La vie est une Fleur dont l'amour est le miel.
"Bon jour, Monsieur." Marie greeted the man, flashing him a smile and lifting her skirt up a little.
She had never seen this man before.
He was tall, and bald and had a pair of deep-set blue eyes, his skin tan as well. He was well-muscled, with strong, veiny arms and rough hands.
"Bon jour, Madame." He said in return, his voice deep as the sea. "How much do you ask for one night?"
"As much as you can spare." She says, standing on her high-heels and touching his broad chest with her warm, soft hands.
He pulls a wad of francs out of his pocket and hands it to her, sparing her a glance.
"Thank you, Monsieur." Marie whispers, giving him a wink.
YOU ARE READING
Mr Clean Make Me Squeal
RomanceMarie is a French 19th century prostitute, very popular among the common peasents, and no for love. Until a certain customer calling himself Monsieur Clean comes around, and pulling Marie into the time of her life.
