Robert “Bob” Dobbs, 47, Loser, Jack of all trades

Punch in, punch out. Cook for the mummies. Breakfast was rough this morning, lunch even more so. Why the fuck did the big brains at HQ decide to run fish twice in a week back to back?

Cooking was easy. Cooking for senior citizens often sucked ass. Bob walked through the halls of Highwood Senior Living toward the front door, waving to Kayla as she rushed past him to the staircase heading for the time clock at a dead run. Late again. He turned and watched that perfect heart shaped ass of hers as she took the stairs two at a time.

If I were 20 years younger… I’d still be ten years too old for her.

Kayla was a flirt and seemed to enjoy getting Bob all hot and bothered. Of course he took it in a good natured manner, but inside he had to constantly push down the inner caveman screaming at him to take her eighteen year old pussy right up against a wall.

As he walked through the doors he pondered whether or not to head home for the two hours he had between shifts. Two hours of not working. Hardly worth the half hour each way. He could always just hang out here or pop into the vape shop, but for some reason he decided he wanted to take a drive. Bob’s normal shift was the morning, five days a week. He hadn’t wanted to double today, but Cassie had begged, and just like for Kayla, Bob was a sucker.

Bob glanced in the rearview mirror and checked his six before pulling out into traffic. A brief flash of l’appel du vide gave him the urge to swerve into the path of an oncoming Peterbilt, but he quickly suppressed it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to though.

He’d only just managed to dispel that thought when he looked up and saw that another semi had stopped in the middle of the highway. Panic waged war with more unbidden thoughts and finally won as his foot slammed down on the brakes.

With an audible pop the hydraulic line feeding the power cylinder which operated the front disc brakes of the little Kia Rio burst, causing Bob’s foot on the pedal to descend to the floor with no resistance.

So this is it. I’m going to die.

Bob closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable crash and subsequent pain that was waiting for him at 55 MPH.

Which never came.

He let his eyes open. He was still sitting in his car. Still dressed in his baggies and chef’s coat. Still, ostensibly alive. But there were some things that didn’t exactly fit.

First, his car wasn’t moving. Ok. Not a problem. Sure, he was only just flying along at highway speed, and maybe he’d blacked out or something and come to rest on the shoulder somehow.

Of course, that was the next thing he’d noticed. He wasn’t on the shoulder, or even anywhere near a road. His car, which was still running, was sitting in a large snow covered field.

Which brought him to the third point, which is that it was the middle of summer.

Yep. I’m dead. I always thought Hell would be warmer.

A hard wind blew up a veil of shimmering white that obscured his sight for a minute, but when it settled something new was in his field of vision. A massive building in the shape of a Swiss chalet, which reminded him of the ski resort his parents would take him to as a child.

Fuck it. Not like I have anything else to do.

He opened the car door and stepped out into the surprisingly comfortable cold, then started trudging toward the wooden doors ahead.

“Hello darling!” The enthusiastic greeting was accompanied by a hug from a stunningly attractive blonde valkyrie dressed in gingham lederhosen, her blonde hair in twin braids that draped over her shoulders. Bob could feel the pressure of her gigantic bust on his chest, and her voice put him in mind of Zsa Zsa Gabor. The fact that she had to bend over to hug him was not lost on him, as after she released the overlong embrace he found himself staring up at her comically large rack.

“Now be a dear and go sit down over there on the chair. The others will be here shortly.” She gestured over toward a large overstuffed chair off the lobby in front of a roaring fireplace.

Bob awkwardly ran a hand over his smooth scalp, a holdover from the days when hair still grew there, but as confusing as this was it was just easier to go along with the giantess. As he stumbled off she turned to look after him. “Oh! Silly me. I’m Adelheid, your Hostess, but I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t call me Heidi! The pamphlet on the table will give you the rest of the details! Now I have to run off to the servant’s entrance to handle orientation!”

The chair was… surprisingly comfortable, if this was in fact Hell. On the table we’re a decanter of amber liquid, a crystal rocks glass, a bucket of ice, and the aforementioned pamphlet, although ‘booklet’ might be a better description. Bob picked it up and read over the title:

HAREM HOTEL: ALPINE CHALET

Master’s Introductory Guide

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

Bob poured himself a drink and began reading