Business Model

                                                                          Business Model



Click-clack go Patricia’s heels as she crosses the marbled floor of the foyer to the reception desk.

“I have an appointment with Mr Dawson at 3pm.”

“Mr Dawson! The CEO!”

The look on the receptionist’s face says it all: Mrs Williams must be really something if she’s got an appointment with the top man, Mr Dawson himself. The receptionist looks Patricia over. Perfectly styled dark hair, understated pearls at her ears and neck, a gold Rolex on her wrist, a stylish jacket over a white blouse tighter than the receptionist would ever tempt men with if she had boobs as good as Patricia’s and thin enough to hint at the shadow of a dark bra beneath, a dark skirt ending just at the knee with black nylons and clinging to the kind of curves she’d like to have, high heels, an Italian styled leather handbag and professional looking briefcase, designer glasses that make her look so sophisticated. She’s barely in her thirties too, and with a wedding ring on her finger. Some women have all the luck.

“That’s correct. My name is Mrs Williams.”

“Certainly Mrs Williams. What company is it?”

“Just give him my name, Mrs Patricia Williams.”

“Certainly Mrs Williams.”

The receptionist picks up the phone and Patricia looks around her. Soaring walls, modern art, the fountain, all proclaiming corporate might and remind any visitor of the billions that change hands daily in the building that towers above her, all under the command of its CEO, Mr Dawson.

“Mr Dawson will see you straight away Mrs Williams.”



The security guard’s eyes follow Patricia as she crosses the floor to the private lift that leads straight to the executive suite, and Patricia feels her clothes evaporate. She smiles: she’s used to that!

Mr Dawson’s PA ushers Patricia into the huge office.

“Mrs Williams! It’s always a pleasure to meet you!”

Mr Dawson rises from behind his enormous oak desk. The desk and his throne-like big black leather executive swivel chair speak of power, and leave no-one in any doubt this is the top man. Tall, fit and muscular, sun bronzed, just a touch of grey in his hair. A hand-tailored suit and old school tie. The head of a business empire as big as this and still only in his forties! As always he’s a perfect gentleman in the presence of a lady, with a welcoming smile and a firm handshake for his visitor Patricia.

“Coffee Mrs Williams?”

The PA’s voice is subdued with awe, as always in the presence of the CEO himself.

“Oh, no thank you. I think we’ll get straight on with business.”

Patricia’s voice is crisp, professional, so confident.

“Certainly Mrs Williams”

The door closes behind the PA and the lock clicks softly shut, leaving Mr Dawson and his visitor in all the privacy they need.

On the desk there’s a picture of Mr Dawson’s wife standing with their teenage daughter in the uniform of a very expensive private school. Next to the picture there’s a computer screen. Patricia smiles mischievously.

“Computers make business so much easier, don’t they Mr Dawson.”

On the screen there’s a picture of Mrs Williams. She’s in a long black evening dress with the thinnest imaginable shoulder straps looking ready to slip off her bare shoulders, the cleavage cut in a deep V and held closed only by a bow that seems barely able to resist the pressure of shapely breasts that look as if they’re about to burst out, slit high up her thigh to show the length of a sheer black nylon clad leg, with bare thigh visible above a lacy stocking top, and ending in a black stiletto heel, understated pearls gleaming at her ears and neck. Underneath there’s a caption:

“Lady Patricia. Private modelling and exotic massage. Enjoy me in and out of the outfit of your choice. Let my expert fingers ease those stiff muscles. Your place or mine.”   

In Lady Patricia’s eyes there’s a look that could turn a man’s penis to steel: it’s the same look that’s in Mrs Williams’ eyes right now!



“What a splendid view you have.”

As Patricia speaks she steps a high heeled foot up onto Mr Dawson’s desk. The view from the office is magnificent. Far below the panoramic windows London stretches into the distance with the River Thames glinting in the afternoon sun. But Mr Dawson’s far more interested in another splendid view: of Patricia’s hiked up skirt showing sheer black stockings with suspender straps crossing the bare thigh above, and just a teasing glimpse of black satin panties. Mr Dawson’s hand starts just above Patricia’s ankle, follows sheer black nylon past her knee, lingers on that most erotic boundary of all – between stocking top and smooth soft female flesh, then finds black satin taut over the bulge of her mound.

“Mmmmmmm…..”

Patricia purrs as his finger tips find the line of her vagina lips through the thin cloth, then follow the strip of thin black cloth under her between her legs.

“Now….what would you like your whore to do!”



