The Art of the Deal

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I hate working for rich people; but unfortunately, as a “mobile” fine art dealer, people with serious money are my main client base, so I deal with it. At five to ten thousand dollars a painting I sure do make a great living off them—but I have to kiss a lot of ass and make nicey-nice with some really obnoxious, snooty human beings on a daily basis to do it. These spoiled, privileged assholes really bring out the class bias in me; but of course, for the money, I try my best to keep it civil. I do what I have to do.

My service is unique in that I deal with artists who produce original works based on criteria I provide in consultation with the clients agent or the client himself. I bring the art gallery to you, so to speak. I pride myself on my artistic and design sensibilities and a keen sense of human nature and I’ve perfected my methods over many years in the business. I’m so good at it that I close my deals 98% of the time. It also helps with the female customers that I’m a pretty good looking guy, and a charming sort of rogue, if I do say so myself. Occasionally, the client is a pampered bitch who’s not getting the attention she needs from her over-achieving hubby. He’s so busy making money to pay for her diamonds that I sometimes get to “close the deal” for him. I have to admit I get a real charge out of fucking the shit out of these kinds of women, and cuckolding Mr. CEO whenever I can. It kind of makes up for the abuse I have to take.

So the other day I had an appointment out in the Hamptons to show some wealthy financier and his wife some paintings and sculptures for their five-thousand sq. ft. ocean front summer home. I met with their interior designer at the location a month earlier and we had agreed on a color theme and genre presentation that would compliment the multi-level steel and glass contemporary. I was carrying several very expensive original canvasses and two cutting-edge glass sculptures to show them. I stood to make close to fifty thousand on the sale, not counting custom framing and installation, so I was in an unusually good mood. As I backed my Lexus truck up to the garage of the beach house, a male voice rang down from one of the balconies and ruined my day.

“You, hey you, bring the sculptures up here and leave the paintings. Hurry it up; I’m late for a meeting.”

As I said, rude, obnoxious people really piss me off. I just smiled up at him, and made a mental note to raise the price another five thousand. “Yes, sir,” I replied, biting my tongue. “Be right up.”

When I entered the 2nd floor breezeway of the house, I was met by three men: a fifty’ish, rather stiff looking older guy in a very expensive Armani suit; Jonathan, the fey Interior Designer I had been dealing with; and a third, very muscular guy in a running suit who was giving me a very suspicious once over. Mr. Big Shot, The Fag and The Bodyguard: how predictable.

Jonathan spoke up. “Michael, this is Mr. Andropolous, the homeowner, and Benjamin, his personal assistant.” I smiled and offered a handshake which was totally ignored by the other two men. Jonathan seemed embarrassed. Mr. A was busy examining the sculptures I had brought, and Bennie Boy had turned to his right and was walking up a steel stairway toward what I noticed for the first time was a woman sunning herself on a chaise lounge on the ocean front balcony. He leaned over her and they exchanged some words. The woman seemed a little upset as she tossed her long brown hair and petulantly turned over and away from him. Bennie Boy kind of shrugged apologetically and returned to the breezeway and began gathering up some travel bags and a briefcase from over in a corner.

“We have to get going, Mr. Andropolous, the helicopter is not going to wait illegal bahis much longer,” he said to the stiff in the suit.

“Fine, Fine,” Mr. A responded impatiently. He turned to the designer. “Jonathan, you handle this. I’ve left a signed check on the table. The sculptures are acceptable. You and Elizabeth can decide on the paintings, I’ve got to go.” With that he headed for the door, with Benjamin, his arms full, close behind.

“Yes, sir,” Jonathan called out as they closed the door behind them. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m sure you’ll be pleased.” I liked Jonathan. He gave me a lot of work and was easy to deal with. I even let him suck me off once to seal a particularly difficult sale. He let out a deep breath and seemed to be relieved that the boss was gone. Apparently, so did the stunning brunette who was now standing by the railing slightly above us.

“I apologize for my husband’s rudeness,” she said sweetly, as I took in her breathtaking beauty. I mumbled a half-hearted, somewhat sarcastic “Not a problem, I’m used to it.”

What I wasn’t used to was her perfect body. She was wearing only a black thong and a thin black cotton halter top, and there was nothing left to the imagination. She was all smooth, soft curves and cascading, luscious dark brown hair. Her face was pretty, classy, in a dark, European mold. A lot of these trophy wives are just boob jobs and makeovers. Not this one, she was a natural beauty.

