Mother Fucker

The debauched debacle at the brothel meant Ria was clearly going to be ‘off-line’ for a good few days. Ria was in no fit state physically or mentally and Clarke got Sunil to book a doctor, who also happened to be a long-time client of the brothel, to pay her a visit. Still, Clarke needed to keep himself busy, and started planning the next step of Ria's managed decline in ignominy.

Clarke remembered stalking Ria's Facebook and seeing pictures of her attractive mother who he soon found was named Disha. He thought Disha was mirror image of Ria and it appeared to be living in the UK.

With nothing better to do Clarke got James, his full time PA and part time personal sleuth to do some digging on the glamorous middle aged Disha.

And what James found was glorious. It quickly became apparent that Ria's mother was prime for blackmailing.

Disha wasn’t well educated, leaving school at sixteen and marrying Ria’s father at nineteen. She was a housewife to a successful businessman for twenty-five years, living a life of comfort while raising Ria and her brother. Life was luxurious and happy until her husband’s downfall when he fell on the wrong side of turbulent Sri Lankan politics. The resulting court case revealed Disha's husband's dark secrets including several mistresses.

Heartbroken Disha divorced her husband and followed Ria to the UK in 2010.

Unlike Ria who had a first-class private education and speaks fluent English, Disha is low skilled and only speaks a basic level. Therefor Disha is very dependent on Ria for sorting out her affairs and always seeks her daughter’s opinions and guidance when it comes issues at work, with local government and social customs in the UK.

So, making a life for herself abroad was harder for Disha.

A cousin living in the UK got Disha a job as a housemaid to a rich British Asian family where she is treated a little better than a slave. She has worked that job ever since, and a role Disha finds humiliating as less than a decade before she employed several house staff herself.

Yet, Disha finds comfort and pride in knowing Ria is successful.

Romance wise, at fifty Disha’s understands her best years are behind her, but being South Asian she looks ten years younger than her Caucasian counterparts. And although chubby she still turns heads of men half her age.

Since divorcing Ria’s father back in Sri Lanka, the only other relationship Disha had was with a former Royal Marine Commando called Marcus. According to witness statements, James found, about a year after coming to the UK, Disha met the rough and ready Marcus at the bin shed outside their apartment block, where Marcus used to stand and smoke. The loved-up pair got married within six months of meeting. Although Marcus was charming, Dan and Ria quickly disapproved of him as the more they got to know him the more it became clear that Marcus was a functioning alcoholic. Not only that, but rather confusingly despite claiming to be in love with Disha, when Marcus was drunk he would often spout racist thoughts and views.

Yet desperate to be loved and dependant on Marcus for support, Disha would tune herself out of Marcus’ flaws and wrongs. Sadly, it’s never a good idea to marry a drunk. According to the divorce papers after three years of marriage Disha and Marcus got divorced due to the Marcus being caught using prostitutes.

According to emails and WhatsApp messages James found on Disha's I-Cloud, Ria and Dan had recently tried to get her to go online dating, which is something she is apparently considering. Only, Disha worries that at fifty, and having two failed marriages, is it worth putting herself through all the emotional strain and risk of heartbreak again?

Deep down, Disha is hoping that with Ria's ongoing success, she will be able to move into a granny flat at Ria and Dan's home, become a live-in nanny to her future grandchild and finally enjoy a peaceful life free of drama and further heartache.

That was the plan. But Disha hadn’t been able to reach Ria over almost a month. That had never happened before. Even though Disha was aware Ria was working overseas Disha unsettled. Her daughter always kept in touch.

So, as a low skilled immigrant, isolated and vulnerable, Disha was prime for blackmailing. Clark felt his cock swelling with excitement. He thought the potential is endless. And Clarke had never fucked a fatty. He had heard they put more effort in that slimmer women and wondered if it was true.

Also, if Ria continued to misbehave and not cooperate… he could really fuck with Ria’s head by involving Disha in some twisted and cruel way.

