The Girlfriend Experience (Chapter Eight)

Chapter Eight

 

Topic: Here Goes Nothing

Private Message to: Pamela_HER

From: ChazWazzle

Here Goes Nothing

Sent: July 20, 2018, 6:14am PST

 

Dearest Pamela,

Another message from me! I promise I won't keep bombarding you like this. I know you're busy and don't want to be a nuisance. But I've done a lot of research on brothels and the women who work at them since our date, and I'd like to apologize if I said or asked you to do anything which was offensive or out of your comfort zone (same goes for Scarlett and I'll send her a similar apology). Most working ladies HATE their job and do it strictly for the money, and I know you've been doing this for twelve long years. We're from different ends of the spectrum, so PLEASE remember this. I was a virgin until age thirty-six, just three days ago, and wanted to try so many things with you. I have no experience and you, I now realize, have too much.

There is no way you enjoy your job the way you say you do. No way. I've read all about courtesans and how they do certain things during parties to survive and make it to the end in one piece. I am glad you're not a heavy drinker and refuse to touch drugs like others do.

Still, you must be desensitized. I remember Scarlett drinking alcohol nonstop during our overnight party. I understand why now. She did that to cope with the stress, right? I feel guilty now for asking for so much from the two of you.

I will not use my masturbator toy and think about you at night like I said I would. That was stupid to say and offensive. I told you I often speak without thinking and am disgusted with myself now. And I'm being truthful, Pamela. I won't think about you that way again.

I was just being honest with what I said.

That's me. Honest to a fault.

I meant what I said halfway through our first party on Tuesday, too – I would have been happy to snuggle and do nothing but talk for the rest of it. But I'm a man with urges and won't have sex again until I see you at the end of September – such a long time out after the joy I experienced. That's why I kept going. I was living in the moment but now realize perhaps you weren't, and that troubles me like you wouldn't believe.

I'M NOT UPSET! You (and Scarlett) still receive a 5,000-star review regardless, and I still want to come back in the future. I'm serious, I want you to be happy and comfortable. Next time, if you'd simply like to cuddle and talk (you seemed to enjoy that the most) and keep our clothes on most or all the time, I'd be happy to oblige. We don't even have to have sex! I'll still purchase as many hours as I can. Perhaps I'll keep you away from a rude client (you said you have many of those) and treat you with class, dignity, and respect, unlike him. You deserve the best! Let the other client see someone else.

I care about you, Pamela, more than you’ll ever know.

You said you have time off coming up in three weeks and have the freedom to go wherever you want. Please consider visiting me in Detroit. We could be platonic friends. You may be apprehensive because I'm a customer, but I know in my heart I could make you happy. You told me you're one hundred percent single. I wouldn't expect anything physical from you. You could come here and relax for a few days in a new place with someone who is non-judgmental and cares about you. I know you'd love visiting the Motown Museum and the riverfront. You love animals as well and would enjoy the zoo and Belle Isle Aquarium.

Do you know how enjoyable it would be for me to go to these places with someone? Everything I do, I do alone. It’s not fun. People were together at my cousin's wedding last weekend. People were together on the flight I was on. Me? I'm all alone.

Your company would be well more than enough. I wouldn't put a finger on you.

Everyone wants love, Pamela, and I know you do as well. You know you can trust me. At least, I hope you do. I want to be loved. I want to do silly things like the Beavis and Butthead dance and have fun with someone who cares about me equally. I may be all wrong (and probably am) but I felt so close to you. I sensed a connection with loads of potential. Please don't discredit me because I'm a customer.

Colt, Jim, Scarlett, your friends Kayleigh and Nicolette, and all the other employees would never have to know about us. I'd never do a thing to jeopardize you or your career.

We seem like the perfect match. I want someone sweet and heavenly and friendly and caring. You want someone who won't judge you, wants to care about you, and treats you the way you deserve. All working ladies want that, right? You mentioned to me that true love has always run away from you because of your profession.

I'm here right, Pamela. And I want to run TO YOU, not away from you.

I'm not asking you to do anything but consider my offer. We can do this in small, incremental steps, and I'd never pressure you. That's why I'd like you to visit me first. I imagine you've been searching for love for quite a while, like I have, and I can give it to you. Will I need to change things about myself, improve myself? Yes, I will. And I will. I promise. I'll do it for you.

Keep your job at the brothel, continue to save money for your future. I have no issue with you working there. If everything pans out, I'll quit my job and move to Nevada or Miami so you and I could be together full-time. I'd do it in a heartbeat.

I'm going to shut up about you visiting me and won't mention it again unless you do. There is a genuine opportunity for us here. I may be wrong; you may feel different. I can handle it if you do. You won’t hurt my feelings as long as whatever you say is the truth.

I will pull myself back if you're not interested. Please don't take this the wrong way and never want to see me again. You're so precious. I'll still come to Flagstone if that is all you allow, and I'll treat you a million times better next time. I want you to relax, feel safe, and have an experience like you've never had with a customer. Lunch, cuddle, and talk. I enjoyed all the sex we had; I admit it, but enjoyed YOU more.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, don't push yourself away from me if you don't like what I'm saying or offering. It would destroy me. Brothel Pamela is better than no Pamela. Again, being honest – what I am – I want Pamela's heart to be mine if she'll allow me to have it. I will cherish it, worship it, and always defend it. I want to give Pamela what she's always been yearning for.

If she affords me the opportunity. …

Please consider it.

If not, I'll never mention it again.

 

Love always, Charlie

 

* * *

 

Oh. My. Gawwwwwd.” Scarlett placed her hands over her mouth and stepped back from the laptop monitor. “Wowwwww.” She turned and focused on Pamela, who was seated at the backgammon table in the recreation room looking confused, frustrated, and addled. “I told you last night, girl, Charlie is a creeper! He sent you fourteen e-mails in less than thirty-six hours before you’ve responded to him once.” Scarlett skimmed through the private message on Pamela's Happy Ending account one more time. “Wow. He's fucking obsessed with you.”

Despite appearances, Pamela shrugged it off. “I don't think Charlie is obsessed.” He's lonely and emotional. With a little time, Pamela trusted he’d calm down and come back to his senses. “I agree, he went overboard, but it happens sometimes.” She tucked both hands beneath her thighs and glanced up at Scarlett with a fretful gaze. “This isn't the first time a customer has fallen for me.”

It threw Pamela for a loop an hour ago when she first read the latest in a never-ending stream of e-mails from Charlie Winters. The possibility of having a stalker in this industry was a grim, dark reality, and a constant fear for every working lady. I have no issues connecting with a client on a personal level, but it makes me nervous when they ask to see me outside of work. That's never going to happen.

Pamela pursed her lips together, considered things again, and shook her head. “I’ll take some time later and sit down, send Charlie an e-mail, and set him straight.” She massaged her temple, throbbing noticeably, with her thumb and index finger. “He doesn't understand the way things work here, or our world. That's all.”

“I'd be scared shitless if a customer sent me a message like that.” After the initial shock of reading the e-mail, Scarlett kept her distance from the laptop as if were a burning oven. “Holy fuck. If I were you, Pam-Pam, I'd ignore him from now on. Don't say another word to him.” Intensity radiated from her. “Block his e-mail address and refuse to see him if he ever comes back to the house. Ask Colt to ban his account. Hell, ask Colt to call the sheriff if he ever comes back and have his creeper ass arrested for trespassing.” Scarlett’s high ponytail swished from side to side as she shook her head with conviction. “I'll never see him again myself; not after reading that.

The expectation for all brothel customers, though an unwritten one, was to understand a working girl's professional and private lives were to be kept separate. That was why exchanging personal information violated house rules. Not only at Happy Ending Ranch, but at every brothel in Nevada, period. No house would ever allow it.

The idea behind visiting a brothel was it's an adult playground where a customer can live out a fantasy. The client can lose his or her virginity in a safe environment, for example, where they won't be ridiculed (not to their face, at least).

Or perhaps a married man who has been with his wife for what may seem like forever can come to one and spice things up, and add a little excitement to his routine, boring life. A married couple wants to try a wild, crazy adventure and enjoy a threesome. Maybe a bachelor hopes to improve his game and get some practice.

Or, the most common reason, someone wants to get their rocks off with a gorgeous, highly skilled lover.

“I've never seen a trick go after a working girl this hard and heavy.” Scarlett cast a vicious glare at Pamela. “These fuckers need to realize brothels are not where you go looking for your next wife or girlfriend. This isn’t Tinder; we’re not lonely and desperate like they are.”

Pamela crossed her arms and stewed. “But that has happened before, Scarlett, and it's led to successful real-life relationships and marriages. You know it has. It's rare, but I've heard stories about girls who've fallen in love with a client and left the business to be with him full-time.

“We had a girl here eleven, twelve years ago, in fact, who had a loyal, recurring client. Her name was Brindle,” Pamela continued. “The client, Kevin, lived clear across the country but would still come to visit her every two to three months. He'd been doing it for years, long before I started working here. And Brindle was the only girl he was ever interested in seeing.

“Anyway, one day, Brindle took Kevin to her room for a party. It was like the dozens of times they'd partied together in the past. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

“But a few hours later, they walked out with all her bags packed and Brindle told Colt's father, William, she was quitting the house and moving off to North Carolina to be with her john. They were getting married.” Pamela witnessed the exchange firsthand and smiled at the fond, touching memory. She and Colt were dating, and Brindle's stunning declaration gave Pamela added hope a bona fide relationship could materialize within a brothel and manifest itself into something spectacular. “Apparently, they’d been planning it through e-mail and text messages for a long time. Last I heard, Brindle and Kevin are living the high life near Charlotte. They're married and have two children.

“Point is, I guess, clients aren't the only ones who fall in love when they visit a brothel. Sometimes the provider does too. I've heard stories about the same thing happening in other houses as well.” I remember that day well. William was pissed. Not only did he lose one of his best girls, but also a high-spending customer too. Oh, he was angry. Pamela went back to her bedroom and hid there out of fear.

