There was a distant ache in Quinn's body that stirred her from her rest, only to realize where she was. Tanned arms wrapped around her waist, thick locks of hazelnut tresses tickling her chest, and a soft, warm thigh pressed against her erection told her all she wanted and needed to know. She rarely stayed at a client's place long enough for a nap. She always left as soon as the time was up. But when Quinn checked her phone, it was only eight in the morning. They had five hours left, and Quinn was sure as hell making the best of it. She was not one to cheap out on orgasms.
It was why ladies kept coming back for more.
She checked her phone and saw that it was flashing purple, which meant that she received a work-related text. She decided to ignore it, mostly because she was a client at the moment. The others can wait.
Throwing the covers over her head, she crawled down to the juncture of Rachel's legs and breathed in the scent of her. Girls, ladies, women. They all smelled so good. Musky and sweet and salty, all at once. Quinn licked her lips, hooked Rachel's slender legs up her shoulders, and licked from Rachel's puckered asshole up to her clit. Her saliva streaked the actress' flesh, as her fingers prised apart her labia so Quinn could get to her succulence. She flattened her tongue against Rachel's entrance, and dipped inside.
…Only for the girl to groan, her fingers curling into Quinn's thick mop of thick blonde hair. Quinn raised her ass off the bed, pulled her closer to her mouth. She devoured her, her nose rubbing against Rachel's stiff clit. She continued to shake her head, as if disagreeing. When above her, all Rachel was doing was agreeing with everything she was doing.
That was when the covers flew off the top of her head. Rachel was now awake, her bare tits heaving with every ragged breath she took. "Oh Quinn," she gasped, all panting and blushing that Quinn's cock twitched. "Yes…"
Quinn rutted into the silk sheets of the bed, her fingers joining her tongue as it played and toyed with Rachel's pussy. Her juices leaked all over her mouth and chin, and Quinn loved how wet Rachel gets. She swirled her tongue around her entrance and pushed two fingers in, curling it to press the rough, spongy spot inside Rachel that made her hips jump. Quinn found out about it last night, after eating her out almost eight times.
With a shudder and a violent gasp, Rachel let out a high-pitched whine as her pussy clenched up and she came, until she was shaking and groaning and writhing against the bed. Quinn pressed her down with her arms and devoured her still, every pass of her tongue on her clit made Rachel squeak. She kissed Rachel's clit and inner thighs before crawling up Rachel for a kiss. "Good morning."
Rachel laughed and relaxed into the bed. "What a way to wake up. How many hours do I have left?"
The bed bounced as Quinn rolled out of it. She answered Rachel's query as she pulled her boxers and her pants up her waist. She zipped them up but did not belt it. Rachel rose up as well and donned a bathrobe. Together, they went downstairs for breakfast. Despite being offered something more filling than a bowl of fruit and apple juice, Quinn denied politely. "As much as I love bacon," Quinn said. "I don't eat meat whenever I'm with or about to meet up with a client. It makes my cum taste bad." She winked and pressed her hips into Rachel's back where the bulge in her boxers rub up against her ass. "And you knew it for yourself. How my cum tastes."
Rachel closed the fridge and turned around in Quinn's arms. The softness of her body, the faint smell of sweat and sex on her skin, and her doe eyes looking up at her… It was enough for Quinn's cock to harden in her boxers. And once the actress fell to her knees, a groan escaped Quinn's throat. It was always that jarring sight that did it for her.
Allowing Quinn's jeans and boxers to fall around her ankles, Rachel took her heavy meat and kissed the slit. It leaked out clear precum, which Rachel licked away. Quinn grunted, her fingers threading through silky coffee locks. "God damn… That mouth is t-too good." She grazed her thumb along Rachel's cheek while it stretched out to take the shape of her cockhead.
Quinn wanted to close her eyes and focus on Rachel's hot, talented mouth taking in her length where other women struggled to even take her halfway, but she didn't. She wanted to watch Rachel, her pink lips wrapped around her pulsing cock. She breathed raggedly and pushed her dick into Rachel's mouth, groaning when the sensitive tip dragged against the ridged roof of her mouth. "Jesus… Remember what I taught you last night?" She asked, her voice ragged. "Y-yeah, just like that. Use your tongue some more—fuck…"
Rachel bobbed her head faster, her hands roaming Quinn's muscled thighs. She even dared to take Quinn deep in her throat, her muscles clenching and working around the escort's throbbing cock. She made slick, choking noises, making Quinn grunt and pull back slightly. "I don't want to make you gag, but holy shit that's hot."
