<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/736x/f7/62/50/f76250fafb7111b1d628385f2eae178c--brooke-dorsay-motor.jpg)</div>“No… not yet, I need more sleep…” I groaned in the empty the room as my alarm continued to drag me out of my slumber with that stupid ringtone I keep forgetting to change. I pulled my phone from the nightstand and snoozed it, knowing full well I may fall back asleep if I did not. Getting my wits together was not an easy feat this early in the morning, but I had to. I had that stupid trig class early in the morning, and the professor, as much as I had tried to proposition him, would not budge. He wants me there, in class, actually studying.<br/><br/>Things are so much easier outside of this one small obstacle. Most classes are a breeze and those that are not, have professors that have no trouble resisting my cute ass. I mean, why would they? I am no danger to anyone, hate the idea of having any strings attached, and all I want is to graduate this stupid college to show my parents I “did something with my life”. Not that they would care, either way, I am the adopted pariah, after all. Good thing I am on the other side of the country from them and they could not be more clueless.<br/><br/>Finally dragging my bum in the shower, I then pull a flimsy sweater and some jean shorts on and start driving to school. Soon, I am parking my $30.000 Impala into the school parking lot and lazily head to class. Yeah, people have asked me how I can afford my nice car, and why I am so carefree when it comes to my future, but they do not need to know now, do they? Speaking of, before I even enter the building, a new message arrives and causes me to stop in my tracks.<br/><br/>“Meet me tonight? I can pick you up around 7, there is a party I want you to join me to.” This was a message from George, a Client. See, this is what I do to actually afford the lifestyle I have: I sell sex. I pick and choose my Clients. I have a nice website where they can contact me and decide whether I am to their pleasing, and once they do, I interview them. Yep, you read that right. I may be a prostitute, but I like to consider myself a Luxury Escort. I am eye candy. Men pay to show me off, not just to fuck me, and I cannot say I mind. But for that, I decide whom I sell myself to.<br/><br/>I only have two rules: no drama and full anonymity. I go to many public events, and some men do recognize me, but because of my ND clause, I have never had issues before. It gives me a good opportunity to know the hot shots of LA while learning what it’s like to truly live “the high life”. Anyway, back to George. He is a sweet guy, but I have never gone in public with him. I actually thought he was married. Shrugging, I replied simply “Anything in particular you want me to wear?”. The reply came soon enough, confirming it was a black-tie event. Awesome opportunity to show off my new little black dress.<br/><br/>The day passed in a blur, and soon I found myself stepping into George’s luxury car’s back seat, where he was waiting for me. He had a driver, which did not surprise me. He was one of those Clients that preferred to come to my place, drink a glass of scotch, fuck my brains out, then leave without a word. It did not bother me, because he paid the same price others paid for a whole night and this way I managed to get some decent sleep. Tonight, he had other plans, it seems. On our way there, he informed me this was a high class private party, held by a man he does business with, a guy named Marlon Fontana. A comment he made about the party though, rubbed me the wrong way. He said something along the lines of “there will be many of your fellow co-workers there”.<br/><br/>I was not sure how to interpret that, so I tried to push it to the back of my mind. Not much later, we were stepping past the threshold of one of the most imposing mansions I had ever laid eyes on. All men wore suits and the women were dressed in gorgeous gowns, though I must say, some a bit more revealing than I had expected. A couple people greeted George and we were in the middle of a group of about six people when he introduced me for the first time.<br/><br/>“So… this is Ashlynn, goes by Ash. I highly recommend her business, if you know what I mean…” he said with a wink and laughed along with all the men surrounding us.<br/><br/>Granted, he had quite a bit of scotch in the car, on our way here, but he knew better than to tell everyone my real name and what I do. This was a deal breaker for me. Suddenly, I felt the walls closing in and the room shrink as my cheeks started burning up. I pulled my arm from his grasp and gave him a death stare. Not one for a scene, I simply said I needed some air and left, looking for a way out of this stupid charade of a party.<br/><br/>It did not bother me that I did what I did, I was not ashamed of it, and truth be told, I enjoyed the power that came from having sex with strong, wealthy men. But I was not sure what my future held. I hated my family, granted and giving them the middle finger was always an option, but… I wanted to do it my way, not by having my face on some tabloid that said I was a hooker. Finding a double door that seemed to lead outside, I pushed it open and allowed the fresh air to hit my face. It was a warm but yet nice breeze and the beautiful pool before me was giving that breeze a fresh, humid feel.<br/><br/>People were swimming in there, and it didn’t take me long to notice their nakedness, adding the last piece to my puzzle. Realizing what kind of a party this is, I found a tray of various glasses with different alcoholic beverages and took one that seemed to have some hard liquor. Downing it, I told myself “fuck this” and took my shoes off, then my dress, and moved towards the hot-tub that was deliciously staying empty to the side of the back patio. Somehow, on my way there, though, as I was throwing my clothing behind me, I heard someone wince and turned to see a stunning woman look at me puzzled, wondering why I threw a damned shoe at her.<br/><br/>“Um… hi…” I snickered, knowing it was fully clear at this point, that I was nothing but a drunk bumpkin from Ohio, that belonged anywhere but here. Blushing, I waved, careless of the fact that I was wearing nothing but a lacy panty at this point, and yet she was not horrified by me. “I’m… I’m Ash” I croaked, thinking to myself that maybe she would want to join me in the tub, and maybe, for once, I can leave my guard down and just have some fun.