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Wash-A-Girl

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After Remy abandoned her, Rogue was faced with a dilemma: she had no money, no food, and nowhere to go. Thanks to Remy's boozing, she was completely devoid of cash, hungry as hell, and lost amidst a sea of Mardi Gras color in the heart of New Orleans. She needed money, and she needed it fast; at the very least, she needed enough cash to buy some food, and second on the priority list was a bus ticket back to Xavier's.

After a lengthy search for job opportunities, she eventually settled - reluctantly - for a somewhat sleazy soaping parlor called - what else? - Wash-A-Girl. The owner of the establishment - a middle-aged guy with a big bald patch and an even bigger beer gut - gave her an appraising head-to-toe stare, then offered her a job on the spot; Rogue chewed her lip nervously as her new boss explained the rules and procedures.

Each girl was given a string bikini and a private five-by-five shower stall outfitted with its own shower caddy full of washing implements; the clients were charged up front in varying amounts, based on how thoroughly they wanted to wash their assigned girl, and how long they wanted to wash her for.

Twenty-five dollars bought the customer a red rubber bracelet, ten minutes of washing-time, and a sampler-sized bottle of shower gel. They were not allowed to remove Rogue's bikini or try to get at what was underneath in any way, under pain of getting booted out by one of the bouncers, who were the size of small buffalo and about as hairy.

For fifty dollars, the customer received a green rubber bracelet, twenty minutes of washing-time, two bottles of body wash, and the privilege of washing Rogue's bare breasts; the client was allowed to reach under her top or remove it altogether, and as long as she didn't object, they were permitted to wash Rogue's breasts however they liked. They were not allowed to reach under or take off her bikini bottoms, however.

And for the ultra-low price of one hundred dollars, the client got a sparkly gold rubber bracelet, a half-hour of washing-time, three bottles of shower gel, and the chance to wash a completely nude Rogue anywhere they liked, however they liked. Rogue wasn't too thrilled at the idea of having some gold-bracelet stranger feeling her up, but the pay was really good, and the bouncers assured her they'd stop by her stall every ten minutes to check on her.

Feeling not a lot better about the whole situation, Rogue took the bikini and the robe she was handed, and went to the shower she was directed to. She changed into the little green string bikini - "This'll look so nice with your eyes!" the boss man had said - and put the robe on over it. She sat on a little changing-room bench beside the stall and looked around; there were about a dozen stalls arranged in two rows down the long, white-tiled hallway, which made Rogue think of horse barns she'd been in back in Caldecott County. Each stall was shielded by two heavy shower curtains: a thick velvet outer one, and a rubber inner liner; the curtains kept the water in, but not the noise, and Rogue could hear the sound of running water and quiet moans coming from several of the stalls.

The stall across from hers - number seven - had a particularly vocal male client in it, who was apparently a gold-bracelet fellow, because every so often, Rogue heard him say something like "Aw, yeah, your pussy's so wet, baby!" or "Fuck, you got great tits... mmm, yeah, I'd love to suck those hard nipples..." and shortly thereafter, there'd be a soft, feminine gasp and a moan.

Her stomach full of fluttering butterflies, Rogue shifted nervously on the bench, and just as she was about to chicken out, she heard one of the bouncers call out: "Number four, get ready!" She looked up at her number plaque for the first time, and her heart lurched up into her throat.

She was number four.

"Okay, girl," she whispered to herself, "No turnin' back now. Get it together." She got up off the bench, took her robe off, hung it up, and stepped into the shower stall. She turned on the water, got it warmed up to a comfortable temperature, and waited; she heard her client come into her little changing area; she heard the jingle of change as he took his pants off; she heard the clunk of a belt buckle hitting the bench; she heard the rustle of cloth as he got out of his shirt; and she found herself silently thanking God that the customers were required to at least keep their underwear or swim trunks on.

The shower curtain rustled and drew back, and Rogue looked up to discover her client was a very large, very well-known pro football player - he was easily six-foot-four and verging on two hundred seventy-five pounds, with hands the size of Easter hams.

