Maing the Deal

I'm a typical bloke.

Ask me if I've ever paid for sex and I'll deny it. Of course I will.

If I'm with a close friend I might admit to knowing that it's going to cost me a meal or some time or a few gifts, but even that's not the truth.

Not the whole truth anyway.

I'm a businessman. My ex reckons I see everything as a transaction, a deal to be done, a contract to be fulfilled. She might be right, but I think I got the better part of the deal when she left. Which is probably part of the explanation of her attitude.

Don't get me wrong. I am a deal maker. It's what I do. I had a choice in my 20s. Stay on the sites as a better than average brickie and general builder, or make some deals. My ex was a hairdresser then. By the time we split she was a mid 30s lady of leisure with malfunctioning tubes, no kids and more spare time than the credit cards could bear.

Bitter? Me? Nah...

The kind of deals I made back in the 90s were the simple ones; buy a flat, improve it to a minimum standard, let it to a member of the non-working classes and bank the housing benefit cheques. Give it three years for the value to rise and the tenants to move on and sell the property. Simple stuff.

As I got better at it I got to do bigger deals. Deals with more risk and more rewards. Deals that require knowledge and some help. I started needing to charm estate agents and property companies. Rigger boots and a lumberjack shirt didn't hack it any more. That's when the ex started thinking I was playing away.

It worked though. Six houses in South Wales at £3000 each turned into three executive homes at £150,000 each. My profit? Depends if you're the taxman or not. Nice Land Rover Discovery became my company car though.

But did I end up paying for it? That's what this interview is about isn't it?

I did. Oh, not the obvious way, although I had a few offers. If you've flats to rent working girls can suddenly become very friendly.

Not the other way either. No-one offered to sweeten a deal with a friendly pillow warmer, although there was one deal on a small site in Durham where the owner's wife seemed keen to seal the deal in a way her husband probably wouldn't have encouraged.

No, I paid when I needed help. I didn't need help with sex. But then there was a deal to be made.

It was 1999. We were all going to party like...

Well, anyway. I had acquired an option on a building at the side of the Tyne. Not exactly Quayside. More sort of Quayside and a bit. Estate agents have since redefined the area as Ouseburn Vale. The derelict stuff below Byker bridge was another way of putting it. Anyway, I got this option on an old bottle works from someone's widow. She got to live comfortably the rest of her days, and I got enough space for fifteen flats. (Well, twelve flats really, but we got fifteen in there.)

I'm a good business man, but marketing properties in the retail market? I know my limits. So I dropped a letter to various estate agents, inviting them to bid for the joy of exclusively marketing the development. And along came Maria.

I wasn't amateurish about this. Not in my view anyway. I booked a conference room at a tennis club in Jesmond, and split the day in two parts. Interested parties could come to the presentation in the morning about the deal, and come back in the afternoon and tell me how they'd do the job. Simple really.

She was the one at the back. On her own. The other five firms sent two or three people each. They had all the tools for the job, and they looked serious. Maria simply looked interested. The others conferred and made notes as we did the presentation. Maria looked as if she could take it all in at a glance.

That changed in the afternoon interviews. Maria was last, and at a disadvantage. I was bored shitless. Seriously. I'd had every kind of presentation you can imagine. The introspective ones, where people talk about their company and its organisation. Did I need to know who their receptionist was? No. But they told me anyway.

Then there were the extrovert ones. They wanted me to know that they understood Newcastle. So they talked about the city, and regeneration, and the potential of the quayside. I had to give bonus points for the bloke who got Newcastle Brown Ale into his presentation even as he described their sales targets as 'more Cabernet Sauvignon' types.

I gave up counting the number of times anyone mentioned market segments. Or consumer classification techniques. Or potential client profiles.

So Maria was talking to a very bored, very disinterested man. I had two agencies shortlisted for the hard talk about money. How much they'd charge. I hadn't even heard of the firm Maria worked for.

She got my attention with honesty. Candid, vibrant honesty. Her boss didn't know she was at the presentation. It was her day off. Her boss didn't have the get up and go to attend herself. So Maria wanted to take it on. Wanted the business, and the referrals to financial advisors. Commission was everything.

