Orla - The Golddigger

Orla wasn’t the easiest person to get on with. She knew that. She didn’t like people getting in the way of what she wanted and she defended that right fiercely and often.
She saw herself as a simple person. Her priorities were very clear cut. Money first, all else after.
Money, after all, makes the world go around. It made her world sparkle.

For the man that complained about the complexity of women, Orla was the figurative golden chalice. As long as they had money, she was a happy woman. A kitty cat, really, that had the cream.

So as she pushed the final sparkling pin into her bouncing golden curls, she saw herself as an asset worth paying for and paying for damned well.

It was a gala of some variety, a name the well-to-do used to describe a lavish event that costs more than it raises for the charity flavour of the week. Which, it really didn’t matter. She was only there for a single purpose, and it wasn’t to empty her precious purse into some starving child’s non-existent bank account.

With an approving final glance of herself in the mirror, and a quick push up of her cleavage, she grabbed her purse and left her room, the tail of her dress swishing behind her.

It was a Saturday, so the loft was largely empty when she walked into the open plan. Leanne sat on her usual perch on an old antique arm chair Orla was certain had mites, flipping through a magazine from last week. Underneath her, a man in his late thirties had her short but shapely legs resting on his shoulders as his face buried between her thighs.

Leanne barely seemed to notice, and flipped the page, clearly bored with the contents. Orla couldn’t blame her; that particular issue was in the waste basket for a reason.

“I’m off. I’ll be back at breakfast, so save me some bacon.”

Her only answer was a brief wave, without even bothering to look up from the drivel on glossy pages.

Usually, she would be offended, but she’d known Leanne for long enough to know that it wasn’t because she didn’t care. They had been the first in this large palace of a loft they called home, back when Lynne was recruiting and being so very awful at it, and they had a special sort of bond the later inhabitants didn’t tend to understand. It was just because she had other things on her mind at that moment in time…

She faintly heard their guest unzip his fly and groan as he wrapped his hand around himself, pumping in time to the light suction on her flatmate’s clit. While Orla had all the traditional parts associated with a professional blonde bombshell, all tits and ass and pouty red lips, her younger friend had by far the prettiest pussy around. All neat and puffy and perfectly flushed pink. All the lucky girl had to do was go about her business, as long as one patron or another had a nibble.

A short soft sigh told her the brunette didn't entirely dislike her duties either.

And with that, she opened the latch, put on her most winning smile and left for her night.