The next day, William had a tech company come out and install microphones all throughout the house so every provider-client interaction could be monitored and recorded from that point forward. Strict rules for interactions with customers were added and vowed to be enforced, unlike before, through constant monitoring.

Nowadays, about a third of those microphones need replacing. They still work, but some not as well as others. Colt has been looking to upgrade the entire system, and I hope it's done by year's end.

Inexplicably, Scarlett somehow ignored all those words about Brindle and Kevin. She was far too immersed in the e-mail and paced about next to the table. “I think I have it bad with Randy, that fat-ass who comes to see me every month and talks about marriage, though he doesn't really mean it, but he ain't got nothin' on this guy. Charlie picked you out of a lineup three days ago!” Sweat beaded Scarlett’s forehead and she dabbed at it with a tissue. “He didn't even know you existed until then.”

Did you hear a word I said, Scarlett?

“And now, three days later, he sends you this?” Her jaw ticked and her eyes cut to the monitor, then back to Pamela. “He must be really fucking hard up and lonely. Mentally deranged too. You're the first girl who was ever nice to him, I bet, and he thinks you should drop everything and go visit him. Marry him, too! Wow … some people.” She put her hands on her hips and spoke with a deadly calm. “What a miserable loser. A fucking nerd who’ll never experience pussy again unless he pays for it.“ Outrage was too tame of a word to describe what Scarlett was feeling. “And Detroit? Detroit? Who the fuck wants to go to Detroit anyway?”

“He's not deranged. It's okay, Scarlett. God, lighten up, will you?” Pamela kneaded at her forehead with three fingertips. “You're always so cynical and distrusting of people.” Charlie is such a good guy, an incredible guy. He doesn't mean or intend any harm. But he doesn't know any better either. She took a slow breath in an attempt to dispel all this negativity. “To tell you the truth, I don't mind his e-mail.”

Pamela dealt with older virgins like Charlie – truly vulnerable men – regularly. This isn't anything new.

Like most seasoned sex workers, Pamela was an expert at drawing her clients in and distorting the lines between fantasy and reality. Virgins like Charlie don't have the experience to realize there is a line to begin with. Everything became blurred, and they wound up with irrational thoughts and ideas and, worst of all, expectations.

It was Pamela's job to make her tricks feel love, to feel special and cared for, but they also needed to understand they were paying for a service.

It. Wasn’t. Real.

And once the service was over, whether it lasted thirty minutes, an hour, or fourteen-and-a-half hours, it was over. That was the unwritten rule every customer was expected to understand. The service didn’t extend beyond the walls of this house.

Sure, like many of the other ladies, Pamela kept in contact with her regulars through the website, but that didn't mean she wanted anything to do with them in the “real world.” I have a husband and love him very much. Her sole purpose in being active on the bulletin board was to help promote Happy Ending Ranch – she was the co-owner, after all – and attract new and returning clients alike for herself. Colt says the bulletin board is the best, most potent advertising campaign we have. It’s why I check it four or five times a day and am always posting and responding to private messages. Relationships, even camaraderie, could be forged before a face-to-face meeting took place.

“Stuff like that, it doesn't spook me. I have thick skin.” Pamela stood before Scarlett, putting an end to her frantic pacing. “I mean, think about it: Charlie is thirty-six and has been alone his entire life. He went on and on to us about how lonely he is and how he wishes things were different. His story made me cry. Lost his virginity and spent an entire night getting pampered by two women who submitted to his every whim.” Of course, he is going to be high-strung and say something he may not mean. “The man went through a life-altering experience, the most enjoyable experience he's ever had.” Shame, and even a little guilt, rose in Pamela’s chest. I understand his reaction. He’s only human, and truth be told, I led him on. It’s what we do here as sex workers. “People can become emotional, go overboard. Overreact. It’s okay.”

Scarlett grabbed Pamela’s arm. “So, you're saying a customer sending you an e-mail like this doesn't concern you? Scare you? Because it sure as hell would scare me.”

It concerns me to an extent. I had my initial reaction, and it wasn't good. But … “Considering who sent it, no. No, it doesn't. Charlie wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Pamela differed from most courtesans and had her own unique way of looking at and dealing with things. She possessed a keen fascination for the human mind, hence her major being Psychology, and its behavior. Pamela characterized herself as having an INFP personality, meaning she was an eternal optimist who looked for the good in everything, and even in the worst of people and situations. She was caring and compassionate and encouraged others to be the same way.

Pamela's easygoing, live-and-let-live attitude came naturally, and she always gave others the benefit of the doubt. There is good in everyone and too many times, as people, all we want to do is focus on the bad.

“What did Colt say?” Scarlett’s lips pursed tight. “I imagine you told him?”

“Not gonna lie, he had his concerns.” Pamela fisted her hands and pouted. I feel bad for Charlie and the fact he's lonely. She wished there was something more she could do to help him, but there wasn’t. Not outside the confines of these walls. “Colt understands how I am. We had a long talk about things and he's fine with me sending an e-mail back to Charlie and explaining the ground rules for any future visits. I must remind him, nicely, that what we offer at the house is a fantasy, nothing more, and he cannot develop any legitimate, long-term love attachment.”

If Charlie can't accept that, I’ll have to cut ties with him and ask Colt to bar him from the premises. Heck, he wants to do that already. Pamela never wanted to blacklist a recurring client, but would if she had to. I have to protect myself and all the other girls here too.

“You're too nice, Pam-Pam. Way too nice.” Scarlett clenched her teeth and reached for her smartphone. “I cannot stand it when these fuckers ask us for things we cannot or do not want to give to them.” Scarlett had received a text message and began typing out a response.

It was from Sammy.

“What am I supposed to do?” In Pamela’s mind, Charlie deserved an opportunity to redeem himself. What did he do wrong? Anything? All he did was put his heart out there and ask if I'm interested. Scarlett doesn't understand what it's like to be lonely. Nor does she have the heart to look at things from his point of view. “Take all the thousands and thousands of dollars he gave us and run? Have no contact with him again because of something he said in an e-mail?” Plus, Charlie stressed toward the end of the e-mail he’d be fine seeing Pamela exclusively at the house. It's not like he demanded I go visit him in Detroit.

“I'd run as fast as I could.” Scarlett’s eyes, usually soft and peaceful, looked like an impenetrable brick wall as she gazed up from her cell phone. “You’re insane if you agree to see Charlie again. Totally bat-shit insane.”

“I've always tried to be extra nice and attentive to virgins. If the roles were reversed and I were Charlie, I'd be crushed if I had such a wonderful experience, spent all that money, and the courtesan refused to see or share e-mail with me ever again.” It would be the ultimate fuck you and a slap in the face. I'd grow to resent the courtesan over time and may wish bad things on her.

“He had an emotional, irrational response, and probably regrets it.” I'll be an integral chapter of his life story forever and want it to be a positive one. Despite her profession, Pamela still realized a person losing their virginity only happened once and should be a momentous, cherished experience. Mine wasn't – had a little too much tequila one night after school – but that's beside the point. She didn’t have it in her heart to shut Charlie out, just like that. I’d feel more guilty than I already do.

Not every customer who walks into the brothel understands this is a fantasy world. They're supposed to, but some don't. It's not their fault. There is no customer handbook to go by.

“Pfft.” Scarlett swatted the air and put her phone away. “I remember what Sammy told me when I had my first party with him three years ago. I was still new to the brothel scene. Sammy said visiting a brothel, to him, is sport fucking. It's a hobby, nothing more than a fantasy. Sammy compared it to picking up a chick in a bar for a one-night stand. He said he loves coming to brothels but loves his wife more.”

“I wish all our customers were like Sammy. He gets it. All the other old-timers do too.” Pamela walked over to the window facing the backyard. “The worst-case scenario happens and Charlie becomes obsessive, maybe a stalker, I'm safe here, right? We all are.” She turned back toward Scarlett. “The brothel is under airtight lockdown, and the sheriff's station is less than a quarter-mile away.” Get that thought out of your head, girlfriend. Charlie is not a stalker. He’s one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met.

Pamela bent the truth when she was entertaining Charlie in recent days. She claimed to be single and still looking for love. But Pamela was a working girl, and that was her right. After all, again, it was supposed to be a fantasy, and nothing should be taken seriously. Pamela figured if she told clients she was happily married, it would detract from their fantasy and overall enjoyment, and hurt the chances of having repeat business with them.

Colt encouraged Pamela years ago never to tell a client she was married or had a boyfriend. He suggested the same to all his employees. Sure, some hardcore regulars who'd been coming here for years, like Sammy, knew Pamela was married (and to who). But every single one of them respected both Pamela and Colt enough not to go on the bulletin board and blab to the masses.

Only a handful of her most ardent customers, for example, were aware Scarlett had a fiancé back home in Cincinnati (Sammy, Steve, and Bob – the three she sees outside of work (illegally)). Scarlett told everyone else who asked that she was single and happy. “It's impossible to have a relationship working in a brothel. I tried, but eventually gave up. When I retire from the business, I’m sure I'll find someone. Besides, I don't need a boyfriend. I receive all the action I could ever want here at work.”

If Randy, the client who was here on Monday and visits Scarlett every four to five weeks, knew she was engaged, she feared he would never want to be with her again. It would destroy his fantasy. Randy annoyed her with his talk of commitment and honeymooning, but the bottom line was, he was an easy $350 on Scarlett's paycheck each tour (and an Amazon gift card on top of it).

Why would she risk that by telling the truth? It wasn't Scarlett’s job to tell the truth. Besides, she believed no customer had the right to know anything about her private life. It was none of their business.

How many of them had lied to her over the years about their own private lives?

But Scarlett didn't care if they lied. Her motto for this job and the way she dealt with her customers was simple: “I don't know these men, I don't want to know these men, and I could give a rat’s ass about these men.”

Scarlett had learned, in this business, shutting out her feelings was necessary for survival and the only way to keep her sanity. The thirty-four-year-old trained herself to tolerate situations that were otherwise intolerable to her healthier instincts. She also learned to control any voluntary impulses johns may find off-putting, such as anger, shock, repulsion, and even vomiting.

