Page 5 of The Naughty List

I imagine the list there in front of me, and all of the things I’ve done. All of the things I’ve fantasised about. Everything from BDSM, to sex with another girl once, to outdoor play, to getting it on in public, to fucking a few of Connor’s band friends in front of him when I was younger –and drunk. Connor and I jumped headfirst into everything, and I loved him for it.

Ebony carries on explaining things.

“Clients send you a message through your account profile, telling you what they want, and how much they’re willing to pay for it. You click yes, or no, and if you give it ayes, you arrange a booking on the calendar app. The terms are filed and thecontractis logged. The agency takes twenty percent, and you get the rest. The client pays the agency, not you. They never know who you are. Not in real life. And you never tell them. The same goes in reverse.”

“And the agency just sends the cash through? Just like that? It appears in your bank account?”

“Yeah. Just like any other employment agency. We’re inentertainment,professionally speaking. It’s just the operational side that’s a little more, um, underground.”

I almost laugh to myself. I’d be anentertainer.A more successful one than Connor, as it stands. I imagine him there in Camden, with Carly cheering and listening to his ‘heartfelt’ lyrics. Bullshit, self-obsessed, wallowing. I’d rather make a load of cash having someone stretch my pussy with two dildos, than listen to him wail about the woes of emotional politics into a microphone.

“Do you want me to do it, then?” Ebony asks. “Shall I get the agency to contact you? The interview would be on video call, but they’d have their cameras off. It would just be you who’d be visible. They’re great, I promise. You’d get to meet some of the otherentertainersas well, if you’re signed up. We have private chat where we talk about things. It’s a good crew.”

There’s no doubt about it… I need that naughty list. I’ll tick every damn box I can tick.

“Yes,” I tell Ebony, with a grateful smile. “As soon as you can, please. I have a plane to catch, after all.”

“On it,” she replies and I see her typing, looking at a window off to the side. She asks for my email address, and wants me to send her some pictures of myself, which I do. I stare dumbfounded as she keeps on typing. I can’t believe this is really happening.

“Done,” she says. “Orla is going to be in touch with you. She’s looking you up now.”

“Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. I’d best be going. I’ve got to get a cab to Ealing. My client’s already in his hotel room. My husband’s putting our two little terrors to bed tonight while Mummy gets busy.”

“Right,” I say, my smile so bright. “Have fun.”

A wave from Ebony and she’s gone.

I don’t have to wait long. A notification comes up at the side of my screen just a few minutes later. A meeting request withOrla Brownfor tomorrow night.

My fucking God, I’m shaking with excitement when I click theacceptbutton.

It’s only later that night when the nerves kick in hardcore, filled withwhat ifsand a serious amount of stomach churning, but that’s ok. I ease them off by sliding my hand down under the covers, and thinking about thenaughty listinstead…

I’m going to make sure I succeed at this. I have to.

Chapter Three

I’ma blizzard of action with my supermarket duties right through the day, high with excitement and nerves. The thoughts keep coming. Fantasies, questions, fears, all tumbling together…

The possibility of being a sexentertainerstill feels alien, but wildly thrilling. I always thought I’d be cheering Connor on from the sidelines, and sharing sexual kinks with him for the rest of my life, not fucking paying customers and fulfilling theirs.

I wave goodbye to my colleagues at the end of my shift, and I’m on the tube as fast as I can. I need time to get ready. There is no way I’m going to be taking a video interview with Orla in my work uniform with my hair tied up in a scrunchie. As soon as I’m through the door, I dash upstairs to my room and grab my towel. Luckily, the bathroom is empty. As usual the bath mat is a soggy mess and there are bottles strewn everywhere, but I don’t give a shit tonight. I’m straight under the shower, lathering my hair, and shaving myself, every stroke filled with concentration.

Teeth done, hairdryer out, then a spritz of hair protector before I use my straighteners.

What shall I wear? This isn’t exactly a regular interview.

Fishnet holdups, yes. One of my finest black satin bodices, which laces at the front, showing my cleavage off like a dream. A little tutu skirt, which barely covers my ass. So, jewellery… a collar, yes. Spikes? I look at my collection, and opt for the mid length. Not too hardcore, but enough to get attention. Then on to makeup. I move my laptop from my dressing table and set myself down, arranging my supplies neatly. I’m going to use a lot of them.

My contouring works well, and my cat flicks are extreme. I opt for decent length lashes and make sure my mascara shows them at their best. Lipstick… classic red, or deeper purple? Red. A staple.

I’m ready to go twenty minutes before my interview time. My hair comes down to my cleavage when it’s straightened, but brushes away easily to give a decent view. I check myself out on webcam from a host of different angles and make sure I’m well positioned, my laptop ready on my dressing table, all set for the interview as I perch on my stool.

My foot taps, waiting for the meeting. I try the link, to make sure it’s ready for when I need it, but it doesn’t work. It just goes to apage not recognised, and I shit myself. What the fuck?! But then I remember the instruction in the invitation.

Browser must be in incognito mode.

---