Selling Satisfaction

An erotic new adult novel by

ASHLEY BEALE

Selling Satisfaction
© Ashley Beale, 2016

This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights reserved, including resale rights.  You are not permitted to give or sell this book to anyone else.  Any trademarks, product names, service marks, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference.  All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.  The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by: Ashley Beale

Edited by: Monica @ RK Edits & Designs

Beta: Christina Concus

Formatting by: Ashley Beale

Cover Image © 2016 – depositphotos.com
Cover designed by Ashley Beale

The crimson red silk
slides
down my thighs, falling into a pile around my heels. A groan of anticipation reverberates from the man on the bed. He rubs his hand over his erection as he watches me with dark hooded eyes. I step away from the thin material, making my way towards the bed, stopping mere inches in front of him.

"Mind if I call you Carol?" he asks in an attempt to be enticing.

He paid for this, he gets what he wants. "I wouldn't want you to call me anything else," I reassure him. My voice far more seductive than for a woman named Carol.

I reach up behind me, unclasping my bra. It slides slowly down my arms until the shoulder strap hooks onto my finger. I give it a twirl, tossing it in his direction. Another grumble leaves his throat. I actually enjoy when they're more into the foreplay than the actual sex. I get paid for the time spent with him, not the actual sex, so I make sure to make the most of it.

The man slides his wedding ring off his finger and places it in the side table drawer. "Come here, gorgeous. I have a present for you."

I step in his direction, straddling his parted legs. He reaches his hands behind me to grab onto my ass, pulling me in closer. His tongue stretches out, running along the skin beneath my breasts before sucking on the tender side of it. One thing I've found out in the three years of being an escort is that people sure do have weird sex habits. I don't judge-
much
- mainly because what I'm doing is frowned upon by so many others.

His fingers lace around the back of my thighs, pulling me forward until my heated core is resting against his erect cock. The lubrication from his condom gets me damp as he moves me around in slow circles, attempting to tease me. I falsely moan as he pulls me down onto him, filing me deeply.

A man like this enjoys taking control, so I let him. As long as there is no choking or anal play, I don't say much of anything. The name Carol gets shouted numerous times, as well as the words
whore, filthy bitch
, and
gold digger
. The aggression he uses during sex pretty much seals the fact that his wife is more sex friendly with... well, just about anyone other than him.

His hand wraps into my hair as he grunts loudly, slowing down his hard thrusts. He collapses on top of me when he finishes, breathing loudly into my ear. After a few seconds, I push up on him to get him to roll onto his back. I stand quickly, grabbing my lingerie before heading into the bathroom.

I clean myself up with a warm, wet washcloth, making sure all the sweat and juices are gone away before getting dressed. Once I comb through my matted black hair and fix my makeup, I walk back into the bedroom where my client is sobbing into his hands. He peeks up at me, still entirely in the buff. "I'm sorry," he blubbers.

It's certainly not the first time someone have apologized to me, and it definitely won't be the last. Most of my clientele is married; after all, they're the ones that need to hide their sexual relations most. I smile to assure him everything is perfectly fine, even if I don't exactly agree. It's not in my job description to judge though. "Don't apologize to me, you're fine."

"No. I'm a coward. I'm weak." He shakes his head while reaching over to open the drawer. He pulls out the wedding band, placing it back on his finger. He stares down at the shiny gold band as he continues to speak. I'm not really required to listen, but sometimes I do because I've always wanted that same thing- another person to understand
me.

Gathering my trench coat, I slide the beige fabric around me before taking a seat on the bench as he goes on and on about his cheating wife, Carol, and how they were the perfect high school sweethearts. Apparently he went nearly bankrupt two years ago, and that is when her cheating started. He hasn't told her he gained back most his millions because he thinks that's the only reason she has been with him all along.

The story is pathetically heartbreaking but it doesn't make me sad. It's life. That is how it goes. Relationships are meant to be broken, love is never meant to last, and quite frankly... sex is just sex.