Clarke was going to use his imagination with Disha and get inventive. He decided to rope in Grace, James and his favourite male porn star, Bronson the Breaker.

Disha was about to begin a long arduous sexual adventure much like that of her poor daughter.

~

It was a Friday morning and Disha left her small shared flat for the bus stop. She hated public transport. Back in Sri Lanka Disha could drive but she had twice failed her UK driving license.

On the bus Disha sat down on the front row, watching the dreary winter world outside. Disha missed the vibrant colours of Sri Lanka and the comfort of financial security. But most of all she missed being loved. However, Disha came to the UK not just to be with Ria but to escape the gossiping neighbours and family, all of whom looked down on her over her failed marriage and husband’s indiscretions.

The bus pulled into the city centre terminus Disha alighted to begin her short walk to the glass and steel tower where her employer lived in a penthouse. But she dragged her feet. Despite the lavish surroundings of the city centre penthouse Disha called it hell. It wasn’t just because she disliked cleaning other people’s homes. It was more the fact the couple who employed Disha too advantage, treating her as a low caste Indian. Because their parents didn’t respect Disha the three brat kids would bully and torment her.

But as Disha stepped outside the bustling terminus, she was stopped by a young black woman, holding a file, and flashing an ID card. "Can I stop you for a second." The woman smiled as Disha stopped. "My name is Grace and I work for Real Woman Modelling."

"Hello."

"All I ask for is two minutes of your time."

Disha made as if to walk on "Sorry, I'm late for work."

"I think you're very beautiful. And I would like to give you the chance to make money from part time modelling. Should the initial free portfolio be a success there's even the chance of full-time paid work. It could be a good second income."

"Me, a model? Honestly?"

Grace nodded. "Yes."

"Serious?"

"Absolutely. You’re a beautiful woman."

Disha laughed. Her cheeks warmed with feeling of flattery. "Then maybe I do have two minutes."

"Great. What's your name?"

"Disha."

Grace needed confirmation she had the right woman. "Surname?"

"Chetti."

"A lovely name." Grace smiled and began filling a data page on an iPad. She had indeed found her target." It's my job to recruit women who are over thirty, beautiful and natural. Women like you, Disha.”

“Oh, Thank you.”

“Our models work for online retailers who specialise in mature women, 40 to 50."

"But I'm fifty. "

"You're never fifty." Grace looked shocked. "You don't look a day over forty."

"Am I too old?"

"No. You're only as old as you look. And you not a day over thirty five."

Disha scoffed, "You're bloody lying."

"I'm not.” Grace was desperate to convince Disha. “Look. You only need to go to one shoot tomorrow and you'll earn a guaranteed £300 and get a free portfolio for you to keep. It's then up to you whether you carry on. Can't be fairer than that, can it?"

Disha knew she needed the money and felt excited by the opportunity. Plus, she’d do anything to avoid working in the penthouse. But it did sound too good to be true, so she wanted to ask Ria for her opinion. Disha held out her hand. "Give me your card. I will have a think."

"Call me later and I can book you in."

"Thank you, Grace."

~

Disha had a spring in her step for the rest of the day. She called Ria to share her news. But once again she only got through to her voicemail.

Not even the horrible employers could quell her dreams. Deep down Disha wanted to sign with the modelling agency but wanted Ria’s approval. She checked her mobile and there was still no message from Ria. No voicemail. Frustrated, Disha sent a WhatsApp message to Dan who was luckily online and replied immediately.

‘Hi Disha. Ria has only emailed me a couple of times over the last couple of weeks. So, I wouldn’t worry. Ria is just very busy.’

‘OK gud.’

‘You OK? Need anything?’

Filled with excitement Disha’s fingers bashed the screen of her smartphone. ‘I have been asked to be a bloody model !!!’

‘Cool haha. But I’m not surprised. I have a very attractive mother-in-law.’

Disha believed Dan to be as clever and wise as Ria… sadly he wasn’t. ‘Do U think I should apply?’

