"So, what's your pleasure this time?" asked Miller with his most ingratiating smile.
Mr X took another puff on his obscenely fat cigar and stared at him from the other side of the desk as if he was watching an insect crawl up the wall. The look, and the accompanying silence, failed to unnerve Miller. He was used to the idiosyncrasies of his clients, particularly this one.
"A bukkake," said the businessman, after a while.
"Okay, that's easy enough to arrange."
"Not this one, perhaps."
Which meant there was no perhaps about it, knew Miller. This was going to be no ordinary bukkake. A shame, he thought, as an event like that was simple to arrange. It wasn't difficult to find some porno slut willing to let a group of men spunk all over her. Nor difficult to find the men to do the deed. In fact, as they would pay for the privilege, it would be easy money.
But Mr X, a man of the most esoteric pleasures, would never want something quite so simple. But what did he want? To break the bukkake record with hundreds of ejaculators? Or was he was looking for something a little more BDSM - perhaps even a forced bukkake? Such a thing could be simulated, but Miller wasn't willing to arrange the reality. Every event he masterminded involved consenting adults, even if their consent took a lot of persuasion at times.
"No simple series of facials then?" he asked.
"The event itself will be a traditional bukkake," explained Mr X. "The woman will suck off several strangers - around 12 I think, including myself. Then we will take it in turn to cum over her face. Only one lady will be involved, and it's her where the difference - and perhaps the difficulty - arises."
"Go on."
"She needs to be an ordinary young woman. Not a whore, not a porn star, not a swinger - but the kind of woman who would never do this kind of thing. And I stress now, I don't mean some tired old slut role-playing that part. I mean the genuine article. I will know if you have cheated me, but just in case, I will want detailed evidence of her background."
"But if she's just an ordinary young woman, why the hell would she get involved with something like this?"
"Oh, don't be foolish, Miller. You know the answer to that - desperation, that's why. A need for money. Find someone in such dire financial straits, they are willing to cast all their tedious little morals aside."
"It'll take a lot of money."
Mr X waved his hand, to indicate money was no object.
"And perhaps some amount of time. I'll have to find the right woman and then it'll take a while to warm her up to the idea."
"I can wait a while."
"Are there any other criteria for her?"
Mr X stubbed out the cigar and leaned back in his chair, with a contemplative look on his fat, jowly face.
"I have an ideal, which I would like you to match as much as possible. She is in her twenties to early thirties. Not a stunner but pretty. Perhaps even slightly overweight, and preferably with a largish chest. There is no greater sight on earth than spunk dripping off a woman's face on to her big tits.
"As a person she is certainly no common slag. She is lower middle class, career minded but not particularly academic. She will be recently married or have a long-term boyfriend. No kids yet but she wants them. She wants everything that is normal. Her lifestyle and fashion choices are conforming and conservative. No blue hair or excessive tattoos."
"I see," said Miller. "I suppose there's no shortage of women like that - but it'll still be difficult."
"Difficult, yes, but not impossible."
"No. And what about the men? Any criteria for them?"
"Not really. I suppose it would be good if they are the usual motley bunch you get at an amateur bukkake. Picture it - this ordinary young woman, who probably didn't even know what a bukkake was, and who would have been disgusted by the thought of it, reduced to kneeling in front of a group of strangers and, irrespective of their age and looks, sucking their sweaty, engorged cocks. Then letting them degrade her even further by shooting their filthy mess all over her pretty face. Oh, the thought is divine."
Miller noticed a globule of drool in the corner of Mr X's mouth, and from the movement of the man's shoulder, it was apparent he was interfering with himself behind the desk.
It takes all sorts to make a world, reflected Miller.
After thirty seconds of looking in the estate agent's window, Kelly was overcome with despair. It would take another ten years to save the money for the deposit on one of these houses. And currently it was impossible to save anything with the rent and energy bills being so high. She and Mark faced a long future of being stuck in that pokey little flat, with nothing to show for it.
"See anything you like?"
She turned to see a man in a smart suit. Forty-something, dark-haired, good looking for his age.
