The Girlfriend Experience (Chapter Fifteen)

The Girlfriend Experience - Chapter Fifteen

 

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Flagstone, Nevada

 

With the time approaching two o’clock in the morning, Pamela McCarron rubbed the sleep from her eyes with one hand and stymied a yawn with the other. The laptop monitor in front of her was an unmitigated blur as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Inputting and verifying all the numbers on the brothel’s income and expense report for the prior two weeks was boring and made far worse by what time it was. Pamela was beat and had accidentally dozed off twice in the past half-hour.

Perhaps when she finally receives medical clearance to return to her regular job next week, Pamela’s energy level would increase and go back to normal. Bookkeeping duties and performing other odd chores around the ranch certainly wasn’t her forte. I’m the top girl this house has … the featured attraction. She absently tapped a finger on her cell phone and a muscle in her jaw ticked. This sucks.

These past five months since her debilitating spinal injury, with all the doctor and specialist visits, and the countless hours of physical rehab, had taken a massive toll. I can’t wait until I have my career back. Interacting and having sex with her various clients was all Pamela knew. It’s what I do best. Considering she’d been a prostitute for twelve years, this profession provided her a comfort zone, even a sense of worth, that she’d lacked so badly since the summertime. I need to get back to making top dollar and pulling my weight in our marriage too. Pamela placed her hands just above her full breasts and held them there, feeling her heart quicken. I can’t wait; I never realized how much I’d miss my job until it was taken away from me.

But next Monday and the two appointments she lined up had to wait. Christmas Eve, of all days. Pamela promised her husband several hours ago that she’d have the report ready for him before closing time tonight. The thirty-year-old snorted and shook her head at the thought of what her life had been reduced to. I’m not a secretary. The paperwork was two days late, but if by chance she couldn’t finish it tonight, what was Colt going to do?

Fire her?

Regardless, Pamela swore up-and-down that she’d have it completed before three o’clock. She had never broken a promise to Colt and didn’t want to start now.

Slowly, her hands drifted down her chest, across her breasts, and she inhaled a sharp breath at the surprisingly warm sensations coursing through her. Next week, finally, Pamela wouldn’t have to rely on herself like this. Colt is Colt; he’s a helluva man but treats me with kid gloves, especially these past few months. It would be monger’s hands, their mouths, gliding over her skin instead. Maybe all I need is a hard fucking. It would be decadent, sinful. Pamela had to reclaim her innate sensuality.

Her identity.

There sure had been a flurry of activity around the house since it opened yesterday morning. It was pure pandemonium, very atypical for a Monday. Customers began showing up immediately, more and more of them, many on a mission, a nonstop procession of testosterone fueled by lust and/or booze.

At one point, Colt sailed into the parlor after a break, and found two wasted, obnoxious drunks slamming down more cold ones at the bar. “I’m hungry and want a Goddamn cheeseburger!” one of them screamed out. “Is that too much to ask for?”

Colt shot a puzzled gaze toward Jim – What are these guys doing in my business? – and his eyes widened as the other held up a pint and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Bring out the hoes! It’s big dick time!”

“They’re over here, fellas, and waiting for you,” Colt said, gripping the back of their coat collars and pulling them from their stools. “Follow me.” Too intoxicated to comprehend what was happening, the men stumbled about as Colt dragged them to the exit, tossed them out into the cold, wintery desert, and slammed the door shut.

He turned and his house manager shot him an innocent shrug. “Hey, bud, don’t look at me. They weren’t soused to the eyeballs when they showed up.”

Pamela shivered as she recalled the incident. I’m not looking forward to dealing with customers like them again. She wouldn’t have to – that was the hope, at least – as with her spinal injury and not wanting to reaggravate it, Pamela and Colt agreed that, going forward, she would drastically cut her workload. I’m only going to see mongers who I’ve partied with in the past; those I know and am one hundred percent comfortable with. A preexisting appointment would be mandatory too. No more overaggressive jerks for me.

It didn’t help that the house was short-staffed tonight, either, with the weekly shift change coming in the morning. Gwen has had two parties today, while Scarlett, Nicolette, Samantha, and Karma have had at least three each, and poor Angelia just finished her fifth. Kenzie and Addie were present as well, but ineligible to work and share the burden until their lab results came back in the morning. It’s been a rough day and I feel sorry for the six girls we have on duty.

I wish I could’ve worked tonight and helped spread out the responsibilities too.

Grimacing and chewing her lip, Pamela sat at the study desk in the converted bedroom she and Colt shared and glanced out the window. The temperature had plummeted below the freezing line and Flagstone was experiencing its first weather event of the season. Gentle snowflakes danced and fell to the desert floor, offering a light covering, and with them the hope of Pamela’s first White Christmas since her days growing up back in Maryland.

Chilly and fuzzy-headed, she cinched the pink Hello Kitty blanket around her torso and returned her focus to the laptop. All I need is fifteen more minutes and I’ll be done with this blasted paperwork.

Angelia’s tall, willowy form emerged from the hallway and drifted through the open door. Barely able to shuffle her feet, the nineteen-year-old made her way to the closest chair and, clutching her lower abdomen, doubled over and nearly vomited. Oh, no. Pamela snapped to attention because she knew what that body language signified.

The poor girl is pain. Pamela rose from her chair, rushed over to Angelia like a concerned Den Mother should, and wrapped the blanket around her instead. “Are you okay, baby? Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

A turnout fresh from the streets on her initial tour and second week at the house, Angelia had partied throughout the day and into the evening for nine hours with five different mongers. She’d grossed north of $5,000, half of which would go to her, and the remaining half to the house.

Despite this unique working environment and the willingness to take it from all angles from any customer who would compensate her fairly, Angelia was still a human being, and the female anatomy is not equipped to handle such excessive pounding day-in and day-out, and certainly not from five male partners over a nine-hour span.

Pamela knew the discomfort Angelia felt. She knew it all too well, unfortunately.

“No more partying. You’re done for the night. I’ll talk to Colt. You’re done. And you’re taking tomorrow off too.”

Pamela hooked Angelia’s arm around her shoulder and assisted her in walking to the opposite side of the house, where her private bedroom was. She drew a hot, steaming bath in the adjacent washroom, sprinkled it with CBD Epsom salts, and instructed Angelia to soak in it.

