Go to the lounge to meet some of the guests

The lounge is a cosy little room, almost crowded feeling because of the amount of furniture in here. There's a large fireplace taking up most of one wall, unlit on a day as hot as this one, and several large sofas and overstuffed leather easy chairs. All around the walls are heavy old bookcases and cabinets groaning under the weight of ornaments and knick knacks, and the walls are covered in paintings in heavy gilded frames. In one corner is an elderly looking television, complete with an antique bunny ears Ariel on top, quietly pouring afternoon television into the room.

There's several women sitting round the room and one, who has been loudly talking to a couple of others on one of the sofas, leaps to her feet and hurries over to you.

"Oh my, is this a new guest? A handsome new male guest at that!"

She embraces you, hugging you tight enough to squash her saggy breasts against your chest and taking the opportunity to squeeze your butt.

She's shortish, looks to be around forty, and bears a marked similarity to Cathy, the girl at the front desk. This must be her mother, the woman who owns the hotel. She has that brassy, almost hard look and attitude that some middle aged women seem to get, especially those who are used to being independent and working hard for what they want. She's sun-bed-tanned, wears heavy make up and has bleached blond hair in a style that seems too young for her - a bob with a long slanted fringe that covers one eye. From the way she's squeezing your ass, you also get the impression that she's rather touchy feely, and not backwards in coming forwards.

Releasing your butt, the steps back, then grabs one of your ears with each hand and pulls your head down to hers for a kiss, full on the lips, poking her tongue into your shocked mouth for just a fraction of a second.

"MWAH!" she exclaims, releasing you, "Now, I hope you'll have a pleasant stay here, I'm Mrs. Cook, you can call me Camilla. If you can't find me around, my room is the one at the end of the hall upstairs. Anything you need, you come and see me. Anything at all."

She gives you a wink that you assume is supposed to be seductive.

"Now, perhaps you'd like to meet some of the other guests? This is Tricia O'Malley and her daughter, Emma."

She points towards the two women she'd been sitting with. One is a woman in her late forties, well dressed and imperious looking, wearing a dark blue evening dress and cats eye glasses. Her daughter looks to be in her late twenties, very attractive, tall and slim and classy looking, with dark eyes and full, bee stung lips.

Both have very dark, long hair, Tricias tied up on the top of her head and Emmas tied back in a sensible pony tail. They smile at you politely, and Tricia gives you a wink.

"And over there is Mrs. Cavendish, and Abigail Winters."

Mrs. Cavendish is another older lady, late fifties or maybe even sixties, with grey hair and pale blue eyes.

She smiles at you and nods. Abigail Winters is much younger, in her mid twenties at a guess, and is short, dark and curvy, with wonderfully firm looking boobs that her tight dress shows off amazingly. She wears thick round glasses, and is strangely attractive, apart from a very weak chin, her face seeming to blend straight into her neck.

"Pleased to meet you," she says, standing and taking your hand, stroking it with her thumb, "I'm actually hoping to interview some of the men who choose to visit this town - perhaps I could interview you later?"

"Sure," you reply, and she manages to tell you that her room number is 3 before Camilla pulls you away from her and announces that dinner should be ready, and you should all head to the dining room.