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)
“Dirty bitch,” he says with a laugh.
I pull my coat closed around me before I get out, hoping the taxi driver doesn’t see what a state I’m in as I rap my knuckles on the car window, but it doesn’t work. The interior light shows up the mud on my front as soon as I open the door. I hope I don’t stink too bad.
“Sorry,” I say to her, trying my best to keep the muck off the seats. “I fell over.”
Her eyes meet mine in the rearview.
“Sure, right. The park is slippy, but not that slippy.” There’s humour in her voice, no chiding in the slightest as she laughs. “Was it worth it? Getting caked in mud for?”
I grin up at the festive lights as the city comes into view, so bright in the darkness.
“Hell, yeah,” I tell her. “It most definitely was.”
Chapter Twenty-One
User 2155. Male. 34.
Work party to celebrate our end of year. There are eight guys in our team. Yeah, you read that right. Eight of us, all planning on having a great time in our office, with whisky, music, and a girl’s hot, horny holes ready for some fun. We’ve even got disco lights.
I hope you can be a filthy, gothic playgirl for us, Holly, and get right on into the action.
Strip show. Oral. Pussy. Anal. Tit play. DP. Lots of cum and getting down and dirty. We’re quite a team.
Duration – 5 hours.
Proposal price – £5000.
“A grand an hour isn’t that bad,” I say to Eb, then have to check myself.
Seriously?! A grand an HOUR isn’t that bad? My standards have changed to high hell in a few short weeks. I was working for £11.87 per hour at the store.
“Nah, I guess not,” she replies. “Plus, it should be fun. A good foray into getting it on with a load at once, and they’ll probably be so hammered and horny, you’ll get off easily.”
“Get myself off easily, I hope,” I say with a smirk. “If recent events are any indication, I’d say that’s a certainty.”
She shakes her head onscreen, still taken aback by my encounter last night.
“I can’t believe you enjoyed getting covered in dirt and cow shit.”
“It wasn’t the dirt and cow shit I enjoyed. It was the guy who threw me into them.”
“Yeah, still. The stench must have been horrific.”
I tipped the cab driver £300 when she dropped me back at home this morning. She’d earnt it. And as for my filthy bathroom? For once I was glad I don’t live in a show home. I was an absolute state when I climbed in the shower.
“I’ve never done a strip show,” I say to Ebony. “I might look like an idiot.”
Eb laughs. “Eight guys want a gangbang and you’re worried about stripping? Practice makes perfect, hon. You’ve got a full-length mirror, it’s really not that difficult.”
“How about you? Do you do many of them? Your practice must be pretty damn perfect by now.”
She flicks her hair and flutters her lashes. “I try my best. You might get to see at the entertainer’s party, hey? Depends how hammered we get.”
The thought of the looming entertainer’s party still gives me nerves, which is crazy, given that I’ve taken to filth like a duck to water. That makes no difference, though. A party with the other entertainers feels like a whole other affair. A more personal one.
It won’t be about ass-fucking fantasies, or taking two at once. It’ll be about meeting people. People I want to get to know.
Making friends.
I’m still haunted by my school days, worried that nobody will like me. Nobody except Eb, that is.
“You going to accept the proposal, then?” she asks.
“Yeah, why not? I’ve got one whole week left to get as much in as I can.”
“You sound like you’re on a dash for cash mission. You’ve done more than enough work this year to deserve your break, Ells. I’m scaling down to one appointment a week after New Year, and that’s going to be knackering enough.”
She’s right, I am on a dash for cash mission. Even now, with my bank balance looking like a gift from the stars, I’m still holding onto my work ethic – no matter what extremities that work ethic might entail.
“I’m not too knackered for a hot party with a load of guys,” I say. “Not yet, anyway.”
“When is it?”
I check out the calendar onscreen. “Friday.”
“Friday. Cool. Getting fucked by eight guys. Nice. Then it’s our party on Saturday. And that’s going to be it, right? You’re set for your holiday. Don’t run yourself into the ground, babe. You’ll have a hangover for three days straight after our celebrations.”
I hold my hands up. “Yeah. This will be it, for sure. Last gig before my holiday.”
I only hope it’s another five-star review to add to my perfect record. I need to get practicing to make sure my ratings are top notch, and I do. I choose my outfit from my wardrobe. Multi layers of hot gothic chic, with stockings and suspenders on underneath. A lingerie set worthy of a strip show. A tight bodice that pulls loose from the back. A short flared skirt that’ll shimmy down nicely, and a new set of platform shoes from my growing collection.