Moments later, Pamela sat on the edge of the tub and held Angelia as she cried.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take! This job is nothing like Lindsay told me it would be. I knew it would be physically demanding but didn’t realize how mentally it would be too.” Fresh tears rolled down Angelia’s cheeks in waves as she pulled back and made eye contact with Pamela. “That last guy was a total creep and asked for the … craziest things. Nasty, horrible things! Things I never even knew existed until I started working here. The money is great, I cannot lie, but I’m not accustomed to dealing with old, perverted men and what they want.”

A small-town beauty with a passion for horses and a room full of rodeo ribbons, Angelia figured she’d be winning hands down as a legalized prostitute. And why not? Her BFF sure did, raving about the time she spent working at Happy Ending Ranch this past summer. It helped catapult her life to new heights, something greater. This bronco-busting cowgirl enjoyed sex as much as she did, too, had an overcharged libido, and the income from working here could help her emerge from the tumbleweeds of an Old West town and offset the cost of attending college.

And provide some shiny new bling, too, of course.

Angelia applied for a courtesan position back in September and was initially turned down but kept pestering Pamela through text messaging until Colt caved in and agreed to give her a sit-down interview two weeks ago.

Colt had nothing against Angelia, but believed the house lacked variety, and the last thing it needed was yet another bombshell blonde. But Lindsay quit back in August and still hadn’t been replaced. Neither had Aaliyah. Pamela was out with an injured back. Sahara and Riley were in Pasadena getting ready for their wedding and didn’t plan to return to the house until February, if not March. The holiday season was in full swing, and other courtesans wanted time off too. The house, in terms of employees (but not customers), would be a ghost town come Christmas week. Without a lot of suitable, worthy applicants to choose from, Colt hired Angelia, but only at Pamela’s insistence.

And in typical Colt fashion, he told Pamela later that same afternoon he didn’t believe Angelia had the mental wherewithal to last until the end of her first tour.

He was right.

“Are you sure you want to quit? Why don’t you sleep on it? You’re such a sweet girl and I don’t want you to quit. We can talk things over in the morning. I’ll have Jim get you a coffee from Starbucks when you wake up. How does that sound?” Pamela was doing her best to console Angelia but knew a lost cause when she saw one. Angelia had been pushed beyond the point of no return and, like all the other ladies before her who couldn’t handle the rigors of working here, would be forever gone in a day or two.

In more ways than one.

Pamela never did finish the report. …

 

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Two weeks earlier (FLASHBACK)

 

“Right this way, Lucas.” Tottering along in a pair of shiny pink stilettos, Evie Bancroft held hands with a client she met twenty minutes ago and guided him into her assigned bedroom. Since her heels were akin to walking on toothpicks, Evie feared she may stumble right into the bed itself and … but wait, wasn’t that the point? To cater to this gentleman’s sordid desires and allow him to do unspeakable things to her body in exchange for …? This stranger is going to fuck me. Bile rose in her throat and her stomach clenched. How could I have ever allowed Lindsay to talk me into applying for a job here? Oh, that was easy – Evie considered it an economic necessity. I need to kickstart my life. Otherwise, she would never do this. She didn’t want to do this.

It was all about the money.

The turnout closed her eyes and inhaled a calming breath, but it was no use. “Please,” she whispered, “ta-ta-take a seat. Make yourself com-comfortable.”

Lucas smiled, and the patronizing element of his smile made Evie wobble even more. He reminded her of a penned bull back home at the Citronelle Fairgrounds ready for a wild ride. “You’re very cute.”

A chill spiraled up her backbone as she found stability, settling next to him on the mattress. “Thank you.”

“Very much my type.”

“Nice.” Evie dabbed at the moisture developing on her forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be.” His arm curled and brought her against his lanky frame. One firm, masculine hand caressed her upper thigh, the other wound in her hair, and she met his steady gaze. “Don’t be nervous at all. You’re very cute. Today should be a fun day.”

She managed to turn the corners of her mouth upward and form half a nod. “Okay.”

“So sexy.”

What are you doing? Lucas was lifting the hem of Evie’s black minidress, gathering it, so that she’d be exposed in her favorite black lace thong, and then his hand returned to her leg. Unease shot through her like a stampede of wild horses. I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that yet. Her skin burned where he’d touched her, his fingertips rougher than she thought given his slick business attire.

During the earlier lineup, Evie had been reduced to nothing but an object, standing amid seven other scantily clad ladies in the lap dance room, mirrors everywhere, the walls littered with magazine pornography. “Hi, I’m Angelia.” Those were the only words she was permitted by management as Lucas relaxed in the center chair and surveyed the available merchandise. Much to Evie’s surprise, he didn’t hesitate, choosing her once the others had an equal opportunity to introduce themselves.

When one sees a tight dress and cleavage and red lips and blonde hair, what do they think of? I sure hope Mom and Dad never find out I’ve become a … no, wait! That word was offensive when taken in the context of sweet, little ol’ Evie, wasn’t it? An ugly word and connotation, indeed, but during their many telephone discussions, Lindsay glamorized this profession and insisted Evie could be successful in it too. I want to wear Saint Laurent and all the latest styles like she does.

Still, did Evie have any idea what she was getting herself into? Was the sacrifice worth the reward? She’d just had sex a few weeks ago with her third guy ever and the three of them were going to be her last normal sex for a long, long time. Don’t think of it as prostitution. She recalled the advice Lindsay gave her prior to her inhouse interview yesterday morning. No, think of it as liberation.

“How tall are you?”

Evie scrunched her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side. “Huh? Five-nine.”

“Five-nine? How much do you weigh?”

“Umm … one hundred and twenty pounds, maybe.”

“Good. I like that. Tall and slim, athletic, like a volleyball girl.” She glanced away, but Lucas’s hand caught her chin and forced her to maintain eye contact.

“I … this is my first time, my first day on the job, so I might need a little bit of guidance.” Evie swallowed the nervous fear tugging at her and sank lower. A joyless chuckle ensued.

“That’s not a problem. Normally, I pay a little more to get girls first. I pay quite generously.” Evie bobbed her head as he repeated, “And you … you are very cute.” Lucas stroked the curve of her jaw. “And very attractive too. So … tell me a little more about yourself. You said your birthday was two days ago?”