And he was wearing a glittery gold rubber bracelet.

Rogue swallowed hard and tried not to look terrified. "Uh, hi," she said, twisting her hands together in front of her.

The big man's round face split in a wide, white-toothed grin. "Hi there," he said, and his grin began creeping toward a leer.

"Um..." What the hell was she supposed to say? "You're mah first customer." She wanted to add, Please be nice to me, but she managed to squelch the urge.

The man's grin got even wider, and his eyes slowly traveled from Rogue's long hair with its white streak... down to her full, round breasts, barely concealed by the tiny scrap of a swimsuit top... further down to her slim hips and smooth-shaven bikini line... down her long, slender legs... to her tiny bare feet... and back up again, even slower...

His grin had become a very definite leer.

"Well, then," he said, setting down his three bottles of body wash, "Let's get this outta the way, then, huh?" He reached around her and untied her bikini top, tugging it off and casting it aside without further ado.

Rogue's voice had shrunken into a little squeak. "Uh, Ah'm, uh..."

"C'mere, baby," he said, still grinning. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

She came closer, and he dumped the contents of one sampler bottle into his enormous hands; she held her breath, waiting for him to touch her, and he surprised her by saying:

"Turn around."

She turned to face the shower caddy, her back to him, and then she felt his body pressed up against her; his huge, rough hands slowly slid over her shoulders and down to her breasts; he took his sweet time washing her, rolling her hard nipples in his soap-slick fingers; he murmured dirty things into her ear as he soaped and groped and pinched and teased; and just about the time she began to think she might actually enjoy this job, he knelt and pulled her bikini bottoms down to her ankles.

"There we go, baby," he crooned, and stood up to press himself against her back again. "Got more to wash."

His big hands squeezed her tits, tweaked her nipples, slid down over her flat belly; one continued to toy with her breasts while the other stroked her pussy expertly; she found herself throwing her head back and biting her lip to stifle her cries; and when he finally slid one of those thick fingers into her, she nearly came. "Ohhh..."

"Yeah, that's it, baby... nice and wet..." His hand left her breast and brushed against her hip, and quite suddenly she was aware of a very large and very hard cock bumping against her tailbone.

"No!" she blurted, and jumped away. "You're-- You're not allowed to-"

"I paid a hundred bucks for you, bitch," the guy snarled. "I don't shell out that kinda cash for nothin'." He reached for her, his dick dripping with soap suds and precome.

"Bouncer!" Rogue screamed, and jumped out of the shower. "Bouncer!!"

It took three bouncers to get the guy off the premises, and only after he'd been permanently banned and threatened with arrest did he finally leave. Rogue sat in the main office, shivering and damp in her terrycloth bathrobe, sipping a cup of coffee someone had given her and trying very hard not to throw it all up.

Her boss came in, all concern and kindness, and suggested she take an early lunch break. "I know it's disturbing," he said, trying to look sympathetic and not succeeding, "when the clients get grabby like that. Even worse that he was your first."

Rogue nodded, shaking.

"But," he continued, "they aren't all like that, I promise. Just go and have yourself some lunch - on me, of course - and try to relax." He patted her shoulder and gave it a squeeze he hoped was reassuring, but it ended up just making Rogue feel like a piece of meat he was softening up. "I'm sure you'll feel much better after a good lunch, and then you can come back and start fresh."

He gave her a little smile and a ten-dollar bill, and sent her off.

He was right about one thing - she did feel better after a decent meal. She was, however, still apprehensive about getting back in that shower stall. But... she needed the money, so an hour later, she was back in her bikini, sitting on her bench, waiting.

"Number four, get ready!"

Her next customer turned out to be an elderly man; his forearms were covered with old, faded Army tattoos sprinkled over with silver hair. He wore a green bracelet, and didn't say a word as he poured shower gel into his parchment-skinned hands and reached under her bikini top; he was gentle and attentive, taking note of what she seemed to like, and by the time he pulled her top off, Rogue was relatively relaxed.