I liked the honesty. I liked the frankness, and the understanding of the vision behind the apartments. I liked the way she crossed her legs so that most of her right thigh was on show. I liked the way she didn't move her legs once she'd noticed me looking.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't pussy struck. The deal she proposed was good on price, and good on marketing costs. The service she was offering was good, and she offered the names of two personal referees, both of whom I knew. So I took a chance, and asked her to step outside while I phoned them.

Both of them gave her glowing references. Serious, clever, assiduous and honest. I closed my eyes and thought about the deal. Her right thigh came into view. Cream blouse, dark blue skirt, black stockings and high heeled court shoes. So I opened my eyes, and looked at the figures on my scratch pad. Provided she did the deals quickly, it was a good deal for me.

So I called Maria back in. She sat down again, ran her fingers along her fringe of dark brown hair, knocking it out of her eyes, waited for my attention, and crossed her legs again. Not the full Sharon Stone, but more than you'd expect from a standard gesture.

I explained the deal to her. Simple, straightforward. They had three months from the start of the sales period to knock out two thirds of the properties. She agreed. We discussed how to deal with the contracts. Then I offered her a drink to celebrate the deal. She agreed, and followed me in her car as I drove to the Cornerhouse.

White wine for her, bottle of Becks for me, in case you're wondering. Seats in the conservatory at the front of the building, where it was quiet. No more of the Sharon Stone business with her legs. She had the deal, so why bother?

Was I disappointed? I suppose so, yeah... We shook hands after the drink, she climbed in her Golf, I got back in the Discovery, and away we both went.

It was two months before I saw her again. In the meanwhile I'd kept busy project managing the flats, and doing a complicated deal on a pub that meant a third party ended up owning it who the original owners wouldn't have sold to. Nothing dodgy, just a local competition issue.

Maria met up with me once we had the show flat done. It was in an old annexe to the factory. We'd put it there because it had a conservatory that let the light flood over the diagrams and designs on the exhibition stands.

It had a conservatory because it had been a loading bay; cheaper to build the conservatory in the opening than build it all back up again.

We talked about the layout, and how we'd do things. Then we sat down in the armchairs in the lounge, and talked. And she did the Sharon Stone thing again. With stockings and suspenders on show this time. Not holdups, but the Full Monty... Maybe it was the low armchair, but the lower half of her skirt was practically up to her backside. I looked, she noticed, and slid lower in the chair.

'You're after something Maria. You do the tease when you want something." "And?" She didn't move, didn't change position; being challenged didn't throw her. "So tell me the proposition, and we'll see how far each of us will go..." She was a bit more flustered now. "I'm not sure. You might think it dodgy." I was feeling more cocky now. Maybe there was something in this for me. "Tell you what Maria. I'll do you a deal." "You don't know what I was thinking yet..." Quicker words than usual, a bit less comfortable again. "Nope, my deal's about making the deal. You're scared, because you might want to propose something a bit chancy. So here's the deal. Stay where you are, sat as you are, and take the chance. I might call your boss, or call the cops if I don't like your suggestion. Stand in front of me and take you skirt off, on the other hand, and I guarantee, even if you want to suggest having someone killed, the idea stays in this room."

Give her my respect, she mulled it over. Sat there, hand reflexively twitching the hem of her skirt, and thought about it. Then she asked if I was serious.

Deadly serious, I said.

So she stood in front of me, unzipped the back of her skirt, let it fall to the floor, and stepped out of it.

She looked superb. The bottom of her blouse came down almost to the top of her panties, but from there down it was pure sex. Deep purple coloured pants, a matching suspender belt, and black stockings sheathing her legs. She turned round too, let me see her backside; she even held the blouse up so I could get a closer look.

I let her sit down to tell me the offer.

Her boss didn't have a tied financial advisor. The staff referred to who they liked, and banked the commissions as and when they came in. The boss paid them rubbish wages as a result, expecting them to do well off the commissions. Maria proposed to use her cousin as financial advisor, and to require every potential purchaser to see him. Why? She'd split the commission fifty fifty with me, instead of 10/90 with her boss, that's why. A no brainer for me, so far as I was concerned.

