For Love or Money Ch. 01

I met him online. It wasn't anything very serious really, just a bit of flirting, some web cam exposure, then I gave him my phone number. It was weird talking to him on the phone after we'd been typing to each other so long. His voice was deep, educated, very sexy. It wasn't long before we were having phone sex and then we started talking about meeting up.

I vaguely considered the idea because, not only was he attractive with a sexy voice, but he was a stock trader and, shallow bitch that I was, I fancied a taste of the high life.

My family wasn't badly off, but there had never really been any excess money. With my Saturday job I could buy myself the necessaries of life and the little luxuries, but nothing really frivolous and expensive. This rankled especially because I went to college with several girls whose dads were really very well off and they were always flashing the cash.

Not only did I yearn for the freedom to splash out on something entirely unnecessary sometimes, but I had some deeply private urges to be... how can I put this... bought goods? The idea of being given money and, for that money, surrendering control of one's body to the sexual acts of another seemed intensely erotic.

After some weeks of chatting I ashamedly mentioned this to Mark, the stock broker. He almost growled down the line at me,

"You'd like that, would you? Being paid for sex? Perhaps you'd like to be some man's personal whore, have him buy you underwear and expensive jewellery in return for your sexual favours."

"Yes," I gulped, aroused and embarrassed by his frank assessment of my desires. Then, growing bolder with his apparent acceptance of such desires I asked him,

"Would you give me money for sex?"

He paused for a moment, seemingly shocked by such a question.

"Well, judging by those sexy photos you sent me, I would have to say yes."

We joked for a while about what my rates would be and whether I should charge clients by the hour, the day or the numbers of orgasms. It seemed like a very sexy joke and, as we further explored the fantasy, I brought myself off, moaning and gasping down the phone at him while he did the same.

Mark was very open to the sexual discussions we had, the more I talked to him, the more adventurous my fantasies became and the more I voiced them. He was several years older than me, though still in his twenties and, according to him at any rate, was pretty experienced when it came to the ladies.

He was even slightly experienced with the gentlemen, despite defining himself as heterosexual. I consider myself bisexual, so swinging both ways didn't shock me as such, but I appreciated his openness, considering the usual reaction of straight men to being naked when there was another man around!

I honestly don't think I had any real intention of going to visit him. For a start he lived right in the centre of London and my university was on the outskirts – it's about as easy to get to central London from York as it is from the suburbs.

Secondly I was admittedly a little nervous about this man. I'd met people off the net before, but they'd always come to my place or we'd met at a bar or something. Also, I had considered those people friends. We'd talked about emotions, families, music, with Mark it had been almost exclusively sex. Sex and money.

By turning up at his place I was essentially presenting myself for the purposes of sex, surely? And, sexual adventurer as I liked to think myself, that seemed just a little too anonymous and risky for my liking.

With the 'relationship' not being able to develop much further without sexual contact, our communication started to peter out and I only spoke to him occasionally on instant messenger when I was feeling horny and needed to exorcise it somehow. Then I'd put on a little webcam show, because exposing myself and masturbating for a stranger down an anonymous video link made me incredibly wet. We'd both talk dirty, expose ourselves, come, then we wouldn't talk again until one of us needed a release.

A few months later I had to go into London with some fellow students for my course. Unluckily for me, the tutor didn't bother to notify me that he was cancelling the trip due to illness until I was already on the overland train heading for Waterloo. Since I'd paid for the ticket already I decided to go in and visit some galleries and do a bit of shopping in the big London stores.

I got in just after 10am and immediately went to the National Portrait Gallery because it was free, easy to reach by tube and had some of my favourite pictures in it. I mooched around there for an hour, then made my way to Oxford street and hit the shops for an hour before getting bored. Shopping wasn't much fun when you were worrying about spending money.

Since I had a one-day travelcard I decided to explore London a bit. It seemed silly not to when it wouldn't cost me any more and I had nothing else to do. I hopped on and off random buses and tube lines, sometimes coming back on myself by accident, but mostly seeing some odd little bits of London.