Nicolette – Evie’s designated Big Sister during her training period this week – stood by the entryway, having followed Evie and her potential trick inside. Silent and assessing, Nicolette fidgeted, adjusting the strap of her dress and applying another coat to her already red lips.

“Yeah,” came Evie’s breathy response. “I turned nineteen on Sunday.” The next day, I left all my family behind in Citronelle in favor of …

“And this is your first time doing anything like this?”

Evie cringed. “Yeah.”

“And it’s making you nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you nervous about?” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It going well? Having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Evie rocked back and forth as Lucas trailed a finger down the soft, silky expanse of her forearm. “So, what are you into? What type of sexual experience do you have?”

“Umm … I like, uhh … oral.”

“Okay.”

“And I … I’m a sub. A submissive.”

He grinned. “I can tell.” There was a momentary pause. “Enjoy both giving and receiving oral sex?”

She nodded eagerly.

“How about spanking?”

Another nod, though this one not quite as pronounced.

“Nipple pinching?”

“Yes,” she said timidly.

“Tossing you around, basically manhandling you?”

“Yes.”

“What other stuff are you into?”

“Mmm … I think you got it covered.”

“Yeah? Good. I can work with that.” One hand spilled over her breasts, cupping them, kneading through the fabric of her ruched tube dress. “Don’t be nervous, honey. Take a deep breath.”

“I’m trying.”

Lucas leaned closer and a citrusy blend of jasmine and rose flooded his senses. “Hmm, I love your perfume. Look at me. Chin up.” A lone finger offered some assistance. “Very cute and sexy.”

“Thanks.”

He glided his palm across her abdomen. “So, today is gonna be a little interesting for me.”

Her eyes clouded. “How?”

“I have a couple of things I want to do. I got a special little outfit for you to wear.”

“Really?” She perked up. “Is that how this usually works?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes, clients can put in special requests, get what they want.”

“Okay.”

“It’s nothing too crazy. Simple, cute outfit for me.”

“Okay.”

“Something I like.” Lucas reached into his travel bag and pulled out a sealed package with an Amazon logo on it. “Here. I’d like you to put this on after our party starts. This outfit will be very fitting for what I want.”

Nicolette held up a lone finger. “How much are you willing to pay?” Negotiating a fair price for both Evie and Lucas was her reason for being here. It was, after all, the most important aspect of any turnout’s on-the-job training. In time, hopefully, Evie would learn how to be a shrewd negotiator, too, able to maximize her profits. “And how long of a party are you looking for?”

“An hour.” Cool, calm, and collected, thirty-one-year-old Lucas Morrison was a seasoned whoremonger who routinely frequented brothels not only here in Nevada, but all over the world as well. To him, this was a hobby. An expensive hobby, yes, but well worth it.

A self-made Internet entrepreneur, Lucas had neither the time nor the patience for a “real” relationship. Sex workers – especially young turnouts like Evie – helped satiate his wicked cravings. “How about seven hundred dollars?”

Nicolette inclined her head. “Can you do eight hundred? You said you’re interested in a bit of roughhousing.” Evie’s lips pressed into a firm line and her throat rippled as Nicolette added, “That typically drives the price up, you know.”

“I’ll do seven-fifty. No more,” he conceded. “That’s more than I usually pay at Happy Ending Ranch but, as I said, since this is her first time, I’m willing to offer more.”

“Does seven-fifty sound agreeable to you, Angelia?”

Angelia. It would take a little time to adjust to the working name Evie’s new boss, Colt, insisted she use. It’s the title of some retro song from forever ago my dad likes. “Yes, Nicolette. Seven-fifty is fine.” Evie’s heart fluttered and her big brown eyes sparkled. That’s three hundred and seventy-five dollars in my pocket. Since when did her dignity have a price tag attached to it?

“Do you have any questions about what I want?”

“I think I got it.”

“You think you got it. Good.” Lucas brushed the hair away from Evie’s cheek before kissing her temple. “After my party with Angelia, Nicolette, I’d like to hook up for an hour with you too. It’s been a year or so since we last saw each other. That is, if you’re available.”

Nicolette flashed a megawatt smile. “Oh, I’ll make sure I’m available.” His name, dang it, what was it again? Landon? Larry? Nicolette forgot, but it didn’t matter. She would cover and make do. “I’ve always loved partying with you, big boy. You’re one of my favorite clients!”

Lucas refocused on Evie. “Let’s go over and take care of business at the booking office, and then we’ll get started.”

“Yes, yes. Sounds good to me.” Evie’s brain whirled at the X-rated possibilities that lie in wait. Do I really want to do this? If I take this step, there is no turning back. Ever. “I … I’m looking forward to it.” Where is Lindsay? Why isn’t she here? Despite the way she had prepared for this moment over the past several months, with all the in-depth discussions and coaching from her BFF, Evie was still wracked with shame, mortified about the next phase of her life as a luxury companion for hire.

… A whore.

 

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Four Months Earlier (FLASHBACK)

 

“I saw your text to Gabrielle. You asked her back to your place so you could fuck her.”

“What? You saw my text?”

“Yes.”

“Babe, you’re wrong. I was hanging out last night, chillin’ with Zack from three o’clock until well past midnight.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear. Don’t you trust me?”

“No!” Evie said to her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Clancy Tompkins, over the telephone as she sat Indian-style on her bed in Citronelle, California. Boiling with fury, Evie ground her teeth and clenched her jaw so tight, it hurt. How many times would she allow Clancy to stab her in the back like this before deciding enough was enough? “No, that’s why I couldn’t find you last night.”

“Zack and I, we …”

“Bullshit!” she fired back. “That’s like the fifth time you’ve cheated on me.”

“Five times? No way.”

“No, Clancy, it’s been five times.” Her voice was laced with anguish. “Fuck you.”

“Who, then? Tell me.”

“With Jenna, after the Palm Springs trip.” Evie’s shoulders dropped with a sigh. “And what about that skank Rebecca from Hollywood?”

“Rebecca?”

“Hmm-mmm.”

“Don’t know her.”

“Dude, you’re a fucking liar!”

“But that was just one time with Rebecca.”

“No, you were fucking her for weeks!”

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded. “But even then, that’s just two girls.”

“Oh. My God.” She cocked her head. “Sandy?”

“You know about her?”

“Yeah. And Nikki, that pothead bitch.”

“Hmm, I remember her.”

