House for Sale with Extras

Sitting there he backtracked to a chapter he had already written. He had given much thought into the sensibility of writing it, but, with changed names, it was a vivid account of that awful, emasculating, final episode which saw Tania flounce out of his life. Cathartic? In writing it, that is what he had hoped for, and, up to a point it had worked. But, in his present state of mind he wondered if he should be reading it now.

Sure enough, within seconds the whole sorry time was pouring into his head. There was that phone call telling him that Mr Carl Sanchelle had admired his book and would like him 'and his good lady' to attend a small party aboard his yacht, 'Gargantua'. Stunned by the offer, Greg had naturally accepted. Sanchelle was probably the best known entrepreneur in the area. When he told Tania her eyes had lit up, "The entrepreneur?"

"Or gangster, depending on how you regard him," Greg told her. A police acquaintance had once told him of their suspicions about the source of the man's wealth, but whenever there appeared to be the chance of a reliable witness, he or she, would mysteriously disappear.

Tania's head shook at his comment," Oh, surely not. He's a fun guy---I've heard."

Her pause should have been a signal, but they went. Tania appeared smelling like a million rose bushes, and dressed in a pale green dress with a neckline from which much of her generous bosom bloomed; Greg guessed it was not meant to impress him. With her red hair tumbling at her shoulders she looked quite breathtaking.

As soon as they were on the main deck, a tall, broad shouldered man, wearing a bright blue checked silk shirt, white pants, and a wide toothy smile strode to greet them. The eyes though held that sense of menace that Greg half expected from Carl Sanchelle.

After the formal greeting Sanchelle turned to Tania, and said, "And this must be your good lady." He took her hand and brought it to his lips while his eyes ate at the exposure offered by her low neckline. "Delighted to meet you, Tania. You look quite delectable."

Much later Greg would recall that he had never mentioned Tania's name. But that realisation came too late to prevent what was to come.

Sanchelle introduced them to other guests, all of them from the wealthy end of society Greg guessed. With glasses of champagne in their hands they were shown around the Gargantua. Greg thought it more like an ocean liner than a yacht.

After passing a luxurious lounge with a massive TV screen on one wall, they came to a wide corridor which was quite dazzling with a number of doors each one a different colour. Sanchelle proudly pointed out, "The colour of each door signifies the predominant colour of the decor inside that room. See." He opened a pink door to reveal an exotic bedroom with pink wallpaper, pink drapes, and a pink lined bedcover.

The evening became a whirl of chat, eating and champagne drinking. Greg did not fail to notice the lecherous glances Tania took from some of the men, and the, perhaps, envious looks from some of the ladies. Neither did he miss just how much she enjoyed such attention.

As they circulated more and more, Greg found himself becoming separated from Tania, although he was able to see her across the main hall. He found himself in conversation with one guy, who said he was an architect, and who asked, "You haven't been to any of Carl's functions before."

When Greg admitted he hadn't. The guy said, "Oh, as a writer you might enjoy whatever Carl has set up for this evening. He's a hell of a lusty guy and loves displaying the fact---you'll see."

Just before midnight he saw Tania talking to Carl Sanchelle, standing very close, and did he have a hand on her arm? Then someone wanted to talk about his book and he was happy to respond. The next time he looked there was no sign of her, or Carl Sanchelle. Should he have been bothered? After another ten minutes without seeing her he was just a little concerned. He started to looking and asking for her.

One or two people that he asked looked rather uncomfortable. There were very few people dancing now. The dining room was totally empty apart from staff in white aprons clearing up. In the gaming room only two couples were at the roulette table.

The light in the lounge was dimmed, and the glow from the TV screen dappled watching faces, a surprising number of faces, some mouths agape, some smirking, all wide eyed.

Something heavy in his chest, Greg stepped inside the door where he could see the screen. Up there in colour the camera was focussed in close-up on a naked female's buttocks, with a blue covered bed behind her. The camera immediately switched right, panned back and, to Greg's horror, there stood a naked Carl Sanchelle, smiling lewdly, his hand holding up his erect penis. From the audience there came a little roar of encouragement.

