Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“What’s your point?” I asked. “That Mandy’s far enough down the queue not to have banged Trent and co again yet? I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”
“I don’t think Mandy’s in the bloody queue at all, Jo, nor Debbie for that matter.”
I laughed a little. “Nice try.”
“What?”
“Trying to make me feel better about the fact the father of my children is fucking every pussy who’ll pay him within a fifty mile radius.”
“Including yours,” she said, then poked her tongue out. “So, how was the gigolo? I know it was a freebie, but I don’t imagine the service was substandard.” Her eyes sparkled. “Was he a good reintroduction to the land of the sexually active?”
I looked around for Lorraine but she was still out the back, there was nobody in earshot.
“I told you on the phone,” I began.
“You told me fuck all on the phone,” she laughed.
“It was good.” I smiled. “It was really good. It was great.”
She punched the air. “Trent shoots, he scores.”
I grabbed her a fresh mug. “It was different. I mean, it was Darren. I know Darren. But some stuff was new. Very new.”
She grinned. “I guess some of his more refined clients have taught him a thing or two, hey?”
The thought of Porsche-bitch or Mandy Taylor teaching him anything turned my stomach, but Tonya was right. He’d learned his shit from somewhere, and it wasn’t from a Haynes manual.
I added milk to her coffee. “He’s definitely had some pointers.”
“You owe someone a drink then,” she said. “I doubt it’s Mandy. That silly cow doesn’t even own a decent vibe. I doubt she even knows what a multiple orgasm is. It’s all talk.”
I love the way Tonya bands that crap around like it’s standard. She tells me she’s the poster girl for multiple orgasms. Three towels doubled over before she’ll even risk getting the vibe out.
That’s one of the reasons we’d forged the friendship of a lifetime – a shared appreciation of a decent fuck.
Only I’d left that crap at the roadside at about the same place I’d left myself all those years back.
She took her coffee. “So, you still going for the big bang? T-minus four days, right?”
The thought made my clit tingle, and I could still feel Darren there, still feel where I’d been fucked.
I let myself smile a proper smile. Fuck Mandy and Debbie and all those other bitches in the queue. I was going to get mine, and it was going to be worth every penny, the experience of a lifetime alright. Darren’s new tricks had made it crystal clear this wasn’t some half-rate service, these guys were serious.
Maybe I’d be the poster girl for multiple orgasms come Friday.
“Four days,” I said. “And I can’t fucking wait!”
I went through the motions, told myself this was just another mid-week gig that meant nothing more than a fresh wedge of notes for the university fund.
I pulled up her Facebook profile as I got myself dressed. Janie Ryan. Daughter of some rich banker from London, on a break at their country pad over Brecon way.
She’d heard of us through a friend of a friend by all accounts, and she was no stranger to paid-for sex. She’d rattled off a load of escort services over the telephone, told me she knew exactly what she was buying into.
This time she was after a bit of countryside rough, and she expected the best our neck of the woods had to offer.
New clients make me twitchy, but not twitchy like this. I showered and shaved and told myself to pull my shit together, told myself to stop being such a soft fucking idiot.
This gig was casual dress, nothing fancy. I pulled on some jeans and a nice enough t-shirt, put some gel in my hair and I was ready to roll. I smoked a cigarette before I got in the truck, having the strangest hope that the bastard wouldn’t start.
It did start.
Of course it fucking did.
I did the rounds and picked up the guys, and the atmosphere was the same usual lairy banter we go through every fucking time. I kept quiet, chain smoked out of the window all the way, kept thinking about Janie Ryan and hoping her pretty little snatch would be enough to get me off.
She’d sent pictures and they were good ones. Janie Ryan was quite a fucking looker.
Her Brecon pad was little short of a mansion, a big stone barn conversion amongst the hills. I pulled up next to a sporty little BMW and we piled out, game on. The banter stopped and we were ready to roll, charged with testosterone and stiff fucking dicks.
Only my dick wasn’t all that fucking stiff.
Fucking hell.
Janie was nicer in real life than she was in her pics. A tall natural blonde with legs up to her pits and a nice perky rack on her. She was dressed in nothing but a silk robe, her lounge set out with candles and this weird scented shit that hit me right in the temples.