Her nipples were erect buds of desire. The curve of her back as arched, as achingly beautiful as an arch could be. Her carefully trimmed pubis jutted with all the pride that the human form could offer.
Altogether she projected an appeal more alluring than lust could accommodate.
She held the pose of confidence for long seconds; “Just look at me,” her stance exclaimed. It was not an arrogant exclamation, just a self-assured one.
Her audience was three, one by her side and two transfixed by the screen, all leered, spellbound by the visual feast. The man by her side and the man ogling the scene that unfolded on the monitor were the same individual.
The plush hotel room was equipped with a giant flat screen monitor that auto-detected Ken’s MacBook, and wirelessly displayed its bidding.
A betrayal of trust was rolling across the screen.
Ken had his feet up on one armrest, his body stretched across the sofa and his head reclining on the opposite side. During the seven days that divided the event from tonight’s parade, he’d watched the secret recording more times than he could count; it consumed him.
Watching her take pleasure was his fantasy of the moment, a tonic to a flagging libido corroded by chemical abuse. Convincing her into it a stroke of genius enjoyed twice; the event and it’s recording.
Ken had stood the staff down for the event, sowing different assertions, orders and claims into different ears to ensure the operations block was private for just Catherine and himself.
The CCTV was a problem; he couldn’t have any possibility of footage with a naked service provider performing nefarious deeds with him ogling and shooting his own footage, leaking onto the Internet and social media.
“I can’t risk anything into the tabloids, Anton. Just one leaked frame and the press will be all over Saudi Royalty and his concubine in our facility.”
Before leaving that evening, Anton had cancelled the recordings to that sector of the building and physically pulled the plugs on the cameras into the recorder. Ken had watched and re-checked that they were disconnected right before Catherine arrived.
Ken had shot it high definition with his iPhone—it was all he could risk. The footage danced, shook and shuddered from beginning to end; adrenaline an unsteady base.
The re-watching of it had haunted him, waking him early each morning, like a drug, urging him unrelentingly to watch it.
“Ahh... my favorite part,” he pointed.
The girl stared, her eyes bulging, unblinking in disbelief; “This client must be an actor! Look how he appears on the film.”
The girl had rarely seen a television monitor before; there was only one in her small village in Siberia. Her eyes were glued to the screen, transfixed on the beautiful woman actor who was kneeling naked, this man doing something to her rear end.
What a funny sight for a child to see—it made her giggle.
Ken checked the time; it was nine-fifteen. Jetlag still had its grip on him, he’d wake early again, so he’d limit how much of his obsession he’d watch—just enough to excite the girl.
Tonight he’d sleep well... she was such a pretty little thing, she’d be a great help.
No doubt his slumber would be filled with dreams of Catherine again; Dear, sweet, uncooperative Catherine.