Pulling back with her lips slick with spit, Rachel dragged her mouth up and down Quinn's shaft. She licked her balls until Quinn was trembling and gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. "I need to come, Rachel." Quinn begged, her fingers running through Rachel's silky hair.
"If I make you blow your cum in my mouth, what will you do for me?" Rachel asked with a delighted grin on her lips. She kissed Quinn's cockhead and dipped the tip of her tongue into the slit of her cock. Quinn shuddered and clung harder to the counter, as Rachel toyed with the most sensitive part of her cock.
"I'll eat your pussy." Quinn gasped out, her legs unstable. "I'll eat it so well, like it's the best I ever had. And it actually is." She grinned and pushed her cock back between Rachel's puckered lips. "I'll lick you and suck you and bite down on your pussy until you're s-shaking and screaming my name for the entire neighbourhood to hear… Then I'll fuck you. Again. And again, until you're shaking, quivering, writhing mess on your bed."
Rachel shivered in delight and sucked back Quinn's thick meat in her mouth. She bobbed her head, her tongue laving and making sure Quinn's cock was slick with spit and precum. And soon enough, the escort was tugging on Rachel's hair, her hips stuttering as she unloaded copious amounts of thick cum on the actress' tongue. Rachel swallowed, and Quinn grunted. She pulled her up for a slow kiss, humming at her taste of her semen on Rachel's mouth.
After a quick breakfast of toast, fruit preserves, and orange juice, Quinn was back on her knees, her nose and her mouth buried in Rachel's wetness, having a different meal altogether. She slurped and nibbled until the actress was whimpering and humping her mouth in greedy juts of her hips. In her pants, Quinn was hard again. It was difficult not to be, especially because Rachel was trying so hard to keep quiet. Which is why Quinn made it her mission to help Rachel let loose; make her scream.
At least, more so than she was already doing so now.
Quinn knew she made Rachel come plenty of times, so when she came up for air, her chin soaked with Rachel's girl cum, to see the actress' tits rising and falling, the sated smile on her lips, and her half-closed eyelids was enough payment for Quinn. Except… Not. She still needed the nine hundred bucks she was promised. Rachel may be one of the sexiest, most delightfully corruptible client Quinn ever had, but that doesn't mean she get her services for free.
By midday, Rachel was limp and melted against her bed, while Quinn showered in her bathroom. She emerged, her skin damp and her hair clinging close to her head. Wearing nothing but her boxer briefs and the towel around her neck, Quinn stooped down and picked up her clothes. "May I use your ironing board, if you have one?"
Rachel pointed towards the closet door, and watched as Quinn dampened her shirt and proceeded to iron it. "So, it may sound insensitive of me to ask, seeing as you're still riding that post-orgasmic haze. About the payment?"
The actress grunted and rolled over to her bedside table. She took out a cheque, scribbled on it, and handed it back to Quinn. Nine hundred dollars, all in one piece of paper. The prostitute tucked it in her wallet. She finished straightening out her clothes and slipped it on while it was still warm. Quinn approached Rachel and kissed her forehead lightly. "You can call me whenever you want. I'm sure I'll always have time for you."
The cold autumn breeze stung Quinn's cheeks while the sun beat down her back. She tightened her coat around her and wished she brought a scarf. She headed into the subway and waited for the D train that would take her to her apartment that overlooked Central Park. It took her twenty minutes at best, narrowly avoiding the man who preached the bible and the homeless woman that tackled people until they give her spare change.
Now home free, Quinn checked her phone and saw that she had another appointment in three hours. Which wasn't so bad, since it was close by. She could walk to The Empire Hotel in Columbus Avenue in half an hour. But first, a snack and some alcohol. Not enough for a buzz, but certainly enough to feel the start of it.