Scarlett developed an expertise in these and other similar skills and consequently became the highest grossing earner Happy Ending Ranch had. Although she’d only been at the house since 2015, Scarlett had over a decade’s worth of experience as a streetwalker and traveling escort. After her son was born in 2006, times were tough. Scarlett lived in her car for eight months and thought she had nowhere else to turn to for money.

Faking orgasms with her clients was an art form; a talent that took countless hours of work to perfect. Concentrating on doing it right, putting all the energy into the vocal sounds, shakes, moans, watching all the porn she could find to study the women’s acting, thinking of new and interesting dirty talk, and forcing herself to sweat wasn’t as easy as many outsiders believed. In Scarlett’s mind, sex work was abhorrent, an unpleasant workout with a creepy guy she didn’t know.

Pamela, of course, preferred being honest during her parties, but she had to draw the line somewhere. I’ve never faked anything with a client, orgasm or otherwise. Pamela was not about to divulge any sensitive information to anyone either.

And certain things, such as her dating and marital status, would get fabricated. There’s a reason I tell my clients I’m from Miami instead of Baltimore.

Scarlett closed the distance between them, hugged Pamela, and kissed her on the forehead. “Colt won't let anything bad happen to you, sweetie. Not only are you one hundred percent safe in this house, but you're safe wherever you go because Colt is always there to protect you. I love my fiancé, Jason, but I must admit you struck gold with Colt. He's the perfect man for you. You're a lucky girl and you're safe with him.”

 

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“Dammit!” Lindsay Anastacio bounced her cell phone off the bed and growled. Her muscles were tense, her pulse pounding. “Why isn't he responding?” She bit her lip, her head vibrating.

It was Friday evening and Lindsay, confined to her bedroom, was still serving her two-day suspension. Thanks a fucking ton, Colt, you asshole. I feel like I’m in jail! Veins popping in her neck, the young woman was angry because the lineup buzzer had been going off all day and she was missing out on a host of potential clients.

Even if she had two one-hour parties at the house minimum, that would be $500 in profit. How am I going to afford a car at this rate? There was no way in hell she’d stay at the Twin Tops Motel down the street during her mandatory week off in August. I’d be all alone and would go insane. Lindsay’s number one priority was to have an automobile so she could go on a road trip to somewhere exciting, like Vegas. I want to skurt-skurt off to The Strip and hang out with some cute guys.

But how could she do that without a car? Why does nothing good ever happen to me? Life was so unfair. I’d leave this place and get a job at one of the Reno houses if it wasn’t for Pamela. She’s the only reason I’m still here.

Fuck you, Colt! I don’t know why you hate me.

Being suspended was one thing (and Lindsay was convinced she did nothing to warrant it), but not yet having received a response from Sammy after the emotional, heartfelt e-mail she sent him yesterday afternoon was far worse. I wrote him over twenty-four hours ago! Why hasn’t he written back? Is he mad at me for something too?

Lindsay picked up her smartphone and refreshed its mailbox again. Nothing, still! What the fuck? She slammed it back to the mattress.

Lindsay harbored some irrational thoughts of her own as she’d taken a strong liking to her first-ever client. Never mind the fact there was a forty-year age difference between them and Sammy was married and lived 330 miles away in Salt Lake City, but Lindsay was in love with him.

He fucked her so long and hard three nights ago – like a real man should – and there was the underlying fantasy Lindsay had about being in a long-term relationship with a far more experienced, domineering lover.

Between their bouts of hardcore fucking, Lindsay and Sammy cuddled and talked in bed or the bathtub, or she sat on his lap, and they made out. He offered multiple lessons on how to give a blowjob and what men enjoyed most out of them. Sammy called me an overactive chatterbox and said I need a dick in my mouth at all times. He also fucked her in several unique positions.

Those were the most amazing three hours of Lindsay's young life, bar none. Her body had a desperate craving for more; it ached to be with Sammy again, his hands, his mouth, exploring everywhere; his hips slamming against her ass, his cock fucking her. Being with Sammy was beyond anything she’d experienced with her ex-boyfriend, Zack. This strong, dominant man had taken her, no questions asked, and bent her to his will.

“You are a bad girl, Kayleigh. You know that, I know that, and Pamela and Colt know that. It’s why they hired you.” At those words, Lindsay was sucking Sammy’s dick more ravenously during their party this past Tuesday night. Her body, her soul, her very nature, was being turned upside-down. “You are the type of girl men like me will pay top dollar for. You can pretend that you’re sweet, you’re innocent, but both you and I know you need me to fuck you tonight much more than I need to fuck you myself. In all seriousness, you should be paying me.”

What had this devilish creature done to her? Lindsay wanted Sammy. She wanted him so badly she considered typing out another e-mail and begging him to come visit her again. Or maybe I could go visit him in Utah instead during my week off? That would be dope. She wanted Sammy to hold her down, to pin her in place, even tie her to the bed. He’d put these thoughts in her head by the nasty things he said. Lindsay wanted his dick in her – her mouth, her wet, squirting pussy, perhaps her virgin ass too. Let it hurt; I hope it does, and I don’t care if it’s against the house’s rules. She wanted Sammy to seize control, to own her in every sense of the word. Take me away, rescue me from my boring life and unappreciative boss, and make me your personal whore.

Lindsay trembled with lust.

I've forever had the fantasy of having a Daddy Dom. An older, kind, benevolent man who’d protect me, guide me, shower me with love and affection, but also put me over his knee for a spanking and fuck the living shit out of me whenever he saw fit. I'd never say no or resist. I'd be at his beck and call … twenty-four hours a day.

Lindsay slipped a hand beneath her purple G-string panties and began diddling away at her clitoris with a pair of fingers. Oh, that feels awesome. Reclining on her side, sensations flooded her in waves as she pulled a knee to her chest and anchored it in place. “Please write me back, Sammy. Please.” She shifted her fingers to a more taboo, shameful spot, and rubbed away. Hmm, oh God. Could I ever admit to anyone I play with my anus every time I masturbate too? The speed of Lindsay’s fingers increased, and with her opposite hand, she reached for her trusty, steel-encased dildo, and licked her lips in anticipation. …

 

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Pamela forged a cheerful smile as she sashayed out to the front lobby wearing her trademark platform high heels at seven o’clock. Business had been booming today, though she’d only booked a single party herself. With a little luck, she’d have a few more before closing time.

Making money was never a bad thing.

“Hi Jim! May I have a Zevia, please?” She regarded him through the wayward curls dangling in front of her eyes. “Grape sounds yummy. The flavor, that is.”

“What? Not a glass of Grey Goose?” Behind the bar, Jim couldn’t miss the fruity, floral scent of Pamela’s perfume as he went to retrieve her favorite brand of zero calorie, zero sugar cola from the cooler.

“No vodka for me tonight, no. You know I'm a light drinker and don't do it often.” Pamela laughed and let her head fall back dramatically. “Besides, it always gets me into trouble when I do!” She popped the top of the soda can and took a moderate sip. “Are you and Colt cool now? He still isn’t upset over what happened the other night between Kayleigh and her customer, is he? I talked to him a minute ago. He shouldn't be. Are you upset at him?”

“Nah, Colt and I are fine.”

Clean and organize, organize and clean. The bar could get gross in a matter of seconds, Pamela knew, but that would never happen with Jim on duty. He was constantly cleaning and making everything look spotless. You’re such a neat freak – I love it!

“Been friends and worked together too long not to be fine.”

On a television monitor behind the counter, Pamela noticed the Baltimore Orioles were playing the Toronto Blue Jays at Rogers Centre. It was the tenth inning, and her hometown team was tied at a score of 7-7.

“Colt had every right to be angry and send me home without pay yesterday. I'm not upset. I should've never allowed Kayleigh to party with that guy.” Jim knew it was a mistake but would do better next time. “Colt reminded me no girl is to ever be disrespected here as long as he owns this house. But, you know, Kayleigh was adamant about partying with him. She wanted the money.”

“There has been a lot of drama going on lately. I don't like it. Not one bit.” Pamela glanced toward the opposite end of the bar and smiled as Sahara and Riley, wearing their frilly little harlot outfits, were draped all over a customer. The trio talked, laughed, and shared a bowl of peanuts. Soon, the brunettes would escort the older gentleman back to their bedroom and negotiate terms for a threesome.

Pamela turned toward Jim and had a gleam in her eyes. “Looks like Nikki and Mallory are gonna have a profitable night, huh? Good for them.” Sometimes, Pamela would refer to her fellow long-time working girls by their actual names too. She'd been on point so far today with Lindsay's name (for a change) and called her “Kayleigh” with anyone who'd brought her up. Heh. Colt says he's proud of me, and I get a big shiny sticker! Woo-hoo!

“Yeah. Business has been great this week and, knock on wood, let’s hope it continues tonight and into tomorrow.” Pamela and Jim were keeping their voices low so the budding triad at the end of the bar wouldn't hear them. “Still can't believe that dude from Detroit dropped almost seventeen thousand dollars here.”

“Me, neither.” That's a lot of money to turn my head and ignore him like Scarlett insists I should. Pamela knew Charlie worked hard for that money and was grateful he spent most of it on her. “I still need to e-mail him. I'll do it after I wake up in the morning.”

Wanting to change the subject, as she'd worried enough about Charlie today, Pamela leaned in closer. “You know, Jim, I was talking with Colt while we were at the hotel the other night. I know it will be in Pasadena and will cut into the holiday season, which is hit or miss for us here financially, but he and I have to go to Nikki and Mallory's wedding if they invite us. We have to.” She shot one more glance their way. “Those two girls are so sweet, so chill, and they're so in love. It's … beautiful.” It was, quite frankly, what Pamela had always dreamed of experiencing with another woman herself.

One like Kayleigh.

But if that were to happen, Pamela realized she’d have a major challenge trying to get Colt in on the fun too. He didn’t mind Pamela seeing a woman on the side, but had no interest in getting involved himself and making it a triad. He’d been through similar phases earlier in life and the idea didn’t interest him anymore.

Granted, before he met Pamela.