“I’m Elizabeth,” she said, “Jonathan has told me wonderful things about you, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Michael.” She was great at making eye contact when she talked, unlike her shifty-eyed husband. I wondered just exactly what our little Jonathan had told her.

“Well, thank you. The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Andropolous,” I responded, locked into the deepest hazel eyes I’d seen in a long time.

“Please. Call me Elizabeth, Michael” she said sweetly, and then added in a delicate monotone, “If it pleases you, of course.”

Yeah, I thought. It pleases me.

Still standing about 20 feet away up on the balcony level, she admired the sculptures from a distance and complimented me on my taste. “They’re very beautiful. Thank you for choosing them for me,” she offered, and then she asked me politely if I would please bring in the canvasses.

Outside, removing the paintings from my truck, Jonathan swished past me and got into his little Mazda convertible. He smiled at me and said, “The check is on the table. She really likes you, Michael. Have fun.” There was a little more than a hint of amusement in his voice. I got the message loud and clear.

Time to go in and close the deal.

Back in the house I began laying the canvasses out against a wall for Mrs. A to inspect, when she called to me from the balcony.

“Your beautiful……I mean….they’re beautiful…” she said. She didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the Freudian slip.

I turned and looked up at her. She was standing at the railing, all 5 foot 2 of her, feet spread apart. Her delicate, white-tipped manicured fingers were entwined around the stainless steel, the exaggerated angles of her taught shoulders gently poking through the thick cascade of hair that reached almost down to her tiny waist. The thong was gone, revealing a thin triangle of wispy brown pubic hair. The black cotton halter top was now sitting loosely around her flat, toned tummy, exposing perfectly upturned orange-sized breasts that had no tan lines. The little pink nipples were stiff and seemed to be pointing up at the sun that was streaming in from every direction through the glass walls that surrounded us.

“So, we have a deal?” I said, acting as though this was still about business.

“If you want,” she replied. “That’s illegal bahis siteleri up to you. After the way my husband treated you, the least I can do is offer you an apology…and my…total cooperation.”

I heard the buzz words from the moment she began to speak earlier: …”a pleasure to meet you…my pleasure…if it pleases you…my total cooperation”—submissive language. I got the message. Mrs. A was mine to play with for the afternoon. She was going to be my reward for taking shit from her husband.

I spied a pair of calf-length black leather boots near the chaise behind her. I thought I’d test my theory.

“Put those on,” I said firmly, gesturing toward the boots.

She smiled and wordlessly turned and walked to the chaise. Her ass was so tight there was hardly a jiggle as her firm dancer’s legs carried her across the room. She sat down and slowly laced up the supple black leather, all the while maintaining eye contact with me from a distance. When she was done, she began to walk toward the steel steps that led from the balcony level down to where I was standing. The breeze coming off the ocean softly sifted through her long hair, causing wisps of it to sweep across her breasts. That made her nipples stiffen even more, begging for attention. Beg, I thought to myself, yeah, that’s the deal today, Mrs. A. I need a little payback.

“Stop!” I said, more like an order than a request. She complied immediately and stood there, hands at her side in all her million-dollar, naked glory, waiting for instructions.

“Get on your fucking knees and crawl to me, bitch!” I said, with a slight hiss in my voice for effect. The rough words seemed to turn her on, as she exhaled softly and got down on her hands and knees. Her eyes never left mine for a moment. Her mouth fell slightly open, a perfect shade of rose on her pouty lips. I could feel her dark, graceful beauty take on the aura of a cat in heat, purring, imperceptibly growling under her breath, a hot, animal sexuality oozing from every crevice and curve of her body as she began to crawl towards me.

When she reached the stairs and began to descend, one steel rung at a time, her ass rose up in the air. The twin cheeks tapering down toward her slim waist formed the shape of a heart. How romantic, I chuckled to myself; but no romance for you today, Mrs. A. Let’s see what a good little cocksucker you are.

By the time she reached my feet, I had unzipped and had my cock out, already hard and with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. I didn’t undress. I wanted her to suck it with my pants on, like a $10 street whore in an alley.

“Sit up,” I commanded her like a dog. She rose up, back arched, and rested her butt on her heels, her hands obediently in her lap. She wasn’t new to this.

