Free A Bona Fide Gold Digger by Allison Hobbs

can become a very wealthy young woman. Not everybody’s cut out for this type of work, but you can do it.”
    Milan frowned at Elise. “But, it’s so nasty…and perverted. It seems like prostitution.”
    Elise sucked her teeth. “So what? What isn’t prostitution? One way or another, everything you do for money is prostitution. It seems to me, you were prostituting yourself over at the spa place.”
    “I was not,” Milan protested. “That was legitimate employment. I had a prestigious position, I might add. I had the respect of my colleagues and there was nothing shameful about my work.”
    “Whatever,” Elise said, rising. “Mr. Brockington is getting antsy. Come on upstairs and I’ll show you how to soothe him.”
     
    The combined fragrances of lavender and chamomile were purported to have a calming effect, but when Elise uncapped the bottle of massage oil, the scent made Milan want to puke. The floral scent along with the knowledge of the intended purpose of the essential oils caused Milan to cover her mouth to keep from heaving.
    When Elise pulled down Mr. Brockington’s pajama bottom, Milan reflexively closed her eyes. Elise cleared her throat, indicating that Milan should pay attention. Reluctantly, Milan opened her eyes as Elise gently turned Mr. Brockington over. He lay on his stomach, his bare ass exposed. With his face buried in the pillows, his discontented grunting was muted and in an effort to hurry Elise along, he impatiently wiggled his backside.
    Elise quickly squeezed a generous amount of the potion into her palm and smoothed the aromatic concoction onto his deeply wrinkled behind.
    Eeew. Eeew. Eeew . Milan recoiled at the repugnant sight. Barely able to contain her revulsion, her hand instinctively covered her mouth. Three thousand dollars wasn’t nearly enough. She needed an additional bonus just to endure this display of depravity.
    Then it occurred to her, the voyeuristic aspect of this dirty deed should be the least of her concerns. Elise turned to her, holding the massage oil. Shaking, Milan had to conjure an image of the money inside her purse to keep herself from fleeing the bedroom. Breathing deeply, she dutifully extended her arm and then bravely opened her tightly closed damp fist.
    She wiped her sweaty palm on her pant leg. Unable to hide the grimace on her face, she unenthusiastically cupped her hand. Elise squeezed a few oily drops. Mr. Brockington lay prone as he waited for the soothing.
    “He likes for you to rub in circles,” Elise explained, sounding somewhat embarrassed.
    Mr. Brockington, apparently losing patience, jutted out his behind. “Hurry up,” he implored Milan.
    A middle-aged ass had to be the worst sight she’d ever beheld. Additionally, Milan had major issues with touching anyone intimately; still, she courageously took over for Elise. His ass was soft and mushy, but she persevered, making circular motions as Elise had instructed. In a matter of minutes, Mr. Brockington was snoring contentedly.
    Elise nodded knowingly. “I told you it wasn’t nothing to it. Now, that’s an easy day’s work, so stop complaining and let that money pile up.”
    Milan rushed to Mr. Brockington’s private bathroom. She had to wash—no, sterilize her hands. She ran hot water and pumped about an ounce of hand soap into her palm.
    As she dried her hands on Noah Brockington’s monogrammed cream-and-coffee-colored handtowels, she looked around the exquisite suite. The luxurious bathroom was actually a fully equipped spa, complete with a six-jet whirlpool tub, a separate steam shower, a double vanity with expensive sinks, and oak cabinetry that spanned an entire wall. So lavish, so utterly beautiful. What a pity it was being wasted on a despicable, degenerate, dying man.
    “Well, I guess you got the hang of it. I have a hot date with a new man I met at the Post, so I have to be on my way.” Elise giggled girlishly.
    The Post was a veteran’s club where a bunch of old fogies