All characters are eighteen or above.
Carla loved her new profession. She took twenty five percent of the earnings of the house. She went short of nothing. Whatever she wanted, she bought. This included a sports car, clothes, shoes, you name it, she could have it.
She and her mother, Lydia, would eat in the top restaurants.
Champagne would flow, the bill would run into hundreds of pounds.
Neither cared. They were living the good life.
They made a stunning couple, wherever they ate. They tipped the waiters and waitresses generously, were always polite, and most welcome in all of the top eateries. They were never accompanied by men. Neither wanted a date, boyfriend, or husband. As her mother said, quietly,
"I think we're getting more than enough cock, and pussy, don't you, Darling?"
Carla had agreed, as she sipped her Champagne.
It was true. They were extremely busy. Men, women, and couples, would turn up on most evenings. They didn't need any complications. They charged a fortune for their services. The money would be in Lydia's account, long before the clients turned up.
No one, ever, asked for a refund. You pay for what you get, and Carla, and her mother, delivered, every time.
The two of them would sit chatting. Both would be in designer clothes and shoes. Their hair, and make up would always be immaculate.
Carla's underwear, however, would always be disgusting.
Wearing her mother's soiled panties, and cum stained bra, had become the norm.
She was almost constantly wet, and always, gave off a strong pussy scent.
Waiters, and some waitresses, would contend to be the ones to serve them.
They would take extra long, taking their orders, and generally, politely chatting.
Carla and her mother played on this. Carla would play stupid whilst selecting her food.
She understood French perfectly well, but would keep the menu on the table, as whoever was waiting on, had to lean near to her, to translate. The men would walk away awkwardly, trying to hide their erections, the females would take their time.
The girls loved it. Her mother had joked,
"I think our food might be a while. I hope they wash their hands before they serve us."
They had both laughed, contemplating the possibility, that the servers, may well be masturbating in the toilets.
Money was no object. Carla believed that everyone had their price. She set out to prove it, more than once.
A lot of her disposable income, which was in abundance, was spent on her hair, and nails. She always went to the same hairdresser, usually late in the day. She would pay extra to have her hair done, after hours. She would specify that only Paula, the owner of the salon, dealt with her long red hair.
She liked Paula. She loved the way she looked. She was excellent at her job. Paula was no Bimbo. She had done extremely well for herself, spoke eloquently, and was drop dead gorgeous. She had an amazing body, long blonde hair, and always, smelled fantastic.
She was also straight.
Carla saw her as a challenge, and decided to make her move.
Her appointment was at six o'clock. Paula had let her in, and she had sat down. The blinds were down, Paula locked the door.
Carla looked at her in the mirror, as the beautiful hairdresser began to play with her hair. She closed her eyes.
"Mmmm, that's good," said Carla, dreamily.