“Including Gabrielle, that is five sluts. Fuck you, Clancy. I can’t deal with this shit any longer. Lose my fucking number!”

“Babe, wait. Let me …”

Before Clancy could plead his case, Evie ended the telephone call. What had she done to deserve this? I’ve been a good, faithful girlfriend to him! Blinking back tears, Evie grabbed her teddy bear and punched it. What a conniving prick! No way would she allow herself to cry over that two-timing asshole. I gave Clancy the best three years of my life, and this is the thanks I get for it? She choked back a sob and expelled a deep breath. I need to ditch Citronelle, too; get out of here.

Not knowing what else to do, Evie thumbed out a text message to Lindsay, her partner in crime since they were toddlers. Lindsay, especially nowadays with her charmed life, always seemed to have the right answer for everything.

>> Hey what are you doing? Are you busy?

Within sixty seconds, Evie received a response.

>> Waiting for Mike to get home from work so we can go out to dinner. What’s up?

>> Clancy has been so annoying lately and I’m really upset because of it. I need to talk to you.

>> I’ll call you in 2 minutes.

>> Okay thank you.

“I am so over him, Lindsay. Clancy has fucked me over for the last time. All he does is cheat on me.”

“You don’t need his negative energy in your life,” Lindsay said moments later as Evie vented her frustration over the telephone. “Trust me, you’re a lot better off without Clancy, just like I was when I finally ditched Zack. You can concentrate on yourself now.”

“I should have listened to you a long time ago. You’re my best friend.”

“There’s no need for you to put yourself through all this heartache. The best thing you can do is get your butt out of Citronelle because the world has so much more to offer. Why don’t you apply for a job at Happy Ending Ranch like I keep suggesting? C’mon, I don’t know why you’re so apprehensive about it. Though I’m not there anymore, I still have plenty of friends, and can put in a recommendation for you. Work there for a while, save some cash, and build a foundation for a better future.”

“Men are the worst. All they do is lie and cheat.” Evie’s eyes brimmed as she squelched a horrible sob. “I’m gonna be so lonely!”

“No, you’re not. You have me, and I’m always here for you. Who’s always been your best friend?”

“You,” she sniffed.

“Yeah, and I’m tired of seeing you get your heart broken by that little boy. Life is so much better when you have a man, a real man, an older man with experience, in your life. Not an eighteen-year-old little boy like Clancy. Me, personally, I’ve never been happier. Mike – Daddy – treats me so well. You’d meet tons of older men working at the brothel. It’s so much fun; they pay you for companionship, give you tips, gifts, and you’d have them eating out of the palm of your hand. You’d be the one in control.”

“I don’t know, Lindsay. I never … I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, becoming a prostitute is something I never once thought about doing until you told me you’d started working at Happy Ending Ranch yourself. It’s just … I’m not that type of girl. No offense, of course – I know you met your man, your sugar daddy, there.”

“No offense taken.” Lindsay shrugged Evie’s words off. “You’re not that type of girl, huh? Am I? I still think you should do it. It’s not so bad, Evie. It’s the quickest way out of Citronelle since your family can’t afford college tuition for you. You need to distance yourself from that shithole of a town. Seriously, you’re wasting your life away there. Nothing good will ever come out of staying in Citronelle. You could be working at the brothel, making prime cheddar, saving it, in just a few days. And if you don’t like it, well, you could always quit. No harm done.”

“You said Mike was paying for you and him to go on a vacation trip to Montana?” Evie grinned and bit her lip. “At Glacier National Park? God, I’d love to go hiking there, too, and see everything.” Her eyelids fluttered. “You’re so lucky, Lindsay, to have a man like that … one who pampers you, gives you money, and most of all, puts you first. I … I’ve told you many times: I’m so jealous of you.”

“There are plenty of men just like Mike who pass through the brothel every day. Most don’t have his level of income or his wealth, no, but many would love to pamper and take care of you, too, if you give them the opportunity. Mariko, a friend of mine who works there, has six sugar daddies outside the house who shower her with money and gifts. She met them all while working at the house.

“Seriously, I think you should give the brothel a try. Open your mind, don’t be afraid to think outside the box. Jump aboard the hoe train … it ain’t so bad.”

 

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Four months later (CURRENT DAY)

 

Colt and Pamela drove Evie to McCarran International Airport, some 175 miles away, not long after sunset on Tuesday morning. Pamela was glad Colt offered to take Evie there instead of having her rely on an expensive Uber. She’d known he would. Colt was a good guy, with a good heart, and usually saw all the girls, even the ones who flopped in the brothel like Evie did, off the right way. Word of mouth spread quickly, but so did bad publicity, and the brothel had a solid reputation because of how Colt (and Jim) treated the majority of customers and employees alike. Everyone mattered and was valued. Colt and Jim were sympathetic toward Evie, caring, and didn’t discard her after she quit like the management in many other houses would. Neither were happy, but certainly not bitter; they were professional, and wished Evie the best of luck.

“Could you possibly imagine me wearing this?” Later that morning at a retail stand along the Las Vegas Strip, Pamela snatched a vintage Def Leppard t-shirt and held it against her front with mock horror in her eyes. After dropping Evie off at the airport, where she’d later board a flight for Palm Springs, Pamela and Colt decided to treat themselves to an early Christmas present and spend two days together in Vegas. “I’d be dating myself with this thing on. I’m old enough as it is.”

Colt’s smile dripped off. “You’re only thirty, Pamelapalooza, and I’ll have you know Def Leppard was the bomb back in the day when I was growing up. Them, Poison, Guns ‘n Roses, Bon Jovi, Whitesnake … it didn’t get any better than that.”

Pamela cracked a smile. “You and your eighties hair bands. That’s still all you listen to.”

“Pffffft. That era of music is waaaaay better than the junk you have on your playlist. Ariana Grande, Rihanna, Pentatonix, Faodail. Really, there is no comparison.”

“I beg to differ!”

Many of the iconic hotels and tourist attractions that Las Vegas is known for are found on Las Vegas Boulevard, otherwise known as The Las Vegas Strip, which stretches from the Stratosphere Hotel on the north end to Mandalay Bay on the south. It serves as the main artery for Sin City and features famous sights, gambling, food, and fun. Hulking masses of architecture, waves of pulsing lights, scrolling video boards, dancing water fountains, a volcano fire show, and tens of thousands of foot travelers, both day and night, are just a few of the things that make The Strip a sensory overload.

