Ten a Penny Tart

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!