Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
We’ve only got ten minutes left when my client comes inside me for the second time. He fetches my bag from downstairs and I use his bathroom to wash myself down, taking a huge glug of water to wash the taste away. I feel weirdly sad to be leaving here in fresh underwear and a sanitary towel. At least I’m leaving my dirty ones behind as a memento. He’s already stored them away in his top drawer.
My client offers me a coffee as I grab my coat, ready to go. Part of me wants to stay, but for sensibility’s sake, I have to say no.
“I have work tomorrow,” I tell him. “Bedtime for me.”
“Work? For real? You take clients in the mornings?!”
I shake my head.
“No, sorry. Work work. I have a day job, too. I’m not an entertainer all the time.”
“Wow. What a busy girl.”
Seems like I’m definitely becoming one.
I give his dog, Harry, a decent fuss before my cab turns up, and feel weirdly lonely as I say goodnight.
“See you next month,” he says, and I kiss his cheek. Clean this time.
“We may need to skip a month, I’m sorry. I’m off to Australia for Christmas with my family. They emigrated a few years ago.”
“Right,” he says.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure there are plenty of entertainers on the books before I get back.”
The sparkle in his eyes is beautiful for a cute normal guy, living in cute normal suburbia with a dog called Harry.
“I’d rather wait for you,” he says. “See you when you’re back and flowing, and every other month you’ll have me.”
That will be every month, then.
The cab driver beeps like an idiot on the street outside, so I leave User 319 to it, and set off for home, less worried about the seat this time. We’re still crossing London when a notification sounds out from my phone. User 319’s review of me is even better than the others.
Five stars and more.
The best entertainer on the market, and believe me, I’ve tried a lot of them. No fakery, no grand ego, no playacting. Nothing but a beautiful, hot girl who loves filth, and makes you feel like a million dollars. She’d be worth that, seriously. If you have a million dollars going spare, then give it all to her. You won’t regret a single bit of it. Period play was my happy place with her tonight, but I’m sure she’d turn her hand to anything – and likely come while she’s doing it. Do yourself a favour and book Holly now. Just not on the days I want her. I’ll be a repeat customer every month, I can assure you.
The review sounds like him, and it almost chokes me up, it’s such a compliment. Crazy really, being choked up with pride for swallowing cum and period blood for three hours straight.
I check my account and he’s given me a full 1k bonus. I get another wave of pride as I see my balance totting up, and another wave of want between my legs – half tempted to get the driver to turn the cab around and go right back there.
There’s only one conclusion to draw from that though, isn’t there? My filth runs far, far deeper than I ever thought it did.
I call up a chat window to Ebony.
You’re right. I think I might be a hardcorer. Creamgirl better watch out. I’m coming for her.
I end it with a line of laughing emojis, but I’m not all that sure I’m laughing.
I want to be the star at the top of the naughty list tree one day, and I just know I’ll do whatever it takes.
Chapter Eleven
I really don’t want to get up for work this morning. I could launch the alarm across the room, I swear. I don’t want to put my uniform on, and I don’t want to eat my token bowl of cereal, and I definitely don’t want to bustle my way through the crowds to get to the tube.
I used to have Connor to boot me out of bed with a get the hell up, babe, knowing full well he’d have the morning to snooze away without a care, but now it’s only me. Self-regulation is becoming a lot harder. My shifts are getting busier by the minute, and the ever-coming festive jingles don’t mask the angst. My tolerance for minimum wage is threatening to jump from the window and send me sailing – either onto a comfy mattress covered in money, or onto a disillusioned patch of concrete on the ground.
I’m not ready to make the jump yet. It’s way too early. That’s what I tell myself as I set off on my way. Be sensible, Ella, be rational. Don’t put all your eggs in one goddamn crazy basket.
That doesn’t hold back my irritation, though. I’m crampy and exhausted when I get to the store, running around our special offer Christmas aisles to keep them stocked up at the speed of light. Then, out of ALL the moments she could pick to be an asshole, my manager, Tracy, chooses right now.