‘Yes. As long as you happy with the terms and conditions. Definitely. And send me the pictures. It will make Ria Jealous haha.’

‘Cheeky. I will do it then. ‘

That night Disha called Grace and a shoot was arranged for the weekend. Grace sent a DocuSign via email which a desperate Disha signed electronically without fully reading the terms and conditions.

As requested, Disha also sent Grace her clothing sizes.

~

Disha was dressed in a summary dress with her makeup professionally done by a mobile beautician who had just left. Her hair too, was full of volume and freshly dyed black to hide any grey hairs. She knew she looked good but still battled her nerves. A knock on the door caused Disha to jump. Believing it to be her taxi to take her to the studio, Disha slid her arms into her trench coat and picked up her handbag. But as she opened the front door – it wasn’t the taxi driver. Instead, it was a UPS delivery man holding an envelope and I-Pad.

The courier was in fact James, Clarke’s PA, “Disha Chetti?”

“Yes.”

“Please sign this to say you received this envelope.”

Disha signed the I-pad and James handed over the envelope.

Disha closed the door and inspected the envelope in the hall. She struggled with the formal language of the letter but understood it was a final demand from a debt collection agency. The agency was demanding £500 for an unpaid bill which she had supposedly been ignoring for six months. Confusion reigned over Disha as she had no knowledge of arrears, yet to her naïve eyes the letter seemed legitimate.

Apparently, she only had seven days, or it was being escalated to the courts.

The idea of it being taken to the courts sent shivers down Disha’s spine. It could affect her visa. Disha cursed her luck and gazed up at the ceiling as if she was looking for answers... but found none. “I really hope today goes well.”

It was all bullshit of course, designed as extra leverage to manipulate Disha. And without Ria to support her… Disha was there for the taking.

~

The studio which was situated on an industrial park out on the city limits

Sitting in the back to taxi Disha felt under more pressure to succeed. The excitement had evolved into nervous butterflies that were now swooshing around in her stomach as if they were an RAF display team. She felt sick with nerves and at one point in the journey she told the driver to pull over so she could vomit.

Only quietly praying helped quell her anxiety and allowed her to refocus.

The taxi arrived at a large Victorian warehouse which had been converted into small office units and workshops. Disha paid her fare then stepped out of the back of the taxi. She was wearing stiletto heels and a knee high blue floral summer dress. South Asian’s love their gold and Disha was no different, with gold anklets and delicate rings on four of her fingers. Being superstitious she also had gem encrusted good luck charms for spiritual protection dangling from a gold necklace.

Disha walked through a revolving glass door, into a large soulless reception area that echoed the sound of her heels and smelt of fresh paint. No one was about to help but her eyes caught sight of the sign for Real Woman models. She followed the signs for Real Women Models to a glass paneled door which was locked. Beside the door there was an intercom. She pressed the button and the intercom buzzed. After a few seconds, a male voice boomed. “Yes!”

The sound of the voice blew Disha’s confidence away. “M… m… My name is Disha Chetti. I’m here f… for Real Woman Models.”

“Disha Chetti? We’ve been waiting for you.” The door unlocked with a clunk. “Please enter. Take the lift to floor 4 and Grace will meet you there.”

~

As the elevator climbed Disha felt her anxiety increase. Her chest tightened and the palms of hands moistened. Once the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, Disha stepped out into a nondescript corridor lit by strip lights and soon spotted a smiling Grace standing in a doorway. Grace came and embraced Disha with the lightest of embraces and air-kissed her cheek. “Good to see you again, Disha. You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

“Now. Come with me and I will take your portfolio shoots.” As Grace led Disha to the studio, Grace explained. “The day will be spilt into two. First the fashion shoot which will last about two hours. Then this afternoon, you’ll be interviewed before performing on video.”

“Perform on video?”

