The music was blaring, the whole rave seeming to move as one. A frantic, maniac, sway to the pulsing beat of the EDM. With the light show, and the mass of glow sticks, the whole club was a cascade of colorful lights. She was in her own little world, dancing her stress away.
It was a girl's night out, and she was surrounded by close friends. Half of them were already wasted, and one was definitely on something. She didn't judge, but she wasn't about to take something random at a rave. One of her friends just broke up with a boyfriend, the scum bag having cheated on her. So if anyone even wanted to hook up, they all had to act like men in general were the enemy.
She and her friends ended up closing the place down. Being sober, it ends up being her job to help everyone stumble out of the club. Along the way, she has to viciously verbally fend off would-be hook-up artists. One by one taking them all home safely, hoping no one regrets drinking. Getting to her place, she eventually falls asleep with her TV on. Sleeping through History Channel conspiracy garbage, one of her guilty pleasures.
Briefly waking to her phone loudly pinging, she just rolls over tuning it out. It was a custom notification, set for one of her most "loyal" clients. But she didn't feel like it this morning, honestly didn't feel like it any morning. It pings again, then again eventually making her angrily grab it off her nightstand.
The first thing she sees is a transfer, not an incentive, money already in her account. Followed by "Hey bitch get that phat ass over here...". The bastard was loaded, which was the only reason anyone worked with him. His rating was a train wreck, and every single review was a horror story. But some clients got away with it by cramming in brute-force cash.
Getting up already missing her king-sized soft bed, she walks naked through her apartment. It was a two-bedroom condo, in the affluent part of the city. Everything in it was brand new, expensive, and high-end. Even her phone was the latest model. She wasn't just a regular contractor. she was rated as a partner. Clients had to pay a subscription to even offer her work. Tips were mandatory, and she got a larger cut of each session.
Turning her shower on, she repeatedly tests the temperature. The fine-tuning of the amount of heat almost reached OCD levels. As she slips in she wonders why she's putting in the effort. The stupid bastard never showers himself. Using two-hundred dollar shampoo, and just as expensive soap she lathers up. Not taking time to enjoy the water, she gets out working through her skincare routine. Eventually, looking in the mirror all she sees is mocha-toned soft curves, fat tits, and a cute resting bitch face. A combination of long hours at the gym, and a healthy diet gave her a seductive thicc figure. She quickly brushes her long curly hair; and puts on her makeup ironically not going for a slutty vibe. Every now and then she hears a notification, the stupid fuck being an obnoxious ass. Before leaving she just puts on some street clothes, not putting effort into that part. After all, she's not allowed to wear clothes in his disgusting condo anyway.
Locking up her apartment, all she has to do is go down the hall, then up some stairs. At first, she was thrilled to have a high-paying client so close. But then she read his reviews; and quickly declined the initial offer. Even if he was subscribed, she didn't HAVE to work for him. He didn't get the hint though, and large deposits started hitting her account. The follow-up incentives were even more generous. Plus there was the fact, that his low rating meant she could charge him double. In the end, the money was to good and she grudgingly accepted the next offer.
Reaching his condo she just opens the door knowing it won't be locked. Immediately a rancid smell hits her in the face, the place never seeming to get cleaned. Sitting in the living room was her most high-paying client. No one would guess that looking at him. He was six foot four but none of his large frame was muscle. He was in his early twenties, black, with thick glasses, and a grungy neck beard. She wondered if the smell was his unwashed body and not the apartment. Even his clothes were cheap sweatpants, and an old stained shirt with a faded logo on. Thinking about it he might of been in the same outfit the last she was over. Making her wonder if he even changes his clothes. "Took you long enough slut get those clothes off. I want the usual..." He snaps rapidly looking over his stack of monitors taking up half the wall.
She doesn't respond just strips, trying to step over all the discarded doordash orders. Bending over his kitchen counter, she reminds herself of the fortune she's making off this pig. Dignity, and retiring in your early 30s didn't really mix together. She doesn't care what he does for a living. Just knowing he was some kind of child prodigy, and that he could spam her direct deposits.
Hearing his office chair creek she feels him move behind her, after woddling through the trash. His huge hand grabbed her ass spreading her thicc soft cheeks making her braces herself. He just leers down at her like a creep. She figures he's enjoying the view like every other client. Knowing she was the proud owner of phat chocolate-toned bubble butt that would make a pornstar jealous. She couldn't even count the hours working out, the calories, and the amount of squats. But it was making her rich one assfucking at a time.
