tagExhibitionist & VoyeurProfessional Excellence Ch. 07

Professional Excellence Ch. 07

byTouch_type©

Monica first appeared momentarily in Entertaining at Large Chapter XV and then had a starring role in the next one. That's how this all started. Be worth reading if you want to be fully in the picture, Comments, suggestions and support are always appreciated.

It had been a quiet evening at the Hideaway bar and it looked like I was going to have to go home without having picked up a client. That would make it a first since I took up prostitution. There was one rather plump gentleman of about fifty who was interested. But he had been interested for the past ninety minutes or so and showed no sign of doing anything about it. He perched on a stool at the other end of the bar from where I was sitting and had simply stared across at me the whole time with a broad smile.

I was in my usual uniform, low-cut cocktails dress - tonight's was new and a rather fetching green, seamed black stocking and razor-sharp stilettos which matched the dress. He was obviously taken with my long legs and 35DD breasts. When I raised my glass to him as our eyes met after about an hour, he returned the toast, but remained resolutely where he was. Not that I minded him taking advantage of the free advertising. I was on the game for fun as much as profit.

'It's the half-term.'

Michael, the least personable barman in the world, had an explanation.

'Lots of those with kids are not working. And those what are don't want to be hanging around a hotel where the bulk of the guests are using family-break vouchers from the posh papers.'

I sipped my Chardonnay wondering whether to have another or call it a night and go home. It was true that the few customers using the bar were different; couples who well might have been taking a break for half-an-hour in the hope the kids would drop off to sleep made up most of them.

'That's the longest speech I've ever heard you make, Michael.'

The grimace he gave me was in fact his sweetest smile. I twisted on the stool to face him again and tapped the deck of cards which lay on the bar between us. He was doing card and coin tricks. He often did when the place was slow and I was his favourite stooge. Over the months since I'd first met him, he'd become seriously good. Tonight, as well as picking coins from behind my ears or hairdo as usual, he'd somehow transferred my earrings to the till twice without me noticing and a card I'd selected at random had ended up tucked into the top of my stocking despite there being a few feet of solid wooden furniture between us.

He'd entertained customers by disappearing their money from the bar top and then tipping the exact change out of one of his sleeves into an empty glass without going to the till. Both me, and a guy he thought might be a possible client for me, were speechless when the fiver he needed after breaking a twenty was found folded in my cleavage. The man had some explaining to do to his wife when she came in just as he was retrieving it. Divorce was avoided when Michael handed the woman her watch and necklace and encouraged her husband to discover the free Valentine's Day drinks voucher which had somehow got into the top pocket of his jacket. They left laughing and vowing to return to redeem it next year.

He ran through a rapid series of moves where he kept pulling the four of spades out of various places in the pack despite shuffles and at one point making me do it when I cut the pack for him. I laughed and softly clapped my hands together in appreciation before draining my glass and leaning over to speak to him more confidentially. The fact that I knew the hem of my dress would rise just enough to give my admirer just the merest glimpse of thigh was a side-benefit. I had decided to go home and wanted to leave him with an intangible sense of regret. But first, Michael and I had protocols to go through without which no evening would be complete.

'Looks like it has to be the blow job, Michael, I haven't made any money at all.'

I gave him a twenty pound tip for every man I picked up in the bar. It had started as a way of expressing appreciation for him not informing management what I was up to, and for discreetly promoting my services to weary travellers seeking company when they were a long way from home. By now, I was pretty sure from the brief details of his life he had shared, that I was currently his only friend. He had taken to trying to refuse the money; he assumed that like most hookers he had met I was supporting children, or a vicious pimp or a significant drug habit. He was concerned for my welfare.

The whole fellatio thing was a side-issue. I had started teasing him about sucking him off instead of giving him the money the second time I'd been in the bar. He had swept up the note and ignored my suggestion. It had developed into something of a challenge. I always offered, he always declined. With the growth in his reluctance to take my money, I thought he might be thawing about accepting a blow job. Michael was impossible to read, though. His sour public persona was only a little less frosty with me.

'No work, no charge.'