Shouldn’t I be happy my husband only has eyes for me and is the most loyal man alive? I’ve never even had a threesome with him. He always declines whenever I make the offer. How many men, especially in his position, would turn that down? Pamela knew she’d hit the proverbial jackpot, but still pushed through a heavy heart. I'd like the best of both worlds. Colt keeps talking about wanting to start a family. Yeah, yeah, okay … fine. Let’s start a family with Kayleigh.

Am I being greedy? Selfish? Wishing for too much?

Jim settled onto a stool and downed his beer. “It is beautiful, I agree. I love seeing Sahara and Riley interact on a day-to-day basis. It's been since 1994 since we've had a legitimate, bona fide couple working here simultaneously like them. Other than you and Colt, of course.” Jim grinned at the memories from days gone by. “Lisa Reich and Jenny McCormick. They quit and married each other too. But there was a time, I remember, when Colt was dating them … fucking them. Together. Lisa was like five years older than Colt, and Jenny, six months older, I think?”

Pamela laughed. “Oh, yeah? Really?” Like her husband, she was in no position to become jealous. There was zero justification for it. Selling sex is our livelihood. Besides, Lisa and Jenny were over two decades ago in Colt's past. “I've heard those names before. Colt has mentioned them, and I've seen pictures. They were way before my time. But I didn't realize they were both older than him.”

“Have you talked to Kayleigh at all?” Jim was now snacking on a bag of tortilla chips.

“Haven't seen her since this morning.” Pamela bit back a groan. “I should stop by and see her tonight.”

“Took some food to her room about two hours ago. She's not in a good mood and is still pouty over getting suspended.”

Pamela's stomach dropped. “You didn't tell Colt she's acting that way, did you?”

“Of course not. I know you'd beat my ass with your black riding crop if I did!”

Pamela tucked her feet underneath the high rungs of the stool and a sense of relief spread over her. “Good. Please, don't. Colt wanted to fire her yesterday because she sulks after being passed over in lineups.”

“Aaliyah is furious she's still here.”

“I pleaded with him: please don't fire Kayleigh. She's only eighteen and I see so much of myself in her from when I was that age. She's like a carbon copy, and I want to help her. Kayleigh is a good girl and deserves a second chance. Everyone does.” Pamela’s words were sincere, shining through her large cinnamon-colored eyes. “I didn't have another working lady back in the day who wanted to take me under her wing, so to speak, and show me how to succeed in this industry; how to be an adult.”

“You had me!”

Pamela sat up. “Aww, Uncle Jim.” That was her pet name for him because ever since her first day on the job, Jim had treated Pamela well. He’d given her tons of advice. Most of all, Pamela believed she would've never married Colt without Jim's help and guidance. Their relationship would've fallen apart in the early stages.

“You're such a great guy, Jim. You really are.” She leaned forward, causing her formidable cleavage to push up and over her Happy Ending Ranch V-neck t-shirt. “You need to hook up with Kenzie. You know that, right? You two have been friends forever and you're in love with her.”

Jim grimaced at those words, though oblivious to Pamela’s considerable charms. She was the boss’s wife, but more importantly, she was like a daughter to him. Or the daughter he never had. Jim watched Pamela evolve from a rambunctious and impressionable eighteen-year-old to this amazing, considerate thirty-year-old woman who was the most kind and levelheaded person he’d ever known. “Kenzie says I'm too old for her.”

“Nonsense!”

Sahara, Riley, and their customer stood from the bar. Both ladies shot a look toward Jim, letting him know it was time to negotiate, then smiled and walked down the corridor which led to their bedroom.

“Don't be shy, Walter. Put your hand on my ass. I like it,” Sahara said in her ultra-sweet, outgoing voice.

“Put your other hand on my ass too. Don't make me jealous!” Riley crooned. “Yeah, there you go, baby. Feels good, doesn't it? Your hand is so firm and strong! Hey, that tickles!”

Pamela knew the ladies were exaggerating, wanting to entice the gentleman into emptying his wallet, but hoped they wouldn’t go too far and insult his intelligence. If that were to happen, he may leave without spending a dime. No need to worry; those girls know what they're doing.

Jim snatched the listening device from his shirt pocket and inserted it into his ear. He fiddled with the control box next to the cash register and activated the surveillance equipment for Sahara and Riley's room. “Colt said Howard was here earlier and had a two-hour party with you. Man, I’m sorry I missed him. He’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah, he was.” Pamela’s face sparkled like a Christmas tree. “Howard is such a sweet old man – a true gentleman.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “All he talk about was his wife and how much he misses her again?”

“Pretty much, yeah. They were married for fifty-five years and it devastated him when she passed away in 2011. Poor man; Howard misses her so much.” Pamela finished her soda and flung its can into the trashcan with a perfect swish. “Kobe!” She did a little celebratory dance. “So, I talked Colt out of firing Kayleigh yesterday, but he told me he was gonna fine her three hundred dollars and suspend her for four days instead.”

“Colt never has had any sympathy for turnouts who cause the slightest bit of drama.” Jim had no issue carrying on a conversation and listening in to negotiations or a party concurrently. He'd done this countless times before and was proficient at multitasking.

“So, I pleaded with Colt again: please don't fine Kayleigh.” Pamela inhaled a shaky breath. “She's brand-new and has only netted three hundred and twenty-two dollars so far. A three hundred dollar fine would’ve been a knockout blow. And she and I have a party scheduled tomorrow at one o'clock with HeavyD from the website. You know, the black guy from Idaho who visits every few months? Darius? He's looking forward to meeting Kayleigh, and I told Colt he won't be happy if we say she's not available. She's his main reason for coming here.”

“I thought HeavyD was talking about a three-girl party with you, Kayleigh, and Scarlett on the forums?”

“He'd like that but says he can't afford it. I've been sharing e-mails with him for the past few days. Scarlett wants top dollar for specialty parties, and HeavyD is well aware she'd charge him an arm and a leg for a foursome. He's done some BDSM stuff with her in the past. I didn't quote him any prices, of course. That's against the law. But he realizes what they'll be.”

Jim flung a dust rag over his shoulder. “HeavyD has been here enough times to know what to expect.”

“Scarlett doesn't enjoy being with other girls.” Although she pleaded with anyone who'd listen on the website to book her and Kayleigh in a two-girl party. “Always tells me she's gay for pay only.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Jim said. “Scarlett makes more money being in a threesome, even more in a foursome. Nothing wrong at all.”

“No, of course not. Nothing.” Pamela clenched her eyes tight, and after opening them, blew out a breath. Scarlett is sooooo pretty. She shook her hands to release some of her sudden anxiety. “I talked Colt into not fining Kayleigh and lowering her suspension to two days, but it wasn’t easy. I had to convince him. He's worried being lenient like this may set a terrible example.” She crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “As you said, Aaliyah isn't happy … especially with me.”

“She knows you have a soft spot for Kayleigh. Aaliyah also knows you're the lone reason she's still here.”

“Colt hates us playing favorites. He told me Kayleigh doesn't get a second chance, no matter how much I beg and plead next time.” That feeling of sickness settled in Pamela’s stomach. “He says she's on probation for the next month and every little move she makes will be scrutinized.”

“I was told to monitor her demeanor both during and after every lineup.”

Pamela’s features darkened for a split-second, but relented and she cleared her throat. I wish you’d be easier on her, Colt. I really do. “Kayleigh is so sweet. I know she's young and immature, but that comes from growing up in such a small, secluded community. Her parents never let her do anything, never let her go anywhere. So, of course, Kayleigh is going to be a little clueless and not understand the ways of the world. Not know how to interact and deal with others. She's known the same eight or nine people her entire life, I bet, and they shaped her personality into what it is today. I … I don't know.” The muscles in Pamela’s legs twitched. “Maybe I can teach her? Help her? I mean, I really like her.”

“You have the hots for her.” Jim reached out and raked his fingertips over Pamela’s wrist. “I can see it in the way you look at her, interact with her.” His fingers clenched and squeezed her forearm.

“I do have the hots for her.” She straightened her posture as Jim chuckled. “There's something special hidden deep inside of Kayleigh.” Pamela brought Jim’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. “I'd like to find out what it is.”

“Have you ever felt this way about another working girl before?” He stroked her cheek with a finger. “Especially a turnout off the streets? I know of some you've been attracted to over the years, but not like this.”

Pamela’s shoulders went tense. “Not since Scarlett started working here three years ago. But she made it clear right away she's gay for pay only. So that shot down any chances I had with her.” Regardless, Pamela enjoyed being paired with Scarlett for threesomes. She's way more into me than she is any client.

“Plus, Scarlett was already with her boyfriend; fiancé now – Jason.” Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other and retracted his hand. “Through all the problems they've had, she's been loyal to him. Calls him every day to tell him how much she loves him.”

Pamela’s expression was pained. “Yeah.”

“Oh, there we go.” Jim adjusted his earpiece. “Old guy with white hair agreed to sixteen hundred for an hour-long party with Sahara and Riley. They're explaining the dick check right now and why it's mandatory.”

“Awesome!” Just like that, Pamela was all smiles. “We've had a lot of customers asking for threesomes this week, haven't we? Nicolette, alone, has been with Scarlett, Sahara, and Aaliyah in separate parties.”

“Let's hope it continues. Perhaps you and Colt can give all the menial employees like me a bigger bonus at Christmastime later in the year?” He waggled both eyebrows this time. “Whaddaya say?”

“You're not menial, Jim!” She laughed at his tease. “This place wouldn't be the same without you.”

“They'll all be out soon – the girls and their client. I'm going to the booking office so I can process the payment.”

“Fine. Good talk as always.” As Jim stepped away, Pamela glanced up at the television monitor and saw Toronto push across the winning run of the baseball game. Unfortunately, her beloved Orioles lost. The Blue Jays defeated them by a score of 8-7 in extra innings.

Pamela walked around to the other side of the bar, poured herself a glass of vodka anyway, and topped it off with a mix of cranberry and lemon juice. Might as well, huh? What’s the harm? She sauntered down the right-side corridor and toward the host of bedrooms there.