This is a party city through and through. Tourists come here with high expectations, intent on having a great time, and the energy is infectious.

“I remember back in 1988 when I was fourteen, I told a friend we were living in the best decade there ever will be. Nothing would ever top it. Everywhere you looked, something amazing was going on. Days and nights lasted forever. Arcade rooms all over the place, skating rinks, skipping school and getting into trouble, going to Tomcat’s Burgers on a Saturday night.” Chasing all the hot girls. “Sports were awesome back then too. Lakers and Celtics, Dodgers, the 49ers. Magic, Bird, Kareem, Jordan, Isaiah. I played running back and free safety in high school, and our JV team went undefeated when I was a freshman.” Colt sloped his head to the side. “When I think of Def Leppard, I’m reminded of those days.”

“And you had a mullet back then too.” Pamela’s laughter sprinkled the desert air as she set the t-shirt down and they walked on. “Seriously, I think you should grow it back! You’d look so sexy as a forty-four-year-old man with a full-on mullet. People would come to the house to party with you instead of us girls. We’d have to buy you overalls and a John Deere hat! You’d have to be chewing on a stalk of hay at all times too.”

“Don’t tease me, woman. I may just grow it back.” Colt ruffled a hand through his high fade cut. “You never know what I’ll do. I’m full of surprises.” Why did I have that hideous thing back then, anyway? Were chicks supposed to dig it? If so, it never got him anywhere.

“And if you did, I’d cut that nasty mullet off while you’re asleep. In a heartbeat.” Pamela’s brown eyes shimmered underneath the sunlight and she flashed a wicked smile. “That’d be the end of that!”

Whoa!” Colt suddenly said, a hitch in his step, as he glared back at a dark-haired woman who’d just lashed his backside with a whip. The attractive woman, in full Dominatrix garb, twirled the whip above her head like it was a lasso and laughed as he and Pamela kept moving amid the massive throng of foot traffic.

“I’d never be a street performer like that,” Pamela said, glancing over her shoulder, before refocusing on Colt with a grin. “I guess she doesn’t know your ass belongs to me.”

While such behavior, especially in a public place, was unlawful and may lead to an arrest elsewhere, Las Vegas – especially on The Strip – was an exception. All sorts of crazy things happened here, twenty-four hours a day, and most people generally turned the other cheek at the insanity. After all, Vegas was an overexaggerated playground for adults.

At another point, Pamela and Colt noticed an older gentleman, clearly drunk, on his hands and knees inside a water fountain … vomiting.

Nothing was out of the ordinary here.

“Do you think we should help him?”

“No,” Colt said.

Pamela wore a pair of sleek yoga pants and a button-down pullover top, its color white. It was a casual piece with a clever striped lining that gave the appearance of a separate hoodie underneath, but it was actually a single item. A drawstring clinched the striped hood over top of Pamela’s head, a nice luxury today, with the temperature at forty-nine-degrees and the breeze a whispery shimmer.

She also had on a pair of black suede sneakers with 2.6” wedges hidden in them, providing a dramatic boost in height. Bright pink neon laces provided a feminine touch but also a striking contrast to the rest of her outfit.

Pamela looked so incredibly wholesome without the tight, slinky minidresses, lingerie sets, and spiked high heels that was her norm, and Colt flat-out loved it. If only this was her new norm. I prefer you this way and am not looking forward to you returning to work next week. There is no reason for you to put your health, your future, at risk. Her blonde hair was in two strict, woven braids underneath the hoodie, and Pamela wore velvety, berry-pink lip gloss and a single coat of mascara, both of which she hastily applied early this morning.

When she was at the brothel or on a modeling shoot, Pamela would get dolled up and dress for the occasion. But in her private life, she typically opted for yoga pants and a t-shirt, little to no makeup and, of course, no heels. Thus, she rarely gave any thought to her appearance beyond simple comfort. It wasn’t like she was looking to impress anyone. Such a stark contrast to her younger days when she’d fret over herself constantly.

As for Colt, he wore brown chino pants, a light blue linen shirt with a trench coat over top, and comfortable low-top white shoes. He and Pamela appeared to be the quintessential, All-American couple, two random tourists enjoying a dream vacation in the entertainment capital of the world.

“I remember going to see Guns ‘n Roses with you on New Year’s Eve at the Hard Rock,” Pamela said, only for her lips to twitch downward. “That … it was too much. What year was that? 2011?”

“You haven’t been back to a concert since.”

Pamela’s hearing had become hypersensitive in the past several years and she had to wear small sound-generating devices which looked like earplugs throughout most of the day. Her condition was so bad, in fact, that she couldn’t even go to the movies anymore. Still, Pamela loved movies (and television in general). She was in the process of binge-watching all seven seasons of Dexter, a crime-themed drama that once aired on the Showtime network and was addicted to true crime documentaries as well. And like a lot of people these days, she loved all the new Marvel movies.

Unfortunately, Pamela couldn’t see any of them until they came out on digital or DVD. Colt was a movie buff, too, but refused to go to the theater anymore because of his wife’s illness. She suffered from hyperacusis, a hearing disorder that makes it difficult to deal with everyday sounds. Certain sounds could be painfully loud, though most people wouldn’t notice them. The hum of a refrigerator, for example, a bird chirping, a running faucet, a ceiling fan, a door squeaking when opening, or the crackling of a fireplace. At times, the simplest of noises pummeled Pamela’s eardrums into sheer agony. She’d been to all kinds of therapists over the years, had acupuncture and various other treatments, took different medicines, and did relaxation exercises daily.

She’d only recently began to feel relief with the sound generators – the lookalike earplugs – buzzing in her ears. The general theory is that listening to a constant sound at a low level will cause her auditory nerves and brain receptors to become desensitized, and allow her to tolerate normal, everyday sounds again. Unfortunately, it could take up to two years for the treatment to be successful, and Pamela was only on month number four. She had a long way to go.

Soon, the couple came across men cosplaying as Batman, The Joker, Captain America, and Thor, and they were singing “Happy Birthday” to an embarrassed woman as her friends captured the moment with their cell phones.

