Last year, Dave was fairly unremarkable.
He worked in a fairly unremarkable office in London, on a fairly good salary, hating his job half the time, but otherwise happy to let his pension accrue.
He was fairly unremarkable in appearance: young-looking, some might even say quite handsome for a man approaching his forties, but hardly a physical specimen. Short, receding hair and a growing paunch.
He had a fairly unremarkable marriage to a woman he married too young and had gradually drifted apart from, but who he would never dream of leaving or cheating on. Besides, who'd want him?
The only thing that stood out about Dave was his social prowess: everybody liked Dave. He was a laugh, a flirt, an all-round good egg. He loved that he could hold an audience, tell a good yarn, crack a decent joke, flatter the girls in the office... Oh how he loved the girls in the office. Most of them a decade too young to fear he had serious designs on them, Dave could spend hours in the pub entertaining his "women's group" as the other lads in the office would tease, knowing full well they were secretly envious of his way with them. His secret was a carefully honed combination of non-threatening flirting, outrageous conversation starters, and a genuine sense of humour. And he relished being the centre of their attention. But no matter how he may have fantasised about some of his more attractive co-workers, nothing would ever come of it. He was old, married, and otherwise... Well. Unremarkable.
But last year, something changed. He was still unremarkable in most respects, save for one significant alteration: unbeknownst to everyone, Dave was now a multi-millionaire.
When he compared his lottery ticket to the winning numbers that fateful weekend, he remained motionless for almost half an hour. Most people would have whooped and hollered, but Dave sat as if in stasis as the enormity of the situation hit him. And then he began to plan. Because Dave had fantasised about what he would do should he ever win a fortune; he had sent himself into a happy slumber numerous times going over the details in his mind, and he wasn't going to alter his approach now that it had become a reality.
Rather than run off and immediately buy a new car and a new house and a billion other rash things, he was going to put the majority of his winnings in a high interest account and carry on as normal for a while. Just enough time for his fortune to become self-sustaining. He wouldn't tell his wife, he wouldn't tell his family. For now, he'd just carry on. And it wouldn't be a hardship seeing this time out because Dave knew the fun he could have when that first bit of interest came in. And he had theorised - correctly as it turned out - that it's far more fun to be incomprehensively rich in real life surrounded by regular people, than in a millionaire's lifestyle surrounded by the equally loaded. And Tuesday evening proved it.
As the working day drew to a close, Dave approached some of his colleagues with the offer of a few drinks down the local boozer. He was targeting a specific type of drinking buddy: flirty, attractive and prone to turn 'a quick drink' into a long evening of eventual drunkenness. Millie and Charlie fit the bill perfectly. Together they had always ended up as the last to leave the pub, and they had always ended up in rude conversations to pass the hours. They thought Dave was hilarious, and he couldn't deny the appeal of talking filth with two glamorous girls nearly half his age. They wouldn't need much persuasion.
"On a Tuesday?" said Millie, with a raise of her eyebrow.
"Just one or two," Dave's nonchalant reply. "I could do with a pint today."
"Me too. I'm there in 5," Charlie piped from behind her monitor.
"Anyone else coming?" asked Millie.
"Think it's a bit early in the week for most of this lot, but I knew you two wouldn't let me down."
"What are you suggesting, David? That we're a couple of lushes?"
"I'm not suggesting it, Emily, I'm quite happily stating it as a matter of actual fact."
"Fair enough," sighed Millie, dropping her papers onto her desk with a bang.
She was an incredibly pretty girl - long dirty blonde hair flanking a pale delicate face with pouting red lips. Her eyes, sitting beneath thin dark eyebrows, were large, grey and innocent-looking. But her frank locker-room banter revealed her to be far removed from the naive flower many mistook her for. Her tight black sweater was typical of her modest dress-style, but did an appalling job of hiding her ample bust. Perhaps that was the point.
"Annie, do you want to come?" said Charlie. "You could do with a drink after that client meeting couldn't you?"
Dave was slightly perturbed. While Annabelle would be another attractive addition to this small drinking party, she was also more conservative. A hard-working career woman in her early 30s, Dave always felt a little awkward wheeling out his dirtier jokes in front of her. For what he had in mind for tonight, Annie's presence wasn't ideal.
"Ooo, don't know. On a Tuesday?" she whispered, as if she might get into trouble even talking about it.
"Come on, you need cheering up," said Charlie. "And we always have a laugh when we're out with Dave."
"Oh I know you do!"
Annabelle gave Dave a knowing look. Dave shrugged; it wasn't a secret that the loudest, most raucous corner of the pub would be the one these three were in. Annabelle considered it for a bit.
"Oh what the hell," she said.
"Yay!" said Millie, doing a little celebratory dance. "Dave and his bitches are hitting the bar."
"Not in the office, Emily!" reprimanded Annie as she gathered her coat.
A tall woman, Annabelle was the epitome of poise and grace. Mature beyond her tender years, she wore classy attire - today a simple yet stunning figure-hugging dress - expensive perfume, and her auburn curls were restrained perfectly in a tightly packed bun. A dusting of freckles on her cheeks and a cute button nose made it impossible to take her strict tone too seriously, though.
"Come on then, before HR get involved," sighed Charlie, rising from her seat with an exaggerated stretch.
The epitome of office chic, she wore thick rimmed glasses that she didn't really need, a cream blouse and a fitted knee-length pencil skirt. She kicked off the Nikes she liked to wear around the office and slipped into her killer heels, raising her nearly to Annabelle's height.
Dave ushered the girls towards the exit before anyone else showed interest in joining them; he slung his rucksack over his shoulder and followed them out to the pub.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Two hours had passed and they were getting progressively more drunk. Dave had sought out and secured a booth upstairs in the local pub which was essentially cornered off from the rest of the room, giving them a huge degree of privacy. Just as well considering the subject matter they were covering. After having bitched about work for a while, Charlie and Millie needed little encouraging to start getting fruity with their chat. They were currently talking about the pros and cons of sucking their boss's cock for a pay-rise, eliciting guffaws from Millie and, surprisingly, Annabelle too. Charlie was miming the act with a look of disgust on her face.
"No fucking way," she said. "Can you imagine it? Not for a 100 grand pay rise..."
Perfect. This was the moment for Dave to make the evening a little interesting.
"Really? Not for 100 grand?"
"Uh uh," said Charlie with a shake of the head.
"Fuck, I would," said Millie. "I'd suck anyone's cock for that much."
"Anyone's but his," said Charlie, eliciting a ripple of laughter from everyone around the table.
"So you'd happily suck a cock for 100 grand," said Dave. "What about 50?"
Millie thought about it for a second before nodding resignedly.
"Yeah, if I'm honest. As long as wasn't like a tramp or someone. You know, they'd have to be clean and stuff."
"10?"
"Basically, Millie, Dave wants to know how much it would cost to have you suck him off," said Charlie, without realising how accurate her deadpan quip was.
"For you Dave, I'd do it for 7. Cash in hand," Millie said with a wink and a nudge. She was joking, of course. She had no idea Dave had that and change hidden in his rucksack.
"How about you Charlie? How much to give a clean, recently showered stranger a blow-job?"
Charlie gave Dave's query some serious thought.
