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There was something I didn't like about Marcel and I certainly wouldn't class him as a friend. However I'd done business with the Frenchman many times and he'd always been hard but fair and never tried to cheat me. So I took his call even though it interrupted a board meeting. I even took him seriously when he told me to get my ass over to Indochina, halfway round the world, because he had a once- in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. When I asked the price, the value he quoted made my eyes water. It was either the hoax of the century or he had found something truly special.
When I reached the destination, a squalid little industrial city with an unpronounceable name, the first things which hit me on stepping out of the plane were the stifling heat and the lung-burning acrid pollution stench.
Fortunately the hotel wasn't far from the airport. Built with welcoming rich western industrialists in mind, the hotel was surprisingly decent with air-filtering and air-conditioning throughout. Although they claimed to be busy, once I showed my credentials I had no trouble booking one of the luxury suites on the top floor.
I stowed my luggage in my suite then phoned Marcel to let him know I had arrived and would be with him shortly. Being aware of the flight I was on, Marcel said that everything had been set up and was waiting for me. I splashed some cold water on my face then made my way across to Marcel's suite, also on the top floor.
I knocked then waited. I knew Marcel was looking through the spy hole to check who was there, and also that I wasn't accompanied by anyone I shouldn't be, escorting me under duress. This was not a place to take chances.
Long moments later I heard chains being released, the door being unlocked then Marcel opened it and bade me enter. Inside was a large reception room, identical to mine down to the décor and furnishing. Marcel had ordered a buffet from room service, and a woman and a girl, presumably mother and daughter, were tucking in as though they were starving. As the girl reached out for food, I noticed the familiar callouses on her hands. I realised sadly that she'd been pulled out of school and working in a sweatshop to earn money for her family. The woman was wearing a slightly faded red dress embroidered with flowers; if that was the best she could do, no wonder she was prepared to barter her daughter.
The daughter looked about eight, tall for her age but skinny. She was pretty in a way that appealed to my western eyes, but I knew that she would not appeal to local tastes and had poor marriage prospects. Still, at least that would have saved her family the crippling cost of a dowry. She was wearing a cream coloured dress, also embroidered with flowers, badly faded and frayed in places; it had obviously had several previous owners.
"Come with us, cherie," said Marcel to the little girl, indicating towards the master bedroom.
Reluctantly she abandoned the buffet and made towards the bedroom. The mother reached out and grabbed my arm.
"Please don't hurt my baby."
I flinched involuntarily, shocked by her hypocrisy.
When the three of us were inside the bedroom, Marcel closed the door behind us and secured it with the flimsy bolt. He didn't want the mother to watch.
"You know what to do, cherie," instructed Marcel.
Leaving the door wide open to give us a clear view, the girl went into the en-suite bathroom, reached up and pulled her white cotton badly frayed panties down below her knees, and lowered herself onto the toilet. The girl kept her dress wrapped tightly over her knees so we couldn't see her pussy. Marcel made no move to enter the bathroom so neither did I.
First there came a tinkling sound as the girl peed into the toilet. Then she started straining and I realised she was trying to shit. It seemed quite an effort for her, she strained for a long time, her face turning bright red. Suddenly she shuddered, then there was a splash as her faeces dropped into the toilet. Despite the bathroom extractor fan running, a definite hint of shit wafted into the bedroom. The girl wiped herself with toilet paper then flushed the toilet.
"Very good, cherie. Now have a bath and wash yourself as I told you."
The girl pushed the bathroom door to but didn't presume to close it. Moments later I heard water running, then splashing as the girl got in and bathed herself.
My curiosity was definitely piqued but I knew Marcel would reveal all when the time came. While the girl washed herself he poured us both drinks and we sat and chatted about various business inconsequentials.
Eventually came the sound of water draining from the bath, and shortly after the girl emerged into the bedroom fully dressed.
"NO!" Marcel shouted, "I told you not to get dressed!"
Marcel raised his hand as though to slap the girl, his face contorted with fury. The girl flinched, her eyes wide with terror. I realised both were accustomed to violence but I was surprised at Marcel because I hadn't seen this side of him before. Fortunately he didn't go through with his implied threat.