“Yes. Performing with a male model. It’s all on in the DocuSign I emailed over yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Grace gave Dish a knowing look. “You did read the terms and conditions before signing the DocuSign, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Disha lied as she didn’t want to look stupid. “Yes. I did. “

“That’s good, because you’d have to be a complete idiot not to.”

“Yes. A bloody idiot.”

Grace opened the door of Studio 1. “Still, it’s nothing to worry about.” She gestured for Disha to step into the photography studio. “After a fashion shoot, you’ll be filmed by my colleague Clarke. He’ll ask you fun questions that will give the potential clients an idea of your background and allow you to express your personality and sexuality. Finally, you’ll do a little bit of acting with another model for the client to see if you have chemistry with a male on set.”

“OK.”

“This will determine the sort of work you’re best suited too.”

Disha nodded along as if she was understanding what Grace was saying, but in truth she understood very little. Her nerves, desperation to please, and her lack of comprehension were all working against her. Instead, she looked around the photography studio with all its lamps, screens and props. She felt she was in the right place.

On a desk sat a large Nikon camera with several lenses and high-power flashes. It all looked legitimate, even exciting. When Disha was a child she was the prettiest girl in the school and grew up being told by friends and family she would become a Bollywood actress. Sadly, fate had other more mundane plans. Yet, maybe, just maybe, her dreams might just come true.

A lover of clothes Disha’s was drawn to a large rail of clothing. “Are they for me?”

“Yes. Go have a look.” Grace watched as Disha made a b-line for the clothes. “I went shopping with the girls before, and looked for a few things a mature South Asian woman such as yourself would look good in. Take a look and choose a few to wear.”

“Oh, yes, yes… yes! Look at these. So nice.”

“I’ve cleared it with the boss too. You can take them home too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. As long as you hold up your part of the deal.”

“Let’s get started.” Disha briskly worked her way through the outfits, pulling them out one by one and choosing several to wear. She took out cocktail dresses, evening gowns, and night slips. There was also an expensive sari like the ones she used to wear back in Sri Lanka.

The rich outfits transported her back to a kinder, friendlier world when life was endless procession of family life and dinner parties.

For the next two hours Disha got changed in and out of outfits. There was even a stylist on site who touched up her makeup and hair between changes. Grace did her best imitation of a professional photographer, getting Disha to pose and strut like a fashion model.

Disha loved every minute. She loved being pampered and made a fuss of. It was the life she wished to have experienced in her youth. But it was a case of being better late than never.

But the fashion shoot was soon over, and it was on to the casting.

Wearing a flowing white and gold sari Disha followed Grace to the interview room. Her hair was tied back into a bun and held in place by a crystal encrusted pin, displaying her neck and shoulders. But it was her breasts Disha was worried about as the petticoat pushed them up and showed more cleavage than she felt comfortable with. She had originally opted for cocktail dress, but Grace informed her that the plunge dress was chosen specially for the casting by Clarke. Grace explained that part of the mission of Real Woman Modelling was to promote the confidence of everyday-life real women in their natural assets, their bodies and themselves.

Inside the small well-lit interview room was an empty desk and chair, in front of which was a black two-seater couch. Grace grinned, “Take a seat on the couch, Disha. Clarke will be with you in a minute.”

“OK.”

Sat alone, Disha looked at the video camera sitting on its tripod. It was aimed at her but appeared off. She had thoroughly enjoyed the morning and wondered what the next couple of hours had in store for her.

The door suddenly opened and in stepped a tall white man. Disha rose to her feet and shook his hand. “Hello. I’m Disha.”

“Clarke.” He stepped back and enjoyed the looks of the voluptuous brown woman in her sari. “Wow. You’re just as amazing as Grace said.”

Disha giggled. “Stop it.”

“I work in talent scouting. Grace told me you enjoyed the Fashion Shoot.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Clarke peered into the viewfinder of the camera then hit record. “I bet you especially enjoyed trying all the clothes.”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“Has Grace told you that you can keep the clothes if you’re successful?”

Grace nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.”