“You three have fun! I know you will.” She smiled as Sahara and Riley, plastered on their customer like wet paper towels, bristled past her en route to the office.

“Trust me,” the man said, “we will!”

Pamela made a beeline for her private bedroom at the far end, but backstepped and stared at the closed door for Lindsay's. I need to see her. Pamela knew she was still upset about her suspension. I don't want her to get into trouble again and lose her job because of it. No way Colt gives her another opportunity.

 

* * *

 

“Stop fucking yelling! Stop, stop, stop. I answered your call, quit yelling.” Tension tightening her voice, Lindsay sat on the edge of the bed with her cell phone pressed to her face and ear. “Okay, yeah, better. That’s right; I moved to Las Vegas and started a new life. I’m a waitress. What? No way, I’m not telling you where. It’s none of your business. No, forget it … fuck you. What is it you really want, Zack? We broke up five weeks ago. Why do you keep calling me?

“What? You want the necklace back?” Lindsay glanced down and covered her aching forehead. “You’re calling me ten times a day over a necklace you gave me as a Christmas gift some seven, eight months ago?”

She tilted her face skyward and cursed inwardly. “You know what? No. I’m not giving it back to you. Why? Because we were dating when you gave it to me, and it was a gift. Tell me, why do you want it back?” Feelings of betrayal kicked in and anger broke through. “So you can give it to your next girlfriend as you screw and fuck over her life, too? Like you did mine? No, fuck you!” She knew beforehand that answering Zack’s call would be a mistake, but did it regardless. “I don’t care if it cost over a hundred bucks or not. It belongs to me!” Lindsay let out a bitter laugh. “It’s somewhere in my bag, but believe me, it will be in the garbage by the end of the night. No, no way. You broke up with me, Zack, not the other way around!

“You know what? I’m through with you; I’m blocking your number. That’s right, I’m ghosting your ass. Yeah? You do that. Go ahead and try. Good luck finding me. Vegas is a huge town and you’ll never do it. You can ask Evie all you want, but she doesn’t know where I am, either. And even if she did, she’d never sell me out to the likes of you. Evie knows I hate your guts and what an asshole you are. You heard what I said!” Lindsay’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide as saucers. “You broke up with me, you piece of shit!” Rage replaced the expression of shock. “No! Fuck you and your necklace. It’s … my necklace now! I don’t care! Get the fuck outta here with that dumb shit. Fuck you, Zack; you’re blocked. Goodbye.”

She ended the conversation and blocked her ex-boyfriend’s cell and home telephone numbers.

“Hey, honey. Knock, knock. Mind if I come in?” Pamela had a sympathetic expression as she peeked her head around the corner of the open door. “Problems with your boyfriend back home? Your former boyfriend, I mean?” Despite the contentious discussion, Lindsay looked scrumptious to Pamela, wearing a cute little pair of purple panties, a half t-shirt, and low-cut pink socks.

“Oh, hey.” Lindsay forced a smile but tried to make it look genuine. But there was no point in being fake, not with what Pamela heard firsthand, so defeat settled across her features instead. “Yeah, yeah, come in. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Lindsay glanced away for an instant, collected her bearings, and placed the phone on her lap. “Zack is one of the few people in the world, probably the only person, who can bring out Evil Lindsay.” Her hands fisted. “That boy gets under my skin so damn much.”

“It’s okay, honey. Don’t feel guilty about keeping the necklace, either.” Pamela sipped her Grey Goose and nibbled on a plain cracker. “It’s yours. He broke up with you, right? If I were you, I’d tell him to go suck a proverbial dick. Or ask for your pussy back in exchange for the necklace and hang up the phone.” Her smile was soft and courteous and burned a hole through the negativity swirling in the room. “It’s very rude to demand for gifts to be returned after a breakup.”

Lindsay hung her head low, regardless. “I’ve had a bad day. Zack won’t stop calling or texting, and I’m waiting on an important message from someone else but haven’t received it yet. I’m getting antsy about it.”

“Can’t you call them?”

Lindsay fidgeted on the bed. “No, I can’t.”

Pamela’s eyes drifted toward the flat-screen television mounted high on the wall. “You're watching cartoons?”

Lindsay sat up straight. “I love cartoons. Tom and Jerry here, they're my favorite.” A faint blush spread across her cheeks. “Cartoons help me destress after a bad day.”

“Oh!” Pamela’s hands flew toward her mouth as she motioned toward the stainless-steel dildo laying atop the bed. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I'll leave if I am.”

“No, not at all. Of course not.” Red-faced, Lindsay shoved the dildo off the far side of the mattress. “I was just, umm, relaxing before Zack called.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Relaxing?” Pamela tilted her head to the side and smiled again. “Relaxing … okay.”

Lindsay forced back a grin and nodded.

Pamela set her beverage down on a coaster and put her smartphone beside it. “I've been meaning to talk to you all day, honey, but have had a rough go of things myself. A lot of unnecessary drama.” Getting roasted by Scarlett over Charlie and defending him to Colt before that. “How are you feeling after what went down yesterday?” She took a seat next to Lindsay and patted her knee. “Any better? Remember, I'm always here to talk if you need me.”

Lindsay folded both arms across her chest and again made two anxious fists. “I know you're the boss and everything, along with Colt, so I don't know if I should say anything to you. Because, you know, I’m really salty about this whole situation and the way Colt treated me. And Aliyah? You don’t want to hear what my opinion is of her.”

“Say whatever you want to me, sweetheart. Be honest, speak your mind. I'm here to help.” Though sincere with her words, Pamela couldn’t help but to survey Lindsay’s sweet little breasts nestled so snug and cute in the baby tee. Her hands itched to fondle them. “And don't worry about Colt spying on us, listening in.” Holy hell, those titties are magnificent. Absolutely perfect! “He only does that if there is a customer in the room. He won't hear a word you say to me, I promise.” Can I taste?

Lindsay was about to cry. “Why did Colt suspend me? I did nothing wrong!”

“Yes, you did.” Pamela brought Lindsay in for an embrace and her entire being melted. “You can't be getting upset if you're not chosen from a lineup. It creates enemies in the house and, worst of all, no customer wants to see any drama.” I haven’t had a reaction like this to another woman in a long, long time, if ever. Talk about getting under your skin, huh? But in an awesome way; the best way. “Most of our customers have enough drama in their everyday lives as it is. That is why they come here; it’s our job to make them happy.”

A crease appeared on Lindsay’s brow, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

“We're a business, baby. We're like a grocery store, a restaurant, whatever.” I need to focus on this discussion and get my mind out of the gutter. Kayleigh needs me now. “It’s vital we project a positive image to our customers. It's how we get them to return.

“And as for Colt and me, our viewpoint as the owners, we don't want any drama or underlying issues amongst the employees. No negativity!” Yeah, better. “We all live together, and drama eats away at everything, and customers will pick up on it. We're together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Everyone needs to get along.”

What would happen if a customer picked Lindsay and Aaliyah for a threesome tomorrow? She couldn’t decline it because they didn’t like each other. You could, but that would be frowned upon big-time. Lindsay and Aaliyah would have to be best friends and lovers and convince the customer everything between them is legitimate. Been there, done that with girls I didn't like in the past. It sucks, but it's the way things are here.

What’s worse, Pamela knew Lindsay didn’t have the acting chops – at least not yet – to pull something like that off. The customer would probably sense there was real animosity between Lindsay and Aaliyah, Pamela thought, and it would ruin his or her experience.

Worst of all, the customer would probably never return. And then Colt gets angry and starts pointing fingers.

“I did nothing wrong!” Lindsay again swallowed hard and had to fight back fresh tears that were right there, waiting at the floodgates. “I never pouted or got upset in front of a customer! I've always kept smiling! I may have pouted once I was out of sight, but getting passed over in a lineup, it's so embarrassing!” She made herself choke out the words. “Humiliating!”

“You can never pout, period. It gives off a horrible impression to the customer and your fellow employees.” My, oh my. Aaliyah was right. This girl has had everything handed to her on a silver platter. Lindsay was clearly the hottest girl while attending high school and had her pick of anyone. People fawned over her as she walked down the street. They worshipped her like she was a Greek goddess and the single greatest thing that little town ever produced.

God, it's not her fault. She's only eighteen and just needs to grow up. Kayleigh needs some maturity is all, some enlightenment, and to be shown the proper way.

I can help her. I want to help her.

“Listen to me, Kayleigh. Hey, look at me. Kayleigh?”

Those tears had since burst and were coming so fast they streaked down Lindsay’s face one after the other.

“Yeah, that’s it; look at me.” Pamela did her best to dab at those baby blues with a wad of tissues. “I'm trying to help you.” No turnout had ever meant so much to Pamela, this quickly, quite like this adorable doll. “You're an emotional girl and need to settle down.” Reminds me of Charlie and the e-mail he sent my way. “Settle down, okay? Don’t cry. I'm telling you this for your own good.”

Her breath coming too fast, Lindsay’s vision was blurred with moisture as she nodded.

“Emotions and this job, they don't mix. I really, really like you, honey, and want you to succeed here.” It was instinct on Pamela’s part to pull Lindsay onto her lap, wrap both arms around her, and try to soothe the hurt away with dancing fingertips down her spine. “But you have to think about the bigger picture.” Colt’s right – you need thicker skin.

Lindsay fought through her sadness and managed a faint smile. “I like you too.”

“This is your job, okay?” Pamela reached up to touch Lindsay’s face, her hand delicate and cool. “It's how you make your living. You don't want to mess this opportunity up. Look at all the money you've made here so far this week. Three hundred and twenty-two dollars after expenses? That's excluding the six-sixty-three you had to pay back to me for your fees and the day in Oakfall. Kayleigh, honey, you've grossed well over a thousand dollars in four days of working here.” Pamela sat silent for a moment and relished the feel of Lindsay in her arms. I could get used to this. This girl is way too much temptation. ”Really, just two days since you’ve been suspended for the other two. At your age, you'd be hard-pressed to find another job where you can make that type of money, at least legally.” She leaned in closer, and her voice became edgier. “Do you want to go back to slinging corn dogs in Citronelle for minimum wage, and your ex-boyfriend stalking you?”

