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A while back, I was a contestant on a reality TV show. You probably saw it – it’s the one where umpteen-odd men and women undertake a series of random tasks to try to prove they’ve got what it takes in the business world. Spoiler alert – I didn’t win. But I did have my day in the sun.
It was week nine, and we were down to four a side. Four lovely young lasses opposite, myself and three likely lads coming off a loss, looking to redeem ourselves. The boss man handed down a dossier with a dozen items we were to buy, cheaply as we could. I fucking well threw my hat in the ring before he’d even had a chance to ask. This was my wheelhouse and I was barring up at the very thought. See, my day job was as a procurement officer for the landed gentry – whenever the lord of the manor and his missus wanted to fritter away their hard-earned, I’d jet about to find whatever their aging hearts desired. I had a good eye, and more importantly, connections.
I told the guv all of this, and he gives me the nod. The girls argue for a bit, and eventually put up Tracy, the six foot nubian goddess, to run the show. I guess this is all established for anyone who’s watched it, but it helps to set the scene. So anyway, as we’re being ushered out, Stu, this fucking mouth we’d been putting up with for weeks calls out to the girls.
“Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” he says, smirking the whole fucking time. “Losing team has to blow the winners.”
Fucking lip on this clown. And fucking nerve too. I had respect for these women – who’d made us look very ordinary on several occasions, including one absolute thrashing – and here he was carrying on like a leering sixth former. I told him to shut his gob, but then Maggie, who admittedly was the most likely to carry through on such a wager, strides her way over and pokes a finger in his chest.
“Tell you what,” she says. “You’re on. But if you fuckin’ lose, you have to blow one another.”
They have at it for a bit, until I tell Stu I’m going without him, and even then I can’t shut him up because both of them have to get in the last word. They keep yapping all the way to the vans, and I’m filthy that I’ve now got to spend the day with this fucking wanker, because I don’t trust him enough to let him out of my sight.
So anyway, we go about our business. I send the other lads off to get everything with no margin in it. I’m killing it, even with Stu doing his level best to queer my pitch at every opportunity. Eventually we cross paths with the ladies, who are travelling as a single unit, and likely not covering the territory they’ll need to to get everything. They get their nose in front of us at this one place, so we have to stand back and watch.
They go in with a bit of theatre. Joanna, who is a real looker, but too sensible and self respecting to flirt her way through, is talking the ear off the nearest salesman she can find. Meanwhile, Tracy and Meghan are having it out over something that’s happened prior. And here’s the con – while their two cameramen are busy with the negotiation and the row, Maggie shuffles off somewhere out of view. My hackles are up, ’cause we’re obligated to be in front of a camera at all times, but I keep my mouth shut, and my eyes and ears open.
Ten minutes later, Joanna has maybe managed to knock a few pence off the asking price – but she’s interrupted by this bloke who comes out from the back, looking a bit flushed and he has a word in his salesman’s ear. The salesman makes an offer well below cost to Joanna who takes it in a heartbeat. Meanwhile, Maggie has popped up again, and is breaking up the row between Tracy and Meghan. Shortly after, the four of them start making their way out, every one looking pleased as punch. They walk toward us, and Stu steps into their path like some fucking bullyboy.
“So,” he begins, with that same fucking smirk. “You ladies seem to be fending for yourselves. Let’s raise the stakes.” And before the idiot can even speak his vulgar little mind, Maggie gets in first.
“If you can pull a miraculous victory out of your arses,” she chimes in, “then we’ll shag the lot of you. Buuuut, if you lose – and you’re going to – then we get to film you lot doing whatever we say.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” countered Stu, gesturing like a right fucking ponce. “Don’t ask for more than you’re willing to give. If we win, anything goes.” With that, the smarmy prick holds out his hand to shake on the deal. Maggie snatches it right fucking up, like a falcon on its prey, and shakes vigorously. And to my very great fucking surprise, the eminently sensible Joanna throws her chips in.
“Anything goes,” she says. Coldly, and with great emphasis on the first word. At this point, I am losing my fucking cool. In the real world, Joanna is a prosecutor. In this game, week after week, she’s the one running the books. She does not make rash decisions. She does not put her head on the chopping block. She waits for the cards to fall her way, and then she’s in like Flynn. This little stooge had stitched us up, and he still couldn’t fucking see it. The only thing I ataköy türbanlı escort could do to keep from throttling him was to picture an anything goes scenario where I had my merry way with Joanna and her shapely behind.
