimentary shower gel and shampoo. Still in the shower she took her underwear off, and washed herself thoroughly once more.

  Once out of the shower she dried herself using two towels. Once that was done to her satisfaction, she stuffed her underwear into the bin and then pulled out the plastic bin liner with her underwear in it. She tied a firm knot in the top of the bag.

  Still naked she stuffed the plastic bag containing her underwear into her handbag, picked up the razor, and returned to the bathroom. The razor had a good wash under the sink tap. Aisha put her stockings back on and stepped into her heels. It was then out into the bedroom to slip on her dress.

  After picking up her handbag, Aisha gave the room a final scan, the only things she was leaving behind were the five pashminas. Second thoughts hit her. Then it was back to the original plan, she knew they would find her DNA and fingerprints somewhere in the room; there was no point in worrying about the pashminas or the towels she had used. The forensic evidence they discovered would only be of use if they had something to match it against. What she had to do now is put distance between her and the crime scene. Adrenaline was still pumping through her veins; fear of being caught was not on the agenda.

  She walked out of the bedroom and across the sitting room to the main door. Aisha unhooked the Do Not Disturb sign from the handle, opened the door, and stepped out into the corridor. With the Do Not Disturb sign in position, she walked slowly down the corridor. In her mind, the woman seen walking down the corridor on CCTV would look the same as the woman going the other way earlier in the evening. No alarm bells would ring for quite some time to come.

  Back in her own room, a quick change of clothes and last minute packing took less than ten minutes.

  “This is awful. I feel so bad about this. My friend Alice just phoned me, she can’t make it. I’m going to have to go back to Abu Dhabi. Can I settle the bill?”

  The receptionist looked relieved that the saga of the guest without a passport had come to an end.
Five minutes later Aisha was outside the hotel’s main entrance.

  “Taxi ma’am?”

  “Yes please.”

  “All the taxis are this way ma’am. Let me take your bags.”

  Aisha followed him along the pavement. Five taxis were waiting at the end of the building. She realised they were waiting opposite the public entrance to the courtyard containing the Salamander club. They were there to take men and their acquisitions for the night to a room somewhere in Dubai.

  To the annoyance of a dark haired man and his blonde hooker approaching the front taxi, the valet tapped on its boot. “Take the next one please sir,” he shouted.

  “Fuck you.”

  “This one is reserved sir.” The boot popped open. The man looked at the driver.

  Aisha did not see the non-verbal exchange, but whatever it was, it had the desired outcome.

  “The airport please,” said Aisha as she climbed into the back of the car.

  She was not flying anywhere, but it would help create a false trail and there would be plenty of taxis there to talk into making the next long journey at a good price.

  Not long after Aisha’s taxi had passed within half a mile of his hotel, Chas Harrington was woke up by his ringing mobile.

  “Hello,” he grunted. His bleary eyes had not read Flighty on the display.

  “Hi Chas, It’s me, Flighty.”

  “Oh hi.” He suddenly perked up. “What are you doing phoning me this time of the morning?”

  “It’s only midnight in England isn’t it?”

  “I’m in Dubai. It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

  “Oh sorry, I’m just having breakfast in Singapore.”

  “Is that where you were when I phoned before?” asked Harrington.

  “Yes. Don’t worry about it though, you can afford it and I’m worth it, aren’t I?”

  “Oh yes. I wasn’t complaining. I just didn’t realise. Anyway, what can I do for you?”