THEMES: Lust and Luxury, Elite modelling agency, Luxury setting, Group submission, Harem play, Orgy, Self- touch- denial, Consensual corruption, Degradation of Glamour, Ownership and Possession.

KINKS: Power imbalance, Age Gap, Collar restraint, Leashes, Food play, Older male, Top Models, Dirty Talks, Forced Orgasms, Creampie Fetish, Cum Bath.

The first thing I notice when I walk in, is the mirror on the... mmmm... UP.

But of course I do, it's always the first thing I notice, maybe because of how it's situated, or how it looks.

It's massive and stretches across the ceiling in a large curve, always reflecting so accurately every angle of us in our painted lips and lingerie.

Apparently I'm the last one to come in, because the other models are already sitting on the velvet cushions.

So I walk over and sit down as well, the inside of my thighs giving that little jitter it always does when I'm about to take on this part of my job.

The world knows us as models, the best of our generation; practically celebs and trend setters.

... But what they don't know is what we don't show them.

Right now as I walk over to sit with the others, we don’t look like models at all----- not with the absence of contracted magazine photographers.

The Agency calls this place The Secret Room.

Older men with money and wedding rings on their fingers come here after “auditions.”

Again my inner thigh gives that little jitter, this time with a tremble of my legs.

I'm always like this, maybe it's because I anticipate what's to come, or it's because of our status as models.

There are only three of us sitting here in this room, only three of us because we're the best models---- top models---- in this modelling agency.

... and only the top models are fit to dine with the great men, men who are considered the rich ones amongst the rich themselves.

Usually the auctions are for one man to one top model, but today I received a shock when I realised I was to go with the other two.

Winning an auction for one model is a fortune to even these men;

The agency has a strict rule against more than one model 'sating' these men, attaching a huge penalty fine for whoever decides to be too stubborn about the rule.

Now I wonder who could go for three all at once.

We weren't given his name though, we never are though I find it ridiculous since we still get to see their face when we get to this room.

Speaking of which; where is this man?

Just as I think of him, a light buzz goes on in the room; this means he's coming.

Instantly I, No. 2 and No. 3 get off from the cushion and down to the floor... on our knees.

Yes, we're numbered, and I'm No. 1; names don't apply to us in this room.

As my knees touch the thick carpet on the floor, I lift right hand up to touch the collared leather band on my throat that has my number on a gold plate on it.

Apparently this man we're going to serve has some unique tastes.

Bringing my hands down, I immediately bow my head and place my hands on my thighs, with No 2 and No. 3 on either side of me doing the same.

At that moment he walks in, but I don't notice it until I see his leathered shoes right in front of me.

He walks very quietly.

“Look up,” he orders and instantly we obey.

His eyes rake over us slowly, but unlike the other rich older men that's won the auction previously, he doesn't take in our appearances.

Instead he twirls the champagne I hadn't noticed was in his hand and says, “My wife thinks I’m in London tonight. She has no idea that her husband’s being served by three of the most expensive bodies in the city.”

'Ex wife', I correct him mentally.

Now that I'm looking up at him, I realise----- almost gasping----- that this is Mr. Sterling Silver.

... The man who's bought three countries in the continent and renamed them, just to spite his divorced wife who cheated on him when they were still together.

I don't know how he managed to do that, but I've heard he's so rich that he could make a person disappear without a trace, and even our clients that frequent this room fear him.

Although... I think, blinking quietly up at him;

... I didn't think he'll be the kind of person to visit this room.

There's silver hair at his temples, and he's wearing just black pants and a white t shirt which he's had rolled up to his fore arms.

For a man of that much wealth, he has a lot of muscles.

The agency has every client sign a contract not to damage our skin, or cause is significant hurt, but I have to wonder...

... if he has all that money to his name then, I don't think the agency has any hold on him.

They say he's the kind of man who doesn’t have to raise his voice because everything about him already says obey.

I bite my inner cheeks; now I'm curious on how I can satisfy this man.

Suddenly he reaches his hand out, grabbing hold of the leash attached to my collar and tugs it, causing me to jolt in shock as the collar bites into my skin.

