“You’ll be fine, Eloise. I’m sure you’re ready.”
Eloise swallowed, her mouth cardboard-dry. She was far from sure, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “Yes. No problem.”
“You’ve been working on the preparation for months – you know the deal inside out.”
“I do.” Prep was one thing: actually *being* there, at the negotiating table, was something else entirely. It felt such a huge leap, and even if that had to happen sometime, right now a large part of Eloise was crying out for that moment to be delayed.
“Neil will be there too, if he doesn’t get called away on the Markron thing.”
“Yes.”
“The bottom line is, we need ten percent off the asking price. If we get fifteen, you’ve done a brilliant job. Twenty – we’ll probably make you a partner!” Simon winked at her.
Twenty?! Eloise smiled weakly.
“Ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.” Eloise *really* didn’t think she was, but taking a deep breath she picked up the pile of papers and left her office.
+++
The two Russians stood up from behind the large glass table as Eloise walked into the room. Neil was already there, looking tired and irritated.
She looked the opposition up and down. The one on the left was in his mid-thirties, nice looking, in a simple but expensive black suit – a typical nouveau Moscow businessman. The younger one on the right, with his cropped hair and tightly fitting electric blue suit, looked like a nightclub doorman – that was the other type of typical nouveau Moscow businessman.
Neil introduced Eloise, and she felt the two Russians appraising her. The younger one – Dmitry – didn’t even bother to disguise the fact that his eyes were evaluating her sexually, rather than as a businesswoman. At least the older one – Mikhail – seemed a little more professional.
“Zdrastvutye,” Mikhail said, putting his hand out across the table.
Eloise took his hand, looking confused, but remained silent.
“Ochen preeatna,” he continued.
Eloise looked to Neil. “I’m sorry, Neil, are you conducting the negotiations in Russian?”
“No.” He looked exhausted, but raised his eyebrows as if to say: “they’re probably just working you out.”
“Hello,” she said, as firmly as she could manage. “Pleased to meet you.”
Mikhail turned to Dmitry, and, in Russian, asked him: “do you think she speaks Russian?”
Dmitry stared at Eloise’s breasts. “Dumb English bitch,” he replied, “probably not. Small tits, but nice ones. Might be pretty if she made an effort, but I reckon she’s a frigid un-fucked English thorn, not a rose.”
Eloise had studied Russian at Cambridge, and understood every word. She’d also paid off her tuition fees – and coincidentally bought the nice convertible parked outside her flat – by spending much of her spare time playing, and winning, poker matches. So she found it remarkably easy to sit there and listen to this clown denigrate her in the filthiest way, without anything registering on her face.
“Shut up, Dmitry,” Mikhail hissed. “Doesn’t matter if she understands. Try to be professional and show some respect, okay?” Dmitry just grunted, the ape.
Everyone sat down, and the negotiations resumed. It was immediately clear to Eloise that they were getting nowhere; neither side was willing or able to look for potential compromises, and the three men were sparring in a way that was more about proving who had the biggest ego than securing a worthwhile result. It was a merciful release when, after about half an hour, Neil’s phone buzzed.
“Shit,” he sighed, although Eloise suspected he was delighted to get out, “Markron just hit a snag. Okay if I leave you guys in Eloise’s capable hands?” Before anyone had a chance to react he had gathered his papers and headed out of the door.
Dmitry leaned into Mikhail and whispered loudly into Mikhail’s ear: “just you, me, and the frigid English cow. Does she think she looks pretty with her hair tied back like that? You wouldn’t want to fuck her looking at that. Maybe put her on her front, and then you could put it up her arse too. That’d make the frigid bitch move. I tell you what, she’s probably never had it up there, you could give her two per cent off the price if she lets you arse-fuck her.” Eloise could see Mikhail’s face reddening as he listened to Dmitry’s obscenities, but she sat there calmly, as if Dmitry was talking about the weather.
“Are we ready to continue?” Eloise asked sweetly.
Mikhail nodded, but at that point Dmitry’s phone rang. Looking at the number, he walked to the corner of the room before answering. He tried to whisper, but as the conversation continued and he became more agitated, his voice rose: Eloise was able to hear and understand every precious word.
“What do you mean they’ve raided the Torplan office?” Dmitry asked the caller. “Shit, we’ll never get it open now. Of course we’re fucked! I *am* calm! Yes, we’re in their office now. No, nothing’s signed yet. No, they don’t know a thing. Just some young bright-eyed stupid bitch, she hasn’t got a clue. Wait, wait, what’s the Mardin Escort Torplan operation worth? Thirty percent? No, of course we don’t need to give that away. Leave it to me, I’m looking forward to fucking the bitch over.” He actually winked at the phone.
