Suzanne Wright - From Rags

Sean began, “And another thing -”

“Oh for the love of God why don’t you just piss off out of here!”

A moment after a scowling Sean had left, she heard Joe groan loudly.

“What?” asked Jaxxon.

“There’s a bloke over there who’s been watching the whole thing and rubbing his crotch like crazy at the same time.”

Oh bloody wonderful. Another sick perv.

Richie eyed the masturbating old age pensioner with the same disgust as the young barmaid and the landlord were. Not that Richie blamed him for being affected so strongly by the barmaid he had heard being called Jaxxon. God, no. This girl was a walking wet-dream. He was willing to bet that she could make even a gay dick rise to attention. She was unique. Fresh. And exactly what he had been scouting for. The tabloids would love her. He could have her on billboards all across the country.

Christ, it was difficult not to be mesmerised by her. She didn’t even seem to realise how she naturally commanded the attention of those around her. He doubted she was aware of just how sensual her every move was either. The fluid, graceful way in which she conducted herself was almost feline. The inner strength she had was so apparent it was like she wore it. Yet there was no conceitedness about her; she wasn’t gazing around to see who might be looking at her and she wasn’t dressed to impress. She just was . And that was enough for any bloke to want her.

There was also her beauty. No, ‘beauty’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Beauty’ seemed to imply a certain degree of innocence. This young woman’s appearance was not in the least angelic. That face, that body, that sultry voice…It was a package meant to tempt a man to sin.

When looking at those long, wild, chocolate-brown ringlets a bloke would only think of fisting his hands in them while covering her mouth with his own. When gazing at those large, wild, brown eyes framed by a thick set of eyelashes a bloke would want nothing more than to see them looking glazed over and dreamy after an orgasm. And those lips…Christ, it was as if they had been purposely designed to service a man’s dick. The smooth olive skin would beckon even a priest. What’s more, she wasn’t wafer thin like most of the girls he worked with. No. This girl had curves in all the right places. Very nice set of breasts.

And, God, when her emotions were running high it was impossible to look away from her. Anger was a good look for her, making her unique eyes feral and become somehow hypnotic. There were no real words to explain it. Whatever it was, it made his dick twitch. Just like everything else about her.

Sinful. That was what she was.

Just what he needed.

Jaxxon had long ago noticed the long-legged, sandy-haired bloke who was sat in the far corner, alone. She had also noticed that his eyes seemed to follow her every movement. She was used to being stared at in this place, though she could never for the life of her fathom what it was that people thought was worth staring at. She blamed the big breasts and the fact that she was usually the youngest female in here.

However, this bloke looked at her differently. Like he was studying her. Like she was some kind of weird artefact that needed to be carefully appraised. She didn’t like that. Although he was dressed as casually as all the other punters, there was something about him that suggested he somehow didn’t belong.

When his eyes met hers, Jaxxon raised a brow questioningly. Her philosophy had always been that if you had something to say, say it. In response he mimicked her movement. His expression seemed to be daring her to approach him and act on her agitation. She merely snorted. The bloke was very much mistaken if he thought that a little staring would unnerve her – when you worked in a dodgy place like this you had to learn to get used to it pretty quick. Maybe he would have had a chance at unnerving her if he was dressed in leather and wearing a collar like the Submissives…Why were they even still here?

Throughout her entire shift his gaze remained settled on her. Though it hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still she had ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His glare was studious. When he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected that he might approach her. He didn’t. It was Joe who he went to. For a moment Jaxxon wondered if she had got it wrong and it had been Joe that the glarer was concentrated on all along. Quickly she discarded that notion. No, she had felt his gaze.

“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side. “This punter here would like to speak to you.”

“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking here to want have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any of them.

“ So he’s paying me one hundred to accommodate a ten minute talk with you, and I’m really fond of money so -”

“One hundred…to talk?”

“ Just a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all. What kind of person pays that kind of money for someone to talk to them? Why didn’t the oddball just approach her himself?

Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seen as your shift hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your employer.”

She scowled at Joe but he simply giggled and left them to have their private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was reassuring.

“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a conversation with someone -”

“Oh really, you think so?”

He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight, that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me very far.”

She nodded, conceding that.

“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately and I understood that it would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”

“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes. Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach her thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a non-existent modelling job, but a partner of a modelling agency?

“You are wondering why the top of the food chain would bother personally with the hunt,” he guessed. “Please allow me to explain.” He perched himself on the stool beside him. “A close friend of mine runs a very successful cosmetic company, and he and I have come together on a project, a joint venture you might say. A new range of cosmetics was designed between the two of us; a line that is dramatic and echoes a bold yet carefree mind-set , a collection that will cater for both the everyday look and the socialising evening.”

“You really think you have products that can pull that off?”

His grin was dripping with confidence. “Oh indeed I do. And so now we are searching for the face that will set it off. When you open magazines you have your sweet, open, angelic faces that look ridiculously happy, and you have those who have mastered the sexy, seductive, erotic look. In both mine and my partner’s opinion, neither are particularly representative of true life. After all, if all people were truly so happy or so sexy, there would be no need for cosmetics or other such things.”