He pulls the leash some more, forcing me to raise my head higher to look up at him------ I hadn't realised that while I'd been thinking, I'd lowered my head to the floor.

“Tell me why you’re here, No. 1.”

The question startles me.

Doesn't he know why he bid for us?

However he's still looking at me, so I answer, “To be used, sir.”

“And enjoyed,” he corrects, smiling cruelly.

“To be used and enjoyed.”

That's new, the previous clients usually like to be pleasured, not...

He snaps his fingers, drawing my attention back to him again, and I see No. 2 crawling to him as he parts his legs, then she begins unzipping him.

His cock springs out free, looking so thick and heavy, with a few veins bulging at it sides.

My mouth waters at the sight, for his age, his cock looks so good.

“Open,” he orders me, and I blink up at him in shock, wondering why it's me he told and not No. 2 that unzipped him.

However confused as I am, I do as he says and let my jaw drop, opening my mouth.

... But he doesn’t fuck my mouth yet.

Instead, he dips two fingers into the champagne flute in his left hand, then he brings them out and presses them past my lips.

The taste of bubbles and alcohol coats my tongue as his swirls his fingers inside my mouth, making sure I get every drop of the champagne on them.

“Good pet,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers which are now coated in my saliva out of his mouth.

Then I'm left in shocked awe as he turns to No.2 and No. 3

“Now, share.”

He presses his wet fingers into No. 2’s mouth, then into No. 3’s mouth as well, leaving our lipstick smears around the skin of his fingers.

Then he dips his fingers into his champagne flute, repeating the process again while we run out tongues all over his fingers.

Then he does it the third time, then the fourth time, and by the fifth time, his fingers are totally coated with our lipsticks of different shades of red and pink, and yet dry from our desperate sucking.

In a strange way this has made me horny, and when I look at No. 2 who's clenching her legs tightly, and No. 3 who's tongue is still out and her eye all hazy, I realise that they feel the same way.

We all desperate for even this scrap of his attention.

“Would you look at that,” he chuckles.

"My perfect little harem."

Finally, he grips my hair and shoves his cock into my mouth.

By now my tongue and throat is so slick with saliva that I don't gag, only tense up as my throat bulges, taking in the thick length of his cock.

It's safe to say that he's the biggest cock I've ever had in my throat.

Spit slides down my chin as he fucks my throat hard, keeping his hand on my hair so I don't stop looking up at him, while No. 2 licks his balls and No. 3 kisses his thighs.

“Look at yourselves,” he growls, watching the mirror above us.

“Three agency darlings, begging to choke on a married man’s cock.”

I know he's divorced, but his words give me a strange sense of shame that makes me aroused beyond reason, and I moan around him.

Every so often he tugs at the leash on my neck collar, pulling it so it tightens then uses his hands to feel the taut bulge in my neck, before loosing his grip and continuing in his thrusts.

Suddenly he pulls out, smearing precum across my cheek.

“Get up.”

At that we scramble onto the couch, panting while he rips strawberries from a crystal bowl on a long side stool, crushing one against No. 2’s lips.

It's red juice stains her mouth and he turns her face to No. 3 who takes the silent order to kiss her.

Their lips move in a tangle as the sick on each other's lips, No. 3 greedily sucking and drinking up every strawberry juice she can find in No. 2's mouth.

I watch, feeling left out and wanting some action myself, then suddenly I feel his hands tug the little covering over my breasts down.

... And he squeezes a handful of strawberries in his hand over my left breast, then my right breast, causing me to gasp at the cold feeling and texture, and making sure to leave both of my breasts thoroughly coated in the strawberries' juice.

Then he separates No. 2 from No. 3 and shoves her down to lick the juice from my breasts.

No. 3 follows without needing him to prob her, and she immediately begins lapping at the juicy stickiness.

The both of them begin sliding her tongues in rhythmic then different patterns across my nipples, making me heave and moan and pant, until I cry out in utter pleasure when they begin sucking on me hard.

“Messy pets,” he mutters, pulling his belt off his pants as he watches us.

“You three need discipline.”

Again he separates us, and I whimper while he bends me over the couch.