“Kiss it, you little cunt. And don’t take your eyes away from mine for an instant, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” she replied submissively, looking up.

She brought her lovely mouth to the tip of my dick and softly, reverently, kissed the head. The pre-cum transferred to her lips and they glistened in the bright sunshine as though they were covered in gloss. She saw that I liked this and didn’t lick it off, though I’m sure the little cum-slut wanted to.

Her breath was warm on my dry skin as Mr. Andropolous’ wife politely asked permission to continue. “May I suck it?”

I just grinned. “Open up,” I said, as I grasped my cock and held it to her mouth. “Stick out your tongue!” She did as she was told, never once breaking eye contact.

I gazed down at the kneeling socialite—gorgeous curves, smooth tanned skin, neck arched ever-so-slightly back as she offered her ten-karat mouth to me—and reminded myself that she was canlı bahis siteleri just another jaded, gold-digging man-toy. All the money and class in the world didn’t change what she was. It didn’t matter if she was fucking Mr. A for a new Maserati or relieving Bennie Boy of his tension at the end of the day, Elizabeth got what she wanted, whatever it took. So today it was about art and guilt. Whatever, I decided. My turn, lady.

I laid my dick on her velvet tongue and beyond her lips and she instinctively closed her mouth around it. Good little cocksucker, I thought. “Suck it, Elizabeth,” I said sternly. “Suck it good and make me cum. And don’t take too long, I’m late for a meeting!”

She got right down to business and began blowing me like a pro. Maintaining just the right amount of pressure with her rose colored lips, her mouth smoothly glided up and down my cock. Her tongue kept busy lapping and licking the underside of the shaft as she worked hard to suck me off. She sloppily french-kissed the bulbous tip, then swallowed the shaft down to the back of her throat, which felt like a warm, tight pussy. Mrs. A was good at this. Real good! She must have had lots of practice.

Every now and then I’d hold her face and fuck her mouth for a while. She seemed to like that and obediently kept still to let me have my way. She never gagged. She never broke her supplicant gaze, and moaned and grunted around the cock in her mouth like a bitch in heat, making sure I knew she was loving every moment of it. Good girl, Elizabeth! You’re a good little cocksucker, your husband would be proud, I kept repeating to myself.

Before long I was ready to cum. I grabbed her by her hair and told her to open up and stick out her tongue again, which she did. She wanted what was coming and began whimpering like a hungry little puppy. I held my cock in my hand and jerked off into her mouth. As she looked up into my eyes, the first thick spurt flew between her lips and landed on her tonsils. She had to swallow fast or choke, then opened up for more. I continued jerking off until I had emptied every last drop of sperm into her. A lot of it had overflowed onto her lips and chin, and even after she finished swallowing, her mouth was still covered in globs of slimy semen. I looked down at her and laughed to myself. Another million-dollar slut with cum all over her face. In one last genius moment, I reached over and held one of the glass sculptures out to her.

“Wipe your filthy mouth on this. And tell the maid to never clean it off! I want you to remember what a slut you are every time you look at it. And make sure your husband is in the room when you do. I hope he appreciates what a good wife you were today.”

She smiled a wicked little smile. “You are a devil, aren’t you,” she said, sloppily smearing my cum all over the lovely work of art like she was told.

“No, you’re the devil, bitch. You and your asshole husband,’ I said, as I hauled my cock in and zipped up my pants. “Now crawl over there and get me my check, I gotta go.”

She obliged and crawled back to me with the check in her mouth. I took it and folded it into my pocket. I patted her on the head. “Stay on your knees until you hear my car leave,” I said.

She nodded affirmatively and spoke one last time.

“Michael, can I have Jonathan call you? We’re doing a makeover on the Manhattan apartment soon. I’d really like you to have the job,” she smiled.

“Sure. Just make sure you include some sculptures,” I laughed.

She just smiled up at me and planted a sweet kiss on the very expensive, cum-smeared piece of glass in her hand. “Absolutely!” she replied.

“Bye,” I said, as I turned toward the door. “Have a real nice day.”

“My pleasure,” she replied.

I pulled out the check to make sure it was signed. It was. It was also blank. I filled it in for fifty-five big ones, made a note in my blackberry to call Jonathan and thank him, and chuckled to myself all the way to the bank.

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