Ten a Penny Tart E-Book

John Maxwell

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 378

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When Max's buzz for business fades, he looks for and finds his thrills in the sordid underbelly of London. Following a chance encounter with a cheap hooker called Brenda, and after suffering a heart attack during a hook-up with a young girl called Sarah, his destiny is changed forever. Shocking revelations about Sarah and her past abound, forcing Max to face the way he leads his life and to use the power of money, and lies, to protect Brenda and Sarah when their lives are threatened by their evil pimp Seaton. Will Max be able to recover his reputation and his company? Will he be able to save Sarah from the demons of her past and the sordid life she has been forced into? And what do the fates have in store for Max and Sarah's relationship after their first traumatic meeting, if anything?

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2025 novum publishing gmbh

Rathausgasse 73, A-7311 Neckenmarkt

[email protected]

ISBN print edition: 978-3-7116-0097-4

ISBN e-book: 978-3-7116-0098-1

Editor: Vaughn Chambers

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Part 1

Chapter 1

London, November 2007

Max had cruised around the backstreets of Kings Cross Station many times before, yet he was always struck by the excitement of what he was doing––kerb crawling!

He knew that when he finally picked up one of these little scrubbers and drove off for some dirty sex, that to some extent, the game would be over. Wasn’t it an old saying that the chase was usually better than the catch?Something like that, he thought to himself, as he turned into a street that he knew would have what he was looking for.

His adrenalin soared. There were risks. His reputation was at stake.

As chief executive of Braid plc, Max Petters was in the public eye, and if there is one thing shareholders don’t like, it’s a scandal! He had worked hard to get where he was. He’d fought off the might of the US dollar and a hostile takeover bid in the early 1990s, with interest rates as high as 15 % and massive unemployment, and had brought the company into UK public ownership during that recession. His share issue had been oversubscribed three times. He had earnt the respect of the city.

Turning the wheel and glancing sideways, he smiled as he remembered the plc launch night and him running drunkenly into the street screaming, ‘Yes! Yes!’ laughing hysterically as he fell to his knees, with tears of relief rolling down his face. The tension of so many months of negotiation had finally been broken that night. He had done what the analysts had said was impossible in the economic climate. He had grafted and he had won.

Max wondered why he was reminded of that now. Then he remembered it was the adrenalin rush.

Since that time, Max had never really felt satisfied in the same way; until he had discovered hookers! That was the one thing that hit the spot for him in the same way. It still did.

He chuckled to himself. OK, he had seen off the American money; no big deal! He prided himself on his good business eye, coupled with his positive attitude and expectation of success at whatever he tackled in business. The result was no more than he would have expected. As simple as that! It hit the spot. It gave him a buzz that he longed for, even if it was just common sense. He shook his head and smiled ruefully.

Common sense? What!? Common sense to risk everything for a shag with a cheap backstreet tart in one of the seedier parts of London? Was that really common sense? He knew it was at the very least stupid, and at the most, perhaps just bloody crazy! He eased his foot back off the accelerator and the Jag slowed.

What if the law was waiting? Ready with a sting. It was not beyond them to have a WPC dressed as a prossie to trap punters like him. To try to lure an unsuspecting punter into a little trap. He had lost count of the number of times he had narrowly avoided being caught. Had seen them swoop on a car in front of him, forcing him to gun the engine and drive past with his heart pounding, praying they had not taken down his number. He knew an arrest would destroy him. The scandal might even destroy the company. At the very least, he would be branded as some sort of dirty old pervert, even though he knew he was doing what most blokes would want to do given half the chance, the money, and the opportunity.

But here he was again. Same place, same plan, and as usual, Max held back just a little. Suspicion was still in his mind. ‘Take your time, Max. It’s all part of the game, mate,’ he muttered. ‘Be careful, Max,’ he said through gritted teeth, his eyes darting everywhere. ‘Watch out fer yourself, mate! No other bugger will.’

Max’s heart beat faster in anticipation of the first contact. The questions! The responses! The negotiation! Adrenalin was racing through his veins. The Jag slowed to a walking pace, and he immediately felt his excitement intensify as he surveyed the exquisite collection of young and not so young whores, vying for his attention. He noted curiously that they seemed to be attracted to his headlights. It was almost as if they were moths. They were posing for him like plaster models in a shop window. Watching. Changed positions to please and attract him. Max liked that. It was as if he had his own little mannequin parade! He sighed, watching them, and felt his manhood harden. He reached down to touch himself reassuringly as his heartbeat increased again.

