The best Christmas Gift

Seeking Attention

Brittany's POV

I smiled at his words, hoping that tonight was going to be a fun one. I love being a degraded, cheap b***h who takes it rough – always walking away with a grin on my face and a decent chunk of cash in my bank account.

The 8k is low for my taste, but I can’t help trying out new clients. Variety is the spice of sluts, and I've been getting way too bored lately.

I leave the apartment and send my regular message to Kieran. We check in and out of our proposals, finishing them up with done and safe texts. Clients are always checked out and vetted by the agency, down to every last detail.

We are obliged to have STI checks every month, and so do they, and what’s set out in the proposals is always to be adhered to, but still.

A message is always a good thing to have in the background. Kieran would come running if I needed him, whenever I needed him. We used to be 24/7 kind of friends, and he was the person I’d call on for everything, even to unload my gossip while he was on his treadmill, but I’ve been giving him some space now he’s shacked up with Lorraine.

I’ve taken the inevitable sidelining of a best friend, my choice, not his, since I’m always welcomed – but regardless of stepping back, Kieran is still my number one.

The person I’d run to in a storm, and shelter with my life in return. Cool, the reply says. Lor and I are heading out now. Double booking. I give him a lucky bastard, have fun and a thumbs up. Kieran and Lorraine only live a few floors up from me in North Carolina's tower.

I’m approaching twenty-seven years old. The time I always figured I’d be settled down myself. I don't know, but it seems to be nearly thirty. Let’s get a serious kind of benchmark.

I can try to put it off my mind , but it’s still there, like an alarm bell ringing louder every day. I don’t want to get a pathetic pang of wanting someone, so I shove it back in the depths.

It’s all about User 1041 tonight. I got a cab to Club Riverside . I’ve been there once or twice before and it’s alright. Decent, and a bit of a rave spot with drum bass.

It’s a big enough venue that I can get lost with the party-goers without anyone twigging. I’m a girl downing espresso and dancing alone… and flirting with every guy who looks my way. I scope it out when I get inside, scanning the main dance floor.

If User 1041 is planning on flirting with me, he’s bound to be nearby. I open the Agency app and click on arrived, and I wait for the acknowledgment response before I go any further.

Yes. "I can see you," the reply says. I suspected as much. Knowing he’s got his eyes on me brings me out in a flush. There are so many men around… so many potentials… I stride to the bar with a smile on my face to order my first espresso.

I’ve barely taken a sip when a guy steps up beside me and gives me a cocky smirk. You alright? He’s staring at my t**s, like most blokes do. It makes flirting so easy that I turn to face him.

Piece of piss. I hope my client has his beady eyes on me, watching the way I flutter my lashes. I’m great, thanks. How about you? I talk quietly on purpose, so the guy has to lean in close, he’s got to be barely twenty-one. Not my taste, but oh well.

I’m cool, he says. Want a drink? Poor guy needs to work on his chat, because he’s hardly original. Still, I put my espresso in one and put the empty glass on the bar top.

Sure. I give him the eye as he gets me another glass, biting my lip when he hands it over with a cheer. He’s got a beer and drank some back before he goes in for the usual round of questions. What’s your name? Where are you from? Who are you here with? Dull as f**k. What I want him to ask is whether he can f**k the t**s he’s staring at, screw the niceties. I want him to ask if I like being throat jammed like a slut when I’m on my knees, and how much of a pounding I can take in my asshole.

He’s midway through another boring question when I finish up my second glass of espresso and walk away with thanks for the drink.

My flirting is done with him, no explanation necessary. I weave my way onto the dancefloor, finding the beat as I sway my hips and lose myself in the groove.

The people around me make it hot here. The stickiness of drunk sweat is welcome as I shimmy my dress up, then pump my hands in the air.

I dance, I spin, I jump and groove, and people notice me. Of course, they do. I’m not exactly a shrinking violet or one of the bland brigade.

I love the heat of the eyes on me, a blur of people staring as I dance in my own filthy world – knowing full well the dark game lying ahead of me. A stinking alleyway and a dirty fucker who’s going to treat me like a piece of trash.

That’s what I want. I want to be trash tonight. I hitch my dress higher, twerking my bouncy butt like I’m desperate for action.

I’ve been in this game long enough to send out the right signals, and it works. I feel people shifting. Grooving men getting closer, so thinly veiled, it’s ridiculous. I back into one of them to make it easy for him, grinding my ass against his crotch as his hands came around for some action, but he’s s**t. This guy isn’t my client. I can tell by the way his friends are cheering him on, but he’s an easy target for my slut show. I turn to face him and pull him against me, pressing my t**s into his chest.

He grabs my ass, and some half-decent grinding starts. I spread my legs wide enough that his thigh finds my p***y, but it’s too early to be getting serious, and nah, he’s crap at it. Average, tops.