“You can reminisce and think back to your 1980s all you want, baby. As for me, I prefer today. The current time.” Pamela shuffled her sneaker-clad feet dramatically and did a little dance as locals and tourists alike whizzed by like busy little bees. “I’m so glad that information is quick and easy to find. The Internet and all the many resources we have as people to educate one another is totally fascinating to me. There isn’t one end-all, be-all source dictating knowledge and published works anymore.”

“Oh, I prefer the current time too. The here and now.” Colt slid an arm around Pamela and kissed her forehead. “Only because you’re in it.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet.”

When he was younger, Colt watched many of his friends fall in love and get married. He was happy for them but figured that life would never be for him. He was the brothel manager (and proverbial heir to the throne) with a seedy reputation and, to him, married life seemed boring without the variety. He enjoyed sampling all the women who came through the house way too much to ever settle down.

Now, no one existed for him except his wife.

Pamela pointed at a random stripgoer who whizzed by them on roller skates. She also shot a long, curious look his way, then shifted back to Colt. “You think that guy woke up this morning, looked himself in the mirror and said, I’m wearing pink spandex shorts today?”

“Maybe? Who knows? Pink might be his favorite color. To each their own.” Besides, you see all sorts on The Strip. Nothing surprises me here anymore.

Pamela grinned. “I could totally see him high-fiving his mirror and then moonwalking away from it.”

“You do that every morning.”

“Shut up!” she laughed.

Colt escorted Pamela along the sidewalk and past the Graceland Wedding Chapel, where people were setting up for a ceremony either this afternoon or tonight. To them, everything looked vibrant, colorful, and otherworldly along The Strip. With such a beautiful December day, the duo saw lots of families and children, rollerbladers, sunseekers, and a lounger reading a book at the corner of a busy intersection. The metro police were present, too, cuffing and arresting an unruly man. The tantalizing aroma of cotton candy and fresh baked goods wafted through the air as they crossed Garces Avenue and continued onward.

“Were you surprised that Angelia quit? She’s a sweet girl, no doubt, but I could tell from the outset she wasn’t gonna last. I knew it immediately.”

“I had my suspicions. Nothing to lose any sleep over, really. She’s not alone. How many turnouts have cut out on us right off the bat over the years? Girls need a strong will to be able to work in our industry.” Pamela’s face sagged as she regarded Colt. “Angelia – Evie – was crying last night, saying she had sixteen clients in the past two weeks, and those two weeks can never be reversed. Accepting a job with us, she told me, will be the biggest mistake she’ll ever make.”

“It is what it is.” Colt released an old man’s sigh. “Angelia came to us for a job. She texted you nonstop, in fact, begging for an opportunity. As you said, nothing to lose any sleep over. I hope she can overcome … whatever it is she has to overcome. It won’t be easy.” Another groan accompanied the roll of his eyes. “Let’s not hire anymore of Lindsay’s friends if they come knocking, okay? That was a bad idea from the start too.”

“You never did like that poor girl. I still don’t know what she did to you. Lindsay, umm … well, I miss her.” Pamela’s cheeks burned hot scarlet. Would she ever be able to forget Lindsay? Not a chance. “I’m still holding out hope she returns and works at the house again one day. Lindsay had record sales for the three short weeks she was with us.”

“I’m not.”

“I love sunglasses.” Pamela broke free from Colt and veered toward a street peddler who sold hundreds of them. “Never met a pair of sunglasses I didn’t like.” She slid on a couple pairs as Colt approached but soon focused on one with dark lenses and an exaggerated pink frame.

“Do you think they’re too girly?” Pamela admired herself in a hand-held mirror.

“If you like them, buy them. My opinion shouldn’t matter. Only yours.”

She scrunched her nose. “I think I’ll pass. And of course, your opinion matters!”

Earlier, Pamela and Colt made their weekly trip to Costco in Henderson and loaded fifty boxes of condoms onto their shopping wheel. To say they received odd looks from others would be an understatement. Cases of water, laundry detergent, house cleaning supplies, toilet paper, plastic silverware, and a slew of Trojan condoms laying on top of everything (since it was the last aisle before checkout). After all, someone had to keep the house properly stocked up and ready for business.

“Hi guys. Anyone want a photo with us?” Two women dressed as flamingo showgirls passed by, wanting to make a quick buck. “C’mon, get a picture!”

But Pamela made a sour face and turned her attention to four people along the sidewalk creating a loud ruckus in a drum circle. The musical demonstration made it feel like her ears were being filled with burning acid.

“They’re just performing for tips like all the others. Probably need the money.” Colt placed a large, protective hand over Pamela’s far ear and brought her head to his chest, and steered clear of those obnoxious sounds. Once at a distance, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Even when they got into an argument, Colt would never raise his voice at Pamela. He knew better. It would be too much for her and cause excruciating pain.

“Now there’s a job for you,” He winked and motioned toward a bikini-clad dancer atop a coffee shop counter, hoping to attract business.

“Shut up,” Pamela again said with a giggle.

“Roy is coming to visit you on Christmas Day, am I right? Roy from Arizona?”

Pamela nodded. “He has a morning appointment … eleven o’clock. He just called and spoke to Jim a few days ago. I was worried he was gonna pass on me this year.”

Roy Yandle, a recurring monger, had lived his entire life in the flat, desolate Arizona desert, in a town of less than fifty people. The nearest municipality of any size was an hour north along the expressway. In a place like this, women weren’t easy to find.

Roy was approaching sixty and had never married. Too busy running the farm, never enough time to meet a good woman. He had townsfolk and farmhands for company. But the intimacy of a woman’s touch was something he experienced only one day out of every year.

A lonely man and his sexy Santa; Roy would drive 500 miles from his home to Flagstone on Christmas Eve, stay in the Twin Tops Motel overnight, and enjoy three hours of GFE time with Pamela on Christmas Day. He’d done this, strictly with Pamela, for the past nine years. Mostly Roy wanted simple companionship – to cuddle, to talk, to feel valued. Near the end of their three-hour session, Roy would sometimes (but not always) ask for some action, but it never lasted for more than ten minutes.

Pamela took his virginity back in 2009.

This man was also the lone reason she chose to work on Christmas Day each year, to be here in Nevada, instead of in Maryland with her loved ones. She knew how important it was for him to see her every Christmas.