The camera switched back to the female, and Greg's legs went weak so that he had to hold onto the door. That red bush, there was no mistaking it, and as she lay back on the single bed, legs parted, head over the other side, Greg saw that so familiar lascivious smile under the tousled flame of her hair. Within five dreadful seconds he had taken in the sight of Sanchelle moving between her parted thighs, and, as Greg turned away there was just the hint of a second naked man moving rampantly towards her head.

Greg raced out into the wide corridor. He didn't have to look for the blue door. A dark suited bouncer type stood in front of it. Greg was no fighter, but in his frantic state, good sense did not come into his thinking. He just ran and as the tough turned towards him, Greg kicked out and was fortunate to feel his careless aim connect with an unready crotch. The bouncer doubled up and Greg flung open the door, yelling Tania's name.

Sanchelle pulled himself out of Tania, yelling, "Camera off." There was another man at Tania's head but he too had stepped back. Greg took it all in. Sanchelle standing their his erection gleaming with Tania's juices, the other man, whose erection looked monstrous, was standing uncertainly looking at Sanchelle.

Tania's head came up and she yelled, "Oh, fuck off, Greg. This is what I want. I'm not married to you."

That might have been the cruellest blow of all but as he tried to find words, "Tania, you can't—" Hands grabbed him from behind.

"He's sailing me to the Med tomorrow. This is real living, Greg."

A fist was driven into Greg's kidneys so that he almost collapsed with the agony of it. Then, as he was being dragged backwards by what felt like two pairs of hands, Sanchelle strode to him, punched him viciously in the belly, and hissed, "I should have your balls cut off. Get him off my yacht, and don't make it comfortable."

Struggling to take in air, Greg's last image was of Tania's angry face, and her gorgeously displayed body. He was hauled out by some different route, and punches rained on the side of his face and into his kidneys with, it seemed, every step. By the time they reached the quay, he was beyond taking any steps and his feet trailed behind him as pain was his only signal that he was still alive.

How he ever made it to his car and managed to drive home he'd never know. The following morning he was just able to drive down to the quay, and, without getting out of the car, he could see that the Gargantua was no longer berthed there. Tania was gone from his life.

It had become clear to him that the invite to his yacht had been a set-up in which Tania was undoubtedly a part. Her talk of him being 'a fun guy' and his knowing her name when it had never been mentioned. These were dead give-aways. How long had they been seeing each other before that? God, Tania probably knew exactly what part she would play in the evenings 'entertainment'.

There was only slight consolation, but no regret, when, some four months later, he saw a newspaper picture of a smiling Carl Sanchelle with his arm around a lady with vivid blonde hair and thick lips. A caption read, 'Rich socialite steps out with his future bride.' To wonder what had become of Tania was a luxury that Greg would not permit himself.

Greg stood up from the computer and went to the window. Stupid of him to allow those thoughts back in. Now all he had to do was concentrate on the face of Julie Simmons, and hope that her image would drive all his bad thoughts away. Standing there, he was delighted at how pleasingly definite that image remained.

It took Julie Simmons just a couple of days to settle on a price for Greg Martin's property. That fact alone kept him in her mind, but her only concern was that they might have to meet regularly, if, as Victor had requested, she was handling both his selling and his buying of a new place to live. Still worried about how he had looked at her on their first meeting, she resolved that she had to keep it on a strictly business level.

So when she phoned him with the suggested price she remained very formal when he answered the phone.

"Greg Martin speaking." He did have a deep manly voice.

"Yes, Julie Simmons, from Manners and Garrett. I have a suggested price for your property."

"Oh, yes, Julie Simmons," he said, almost hesitantly, as though he had difficulty recalling her name. "I've been looking forward to hearing from you."

Well, Mr Martin, all you're going to hear from me is a price. "I thought a figure of one million seven hundred and fifty thousand would be a reasonable starting price."

"Sounds fair."

"And would you be prepared to drop to say one million six hundred thousand to complete a sale?"

"Would you?"

His question took her by surprise."It's your property."

"Yes, but I trust your instincts."