Quinn toasted naan bread and ate it bare, while she downed an entire carton of pomegranate juice laced with vodka. She also broke off a square from a bar of milk chocolate and pressed it up the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She sucked it down to nothing, humming at this simple form of indulgence. After stripping down to nothing and stepping underneath the steaming jet of water, Quinn allowed herself to think while she lathered her hair with mint-scented shampoo. Rachel was the type of client who sought her out for a pure physical connection, and it wasn't anything new. If anything, it was the most common form of clientele she received.
But there was something else; something hidden deep in the actress in the way she gasped out Quinn's name while she came, her entire body shuddering with every touch. Or perhaps Quinn was romanticising things. Or maybe it was the booze. Nonetheless, the thought of Rachel's arched, shaking body made her cock stir.
After the much-needed cleansing shower, Quinn dressed herself in a black and grey gingham shirt with the top three buttons unclasped, and a pair of linen jeans. She styled her hair until the thick locks were smooth and curled perfectly. She shrugged on her pea coat, made sure she had her belongings before heading out to meet with another client. Across the hotel was a bank, and she was reminded of Rachel's cheque. But she would get to that later.
The text she received earlier told her to head up to room 308, which she did. She nodded at the manager who nodded back. Once there, she rapped against the door's frame and smiled when it was answered by a blonde woman wearing scant clothing. Quinn smirked and held her by the hips, pressing her flush against her cold body. "Quinn!" Her client screeched, but she was still grinning. She grasped the back of Quinn's neck and yanked her into the hotel room.
"Look at you…" Quinn murmured, her eyes raking down the woman's body, her breasts cupped in crimson red lace. Her raven hair fell in ringlets, draped over her dark skin. Quinn licked her lips and hung her coat on a nearby rack. "All ready for me, huh? You in a rush or something?"
"For you? Never." The woman purred. She sauntered over to Quinn and ran her fingers along the buttons of Quinn's shirt. With dexterous fingers, she unclasped them all within ten seconds. She moaned at the sight of Quinn's pale abdomen, and her breasts. It wasn't until then that Quinn noticed a saxophone warbled in the background, accompanied by a piano. "I was just excited to see you, that's all. I've been lonely."
Quinn grasped the woman's wrist, preventing her hands to wander down to her straining cock. "Have you been touching yourself without me, Alyssa? Is that any way to behave?" Quinn shook her head, reprimanding. "Get on the bed. All fours. You know what I want."
The three hours Quinn spent with Alyssa was fantastic. Sure, her body was still a bit worn out from the fifteen hours she spent with Rachel. While she was eating Alyssa's pussy, her mind wandered, and of all the people to think about while eating someone else's pussy, the image of Rachel popped into Quinn's head. Maybe it was because of those fifteen hours. Maybe Rachel was simply that memorable, but it still threw Quinn off.
So she buried her face between Alyssa's legs and focused on her.
After their session, Quinn kissed Alyssa's knuckles. The dark-skinned woman was one of Quinn's contractual clients. For six months, she could easily text Quinn and the prostitute would come hustling across New York, if she had to, to pleasure her. It helped Quinn that she was an easy person to befriend. Though Quinn still maintained their relationship to be strictly business, she had no doubt that if the circumstances were different, they would be friends.
Night time in New York was certainly lovely, and Quinn always made sure that she experienced it firsthand. This was so different from her hometown in Ohio, where once nine o'clock hit, the suburbs turn on their porch lights, and there was no more fun to be had after. So she usually stayed at home, until she went to Yale for college. And now, six years later, she was in New York, fucking women for pay.
Not a bad life.
Quinn allowed the cool night air to transform her into a trembling mess. She climbed up to her apartment and collapsed on the couch. It was a long day. After having a quick meal of Thai spring rolls and basil fried rice, Quinn checked her calendar for the following week. It was a tentative one, with only two people lined up for Tuesday and Friday. Those who seek appointments days in advance were the harried businesswomen or the actresses. Those who call on the day of, were the ones who were single and free.
So that was her week. Two clients, with the obvious risk of adding a few more. If her parents could see her now, however. This thought always made her smile. She always imagined her WASP-y father blowing a gasket, his red face screaming and yelling at her to find an actual job and to stop flaunting her defection for the well-paying women of New York to see. And experience. While her mother would struggle to smile and say as long as she was happy and safe, she was okay with it.