The girl quickly pulled off her dressed and panties. I looked her over. There seemed nothing remarkable about her, she seemed a typical eight year old, completely flat chested with a plump-lipped bald pussy.
"On the bed, cherie, and spread your legs," ordered Marcel, in a calmer tone now.
The girl laid back on the bed with her legs wide apart and dangling on the floor.
"Try to find her clit," Marcel said to me.
I knelt on the floor between the girl's legs and investigated her pussy. I prised the plump lips wide apart and pulled back her hood. I couldn't see her clitoris. Everything else was present and correct, a crinkled little peehole and a virginal vagina partially covered by a hymen. Knowing that the clitoris of a young girl is often very tiny and sometimes not evident to the naked eye, I stroked her gently with a fingertip. Not even the slightest bump where her clitoris should have been.
Marcel grinned in triumph at my questioning look.
"Now, cherie, you know what to do."
The girl switched round until she was kneeling on the edge of the bed. She lowered her head onto the bed to support her weight and, reaching round, used her hands to pull her bum cheeks wide apart. Her cute little sphincter was clean and pink; obviously she had just washed it thoroughly as instructed by Marcel.
"Push out," Marcel instructed.
For a brief moment I was worried the girl had been instructed to shit here in the bedroom. The girl's sphinter opened, revealing the deep red of her anus. Marcel waved me forward for a closer look.
As I peered into the cavity, I saw a little bump on the underside of the girl's anus, just inside her sphincter. I knew what it looked like, but surely not!
"Go ahead!" urged Marcel.
I touched the little bump with a fingertip; the girl flinched. I traced little circles round it, and to my surprise it grew hard. I stroked the bump gently and heard the girl breathing deeply. My fingertip felt slimy, so I held it up to my nose. It didn't smell foul so I licked it. A slight hint of salt and a bit tangy; I'd recognise that taste anywhere. I lowered my head to the girl's bum and stuck out my tongue, forcing it into her anus. I sought out the clit and teased it with the tip of my tongue and the girl gasped and pressed back against me. I licked round the clit, flicking it occasionally, savouring the familiar taste of arousal. The girl's breathing was fast and shallow and I realised she was close to cumming. Using my fingers I prised open her sphincter as wide as I could and somehow managed to wrap a lip round the little nodule and suck. The girl mewed, then shuddered with orgasm around my invading mouth.
As the girl's orgasm died away and she slumped forward onto the bed, I belatedly realised the purpose of Marcel making me watch her shit. I didn't need long to assess the offering - a girl who not only orgasmed with anal penetration but supplied her own lubrication. I wrote out a cheque on the spot for the full amount with no hesitation.
Marcel went into the main room to get the mother to sign the paperwork which would allow me to take the girl out of the country, leaving us in the bedroom together.
"What's your name? I asked.
The reply was a typical local conjunction of consonants. We'd have to Anglicise that.
"You're going to come and live with me, and I'll buy you lots of nice things. What do you think of that?" I asked her.
"I think you're a kind man, not like…," and she shrugged, not wanting to complete the sentence and implicate Marcel because of potential repercussions. "Will I have to work?"
She spoke good English in an attractive sing-song lilt.
"No, you'll have to go to school and study and get qualifications."
"You're a nice man. I like school."
"Get dressed, you're going to stay in my suite tonight."
The girl slipped on her frayed panties and careworn dress. I'd have to get her some better clothes before the flight out tomorrow or we'd attract some very strange looks.
Marcel came into the bedroom and handed me my copies of the paperwork, then we shook hands to seal the bargain.
"Out of interest, what are you making out of this?" I asked him.
He gave a hearty laugh.
"I'm not greedy, only fifty percent plus expenses."
What the mother was getting was still a fortune in this country. I hoped she chose to spend it wisely.
I reached out my hand to the girl, and shyly she took it. Hand-in- hand I led her out of the bedroom and towards my suite. The mother had already left.
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