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I grin up at the tower above us, praising the stars.
Yes. We do.
I’ll be clicking accept the very moment it arrives in my inbox, insane or not.
Chapter Thirty
Josh is way more competent with aftercare than I am. He has creams and lotions galore, and he’s blessed with exceptionally skilled hands to sort my skin out, but as for my insides. My God they’re painful, but they’ll heal. Eventually. Plus, I know a little bit about internal aftercare myself by now…
Thank you flannel, and thank you, Daddy. I use his method before I use the ointment gift of the founders, and actually, it’s not all that bad once I’m done.
“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll survive,” Josh says as he helps me into my PJs, with his knowing smirk that always makes me grin. He doesn’t say a word about the state I’ve arrived home in. No raised eyebrows, or shock horror, so it’s obvious this is no new scenario in his world.
He has a best friend in this business, after all.
I’d love to ask Tiff all about her experiences myself, but I don’t think these clients were joking around when they said strictly confidential.
I’m over the moon when I get the ping of a review through before we go to bed. This review is marked ‘private’, viewable only by me. It feels more like a school report than a product recommendation. Much more personal. I’m shaking, nervous when I click to read it.
You did magnificently, Holly, far surpassing even our highest expectations. Please consider yourself highly regarded. You have upheld your status exceptionally well. Congratulations on a job extremely well done.
I read it out to Josh, as though I’ve just won an award.
“Smashed it,” he says, and gives me a high five. “You’re rising to the top, you dirty little megastar.”
The founders weren’t lying when they told me they’d reorganise my outstanding proposals in respect of my injures. I get a message after my review, asking me to update my availability in the schedule planner. I shift my available dates in the app once Josh has helped me settle under the duvet, and then I’m off like a light switch into dreamland. Well and truly exhausted.
After maxing out on painkillers and a long, deep sleep I wake up to find my diary has all already been sorted. Every proposal rescheduled. Not only that, but when I log into my bank account, I have to do a triple take at the balance.
The Agency founders have reimbursed me for everything they’ve moved. Everything.
Every. Fucking. Thing.
There’s an extra thirty-five grand on top of the sixty I earned.
£95000 – just like that.
“I can’t believe this,” I say to Josh, as I huddle against him under the covers. “I just can’t comprehend that this is in my bank account. Look. It’s insane, right? It’s fucking insane.”
Josh takes a look at the balance and merely grins.
“You’re worth it, baby. They clearly think so, and so should you. I know I do.”
There’s still a part of me that struggles to believe I’m worth so much – put in cold, hard figures like this. The transformation of my life still shocks me. Only a short while ago I was checking my account to see how many packets of pasta I could afford before my wages went in, but now…
Life sure is a rollercoaster, and I’m sure riding high.
I have a message from Orla to assure me that all of my clients are happy with the diary changes, no issues at all. There is one of my clients I feel sorry for, though. One who has been waiting months for his appointment – literally. A client of mine who likes period play, who booked me up for the earliest possible opportunity once he’d discovered my bookings were open again and my fisting box was ticked, but that has been moved back a month, now. Poor guy, but there is no way I’d be able to play with him in this state. My wounds would bleed worse than my pussy will. That’s a bit of an overstatement, but still. I’ll just have to make sure the extra month’s wait is worth it for him.
Seems that welts are quick healers – even with spike slashes – but bruises are not. My ass, thighs and tits turn into an abstract mix of purples, blacks and greens over the next two days, and they kinda suit me. I do twirls in the mirror to check them out each morning, and Josh takes photos for posterity.
My first gig with the founders will most certainly be one for the records.
Tiff is fresh back to Belgravia from a proposal when she pops in to Josh’s – sorry, ours – next. She’s looking pretty battered and exhausted herself, but she’s got nothing on me this time. I show off my battle scars with pride.
“Ahhh… I know where you’ve been,” she says.
“Yeah, I bet you do. I figured you would.”
