When we travel (which is frequently), Bethie tries to avoid hotel rooms with interconnecting doors. Sometimes when we wind up in such a room, she freaks out and stomps to the front desk to demand a change. More often, she’s just, shall we say, Not Pleased.
We don’t play a lot in hotel rooms, and when we do, her hotel spankings tend to be with the quiet-but-deadly toys, like the little bit of looped rattan that slides so easily into any luggage. Whereas, the spanking toys she tends to like the most are of the loud-and-slappy variety, such as big soft leather straps and paddles (doubtless, if she had her druthers, with bunny ears and fur on ’em, and cute cartoon characters). Although I think her hatred of connecting doors is primarily a security thing — she trusts “solid” walls more than any deadbolt lock ever devised — there’s no doubt sonic transmission is also on her mind.
I guess she just doesn’t want to be the couple in Room 766:
To the German couple in room 766:
Just because the adjoining door separating our rooms is locked, it doesn’t mean that your room is soundproof.
Yes, I have heard the slapping noises at regular intervals over the past 48 hours. Very clearly.
No, I don’t think you’re clapping something on the TV: it’s too regular, too drawn-out, and the plaintive little feminine yelps after each smack leave little to my experienced imagination.
Yes, young lady: when we emerged from our rooms at the same time and found ourselves waiting for the elevator together, I did think you’d look good in school uniform.
And yes, he is a lot older than you, isn’t he?
No, please don’t stop. I’m sure she deserves it.
I’m sure Abel is too much of a gentleman to smirk knowingly in the corridors, but alas not all hotel guests and staff are so understanding.