“I was thinking about Roy yesterday, in fact.” A twinge crept down Pamela’s neck. “He once told me no one ever hugs him. His physical contact with other people is nothing more than a handshake. I can’t imagine not being touched for a year. It’s horribly depressing.”

“At least he has you and the house to look forward to each holiday season, somewhere he can go and feel like a man, to feel wanted.” Colt glowered and proceeded with an unenthusiastic flourish of his hand. “That’s good, at least.”

“I’m going to buy him a special Christmas present and have it gift-wrapped and waiting.”

“Oh?” Colt’s eyebrows shot upward. “You are?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m thinking of one of those foot massager machines on Amazon, the really expensive ones with heat because he asks me for foot rubs every year, and just seems to melt every time I give him one.”

Colt’s forehead creased. “And how much is this going to cost?”

“One hundred and forty bucks.” Colt gritted his teeth as Pamela added, “I’d say it’s worth it to give a sweet, lonely old man some holiday cheer. I mean, he doesn’t even have any family left. And he’s always been so kind to me.”

That’s … a little excessive.

Instead of voicing his opinion, Colt kept it to himself, and corralled his emotions. I don’t want to piss her off. But to spend that much money on a monger, even a cherished one, even for Christmas? Pamela is the only girl in the house who would remotely consider doing something like this. Colt’s stomach hardened and his head suddenly hurt. Mostly everyone else can’t wait for their trick to leave; they can’t stand them and want the ordeal to finally be over.

But this gal was wired differently.

To Colt, Pamela was an amazingly patient person and had the innate ability to take whatever life threw at her and make the best of any situation. She had an unconditional love – a genuine concern – for people and all living things in general and was not one bit judgmental. She was adamant about helping others out. Pamela had been through a lot of good times and bad times in her life, but being an eternal optimist, she kept going and pushed others to do the same.

Simply put, Pamela was a unique person who tried to make everyone around her feel happier. She was quiet and shy, to an extent, but could be the life of the party when in the mood. Friends and family members gravitated toward her whenever they needed someone to talk to.

In Colt’s mind, Pamela was, hands down, the sexiest woman on the face of the planet.

And it had nothing to do with the way she looked.

Still, she doesn’t need to spend one hundred and forty dollars on a monger. That’s insane. …

 

<> <> <> <> <>

 

Michael Steele awoke to the fragrance of an orchid-drenched, sweet lavender perfume, and all-out, intoxicating femininity. The fifty-eight-year-old gave his troublesome back a good, long stretch as he inhaled the unmistakable scent of his much younger girlfriend and lover, Lindsay Anastacio. The mere thought of this chick could overwhelm Michael – or Mike, or better yet, Sammy – and cause his emotions to go berserk. Her scent was distinctive and mingled with the aroma of indulgent sex that still lingered throughout the bedroom after the wild, passionate night they’d shared together, their first in Hawaii.

Lindsay was still fast asleep with her body snuggled close and intertwined with Sammy’s. His eyes twitched open and a nasty, telltale grin appeared on his face. Good God, babygirl, you were so responsive and expressive when I fucked you last night – just the way I prefer it – and you were begging me to pump your ass full of cum at the end of the evening.

And boy, oh, boy … did I ever.

Sammy growled at the memories. After several minutes of making out and feeling each other up past midnight as hot water cascaded down their bodies in the hotel shower, Sammy bent Lindsay over the bench within. She splayed both hands across the tiled wall and presented her ass to him properly. They’d fucked for hours on end throughout the suite already, but Sammy had enough in reserve to step up behind Lindsay, latch onto her hips, and slide his hard, throbbing dick into her rectum.

Her ass is total perfection, tighter than all Hell.

The two lovers moaned out once they were joined. Lindsay, thankful for this surprise vacation in paradise and all the other generous gifts Sammy had bestowed on her, pressed herself back into him as hard as she could and begged him to use her. Within seconds, Sammy seized a fistful of hair, yanked hard, and was thrusting away. The fullness made Lindsay sob in shame and discomfort. Getting fucked in the ass hurt, but nowhere near as much as it felt good – the vigorous burning and its taboo nature, and the undeniable sense of surrender that went along with it.

Winding his hand tighter in her mane, Sammy pulled Lindsay’s head back so far that it strained her spine. He put his lips close to her ear. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Lindsay? You deserve to have your ass fucked hard, like a slut, don’t you? Don’t you?

“Yes!” she cried out. “God, yes! Make me your slut!”

Lindsay was the sexiest woman Sammy had ever seen, ever touched, ever pinned up against the wall, and the constant, overwhelming desire to bury his cock as deep as it would go inside her was too powerful to withstand. He surged inward, his hips audibly slapping her ass as the whole of Lindsay’s precious, tight body writhed and struggled against his.

Sammy decided to work a half-day this past Friday, thus beginning his two-week vacation early, yet spent all morning talking to his eldest daughter, Carolyn, in his Salt Lake City office anyway. Sammy informed Carolyn he was ready to take the next step and propose to Lindsay.

Of his four children, all adults with children of their own, Carolyn was the only one who wasn’t upset with Sammy (or flat-out condemn him) for leaving their mother and his wife of thirty-nine years in favor of eighteen-year-old Lindsay.

Carolyn told Sammy that he didn’t need permission or validation from her or anyone else. “You worry too much about what others say about you and Lindsay, Dad. You need to stop and focus on what you and her want, and what’s best for you. Not anyone else.”

Lindsay was an incredible girl and Sammy wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He’d been so damn preoccupied with all the negativity from the rest of his children – they were angry about what he’d done to their mother and full of doubt as well, claiming the difference in his and Lindsay’s ages was far too significant for anything to last long-term between them – but he wasn’t giving what she and him had built together enough credit.

Indeed, why worry about what others (even some of his closest friends, too) thought when his relationship with Lindsay, though just five months old, was as rock-solid and stable as could be? The sky was the limit. Why did Sammy need confirmation from others when he was assured what he and Lindsay had was so right?

Even if it was vastly different than any typical relationship.

From innocent, small-town high school graduate to legalized prostitute in a Nevada brothel, all the way to submissive sugar baby for a gentleman forty years her senior, Lindsay’s life had changed dramatically since the summer months. She was living with Sammy in a sprawling penthouse loft in the Arlington Hills district of Salt Lake City, driving a brand-new BMW 4 series 440i xDrive convertible, and had a stipend of $20,000 being deposited into and spread out over various personal savings accounts every Friday like clockwork.

