A whimpered, gasping moan slips through my lips as I open my big, pale blue eyes at the man before me, dropping to my knees and pouting up at him. His breath hitches as he sees the submissive position I'm in, but his eyes can't seem to stay focused; they alternate between my full, painted lips and the obscene amount of cleavage bulging out of tonight's costume. I worked too much, they said; the other girls were legitimately on the payroll, and he couldn't supply me my drug money under the counter quite as frequently as I asked for it.

But God damn, did I need a fix.

I hadn't slept in days, my lip was quivering, and the amount of sweat on my palms was the grossest thing I'd felt in a while. Of course, I was also used to bribing, in any way possible.

Flynn's eyes finally rested on my breasts, glistening with the sweat of my withdrawal as my breath became quicker and labored; I could force this with no difficulty, and a forced another moan passed my throat. It took nothing for me to notice the bulge in his pants twitch. Without a word, his mouth and throat clearly drying out, he stepped forward, and his hand trailed down the back of my head. My eyes stared up at him, my lips parting, and my tongue trailed along my lower lip. His breath hitched as he watched me, but he nodded slowly.

"You... have to do something for me first." I offered nothing more than a nod, lifting trembling hands to his belt and undoing it, dropping his pants to the floor and setting to work, paying no mind to the grunts and moans already coming from the other downstairs rooms. Hollywood came alive at night, and more than one left hand got overtime in the Sin Bin.


It was strange, how I, for once, had the most clothing on of all the girls. The push-up I'd chosen to wear was white and laced, evident in the half inch that showed from beneath both sides of my middriff top. There were sleeves on this one, but it didn't seem to matter; the errotic peek-a-boo that my skirt-over-g-string played was enough to drive them wild. It was no surprise, not really; I looked like a school girl with the get-up and the long ponytail at the back of my head. The cash in the toll boxes was piling up every time I came around, and I didn't even have to make a sound.

I was out back, taking a long drag on my cigarette, my bag on my shoulder as I enhaled. With my eyes still closed, I tried to force out a smoke ring, failing miserably. In front of me, someone cleared his throat in front of me. My eyes opened, and I instinctively tapped the ashes off the cig, granting him a coy smirk in the darkness. Now, before I continue, I would like to make something clear. As far as sexual partners go, I don't have a type, and I sure as hell am not picky; I've had relations with any gender or sexual identity, in pairs and up to six at a time. It makes no difference to me; this is who I am, and this is how I choose to live. This being said, I shall explain the handsome devil that stood before me.

I couldn't see his eyes in the darkness, could only vaguely make out an outline for most of him. His hair was a blazing red, apparently dyed. Even in silhouette, I could see his muscular outline. I pursed my lips before taking a final drag and dropping the tobacco roll, snuffing it out with the ball of my knee-high boot-covered foot.

"You'll have to pay me overtime, sugar." I shot him a wink and nodded towards the street; my apartment was only a few blocks away.