Her hands moved faster banging out a familiar tune that put them into a trance. Her blond hair whipped back and forth in time to the rhythm.

‘Get undressed now,’ she shouted into her microphone, ‘and let yourself go.’

She watched as these men, grown professional men, gyrated to the sounds of her bongo. Judges, MEPs, stockbrokers and managing directors stripped and danced. The trick was to keep drumming until the drugs and booze kick in and take over. They had all paid a few hundred to be there and she wasn’t about to disappoint any of them.

‘You’re in bongo, bongo land now and you are mine.’

The men knew what was coming next and they were excited.

‘Bongo bongo land,’ shouted the MEP, ‘me love it here.’

He jumped around like a cat with pepper up its arse. The smallest penis she had ever seen he was always the first to the finish line but he paid well and he came often (no pun intended) so she let him have his moment.

‘Yes, sir, you love it here and you will do as you are told.’ She used her head and motioned to a door at the top of the stairs, ‘go now and let Emma deal with you.’

He let out a scream of delight and ran up the stairs and through the door. All the men were assigned women and before long they were all in rooms being ‘seen to’ in whatever way they had requested.

She continued to play the bongos. The thumping, pulsating, vibrating sound added to their pleasure. Every now and again the sound of a cracking whip was followed by a man screaming, ‘bongo, bongo land, me love it here.’

She had photos of them all and she knew, at some point in the future, her list would make her a fortune.

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