It may have saved Stu from physical harm, but he was fucking out. Sidelined. He tried to weasel his way out, but he knew he was done. I sent him back to the van, and did my best to go about the rest of my business. Whatever game the girls were running, it had me bricking it.
Anyway, I managed to knock over the last few items, the other two lads had done their share, and they herded us back into the boardroom. The boss and his offsiders grilled us for an hour or two, and I made my displeasure known in regard to Stu’s behaviour. But then I began to think – fuck, what am I doing? If we lose this, I need to take the fall or end up as part of an all male revue. Or worse. So I bigged myself up until the boss was sick of hearing it.
When they got around to talking numbers, the wait became excruciating. I’ll spare you – we lost, by a good margin. The girls whooped and cheered, grinning these sinister fucking grins down the table at us. And now here I was, ready to fight harder than I’d ever fought, to keep Stu in this fucking game at my own expense. At least the smirk had been wiped off his face, which was white as a fucking sheet! Small pleasures.
When the jubilation and jeering had died down, the geezer who served as the guv’s right hand held a cautionary finger aloft.
“But.” he said abruptly. “There is a question of whether or not the rules have been strictly adhered to.” Now Maggie was coming over all pale.
“In your contracts it is *clearly* stipulated,” he continued, cool as a fucking cucumber, “that you are not to engage in any business activities without the oversight of a camera. Now as I understand it Maggie, it appears that you have on several occasions, brokered some sort of deal off camera. We are rendering each of those transactions null and void, which means you will in effect pay the list price of each item, and also incur a twenty pound penalty for each. I’ll spare you the maths and simply say that the men’s team… have won.”
I breathed the biggest fucking sigh of relief you’ll ever see. You should see me on that fucking tape – it’s incredible. I was ready to pull the geezer across the table and have my merry way with him. The other lads whooped and cheered and carried on, I just tried not to revel in the pallour that had cast across the faces of the ladies. We were ushered out, and back at the house, I necked pint after pint of scrumpy as we sat down to watch the guv have his merry way.
It was brutal. You could see the cheeky sod knew exactly what’d happened, and he went after Maggie in a big way. he badgered the poor girl into admitting that she’d gobbed off a few shopkeeps, then made her falsely admit to ‘just flirting’ to give the editors something to run with, and then sent her packing. he went after Tracy next, like a hatchet man pulling teeth, and once she’d confessed to colluding on it, fired her too. I was gutted! To see such a good sort miss out on what was to come was truly heartbraking.
We were told to pull the plug, so we waited, to see if either or both girls would make it home. After an hour or so, the door swung open, and in they came. Meghan looked well relieved, Joanna looked like a mug punter who’d put her life savings on a sure thing and lost. Me and the other lads agreed to give them at least 5 minutes grace before we brought up the elephant.
They came in, we hugged them, gave them some ciders and let them chat for a bit. I’d expected young Stuart to call out the wager without a moment’s hesitation – my honest feeling is that he was just as petrified as the ladies. he was a puppy who’d chased a car, caught it, and now didn’t know what the fuck to do with it. In the end, it was Joanna who brought it it up. Seemed her integrity and honesty meant far more to her than her modesty, and I respect that.
“So as you well know,” she began, choosing her words very carefully. “A wager was made. I’m not one to renege on a verbal contract, but the terms agreed to were quite… loose.” I saw through her straight away. She was trying to lawyer her way out, and it wasn’t gonna fly.
“Here’s my sense of the agreement,” I started in. “First wager was blowjobs, your girl bumped that up to shagging, then her and yourself went a step further to ‘anything goes’. Now within the context of the discussion, I take that to include all previous offers, with additional provisions to be determined ad lib by the victors, without restriction.
“Now, I’m a reasonable individual, and in good faith, I’m going to make a few stipulations. First of all – you lot can run along.” I shooed the cameramen, gaffers, and what not out of the room. “Best keep this among ourselves. Secondly, Stuart, you are still sidelined – suspended until the the beginning of the next task. So you might as well turn in and leave us be.”
Of course, he protested, ataköy ucuz escort but I wasn’t having a fucking bar of it. I had the boys bundle him out, where we could hear him pissing and moaning to the crew as they packed up for the evening. The girls were instantly in a better mood, and I could hardly blame them.
