Brett, the
guy in the mask, who's pulling out of me, his dick still dripping
come and pulling me up to my feet.
Suddenly, the light in the room changes, and it stops
moving, and I notice the walls turning black as if the view from both
ends is now blocked.
“ Clean yourself up,” says Brett. “They want to see
the sex, not the clean up.”
Already I can feel his semen dripping down my legs.
Then he pulls his underwear off the floor and puts them
back on, before heading toward the door on the opposite side of the
room to which I entered.
“ You were good, by the way,” he says before leaving.
“Good for a first performance. Maybe we'll work together again.”
And then he's gone, leaving me suddenly alone and
feeling awkward all of a sudden.
I clean myself, and put my panties and bra back on, and
just as I've done so, the door opens and Randall walks through,
beaming.
He passes me my robe, and helps it over my shoulders.
“ How did it go, Ashley?” he asks.
“ Um...good, I thought.”
“ And what did Brett say at the end?”
“ He said I was good.”
“ Excellent. Well, that's all for tonight my darling.
I'll get some feedback from the clients and I'll be in touch soon
with payment. That will be your base rate along with whatever tips
you might have received.”
He pulls a more serious look, his smile dissolving.
“ Just before you go,
assuming things went well...how did you feel about it all?”
It's scary how good it felt...
“ It felt good. I...enjoyed it, actually.”
His smile returns.
“ Good. Very good. And if we invite you back again?”
Now it's me who smiles, the thought of at least another
twenty grand taking me another step closer to my dream.
“ I suppose, Mr Taylor, that I'd have to accept.”
“ Excellent. Because I think this could turn into a
very prosperous relationship for both of us.”
And with that, I leave the building, step back into the
chauffeured car, and return to my parent's house, the smile never
leaving my face.
PART TWO
Chapter One
Dressed in jeans and a simple light blue blouse, I feel
a little under dressed. Although, next to Randall Taylor, most people
would probably feel the same.
He's wearing another fantastic suit, the color of
shallow water with a red bow tie that makes him look like quite the
character. Which, I suppose, he is. I'm sure not many people who see
him would place him as a man to put on private sex shows for rich
men.
He's sat in front of me now in a fine restaurant,
ordering a bottle of wine that I've never heard of and that, as the
menu tells me, costs over two hundred bucks. So, only about ten times
what I'd usually expect to pay...
Of course, he's already made it clear that he is paying
for this dinner and that, as my boss, he's responsible for letting me
enjoy these little perks.
“ This is a business dinner,” he tells me, “so it
will be written off as tax by my shady accountant.”
I can only imagine what his accounts looks like. Not
only does he put on the sex shows, but he also offers other services that he hadn't enlightened me to.
Frankly, I think it's best if I don't ask.
Around us are finely dressed people drinking fine wine
from fine glasses. It's all very urbane and sophisticated, perhaps
the sort of restaurant my father might go to if he was entertaining a
wealthy client or was taking my mother out for an anniversary dinner.
For me, it's a rarity, and I'm really wishing that
Randall had been more clear about where we were going. His
instructions do tend to be vague from time to time, and in this case
I'd have liked a heads up so that I could have dressed appropriately.
When I voice my concerns, however, he only tells me that
I look delightful and that I'm by far the most beautiful looking
woman here, jeans or no jeans.
As always, his charm brings a smile to my face and helps
me forget about my own minor insecurities.
When the wine is delivered, Randall takes some time
testing it and tasting it and very
Adriana Hunter, Carmen Cross