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Chapter One
Ella
It feels so weird, standing at the top of the staircase, fresh back from my trip to Sydney to see my parents, my suitcase by my side as I open my bedroom door. My life here, in this crappy shared house, is almost over. There will be no more piled up pans in the kitchen. No more grimy showers with mould all over the walls to contend with. No more limescale around every single tap and plughole in the place.
I’ve got an afternoon packed full of apartment viewings tomorrow, now I can finally afford to get out of this shithole.
It’s still hard to take in the reality. My life has changed so much it’s unrecognisable from just a few months ago.
My name is still Ella Jane Edwards. But another character has been added to the mix.
I’m not just Ella anymore. I’m a kinky goth mantrap called Holly, too – a persona I never imagined I’d be taking on.
You see, Holly is a prostitute.
A very kinky, very filthy, very well-paid whore.
That’s right. Me, sweet little Ells, is a prostitute known as Holly now. Or, more politely putting it, an entertainer. That’s what the official job title says. An entertainer working in client PR.
Polite or blunt, though, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I fuck people for money, and I love it. It’s a billion times better than slaving my ass off for minimum wage in a store where nobody gives a shit. My clients appreciate me a hell of a lot more than my managers ever did, and I have a whole load of five-star reviews to prove it.
The memories of before I left for Australia are all still so vivid. The clients I met and performed for. Everything from being chased through a park and bundled into the back of a van, pretending I wasn’t expecting it. Playacting that I didn’t want it, with my pounding heart in my throat. Being worshipped like a goddess by a guy who loves feet, after being beaten into blissful subspace in a dungeon by a Master, to dressing up for a Daddy, and being eaten out right in the heat of my period. So much craziness, and so much fucking fun.
So, why waste any time before getting back to it?
Tonight, Holly will come back to life with a bang. Literally.
I’ve been booking proposals all the while I’ve been away. Being back in London and ready to resume them feels amazing, but I’m already missing Mum and Dad so bad it hurts. Waving goodbye at Sydney airport felt like hell, and keeping my working life secret from them was getting harder and harder every day. So many times they quizzed me on my exciting new job role, wanting to know all about it, and so many times I nearly broke and told them, wanting to blurt out the truth and set it free. But what would I have said?
I don’t really work in PR, I’m a sex worker. I have a filthy profile on an underground website, and a ‘naughty list’ of the services I’m prepared to offer. I have a lot of ticks in the checkboxes, believe me. I’m dirtier than you could ever imagine. They call me Holly when I’m working, not Ella, and they pay me for being a slut, at their service. Don’t worry, though. I’m turning out to be the very best slut and I really do love it!
Sure, I can be as proud of myself as I like in The Agency circle and in my own mind, but in front of my parents… no. They’d never understand. To them I’m still their sweet little darling, with angel eyes – gothic choker around my throat or not.
Talking of The Agency circle… I check my phone as a message pings. I’m already grinning as I click to read it.
Back at your place yet? Is it good to be home?
I’ve been messaging Josh – the entertainer Weston – every day since The Agency Christmas party before I flew out to Sydney.
Yeah, I’m back in my room. I wouldn’t say it’s good. Kitchen looks even worse than when I left it, which is saying something. I haven’t even braved looking at the bathroom yet…
I wait for his reply, staring at the typing icon.
Not long left now. You’ll be in your very own penthouse suite before you know it.
I hope so, I type, with a fingers crossed emoji.
My friend and fellow-entertainer Ebony is coming with me to view the places on offer tomorrow, once I’m done with my proposal, and no doubt she’ll be quizzing me hard about Josh, as well as giving her opinions on interior decor.
I don’t quite know what I’ll say to her. I’m still churning over the answers myself.
Am I addicted to the real Josh, or to Weston, the hardcore entertainer? Is this real, or am I projecting the love of my life onto a man I barely know?
This could easily have red rebound flags flapping in the wind all over it from the word go.
I’ve never really done dating. Not since I was a teenager in love with Connor – my only ever partner before he left me for a groupie called Carly last October. I guess I have her to thank for the opportunity of being Holly at all, since I’d never have fucked anyone else if Connor hadn’t left me high and dry, with nothing but pasta and debt to my name.
She’s welcome to him. The wannabe rockstar can have someone else cheering him along on his road to glory. More fool her.
