Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Humor, Group Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The 4th story in the Ladz series : Estate Agent Carla McGuire has been told that being a Ladz Local Lovely would give her access to all the cock she could ever want. So why did that nice young man she sold a house to earlier look so intimidated? She hoped that wasn’t the way all her ‘fans’ would react.
It was Friday evening and most of the team at Logan and Burke's central Westmouth office had gone home to could get ready for a night on the town. Only Josie and Carla, two of the more successful sales negotiators, were left.
"Are you coming, Carla? It's nearly half six."
"Not yet, I want to finish the paperwork on the Clarkson sale."
"I don't blame you. I can't believe you managed to sell it. You did a good job there, girl. Worthy of a bonus, I reckon."
Carla laughed. She and Josie knew there was only one sure fire way to get a bonus out of their boss—and it didn't involve selling houses. "I'll have to ask him for a private meeting on Monday morning. Is the regular room at the Travel Inn free?"
"I don't know, you'll have to check the diary. Well, don't work too late. If anybody deserves to party tonight, it's you."
"Thanks. This shouldn't take me too long."
"Don't forget to lock up after you leave," Josie said as she left.
"As if. I'll see you at the club later."
Once Josie was gone, Carla felt a little strange being left alone in the office. It was dark outside, and with only her tiny desk lamp to light the room, it was a more than a touch creepy. She shivered, shook from her mind the thoughts of what happened to nice girls alone in the dark and returned to the paperwork for the house sale she'd negotiated earlier that day.
The Daily Echo had dubbed Peter Clarkson "the filthiest man in Britain." He'd hoarded tons of useless crap in his one up one down terrace in Westmouth's least desirable district and when the authorities had found him lying in his own vomit and asked the neighbours why they hadn't noticed the potent aroma of dead old man, they'd replied that it didn't smell any different than usual. After the house had been cleared, two elderly cousins from Stoke, the old man's closest living relatives, had put it straight on the market to try to recover the clean-up costs. That was almost three years ago.
The house had been marketed by a string of estate agents but generated very little interest. It had been on Logan and Burke's books for nearly six months, and the elderly cousins were getting restless. There was talk of changing agents again. But now Carla had sold it. That was something to celebrate. So what if the buyer had been hanging on to that week's copy of Ladz, Britain's best selling men's weekly. And so what if she was the star of the "Local Lovelies" feature that week. It's not as if she had promised to fuck him if he bought the house. The idea had crossed her mind, but she'd dismissed it. Something told her he wouldn't go for it. The dimwit actually seemed star-struck by her. If she'd suggested a little horizontal rumba, he'd probably have shot his load in his pants.
Carla hoped that wasn't how all the men who'd seen her photo shoot would react. If it was, then the whole thing had been a waste of time. Sure, it had been a lot of fun and she'd been well paid for it, but that wasn't the point. Rebecca, an old friend from university, had told her that after appearing in Ladz she'd had to fight men off. She claimed she'd never had so much cock to choose from and Carla liked the sound of that.
She completed the final form and took the papers to the back of the office, where she filed them away until Monday when she'd mail them to the solicitors. As she locked the filing cabinet, she heard the front door to the office open and whipped around to see who it was. The back of the office was dark and she knew whoever had just walked in wouldn't be able to see her. She strained her eyes and was able to make out two young men that she didn't recognise—one blonde, one dark, and both built like sportsmen.
The blonde one flicked on the lights which made Carla squint until her eyes adjusted.
"Who are you?" asked the dark-haired man.
"Carla McGuire. I work here. Who the hell are you? And how did you get in?"
"Oh," said the blonde, "Sorry, Miss. I'm Kyle, and this is Pete. We're the cleaners. Everyone's normally gone by the time we get here."
"But we can work around you," said Pete. "We won't disturb you if you're still busy."
"That's okay," Carla replied. "I'd just finished. I'll be out of the way in a sec."
She went back to her desk and as she began to tidy up. She could feel the young men's eyes on her as she bent over to tuck a few things into her handbag. She knew she looked good—she had to in her line of work because the office manager maintained that dressing well put the buyers at ease—so wasn't surprised they were checking her out.
She wasn't ashamed of her body either, which was why she'd been happy to show it off in Ladz. She closed her bag, picked up her jacket from the back of her chair, and turned to face the two men. Sure enough, they'd been staring. They had the vacant expression that Carla had come to associate with the penis taking over the main functions of the brain. The only thing missing was that their tongues weren't lolling out of their mouths. And all I did was bend over, she thought. God, I'm good.
"Well, good night, boys. You have fun with the vacuum cleaner and wood polish."
As she passed them on the way to the door, Pete said, "You know, I'm sure I've seen you before. But I don't know where."
"My picture's on the wall." Carla waved towards the photograph of her receiving the Selling Agent of the Year Award from the company's chairman at the Christmas dinner in London.
Kyle and Pete looked at the photo and then back at Carla. "Oh, yeah," said Pete. "That'd be it."
"Hang on a sec," said Kyle, pointing at her. "I know! You were in Ladz this week. I'm sure it was you. I've got a copy here somewhere."
Before she could answer, he took the magazine from his bag and thumbed through it until he came to the Local Lovelies section. "Bloody hell. It is you. Cor, you don't half look good. What a great pair of tits! Get a butcher's at this, Pete."
"Fuck me, it is as well. Jesus bloody Christ! Forget the tits though, mate. Look at that arse. I'd love to pound on that."
Carla coughed. "Excuse me, but I am standing right here."
Pete and Kyle looked at her. "Shit," said Kyle. "Sorry."
"Yeah, man. Sorry," said Pete. He turned to his friend. "It's your fault, dude. I mean, she's a real person, not a piece of meat. The girls that do these shoots aren't all come-loving sluts who'll fuck any bloke with a dick. Just 'cause she's got her baps out, doesn't mean she's up for it." He sounded as if he was reciting something he'd read in letter's section of The Daily Echo.
Carla coughed again. "If you've quite finished talking about me as if I wasn't here?" She stared from one to the other and they nodded. "As I was saying before you started getting all apologetic—I am a come-loving slut who'll fuck any bloke with a dick. And yes, I did get my baps out because I'm up for it." She shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a real life walking cliché—from my bleach blonde curls and big tits to the sexy undies I wear to work in case I get lucky with a client. And that's without mentioning my insatiable need for cock." By now, Kyle and Pete looked as if she'd slapped them. "Now, one of you said something about pounding my arse?"
Pete and Kyle looked dumbstruck. Well, thought Carla, that's better than star struck. At least I might be able to shake them out of it.