The man was apparently a boob fanatic, because all he washed were her breasts; he soaped, lathered, stroked, tweaked, rinsed, and repeated over and over, using every washing implement in the shower caddy: a soft terry washcloth, a net scrubbie-puff, a pair of scratchy bath gloves, a very coarse exfoliating cloth, and - Rogue's least favorite - a bath brush with a fat plastic handle and short, stiff bristles that almost hurt. The guy was also apparently a bit of a sadist, because he seemed delighted when she whimpered as he rubbed her nipples with rougher and rougher things; he even chuckled a little and scrubbed a bit harder when she gasped as he used the bath brush on them. The minute she said, "Ouch!" he stopped scrubbing and tenderly stroked her hard, overly-sensitized nipples with his soapy hands, and her knees almost gave out on her; she moaned and had to hold on to the caddy for support, much to the old man's amusement. When the bouncer called time, the client gave her a little smile, thanked her, and hurried out, leaving Rogue tingling and frustrated.

She had three more customers over the next two hours: one was a noisy, middle-aged man wearing a gold bracelet, who spread-eagled her against the wall like a criminal about to be frisked and rubbed madly at her pussy with one hand while he soaped her nipples with the other. He was either a police officer or just had fantasies about it, because he kept reciting lame cop-movie-type lines about nightsticks and handcuffs, and by the time he left, Rogue was rather glad to see him go. The next was a thirty-something red-bracelet yuppie who prattled on and on about his kids' amazing soccer games and his wife's horrible new hairdo, all while teasing Rogue's nipples to aching points through the wet Lycra top. That was enough to shake her up, but the next client was the icing on the cake.

He was a thin, gangly college boy, geeky as hell and so nervous he forgot to take his glasses off before he got into the shower; he had to dash out, dripping wet, to put them with his clothes. He was shivering when he returned, and was having a very difficult time looking Rogue in the eyes.

"I'm, uh..." he started, and his jug-handle ears turned red. "My name's David."

"Hi, David," she said, charmed in spite of herself.

"My- my friends put me up to this," he stammered apologetically. "We're here for Mardi Gras, and they all pitched in a bunch of money for this, so I could, uh..." He held up his bony wrist, from which dangled a gold rubber bracelet.

So you could finally get to feel up a naked girl, Rogue almost finished for him, but instead she said, "It's okay, sugah. Take your time."

He picked up a bottle of body wash. "What do I do?"

"Whatever you want, pretty much." Seeing his expression, she felt it necessary to add, "Just wash me, and we'll see how it goes, okay?"

It took the poor guy - David - almost ten minutes of washing her arms, hands, back, midriff, shoulders, and neck before he worked up the courage to tentatively palm her breasts through her swimsuit top. "I'm - I'm allowed to take this off, right?"

"You're wearin' a gold bracelet, sugah. You can take off mah whole bikini, if you want to."

"Really?" he blurted, then turned red. "I mean, right, right."

He fumbled around with the strings on her top so much she eventually had to untie it for him, and when she saw his goggle-eyed, open-mouthed gape as he stared at her breasts, she almost laughed. "You can wash 'em now," she said, and stepped a bit closer, inhaling to make her tits stand out for him. "Go on, sugah."

He was so shy, his long fingers stroking so lightly it almost tickled; carefully, he rubbed a nipple until it hardened, and then gave it a little pinch. Rogue gasped softly and encouraged him to do the same to the other, and in ten more minutes, he was all about it, rubbing and pinching and tweaking like a pro.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, rinsing her for the fifth time. "So beautiful."

"Thank you," Rogue replied, because she didn't know what else to say.

He looked up from her tits and looked her straight in the eyes, his fingers still pinching her nipples lightly. "Can I suck them? Oh, please, please, can I suck them?"

Rogue frowned and bit her lip. "Um, Ah don't think you're allowed..."

"I won't tell," he said eagerly, rolling her hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger. "Please, please let me suck your beautiful tits."