“Strip for me, whore. Real slow. On my desk. Leave your stockings till last.”

Mr Dawson opens a desk drawer and gets out a camera. Patricia smiles.

“I like a man who knows exactly what he wants!”

Patricia’s the sex-mistress who’s stripped for men so many times and shown them the sex-poses they crave, that drive men wild. In bedrooms, on stages in striptease bars, in front of cameras, in front of hungry men as they franticly stroke their straining penises and explore her naked body with their eyes and spare hands until they splash her flesh with their cream. She too knows exactly what men want!



Patricia perches on the desk, crouching on her high heels. Her knees are together at first. She knows how to tease men!

“Spread your legs and show me your knickers, whore.”

Patricia swings her legs so slowly wide. She pauses as Mr Dawson savours the upskirt view: black panties, stockings, bare thighs above. His hand explores bare thigh and the soft bulge of her mound through infinitesimally thin black satin. Then his camera aims up her skirt and clicks.

“Drop that skirt, whore!”

Patricia unbuttons her skirt, starting at the bottom and slowly working her way up her thigh, smiling as Mr Dawson’s hungry eyes follow every button and every inch of nylon, then bare thigh, till Patricia’s skirt falls and slides off his desk. Now she kneels with knees wide and arching her back so her blouse tightens over her breasts.

“Now your blouse, whore.”

Mr Dawson’s eyes follow Patricia’s fingers teasing him as she plays with her blouse buttons. She makes him wait! The sex-mistress knows how to drive men wild! Patricia’s blouse slips off her shoulders to join her skirt on the floor. Her black satin bra matches her skimpy panties and suspender belt, and is barely big enough to sling her heavy breasts. Mr Dawson’s eyes and camera enjoy her! But no man’s hands can resist Patricia in her sex-dream underwear. She gasps with pleasure as Mr Dawson runs his thumbs over the peaks of her nipples through her thin bra cups. Her eyes coyly follow him as he strolls round his desk till he’s behind her. His fingers explore her thighs, and her bottom through thin satin, tickle her down the valley between her cheeks and reach under her to suddenly catch her vagina lips from behind.

“Ohhhh!”

“Tits, whore, and stick them out!”

Patricia reaches behind her to play briefly with her bra straps. She undoes the clasp and her bra falls onto the desk top. She thrusts her breasts forwards and lets them swing for his hands to fondle and for his camera to snap her from every angle. He hooks his finger over the top hem of her panties and pulls the front down far enough to see her lips, neatly lined with dark fur. Patricia purrs again as his fingers ruffle her pubic hair.

“Mmmmmm!……I love it when a man touches my pussy!....Panties now?”

“I give the orders, whore. Show me your hairy cunt.”

Her fingers play mischievously with the two little bows at her hips. She waits for his excitement to peak……she pulls, and two triangles of black satin join Patricia’s bra on his desk.

“Do you like my pussy?”

Mr Dawson’s hand gives all the answer she needs, cupping over Patricia’s lightly furred mound. She purrs softly as he slips a finger between her juice-moistened lips. He bends over his desk, his tongue licks her cunt fur and darts between her vagina lips.

“Mmmmmmmm…..I like that!”

His camera clicks. He plays with the soft smooth flesh above her stocking tops while she so patiently unclips her suspender straps and tosses her brief black suspender belt aside.

“Take your stockings off, whore….real slow….with your legs as wide as you can get them.”

Patricia lays back on his desk, strains her stockinged legs as wide as a woman possibly can, then folds one leg up and so slowly and sensuously slips the black nylon off, then the other. Click…click…goes Mr Dawson’s camera.

Now nude poses: sex-mistress Patricia knows precisely what men masturbate over as they browse through porn sites! Patricia sprawls nude on his desk; on all fours with her breasts brushing his papers; Patricia stands bending over his desk, breasts swinging as she rocks on her high heels, legs strained wide for his eyes and hand. His hands enjoy her as she poses: breasts, bottom, along her legs, between her legs. Click…click…click goes the camera as it explores her body from every angle.



“Now pleasure yourself in your favourite sex position, you filthy slut.”

“Ooooooohhh….thank you. It’s so much better with a man watching!”

Patricia crouches as if she’s astride a man riding his shaft. Her hand slides down her front between her legs, two fingers ease her fur-lined lips apart. Her breasts quiver with the smooth, rhythmic movement of her hand as she plays, stroking her labia and catching her clitoris. The camera follows her as her pleasure rises, zooming in between her legs on her stroking, massaging hand. The silence of the office is broken by her feminine, whimpering cries of pleasure and her master’s commands!