Why was she finding this so awkward? "Then, yes, if that gets the sale."

"Is that your point of view as an estate agent or what you would do as an owner?"

Was he teasing her? Or was it just her imagination? Well she could play along with that. "A bit of both, I suppose."

"Then I'll accept your judgement."

"Good, in that case, I'll have it advertised immediately, and see how it goes. Thank you, Mr Martin."

She was ready to hang up when he quickly asked, "Anything on the purchase side?"

Julie wouldn't admit that she had not had a good scan of what might be available, so she said, "Nothing suitable at the moment."

"Well, I'm relying on you," he said, and Julie was sure that was a laugh in his voice.

After hanging up, Julie found herself wondering what kind of look had been on his face. Had he really been teasing? Anyway, she would set the advertisement going, and take it from there.

It took another two weeks before an enquiry came in. During that time Julie had scoured their lists for something that might be suitable for Greg Martin, but she had rejected the only three bedroom detached villa because it was close to a railway line.

The house enquiry came from a middle aged couple seeking a move up in the world. Julie was troubled in her own mind that this would be her first encounter with Greg Martin since the first evaluation.

What she could not understand was why she should be troubled. How many similar visits had she made at other properties? She had lost count, but it had been the way Greg Martin had looked at her that produced this reluctance. That had been a look of lust in his eyes, hadn't it? Whatever it was she just felt uneasy about being with him, especially since she liked to arrive ahead of the prospective customer.

Having made a hasty, cool telephone call to fix a time with Greg Martin she set out to arrive just five minutes before the customer.

Greg Martin had it timed perfectly. Knowing when the first prospective buyers were due he was looking forward to finding out how easy or difficult selling this place was going to be. But, more than anything, he was going to have the chance to see Julie Simmons again. The passing weeks had slightly faded the image of her in his mind. He was standing in the hall when the doorbell rang.

Quickly he opened the door, and there she was, looking as he knew she would. The hair, the green eyes, looking slightly surprised at the speed at which the door had opened,

"It's so good to see you again," he told her. "Have time for a coffee?"

Greg had stepped aside to usher her into the house and was both shocked and disappointed when she, without looking directly at him, said, "It's such a lovely day, I'll just stay out here. The client's will be here soon."

He wondered what he might have done to produce this coolness from her, and, if it was such a lovely day, why did she have her suit jacket buttoned up to the neck, disguising her elegant figure? He saw the client's car appear on the drive, and within minutes Julie Simmons was efficiently showing the couple around.

Her cool detachment, and avoidance of any socialising with him continued for two of the three further viewings she conducted. Every time she arrived Greg's heartbeat increased, but what began to bother him was his own behaviour. If he was so attracted to her, what was preventing him from making some standard friendly approach himself? But he really knew the answer to that one.

The truth was that this Julie Simmons had so captured his imagination that because of her apparent coolness he feared making a move that might increase the rift that she seemed to want to keep between them. However, by the third viewing he determined to make just a token gesture of goodwill.

On that occasion he had felt that, at least, her wonderful green eyes met his more frequently, although she remained buttoned up and coolly asexual. As she followed the viewing pair out, Greg made his move and held out a copy of his book.

"I don't know if you're a reader, Ms Simmons-"

"Call me, Julie."

Now, was that progress? "And I'm Greg," he said, as he held out the book with a smile," as it tells you on the cover. If you'd care to read it some time."

For a moment, standing in the doorway, she hesitated and glanced at the offered volume as though it might be a bomb. But then, she held out her hand, and accepted his offer, with a quick nod and a brief, "Thank you." Then she was away, leaving Greg unsure whether he had made any real progress, but at least they were now on first name terms. That had to be progress. But would she ever read the book?

In fact, Julie was an avid reader. She was also a slightly confused lady. From her initial decision on the type of male Greg Martin would be, he had shown no indication of moving in on her. The gift of his book was the only gesture he had made. In fact her own relaxed attitude had prompted her to exchange first names. Of course, he'd had no need to indicate his name on the cover of the book. From the outset he had been the customer, Mr Greg Martin.

