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“I work for the boss, Lady Ferry,” she said.
“Oh, but you don’t…” he lowered his voice, “workhere.”
She looked him up and down. Ah, he adored these modern girls who weren’t afraid to treat a man like a piece of meat.
“Dunno,” she said. “Maybe I do work here. Do you have the cock of a horse and the body of a soldier?”
Liberated women. Legal prostitution. Reliable contraception. Lord Malcolm Godwick was going to love the twenty-first century.
“Yes,” he said.
“Eat cunt on command?”
“No, but I will if you ask nicely. Twice if you beg.”
“You like spanking?”
“That would be the understatement of the century, my dear.”
That comment arched one lovely blond eyebrow. He always did enjoy a bit of rough before lunch.
“All right, so I suppose I do work here then.”
“I’m called Malcolm. And you are?”
“Zoot,” she said. “Well, that’s just a nickname. It’s really Greta.”
“Ah, you do belong here then. Did you know the name Greta means ‘pearl’?”
“Does it? Never knew that.” She smiled broadly. “Not a pearl of great price, promise you that. I’m very reasonable.”
“I like you more and more every second,” he said.
“You want to see my room? I have a pet raven.”
“I’d rather see your clitoris.”
She blinked, then grinned. “You can see that, too.”
They stepped into the lift. The doors closed slowly and for a brief moment they surrounded Lord Malcolm Godwick so that he appeared to be standing inside a gilt portrait frame, a wicked smile on his wicked face, with lovely Greta, a pearl of not-so-great price at his side.
The whole world was his oyster.
The End.
