The Numbers Game

May More
14 mins read
Published 11 months ago

As soon as I had finished my Business finance degree, Uncle Stani, who owned Long Reach Tower, employed me to keep an eye on things for him. If any tenant inquired and went on to buy their apartment, I would receive a 5% commission. They were priced between 120k and 340k so I was always on red alert for new customers. After all, everyone who was anyone wanted a home on the waterfront.

Every new arrival got my special, personal welcome. If you had just moved in, I was your new best friend. Champagne on ice, a glossy brochure listing local amenities, restaurants, etc. A how-to guide for the building itself and a telephone number where I could be reached. I kept a special phone for tenants to ring - I called it my Staniphone. At first, I accepted calls 9 to 5, Monday to Friday, but our tenants were too busy chasing the next billion-dollar bubble during office hours. Once I extended the hours to 8 p.m, seven days a week, within a month I’d made my first sale. 

Even if people just called to bitch about the electronic keys not working I'd get involved, it was worth it. For me, every call was an opportunity to make a personal contact, with one eye on a commission somewhere down the line. This worked well for me. I'd closed seven sales already.

I had some natural advantages in the sales department. It helped that our typical tenants were city-boys. Brokers and dealers. We had six floors of smart, pushy youngsters straining to imitate their millionaire bosses. On the phone, I made damn sure I was the kind of girl they admired. Efficient, friendly, with a hint of flirt on top. When we met in person I'd be impeccably groomed, ebony hair shining, nails glossed, high heels clicking on the tiles below. Not to mention a figure-hugging designer dress. 

I also made a point of modelling pricey-looking jewellery, borrowed from my pal Amy who sold gems in the Wharf Arcade. I repaid her with loans from the wardrobe I charged to Uncle Stani. We were two of a kind: busty, trim and self-aware. We shared pretty much everything.

I never looked like anybody's idea of a cheap date but I wasn't inclined to screw around on the premises – that was my 'golden rule'. So I passed the hot ones on to Amy. Occasionally we'd go double-dating on the wharf and take our pick from the tempting offers that came along. 

Seven weeks had flown by since my last sale when a Greek couple, Sol and Tabatha, agreed to rent the west penthouse. All the arrangements had been made online - they'd never entered the building - and they paid six months upfront, no questions asked. My sales-brain flickered. Both penthouse suites had been vacant since we'd opened. I called uncle on the Staniphone with the good news - another 3000 a month. He sang my praises like I'd won the lottery for him. I knew it was really a drop in the financial ocean for a man who had properties in Paris, Brussels, Geneva, and New York. But I let him flatter me.

“That's the best news I've had all day. I'm getting killed in the stock market right now. Swings and roundabouts, eh? Like I always tell you, it's a numbers game, isn't it? And my best investment is you, my little Rosy. Good work!”

I promised to send the paperwork over, hung up and went back to pondering the important business of turning tenants into owners. If our new customers bought their penthouse, I'd get a £17,000 payday. 

These were not, however, our standard punters. I was waiting in the lobby with Security Sam, the uniformed porter, when their taxi arrived on Sunday afternoon. They fell out of the same door, giggling and wrestling like kids, while the cabbie pulled four suitcases from out of the boot. Tabatha was tall, dark and willowy, the kind that can somehow look dressed to kill in a man's cotton shirt, skirt and flat sandals. Not a hint of make-up but a glowing Mediterranean complexion. Perhaps thirty-five, showing a lot of golden leg. 

“Let me go, Sol, you brute!”

I watched as she pulled his hand out from under her shirt. He turned, transferring a big, broad smile from her to me. White teeth gleamed from his tanned face as he pushed his blond fringe aside. I guessed he was a little younger.

“You must be Rosalind,” he said. “You are the lady in charge, yes?”

He gave a silly, deep bow and a load of stuff toppled out of his jacket pocket onto the pavement. Tabatha sighed loudly and winked at me as she stooped to help Sol scrape his bits from the ground.

“Welcome to Long Reach Tower!” I said, giving my best hostess smile, and offered Sol a handshake. He took my hand in his huge paws and drew me in for a quick pair of loud smackers. Tabatha followed up with a trio of cheek-to cheek pecks. She smelled of Chanel. I surprised myself by blushing. I moved back onto autopilot, trying to act as if five kisses in ten seconds was my normal 'hello'. 

“I do hope you had a good journey. It's lovely to meet you both. Sam – can you?”

I had primed Sam to have his trolley ready. He gathered up their suitcases and trundled off into the lift. We paused at the desk by the door. 

“Here's everything you'll need. The contract… We'll need a signature... Keys, security codes, maps of...”

My voice trailed off when I realised Sol was doing a solo waltz around the lobby, humming Hotel California. I put my paperwork back in its folder. Rolling her eyes, Tabatha took the keys from my hand. 

“Ignore him, darling. He's over the moon to be in England. He's been excited for days.”

