First Night

Two

It was hard not to cry when she was called a "slut," a "whore," or a "bitch" while she was riding some guy into an orgasm, because men seemed to be into that kind of thing. That was something that she had quickly learned. Men loved spitting out degrading names and slapping her ass and tweaking her nipples as she pleasured them. That was her job though. She gave them pleasure, they used her for pleasure, it was never about her. And yeah it was demeaning, and it sometimes made her tear up and her little feelings got hurt, but it was what kept food on the table. It was what paid for her college classes, so she could finally stop doing this and find herself a real job. It was what kept her off of the streets. So, when the man of the night slapped her ass and called her a whore as he came, his body roughly jerking up into hers, she bit down on her lip and just let him enjoy himself, because that was her job.

"I love when Sharon gets new girls," he said, slapping her ass one more time as she smirked at him and climbed off of him to go clean herself up while he disposed of the condom.

They always came but she never did, something she had also grown used to and another reason why she used her Amazon prime account to order toys that would help her get off. Because men were useless.

"How much do I owe ya, sweetie?" He asked once she came out of the bathroom, her jeans buttoned up over the lacy bodysuit that she had worn, throwing her blazer over it as she grabbed her phone to check the time.

"2k," she stated.

Tonight, had been an easy job. Tom – that was his name – was some rich stockbroker who worked on Wall Street and had been using Sharon's services since his wife had their last child and hadn't lost the baby weight. Demi felt bad for the woman, but she had to make a living too and it wasn't her fault that she was married to a scumbag.

"When can I see you again?" he asked as he passed her the money in a manila envelope.

"Ask Sharon," Demi said, shooting him a fake smile before she slipped her Louboutins on and left the hotel room.

Max was waiting for her downstairs in her standard black town car, giving her a nod as he closed the door behind her and she settled into the plush leather seats. Demi was sending a text on her real phone when her Razor beeped in her purse. Max was in the car with her and Sharon usually didn't call after jobs, but Demi pulled it out anyway, and it was a text from Trey.

Can I see you again?

She hadn't heard from him in a month, but that didn't mean she had forgotten about him. No, every time she was on a job she thought about him, hoping that he would pop up and she would get to spend the night with him instead of the next man who wanted to use her for their own pleasure then dispose of her. She thought about him all of the time, but she never reached out to him because she knew that they could never be. And that wasn't her being cynical or dramatic, she was just being realistic. Having significant others with the job that she had would never work. But she really wanted to see him, one more time, just to get it out of her system.

Yes.

Max took her to the office so that she could give Sharon her money, then he drove her to the studio apartment that overlooked Central Park. Sharon paid for the girls to all live in the same building. It was more about control than anything else. She wanted to monitor what they were doing, who was coming to see them, how they spent their spare time, etc, etc, etc. Demi didn't mind. It's not like she had a lot of friends and the apartment was nicer than anywhere she had ever stayed in her entire life.

They made plans. Trey told her to dress comfortably and meet him on the west side of Central Park at four pm. She wanted to look nice for him, not the way she looked when she was going to do her job, but nice enough that he would call her beautiful instead of sexy, that he would hold her hand instead of caressing her butt, that he would look into her eyes instead of staring at her chest.