What the hell, Rogue thought. It's probably the only time he'll ever get to do it - especially if he always asks like that. "Okay," she whispered. "But just a little bit. And don't tell mah boss, or Ah'll get fired."

He pushed her back against the wall, closed his mouth around her left nipple, and sucked on it, sucked hard, teasing it with his teeth and tongue, one hand still toying with the opposite one; for someone who was apparently so inexperienced, his technique was amazing, and Rogue was hard-pressed not to cry out. As it was, little breathy gasps kept spilling past her bitten lips, and when he switched to the other breast and began sucking and nibbling all over again, she couldn't help but moan.

His free hand pushed her bikini bottoms down and he was suddenly stroking her pussy with a fervor, his fingers finding her clit unerringly and circling it until she was panting and his hand was soaked with something other than water.

"Oh," she gasped, twisting her fingers in his wet hair. "Ohhh, you're good..."

"Let me lick your pussy," he whispered, pushing a finger into her. "Please, oh please..."

"Ah... Ah can't..." she whimpered, as he thrust two fingers in and out of her, biting gently at her nipples. "Oh, God, Ah want you to, that feels so good... but Ah can't, Ah'll... oh!... Ah'll get fired... Ohhhh..."

"I won't tell," he said, slowly sliding to his knees, his thumb stroking in maddening waves over her clit as he fucked her with his fingers. "Please?"

Rogue nodded dumbly. "Okay. Okay, just... don't stop..."

He pulled her down to the floor, where she lay down on her back; he pushed her thighs apart, reached up with both hands to play with her nipples, and began sucking at her clit, his tongue lapping at her dripping pussy. She bucked and rocked against his mouth, gasping and moaning, her hands knotted in his hair, and when he brought a hand down to thrust three fingers into her, she almost came.

Almost.

"I wanna fuck you," David said, flicking her clit with his tongue, fucking her hard with those three long fingers. "Please, please let me fuck you."

"Ah can't! You know Ah can't... ohhh..."

"D'you wanna fuck me?" he asked, thrusting his fingers deeper, harder, faster.

"Yes," she admitted, gasping as he sucked at her clit eagerly. "Oh, fuck yeah... but Ah can't!"

"Number four, time's up!"

"It's okay," David said, standing up. "I just wanted to hear you say it." He turned and left, leaving Rogue panting on the floor, spread out like a wanton and full of self-loathing.

Rogue got up, put on her robe, and went to find some coffee; she was standing in the break area when she heard a familiar voice outside the window.

"You shoulda seen it," David was saying to four equally geeky guys. "She was beggin' for it, I swear! She was so fuckin' wet, and had these incredible tits, and I sucked 'em good and hard!"

"Did you make her come?" A chubby little guy with bad acne asked.

"Oh, fuck yeah," David bragged, damn near glowing with the excitement of having a great story to tell a rapt audience. "I ate her out and everything. She came so hard her eyes rolled back, and she was all gaspin' my name and stuff, and I was like, 'Awww yeah, I rock!' I would've fucked her except that the bouncer called time."

"Liar," said a tall redheaded guy. "I bet you didn't even get under her top."

"Oh yeah?" David smirked and held up his right hand. "You can still smell her on my fingers - anybody want a sniff?"

She turned away from the window, swallowing down bitter, angry tears, not wanting to see the ensuing mad dash for David's hand. She didn't - but she didn't see the man that came out of the crowd and punched David in the mouth, either.

She went straight to her boss, intending to quit right then and there, but before she could open her mouth, he said, "What're you doing out here? You've got another client comin' in!"

"Ah don't care," Rogue retorted, eyes stinging. "Ah can't do this job anymore - it's too much!"

Boss Man puffed and sweated - Rogue was turning out to be one of his most lucrative girls, and it was only her first day! She hadn't once asked for a drying-out break, even though her hair was perpetually plastered to her and her fingertips were pruny. "Whatta you mean, it's too much?"

"It's just..." She looked at the floor, willing the tears not to fall. "Ah jus' can't do it anymore. Ah quit."