The buses were the best, because you could look out at the streets going past and seeing the buildings from the top of a double decker was far more interesting than seeing them from street level because the homogenous plate glass shop fronts gave way to a variety of elegant period buildings, built over the last 3 centuries. Every so often I was confronted by the odd sight of some sixteenth century half-timbered building squished in between a 1930's Art Deco building and a 1960's concrete monstrosity, but that was one of the delights of London – its diversity in everything.

I drifted into a kind of trance, travelling round this maze-like city until I found myself near the docklands, near Canary Wharf. Wasn't this where Mark worked? I wasn't exactly dressed in my most enticing clothes, as I'd been expecting a long walk and was just wearing jeans, sliders and a jumper, but I sent a text asking Mark if he'd like to meet up all the same. Perhaps I even felt a little safer in my non-descript student garb.

To my surprise and consternation he replied immediately with an enthusiastic text message saying he'd love to meet up for lunch, he knew this great little place, his treat etc etc. I know it had been my idea to get in touch and suggest this, but I was still apprehensive because occasionally he had come across as slightly predatory and I really wasn't sure if I could handle a man like that.

My hunger overcame my scruples though, as I realised it was nearly 2pm and I hadn't eaten since 7 that morning, so I made my way to the restaurant.

It was a tiny little Italian trattoria, hidden away down a back street and run by an Italian family. The food was amazing and so were the prices. They may have been serving Italian peasant food, but they were charging London stock-broker-clientele prices! I got to the place before Mark, even though I got lost and had to ask directions twice. While I was waiting I stood outside and read the menu, getting some funny looks from the waiter and patrons inside. I suppose they didn't really get passing trade in that tucked away place.

I knew it was Mark as soon as he turned the corner. He wasn't amazingly tall, just under 6 feet, but he had a presence. His build was slim and muscular, he appeared powerful, an impression heightened by the strong, hawk-like nose that jutted out of his angular face. His eyes were hazel-green, narrow under heavy brows and they glowed against the olive tone of his skin, with the whole set off by a thick thatch of dark brown hair, cut short.

He smiled at me and I smiled back. Despite his angular, unconventional looks, he really was very attractive, especially in his expensive looking suit. His tie was pulled loose and the top button of his shirt was undone. The casual air this added to his look was very appealing; especially with the glimpse it gave of the base of his neck and the smooth hollow between the two ridges of collar bone.

It was awkward for a little while, but Mark ordered a bottle of wine and once we'd had a couple of glasses each the conversation was flowing. It was gorgeous, rough chianti which went well with the hearty, garlic infused food that soon arrived.

It wasn't long before Mark and I were flirting. I was really relieved, because I wasn't exactly dressed to impress, but it didn't seem to bother him. The wine had gone to my head and I was flushed and unsubtle about my attraction.

"I think I'm too drunk to go back to work now," he said as dessert arrived, rubbing his hand over his eyes then pushing it back through his hair. "Want to keeping hanging out?"

"Yeah," I said, "that'd be cool. What did you have in mind?"

"I dunno. I'd like to go home and change out of this suit, so we can go back to mine for a bit and watch DVDs or something? Go out for dinner later?"

"Um..." I was a bit unsure about this. Was I ready to go back to his place with him? I was still thinking about it when Mark raised his hand in greeting to someone behind me.

I twisted round in my chair to see who it was as he started a conversation with them over my head. It was a girl; a woman rather. Quite petite with large brown eyes and a short chestnut bob that she tucked behind her ears. She looked like a modern-day Louise Brooks with a little oval face, high cheek bones and dark red lipstick, since her real name was Louise, perhaps she played up this resemblance on purpose.

Next to her, in her sharp little suit and sky-high heels I felt like a complete shambles. My reddish brown hair was scragged back in a high ponytail, the small amount of make-up I had applied that morning had probably vanished and I was wearing grotty student-style clothes. I felt my self-confidence seeping away rapidly.

All of a sudden it didn't seem such a big deal going back to Mark's place. I mean, how big-headed had I been, thinking he fancied me and was going to try it on? I listened in to their conversation and realised that he was inviting her back as well.

