Page 15 of Judge's Mercy

“Well, you look a mess, so if you’re going to do this, you better ask one of the girls for some help.” She nods to the man on the other side of the bullet-proof glass, who’s seated in the parlor. “I’ll take him to the bar to buy some time.”

“Okay.”

She points a finger at me. “The house isn’t taking half on this one. You’ll get the entire amount.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can.” She walks out, plastering a fake smile on her face, ready to go make nice with the douche.

It only takes fifteen minutes to get me in fighting shape. Dieanna was kind enough to loan me a red slip dress and a pair of heels. I’ve never worn red before because it washed me out, but with my new hair color, I don’t have that problem. As I look myself over in the mirror, I groan at how many years I spent not wearing red. It makes me look seductive and intimidating, and when paired with my round blue eyes, button nose, and pouty lips that give off a youthful innocence, I think the senator will be more than happy with me.

Walking into the bar, I turn off Myla and turn on Fiona. Some sex workers can remain the same person with a client as they are in real life, but a lot of us prefer to keep the two lives separate. Myla pays bills, wakes up with her hair in a rat’s nest, shits, burps, and has opinions. Fiona, however, only exists to please her client. Her pussy is always wet, her asshole is always bleached, and she is excellent at reading body language and listening to cues so she knows exactly how to make a man happy.

I sidle up to him, nodding to Mary as she gives us privacy. Standing with my ankles crossed and my back straight, I say, “Hey there. I’m Fiona.”

“Fiona.” He tries the name out, not bothering to hide his perusal of my body. “Mary was right; you’re exceptional.”

I dip my chin, pretending like his compliment moved me. “Oh, thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Well, I think I’ve waited long enough. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Just one second. We have some boring business stuff to take care of first.” I roll my eyes as I take a seat on a stool. “Tell me what you want and what you like, then I’ll tell you what I will or won’t do.”

His tongue sweeps across his upper teeth, grossing me out. He’s not a bad-looking man. His hair is styled, his face clean-shaven, and he’s wearing a navy polo that’s tucked into his jeans. He clearly works out too, because his arms are defined and his stomach is flat. There’s absolutely nothing outwardly wrong with him; it’s the vibe he gives off. Men might not notice it, but I do, and so would most other women.

“I want to fuck you if that’s what you’re asking,” he says.

“That can be arranged.”

His eyes darken. “I do have some preferences, though.”

Here we go. This is the part where he admits his darkest fantasies. “What kind of preferences?”

“I reserved the classroom because I heard there’s a paddle in there, and your ass would look beautiful glowing red.”

“I can consent to a paddle, but nothing that will leave a mark for more than an hour.”

His lips press together in a flat line, showing his irritation. “What’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, I can be a lot of fun.” I prop my tits up on the table as I lean in.

“What about biting?”

“You want to bite me?”

“Just a few love nibbles. Maybe a gentle slap now and then if the mood strikes.”

“No marks,” I remind him.

“I can live with that.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Anal,” he blurts out.

I already knew he was going to want this. “Alright, but the price goes up with that.”

“I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

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