He turned his back on me and began rearranging the spirits shelf. He twisted each bottle fractionally. He would no doubt argue that it made it clearer what was in stock for customers. I knew he was making-work to avoid any further discussion. I smiled.

'You're thawing, Michael. You're definitely thawing. Any day now, I know you're going to say yes and make all my dreams come true.'

I was about to ease myself off the stool and bid him goodnight when I felt a soft, warm hand in the small of my back. It was half on my dress and half on my bare skin.

'I wonder if I may buy you a drink? I have a proposition for you.'

'I was just about to go. But seeing as it is you. I'll have a white wine, please.'

It was the plump man from the other end of the bar and while I was interested that he had at last decided to act, I wanted to let him know I wouldn't be hanging around all night to celebrate. I watched as he made the effort to haul himself into the stool next to mine. The Royal has those old upholstered ones with what look like small armchairs at the top of long mahogany spindles. He squeezed himself in with some difficulty. He smiled at me when he touched base and had made himself comfortable.

'I really must get down to starting that diet.'

I reached out and briefly patted his stomach.

'I don't know, some of us like a man with a bit of meat on him.'

'You're too kind, my dear.'

He was simpering and going pink despite his probably forty-five years. The weight had thrown me off half-a-decade. He had the bright shiny complexion which the former prime minister David Cameron made his own. I'd become something of an expert on men's clothing over the past few months: his were definitely tailored. They covered his bulk comfortably without appearing stretched. He grinned at me while Michael placed a fresh glass on a small paper mat in front of me.

'Will sir be having another?'

'Be impolite not to, old chap. When I said you, I meant both of you, by the way. So, yes, another of your excellent martinis, if you'd be so kind.'

I watched the two if them interact. Michael's politeness was of the bare minimum required for him to keep his job and/or avoid getting into fist fights with customers he didn't think he could pummel. When he tried to be nice you could see the strain on his face. The newcomer's patrician charm, on the other hand, was schooled to the point of being ingrained. I could only imagine the veneer cracking in the most extreme of circumstances: a chap wearing brown shoes wanting to marry his sister, for instance.

The compliment of his martini wrong-footed Michael momentarily. I watched him as he realised he was being invited to drink with us and spotted an expression of deep fear cross his face. The jovial customer seemed oblivious to his discomfort. I just leaned back to enjoy whatever was coming next. Michael seemed to take longer than usual preparing and presenting the drink and found some imaginary marks on the bar which needed immediate attention as he played for time. The large man took an experimental sip, smacked his lips and beamed across the bar.

'Wonderful, truly excellent. Makes a fellow wonder what you're doing in a place like this. You could get a berth at any of the top watering holes in London tomorrow. Like that.'

He clicked his fingers making one of the loudest smacks I had ever heard. He turned his head between the two of us smiling, then turned full-beam on Michael once again.

'Fill your glass, old man, fill your glass. I've been watching you all evening. I've a proposition to put to the pair of you which I hope and expect you'll find most interesting.'

Michael had reluctantly been preparing to pour himself a single Irish whiskey. As the guest continued to speak, he flipped the measure to make it a double and took a swig before turning back to us. He was looking at me, almost pleading for me to intervene and make this nightmare stop.

'Sounds intriguing. What do you have in mind?'

I had no idea what was coming next. One thing was sure, however, if he was about to propose a threesome he could forget it. I might be willing to entertain the idea, but Michael would faint clean away. The fat man suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead. I winced at the sound of the impact, but it didn't seem to affect his demeanour at all.

'Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. What must you think of my manners? Silly Billy, always doing it. Shall have to give myself a good ticking off later.'

He gave us a quick glance as if seeking reassurance that his faux pas would be overlooked. I beamed, willing him to get on with it; Michael looked ready to bolt. The soon-to-be identified stranger was patting his jacket and checking his inside pocket.

'Got a card here somewhere. Always mislaying them. No matter, no matter.'

He looked up triumphantly.

'I'm Montgomery Plimpton. Pals call me Monty. I hope you will too.'

He held out a pudgy hand which I took in my fingers and shook gently. The type of ladies Monty normally mixed with would do that. Michael gave him a curt nod.