Eloise was, once again, calling on all of her poker experience to remain blank, but this time it was because she was sitting on the royallest of all flushes. Adrenalin surged through her whole body, the most extraordinary sensation, like that time she’d beaten that creep from Peterhouse to win five hundred pounds, only magnified many, many times over.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“It’s all fine,” said Dmitry, sitting down again beside Mikhail. This time there was sweat on his forehead. He was a two-bit hustler, hopeless.
“Okay,” Eloise continued, feeling – for the first time in a very long time – utterly, totally confident. “Only I’m a little worried about the professionalism of the organisation you’re asking us to invest in. Obviously I’m concerned about the raid on Torplan” – she remained expressionless as she laid her ten, jack and queen on the table – “but actually the bigger problem is that one of your senior MDs makes such elementary mistakes.” There was the king and the ace. She smiled innocently at Dmitry, but her eyes glowed with self-confidence, transforming her appearance in the eyes of the two dumbfounded men opposite. “How’s that for getting fucked up the arse like you’ve never been fucked before?”
+++
Walking into the American Bar at the Savoy Hotel three hours later, Eloise was still floating on air. The past few years hadn’t been easy, personally and professionally, and in all sorts of ways her confidence had been eroding. She’d retreated into a buttoned-up mousey professionalism, keeping the world at arm’s length in a desperate and doomed attempt to shore up her self-worth. When once she’d dressed thoughtfully, carefully maintaining her appearance, more recently she’d almost given up, and her “hair-style” was nothing more than the severe ponytail that Dmitry had commented on so disparagingly.
Not now. Canary Wharf was a sterile place to work, but the West End was a thirty-minute tube away, and there Eloise had found everything she needed. Her credit card had taken a terrible hammering: in the first shop she’d bought an £800 jacket and skirt combination in charcoal grey; in the next a white silk blouse for £280; after that was a £170 bra and knicker combination, white with lace along the edges, the cups of the bra and the gusset of the panties sheer, to tantalisingly hint at her nipples and pussy hair; from the same shop she’d bought a pair of black sheer stockings and suspender belt for £80, a ridiculous amount of money to spend on something that she knew would not be comfortable, but worth every penny for the sense of expensive sluttiness that it gave her; she’d moved on to pay £250 for calfskin court shoes with three inch heels; make-up had cost her £200, but despite the price she’d been careful to ensure that the effect was understated-classy; finally, she had spent £150 to have her hair cut and styled, no trace of the ponytail now, her hair curving and flowing to her shoulders, with locks teasing sensuously past her ears and down her cheeks. Two thousand pounds poorer, but feeling a million dollars, Eloise’s final extravagance had been to hail a black cab and tell the driver to take her the short distance to the Savoy Hotel on the Strand.
Before today Eloise would have found the opulent gold and black art deco ambience of the American Bar intimidating; now she simply strutted past the tables, and, despite her hyped-up mood, was surprised at the extent she turned heads. That hadn’t happened before, even when she’d felt in her so-called prime. She briefly wondered if she’d gone too far, made herself look a little brassy. No, she didn’t care, this was her moment and she could do – and dress – how she wanted.
Mikhail didn’t immediately recognise her as she walked up to where he was sitting, typing on his phone. Recognition dawned, followed by something close to shock. “Eloise – wow…” was all he could manage.
She decided to ignore his amazement. From now on the fact she looked – and felt – both powerful and glamorous was something she would take for granted.
“Let’s order something expensive,” she said simply. “You’re paying, I presume?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Oh yes, I think I’m paying.” Mikhail smiled. He was probably a decent guy, all in all, it wasn’t his fault the company he kept. “They do some great cocktails…”
Eloise picked up the menu. “A bottle of Pol Roger Cuvee Sir Winston Churchill 2004,” she said to the waiter who had efficiently and silently appeared from nowhere. Only £385 a bottle. “Another Brit who saw through the Russians.”
Mikhail shrugged. “He also worked pretty well with us, too.”
“Is Dmitry on his flight yet?” Eloise hadn’t intended to start a discussion on the finer points of Anglo-Russian history.
Mikhail looked at his watch. Mardin Escort Bayan “Not yet.” As well as the thirty percent discount that Eloise had negotiated, she’d also insisted that Dmitry be removed from the company immediately. “I’d like to apologise for his behaviour,” Mikhail continued. “And actually, thank you. I’ve wanted rid of him for ages, and without you I doubt that would have happened.”