Once he is done rambling, I stand up, grabbing my purse. I make sure the thick envelope of money is inside before heading towards the door. "Thank you for a wonderful time," I tell him. Maybe it makes me heartless that I don't console him.

With trembling lips he asks, "What do you think I should do?"

"Honestly? I think you should keep your millions and fall in love with something more."

"Someone new?"

"No. Never a person. A boat maybe, a new car, a collection you've always dreamed of having. Never another person."

He nods quickly. "You're right. Thank you." He gets up and walks towards the bathroom the same time I open the door to leave him be.

When I arrive home Snuggles
is waiting on the counter purring softly. She is ready for her food, so I dump some in a dish before placing it on the floor. She hops down to eat, ignoring my existence. I'm used to that though, it's part of my life. I have a few friends- although it's probably best to call them acquaintances. I don't get too close to anybody, mainly because most people typically stick up their nose at the thought of what I do.

No one realizes that they're exactly like me. The biggest difference is that I get better benefits. You go on a date with a man, he pays for dinner maybe even a movie, then you go home and screw. Feelings happen sometimes, other times not, but either way you're doing what I do. I'd rather collect the money than have it spent on me, and I'd rather not risk ever falling in love. Plus, I make thousands in one night, rather than a cheap movie and a salad from the Olive Garden.

The only reason having sex for money isn't legal is because the government doesn't know how to tax it.

People don't see it that way though, probably to make themselves feel better. What I do may not be legal, but it's just as ethical to me as any date. I simply happen to find my
dates
through my proxy instead of some online site or inside a dingy bar.

As the bath fills with hot water and an overflowing amount of suds, I slide out of my clothing from tonight. A dress far too tight for an average female and lingerie I bought last week which I've been dying to wear.

Over the last three years I've managed to earn enough money to have a condo right on the beach in Pensacola, Florida. It overlooks the Gulf of Mexico, which I can see perfectly due to the well-lit outdoors from buildings near and far.

Grabbing a wine glass and a bottle of Pinot Grigio, I lay them next to the tub and submerge into the sizzling hot water. Taking sips from my wine, I look out the bay window, watching the waves crash along the shoreline. This has become a nightly routine of mine, a way to unwind and reflect on the life I live. It isn't something everyone wants, but it's the fill in my void.

*~*~*

The music inside my earbuds
pause when the vibrating of my phones begins. I look down, blocking the sun from the view of my phone so I can see which number is calling. It's my proxy, Kandy. Of course, that's not her real name, but she'll never tell us otherwise.

Sliding one of the earbuds out, I put the phone up to my ear. "Hello?"

"My darling Bren," she says too enthusiastically. "Urgent meeting at my place today at three. Are you able to make it?"

"Of course I am," I tell her.

"Perfect. Bring your appetite." She clicks end on her side of the phone, and the music immediately starts back up in my ear.

Kandy started out as an escort when she was only fifteen; two years earlier than I was when I started. She's been doing it a total of twenty two years now, but instead of screwing for money, she collects a portion of our dues. Fifteen percent to be exact. She's become quite the house mother to me, as well as a few of the girls in this business. We're one big, unorthodox family, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The sun starts to scorch my skin so I get up from my beach towel, shaking the sand from it. Gathering my other belongings, I walk the several feet to my condo complex, using the private back entrance to enter. A few professional movers are helping someone move into one of the units on the first floor, so I'm forced to step aside until they get a large mattress through the hallway.

As they turn, the corner of the mattress hits my shoulder, causing me to fall hard to the ground. My phone spins across the marble flooring. Hurrying to stand, I walk over and grab for my phone, not making it before someone else picks it up for me. A broad man, at least six inches taller than my five foot five frame, hands the phone to me. His brown hair is a mess, but his ample smile makes up for that fact.