'I'm Monique and this is Michael.'

'Delighted, delighted. An absolute pleasure. Been here on business for the day. Decided to stay over for the night. Glad I did.'

He looked at us as if that provided a full explanation for his interruption. Now we were both confused. I just kept smiling; Michael poured himself another drink.

'Sorry. Can see it in your eyes. No idea what I'm on about. Happens all the time. If nanny was here it'd be a smacked bottom before bed. To the point.'

I raised an eyebrow. Was it BDSM he was after? But then where did Michael fit in?

'Point is, I was elected president of the lodge this year. Great honour.'

He named the same lodge that Howard was a member of. His branch was in a city about a hundred miles away.

'It is indeed. Congratulations.'

'Thank you, thank you. Nice of you to say so. Buggins turn really. I think most of the chaps would have preferred someone younger. More up-to-date, y'know.'

'You were elected president?'

I realised that part of the problem stemmed from Michael's martinis. I caught his eye and made a surreptitious drinking motion with my wrist. He thought for a moment and held up four fingers. I changed my mind. A big part of the problem was Michael's martinis. I'd had a couple before myself. One was enough to get me smiling, slurring drunk. Two, and I was metaphorically swinging my knickers in the air and ready to fuck anyone. Fortunately, I was out with the girls that night and they got me into a taxi before too much damage was done to my reputation. By my reckoning, Montgomery might not have long to live. He was still smiling and trying to work out what he was going to say next. Michael picked up the internal phone and ordered a large pot of coffee and two cups from the all-night coffee bar.

'What is it you wanted from us, exactly?'

'Precisely. That's it. Entertainment.'

In fits and starts he told us that, as part of his duties, he was responsible for organising his lodge's annual charity dinner. I knew what that meant.

'Gentlemen only?'

'Why yes.'

'Strippers and a blue comedian? Sorry Monty, but I'm more what you might call a hands-on entertainer.'

'Hands on?'

He looked confused. I stroked his stomach again, taking longer this time and slowly massaging his flesh with my finger tips as I slid lower before drawing a slow circle around his belt buckle with just my forefinger then folding my hands together on my lap. I was still not sure where he thought Michael fitted into the scenario. We watched as the message I was trying to convey reached his brain and was processed. He looked at me again with fresh eyes.

'Got you. Very nice. Very nice indeed. You must be very successful. But that's not it. No. I wanted something new.'

Now Michael looked really worried. Monty smiled to reassure him. He didn't look reassured.

'I was most intrigued by your sleight of hand. Your tricks. Most entertaining.'

Michael was unmoved. I was mystified. Monty took another deep breath.

'Normally, it is as you say, Monique. Two exotic dancers and a compère-cum-comedian, a master of ceremonies, if you will. He runs the whole evening, announces the charity raffle and so on. Everybody gets drunk, the hotel and local taxi companies make a fortune and that's it.'

He reached for his glass and took another swig. The effort of all that coherent speech had obviously taken a toll. He explained that he had initially proposed they do away with the strippers altogether. Apparently, the committee came as close to revolution as a business-oriented body ever could. There was agreement, however, that they should update the comedy.

'Misogyny. Not really on in this day and age is it? Mother-in-law and dumb blonde jokes. We looked around and someone suggested this rather good woman comedian - it was one of the wives actually.'

I was surprised, but still a little lost as to where he thought we would fit in. I rested my hand on his knee. I thought it might help him keep focussed. It worked. Monty explained that the new comedian was only willing to do a thirty minute stand-up set. They had no one to introduce the other acts. I smiled at his reluctance to dwell at all on what they would be doing. I tapped him on the knee.

'I'm still not clear as to what you want us to do about that?'

I had a fleeting vision of Michael dressed in a tux exaggerating the charms of a bored local girl out to make a few bob. I could only do it by replacing his face with that of someone who could smiled. Monty waved his hands around and frowned. This was clearly part of some internal dialogue as he tried to cut out the process by which he'd come to the conclusion and cut straight to the chase.

'Long story short.'

'Let's hope so.'

Michael had recovered the power of speech. I was just pleased it didn't include any obscenities.