"Is that all Maria? I didn't need to get you out of your skirt for that. Worth the look though...." It wasn't all.

The second part of the deal was dodgier. A possible fraud charge, if it got out to her boss in fact. We'd agreed guide prices for each property, but were going to accept offers above that. Maria wanted to report lower prices to her boss, to work out the agents fees, and then take a cut of the difference between the price reported to her boss and the real price as her commission from me.

No the best deal I'd ever made, but I wanted the flats sold. I'd had my fill of the project, to be honest. It goes like that sometimes. You start a project full of good intentions, but by the time you get to selling time you're less enthusiastic.

So we haggled over percentages. We haggled, and argued, and in the process I got her to strip. By the time we agreed she was naked but for the suspender belt, with her stockinged legs over the arm of the chair. We sealed the deal, a potentially illegal deal, by her sucking me off in the same position.

She was good at it. Very good at it. Not too much suction, plenty of caresses from her tongue, little kisses on the underside of my knob and licks to my balls. You had to believe she liked what she was doing. I came with her index finger wedged in my arse, my cock resting against her lips so she could milk my come onto her tongue.

She didn't rush to get dressed either. She lounged around, letting me look at her, showing her self off. If I'd been a woman who looked that good, olive tanned skin and dark nippled breasts, tightly trimmed pubes and faint bikini lines, I'd have walked round naked as well.

I didn't see her for a week after that. She wasn't in any hurry to rush after me, and I wasn't going to chase her with my tongue hanging out. She phoned me on the Friday night. "I'm looking at five sets of sales off plans next week. How do you want to celebrate?" "Bring the paperwork with you on Friday, I'll treat you to dinner at Malmaison next Friday. Bed and breakfast too if you want it." She chuckled; not a word I'd instantly use about woman, but it as a chuckle. Sexy, too. "Anything else?" In for a penny.... "Your two sets of sexiest underwear, and every sex toy you own..." I said it with a laugh, so she could pass it off as a joke, but she didn't. "OK, I'll be there at seven thirty."

I arrived late at Malmaison. No problem there. I'd phoned ahead, they checked Maria in, and she met me in the restaurant. We'd chatted on the phone in the afternoon. She'd been sexy. Not flirtatious, not coy, but sexy. We had business to talk, but she didn't mind the sex being part of it. "I'm wearing a black dress for dinner; would you prefer the white basque under it, or the gray and white one?" "Neither. If you're wearing a dress just stockings and your highest heels will do. The underwear is for the bedroom if we're feeling inventive." No protests. No argument. Just an okay, and a pleasant farewell.

She looked superb in the restaurant. Black dress, showing deep cleavage, black stockings, and heels to die for. Seriously. Black shoes with steel wrapped heels, an ankle band and one thin band across the bridge of the foot. The guy on the next table looked ready to drool over her legs. I told her to give him a flash of her stockings, and she did. His pained expression looked like he'd just come in his pants.

We did our business over the starter and main course. I'd set up a company to handle the money I was going to pay Maria. That way I'd be able to claim the tax back on the invoices. She laughed, and told me she knew she'd be a company director one day. I explained how it would work, and she signed the paper before giving me the paperwork for the five flats she'd sold in advance, every one above the guide price.

Between the main course and the dessert the woman with the guy opposite went to the toilet. I got the impression she was in a huff because he wouldn't stop staring at Maria. Being the showoff she is I got her to give him another flash of her stocking tops, then told her to stroke her own nipple through the fine silk of her dress, like she was putting on a show for me. She did, with a big smile and slow, circular hand movements that ended with her pinching the nipple into hardness.

When his wife came back the bloke headed for the toilet. Off for a quick one off the wrist I reckon.

Me? I watched Maria eat her fruit salad dressed up as something French dessert, then took her up to the bedroom. Stripping the dress off her took seconds. Making her put on a show for me didn't take much longer. Her toy collection wasn't extensive, but she didn't object to having the thickest of her dildos in her pussy and a little finger vibrator in her arse. Not one bit. She came noisily. Much more so than when we'd been in the show flat. She admitted not minding if the people in the room next door could hear.

