Chapter 3

“So, why don’t you have Tatiana on your list?”. I posed, enjoying the fact that he was a little, more-lively than many other chauffeurs I’ve met before.

“Tatiana is for the broken hearted”. He turned once more and stole another glance of me. “I hope you are not one of them”.

“Do I look like one?”. I asked, hoping as much as I could, that he would not say I looked like any of the broken heart Europeans who travel to Guts Island every year to seek solace in the arms of the sunny city.

“I didn’t say so, but I’ve had a couple of them in my car”. He said, sounding as casual as I, too, had sounded at the first place.

“You mean?”.

“Broken hearted people, and they only ask for Tatiana, because her voice was a remedy to the sore in their hearts”.

“But you don’t have Tatiana”.

“I purposely got rid of it, because I want them to listen less to what broke them the more, since they came to Guts Island to ease heal their broken heart”.

“You don’t mean it”.

“Sure, I mean it”. He glided into the large compound of Hotel De Royale. “Guts Island is the home to those who want to heal their broken hearts, that’s why many people come here, because definitely, they would be eased of their fear and anxiety, they would be given a second chance, and possibly, their broken hearts would be healed, only here in Guts Island, it’s no fallacy, welcome to Guts Island”.

My chauffeur, Stan, helped carry my bags into the massive hall of Hotel De Royale, while I gently walked up to the receptionist.

“Good morning”. Said the receptionist. She was cladded in a red suit, and she wore a blazing red lipstick.

“Good morning”. I replied with a smile I fought so hard to put on my face. “I booked a reservation”.

The receptionist shot me a broad smile.

“Name, please”. She said, amidst her smile, which she might have, just like I did, forced on her face, because there was virtually nothing to smile for.

“Betty Von Rosey”. I said, very much casually.

“Room 009”. She said after checking her computer, and handed me a pass card.

“Thanks”. I turned and signalled my chauffeur to follow me to my room, though I knew he was doing more than was required of him. Other chauffeurs would literally stop and drop my bags in front of the hotel building, but he brought my bags in, and he was ready to help me take them to my room.

I led the way to the elevator, and he followed humbly like a disciple, but stopped at the elevator, thinking I would ask him to hand over the bags and leave me to head on to my room, but I ushered him in with a gaze.

***

“Here”. I said, pointing at the floor, as soon as we got to room 009, hoping he would drop the bags and leave, but he stood still, waiting to help me take the bags inside before leaving, but to women like me, privacy mattered a lot.

“Please, drop it here”. I said, and fetched him a tip from my purse.

“Okay, ma’am”. He dropped the bags, and I handed a ten-dollar bill to him.

He looked at the ten-dollar bill and smiled.

“Thank you, ma’am”. He said and left.

I swiped the card and the door opened quietly, so, I dragged the bags into the room, and shot the door.

The room was pretty with plush furniture and perfect décor, but its colour was red.

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of the walls, because red reminded me of him; my ex-husband. He was a red room guy from our first night. He liked tying me to the polls of the bed in his red room, with long cords, and he liked torturing my ass with a whip, while gliding into my pussy from behind.

I got wet at the thought of him, but I fought off the urge to have him come into the room and pin me to the red walls of the room with his lengthy dick, and drill me into a rough, painful but sweet orgasm.

I dropped my bags on the floor and lay on the bed, but the bed brought flashbacks of him, pinning me down to the bed of his red room, and gliding into me with a demonic force. It was as soft as his red room bed, and the flashbacks it brought, made me hot and wet, and I fiddled with my pants, looking for my clit, hoping to run my fingers over it to induce pleasure, imagining the git of a man was there, and rough handling my breasts with my left hand, but then, came a knock on the door, making me sprang to my feet, and make for the door.

Somewhere in my mind, I prayed it was the chauffeur who was stealing glances of me, he looked good enough to lick my clits into oblivion, but I was dismayed at what I saw when I threw open the door.

“Room service”. Said an unattractive young man, standing before the door with a broad smile that body shaped into a lustful look, at the sight of my barely covered cleavages.

His unattractive look and ugly smile, killed my urge to drag a man into my room and force my breasts into his mouth.

“I didn’t call room service”. I said, hoping to dismiss him as soon as possible.

“But…someone called room service, either room 009 or 006”. He said, his eyes still on my cleavages.

“Maybe you should check room 006”. I said, doing my very best to avoid sounding rude.

“Okay, if you need anything…just give us a call”. He said, still staring fixedly at my barely covered booby.

“Okay”. I said and shot the door.

***

I unpacked my bag, after I had shot the door, to select the clothes I would wear after taking a cool shower, but my phone buzzed, disrupting my quest to pick a cloth from my bag.