'We decided we needed some at-table entertainment. Know a fellow who does origami. Wonder with his fingers. Chap in a neighbouring lodge reads minds. Said he'd be delighted. Great party trick.'

'So you want Michael to stand at tables and do magic to keep your boys amused between courses? That it?'

All three of us laughed. Michael at the ridiculousness and complete impossibility of the idea; Monty, I think, because he was at least making himself clear at last; and me with relief that at last I had got to the bottom of the conundrum of his presence.

'Yes. And no...'

'He'll do it. I'm still not clear why you needed to talk to me as well, but Michael will be there.'

There was an immediate reaction. Michael went white and began reciting reasons why he couldn't do it.

'I have to work.'

'You were complaining not two hours ago that the management here are pressuring you to take accrued holidays before the run-up to Xmas starts.'

''I can't get there.'

'There're these things called trains, you know? And if all else fails, I'll drive you myself.'

'I'll never make it back for my shift the next day.'

'It's in England, not Australia.'

'Who's going to feed my fish?'

'Now you're just being ridiculous.'

He paused to regroup and try and come up with more excuses. Monty used the gap to further complicate matters.

'Actually, I was thinking that as well as the magic you two could act as the, shall we say, ringmasters of the whole evening?'

'Us?'

'Yes. I think you'd be marvellous. I've watched you bantering together. Your have an admirable rapport.'

'Performing?'

'Nothing more than you've been doing all evening really. Just a few announcements to jolly the whole evening along.'

Now we all laughed again. Of course, I told myself, the whole thing was nonsense. The idea that I could stand up in front of a roomful of men introducing strippers. I shook my head. Michael was laughing in a more guarded way if such a thing is possible. He was eyeing me closely trying to judge whether I was joining him in dismissing the whole notion, or was just brewing some new horror to spring on him.

'I couldn't, Monty.'

'Of course you could.'

Michael groaned.

'Men's eyes are drawn to you. You'd have us eating out of your hand.'

His eyes twinkled.

'Or any other part of your anatomy, if you'd prefer.'

The flattery was working. I had to admit that I was warming to the idea. It was time to deal with the practicalities.

'There's at least one snag. I'll have to get permission from my manager.'

'Is he likely to object? I would have thought not. You'll be paid for your attendance.'

Monty lowered his voice and leaned closer.

'And there would, of course, be plenty of opportunity to earn fees afterwards should you wish to. Many of the members will be staying at the hotel. An evening of risqué humour and exotic dancers.'

He sat back tapping the side of his nose leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken. The prospect of the horny horde had its pros and cons. It would be lucrative, certainly, and I remembered the febrile state of Howard and David after their own lodge's event. Their excitement was certainly infectious. But. And it was a big but, I also remembered the effort I had to put in to coaxing an erection out of David. It could be very hard work.

'Give your chap a call, why don't you? Invite him to attend if that would ease your acceptance.'

He could tell I was wavering. And so, for that matter, could Michael. He was looking at my phone as it lay beside my glass on the bar like a condemned man hoping for a last-minute reprieve. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. This was a deeper issue than either of them thought. I played for time while I decided what to do. I was momentarily distracted by Michael's whine.

'Don't I have any say in this?'

'Nope. You're doing it. I suppose I'd better come along to chaperone. Let's see if I can make it.'

I had talked myself into it. At least that was clear. That just left the small issue of Howard's permission. I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to agree or not. But that would settle things one way or another. I hopped off the bar stool and moved a discrete distance away.

Monique's arrival in our marriage had certainly spiced things up. We now had sex regularly after the ten-year hiatus. He had, I told myself, had few qualms about pimping Monique out to David. But would he agree to a night away at a 'gentleman's evening'? The name itself left everything to the more lurid side of the imagination.

I had, in fact, been thinking of dropping my evenings at the Royal. My initial reason for going there - regular sex - had faded a little. I was entertaining David every week, and Nigel's friends were always accommodating. I doubted that Howard any longer believed I was attending an evening class once a week. He probably didn't know where I was going, but he must have guessed there was somewhere. The fact I continued to leave home regularly even when the college was on vacation was itself a dead give away.

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