She recalled the first and only time her father caught her on the couch of their living room. It was the kind of couch that was too uncomfortable to ever be created, but someone made it anyway, and suckers like her parents bought it as decorative furniture. It was an unspoken tenet in their home. No one sits on the couch. It wasn't purchased to be used.
But Quinn used it anyway, with a girl writhing underneath her. A cheerleader from her school, who became one of her two best friends. Brittany was her name, and she was blonde with warm, icy blue eyes—if that made sense. She was the first girl Quinn ever made out with, and the girl who took her virginity like a precious jewel that was as guarded as the rest of Quinn's heart.
When her father found Quinn on top of Brittany, her mouth on her neck and Brittany's hand in her shorts, Russell Fabray roared and grabbed his daughter by her shirt collar. The fear in Quinn's eyes—not for herself but rather, for Brittany—still plagued her. Russell kicked Brittany out, calling her names and insulting everything that Quinn adored about her, until Russell called Brittany a blithering idiot, did Quinn lose her temper.
She stamped on her father's foot and shoved him off, as hard as she could. "Do not call Brittany that!" Quinn hissed, the flames of rage and the infamous Fabray temper flaring deep inside her. She wedged herself between Brittany and his raging father. She would protect her blue-eyed girl. Even if it meant getting hurt by her own father's hand.
Weren't fathers supposed to protect their daughters, and not be the cause of their misery?
If it was not for Quinn's mother who came in the nick of time just as her husband's arm was drawn and poised to punch, Russell Fabray would've beat his daughter bloody. Judy Fabray calmed down her husband in the way only she could: serene and with a bottle of scotch in her hand. With a silent look, urged Quinn and Brittany to leave the premises.
Quinn sighed. She missed her mother, but as much as she did, she would loathe to see her scumbag of a father with his scotches and whiskeys and country club friends. She wasn't about that life. New York was better suited for her. Strangers, the fast pace, the excitement of everything. It all had yet to go away.
Entering her workout room, Quinn did a few rounds of strength training—she needed to, for when she had to lift up her clients and have them wrap their legs around her waist to fuck them against the wall, and then moved on to stamina, by way of the stationary bike. Once she was slick with sweat and panting, she moved on to working out her abs. It was, after all, one of her selling points. The other being her penis.
In the middle of her abdominal workout, her laptop made a noise. Quinn wiped her sweat away from her forehead and stomach before checking to see what it was. An email from a friend, regarding a Speakeasy event. While the term originated during the Prohibition regarding illicit liquor stores, now it was what the poets of New York call their poetry slam functions, held in midnight pubs where the music is raw and so were the people.
And Quinn was one of them.
It may seem like an odd combination—to be a poet by night and an escort by day. Not that Quinn was saying that prostitutes can't like Pablo Neruda. Anyone could like Pablo Neruda. But when she told Brittany and Santana that she worked as an escort while doing slam poetry events on the side, they looked at her as if she was a five-headed dragon saying that she wished to run for mayor.
That was the reason that she simply didn't mention it again.
The fact that Quinn couldn't be honest with the intermingling of all her hobbies and line of work made her feel like a liar. But this deception was nothing new. Being a Fabray meant being used to it, and knowing to use it to one's advantage. And this helped Quinn to form a wall between her heart and the world.
Though for some reason, a metaphorical crack was beginning to form. Quinn was unsure of any reason, but if she closed her eyes and breathed as if she was on the cusp of an orgasm, all she could see were starry eyes, and mahogany flesh, and cries of pleasure that burned through Quinn's stomach, making her insides jump and causing her to feel things worth writing about.
Quinn jerked and stared at the distant space before her. One thought rode her brainwaves.
Oh no…
today's proverb: He thought contemptuously of the morning's sermon and of the poor fools who exchange their worldly ambitions for the vague promises of heaven. Richard Mason.
Hello, hello. There's a possibility that it would take longer for chapters 6 to 10 to be published because my desktop is still being repaired and I can't write well anymore when it comes to using my laptop. I know, I'm picky. I hope you can forgive me.