“legs wider whore!......Ride his rod up and down, whore!....Cry out like when you’re being fucked!”

Patricia’s cries rise to a frantic crescendo. Her legs strain even wider, her hips thrust, her breasts swing up as her back arches in her exploding pleasure. The camera catches her in the very moment of her climax. She cries out, half sob, half shriek and her breasts bounce as her body judders.

Sitting at her desk outside, through the thick oak door of Mr Dawson’s office his PA thinks she hears a woman’s cry. It’s a vaguely familiar sound but she can’t quite place it. She stops her typing. All is silent. She guesses she was day dreaming after that raunchy session with her husband last night. She leaves them to their business secrets and starts typing again.

Mr Dawson puts his camera down. The trousers of his suit are bulging. Sex-mistress Patricia doesn’t need to be told what comes next. She slides off the desk.

“Shall we dress down? That’s the fashion in business these days isn’t it?”

He’s submissive, but only for her to strip him. The gold tiepin, the silk tie, the gold cufflinks, then his blue-striped shirt. He grunts and his whole body quivers as Patricia’s fingertips glide over his six-pack.

“Mmmmmmm…..so big and strong!”

He gasps and quivers as her expert fingers glide along the bulging ridge of his erection before her teasing fingers play with his zip. Moments later trousers and white Calvin Klein briefs are down round his thighs and eight inches of stiff muscle almost as vertical as the tower around him strain up from thickly haired balls and gleam under the ceiling spots. He grunts as Patricia’s fingers play.

“So big and stiff!”

Now he’s naked, standing spread legged with Patricia kneeling nude, slave-like, before him. There’s pre-cum glistening on his nozzle and he quivers as Patricia’s playful fingertip smear it over his so-sensitive head. She kisses him all over his balls and shaft, and right under him on the tops of his thighs. Kneeling, she looks up with enquiring eyes. She’s Lady Patricia: mere men are her sex-slaves, but he’s the CEO, a man of power worthy of the sex-mistress, and today she’s the sex-slave and he’s the master!

“Now……..what do you desire of your whore?”



As always he’s the man of decision. He knows exactly what he wants. He walks purposefully to his black leather chair, picking up Patricia’s panties on the way. He sits, spreads his legs and and thrusts his hips so his tower of hard muscle points straight up, and hangs Patricia’s panties on his shaft like a trophy.

“Suck my cock off, whore. Do it real slow.”

Patricia kneels before her master. Her kisses start on his belly as she lets her breasts brush over his shaft. As her kisses work down his front he grunts with pleasure as his shaft slides between her breasts and all the time her soft finger tips play with the insides of his thighs, his balls and all round his arse.

“Is my master ready?”

To emphasise her point her tongue licks across his so-sensitive tip, easing his nozzle open.

“Uhhhh!....suck me!….whore!”

Patricia takes the head of his penis into her mouth, she massages it with her tongue and slides her wet lips smoothly up and down over the ridge of its base, her fingers playing so gently with his balls. He’s breathing hard, there’s sweat on his brow, his penis is bending back toward his belly, the veins are standing out along his shaft. He gasps, juddering as his every muscle strains in his fight not to come. But sex-mistress Patricia knows how to make men wait! Now her hand joins her lips, stroking up and down his straining shaft smoothly, rhythmically, full length in perfect time with her lips as they roll up and down over his head. Her head rises and falls between Mr Dawson’s spread legs, her cheeks dimpling as she sucks. His hands run over her bare shoulders and through her hair. His thighs quiver, from above her Patricia hears the grunt she knows so well, the sound men make as they rise! His shaft stiffens even harder against her fingers and lips, his hips thrust up, his hands grab her shoulders, his whole body trembles…..his black leather throne creaks and rattles as his hips thrust against Patricia.

“Uhhh!...Whore!....Uhhh!” he grunts, and warm semen spurts into Patricia’s mouth.

The door of Mr Dawson’s office opens and the PA looks up from her keyboard.

“It’s always such a pleasure to do business with you Patricia.”

“Any time Mr Dawson. I’m always at your disposal”

Their firm handshake, first name terms, and the warm smiles they exchange tell her that their meeting’s been a success. Whatever business it was she’ll probably never know, but she knows this Mrs Williams must be really something if Mr Dawson can spare an hour of his so valuable time with her. Mr Dawson shows Mrs Williams to the lift himself. Mr Dawson’s always such a perfect gentlemen with the ladies. The PA tells herself she’d never dare wear a skirt that tight if she had a bottom as good as Mrs Williams’.  A last handshake and smiles, and Mrs Williams is gone.     