Those words hit Lindsay like a cold splash of water to the face. “No. Never.”

“This. Is. Your. Job! Don't blow it.” I can’t always protect you. “And a big part of your job is to always have a smile if a customer is present or not. You should be able to sit at the dinner table when it's just us employees and joke around, laugh, have a fun time. You shouldn't have any enemies, and no one should think of you as an enemy. My God, Kayleigh. Society looks down on us enough as is. Prostitutes are the scum of the Earth and we're all going to Hell! We're heathens.”

Lindsay's eyes narrowed. “You believe that?”

“No, of course not.” This type of life wasn’t fair. Pamela learned that lesson long ago, but she’d made the best of it. “We're people like everyone else. We have feelings, emotions, desires, and needs like everyone else. Loved ones in our families get sick and die, they pass away. We go through pain and heartaches. I have an uncle, someone close to me all my life, who has Dementia and doesn’t know who I am anymore. Do you know how painful that is for me? How much it hurts? We're not immune because we sell sex and fantasy for a living. People think they have the right to talk shit about us, but they don't.”

Not wanting to get sidetracked and go off on a wild, rambling tangent, Pamela forced herself to calm down. Take a chill pill, girl; this isn’t like you.

“My point is, the number one rule in working here, and this goes well beyond making the customer happy, is you have to respect your fellow working ladies, your co-employees. Get along with them, support them. In turn, they'll support you. If one gets chosen over you in a lineup, there is no reason to get upset. Feel happy for them and trust your turn will come next.”

Lindsay pulled away and raised an eyebrow. “And what if it doesn't?” Her lip quivered.

“Then trust it will be after that.” She’s got the sexiest, tightest, little body I’ve ever seen. I’d give anything to be as young as her again. Kayleigh has her whole life in front of her, and she can do whatever she wants. “Listen to what I’m about to tell you, honey, because I live by these words. I swear by them. Someone told me a long time ago, a friend, that the universe responds to what you project. It pays no attention to your wants, your needs, your desires. It only understands what you project, or how you’re broadcasting yourself. If you broadcast doubt and negativity, you’ll attract similar vibrations, and they’ll fester. If you want love and goodwill to manifest themselves in your life, you need to project those feelings, those emotions, every day, all day. Others will see it, they’ll notice. The law of attraction works best if you come into resonance with what you want.”

“What does that have to do with me working here?”

“You stay positive, baby, and positive things will happen to you. We currently have eight girls on duty. That means you have a one out of an eight chance of getting plucked from a lineup. Those odds aren't favorable – twelve-point-five percent. You need to keep that in mind, okay?”

Lindsay sniffled.

“Just because some random guy you've never met and will never see again doesn't pick you, it's not the end of the world. Nothing to get upset about. Maybe said guy doesn't like little, barely legal blondes.” I’d love to see Colt go to town on this girl. Just fuck her so hard and ruthless that she couldn’t think or see straight. It would be good for both of them, right? Lindsay would enjoy it, no doubt. But that’s not Colt’s style. “Maybe the customer prefers someone older, perhaps a MILF like Nicolette. Or a wild and rambunctious brunette like Sahara or Riley. You know those two chicks are bursting with limitless energy. Or perhaps the john prefers a foreigner, like Kenzie? Someone a little older with frayed edges like Aaliyah? Or maybe he – or she – wants the ultimate fantasy and chooses our resident centerfold and porn star lookalike, Scarlett, with the fire engine red hair and awesome, mind-blowing curves. Kayleigh, honey, no matter what, you can't take it personally.” Your youth and freshness are why we wanted to hire you to begin with. You offer more variety.

“Okay.” Lindsay nodded emphatically and tried to convince herself to listen to reason. Pamela knew what she was talking about. It all made sense. Lindsay wasn’t exactly attracted to every type of guy, right? Why should every single one of them be attracted to her?

“I'll get better. I don't want to lose this job.” It would be a black mark on her employment record if she did, and Lindsay wondered if it would interfere with getting hired at another, more well-known brothel in the future. Or a “real job”, say, ten years from now. “I promise to work on my emotions.” Lindsay couldn’t let the disdain she felt for Colt and Aaliyah ruin her future.

Nor could she let it sever the friendship she and Pamela were building together.

“I'll help you get better. I like you. I want you to keep working here for a long time.” Pamela leaned forward and kissed Lindsay square on the forehead. “Can I ask you something, sweetheart?” Her face shone with affection. “What is your why?”

Lindsay’s eyes went blank. “Huh?”

Pamela laughed gently and stroked Lindsay’s forearm. “What is your why? Your why is what you ultimately want in life, the reason behind all your choices and the path you’ve chosen. Do you know what it is?” Take a chance, dammit. She’s won’t take offense to anything you say or do. “Whether it be stability, growth, financial freedom, a family, adventure … whatever. Make sure your personality is aligned with your why. If you do that, your why will be manifested much more efficiently. For example, if your why is love, make sure you’re lovable. Be open to love, treat others with love, and choose love above fear in every decision, every situation.” Pamela tilted her head back and forth several times, full of zest and energy. “Lovelovelovelove.”

Lindsay stared back at her, slack jawed.

“I find it funny how – or, not funny, very sad, actually – people spend a lot of time, energy, money, and focus on their physical body, how they look, but not take care of their mind the same way. In my opinion, your mind, your mindset, is the most important thing you’ve got. If you put effort into your mindset, make it better, healthier, you’ll find everything around you is so much easier.”

Pamela exhaled a deep breath. “Cosmetic surgery, fixing yourself, it’s a big issue here, a big thing. With this being a brothel and so much of our success, or failure, riding on our physical appearance. Most of the girls who’ve been here over the years have done something to their look, but I don’t know where the line is drawn. Dying their hair, fixing their eyebrows, wearing extensions on their lashes. Is that in the same category as cosmetic surgery? The same ballpark? In my opinion, they should do whatever they want, but also be aware of the fact it’s not their body that needs fixing, it’s their mentality.”

Lindsay sat motionless, not uttering a word, and took in everything about Pamela and her amazing aura. The woman was sensible, wise beyond her years, and unflappable. Lindsay noticed Pamela was unlike all the other girls in the house. She wasn’t conceited and never spoke or looked down on anyone.

“I think a lot of girls in this business fix their boobs, their ass, their noses, their lips, whatever, because they think it will make them happy. But I don’t know one person who’s had surgery and they’re suddenly happy.” Scarlett comes to mind. She’s about as unhappy as anyone could be. “When girls come to me asking if they should get this done, get that done, I usually tell them they need to work on themselves from the inside-out first. It’ll ease their stress. Altering their body is a quick fix and doesn’t lead to any long-term happiness.”

Pamela gave Lindsay’s shoulder a gentle massage. “And by that same token, sweet Kayleigh, you need to work on yourself from the inside-out too.” She tapped Lindsay’s temple with her index finger. “You’re young and have time. What do you want in life? What is your why? Just be positive. Know it, own it, act it. Shine like the whole universe is yours. Be such a beautiful soul that others crave your vibes. My God, you’re the sweetest, prettiest girl I’ve ever seen come through this place in twelve years. No one else even comes close. Work on your mindset, and you’ll be making money hand over fist here in no time flat.”

Was that the nicest compliment Lindsay had ever received? She couldn’t think of a better one. But how could she respond to it? And to all that beautiful, eloquent advice she’d received? Lindsay still found herself tongue-twisted, speechless.

Falling in love with another prostitute like this – perhaps even idolizing one – was never part of her grand plan.

“I don't know why you question yourself either, baby.” Yeah, say it. “Are you attractive enough to work here? Wow. You already know how I feel, what I think. Have you looked in the mirror recently?” Say it, be honest. “If I were a customer and came in and saw you, I'd drop as much money as I could and go all-out on your gorgeous little body.” Pamela's soft eyes, full of admiration, scoured Lindsay from head to toe and back up again. “I'd empty out my bank account and eat you alive.”

The thirty-year-old swiveled her head toward the television but could see Lindsay literally hyperventilating in response via her peripheral vision. Pamela stifled another laugh. “I admit, I always liked Tom and Jerry when I was growing up. Watched them a ton. The Flintstones and SpongeBob too.” On the screen, Tom was trapped in a pool table with his head sticking out of the corner pocket. Jerry whacked him upside the skull with a cue stick, causing him to scream, and a ball went tumbling down his throat. “Hey! I remember this one! Funny stuff.”

When Pamela turned back around, Lindsay's blue eyes were fixated on her and twinkling like jewels underneath a bright summertime sky. Pamela saw the need, the want, the lust. She knew she could give Lindsay what she desired – what she suddenly needed – in a matter of seconds.

Unable to resist such a steamy look, Pamela moved her lips dangerously close to Lindsay's mouth and hovered way too long, only an inch or two from making contact. “How long have you been attracted to other girls, sweetheart?”

Lindsay followed the path of Pamela’s left index finger as it trailed sensuous, haphazard circles along her inner thigh. She had to exhale once or twice to corral her senses. “Umm, all my life.”

“Me too. Could never resist them. I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl I wasn’t attracted to in some form or another. I love them all.“ Pamela smiled and tilted her head. “You’re so pretty when you blush.”

Lindsay bit her lower lip, still an inch from Pamela’s, and desire flared from within. Her gaze shifted back to Pamela’s finger as it explored. “I … I like that.”

The potency of the feelings Pamela stirred within Lindsay was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Lindsay understood this was a brothel, and nothing was supposed to be real, but she couldn't deny her red-hot attraction. Or that she was already in love. Scarlett, Kenzie, Sahara, and Riley all claimed this week Pamela had a legitimate crush on her too. Lindsay was feeling upbeat, relaxed, and happy, and wanted to see where this roller coaster ride took her.

“I know Aaliyah and you didn’t get off on the right foot, to put it mildly, and your ex-boyfriend treated you poorly. But, that’s not how this is gonna be. That’s not how I’m gonna be.” Pamela now held both of Lindsay’s hands with her own. “I promise everything will be okay.” When Lindsay nodded, Pamela offered a gracious smile. “I can tell you’re the type of girl who yearns for someone to take care of you. I’ll take care of you, okay? That’s my job as long as you’re here.”