Shuddering and half-mumbling, he said, ‘Max, you’ve got to stop this. Got to slow this down, mate. That’s it, breathe deeply. Not too quickly, mate. Make it last.’ He fought to bring himself back under control in the same way he would have done in business. He had to maintain control to maximise his pleasure and make the moment complete. ‘Think about the risk of catching something, Max. Yes, that’ll do it! Disease!’ he muttered through clenched teeth, clutching the steering wheel. ‘I could catch something really nasty in this neck of the woods. Dirty whores!’ He hesitated. God! Even that’s making me feel randy now, he thought to himself, and chuckled as he drove on.

Which one looks clean? Max pondered. Bugger that; which one looks like she’ll give me a great shag and make the risk worthwhile? So much choice and all so adorably dirty. Steadying himself, he again tried to breathe deeply and slowly.

Max knew that the greater the risk and excitement, the better would be his ultimate satisfaction. It had been pretty much like that in business. When he had challenged the Americans fourteen years ago, for some reason, he had experienced an exquisite sensation: pleasure and sexual fulfilment. Failure would have meant resignation and humiliation. But he had not contemplated failure. It wasn’t an option. Winning was the only option, and he had won.

His mind had been changed by that experience, and he had known then that he could never be satisfied by a mundane, safe lifestyle again. Excitement and risk would need to occupy a large part of his life if he was to keep his adrenalin flowing.

In the years up to the new millennium, his business had prospered beyond his dreams, and his reputation in the city had been considerably enhanced. But privately, he felt his life lacked the challenge and the highs he had experienced during that early takeover battle. Sometimes, he unkindly laid the blame for his boredom on his wife Carole. He felt he should be getting some highs from sex with her, but it wasn’t happening. She was failing to satisfy his needs. Sex with Carole had become a predictable affair, and it didn’t give him the buzz he needed. Their relationship was becoming a burden to him, and Max knew it.

Then it had happened. He had experienced a life-changing event. One he could not have predicted.

It was autumn 2003 and he found himself driving down a sleazy backroad behind Kings Cross Station. Looking for the Clarence Hotel. His secretary had booked him in there for a one-night stopover after he had suffered a gruelling day being interrogated about the less than satisfactory half-year results of the company, by what he described as, ‘a bunch of jumped-up, nappy-clad, shitty city slickers. So-called analysts? Not old enough to know they’re fuckin’ born yet!’ He had rung his secretary, feeling dejected and lonely. ‘Suzy. It’s Max!’ he shouted unnecessarily into the car phone loudspeaker.

There was a pause. ‘Yes, Max?’ she soothingly replied. Max barked into the hands-free, and Suzy moved the receiver away from her ear, grabbing for a pencil and notepad with the other hand.

‘Bad day, Suze. Bad fuckin’ day. I’m knackered. Bunch of kids. Morons. Call themselves analysts, Suze? Couldn’t punch their way out of a paper bag!’

She paused. ‘I’m so sorry, Max.’ The softness of her voice reassured and relaxed him a little and he settled more comfortably behind the wheel of the Jag and waited for her to continue. She hesitated. ‘Do you want a room, or are you driving home?’

Max emitted a deep sigh, ‘I’m stopping over, Suze,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Ring Carole and put her in the picture will you, pet, and just book me into somewhere in Central London please? I don’t care where. Just get me a bed, Suzy. I need to crash out.’ He interrupted himself, ‘For God’s sake, not the ruddy Savoy!’ He remembered the half-year results and the need, to tighten our belts at all levels speech he had made to the analysts. ‘Just get me in somewhere I can get a drink and a shower, please, Suzy. I need to forget about those arseholes. Text me the where, OK?’ and he hung up abruptly.

Max was not known for unnecessary pleasantries when speaking to his girls, although he usually softened when talking to Suzy. She had been his PA and had stood by him for more years than either of them could remember. He had often wondered if they might have got things together if circumstances had been different, but the opportunity had never presented itself. He cursed at his unnecessary aggression towards the girl and sighed as he drove on anticipating the double bleep on his mobile that would indicate that once again Suzy had come to his rescue, bless her. He reminded himself to give her a fantastic bonus at Christmas and paused, if not more, and chuckled at the perverse thoughts in his mind.

Suzy Chambers, the obedient and efficient PA she told all her friends she was, while somewhat hurt by his brusque manner, clicked on my documents on the computer and accessed the hotel file, listing the establishments the company had accounts with in Central London and, more significantly, where they were not on the stop list for being overdue with their account! First on the list was … Clarence Hotel. Camley Street. WC1A 7LW. Humm? Well, it’s got two stars. It sounds OK and it’s definitely a Central London postcode, so it can’t be far from where Max is waiting right now. She hesitated. Her knowledge of Central London was based long distance as she had lived and worked in Leeds all her life and hardly knew her way out of town to the M62, let alone down to London. What she did know, however, was that Max would be impatient to get a reply. She dialled the Clarence.