"Plenty," she said. "But they're mostly out of my price range. And even with the cheaper ones, me and my husband couldn't afford the deposit."
She wasn't quite sure why she was sharing her financial embarrassment with a stranger. Normally she was shy and reserved, especially when it came to talking about her problems. Perhaps it was because the man had a friendly, trustworthy face. He looked like the kind of person you could confide in.
"Shame," he said. "It's so difficult these days for young people to get on the property ladder."
"Tell me about it."
"You're working, I take it?"
"Yeah, in an office just down the road. I'm just on my lunch break."
"But it doesn't pay enough?"
"No, not really," she sighed. "Not with the bills and rent being so high."
"Have you considered doing any extra work?"
"Yes, but I don't think I have the time really. I'd be too tired in the evening and I like my weekends free."
"There's always occasional work though. Or one-day jobs. I run corporate events and I'm always on the lookout for people to help, if you're interested."
"I dunno," she said, suddenly suspicious. What kind of person offered work to strangers in the middle of the high street?
"It pays well," he assured her.
"What kind of work is it though?"
"All kinds. But largely just making sure my customers are enjoying themselves."
"Like waitressing or bar work, you mean?"
"Not exactly. It's more like being an entertainer. Or a hostess."
A hostess? No way was she going to parade for a bunch of fat old businessmen with wandering hands.
"No, sorry," she said, walking away, red-faced. "That's not my kind of thing at all."
The man hurried after her.
"Look, don't be so hasty," he insisted. "Please take my card and think about it."
"No thanks."
"Please."
"Okay then," she said, stopping and taking his card, thinking it was the only way to get rid of him. She didn't even glance at it as she slipped into her bag.
"Thank you," he smiled. "My number's on there - give me a call anytime and we can have a chat."
"Maybe," she said. "Bye."
"Bye now. Have a good day."
She walked quickly back to the office, not knowing whether to be shocked or to laugh. Her be a hostess? The idea was ridiculous.
Two days later another energy bill came through Kelly's door. The amount was huge - it would take a massive chunk of her earnings and make saving anything impossible. Upset, she tried to discuss it with Mark, but he was annoyingly unconcerned about money, as long as there was enough for nights out and computer games. Frustrated, she left him playing his latest one and went to make her sandwiches for the next day. As she was getting her lunchbox out of her bag, she suddenly noticed the business card that man had given her.
'ROBERT MILLER. Events Arranger.'
She had dismissed his offer out of hand but suddenly the thought of extra money seemed very appealing. But what exactly did she have to do to earn it? What did being a hostess involve?
There was no problem with finding out, she decided. She wouldn't be committing herself if she just asked the man a few questions.
Knowing Mark couldn't hear with the TV on so loud, she called the number on the card.
The following lunchtime she met Miller in a pub at a suitable distance from the office. After some pleasant small talk, he brought the conversation to the matter in hand.
"I'm glad you've reconsidered my offer. I didn't think you would yesterday."
"I haven't reconsidered. I just want to know more."
"Of course. Let me explain. As my card says, I'm an Event Organiser - but the events I organise are rather out of the ordinary. Basically, what I do is cater for the whims of the wealthy. If they have some little fantasy, I help them act it out. Some of their fantasies are a bit bizarre but they always pay well for the privilege. For example, the man I'm currently helping is willing to pay £5,000 for the hostess taking part. Think of it - five grand, just for you."
"Five grand?" Kelly couldn't believe it. There had to be some catch. Perhaps the whole thing was a massive con.
"But why me? Doesn't this man want a leggy blonde for a hostess?"
"No, my client is very insistent that he doesn't want someone like that. He wants, if you'll forgive me, 'the girl next door' type. Someone pretty, and shapely, but not a model. And someone very much nice and respectable. That's a huge part of his fantasy."
"And what is his fantasy?" asked Kelly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. The pub was so busy with loud groups of lunchtime drinkers, there was little chance of anyone hearing, but she kept her voice down all the same. "I don't have to take my clothes off, do I?"
"Yes," said Miller. "I'm afraid you would."