"Now, honey," Boss Man said, making calming gestures with both hands, "be reasonable. I've got a paid client comin' in, and you're the only open stall. I can't send him out or make him wait, I'll lose business."

Rogue frowned and folded her arms.

"Just one more, okay, honey? Just this one, and then we'll talk." He squeezed her shoulder and smiled hopefully.

"Ohh, all right," Rogue huffed. "But Ah wanna be paid in cash, tonight, before Ah leave."

One of the bouncers at the end of the hall called out, "Number four, get ready!"

"Anything you want, honey - now hurry." He gave her a little pat on the behind and shooed her off.

And so once again, clad in her tiny green bikini, Rogue stepped into her shower stall and turned the water on, waiting. Once again, she heard the jingle of change in a pocket; once again, the clunk of a belt buckle on the bench; once again, the rustle of fabric as clothes came off. And when she heard the solid footsteps of a man approaching her shower stall, she turned away from the curtains. She didn't want to see him. Didn't want to acknowledge that after all she'd been through that day, she was still going to go ahead with this stupid washing thing, one more time.

The shower curtains drew back and shut again, the rings rattling on the brass rod above. "Hi," Rogue said weakly, not turning around. "C'mon in."

She heard splashing footsteps as her client approached her, and then a pair of heavily-muscled arms, liberally sprinkled with dark hair, folded around her waist from behind. She felt warm, beer-and-cigar-scented breath against her ear as a low voice rumbled, "You got any idea how long I been lookin' fer you, girl?"

It was Logan.

Desperate to hug him, Rogue tried to turn around, but his arms tightened around her and held her still. "Uh-uh, darlin', yer gonna listen t'me, now."

"Logan... Logan, Ah..."

"Hush," he said, gruffly but not unkindly. "I been lookin' fer you fer damn near sixteen hours. I've found people halfway across the flamin' world in less time." He made an almost inaudible growling noise. "All these people, all these scents, mixed in with sweat an' sex an' booze an' cookin' smells... was a helluva job, findin' you."

"Ah'm sorry," Rogue said, and he put a hand over her mouth; she noticed for the first time that he was wearing a gold rubber bracelet.

"Ya know how I finally found you? I caught a whiff o' this." He slipped the hand that wasn't over her mouth down into her bikini bottoms and began stroking her pussy, lightly, gently. "At first, I thought I mighta been wrong. Then I caught it again."

She whimpered helplessly into his palm, melting back against him.

"After I followed yer scent a while, I caught it again - good an' strong, too." He pushed a thick finger into her, his thumb circling her clit. "See, I'd know the scent o' that anywhere, no matter how many other scents were tryin' to cover it up, but the last time I caught it, it was so heavy, I thought you'd be standin' right there, beggin' me to fuck you."

Rogue moaned softly, half in desire, half in shame.

"And what do I see," Logan continued, his tone getting angrier and angrier, "but some skinny little Trekkie, braggin' to his buddies about how he'd gotten to third base with a pretty Southern belle in the Wash-A-Girl, an' about how he'd gotten her to beg him to fuck her."

He took his hand away from her mouth, and Rogue immediately blurted, "Ah didn't, Logan, Ah..."

He growled at her outright. "Hush. I know you didn't." He pulled her top aside and began to pinch her nipple, rolling and tweaking it until Rogue was so turned on she ached. "But I also know he felt ya up, darlin'. And I know he licked ya, and I know you loved every damn minute of it. Didn'tcha?"

"Y-yes," Rogue admitted softly, because she wasn't about to lie to him. Not again.

"How many customers did you have today, darlin'?"

After a quick, fuzzy mental calculation, Rogue replied, "Five. Well, six, includin' you."

"They make you feel good?"

"Some of 'em," she answered honestly.

His hands sped up, moved a little more forcefully. "Any of 'em make you come?"

"No," she panted, reaching an arm up over her head to stroke his hair.

"Why not?"

"Ohh... 'cause none of 'em were you."

He spun her around to face him and proceeded to kiss the hell out of her.