She called out something in Greek and he came to heel like a giant puppy. They followed me into the lift and I hit the penthouse button. It was kind of cramped, due to Sol's massive frame. Even stood in the corner, his left arm around Tabatha's waist, his elbow was nudging my boobs. They both chuckled at some private joke. When the doors opened I popped out like a cork and adjusted my dress. Security Sam passed us in the corridor and Sol pushed a twenty-pound note into his hand without breaking stride. 

We stopped at the oak-panelled door of penthouse east. I showed Tabatha how to swipe the tricky electronic key - she got the knack immediately - and followed them into the hall and the wide span of the living room.

“Darling! It's wonderful!” Tabatha squeezed my hand gently. I'm not overly fond of people who 'darling' everybody but this was no time to be bitching so I gave a little squeeze in return. 

Sol whooped aloud, spotting one feature after another. He steamed straight out onto the balcony where the sun was dropping to the west. 

“Over there,” he pointed to the adjoining balcony, “the sun remains another hour I think?” 

I nodded. “Well, I can arrange for you to swap this for that one if you like?” 

I wanted to remind Sol I was in charge, and I also wanted him to fall totally in love with Long Reach Tower. 

“Thank you, Rosalind.” Two wide blue eyes stared at me. “I can view this other apartment now, please?” 

I gave him my can-do smile and replied, “Give me twenty minutes.”


"Bloody tenants," I muttered under my breath as I entered the west penthouse. 

Closing the door behind me I hit the switches for heat and air-conditioning. Thank goodness the cleaners kept it spotless. I took a minute setting the lights to a cheerful, cosy glow. I opened the balcony doors and checked the terrace. All clear except for the crumpled blot of a small dead bird in one corner. Birds were always flying into the glass, mistaking mirrored sky for open air. I scooped it up with a magazine and chucked it over the balcony into the twilight.

The laser-blue spotlights from the balcony of penthouse east caught my eye, and so did something else. Sol had left the large glass door open - at an angle that offered a clear reflection of the east penthouse living room. In perfect focus was the leather sofa, where Tabatha was sprawled on her back with Sol's head gripped tight between her thighs. He was kneeling, pinning her hands with his and feasting on her cunt like a wild man. 

I could hear the echo of his grunts and her whimpering. I stood, frozen with the stupid magazine in my hand, listening. It was all too surreal, the wharf lights glittering on the water below, the cool breeze and the sound of that beautiful woman gathering herself for orgasm. I turned again, compelled to watch as her body heaved and squirmed under Sol's attentions, until she finally came with a long, delicious groan. She raised her head as I snapped out of the spell and pulled back out of sight. My heels clicked as I pulled the door shut. 

Had I imagined Tabatha's dark eyes catching mine? 


Tabatha was showering when I'd collected Sol after the agreed twenty minutes 

I had steered him swiftly around penthouse west, a virtual replica of east. He seemed impressed. As casually as possible, I'd mentioned that both apartments were for sale. Sol, thinking aloud, hinted that his brother might fancy penthouse west "for a London base." He turned and looked at me with a half-smile. 

“And you, Rosalind – you are paid a nice percentage for every deal, yes?”

“Of course.” Although his comment had rattled me, I did my best to stay cool. He was a smart one alright. As I locked up, he insisted that I come back to their apartment for a celebration drink.

Back in the east penthouse, Tabatha reappeared, in a skimpy, white silk robe. We sat at the bar sharing their complimentary bottle of Bollinger. Sol, who didn't drink, vanished.

Making small talk, Tabitha dropped in vital scraps of information. I learned that Sol's brother was something in the Greek government. Sol himself had been sent to London to fix up some major investments. At every opportunity, I returned the conversation to penthouses.

“Penthouse west does get more of the sunset. On the other hand, the sun rises sooner in here, if you're an early bird?” 

“Is that so, darling?”

I had the feeling Tabatha wasn't really listening. Her eyes were fixed on the rather special platinum brooch that pinned my black Hermes dress at the left shoulder. I was bra-less and I felt sure she had noticed.  

“Darling - what a lovely piece! May I?”

Her fingertip moved gently upon the small, tree-shaped brooch. It was one of Amy's best. On closer inspection it depicted a girl seen from behind, her slender arms tied at the wrist below a canopy of hair that tumbled down her back. Tabatha's fingers remained on the clasp. I kept talking, feeling less in control with every second. 

“My friend Amy made it. All her pieces are different. She lets me model them. Free advertising, she says.”

“Beautiful. So is this one for sale?”

Her fingernails traced my skin, on the way back to her champagne flute.

“Yes. I think it's quite expensive though.”

“Then Sol will buy it for me.” Tabatha licked her lips, slowly, like everything else she did. “He likes expensive things.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled.

I glanced around at the vintage designer furniture that uncle Stani bought by the truckload. These empty penthouses had always seemed cold and stark to me, but Tabatha's presence was like a finishing touch, the shiny jewel such a setting needed. I felt dizzy, hot and decidedly not in charge. 