I didn't mind either. I encouraged her to be noisy. And she was. Shouting, begging me to do it, to fuck her... I was too. I was fucking her arse from behind while making her hold the big dildo deep in her pussy, so she didn't need much encouragement to make plenty of noise. Once she'd come again I pulled out, and looked at her on the bed, face down, pillows piled under her stomach, her two lower holes wet and very much used.

I was trying to make the experience last. I can come twice in a night. Three times maybe if I'm really up for it. But I wanted to make the most of Maria's compliance. So I had her dress in the grey and white basque, with white stockings and the same shoes. She looked good squatting on the dildo, rocking up and down on it while she sucked my cock. She looked better coming with my spunk sprayed across her tits and her neck, her eyes closed as her fingers rubbed desperately at her clit.

Some time in the night she rolled over to me, put her leg over mine, and pushed her pussy against my thigh. I held her arse as she lay there, still wet, relaxed and warm. "I like good deals. This has been a good deal for me." I squeezed her arse tighter. "It's been good for me. But remember, when you deal with the same person repeatedly, you have to put more on the table." She didn't protest, didn't argue.

That's how we got to where we are, six years on. Our company, the same one I signed her up for that Friday night at the Malmaison, is now a regional player in renovation and regeneration development. It turned over £65 million pounds last year. I'm chairman, Maria's managing director.

We stil seal deals the same way, even though Maria is living with someone else now. Her boyfriend, Kevin, knows what the deal is. He's a software salesman at Sage, handsome, and younger than Maria. I think he looks a bit effeminate; Maria says that's why she chose him. I'm living with someone too. Maria chose her, Alysssa, a junior solicitor at a law firm we use regularly.

Why did Maria choose her?

We were celebrating sealing a deal on a site in Northumberland; 65 houses on the site of a derelict council housing estate. Maria had to find a woman for a threesome. That was the deal.

So she picked up Alyssa in a night club, and persuaded her that she wanted to be part of a threesome. Don't ask me how she does it; over the years she's managed to find twenty or thirty women for threesomes when required. Not all of them as pretty as Alyssa though. At the time Alyssa was a student at university in Newcastle; her training contract at the solicitors was part of the deal for them getting more of our business.

The morning after the threesome Alyssa wasn't embarrassed, like some of the women, or humiliated, like some of them, or scared. She was curious. Why did we do what we do? Why her? And why was Kevin running round Maria's flat (a penthouse in a block behind the Baltic) in silk boxers and a teeshirt as if he was the housemaid? (He does make a very pretty maid when Maria dresses him up – usually as the price for him borrowing her Porsche 911)

Three hours later she seemed pretty sold on the idea of how we live. She'd been fascinated by Maria's pierced nipples the night before (the quid pro quo for her first company car, as I remember), now she was fascinated by the whole story of our company, and our life style.

So we offered her a deal. Did she want to come to Tenerife with us in two weeks time for a holiday? Well, she sucked Kevin's cock to erection before making herself come while him and me double fucked Maria, which seemed pretty conclusive. By the time we got back from Tenerife, where she and Maria had shared nine guys on the beach in one afternoon, she was ours.

Alyssa's in the other room, since you ask. Over the last three years she's learned a lot from Maria. They have matching piercings now; nipples and labia. Maria has my initial branded into the flesh above her left hip, Alyssa has mine and Maria's initials branded in the same place. (Don't worry; the brandings were done in the same place in High Bridge that does their piercings). The branding was the price of Maria's house in Darras Hall. Alyssa offered to be branded as part of the deal for our house in the hills above Haltwhistle. Alyssa likes to ride, so we wanted room for stables. That seemed a good deal to me.

Alyssa would like to get married, maybe have kids. She offered me a deal; if she finds a house slut, a woman to fuck either of us whenever we want, can she have children? I wouldn't have asked for that, but it's a pretty good deal. So she'll be out tonight with Maria, cruising for younger bi women who know a good deal when they see one.

And Maria and me? We're happy in our business. Driven even,. The Journal did an article on the business, said we haven't lost our ambition. Who would? Next deal we do, Maria will have another challenge to do to seal the deal. You can bet I'm still ambitious.