The reservation was swiftly and efficiently dealt with, and she was able to text the details back to Max less than ten minutes after he had rung her. There was a satisfied smile on her face as her mobile indicated message delivered. Turning back to her computer, she pondered with a frown and a half-hearted shrug of her shoulders as to just where this Camley Street might be? Ah well, she sighed, it’ll give Max an opportunity to use that precious satnav system he is always boasting about. I expect he’ll find it OK. Contented with having sorted the boss out, she adjusted her skirt and settled herself at the computer screen, intent on the more important business of checking out her bids on eBay. She was desperate for a rather lovely Karen Millen pink crop top that she hoped to get for less than thirty pounds. ‘Bugger!’ she exclaimed, examining the screen in disbelief! ‘I’ve been outbid again!’ She set about increasing her best offer, aware that the auction would be ending at half past nine in the morning. ‘Huh!’ she grumbled with a sigh. ‘I suppose now I will have to come in early tomorrow to see who has been bidding overnight!’ She reached for her flexi timesheet to adjust her morning start time in advance, jumped up from her desk, and swung her handbag over her shoulder as she trounced out of the office in a huff.

Fate had decided to start a new game and Max was the main player, although he didn’t know it at the time.

Chapter 2

Fate makes a call

Max sat silently and lonely in his car, waiting dejectedly for the welcoming bleep, bleep from Suzy. He had been forced to park up until he got her call, or he would have been in danger of wandering around all over the place and getting totally lost. Fortune dictated that he ended up parked on a double yellow line, and it was pouring hard. Grimacing, he concluded that the rain was the only reason the traffic warden who had spotted him had not ventured out of the shopfront in which he was sheltering to give him some verbal and move him on. Go on. Try it, thought Max, looking in his rear-view mirror, hazard warning lights flashing. Just fuckin’ try it mate!

After the grilling Max had experienced in the city, he was ready for a good fight! The analysts had been a pain in the neck, and as usual, he had felt the full responsibility of his position as chief executive. Always explaining and justifying. Never completely satisfying their demands. Now he felt as he usually did after one of these visits––like a tightly wound spring with nowhere to unwind. He knew he needed a drink and a chance to relax and contemplated that he would have argued with the very devil himself if the infidel had dared to oppose him right now. That traffic warden can count his blessings that it’s raining, thought Max. ‘Just fuckin’ try it,’ he mumbled again, eyes glued to the rear-view mirror. The guy was watching him, pen poised, ready to pounce as soon as the rain eased off!

The clock nudged forward silently. Max drummed his fingers on the dashboard and started to think. Not a good idea at times like these. ‘So, where’s my loyal city-based financial advisor and fellow director now?’ he grumbled. ‘Is he sharing a relaxing drink with his chairman? No chance! Just buggered off! “Gotta dash, Max. Dinner with bankers,”’ Max mimicked, mentally cursing the man. Yes. No doubt, thought Max.

There had been just enough time for the usual, ‘Well done, Max; nice one, mate,’ and a pat on his shoulder as he waved down a passing black cab. ‘Gotta rush, boss. Would have liked to stop and buy you a drink, but you know what it’s like. Busy, busy!’

Max had stood there open-mouthed, watching as he gave instructions to the driver. ‘22 Carillon Street, please, driver; see you in Leeds for the next audit and board meeting, Max. Make a change to get out of town.’ Max had barely heard him over the din of the traffic and smiled insincerely. Then the bugger had gone.

‘Busy, busy,’ Max had repeated as his colleague’s taxi was swallowed up in a sea of black cabs.

‘Dinner with bankers, my arse,’ muttered Max. ‘More likely off for a cozy tete a tete with some fancy London lady!’ He couldn’t help but be envious of the guy. Max fumbled in his coat pocket for his car keys, shivered, and headed for the underground car park. ‘London bloody accountants. Worse than bleedin’ politicians. I must have been crazy to put the guy on the board. Last time I use a city firm to run my finances. Nothing wrong with the Leeds boys. I’ll get in Galland & Galbraith. Good crew.’ He shrugged his shoulders against the cold, sniffed, and descended into the bowels of Piccadilly.

Now, sitting in his Jag, tired and parked at the kerb in the rain, he reminded himself to consider some board changes at the first opportunity, and then see how Mr busy, busy liked it when he lost his job!Bleep, bleep. Max reached over and picked the phone up off its cradle and scrolled to NEW MESSAGES and read Clarence Hotel. Camley Street. WC1A 7LW. Reservation No. 006. Sleep well Max. Suzy x.