"Sorry about that. Are you okay?" he asks kindly. It wasn't even his fault for me falling, but I'm assuming it must be him moving into the unit due to his friendliness.

Realizing in that moment just how much my ass hurts from the fall, I rub it slightly while giving him a shrug. "A bit bruised I'm sure, but otherwise I'm fine." I don't mention the fact that my ego is slightly bruised, too. I like to be swift in my actions, I'm not a helpless female who needs someone else at her beck and call. Never had that, and I pride myself on the fact that I'll never allow it either.

I don't think he realizes until that moment I'm in a scanty, curve hugging bikini. His eyes venture my body, fixating on my hips for a few seconds too long. "That's a damn shame." His voice rugged. The gray of his eyes lock back onto mine, letting me see a small hint of arousement. Figures he's your typical horny bachelor. "Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

I grab my phone from his hold and look down to make sure it's not broken. "My phone will be enough, thank you." Turning on my heels, I continue walking towards the elevators, needing to shower and dress before the meeting at Kandy's in two hours.

"I'm Everett by the way," he hollers after me.

Instead of responding, I continue walking away. I hear a faint chuckle as I round the corner, but it only causes me to roll my eyes at his pathetic efforts in charming me.

Kandy's home is only a
ten minute drive from my place, even though it's in the next town over. Although, calling it a home seems to be under exaggerating. She lives in a mansion, one you'd swear a movie star owned. Actually, I'm honestly pretty positive there have been a few in which have walked the halls of her home on more than one occasion. We may live in Florida- not Hollywood- but there are many celebrities that have used her services.

Most everyone is already here, sitting on her balcony enjoying different cheeses, fruits, and wines. I take a seat next to Honey, which is her escort name as well. None of us use our real name in the business, and we make it a point of only call one another by our escort names. I go by the none-too-original name of Chastity rather than my real name, Brenna.

Kandy walks out in a two piece bathing suit covered by a silk robe, and of course a pair of Jimmy Choo heels. I think she owns a pair in every color. Although she is nearing her forties, I have to say she can still rock whatever look she deems fit for the day. Since the weather is in the mid-nineties and there is hardly a breeze, I can see where her non-outfit is coming from, even if her blonde hair is curled and her makeup is caked on for perfection. Obviously not choosing to swim in her bathing suit.

"Hello ladies," she greets, a margarita in hand. "Thank you for coming today." She slides out a wicker chair from the patio set to take a seat. "I hate to call you in last minute like this, but there is some information I feel necessary to share with you all today."

Taking a long sip of her iced green drink, she places it down on the table and takes a deep breath. "Jewel is... well, she is no longer with us."

I honestly don't think anyone cares about Jewel, especially from all our blank expressions. She didn't fit in with us. She was rude, annoying, and judgmental. Not the kind of girl Kandy typically hires, but the money she made- it was delusive. Sometimes she pulled in twice as much as the rest of us.

"So?" Naomi replies nonchalantly, looking down at her cuticles. "Give us her clients."

"That's not the point," Kandy quickly claims. She looks nervous now, more so than when she started chugging her drink. "She wasn't whom she claimed to be. She was an undercover agent. It all makes sense now, and I'm beating myself up over this."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?" Naomi gives Kandy more attention than her nails for once. In fact, we all give Kandy our undivided attention. Different voices start asking different questions, all concerned for the same thing. This hasn't ever happened to Kandy, and she's been doing this for far too long to let anything like this happen.

With obvious discomfort, Kandy adjusts her robe and sits a little straighter. "Just... hold on a minute. Let me explain."

Our voices all hush, but there are many questions lingering in the air- mainly, who is going to get brought down first.

"I don't know how I didn't see it, and I owe you each an apology. A large one. You all- you're not in trouble. They came to me and they didn't want a list of my ladies, they wanted a list of our clientele. I had to make the right decision, so I gave them the John's list." She shakes her head in shame, and I feel so much sorrow for her. Even with the risks of this career, this is all she knows- sex and money.