Arriving home, she placed the book alongside three other books on her bedside table. For the first few nights the vivid green cover kept catching her attention, but she was set to finish the current piece of bed-time reading she was into. She resolved that Greg Martin's book would be next on her list. Not that she was interested of course, but it might reveal more about the nature of the man.

In the meantime she went along with one more viewing and sensed that Greg was dying to ask if she had read the book. Deliberately she avoided making any comment, and she acted out her ubiquitous attitude to him. That was when it occurred to her that was exactly what she was doing she was 'acting it out'. Did that mean she didn't really feel cool towards him? Damn that, she thought, she had to continue to be cautious.

When, after two weeks, she finally climbed into bed, picked up Greg's book, and began reading, she was sure that the book would reveal something of his sexual proclivities. From the start, she had to admit, she was impressed. His style was highly readable, the prose terse and the chapters short, always leaving her wondering what happened next.

The main character, called Brad, worked for a security firm but circumstance led him to be privately employed by a billionaire to make sure his wayward twenty year old daughter kept the family name out of the Press. Eventually came the scene when he took the unconscious daughter to his home to recover from the rohypnol, two sex traders had been plying her with.

Here comes the sex, Julie reckoned, and read on. When the girl came around the next day Brad told her of her lucky escape. Almost immediately she wanted to show him her gratitude and began unbuttoning her blouse, revealing appealing small breasts. Julie thought that it was going to be just as she'd expected. She closed the book, and went to sleep.

Unable to resist, she opened the book the following night, and contrary to her expectation, Brad gave the girl a lecture on saving her body 'as a gift for someone you love.' A little surprised,(and was she disappointed?) she went on reading.

By the fifth night of reading she was into the final section of the book. All the way through, the hero, Brad, had been aching for a lady in his own office, and in the late sequence they were together in a hotel room, kissing passionately. No doubt they were going to be intimate and Julie was convinced that now she would have some indication of how Greg's writing would tell her something about his lustfulness.

Breaking off kissing, hero Brad and his lady slowly began to undress each other. His description of the moment when, both naked, they held hands, leaned back and viewed each other's body, was written with such delicacy that Julie was quite stunned. Her amazement was increased when Greg wrote of the actual seduction. From the very first moves, every stroke of breast, every touch of finger, every adoration by tongues, was carried out with such gentility, such genuine warmth of feeling that it was counter to everything Julie had been expecting.

The moment of entry by Brad was so subtly written, his caring, tender, gradual invasion of her deepest secrets, was geared to achieving his aim of giving her maximum pleasure and delight. It was so gently erotic that Julie was shocked to find that between her thighs had moistened. How long since she'd experienced that sensation? Never, with a book. Seldom with any man.

The book came to a pleasing and satisfying conclusion, with a sigh, Julie closed it, snuggled down in her bed with her mind full of questions, about herself, her twisted sexual experience, and her attitude to this Greg Martin.

Yet, for a moment, it was the twisted experiences that forced their way to the surface of her thinking, with those last hateful sessions with Mike. He would grab her ears or pull her hair to get her mouth down to his often unwashed prick, which had just come from being up some easily pleased bimbo or other. Always she was made to gag on the taste of their illicit passion before his slime poured into her mouth, or, if he was kind, down her throat.

Get out of my head, you bastard. Was it any wonder she was cautious about all men? However, as she drifted into sleep she took with her an image of Greg Martin, standing in his front doorway, smiling, and inviting her in for coffee.

It was quite a few weeks before Greg saw Julie again. She had been in touch to tell him that a lone male buyer was interested. Greg, as had become his habit, had the front door open before she'd mounted the steps. Immediately, he sensed some change in her demeanour, but was wary about being tricked by something his own imagination was reading into the situation. Yet there she was coming towards him, and wasn't that the warmest smile she'd ever bestowed on him?

More than that, it was another bright Summer day, and she had her suit jacket over her arm, and her breasts swelled a neat pale blue blouse. Not for the first time, the very sight of her took Greg's breath away, and once again he made his standard offer. "Coffee?"