Max smiled and calmed down as he punched the details into his navigation system and set off through the traffic. He was blissfully unaware of exactly where he was, which pleased him. Sometimes, he experienced a strange pleasure from blindly following the instructions given by the computerised voice on his dashboard. No decisions to make. He could be its obedient servant. He was sure that if it said, ‘Turn round and give the finger to that traffic warden’, he would probably do it! It did also occur to him, that it was in fact a she, and that she had the sexiest voice he had ever heard, which probably largely accounted for his submissive attitude. She relaxed him, and he started to imagine what she looked like and if she would fancy him. ‘That’s better Max, now lie on top of my naked body and make love to me,’ he imagined her saying. Nice feeling, thought Max. Sexy bitch! Makes me feel randy.

Yes, randy, but also frustrated and far from home, he thought to himself. Here he was, on his own in London, imagining his accountant contemplating the possibility of having sex with some expensive piece of skirt and doubtless adding her substantial costs to his own fee. At the same time, here he was, a simple country boy from the nicer side of Leeds, off to find a friendly minibar in a backstreet hotel room, and if he got really lucky, some soft porn on a late-night TV channel. After such a difficult day, Max wanted more. This was not life as he wanted to live it. This was not what he had envisaged the struggle being for. This was not why he had beaten the Americans at their own game. This was just a void; a nothing.

‘Turn right in 200 metres,’ instructed the darling of the dashboard.

‘What?’ Max exclaimed. ‘Into a one-way street going the other way? You stupid bitch!’ he muttered as he cancelled his indicator. Jeepers, he thought to himself, these street layouts change by the day. He reminded himself to buy the updated software for the satnav and gunned the Jag past the junction, waving an apology in his rear-view mirror to the guy in the Saab behind. The driver responded by gesticulating with his middle finger and giving Max the benefit of his xenon headlights on full beam. Max made the next right turn that he could, glaring over his shoulder at the driver of the disappearing Saab.

Aware that he was close to his destination, Max started to look around for street names, but with the lack of adequate lighting, soon realised he was lost. The satnav was silent. He glared at it. ‘Yes? Well?’ he muttered.

It remained silent as if to say, ‘Don’t ask me, mate––I told you turn right and you took no notice. You’re on your own now, pal!’

And then suddenly, there she was, in his headlights.

Looking back, Max thought he had known at once that she was a tom. Standing shivering at the edge of the pavement. The long thin legs with no stockings, tottering on 5-inch white stilettos. The skintight micro skirt. The more than ample display of breast that only a working girl would want to expose on a cold November evening. He knew that he was looking at a tart. A lady of the night. A slag. A slapper. A whore. All the descriptions fitted. He also knew that she was exciting him and that he wanted her.

She had spotted him slowly crawling down the road and was already approaching the Jag before he had time to collect his senses. He was genuinely lost, and therefore, had a legitimate reason to talk to her. He also knew that he was feeling an excitement he had not felt for years. He drew up alongside her and enthusiastically lowered the nearside front window hesitatingly, unsure what to say next.

A northern businessman lost in London. What could be more innocent than that? thought Max. Who wouldn’t ask a stranger for directions to their hotel? At the same time, Max recognised that the excitement he was feeling was making an appearance in his nether region! He knew there was danger here. The unknown. God, this is making me feel good, thought Max. Better than I have felt for many years!

He realised he wanted her.

He wanted everything about her. He wanted to know that she was a slut who had probably been screwed several times that night already. He needed the rawness of her sex. He wanted to know that grubby hands had pawed her breasts that night and that he would get his chance as well, if he played his cards right. He wanted to know that there would be others like him, using her and abusing her, long after he had finished with her.

Max also realised that he needed and wanted the fear associated with the risk of being with this woman. If he got caught, it would be over. He would have thrown it all away. But it would have been his decision. Not an accountant’s. Not some kid of an analyst. Not corporate strategy. Not exorbitant bank charges or shareholder revolts. Just a stupid silly decision; a quickie with a tart. Max chuckled and knew that he would have to have sex with this woman. He could not stop himself. The process was underway. The game had begun!

This is destiny, thought Max, as he leant across the passenger seat, drawing in his breath, ready to speak to her.

But before he could utter a word, the intoxicating aroma of her cheap perfume drifted in through the open window, carried on the air with the exhaling smoke from her cigarette. It filled the Jag’s interior and accelerated his senses. Max groaned audibly. The bulge in his trousers was impossible to hide and he didn’t attempt to hide it. He sensed her eyes moving to his erection. ‘I don’t need to ask if you’re looking for business, do I love?’ she chuckled, putting him at ease, and coughing while she stubbed out her cigarette with one of her 5-inch stilettos, and reached for the door handle.