“Last of all,” I ordained, like the Archbishop of fucking Canterbury, “Anything goes is too broad. As the winning PM, I get to decide what goes. I promise we’ll all conduct ourselves like proper gentlemen, right lads? We’ll even make you brekky in the morning. For now, let’s all have a bevvy and kick up our heels.”
I was buttering them up good. I was pretty confident that Joanna was on the hook from the get go, but would go about it in a dreary, indifferent manner that would bring the whole fucking mood down. That’s the last thing I wanted. I took a look at her and she was stony faced, but was at least getting some flush back in her English rose complexion. Meghan, being the younger of the two, was a bit more impressionable, and would be taking her cues from Jo.
“We happy?” I asked them. Joanna shrugged and rolled her eyes before looking away, all curt. Meghan didn’t know what to think or where to look. She was a very bright girl, but clearly hadn’t read the book on betting sexual favours and losing. So I changed the topic, letting them have their reprieve for now.
So we all natter about various things, and all us lads try to keep the ladies happy – with drinks in hand. George, Andrew and myself keep the conversation on point, helping the girls revel in the victories they’ve had, letting them skite a bit. After half an hour, I decide it’s time to stir things up a bit.
“So what would we be doing now?” I posed, “if we’d lost, and were at your mercy? It could only have been unkind.” Joanna and Meghan looked at one another, and Joanna gestured that Meghan should go first.
“I’d have made the lot of you dance and strip,” she hypothesised. “Purely to settle a bet, of course.” Cheeky minx! Don’t take a genius to figure out what her bet might have been, but with whom, I wondered.
“But mostly it would have been about humiliating Stu,” admitted Joanna. “Smarmy little prick. That said, the lot of you would have been well-used props.”
“Well fair’s fair then,” I said, ending that particular speculation quick smart. “The first anything that goes, is a show for the lads.” Both women visibly stiffened, but by their own admission, we’d have copped the same, and they knew it. I thought some creative direction might help them settle in.
“So I’ll set the scene.” I bantered. “We are as were appear to be – handsome young gents with a knack for business. You, on the other hand are top shelf, high class ladies, as you are in real life, but in this particular scenario, you are exotic dancers – with fees so high, only the guv’ner can afford ya.”
Meghan looked a bit flattered at that, and Joanna was hiding half a smile behind her wine glass – I could see a brief sparkle in her eyes that belied her stony demeanour – which was beginning to fade a bit, thank christ.
“So we’ve been slaving away for the guv,” I continued, getting into the swing of my little sketch. “And he knows we’re reaching the end of our tether, so he’s set up a ‘business meeting’ with the pair of you as a lark. Course, we don’t suspect nothing, on account of the two of you having dressed up in very convincing businesswoman attire. I’ll kick us off.”
“Missus. Missus.” I said, giving each of them a nod. “We’re flat knackers at the moment, so let’s keep this brief shall we? What’s the agenda?”
“I understand your time is precious,” started Meghan. “We think we have a way for the adult entertainment division to make money.”
“Well,” I grinned, pleased at the direction this was already headed. “Let’s hear it then.”
“What we’re proposing is not unlike Kickstarter,” she explained, “where someone pitches an idea, and seeks crowdfunding. Our idea is to take that in a slightly different direction, where likeminded connoisseurs can essentially commission their own bespoke pornographic shorts.”
“Our research continually points toward two things,” added Joanna, “that consumers are generally unwilling to pay for porn, given how much is freely available – but contrary to that, a significant portion of those surveyed rate themselves very likely to pay for porn where they have some control over the content. That may be as simple as pairing their favourite performers, or a scene that fulfils a long held fantasy.”
“Take me through it,” I prompted. “I’m a punter with a world of sleaze at my fingertips. What gets me in the door?”
“Imagine my colleague here is an adult performer,” Joanna suggested, quite helpfully, I might add. Meghan stood up and struck a pose. “You’ve seen her naked from every conceivable angle, but only ever by herself. So you, and how ever many other fans, chip in to commission something more specific. If she declines, or if the interest just isn’t there, your money ataköy üniversiteli escort comes back to you.”
“Hold on, I’m still stuck on imagining her as an adult performer,” I stalled – making Meghan blush a bit. “Look, I see where you’re going with this, but I’m not ready to part with my hard-earned just yet. Where’s the sell?”
“You’re coming at this from a cold, analytical standpoint,” countered Meghan, looking across at Joanna. “I think we need to warm you up a bit.”
