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“That’s fine.” I reached down and pulled off my G-string. It was all I was wearing anyway, the rest of my clothes already removed out on the main floor. I had no problem with nudity. I took the extra fifty from his fingers and stashed it in a little cubby hole by the door, along with the rest of his money.
“There’s more of that if you put your hair into pigtails.”
I paused before I turned to look at him again.
His dick had tented his pants.
Ew. But I just let out a laugh that was nothing like the noise I made when I was truly amused. “You like the schoolgirl vibe?”
He just held up another note.
I finger-parted my hair down the middle and then quickly braided each side. “I don’t have hair ties to keep it like this, sorry.”
He reached into his pocket. “Here.”
He’d come prepared. So gross. But in the scheme of things I’d been asked to do, it wasn’t the worst. So I took the hair ties and wrapped them around the ends of the pigtails I’d just created.
“Now dance.”
That I could do. I put some music on the speakers and swayed my hips back and forth. My tits bounced with the movements, and the man’s eyes drew down, focusing on the boob job I’d paid for back before I had a kid and a sick grandparent to worry about.
“Come closer.”
It was a fair request for the money he’d paid. I strutted over to him and leaned in, so my tits were in his face. With my hands either side of him on the wall, I rolled my body up and down, careful not to actually touch him.
Of course, he went for the sneaky boob grab.
I caught his wrist before he could make contact. “No.” There was no messing about in my words. They were sharp, and I meant business. “No touching.”
“I’ll pay extra.”
“Not interested.”
“You finger your pussy then, and I’ll watch.”
I straightened, irritated. “That’s not what we do here. We don’t offer sex. Of any sort.”
He mumbled something that sounded like cussing me out, but I ignored it and went back to dancing. He wasn’t the first man who had assumed I’d do more than put on a show. He wouldn’t be the last.
When he went back to watching instead of asking me for sexual favors, I relaxed and let the music get inside my head. I tuned him out completely, picturing a tall, dark-haired, tatted-up stranger in his position instead.
It was something I did often to make my job a little more bearable.
Moment by moment, the dark-haired stranger morphed into an image I recognized from other fantasies. A chain appeared around his neck, a cross dangling from the end. A scar through his left eyebrow developed. A Bible appeared, but instead of opening and reading from it, he put it aside, his attention focused on me.
One glimpse of an oddly attractive priest a couple of months back, and he’d had a starring role in my fantasies ever since.
I was so going to Hell.
But what kind of priest had tattoos so far down his arm they were visible when his sleeve rode up just the tiniest amount?
A groan of pleasure shattered the illusion.
The sexy, twenty-something priest was replaced with the middle-aged man who’d just come all over his hand.
Anger filled me. I stormed over to the doorway and flicked on the light, illuminating the mess he’d made on himself while I’d been lost in my unholy daydream. “Are you fucking kidding me? This isn’t a sex club. I told you that.” I pointed to the door. “Get out.”
His gaze narrowed on me. “I paid.”