Eloise didn’t bother replying. Where previously she would have basked in a man’s gratitude, now she simply banked it as another card in her favour. The waiter returned with the champagne and a large stand. “You’re staying here, right?” she asked Mikhail. He nodded. Eloise turned to the waiter. “Please bring it up to our suite.”
+++
Standing by a window that overlooked the Thames, Mikhail still seemed dazed: from the negotiations, from Eloise’s appearance, and from the fact that moments after she’d arrived he was now alone with Eloise and a bottle of champagne in “their” hotel suite.
“You ever read Joseph Conrad, Mikhail?” asked Eloise, looking out on the lights reflecting off the dark water. The Russian shook his head. “Started life in Russian Poland, ended up being one of the greatest ever writers in the English language. He talked about the Thames, how despite all the modern veneer of sophistication, it was once one of the dark, savage places on earth. That’s an interesting thought, don’t you think?”
“We’re all savages underneath?” Mikhail asked cautiously.
“That’s one interpretation.”
“So are we savages then?” Mikhail’s voice had taken on a deeper, huskier tone. Eloise spotted the tell-tale signs of a man reverting to basic type, and smiled inwardly.
Mikhail rested a hand on Eloise’s waist. When she didn’t react, he moved it slowly down to her bum.
Eloise slapped Mikhail away roughly. “Don’t be a child, Mikhail. This is happening because I want it to, and it’s happening to you, not me.”
“I’m sorry, Eloise, I thought…”
“Don’t apologise, don’t think, just accept the fact that you’re here with me in this room, and, if you’re lucky, you might have a night you’ll remember. Now, show me your cock.” She couldn’t entirely believe she’d just said it, but she was feeling so thrillingly liberated that any brief moment of doubt vanished.
“What?”
“You’re being a child again, Misha,” – Eloise used the diminutive form of Mikhail’s name, more in gentle mockery than familiarity – “you heard what I said. I want to see your cock – show me it.”
If anyone had suggested the equivalent to Eloise she’d have been out of the room in a second, but she wasn’t surprised when Mikhail began unbuckling his belt and unzipping his flies.
“Mmm,” Eloise said admiringly, although with a hint of sarcasm: Mikhail was already half erect. “I see you were already anticipating some fun.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Eloise,” Mikhail explained weakly.
Eloise reached down, gently stroking the underside of Mikhail’s cock, which responded by stiffening further. “So I’m a rose, not a thorn?” She placed a finger and her thumb around his shaft, and softly wanked him a couple of times. Once again, Eloise realised the difference in herself. Ever since the very first time she’d held a man’s cock, she had worried about it – wanting to do it right, wanting to please him. She’d felt it was her role to satisfy the man, and if she got it wrong, then he’d be disappointed. No-one had ever told her how to do it “properly” (it wasn’t A-level German) and the fact that occasionally the man would say “faster”, or “slower”, or “harder”, or whatever, had only increased her anxiety. Now, she realised that touching a man’s dick gave *her* control, if she wanted it. Tease him, taunt him, all he wanted was for the delightful sensation to continue, with the prospect of even greater prizes to come.
“And who’s cock is this, Misha?” She let go of his dick. He took a moment to answer, but, as she’d predicted, he wasn’t ready to stop.
“Yours, Eloise.”
“And whose pleasure is it for?” She ran a fingertip around his balls.
“Yours.”
“And you’re not just saying that because you want me to play with your cock?” She could see how much Mikhail wanted her to stroke him.
“Okay. I’d probably say *anything* to get you to touch me right now.” She *did* like the man. “But you’re stunning – truly. And smart, too. We all know that now. So if my cock can please you, then I’m sure that’s good for both of us.”
“Mm, clever boy.” Eloise ran a finger around Mikhail’s cock head, rubbing the pre-cum around. “Strip for me. I want you naked.”
Mikhail wasted no time, shrugging his clothes off hurriedly until they were an untidy heap on the floor.
“Well done,” she said. “Now hold yourself for me.” Mikhail took his cock in his right hand. “Touch yourself – slowly!” Mikhail started slowly drawing his hand up and down the length of his cock. “Are you going to do this back in Moscow, Misha?” Eloise asked. “When I’m not around? Touch your cock thinking of your Escort Mardin English rose?”
“Yes.”
Eloise knelt on the floor in front of Mikhail, feeling the soft plushness of the fawn carpet underneath her stockinged knees. It may have appeared submissive, but she was in no doubt who was actually in control. “Would you like to think of me like this, kneeling down below your cock?”