She jerked the passenger door open, and with a single movement, swung her legs deftly into the bucket seat. Max watched open-mouthed as she slammed the door shut and, instinctively, he gunned the car away from the kerb, squealing rubber, in his excitement and confusion, heart pounding. What on earth am I doing? he thought to himself. But then again, what the fuck and why not?

‘’Ere, steady on, love, I ain’t got me seat belt on yet,’ she said, buckling herself in. ‘Yer in a bit of a fuckin’ hurry, ain’t yer?’ He eyed her, said nothing, and sped away, impatient for the next move.

‘What d’yer fancy then, love?’ she said, settling herself into the comfort of the leather while simultaneously placing her hand intimately between his legs. ‘Nice,’ she said and giggled. God, my dick’s going to explode! thought Max.

‘Clarence Hotel,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Apparently, it’s near here. Do you know it? I’ve got a reservation,’ he stammered. It was almost as if he was continuing the question he had intended asking when he had stopped his Jag beside her a few moments earlier. Her hands felt gentle on his body as she continued to massage him. Max could barely comprehend that this was happening, but he could feel his heart pounding and he knew he was going to enjoy the night with this woman. Momentarily, he hesitated, aware that she might and probably did have some kind of disease or infection. This was no high-class totty. He shrugged it off. It was fate. It was meant to happen. He was going to enjoy the consequences, whatever they were.

‘Don’t be in such a bleedin’ ’urry,’ she said. ‘We ain’t even discussed terms yet, and them ’otels is expensive, love, and so’s me time. I can take yer to the Clarence if yer really want me to; cost yer more, or I can do yer here in the Jag fer fifty. What d’yer fancy?’

Max looked across at her and heard himself say, ‘How much for full sex for two hours at the hotel?’ He didn’t know what else to ask for. He had hardly prepared himself with a copy of that well-known book available from all good high street booksellers, entitled The street slang guide for negotiating sex with prostitutes. He had heard of half and half but didn’t know what that was, and now he had her in his reach; all he knew was that he wanted full sex with this woman. Raw sex. Dirty sex. And no way was he going to spoil it by doing ’er (if that was the right expression) in the car. He wanted to touch her, to explore her body, to feel the warmth of her skin against his.

‘Cor, you’re a one, ain’t yer?’ she said, moving closer to him and pushing her cold fingers inside his shirt, stretching them to play with one of his nipples. He shivered with delight. ‘Tell you what,’ she paused, ‘cos it’s you,’ suddenly becoming the seasoned professional that she was, ‘two ’undred love; protected. I’ll give yer two hours of me time in the ’otel for two ’undred, if you can keep it up that long,’ she chuckled. ‘Is it a deal?’

Suddenly, Max had visions of himself naked with this woman in a strange hotel room. Somebody he had only just met. Someone who was prepared to allow him to use her body, without them even knowing each other’s names, and with the only condition, that he use a condom. He visualised her rolling the condom onto his erection and groaned aloud. ‘You all right, mate?’ she asked. ‘You ain’t ’avin’ an ’art attack or nuffin’, are yer luv?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ he replied breathlessly while lowering his voice to calm himself. ‘It’s just that … well … I don’t … well, I don’t–’

‘Don’t what, luv?’ she enquired, looking up into his face. ‘Don’t be shy. Is it too much? Cos if so, I could–’

He stopped her mid-sentence. ‘No, it’s not the money, it’s just the …’ He paused. ‘How about I give you three hundred for the rest of the night?’ He hesitated again. ‘And no condoms!’ He surprised himself by his directness. ‘I just don’t do condoms.’ It was as if Max Petters had suddenly switched from quickie punter to CEO negotiator and, at the same time, he was negotiating to increase the danger and his personal risk.

‘Cor, you’re a dirty bastard,’ she replied. ‘You’re taking a bit of a chance ain’t yer? I’m not one of yer lardy da West End ’ookers yer know, love. Anyways, how’d I know if you’re clean?’ She looked at him as if in answer to her own question. ‘Fancy a bit of rough then, do yer? Is that it? Fer a change like, eh?’ she teased. ‘I’ll tell yer what. It’s a cold night and me bristols are fair shrinking from bobbin’ about since two o’clock this afternoon, so what about we say four ’undred for the night, luv, and you can take me any way yer like, for as long as you can keep going.’ She looked across at him. ‘And no condoms! What d’yer think of that? Now that’s a deal, darling, ain’t it?’ She looked him in the eyes and breathed a smoky chuckle-cough into his eyes. ‘What d’yer say, love?’

