"Ugh. I hate group jobs. I swore after the last one, never again." Molly groaned, pulling a pillow over her face. She and Shayla were lying in a queen-sized bed, taking full advantage of the five hours left on Molly's last trick's luxury suite.
"These guys are different." Shayla sighed dreamily, twirling her long, blonde extensions. She had been acting strange since she got back from last week's group gig. "They're not frat boys--to them, its like, spiritual or something."
Molly raised a suspicious eyebrow. She loved Shayla, but they were in the business for different reasons altogether--Molly started working as an "escort" to pay for school, Shayla because she was had dropped out of high school and found herself with no other skills. She got fucked often enough, she reasoned, why not get paid for it? Molly, alternately, didn't date at all through school--too busy with research and writing. She didn't mind sex with clients, it wasn't much worse than waitressing, and paid much better, at least. She thought she'd fall right into a good, straight job as soon as she graduated--two years ago. The economy was, she joked bitterly and often, literally fucking her.
"You do remember my last, and only, private party?" Molly asked Shayla. It had been a sad little frat affair--five or ten fat, loud, drunk guys who attempted to gang-bang her, but only two or three managed to keep a hard dick. She'd had to suck limp cocks that dripped with early ejaculate, while sticky, soft hands searched her body, groping her breasts and sloppily slapped her pussy. Molly had slept with old men, with very old men, with men whose disabilities caused her to manually erect their penises with pumps or fingers in their asses, and she'd taken it all in stride. Men like that usually treated her with respect. They were happy just to have a pretty girl treating their cocks nicely in their bed--happy to have her lithe, firm body next to them, to watch her dark, curly hair bob in their laps. She didn't even mind the occasional face fuck from these guys, or the odd "bitch" and "whore" thrown out at the height of passion (so long as the apologized before their load had gone cold inside her). But those entitled assholes groping her, without the decency to even stay hard in front of her beautiful, pert tits? No thank you.
"I swear these guys are different." Shayla giggled, rolling over. "God, just thinking about it makes me wet. Wanna feel?"
"Nice try, lady." Molly pushed her away.
"Oh, come on." Shayla said, licking her lips enticingly, her hand creeping to Molly's breast.
"What's so different about them?" Molly asked, sighing, acquiescing to Shayla's hand under her robe, feeling the warmth radiating from her tweaked nipple.
"I'm not allowed to say." Shayla answered, beginning to suck Molly's nipple. She moved an expert hand to Moll's cunt and started to massage. This, Molly had decided long ago, was a perk of the job. She liked sex--when her partners were good at it--and Shayla as good at it. Gender didn't matter as much, these days. "Part of their deal. But its a thousand a guy."
"Fuck!" Molly exclaimed, as Shayla's finger slipped inside of her, in response to both the sensation and the price.
"Okay, I'll do it." Molly said. "After I do you!." The girls laughed and pulled off one another's robes, as Molly buried her face in Shayla's shaven cunt.
The address was not what Molly had been expecting. Usually, group jobs were in back of a bar, or at some sad little frat house or ranch style in a cheap suburb. This place was nice-- an older, somewhat Victorian house. She hadn't even been instructed to go in a back door. She had quite a list of instructions. Not to bathe, to show up dressed modestly, with complex undergarments. The man, who called himself Brother Heavener, had specified complex, he didn't seem to care about sexy.
She rang the doorbell, and was happy when it was answered by a handsome man in his mid thirties, with clear blue eyes, a broad chest and shaggy hair that fell to his broad jaw line. He smiled, and in a strange way, Molly trusted him immediately.
"Brother Heavener?" She reached her hand out to meet his.
"Yes, beautiful girl. And your name is not Starla." He kissed her on the cheek. Starla was the name Molly used for tricks, and only seldom was it questioned.
She smiled, and allowed herself to be led inside. The house was lavishly decorated, and she wondered what kind of person would fill their house with gorgeous antiques and gang-bangs.
"No, you're right about that." she said.
"For this to work, we'll need to know your real name." Brother Heavener said.
"Like Heavener is your real name." She teased.
"It is now." He looked into her eyes intensely, and to her great surprise, Molly found herself getting wet.
"For what to work?" Molly changed the subject.
"We're a group that specifies in...well, transcendent experiences for women. May I kiss you?"
Molly was flustered. She had never been asked this before. "Sure." Heavener kissed her deeply on the mouth, sucking her lower lip, looping her arms around her and pulling her in close. She expected to feel a raging hard on, but there was nothing. As if sensing her misgiving, Heavener said :
"We all have excellent self control. Until you're ready, I'm not ready. Thank you for the kiss. You're a very sensual woman. Are you ready to meet the group?"
Brother Heavener placed a strong hand in the small of Molly's back and led her to the next room, where five other men waited. Molly blanched a little, realizing with a group this small, each would expect a turn, probably in all of her holes. At least with awful frat jobs there were a lot of spectators--nothing wore her out quite like too many customers in one day. Sensing her distress, Heavener leaned and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry. We can give you time."
Time for what? Molly wondered.
Heavener led her to an old fashioned chaise--upholstered in leather, lying on it arced her back, and, she knew, would offer easy access when the men began straddling her.
The other men stayed quiet, and instead of rubbing themselves as she was so used to men doing when they saw her laid out, could not take their eyes off her.