Pamela loved the way Lindsay pressed her lips together whenever she was processing a deep, inner thought and then more firmly as each second ticked by. Like now. Pamela knew Lindsay was debating something important in that mind of hers. But all Pamela could think about was sinking into the wonder of those soft, luscious lips and never finding her way out.

“Maybe I want my why … to be you.”

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Pamela to go in for a kiss. Those blue eyes of Lindsay’s were big and radiant as she blinked up at her after first contact. Their tongues met again and proceeded to dance and glide together in a slow, blissful union. Pamela placed a hand at the nape of Lindsay’s neck and threaded her fingers through her long, silky hair. Lindsay’s breath was coming faster and faster, her arousal ratcheting up a notch or two with every passing second.

Or ten.

“You’re so beautiful,” Pamela said, pressing her hands to either side of Lindsay’s rib cage, palms flat, fingers fanned out. “I mean it, honey. Every time you blush, it takes all my willpower not to toss you onto the nearest bed or sofa and have my way with you.”

Lindsay would welcome that. She wanted to strip away what little clothing Pamela had from her amazing curves and find out, firsthand, if her naked body looked as mind-blowing in person as it did on the brothel’s website. “I want you to have your way with me.”

“A kinky one, aren't you?” Pamela pressed her lips to Lindsay’s cheek and savored the sweetness. “Hmm, your hands are so soft.” Pamela purred like a kitten and pecked Lindsay’s wrist with a kiss.

She laughed. “So are yours.”

“You’re so silly.” Pamela tilted her head. “You’ve still never been with another girl before, right? Not this week?”

Lindsay shuddered as Pamela’s thumb traveled up and down her forearm in a slow, steady rhythm. “No.”

And then her hands were in Lindsay’s hair, their mouths intertwined, and Pamela was kissing all the air from her lungs. “Just … let me show you. I’ll teach you.” Lindsay’s lips were sublime, addictive, and tasted like a mixture of Diet Mountain Dew and mouthwash. One kiss wasn’t nearly enough, so Pamela kept going back for more, one after another. “I promise you’ll like it.”

Offering zero resistance, Lindsay sighed and was overcome with intense physical need as Pamela kissed her cheek, her ear, and slid one strap of the half baby tee she wore down her shoulder. That hand ducked into Lindsay’s cleavage and rubbed before she pulled back and their eyes again connected as one.

How could any kiss taste this good? How could anyone be this endearing, yet so gorgeous at the same time?

Pamela was Lindsay's universe. Nothing else mattered. Lindsay was dizzy and breathless and needed to feel Pamela's hands all over her body and that cover-girl face between her thighs.

“Pamela,” came Lindsay’s sigh as her neck was being serenaded with kisses and nibbles.

Pamela answered by slipping her arms around Lindsay and kissing her in a way she’d reserved exclusively for her husband. There was heat, of course, but emotions overran everything else. Genuine, sincere emotions that stunned Pamela; the type she’d only allow to surface in private moments with Colt.

From their first meeting in the parlor, Pamela couldn’t take her eyes away from Lindsay. That dazzling smile had her smiling back. And now she’d gotten to know Lindsay this week, learn how firm and divine her body was, and heard her sounds of pleasure between shared kisses, Pamela was in deep. Far deeper than she’d ever thought she’d be with a fellow employee, let alone a turnout off the streets.

As an experienced, twelve-year courtesan, Pamela had always differentiated the physical from the emotional. Yes, she’d yearned for this – an opportunity at a legitimate relationship with another woman – but never thought it would come to fruition. Not in a brothel. Not with my history. And not with Colt and his reluctance to join in.

Pamela gathered Lindsay’s top and pulled, all the way up, and her bare breasts spilled free. Against creamy, firm flesh, Lindsay’s nipples were dark and stiffened under Pamela’s watchful gaze. This girl was every fantasy Pamela ever had come to life, her body built for pleasures of the flesh in the sweetest form, with nubile, taut curves to caress with her hands, her mouth, her …

 

* * *

 

Lindsay’s heart pounded so hard that she felt lightheaded but trying to keep a lid on her own desire had gone out the window. There was no need.

Pamela lowered her mouth to a breast and took its nipple inside. Lindsay’s hands clenched at Pamela’s hair and her body bucked and churned in response. Pamela swirled her tongue along the sensitive bud and sucked harder, desperate to taste Lindsay with her teeth, her lips.

“Pamela,” she whimpered. The sensation of lips and tongue gliding over her breasts was too much for Lindsay to handle. Add the visual of Pamela’s face concentrating as she did her due diligence, her small, skilled hands roaming and caressing, and the excess cleavage Lindsay could see from the deep plunge of her t-shirt, and she was a goner. Unrelenting desire was set to consume and swallow her whole.

Closing her eyes didn’t slow her excitement. Rather, it made the rest of her senses shift into overdrive. Pamela’s touch, her scent, her delicate, genuine murmurs of affection … Lindsay couldn’t control herself any longer. She clutched at the back of Pamela’s neck and kissed her hard, hungrily. And in the process, she climbed onto Pamela’s lap and straddled her right on the bed itself. She bounced up-and-down across her lap once or twice, then tossed both arms around her shoulders and squished those perky little breasts to Pamela’s chest, only to kiss her again.

“Take me, Pamela. Make me yours.”

“Touch me first. Put your hands on me.”

Urgency swept through Lindsay as she pulled back and brought both hands to Pamela’s breasts, cupping them through the thin fabric. She linked her fingers behind her neck and arched her back, allowing Lindsay full access.

“Lay down on the bed and spread your legs for me.”

Lindsay whimpered and reclined on the mattress, and Pamela came down on top of her and latched on to her ass. Soon, Lindsay felt a hand on the gusset of her panties. She gasped when Pamela trailed a sharp fingernail over her hidden clitoris.

“Such a beautiful girl.” Pamela spoke in a hush and dialed up the pressure. “I saw the dildo on your bed when I came in. You were playing with yourself, weren't you?” Lindsay blushed bright red and nodded as Pamela kissed her cheek in a reassuring manner. “It's so much better when someone else plays with your pussy, isn't it? I think I may play with it all night long.”

Lindsay squirmed and writhed atop the mattress. Pamela glided her finger along the folds of Lindsay's wetness and nudged her way somewhat inside through the exquisite silk.

“Oooooh, your touch is so soft. You're driving me crazy.” Lindsay was breathless and already at wit's end. “I've dreamed of this moment my entire life.”

“Being with another girl?”

“No. Being with you.” Lindsay's face blushed with liquid, molten desire. “You're my … dream girl.”

“Oh, baby. Oh, baby.” Pamela's body was having a reaction of its own as she leaned over and kissed Lindsay's pussy through her panties. Those sexy little hips twitched as she nibbled, licked, and suckled the intoxicating moisture.

“Oh, yes, yank my panties down! Yank them down. Yank them down.”

Struggling for oxygen and unaware why those lips were no longer between her thighs, Lindsay opened her eyes and saw Pamela swoop in for a kiss. The two ladies hugged as Lindsay tried to jam her tongue straight down Pamela's throat. A single hand pulled her half-tee further up, to her neck, and squeezed a bare breast. A shiver raced through Lindsay's core as Pamela transitioned her hungry lips to Lindsay's neck and kissed slowly, delicately.

“Do you like that?”

“I do!” Lindsay shrilled out. “I do, I do.”

“Want me to fuck you? Right here?”

“Yeah, fuck me. Please fuck me.”

“You sound desperate for it.” Pamela’s hand continued to grope Lindsay’s breast. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the instant I first saw you Monday morning. I would’ve done it in the bar right in front of Jim, too, if I could; I wouldn’t care.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. That would’ve been so hot.” Her hands now splayed out on either side of her head, Lindsay stifled a laugh at the sudden images racing through her mind. “Do you think Jim would’ve liked watching us?”

“Of course he would have. He’s a man.” Pamela withdrew her lips and pulled back, then drank in the sight of Lindsay, with her tousled hair spread across the pillow like a shining, silky cloud and her bright blue eyes begging for what she wanted most. Lindsay's breasts heaved with every exhale, the baby tee still bunched around her neck, and there was a hand stuffed deep beneath the waistband of her panties. “Oooooh, Kayleigh … you’re the dream girl.”

When Pamela slid her lips downward and again snagged a sweet, succulent nipple between her teeth, Lindsay involuntarily slid a thigh between Pamela's legs and the stimulation was red-hot, blinding. Pamela's eyes rolled into the back of her head for a second or two before she tightened her grip on Lindsay's shuddering torso and feasted on both nipples.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. That feels so good!” Lindsay's hands held the back of Pamela's head as she continued to suck, slurp, and bite those nipples. Soon, her mouth retracted, and she trailed a series of whispery kisses along Lindsay's torso and abdomen. Pamela eased away and lifted the tiny, flirty Happy Ending top up and over her own head and tossed it aside.

“Oh, good God. You're drop-dead gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.” Pamela, now nude, smiled at the heartfelt compliment. She often didn’t wear a bra or G-string around the house. There was no need. Lindsay's eyes were glazed over. “You're the most beautiful woman on the face of God's green Earth.”

“Take your top off, honey. Get rid of it.”

Though her breasts were exposed, Lindsay did as instructed and ripped the t-shirt away. She palmed one breast with a single hand and squeezed.

Pamela slid back up and kissed her flush on the lips. “Now those little purple panties, baby. I want you to take them off and show me what's beneath.”

Lindsay's hands moved to the waistband, yet she couldn't help but reach up and fondle the lovely curves of Pamela's own breasts. They feel so full! She felt them up for a few seconds, then went back to her panties and, with apprehensive eyes, stared up at Pamela.

Knowing that look, Pamela again leaned over, sealed her mouth over Lindsay's, and kissed her like she was one of the most precious gifts in the world.