Max was shaking with excitement, wondering if he would wake up and find this was just an extremely enjoyable wet dream. But he knew it was real. He was going to have her and have her his way––whatever the consequences. He would make sure he got every penny’s worth of his four hundred quid. It did occur to him that it would have been useful having this girl around the business. She certainly knew how to negotiate hard!

‘Deal,’ he heard himself say. ‘Now, where’s this hotel?’ and he turned his attention back to the road as best he could.

‘Turn right in 200 metres,’ said the dashboard, coming back to life.

‘Coo,’ said Max’s new companion. ‘That’s smart, init?’ Max smiled. Maybe she had been listening all the time!

As they pulled into the hotel’s underground car park, Max started to feel uncertain of himself, and a little self-conscious. This was new territory. What do we do now? he thought pensively. It was not exactly as if a Mrs Petters was expected, was it? Where do we go from here? Shrugging off his doubts, he parked discreetly in a dark corner space and they both got out. He looked for the sign to the hotel reception while simultaneously reaching into the boot and pulling out the overnight bag that he always had with him for emergencies.

‘Fuck me, that’s what I call being prepared!’ he heard her say. Her voice seemed to echo and amplify in the concrete stillness, and he looked around half expecting to find one of his best friends standing there looking at him open-mouthed.

‘Shuush!’ he said, ‘not so loud, someone might hear you.’

She chuckled and moved up close to him so he could smell her as she squeezed his balls in her hand. ‘So fucking what, lover. Oh, and don’t forget. Cash first if that’s OK with you,’ she whispered, tightening her grip playfully.

They took the lift to the reception level and Max tentatively approached the counter. ‘Good evening, sir, madam?’ inquired the reception clerk insincerely. ‘How can I help?’

Max felt the man inquisitively eying them up and down. ‘Mr Pet … and Mrs,’ he hurriedly added, then hesitated before giving his surname, ‘Petters. That’s with two t’s.’ The clerk had waited patiently, tapping his pencil on the counter and resting his chin on his hand, waiting for him to continue. ‘Petters,’ he repeated, staring confidently at the clerk. ‘That’s Petters with two t’s. I’m expected, my secretary phoned through, I have a reservation. Sorry, I’m …’ he stuttered a hesitation. ‘We’re late, but I …’ He hesitated again. ‘We got lost.’ Suddenly, Max thought the reception hall felt very warm.

The receptionist smiled knowingly at him. ‘Humm, yes? Got lost. So I can see, sir,’ he said, smirking and glancing over at Max’s companion while at the same time pushing the registration book round to face him. ‘Can you fill in your address, pleeese, sir?’ he said, putting on a distinctly gay accent, which Max wondered might be for his benefit or perhaps was just force of habit in his occupation.

Perhaps he is, thought Max. So what!

Still the same tone. ‘You can do it on the table over there, sir, if you like.’ Max looked at him wondering if there was a double meaning to the statement and decided not to challenge him. His condescending way seemed to confirm Max’s suspicions that this guy had a pretty good idea of what was going on here. It was as if he was saying, ‘off you go over there, sir, and see if you can think of an address that will not be instantly recognizable as being false––wanker!’ Grabbing the book, he walked across to the table, thankful to not have to maintain eye contact with this guy for a few moments.

He knows, thought Max as he made the decision to write his real address into the book, at the same time failing to remember to record the presence of Mrs Petters in his details. Max smiled and muttered, ‘Game on mate!’

‘’Ello, ’Arry,’ whispered Max’s companion, leaning across the counter as Max busied himself with the register out of earshot.

’Ello, Bren,’ he whispered back. ‘Usual arrangement, love?’

‘No!’ she giggled. ‘Me and me …’ she hesitated, ‘me ’usband,’ and she winked and nodded in Max’s direction, where he was still busily writing, ‘is ’ere fer the night!’ and she winked again.

‘Oh, very good, Mrs Petters,’ said Harry with a smirk. ‘And would you and,’ he paused, nodding in Max’s direction, ‘yer ’usband like anything in yer room?’ She looked across at Max, whose erection had all but disappeared now as a consequence of this somewhat embarrassing interlude. He was sure that this tart knew the reception clerk, but he couldn’t quite hear their conversation. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure how he was stopping himself from just making a mad dash back down the stairs to the car park and out of the situation altogether.

‘Like anything?’ she repeated, nodding at Max.

Max returned with the book. ‘Would you like anything in your room, sir?’ the clerk enquired.

‘Like what?’ asked Max.

‘Like champagne perhaps, sir? For the little lady?’ the clerk replied, smirking. ‘It’s quite usual, sir,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘In these circumstances, sir.’

