Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“See you again.” That’s all I can say.
“Yes, see you again, Holly. Safe journey home.”
If only he knew where my home was. And if only he knew what tomorrow night’s proposal involved…
It wouldn’t be such a passing comment if he did.
Chapter Five
User 1496. Male. 34.
I’m an exhibitionist. I want to use you against my window, curtains wide open as I press you to the glass and fuck you like a slut. I want you to cry out so loud my neighbours hear you through the wall, and passersby along the path outside get to see you being slammed like a piece of meat. I want to scrawl marker pen over you. I’ll write filth on your tits, and your pussy, and your slutty ass. I’ll call you a dirty, cheap bitch who wants people to see. Who NEEDS people to see. I’ll shout it so they can hear, and you’ll agree with me. You’re going to scream it to the world. Some people might well watch up close, right against the window. They’ll see what a dirty bitch you are. They’ll see just how big a toy a slutty little cunt like yours can take from me.
Anal and pussy. Self-play. Yes. Lots and lots of self-play. Plenty of degradation.
Dress like a cheap, hot little goth bitch, with your tits out from the second you arrive.
Duration: Five hours.
Proposal price: £6000.
This kind of proposal might have scared the crap out of me just a few short months ago. But not now. Holly knows the score.
My confidence is sky high after Mr Gregory rated me five stars last night, with another amazing review for my resume. He may have a drawer rammed full of panties, but mine are a memento he’ll be holding dear.
I search through my clothes for an outfit that fits the bill for this evening – quite the opposite of the one I was wearing yesterday. I pick one of my oldest black bodices from the back of my wardrobe. A good choice, I think. I used to wear it nearly every weekend at our local rock bar, and it shows. It’s been worn so many times the boning is warped, and the top barely holds my tits in. Perfect.
I pick out one of my favourite little skirts, but it’s hardly a stunner anymore. I keep it mainly for sentimental value now as the lace around the bottom is frayed to shit. I pair it up with thin holdup stockings, laddered on purpose with a nail file.
I’m less careful with my makeup tonight. No flash contouring, just a thick layer of pale foundation, and catflicks done with a pencil, no brush. I don’t use lip liner, just a heavy coat of budget red gloss, destined to get smeared.
I do a twirl in the mirror, and grin, because I’ve chosen well. I look like a cheap goth hooker, just like User 1496 wants me to.
The address is a place called George Grove, and I know it pretty well since it’s only two streets over from mine. I know the path User 1496 is talking about – a lane that runs alongside a poor excuse of a local park, normally filled with crack heads. It makes me wonder how the hell a client around here can afford over a grand an hour for some playtime, but that isn’t my question to answer. The Agency will have run their checks on him.
It’s a good job I’m close to moving out, since some of my own neighbours might well get to see me in full slutty action tonight. What a farewell fuck you that would be…
I walk quickly, with my head down and my leather coat wrapped up tight. I click arrived on the app as soon as I reach the faded George Grove sign, and the instructions come straight through.
Number 37. Room 2. Front door is open.
Room 2 of number 37. Ok, right. So, this place must be a house share, like mine.
I’m careful on the cracked paving slabs as I step up to the house once I find it. The lights are on in the front windows, both upstairs and downstairs, but the curtains are all drawn shut. Sure enough, the front door is open. Room 2 is straight down the hallway in front of me, most likely where a dining room used to be. I catch sight of the kitchen off to the side, and it’s almost as grotty as the one at my place, which is saying something. I won’t be accepting a coffee if I get offered one.
I knock on the door of Room 2, but User 1496 doesn’t answer. I knock again, and wait, but still nothing.
“Hello,” I say, with my face up close to the door. “It’s Holly, I’m here.” But there’s no response. No sign of life until I get another buzz from the app on my phone.