At quarter to ten o'clock on Tuesday evening, Mireille shut down her computer. Setting aside her pharmacy textbook, she stretched her shoulders and neck and turned off the alarm on her phone.
Showtime.
A small smile curled her lips as she slipped her iridescent Venetian mask into place, concealing the top half of her face. After a quick trip to her bathroom to check her appearance and apply a light rose to her lips, she made her way to her secondary 'bedroom', adjusting the lighting and ensuring her equipment was properly set up. It had been an investment, but the returns had paid for them a hundred times over.
Ensuring that she was wearing His gift around her exposed throat, Mireille activated the stream for her private client of the night.
Never once had he been late since he became one of her primary patrons, and Mireille thanked whatever gods had smiled upon her the day they 'met' on her channel.
The light blinked and LIVE popped up on the side of her screen. The private channel room was empty but for the two of them....