OK, thought Max. So he knows her. It occurred to him that, therefore, he would not have been the first to bring this particular little scrubber into this particularly seedy hotel, so no need now for any further pretence. The realization eased his tension and he replied confidently, ‘Yes––champagne would be very nice. Perhaps you could bring it up straight away. We wouldn’t want to be disturbed later, would we? OK?’ Two can play at this game, mate, thought Max, as he turned to face his wife. ‘Shall we go up, darling?’ he said as he headed for the lift. ‘Oh, and mind yourself on those heels, love.’ He was starting to enjoy himself.

In the room, Max steadied his thoughts. He and Brenda made their introductions as she sipped a glass of overpriced cheap champagne, brought to the room courtesy of ’Arry, and for which Bren had suggested a £20 tip. ‘It’s for ’Arry. Kinda for confidentiality, Max,’ was the way she put it, smiling at him. ‘Fer discretion and confidentiality. Like you was never ’ere love. Know what I mean?’

Ok, thought Max, so perhaps this game does have some rules.Play by the rules and you can enjoy yourself. Break the rules and who knows what damaging information might come unsuspected through your letter box addressed to your wife! Max always thought it was better to wad some cash to someone, rather than to run the risk of them, how shall we say, taking offence. He knew where he stood with money and he carried plenty, for just such an occasion. ‘Here you go, Harry, have one on me, mate,’ he said, handing him a crisp £50 note. ‘And thanks for the service.’ This time it was Max who winked! Now he felt comfortable.

‘Well,’ she said, making herself comfortable on the bed as Harry left the room with a big grin on his face and returning Max’s wink while discreetly slipping the do not disturb sign on the outside of the door handle, ‘I gotta say, Max, I didn’t have you down as an ’arf decent punter when I clapped eyes on yer. And to think you actually booked a room and ’ave the nerve to walk in ’ere wiv me, bold as brass. That takes some doin’, love. I fuckin’ want you now; almost as much as I know you want me!’ Slowly, she unbuttoned her blouse revealing a quarter cup bra, fully exposing her nipples. ‘D’yer like ’em, Max?’

Max noticed that her nipples stood out further than any he had seen in his forty-seven years of life. They were beautiful and he longed to become more acquainted with them and the rest of her body. ‘It’s just the money now, love,’ she said, pointing her assets forward towards him while arching her back. Stretching out her open palm, she waited for the payment and giggled. It was as if this little ritual was his sample of pleasures to come. ‘Then we can start sorting out that bulge in yer trousers. I hope you’re going to be as good as I think you are, Max boy!’ She wiggled her tits at him with what seemed like genuine enthusiasm. ‘This is going to be a pleasure, Max.’ And with that, she toppled tipsily backwards onto the bed as Max hastily fumbled to peel off the notes from inside his wallet, anxious to join her.

That had been four years ago, mused Max, as he circulated his now familiar and favourite streets. It had certainly been a night to remember. Not only for the multiple orgasms Brenda herself had achieved, or he thought she had achieved, but for the way he had felt that his balls had been pumped dry by the time they had collapsed into each other’s arms and finally fallen asleep exhausted. He had been a very contented man.

Chapter 3

Consequences

Brenda had left him about 6.30 a.m., taking an extra £50 from his wallet as he slept, and leaving a scribbled note which just said I took the fifty quid – for the extras – you naughty boy! Max could afford it and smiled at the memory of the extras. The intoxicating smell of her perfume lingered on the bed, and he remembered the thrill of taking her. Eventually, he realised he had to leave. But he was spellbound. This was some kind of a new dawn for him. This was more than just another day in his life. He pulled himself to his senses and rang the office. ‘Suzy, that you?’

‘Hi Max, sleep well?’ she enquired rhetorically.

‘Yes,’ and he paused. ‘Yes, the hotel was fine, Suzy, but right on top of Kings Cross Station. Clang, shunt, clang, all night long, Suze. And no sleep. I’m absolutely knackered. I’m just going to drive home and get to bed for some shut-eye. Won’t be in later, so expect me tomorrow.’

‘OK, Max, shall I––?’

He interrupted her as if she had not been speaking. She hated it when he did that and sighed indignantly. ‘Oh! And Suze! For heaven’s sake don’t book anyone else in here in future. Take the Clarence off the list, please. I wouldn’t want anyone else having the same experience I had last night, OK?’

He replaced the receiver before she could make a comment and sat on the edge of the bed with a grin on his face. Suzy stared at the end of the telephone as if it was an alien that had barked at her in a foreign tongue and shrugged her shoulders. The Karen Millen was now up to £55 and hers was the winning bid with 2 hours to go before the end of the auction. At least I won’t have to worry about Max looking over my shoulder today, she thought confidently, as she readjusted herself to a more comfortable position in her executive secretarial seat––with lumber support. ‘Now, where was I?’ she mumbled to herself, twiddling her mouse around the screen and clicking back onto Facebook.

