The Frenchman knew he should stay at home, holding the girl until she either fell asleep or shoved him to the floor so she could listen to her little CD player in peace; most likely the latter, as she didn't sleep all that well anymore, and tried to live in her world of songs when she wasn't turning tricks for the men who paid her. But no, he couldn't simply stay and comfort. She was a call girl, he a call boy, and his cell phone had started ringing to alert him that a client wanted his services for the evening. So Francis had to hope a kiss on the cheek would suffice for the evening as he dressed to suit the demands of the man on the phone- a skirt, lacy panties, fishnet stockings, and high heels. He sighed heavily as he walked out of his room. It's not that he despised crossdressing, but that the clients almost viewed the street-walker wearing it as a sign of shame and submission, like it was wrong to be a woman.
"A call from that thick-browed English chap?" she asked, frowning when she saw the slutty outfit peeking out under his trenchcoat.
He gave her a look to imply 'yes' as he looked into the cracked mirror on the front room wall, applying a red shade of cheap, oily lipstick. "'e loves to 'ave me look completely skanky. I t'ink it's because I am French, and he is a dyed in the wool English... No offense," he added, applying some more cosmetics to his face.
"None taken." She bit down on her lip as she remembered the last time he came home after servicing Brows. Her roommate was thinking about the same thing.
Xx
The Frenchman had barely made it into the doorway of the motel room when the slightly intoxicated Brit shoved him against the tacky wallpaper, holding him there with one elbow as he lifted the hem of Francis' skirt with a finger and thumb. He smirked when he discovered that the other had gone with just the skirt, as per his request. "Yeh a little harlot. Yeh know that, frog?" he spat, smirking all the while.
"Oui, monsieur..."
"Excuse me?" he snapped, shoving the hired man onto the mattress.
"I... I mean, yes sir..."
"And don't bloody forget it. Your frog language won't get you paid..." He paused, as if changing his mind about something. "On your knees, frog. On the carpet. And take off that bloody jacket..."
Francis nodded, doing as he was told, and undoing the other blond's pants before taking him in his mouth- much to the Englishman's delight.
The French blond came home that morning covered in hickies and bruises...
Xx
Francis sighed, opening the front door to leave. "I'll be home soon."