From what they were saying I gathered she was a PA at the same firm Mark worked at and she'd been given the afternoon off by her boss. I didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that she was coming back too.

I mean, I was definitely safe with Mark if there was going to be someone else there, but on the other hand, if I wanted something to happen, there wasn't any chance now, was there?

Oh well. I was tired and more than a little drunk and I couldn't face the long trek across London to get back to Waterloo. Sod it, I thought as Mark turned back to me to see if I was going to join them.

"Sure." I said, "why not?"

*****

It turned out that he didn't live very far away. A beautiful flat overlooking the docks with massive French windows along one whole side, opening out onto green glass balconies. The floors were a pale silvery wood, the walls mostly stark white with a splash of one bright-coloured wall in each room to provide interest.

His kitchen was a fantastic affair of chrome and granite with a massive 5-ring hob on a double oven and a huge, American-style refrigerator. For someone who apparently liked to eat out most nights it seemed a little excessive, but he said he liked entertaining and he needed somewhere to keep the drinks cold and heat up the canapés he'd bought!

I got the guided tour of the flat, except for one room which was locked. The key was in Mark's room and he said he'd show me later, then went for a shower.

While he washed and changed, Louise and I sat on the sofas in the massive, open plan sitting room that looked out onto the river. It was a little awkward at first, but we chatted politely enough about jobs and clothes. The conversation was just getting interesting on the subject of shoes – something most women have in common – when Mark came back in.

He had a bottle of lemonade in his hand and started mixing it up with vodka over on his gleaming bar that divided the kitchen from the sitting room. It was a generous slug of vodka and I winced as I took the first sip, but soon the spirit just warmed my throat as I drank it.

Mark didn't put on a DVD after all, even though he had an extensive collection visible through the frosted glass of an oak entertainment centre. Instead he put some music on; a mix of smooth, ambient tracks and pumping blues/jazz stuff that made me want to dance and grind my hips.

We sat chatting for a while, getting deeper and deeper into the bottle of vodka. The discussion was getting pretty intimate now, talking about sex and fantasies. Compared to them I felt pretty inexperienced and my fantasies seemed pretty tame, so I kept quiet and just listened. Mark's deep, educated vowels rolling around Louise's sweet, husky tones, both of them vocalising sexual ideas that made me flush with embarrassment and desire.

Mark noticed how quiet I was and how I swayed to the music and grabbed hold of my hands to pull me up. He put his arms around me, holding me up as much as he was holding me to him and started swaying with me, his cheek against mine.

Softly he began to repeat my own fantasies back to me. Things I had told him on the phone, late at night, my tongue loosened by arousal were now fed back to me in soft, husky tones, his breath caressing my ear as his lips almost touched it.

I was so drunk by now that everything had a dreamlike quality, but I was vaguely aware that he was speaking just loud enough for Louise to hear and she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning forwards, her eyes fixed on me.

As I looked at her she got up and walked over to join us. She stood behind me, put her arms around my waist, leaned her cheek on my shoulder with her lips against my neck and started swaying with us. Softly she added her own fantasies in my other ear, whispering against my neck the things she wanted to do to me. I was lulled into a kind of erotic trance by the music, the movement, the alcohol and the whispering in my ears.

I sighed when Louise's hands slid under my top and stroked my stomach and, when she took hold of the bottom of it and tugged it up I was compliant, allowing myself to be undressed. I could feel the slippery silk of her camisole top pressed against my back now and the soft cotton of Mark's t-shirt against my front.

Mark's hands were stroking my hair and my upper back, whilst Louise's stroked my belly and breasts through my bra. When her hands slipped downwards under my waistband I tensed for a moment, but I was so filled with sleepy desire I couldn't resist her skilful fingers stroking me and teasing me.

She seemed to be struggling to reach my pussy, almost unconsciously I pulled my stomach in so she would have more room. I tried to reach down to undo my jeans when I realised it was no good, but Mark held my arms around his neck while Louise undid the buttons.

Soon I was standing there in just my bra, knickers and socks. I realised this wasn't a good look and managed to pull each sock off by using the other foot.

