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Paisley
IS HE KIDDING?
I twist to peek over one shoulder at the mess Andre stuck me with.
Again.
The way he goes from hot to cold is going to give me a migraine.
But it’s a cost-effective one so I’m willing to overlook it.
I move away from the wall, staying hunched over so I don’t drip jizz on the super expensive carpet under my toes as I make my way to the bathroom. I flip on the light and roll my eyes at the room in front of me.
Of course it’s gorgeous. The ceilings are high and painted the same deep teal-ish grey as the walls. Gold sconces bathe the room in a soft glow, making it seem even more dramatically decadent.
The floor is textured tile in a rich mahogany color, set in a herringbone pattern that perfectly complements the gold and teal grey. The sink and tub are white, along with the fluffy towels artfully draped along the wall, dangling from a set of coordinating hooks, providing the cutting brightness the space needs.
I snag one of the towels, intending to use it to wipe away the sticky chill of the cum drying on my ass.
But then my eyes hit Andre’s shower.
It’s tucked into one corner and tiled in gorgeous glass slabs the same color as the walls. Ribbons of gold and swirls of glitter band from one tile to the next, creating a pattern of shimmer and sparkle.
It’s stunning.
But beauty isn’t what pulls me past the glass door and into the enclosed space.
Shower heads are everywhere. Jutting out from both the ceiling and the walls, in an arrangement that I can only imagine would be capable of cleaning not just the body, but also the soul.
And after what just happened my soul could probably use a good scrub.
I know my butt cheeks need one.
I spin around, looking for knobs. Handles. Buttons.
Some way to get this party started.
The only thing that looks like it might help me is a touchpad sealed into the tile. I tap it with one finger and it immediately wakes up, offering a menu of options for me to choose from. I can pick which showerheads I want to spray. The temperature of the water. Even the pressure that it comes out.
I make my selections and brace for the initial blast of cold water that always shoots from the shower in my apartment.
Maybe shoot is too generous of a word.
Trickle is a more accurate description of the flow my single showerhead produces.
I jump as the water hits my skin, reacting to my expectation instead of the reality.
The water is perfectly warm from the get-go, hitting my body with steady streams from all angles.
It’s fucking amazing.
I grab the body wash from the little alcove built into the wall and squeeze some out into my hand, lathering it up between my palms before scrubbing over my skin, washing away the bronzer Madison used around my boobs in an attempt to make them look bigger.
She’d been almost as hopeful as I was as she helped me get ready for my stripping debut. She was confident I’d be able to make the rest of the money I need before Monday. She even offered to give me a few of her shifts to help out.
Unfortunately, I think it’s pretty clear I’m not cut out for stripping.
Which leaves me with one option if I want to make sure my mother gets into the drug trial.