The security guard’s eyes follow Patricia across the foyer toward the glass doors, and Patricia smiles as she’s mentally undressed again. Then the glass doors close behind her and she’s back in the bustle of the busy London street.

High in his tower Mr Dawson turns to his computer screen. Below the caption:

“Lady Patricia. Private modelling and exotic massage. Enjoy me in and out of the outfit of your choice. Let my expert fingers ease those stiff muscles. Your place or mine.”

There’s an icon marked:

“Enter – if you dare!”

He dares, and clicks his mouse.

On the computer screen the picture of Patricia in her evening dress disappears. It’s replaced by Patricia laid back on a bed, nude with legs wide ready for him to mount…... Another click and there’s Patricia enjoying a shower, stepping out naked with her body glistening wet. More clicks and there’s Patricia just in brief skin-tight black leather shorts and thigh-high boots, holding a whip….

Now there’s the picture he wants: naughty schoolgirl Patricia sitting pretty in her pleated grey flouncy miniskirt high up bare legs with white knee socks, rakish neck tie and straw hat, blouse tight over her breasts to show lustful teacher there’s no bra underneath, with her legs just wide enough apart to treat teacher to a glimpse of white schoolgirl knickers. He opens his desk drawer. He pulls out the white cotton knickers he hides there, borrowed from his daughter’s bedroom drawer. He eases out his straining erection, pulls down his trousers and briefs so his hand is free to move, and grunts as he draws the white cotton slowly across the nozzle of his lust-swollen knob. Now his eyes are on naughty Patricia bending over her school desk with legs spread wide showing teacher just how brief her knickers are so he can spank her - or play with her….. His daughter’s skirt’s nowhere near as daringly short as Patricia’s, but her curves are forming and her bare legs with knee socks and the young breasts starting to fill her blouse are as exciting! With his daughter’s knickers hung over his erection Mr Dawson’s hand goes down and his rhythmic masturbation starts….Now his naughty daughter is standing with her blouse open and breasts peeping out, her miniskirt gone, white schoolgirl knickers round bare thighs above white knee socks, raunchily underlining the young pubic hair he dreams of…..It’s his daughter’s hand round his shaft now and his stroking’s frantic!

“Uhhh!....Uhhh!....Uhhh!”

Mr Dawson’s throne creaks and rattles again as semen splashes over his desk.

Mr Dawson touches his PA’s number on his phone.

“Yes Mr Dawson?”

“Could you block two hours in my diary, next Thursday 3PM”

“Certainly Mr Dawson. What shall I put as the subject?”

“I’ll be meeting Mrs Williams again. Put it down as corporate education. Oh yes, and include the Finance Director in the meeting. Ask him to come up and see me when he’s free. I’d like to run some of the issues that came out of my meeting with Mrs Williams past him.”

“Certainly Mr Dawson.”



A London taxi ride away Patricia sits in the bar of an expensive hotel. She’s in the seclusion of a cosy curtained alcove, sipping champagne as she watches the busy world go by. She’s the very model of a high-flying executive waiting to meet a client on business. A man joins her in her alcove. He’s early fifties, so distinguished with his little military style moustache, light suit and regimental tie.

“Mrs Simpson! A pleasure to meet you!”

Patricia smiles. She likes older men, especially the things they ask her to do to get their erections up really hard, and older men know from their wives just what women like. And of course…..Patricia looks at the gold glinting on her wrist. This afternoon will be fun!

“So pleased to see you too Mr Smith. Do call me Patricia.”

As she greets him she slowly crosses and uncrosses her legs to show him her stockings. In the seclusion of the alcove no-one sees as he puts his hand on her stockinged knee and slides his hand under her skirt till it reaches bare thigh.

“Did you bring the outfit?....The evening dress?”

Patricia touches her briefcase. Her black evening dress is probably rather creased but he won’t notice, and of course it won’t be staying on her for long!

Patricia’s smartphone chirps.

“Excuse me a moment”

There’s a new appointment in her calendar. Patricia marks “Schoolgirl” in her diary for next Thursday at 3PM.

“Business?” he asks with a grin.

“And pleasure. Shall we go up to your room?”

Click-clack go Patricia’s heels as she walks toward the lift. Men’s eyes follow her across the lobby and her clothes evaporate yet again.