Page 46 of Santa's Baby
“I’m doing well, thank you.”
“Should have worn your silly hat and your fat suit.”
The others laugh along at the image of me in my costume. They always do, because they simply don’t get why a man like me would pour so much time into festive activities for charity. I very much doubt any of them would so much as consider dressing upand sitting in a grotto all day to make children smile – unless it was for a PR stunt, with a crowd of paparazzi buzzing around.
Even then though, the paparazzi can be dangerous.
When we founded the Agency almost twelve years ago, its primary aim was a safe space for us away from the spotlight, where we could all seek our thrills without the risk of being outed. Nowadays the Agency is a multi-million business venture, with each of us taking a cut from every proposal. Officially, it’s an organisation in the PR arena. Our faceless persona draws no attention, unless you have reason to know.
We all meet here at Bryson’s for quarterly business reviews, and we conduct the occasional social, but more often than not when we cross paths now, it’s for one reason only. A proposal with one of our entertainers.
We test out the ‘hardcorers’, to see if they live up to their profiles, taking it in turns to choose the entertainer and set the scene. Fair trade and all that, since none of us are allowed to use the platform for personal use. It’s a code of conduct that we have been adhering to from the very beginning. Anonymity at all costs. Hence why our entertainers are always hooded when they play with us – from the moment they leave for the appointment until the moment they are dropped back at their door.
“Who is it going to be for you next?” Wesley asks me, and my gut twists. It’s my turn to call the shots in a few weeks’ time.
“Hmm, let me guess.” Seb rubs his chin. “Creamgirl by any chance? What’s the point in even asking him, Wes? He’s practically besotted.”
If only he knew.
They all laugh, and I’d normally laugh along with them. It’s been Creamgirl every time for me for the last three years straight. Francis pretends to grab hold of a chubby ass with atake it, slut,but tonight his humour grates at me.
I know he’s imagining ramming his dick into Tiffany’s beautiful ass, and so are the others. They have plenty of memories to call upon. They know her screams and whimpers, and the way she curses when she’s on the edge. They know how her cunt feels, and how her ass stretches, and how her bobbing tits look when she’s bouncing.
They’ve seen her hung, and hurt, and bleeding. They’ve lashed her, and tested her to her limits, and put her through filth to the extreme.
But they haven’t seen her face. Not once. Not like I have. They haven’t seen her eyes light up as she smiles, or the glow of her cheeks as she’s laughing. The few cheeky pictures on her profile could never do her justice. Not in a million years.
“I’ve got the calendar up,” Wesley says. “She’s rammed full of proposals until Christmas, but I’ll get Orla to shift them around. Two weeks Monday?”
I swallow before I nod, trying to keep a cool head. I know exactly what proposals Tiffany has coming up in her calendar, and I have cursed at the thought of her attending any single one of them. I’d hoped that having some one-on-one proposal time with her would cement the relationship into the realms of casual, but I was delusional. It’s only made it worse.
Ten times worse, in fact.
I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night after she left.
At least booking Creamgirl in for my next session here will shunt back a lot of her other proposals. Entertainers always need some recovery time after they’ve been to Bryson’s, and we always arrange that for them behind the scenes. We exploit the ‘naughty lists’ on their profiles to the absolute extreme.
“Excellent,” I say. “I’ll draw up some ideas.”
“Make sure it includes piss play, yes?” Bryson asks. “I’ll be saving my bladder for that big beauty.”
“Ditto,” Seb says. “And first dibs on her wholesome cunt for me.”
“First dibs on her fat ass,” Paul laughs.
The grating of their laughter only gets worse. My smile feels paper thin.
“I’ll be getting first dibs on everything, remember? It’s my proposal, after all.”
“Alright, alright,” Bryson says. “You get first dibs on anything, but piss play is going to be in there, yes?”
“Sure, yes. I’ll be certain to include piss play.”
“And tit punching.” Paul jabs the air. “I want to bash her black and blue.”
My palms feel sweaty as I notch up my smile. Group meetings used to be so much fun in the early days. We’d be coming up with ideas for hours on end, concocting filthy scenarios that suited us all. What used to be a simple sharing of a whore through an evening edged further to the extreme, little by little. Now it’s almost a competition. Who can we push the hardest? Who can take the most? Which of us can come up with the most hard-hitting proposal of the year?
I’m relieved when the attention turns away from Tiffany and how Paul wants to punch her tits. If it went on much longer, I’d want to be punching him.