“Good. I chose the dress for you. Shows off your best assets.”

Disha felt Clarke staring at her chest. Feeling self-conscious Disha glanced down at her bosom and readjusted the embroidered sari. “Thank you.”

“You have great tits. Disha.”

Disha felt awkward and burned up. She felt a lot less comfortable with Clarke than she did with Grace.

“Thanks.”

“I love Indian chicks.”

“I’m Sri Lankan.”

“Oh, Ok.” Clarke sniggered as he thought of her daughter, Ria. “Actually, I know a Sri Lankan. She is also very sexy.” He started to train the view finder on Disha tits. “Have you done anything like this before?”

“No.”

“What made you do this?”

Disha gazed into the camera as she remembered her meeting with Grace. “Grace told me about your company. Said you paid good money.”

“Yes. We do.” Clarke stepped over to his desk then pulled out a drawer. He then slipped his hand inside and lifted out an envelope before tossing the bulging envelope on his desk. “We pay cash.”

“Oh.”

“Is that OK?”

“Yes.” Disha’s eyes widened with anticipation as Clarke opened the envelope and fingered the bank notes. “Yes, it is.”

“Good. But are you willing to do what it takes?” Clarke smiled as Disha nodded. “Great. So, let us begin. Tell me about yourself.”

“My name is Disha. I’m fifty years old and I’m from Sri Lanka.”

“How old were you when you first kissed a boy?”

Disha rolled her tongue as she slipped into thought. “I’m not sure… fifteen, maybe.”

“So, you were a naughty schoolgirl?”

“A little.”

“Did you do anything else?” Clarke watched Disha in anticipation, but she firmly shook her head. He then asked, “Then how many boys have you kissed?”

“Only one in school.”

“I meant in life… 10, 20… too many to count? A pretty woman like must have got around a bit.”

Disha scoffed, “No. not that many. I’m not a slut.”

“We’ll see about that. How old was you when you lost your virginity?”

Disha recoiled in horror at the question. “You can’t ask me that.”

“I can ask you whatever I want. But if refuse to answer, then we can’t work together, and you won’t get the money or clothes.”

Disha tapped her heeled shoes on the floor as she weighed up what to do. She was desperate for the money so she would not end up in court. “OK. I’ll answer.”

“Good. I’ll ask you again. How old was you when you first had sex?”

Disha gazed into her lap. Embarrassed, she brushed her hands down her black and gold sari. “Nineteen, on my wedding night.”

“How romantic.”

“It was.”

“How many men have you fucked?”

Disha felt sick with shame, and his crude language was making it worse. Her face a painted frown. “Two.”

“What’s your favourite position?”

“Huh?”

“Sex position. Disha.” Clarke raised his voice as he repeated. What’s your favourite?”

“Oh.” Disha burned up as she answered. “I like…when he is on top of me.”

“Good old missionary.”

“Yes.”

“Do you like doggy?”

“I don’t know what that is?”

“You’re either sexually dull or fresh off the fucking boat.” Clarke sighed. “I think we best let nature take over.”

Disha shyly shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know dog style.”

“I think we need to broaden your horizons.” Clarke raised his voice. “Bronson, get your unpleasant ass in here. Come and meet the lovely Disha Chetti”

A well-built and heavily tattooed man walked into the room. He was shirtless proudly displaying his Far-Right extremist prison gang markings. He looked at Disha then grunted something incomprehensible. But whatever it was it didn’t sound like he was impressed.

Clarke did the introductions. “Disha this is Bronson. He’s the male model I found online for you, he’s infamous on niche fetish sites on the dark web. But I want to see how you two work together.”

Disha smiled awkwardly, “Hello.” She found him a formidable specimen and tried to ignore the tattoos. There was a Swastika which in her culture is a good luck symbol... but Bronson did not look like a Hindu or a peace-loving hippie.

Disha knew she was in trouble. She just didn’t know how much.

What does Clarke ask Disha and Bronson to do? How does Disha react?