Tasting him again, feeling him in her arms, the rough brush of his chest hair... it was like coming home. "Logan, oh, baby..." she breathed against his lips, "Ah'm so sorry, sugah... Ah missed you so fuckin' much!"

"Didja, now?" he asked, almost smiling. "Wet as you are, darlin', ya can't've missed me all that much." He growled suddenly, and pulled her top off, snapping the thin, delicate strings. "You got any idea how worried I've been?" he rumbled, lowering his head to suck and bite her nipples. "How I felt when I smelled you on all those men? When I caught the scent o' you, all wet an' wantin' to be fucked?"

"Ah wouldn't've... Ah wouldn't..."

"Wouldn'tcha?" He extended a claw and cut her bikini bottoms off, tossing the ruined scrap of Lycra aside. "You smelled pretty damn good, darlin'."

"Ya know," she panted, pulling his wet boxer briefs down, "Ah think you like bein' jealous."

"What the hell gives ya that idea?" He retracted the claw, then pushed two fingers into her and began to thrust them in and out, fast and hard.

"Because you're so fuckin' hard, sugah." She pushed him away and dropped to her knees to take his cock - which was damn hard - in her mouth. He groaned softly, stroking her sodden hair, pushing it back from her face to get a better view of her as she sucked and licked and kissed. "Ah think," she whispered, licking the dripping head, "gettin' all territorial turns you on."

He turned her away from him, bent her down on all fours, knelt on the tile floor, and thrust deep without wasting any more time. "And I think," he snarled, fucking her furiously, "that you love torturin' me, girl."

"Well," she gasped, struggling to catch her breath long enough to speak, "if you're gonna fuck me this good every time Ah do, Ah think Ah might hafta torture you more often."

He gripped her hips with both hands, growling, and fucked her harder, faster. "If you think I'm gonna let you outta my sight again, darlin'... think again."

"All right?" a bouncer asked from the other side of the shower curtain.

Had it been ten minutes already? Logan showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and Rogue was sure the distinctive dull, skin-on-skin slapping sound of him fucking her was audible outside the stall. "Fine!" she shouted, her voice cracking.

"You sure?" the bouncer asked, and Logan thrust deep enough to make her gasp loudly.

"Ah! Yeah! I mean... AH! Yeah, yeah, Ah'm - ahh! - just - fine!"

There was silence from the other side of the curtain, and Rogue was sure the bouncer knew what was going on. Finally, he said, "Okay. Back in ten," and there was the sound of retreating footsteps.

Rogue leaned further down to rest on her elbows, her hair hanging down to swirl in the puddles on the floor, her ass high in the air; Logan curled over her back and reached around her to pinch her nipples harshly, pounding into her over and over, and when she came - hard - she bit down on the back of her own hand to muffle the scream.

He pulled out, flipped her over onto her back, and growled, "Look at me. Look at me, Marie!"

She looked up into his eyes as he pushed back into her again, water dripping from his hair to splash down over her like rain. "Logan..."

"You listen to me, girl," he rumbled, thrusting in and out forcefully, his eyes full of some intense emotion she couldn't quite place but found fascinating and arousing. "I am never gonna let you go again, you hear me? I-" He paused, gritted his teeth, and fucked her faster. "You're too important to me, sweetheart. Too fuckin' precious." His mouth crashed down over hers, and he came, growling against her lips.

They lay together afterwards for a time, caressing each other idly, and then finally got up to wash. They soaped and rinsed each other; Rogue giggled girlishly, happily, as she washed Logan's body, and he even managed a few chuckles and smiles himself.

They got out of the stall together and stood in the changing area to dress; once they were fully clothed, Rogue hugged him tightly and pressed a little kiss on his half-smiling mouth. "Ah'm so glad you came."

"Me, too," he replied, "I been goin' nuts without you around."

"Really?"

"Sure," he deadpanned, "I hadn't come fer eighteen hours."

"You prick," she laughed, and gave his broad chest a playful little smack.