‘Well, that’s secured that,’ chuckled Max aloud. ‘Can’t have half the management team turning up unannounced when I might be here with one of my ladies now, can I?’ After the pleasures of last night, Max had resolved that this was going to happen many more times. It was just too good not to do on a regular basis. Think of all that lovely ‘totty’ out there, he thought to himself as he combed his hair in the mirror. And all they want is a few quid to let me play with them to my heart’s content! ‘Think what you’ve been missing, Maxie boy,’ he said to his reflection, carefully covering up his bald patch, which was definitely becoming more pronounced. He waved his comb at his image as he continued. ‘We’ve discovered a feast here, matey, and you and I are gonna make pigs of ourselves! Comprendes? Now get dressed. We’ve got plans to make and things to arrange!’

Nonchalantly, he looked down at his member, with a growing sense of excitement at the months and years ahead of him. Turning his attention to his old friend, he said, ‘And you, my boy, are going to have the time of your life. So just keep doing what you know we both do best, and we will have one hell of a good time!’ With that he caressed himself affectionately and slipped on his boxer shorts. Even though he had showered, Max was pleasantly surprised to find he could still feel the silkiness on his skin, courtesy of Brenda’s loving. Pausing, nodding his head while smiling, he said aloud, ‘I can see many more essential meetings in London in the future, my boy. Hummm? Particularly meetings with that nonce of an accountant!’ He chuckled as he continued to dress. Being forty-seven had never felt this good and the difference was only four hundred quid, thought Max––Oh! And fifty quid for the ‘extras’. Worth every penny.Today was going to be a good day. He knew there would be no going back for him now.

As it happened, Brenda’s extras had turned out to be a nasty dose of crabs, and a painful and embarrassing visit to a quiet little clinic in Hampshire while ostensibly on an Advanced Negotiation Skills course. Max was developing a newfound sense of humour and particularly liked the double meaning of the course he had invented, in anticipation of contemplating street negotiations in the future. However, he was less impressed with the need to sleep in the spare room for several weeks, explaining to Carole that he was having difficulty sleeping, felt restless, and didn’t want to disturb her. Well, at least, thought Max, that was true. At least not until he got the ‘all clear’ and could resume ‘domestic’ relations with Carole. She was blissfully unaware that during their sex sessions, his mind was many miles away, with some dirty little London tart, having what he called a payfull evening. Carole was fulfilling a need for Max, in a totally passive sense. Although unaware of his comings and goings, she had been prompted to think that their sex had seemed to have reached a more exciting level since he had returned from London having disclosed the half-year results. She didn’t quite understand why that should be given that the results had not been particularly good.

Looking back, Max was happy with the way things were. He still had Carole, for convenience, and he still had the memory of Brenda and that first night. Other girls had come and gone since then, although Max concluded that even with the dose, sex with Brenda had been worth it, and he wished he had seen her again. He would have happily taken the risk of more extras to be with her again. But, strangely, considering these girls worked regular streets, he could not remember seeing her since, despite his regular visits to her manor. (Note: Manor is Max’s think speak terminology. He used it to describe to himself what he imagined might be the expression for a particular area frequented by a particular type of lady of the night. It has to be said that he was relying on repeats of some old TV police dramas for his information, which apparently have no substance in the daily talk on the streets. It just gave him pleasure to think about using words that he associated with the new experience he was enjoying.)

Time had taught Max to be a little more selective in his choice of ladies. Apart from anything else, the longer the chase, the more his heartbeat rose to the occasion, along with his manhood. Sometimes, he felt that he just wanted to keep asking the question, ‘Are you looking for business, love?’ risking the possibility of a police pick up, and not even needing to go further.

Max was aware that his chances of remaining undetected reduced with each adventure. This heightened risk increased his sexual enjoyment of the occasion. He knew that one day he would have a problem with either the police, or with a serious disease, or both, but he felt compelled to carry on. He felt drawn back towards the streets by the power of the sexual excitement. He was as powerless to resist as a moth drawn to a light.

With increasing confidence, he found that his astuteness and awareness of the power of money, and the fact that it could buy anything, everything, and anybody, in London or everywhere else for that matter, meant that he could pick and choose his new lady friends, and indulge his wildest fantasies while in their company. He became oblivious to their thoughts and needs. Their wishes, fears, and prejudices were not his problem. These girls were simply his playthings.

And in time, he found that he preferred them young.