“I'm sure you're going to love it here,” I said, and drained my glass. “Do let me know if there's anything I can do to help – you've got my number.”

Before I could move Tabatha refilled my glass and dropped one hand onto my conveniently placed knee. Again I felt her nails on my bare skin. 

“Please, I'm enjoying your company.”

I noticed Sol had returned and was laid out on a sofa across the room.

“I think he is fast asleep, darling. He naps like a… a big lion or something.”

I watched Tabatha watching me and felt my face burning. She leaned slightly forward and I saw the curve of her breasts shifting beneath the loose robe.

“Tell me Rosalind – Amy the jeweller, perhaps she is your girlfriend?” 

My heart skipped.

“I… no, not exactly. Between boyfriends we… sometimes we, you know, fool around.” 

I could feel myself blushing again. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to be so honest with her. Her eyes seemed to read my every thought as it was. Holding my gaze, she eased herself off the bar stool and stepped around me. I felt her breath on my neck before her lips. A short kiss, then a hint of her tongue on my flesh. My eyes closed; her fingers found their way to the clasp, as I knew they would. She unfastened the pin and the fabric peeled down, exposing my breasts. Her tongue coiled around my ear and she began to whisper soft Greek sounds, strange and thrilling. Standing, I turned into her arms and our mouths locked in a fierce, deep kiss. I longed to reply, to match her invitations - if that's what they were - but when her robe fell open all I could do was take two handfuls of her bronzed flesh. 

Holding one hard nipple between finger and thumb I squeezed until she gasped. A hand snaked between my opening legs, two fingers slipping easily into the wet mound behind my thong. I felt her relax as we kissed again, hard, slow and she began thumbing my clit, all the time pressing my mouth to hers. The kiss went on and on, longer than any I'd ever had. Both her hands were behind my head now, gripping me the way I'd seen her legs grip. Then, she pulled back slightly holding my lips inches from her own, panting.

“You like me, darling? You were watching us, I know. Watching Sol love me, yes?”

My mind was spinning. My mouth hung open and all I wanted was more. 

“Yes. Just... please, don't stop.”

Our play had roused Sol from his nap. Joining us, he removed my dress completely and I felt thick, strong fingers on my thighs, opening me up. I groaned appreciatively as he picked me up like a doll and set me down on the leather cushions. 

Sol loomed over me, still holding me fast, his smile broad and simple, while Tabatha knelt behind me and took my head between her legs. The smell of her was like a drug. My dress was gone, my inhibitions went with it, and my golden rule was following quickly behind. 

Feeling his breath between my thighs I opened myself in imitation of the Tabatha I'd seen earlier. I expected that devilish mouth to fall straight onto my waiting cunt but instead, Sol drew back, threw off his dressing gown and I saw his hard cock rearing. I knew exactly what I wanted. Indeed, what the three of us wanted. Tabatha whispered some soft obscenity, pulled my wrists into her hands, above my head, and with a single thrust, Sol filled my wetness with his big, heavy cock.

I gasped as Tabatha's lips fastened on mine. We kissed, twisting our faces like teenagers. I had lost all control. Sol's cock was like a hammer pounding my cunt, I could hear my own juices spurting with each thrust as he slammed himself into me, forcing me tight against the leather pillows. I felt my orgasm rising and gave in, wrenching my mouth away from Tabatha's to release a howl of pleasure as I climaxed, shuddering, my hands gripping for something, anything to grab and hold on to. 

I must have blacked out for a few seconds. A peculiarity brought on by an extremely intense orgasm. Next thing I knew I was sat upright, cradled in Sol's arms as Tabatha fed me sips of ice-cold water from a glass. She dipped her fingers and sprinkled some drops on my brow and cheeks.

“Rosalind, darling, you are okay, yes?” 

“Yes – yes, I'm just...” I could hear my own thumping heartbeat beginning to slow. “...just a bit stunned.”

“You are so, so red and hot.”

“It happens to me. Sometimes I can get carried away. In the moment.”

She smiled and I found myself smiling back into her eyes. Sol raised me to my feet and placed me into the biggest, softest chair. I took the glass from Tabatha's hands and rolled its coolness against my cheek. I could see the concern in her expression.

“Really, I'm fine.” 

I closed my eyes for a few seconds and came up grinning. “It's okay. I feel like a million dollars. I'm a hundred percent fine. A hundred and ten, in fact.” 

Sol chuckled. “Yes - you must not forget your percentage.”

I looked straight into his calm, blue eyes. “I'm working on it,” I said.

More from May on Bellesa:

The Colour of Life
Friday's Child

Journey by Moonlight
The Taste of Honey

MM
Written by
May More

May's writing is inherently personal, with posts describing her own sexual ventures into bondage, illustrated by real-life erotic photographs. Occasionally, she pens some more earnest articles when she feels a topic is worth discussing. She very much tries to put across that life is all about the choices we make. May writes because from the moment she started her blog, she couldn't stop herself. But what is a writer without an audience? Her blog enables her readers to find me and comment. That makes her happy.