So they get up and edge over toward us three lads. Joanna pulls out her phone and puts on a bit of music. Jamiroquai if memory serves. The two of them start gyrating up against one another, clearly a bit soused, but enjoying themselves. Joanna reaches around behind Meghan, pulling her hair out of its elastic; Meghan shakes it out and gives it a comb through her fingers. She’s got a great head of wavy, auburn hair, the sort that lent itself to being painted on the side of a World War Two bomber. She does the same back to Joanna, who tosses her straight, strawberry blonde locks about to the music.
Next, Meghan grabs the lapels on Joanna’s suit, and pushes it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Joanna shoots us a cheeky look, and starts to do likewise. But as she’s slipping it off her arms, Jo gives it a little twist, pinning Meghan’s arms behind her. Then with her free hand she grabs the front of Meghan’s blouse and rips it open, with Meghan giving a squeal of delight that made us all realise that she was right fucking into this.
Joanna completed the move by tugging both garments off Meghan and tossing them over at Georgie and Drew, who looked well pleased with themselves. Meghan looked a touch self-conscious, but she ought not to. The grey t-shirt bra she had on may not have been her first choice of sexy undies, but it did a very tidy job of pushing up what looked like D cups. Below her outstanding knockers I could see a few inches of flat tummy, with a hint of belly button trying to sneak its way out the waistband of her skirt.
With a look that could have been genuine temper, Meghan poked out a finger, waggling it at a smiling Joanna before planting the pad of it on Joanna’s chin. Then slowly, she strokes this finger down Jo’s neck, across her chest to the top button on her blouse. She pauses briefly, then gives a sharp little hook motion, popping the button and exposing a tiny flash of black lace. She keeps going. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Every last button pings off, and Meghan flings open Joanna’s blouse like she’s opening the curtains of a morning, giving us all a good look at the lacy number Jo’s got over her perky baps. She then lunges forward, dragging the tip of her tongue across Joanna’s ivory skin, from the waist of her slacks up to the wire in her bra, taking us all by surprise. Jo most of all – she’s got a squirmy look on her face, but her smile does not falter.
They dance for a bit, looking one another up and down, much like the rest of us. Then Joanna grabs Meghan by the hand and leads her over to where George and Andrew are slouched in either end of a 3 seater. She stands Meghan in the space between them and spins her round so she’s got her back to them. Meghan leans forward a bit, poking her bum out at the lads, and Joanna grabs the them of her skirt and starts creeping it up her legs. They’re nice legs too – long, maybe a bit narrower than I prefer, but still shapely.
Meghan’s skirt continues sliding upward, exposing a pair of gaiters holding up her nylons. I’ve never been one to fetishise stockings and the like, but I do like a bit of mystery about my women so the unexpected undergarments gave me an instant rush of blood, and a bit of disappointment that the other lads were getting a better view of it. I held my tongue though, and kept watching.
The boys were thoroughly enjoying themselves, George had a big dopey grin, Drew was just staring, a bit slack jawed. Joanna was clearly enjoying their reaction as she kept going ever upward, eventually hoiking the skirt all the way up and showing off Meghan’s arse, clad in a pair of non-descript black undies. The younger Meghan didn’t quite have the killer shape that Joanna had, but she was a sight – her cottons stretched taut across her rounded globes, daring every one of us to tear them off and maul her soft peach.
George is eyeing her off hungrily, a reaction not lost on Joanna, who waggles a finger at him before giving Meghan a sharp smack across the buttocks, and pulls her skirt back down. Meghan yelps before letting Jo lead her over to stand in front of me and unzip her. Meghan slowly gyrates, sliding the skirt off her hips and down to her ankles. Rather than stepping out of it, she turns away from me, and bends forward to pick it up – giving me an eyeful of her beautifully sculpted cheeks. With a smile, she stands up, swaying her hips to the music.
I have to admit, I was a bit surprised at how un-self-conscious this lass was all of a sudden, with half her kit off in front of her colleagues. More fool me. Meghan draws Joanna in close, and the pair of them dance hip-to-hip until Meghan sneaks her hands down to unbutton Jo’s slacks. Joanna holds her off, but only so she can shuffle over in front of me. I was rock hard in anticipation as those slacks slipped ever lower over those incredible, curvaceous hips. Meghan seemed all too aware, pushing down the waistband at an excruciatingly slow pace.
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