“Yes.”
Pulling her suit jacket apart, Eloise began rubbing her breasts outside the white silk blouse. “How about this? Me rubbing my tits?” Her nipples stiffened harder, poking at the material.
“Yes.”
“Then say it, Misha, you have to tell me if you want it.”
“I want to think about you rubbing your tits, Eloise.”
Eloise hiked the blouse up, revealing the expensively simple lace-edged bra that she’d only bought a couple of hours earlier. “Do you want to see my tits, Misha?”
“Yes.” She let go of his cock. “Yes, I want to see your tits, Eloise.” She started touching him again.
“Dmitry liked my tits, didn’t he?”
“Dmitry’s an asshole.”
“Yes, but he was right about that, wasn’t he Misha?” She could tell he was desperate not to talk about Dmitry, not here, like this, but his dick was overriding any other considerations.
“Yes he was.”
“Why do you like my tits, Misha?”
“They’re so perfect.” Eloise believed that right now he meant it, that they were the most desirable things on the planet to him. “So pert, so…fresh. Proud, full of sexiness. Just beautiful sexy fucking tits, Eloise.”
She slid a hand inside the cup of the bra. Her nipples felt so full and hard. She ignored Mikhail for a moment, luxuriating in the way the stiff nubs felt between her fingers. She’d never been this sensitive.
“Ready, Misha?”
“Yes, Eloise. Please.”
She tugged the bra up over her breasts, a brutal way to treat brand new lingerie, but it felt so good as the material brushed over the soft flesh and the hardness of her nipples.
Mikhail was staring down at Eloise’s bare breasts, his eyes feasting on the rose-pinkness of her nipples.
“Christ you’re gorgeous, Eloise.”
She began rubbing one breast with a hand, using her forearm to stimulate the other at the same time. Her nipples appeared and disappeared teasingly from Mikhail’s view. It felt so good she briefly wondered if she needed him there at all.
“Do you want to rub your cock on my tits, Misha?”
“Yes. So much…”
“Mm, they’re so soft, Misha. So white and soft. And my nipples are so pink and hard. Is that what you want to rub your cock on?”
“Yes, Eloise, that’s what I want. Your soft breasts and your hard nipples.”
She lifted herself up a little, and guided his cock head down until it was inches from her breasts. Mikhail was straining to make the contact. “When I say, Misha, when I say.” He relaxed a little, but she could tell that the tension was killing him. “Is your cock going to pleasure my English rose titties, Misha?”
“Yes. I want to turn you on so much.”
Wanking him lightly, she brushed Mikhail’s cock over her breasts, circling and crossing the hardness of her nipples. He was already so wet with pre-cum that he left a faint wet trail across her breasts. “Mm, that feels so good, Misha, rub your cock on my titties, make my nipples sooo hard.”
Again Mikhail was straining to move his cock around, but Eloise controlled him deftly, slowing and restraining her soft wanking. “Mm, such a dirty boy, Misha, rubbing your hard cock on my tits to turn me on.” With earlier lovers there had been moments when Eloise had wanted so much to talk, to say filthy things, but she’d worried that, with her sensible and demure image, they’d be shocked or disappointed. Now she didn’t care, and she was going to use her freedom to the maximum. “You going to cum for me lots tonight, Misha? Be a good boy and give me lots of your cum?”
“Yes. I want to cum for you so bad.”
“Mm, good.” Eloise bent down and gently licked along the top of Mikhail’s shaft. He shuddered with pleasure. “I want your cum very badly. You want to cum on my English rose titties?”
He may have had other ideas, but the softness of her flesh under his cock, and the sight of Eloise kneeling before him, her blouse and bra lifted to expose her beautiful breasts, were pretty persuasion. “Yes, I want to cum on your tits.”
Eloise continued as before, using Mikhail’s cock as a slick soft-hard tool to pleasure herself. With every gentle teasing move she could literally feel his excitement growing in her hand. She slowed her wanking down. “Such a bad boy, Misha, such a bad boy, wanting to spunk all over my sweet white titties.” She pressed his cock head around first one nipple, then the other. “You going to cover me, Misha, cover my poor little pale titties with your hot spunk?”
He groaned. She could feel his cum rising, and then his cock was jerking, large spouts of cum jetting out over her tits, splashing the crumpled bra and blouse, even shooting over her neck and chin. Eloise didn’t stop stroking him until he had finished; she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, kneeling on the carpet of the hotel room, her blouse and bra pulled up, her breasts, clothes and face spattered with thick white cum. She was the queen whore, and she’d never felt more alive.