Sex Sells

Amazing!

You give the breasts a firm squeeze. They are as there and upfront as the fingers you were clawing them with. The ring seems to simmer against your finger. It quickly becomes lost in the ecstasy of your thoughts.

Momentum; you're taking it.

"Cara," you glance, "don't you want to feel these tits?"

"Yes, I was going to ask her myself, actually," the young woman looks at Gabrielle with interest. "Do you mind, Gabrielle?"

"Not at all!" The waitress positions her chest in front of Cara, allowing the latter a grope.

A disbelieving grin spreads over your face as the level-headed Cara eagerly, yet cutely begins clasping both of the waitress's boobs under her slim hands and squeezes them as if they were cotton specimens. "W-wow," Cara's throat clears, "these are pretty nice."

"They cost a fortune alright," Gabrielle laughed. "Let's just say my fiancee didn't need a lot of convincing at the end of things."

"I could see why."

"And feel it, huh?"

Coughing through the pair's conversation, you innocently muse, "You know what would be awesome? If you guys were hookers or something. Then I could just pay you for sex anytime I wanted. Looking at you now makes the idea of some in-bed action sound really attractive if you catch my drift..."

"Oh mister, funny you say that," Gabrielle looks at you and laughs after a momentary silence, waving a hand, then leans in with a twinkle in her eye, "since after this shift, I'm officially quitting." She notices your look, and nods. "That's right. The new job I'm leaving this one for... is in the esteemed escort business!"

You begin to open your mouth when she chuckles and winks, "You can be my first customer!"

Cara's voice suddenly swerves into the musk, "Yeah about that..."

For a moment, she seemed to be at odds with herself. After a scrunch of the lip, she loosened her shoulders and rolled her eyes, detaching her hands from Gabrielle's plump breasts. "Now that you brought it up I might as well tell you, John. I've actually been conducting such 'business' on the side ever since freshman year. After jumping ship from Mede Lab, a hustler hit me up while a group of friends and I -- you know Elaine, right? Her and some others. This was just after exam week, and we were coming out of a karaoke bar when this man, dressed in really tacky, flashy clothing, but hey, I suppose it did the trick, walked up to us with some flyer. We laughed him off and he just gave us this weird grin -- we couldn't see his eyes because he had shades on, and it was nighttime! -- and strutted away. I still don't know why I didn't just throw the thing into the nearest receptacle. But anyway. The next night I was at my desk in the dorm when I was fishing for my notebook from my bag. The flyer was pointing out and something just came over me. I needed fast cash. I'm attractive enough. I can butter up when necessary. So I called the number and a week later I was doing my first run." Straight-A, walking bouquet herself matches your stare with the same, stalwart ray she likely crawled out the womb with. One hand on her glass, she tips it into her mouth, then comes back up for air. "It just took off from there."

Is that the ring that's turned into a splat of alloy left too long in the sun, or just the heat of the moment? You pay it little regard, instead enraptured by what you are hearing. "Cara." Not sure how to drag the words out from your tongue into audible form, it's here the feat of casual linguistic functionality earns your respect. "You're telling me you have sex with people for money?"

"You could say that. "

"That you're a hooker?"

Looking away form Gabrielle back to face you, the prim young woman shrugs. "Yeah, I'm a hooker. That's a lazy catch-all term for sex industry workers in general, of which there are several, but in that sense, yes. I hook."

You'd say you looked down that next second if it was true. But you didn't. You looked at her breasts.

The thought of those white-bread nuggets as sales assets suddenly makes for a dangerously sexy, contrasting combo to the picket-fence shell this girl displays before you. Always has, ever since the first day you met, ever since your first project as class peers, ever since the moment she academically suplexed you after catching you in the innocent act of cantankerous plagiarism. Messed up, right?

"Cara Davenport... selling her body... to, to, to strangers?" In spite of yourself, your head is promptly populated with crude, titillating imagery of a naked Cara sprawled out on a much too tidy mattress.

And another twitch in the groin area irritates the polyester.

"Yes, I know. Shocking, but true," Cara tilts her head, "But most importantly, John. Thanks for hearing me out. I actually wanted to ask you..." You watch firsthand as Cara faintly blushes, pupils drifting towards the window mid-sentence. On the other end, you're flabbergasted that Cara blushed. But she quickly recovers. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to have a quick round with me. For practice, later when I break the news to Jacob. Also because I need some, um, quick cash." With slight self-consciousness you wouldn't immediately notice if your acquaintanceship with Cara was still fledgling, she quickly adds, "It's for a prospective gift. I wouldn't go around haggling you or any other one of my friends for money like that, it's... shameless. That's why I'm offering this to you as a professional service."

"Professional service?"

"Think of it as any casual business transaction."

"Yeah, Jacob's gonna love this alright," a hand rises to cradle the scalp.

"Jacob.... Don't worry about Jacob. That's my job. Besides, if anything," Cara asserts, "he gets to do it with me for free."

Beside you, the soon-to-be-former waitress lets ring a hearty laugh. "Girl, I like your style!" Conspiratorially, she leans in. "How about I tag along? I'd love to get a lil' training in before I fill out the W-2!"

Cara takes a second to think. "Fine by me, long as John's got the money to spare."

You look up to find the two women eyeing you, expectantly, and ruminate. It is at this moment you realize you just watched Cara grope your waitress' titties, in a public venue, with no comeuppance. It is also at this moment you realize Cara is asking to have sex with you, somehow, in some unfathomable way, possibly thanks to your own thoughtless, amoral doing with the help of a world warper the affects of which not a soul can perceive but you. It is here, you realize the pleading look in Gabrielle's eyes, and her thick milkers confined behind that blouse that were definitely not there before, and the chub in your pants yearning to map that valley of the shadow of tasty, bouncy ****. What the hell.

Patting your pants, you stand up.

"Let's find a room."

Pumping the air, Gabrielle briskly excuses herself to the lounge to change out of her uniform.

As she steps through the door, you call out, "You're not done with your shift yet, are you?

The big boobed redhead flicks her wrist, "Oh fuck the shift," and disappears behind the swing of the door.

This really is reality, isn't it? You almost shake your head, but couldn't muster even that.

In the silence, you and Cara stand awkwardly at your table before you turn to her."You know what would be awesome? If you were wearing naughty, barely concealing underwear underneath all that right now," you say outloud.

Arms folded, the trim young woman looks at you and cocks an eyebrow.