Good. I felt sexier now. Incredibly sexy, in fact; standing there being kissed and stroked by a muscular man, while a soft, beautiful woman squeezed my breast and played with my pussy.

I knew how wet I was, how easily I was giving in to this seduction and felt a twinge of shame, but it was completely subsumed by the exquisite pleasure. I was enjoying being the subject of these attentions, but I also felt hungry. I wanted to touch them. Kiss them. Turn them on.

I craved all this, but I wasn't allowed it. I tried to move my hands down to touch his arse, her hair, but Mark held my arms firm around his neck. I tried to buck my hands forward to rub against his cock, but Louise put her arm about my waist and pulled me back.

When I tried to kiss Mark, or participate in any way, I was stopped by one or both of them. Every time I came close to orgasm Louise moved her fingers away. I heard her licking and sucking them, then saw her hold them out to Mark to taste too.

By this point I was so delirious with suspended pleasure that any sense of shame had completely evaporated.

"Do you want to suck my cock?" Mark whispered in my ear now.

"Yes." I replied in a low voice.

"Ok, come with me. Louise, get the box from my bedroom."

I followed Mark through to the door that had been locked before. He pulled the key out of his pocket now and unlocked it, leading me through into a bright, cheerful room with one cherry red wall, a white double bed and red silk cushions. A door stood open on the other side of the room showing glimpses into a large bathroom with a big white bath and a shower over it.

The only thing that seemed slightly peculiar was a set of 8 panels set into the floor with a finger sized hole in the top of each, but I didn't notice these immediately.

Louise followed us into the room, carrying the box Mark had asked her to get, then turned and locked the door after her with the key Mark had left in the lock. She came over to me then and put a hand on each side of my face, then gently put her lips to mine.

Her mouth was so soft, her lips full and slightly sticky with lipstick. It was so surreal to kiss someone wearing lipstick. She felt and tasted so unbelievably different to a man.

I kissed her back passionately, wrapped my arms around her and started touching her as much as I could.

"Stop that." Said Mark quietly, coming up behind me and taking hold of my arms to pin them behind me. I struggled, but was no match for him in strength and had to admit this when he got me to the floor and knelt on my arms to stop me moving, while Louise pulled her skirt up and straddled my waist.

She was wearing hold-up stockings, the black lace tops in stark contrast to her pale thighs. Her bottom was towards me as she leant down and held my legs down and I enjoyed the sight of her round, fleshy little backside, edged with black lace panties.

Now I noticed the strange little panels in the floor. Still kneeling on my arms he pulled out two of the panels near my wrists, revealing metal loops set into the floor underneath the boards.

He opened the box now and took out a set of wrist cuffs with only one link between the cuffs, clipping one end onto the loop in the floor, the other onto my wrist.

I pulled at it hard, but it wasn't giving and I couldn't get my other arm out from under his knee. Soon he had that wrist locked in too and I struggled frantically trying to get free. It was one thing to be seduced into sex, but quite another to be forcibly restrained and vulnerable to any assault they chose to inflict on me.

Mark had moved down to my feet now, kneeling next to Louise. I felt him take hold of my leg and pull it up slightly and clip my ankle into another of the restraints, then the other one.

They got up off me then, Louise tugging down her skirt. Gratefully I clamped my knees together, making the most of the slight give they'd allowed.

Mark sighed then and leant down to open the box. He took out a short length of rope and passed it to Louise, then took out another himself. They both knelt down and pushed my legs open again, took out another panel from the floor and tied the rope around my knees, passing it through the loop on the floor.

When this had been accomplished Mark handed Louise a large pair of scissors which she snapped a couple of times before she turned back to me. Sliding the bottom blade under the centre of my bra, she slowly forced the blades together, severing the fabric that held the cups in place, then she slowly, tenderly, peeled the bra away from my breasts.

I shivered as they were exposed to the air and my nipples hardened as the material brushed against them. When she wriggled down so she was between my legs I tried desperately to pull my knees together again, but no luck.

Slowly, deliberately she slipped the cold metal blade under each side of my cotton panties and sliced through them. She didn't even bother to pull the shredded remains of my underwear away, just left them under me, but with my most secret places exposed.