Every graceful, sweeping stroke of Pamela's wet, skilled tongue made Lindsay's consciousness drift and bound higher into the atmosphere. She was floating on cloud nine and never wanted to come down from this intense euphoria. Lindsay extended both arms across the bed at ninety-degree angles in search of any sense of stability. Pamela was in complete control and Lindsay was ready to surrender everything to her.

“Kayleigh … Lindsay.” The way Pamela whispered her name once their lips parted made goosebumps pop all over Lindsay's forearms. “Take your panties off … now.”

Both hands traveled southward, and Lindsay hooked her thumbs into the high side-straps of her G-string. Her body was a lightning rod of passion as she whisked them down past her hips.

Pamela admired the sight for a moment – the tiny, adorable thistle of blonde curls – and knew the entrance to paradise awaited. She maintained eye contact and helped Lindsay dispose of the panties. Pamela again kissed her lips, then slipped a hand between Lindsay's thighs and cupped her there with mild pressure. “Oh, honey. You're soaked already.”

Unable to speak, Lindsay nodded.

“Baby.” Pamela's voice was a whisper as she lowered her forehead to Lindsay's abdomen and went still. Two fingers slid and trailed over her clitoris. “Baby, I want this.” Lindsay's entire body flinched in wanton arousal as Pamela inserted the tip of her index finger between those folds. “I want this, baby. Your pussy. Can I have it? Keep it forever?”

Lindsay swallowed hard. “Yes, ma'am.”

Pamela again leaned over and kissed the sensitive skin between those breasts. Lindsay was panting in desperate need, her hips rocking, churning, pleading with Pamela to put more of her finger inside. All of it; perhaps a second or third one too.

Lips glided down her sternum again and to her belly button, which was met with damp, openmouthed kisses. They kept moving. Lindsay fisted her hand in Pamela's hair, begging her to go lower. She licked and teased and nibbled, and once Pamela's mouth found its treasure, Lindsay's body arched high off the bed and went spiraling out of control.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Lindsay moved her free hand to the wooden headboard behind her and held on for dear life. She shifted her hips on pure instinct and Pamela's wondrous mouth took more, more, more. “Yes, like that, like that!” Pamela lashed away with full, gratifying licks, and soon Lindsay was squirming like a fish on a hook.

Again, Pamela needed a kiss. She was addicted to Lindsay's mouth and halted the proceedings, sliding up her body and finding those sweet, puffy lips. Lindsay gasped as Pamela took her in a hot, probing exchange, their mouths connected as one. Pamela placed a hand between her thighs and began thrusting into Lindsay with her middle finger.

“Oooooh,” she moaned.

“You're so beautiful.” Pamela's opposite hand stroked Lindsay's forehead, her shoulders, her hair, as she again kissed her neck. “Beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, and a beautiful mouth.” Pamela spoke slowly, nuzzled Lindsay's neck, and breathed in the fresh, vibrant scent. “You have smooth, soft skin. I like that.” She found her mouth one more time. “And very kissable lips.”

Yet, there were more pressing matters to deal with.

Pamela retreated and dove face-first between those thighs. She withdrew her finger and ran the same hand over Lindsay's sweet spot, spreading her labia and revealing moist, pink flesh. Lindsay grasped the headboard with both hands and wailed out in passion once Pamela enveloped her pussy with her lips and tongue.

As much as Lindsay enjoyed Sammy going down on her Tuesday evening, that was nothing compared to now. Lindsay's feet levitated off the bed and her knees vibrated in mid-air as Pamela feasted, licking and sucking with a ferocious hunger that was unparalleled. It was a complete release of Lindsay’s mind, her body, her soul, and it felt like her entire world was seconds away from a nuclear explosion. Pamela was beyond insatiable and committed to providing Lindsay the best orgasm of her life.

“Oh, God!” Lindsay clamped her thighs around Pamela's head and squeezed hard. “Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!” She exerted such tremendous energy doing so that her hands fell from the headboard. Lindsay felt so tense that she couldn't move her arms, at least for now. “Oh, dear God!” Her head tossed back and mouth open, Lindsay’s primal screams mixed with the sound of her body thrashing around on the mattress. “You're gonna make me cream myself!”

Pamela pulled away to gasp, but returned to work. She kept her eyes fixed on Lindsay's face and was inflamed there were eyes looking right back at her, begging, pleading, imploring for release. Her own face glistening with juices, Pamela swallowed the excess and roared, “I can't get enough of you, baby!”

“Devour me with your tongue!” Lindsay glanced down and became enthralled with Pamela’s brown eyes, warm and determined, as her lips and mouth worked their magic. She spoke through choppy breaths. “Please, keep going! Keep going! Make me your lesbian bitch!”

Pamela's throat constricted as Lindsay rocked against her face. “Oooooh, so wet! Such a perfect pussy! So good, so good.” Her movements became wilder and more unpredictable as Pamela took her to the precipice of orgasm. The frenetic action had stretched both ladies taut, like a pair of rubber bands about to snap, and it was the sweetest torture imaginable. Soon, Pamela realized she was no longer licking Lindsay's pussy.

Instead, Lindsay was fucking her mouth.

Still, Pamela's tongue flicked and twirled, and she helped Lindsay release the beast within, the animalistic side of a sheltered eighteen-year-old girl who yearned to be set free and experience life on her own. Yet also someone Pamela cared about and fell head-over-heels in love with too.

When was the last time – other than with Colt, of course – Pamela found herself so emotionally invested in a sexual encounter? So turned on that nothing else in the world mattered than to bring her partner ultimate satisfaction?

Somewhere over the past twelve years, the idea of sport fucking had lost its appeal. But that was okay, and to be expected.

It wasn't that Pamela was so desensitized she felt nothing with a typical client. She detached her emotions, and there was rarely a spark.

And although she'd fantasized about this for several years, there was no way Pamela could trust another woman enough to let her in. Yet she trusted Lindsay enough to have visions of her in her bed every night from this point forward.

Squished between her and Colt.

Lindsay screamed, her words nonsensical, and her body went rigid as an orgasm tore through her and ripped down every reality she'd ever known. Her pussy spasmed around Pamela's tongue; juices gushed and flowed as Pamela moved her head back-and-forth and reveled in the joyous moment. Pamela's face was Lindsay's own personal sex toy and, perhaps for the first time, Pamela flat-out loved it.

Lindsay gave a cry so loud it split Pamela's ears and reverberated all throughout the house and bounced off every wall. What did Colt think? Would it upset him Lindsay fooled around like this with his wife? What about Jim? Kenzie? Aaliyah might become more angry, but who the hell cared?

Satisfied, Lindsay collapsed onto the bed in an exhausted, listless heap, and her face burned red at the spectacle she'd made of herself.

I can't believe I had sex with another woman! “Oh, dear God. Oh my. I feel … wow … better than ever before.”

 

* * *

 

“Amazing. Simply amazing,” Pamela whispered, moving up and kissing the tip of Lindsay’s nose. Her face twitched from side-to-side, but Pamela caught it and stilled her with a soft kiss. “Honey, I …” Haven't had sex this satisfying in years.

And you didn't even do anything to me.

“What is it, Pamela? What?” Lindsay planted a kiss on her cheek. “What? Talk to me.”

Not wanting to admit that at such an early stage, Pamela instead smiled and sat up. She put her hand on Lindsay's face and inserted an index finger into her mouth. Lindsay accepted it, and with those alluring blue eyes, gazed back at her and sucked.

“Listen, honey; I'm going over to the hutch where my phone is.”

Lindsay latched on to Pamela's wrist with her hand and mumbled, “No! Don't leave me. Please!”

“Honey, hold on. I'm going to text Colt and tell him he better not expect me to come out for a lineup or see a customer tonight. That’s all.” Pamela leaned over and again peppered Lindsay's forehead with a kiss. “Because I'll refuse. I'm not letting you out of my sight tonight.”

Lindsay nodded, released Pamela's finger from her mouth, and settled deeper into the cozy bed. “Hurry up, okay? I want to snuggle with you.”

Pamela giggled like an excited schoolgirl on prom night and rushed over to the hutch. She snatched her smartphone and typed out a text message.

>> I'm in Kayleigh's room and you BETTER NOT disturb us the rest of night. I'M OFF. DO NOT expect me for a lineup because I won't come. Love you lots! –P

Still giggling, Pamela returned her cellular device to the hutch, and another thought popped into her mind.

Have to work on Colt. I'd like Kayleigh in our lives full-time and for us to share her. If I can show him my feelings for her are legit, Colt may be more open to the idea, I think. She's a tight, adorable little blonde, and that's his weakness. Always has been; what he likes most.

Colt fell in love with me when I was eighteen too. …

Pamela laughed and became emotional for a split-second – overcome with the possibilities – but made a beeline straight for Lindsay's outstretched arms. The two rolled around a time or two on the mattress, happy, but settled with Pamela on her back and Lindsay's face buried between those perfect, scrumptious breasts.

Her lips nibbled. “You know, we have a threesome scheduled tomorrow afternoon with the guy from the website. What's his name?”

“HeavyD9116 … Darius.” Pamela grabbed the remote control and flipped the television off. There's a first for everything, right? Never thought I'd have sex while Tom and Jerry played in the background. “I know him; he's been here many times before. Decent enough guy.”

Lindsay giggled and raised her face from the delights of Pamela's vast cleavage. “I'm sure he's gonna want both of us to lick pussy, right?”

“Yeah.” Pamela couldn't contain her smile. “What's that look, baby? What's on your mind?”

Lindsay shrugged in slow motion and bit her lip in a shy manner. “You should teach me how tonight.”

Pamela felt the warmth as a rare blush crept across her face. “What? Lick pussy?”

Lindsay nodded emphatically. “I … I’ve been dreaming of having you sit on my face every night.”

“Wow. Blunt and to the point, aren’t you?”

“A little rude, yes … I admit it!”

Pamela giggled. “As long as I get to lick your pussy again as well, baby. Many, many times. And use your dildo on you too. I'll teach you some tricks with it!” Pamela took her in another smoldering, lustful kiss and had Lindsay's body turn to silly putty within her arms.

Exactly where it had been forever destined to be. …

 

(End of Chapter Eight - to be continued)

 

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