The curtain that separated the changing area from the hallway swept open, and there stood her boss, along with a couple of bouncers. "Arnold tells me you got a little carried away, honey," Boss Man said, glaring at her.

Logan bristled and started forward, but Rogue held him back with one hand. "It's okay, sugah," she whispered to him, "Ah'll handle it."

She stepped right up to Boss Man and looked him squarely in the eyes. "And what if Ah did? Ah said Ah'd only take one more customer, so what're you gonna do, fire me?"

Logan almost laughed, but managed to turn it into a cough.

"You broke the rules, honey." Boss Man folded his arms and tried to stare Rogue down, disapproval and anger radiating from him. "I'm not runnin' a brothel, baby - they pay to wash you, not fuck you. I'm not goin' to jail just because some horny little slut with big tits couldn't resist some client's hard cock."

Logan growled warningly, but Rogue gestured to him to stay put. "He's not just 'some client' - he's mah boyfriend, an' Ah can fuck him whenever Ah want to!" She put her hands on her hips and glared right back at Boss Man, refusing to back down. "And Ah'm not a slut, no matter how much you might want me to be - if Ah was, Ah wouldn't've wanted to quit so many times today! This is a shitty job, and it's a shitty thing y'all do, exploitin' young girls for money."

"Exploit!" Boss Man sputtered, going red in the face. "I don't exploit anybody - these girls get paid to be touched and massaged - paid to feel good!"

"You think Ah felt good?" Rogue shouted, fury coloring her cheeks. "You think Ah felt good about lettin' strangers feel me up? You think mah opinion o' mahself got any higher when Ah enjoyed what they were doin' to me? Fuck that, an' fuck you!" She held out one hand, palm up. "Gimme mah pay, like you promised, and Ah'll be outta here, so y'all can find yourselves some other poor girl to dupe."

"I don't think so, honey," Boss Man said with a smug little smile. "You break the rules, you pay for it. And I think one day's pay should just about cover it."

"You son of a bitch!" Rogue cried, livid. "That first fucker wanted to rape me! The second one liked hurtin' me! The third one was talkin' about fuckin' me with the handle of the bath brush so he could pretend he was a cop and it was a nightstick! Ah went through hell for this goddamn job, and you're damn well gonna pay me for it! Now pay up!"

Logan stepped forward, his eyes dark with rage; he hadn't known what Rogue had had to put up with, and now that he did, he kind of wished he still didn't. "Pay the girl," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Boss Man turned to the two bouncers. "Boys, could you escort Miss I'm-Not-A-Slut and her boyfriend off the premises, please?"

"Not till Ah get mah pay," Rogue insisted, her jaw set.

"Don't worry, baby," one of the bouncers said, walking toward her, "I'll pay you real good once your boyfriend's gone."

Logan lunged forward and slugged the bouncer, his adamantium-reinforced knuckles slamming into the guy's jaw like a sledgehammer and knocking the fucker out; the second one charged forward, and got the same; Logan extended his right-hand claws with a snikt and grabbed Boss Man by the shirt, snarling. Holding the tips of the shining blades to the man's quivering double chin, he asked very calmly, "Now, are you gonna pay the girl, or is this gonna get ugly?"

Without another word, Boss Man reached into his jacket, took out his wallet, and handed the whole thing over to Rogue, who withdrew five hundred dollars and then casually stuffed the billfold back into his pocket. "Ah took a couple hundred extra for expenses, boss," she said, tucking the wad of cash into her bra. "You try to fuck me over, you pay the price. But Ah doubt any amount of money'll ever make up for what y'all put me through today."

Logan let Boss Man go, the claws retreating into their housings with a snakt, and the cowardly lump shrank back, adjusting his rumpled shirt and smelling a lot like urine. "If there's nothing else, please get out."

"There is one more thing," Rogue said, walking over to him; looking her former boss right in the eye, she raised one leg and kicked him square in the balls, good and hard. "Now we're even. Asshole."

Logan put his arm around her shoulders, and they walked out together.

END.