… Just for being my personal sex puppet. My toy.

Sammy chuckled at the thought. Lindsay takes care of me and I take care of her. It was mutually beneficial, and Sammy saw nothing wrong with it. This type of steady, long-term arrangement with a working girl was what he’d always wanted, right? I may have lost my wife and marriage because of it – the mother of my children, too – but it was a small price to pay.

Lindsay insisted the $20,000 Sammy wired into those accounts every week wasn’t necessary.

What a doll. She claimed the two credit cards Sammy gave her and said to buy whatever she wanted with them, no matter the cost, was plenty more than enough. But I insisted on the weekly allowance. Just let that balance pile up and earn interest. Even amid a messy divorce, Sammy had money to burn, and nothing made him happier than showering luscious, exotic prostitutes like Lindsay Anastacio with his riches. I’ve spoiled her rotten already but am far from done.

The ongoing compensation for Lindsay was inconsequential to Sammy, a byproduct of their relationship and how they met. I see no reason – if and when we get married – for it to stop. Those accounts belonged to Lindsay, and Sammy was intent on keeping the deposits going. She’ll need them one day when I’m gone.

Carolyn had another valid point. Sammy had to follow his heart and do what felt right to him.

“I know things haven’t been the best between you and Mom these past couple of years, Dad, so I’m not going to hold this against you like Scott, Cassandra, and Marcus do. I have no reason to and, quite frankly, neither should they. You’re my father and I want you to be happy. You deserve it. You’re their father, too, and I wish they’d see things the way I do.”

Of course, Carolyn didn’t know – nor did any of Sammy’s other children – that Lindsay was once a prostitute and that’s how he’d met her.

By paying her for sex.

She technically still is a prostitute.

Carolyn had always been Sammy’s favorite child and she’d supported him – had his back – no matter what. Thus, the reason why she wasn’t upset he’d left her mom and was divorcing her in favor of another woman. Growing up, Carolyn had been level-headed and wise beyond her years. Full of compassion and understanding, she realized there were two sides to every story.

But if Carolyn knew the truth about Sammy’s relationship with Lindsay – specifically how they met – Sammy feared he may lose her too.

I can’t lose Carolyn, so she can never find out. Everyone – her included – has their limits.

Besides, none of the kids need to know about my whore addiction.

“If being with Lindsay is what you want, Dad, and she makes you happy … I can’t speak for the others. But me, personally? I’m all for it.”

Sammy was inching closer, but he wasn’t going to propose to Lindsay. Not yet, but soon. Very, very soon.

Her nineteenth birthday was two weeks ago, and Sammy surprised her with a pair of airline tickets and the promise of a week-and-a-half in Hawaii at perhaps its most luxurious resort, Sensei Lānaʻi, on the small, secluded island of Lanai. Perhaps during their tropical excursion, Sammy would ask Lindsay to be his bride, and he'd finally get to put the expensive ring he’d purchased back in October on her finger.

Truth be told, she’s evolved into a hell of a lot more than a whore to me.

Sammy closed his eyes and images of Lindsay flooded his mind. They’d shared and done so much together since moving into the penthouse this past August. I abandoned everything in life for this girl and it’s the best decision I ever made.

Sammy went out with Lindsay five or six nights a week and always had a great time. The fact that I’ve been able to keep up with her and not wear myself out is fantastic and makes me feel young again.

There was the September afternoon they went ziplining through a 143-acre park in downtown Salt Lake City. Sammy will never forget the haunted house they visited on Halloween night either. Lindsay was terrified and clung to him for dear life! They tried indoor and outdoor golfing, sport fishing at Strawberry Reservoir, and spent an entire day in Big Cottonwood Canyon. Sammy held Lindsay’s hand and offered encouragement as she got her first-ever tattoo, a tastefully done butterfly spreading its wings (signifying Lindsay’s newfound sense of freedom) on her lower left abdomen.

They’d already been on another trip together too.

Sammy had a couple of vacation days back in August that allowed him and Lindsay the perfect opportunity to divert from their emerging routine and do something fun and unique as a couple. It took some convincing on her part, but Lindsay suggested they go someplace for a few days. Work had been rough on Sammy, as had the drama with Barbara, and she wanted him to have a chance to step away, so to speak, and recharge his batteries.

He had mounds upon mounds of unused credit card reward points, so they had their choice to go anywhere they wanted, free of charge. Airfare, lodging, and rental car costs would all be taken care of.

Lindsay suggested they hop on a plane and travel to Washington, D.C. to tour the Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum. It was a tempting idea for Sammy as he was an aviation buff and had always wanted to visit the nation’s capital. This particular museum, a sprawling mecca featuring one of his greatest hobbies and interests, was number one on his bucket list too.

They almost decided to go, but Sammy asked Lindsay what the one place was she’d most like to visit. Her answer? Hawaii, naturally, but such a trip was out of the question since they only had a five-day window for their vacation. If they were to go to Hawaii, Sammy would want to spend at least ten days there, if not a whole two weeks (their current trip would comprise eleven days).

Lindsay’s second choice? Kalispell, Montana.

Sammy had never even heard of Kalispell, Montana. It’s a small community located seventy-five miles south of the U.S.-Canadian border with a population of 22,000. Browsing a map, nearby town names include Whitefish, Lost Trail, and Lonepine. At initial glance, it seems desolate.

Yet, Kalispell has an international airport nearby and, what attracted Lindsay, is it’s considered the gateway to Glacier National Park. She loved the outdoors – hiking, boating, camping, all things nature – and had forever dreamed of one day visiting Glacier National Park. Sammy enjoyed the outdoors as well, so told Lindsay the Smithsonian and Washington, D.C. could wait for another time. They’d spend their first vacation together in Kalispell.

All he cared about was making his sugar baby happy.

Back in the present moment, the rawness of Lindsay’s beauty caused Sammy’s heart to sputter as she continued to snooze oh-so-peacefully next to him in bed. Her golden hair was a disheveled mess and her face was all-natural, free of any mascara. Her lips were moist and gave Sammy a familiar desire: to put his dick between them. Her lacey pink chemise was riding high – its hem bunched around her abdomen – and the matching G-string she wore to bed last evening was long gone.

But he didn’t reach for Lindsay and pull her closer, though he wanted to. The urge was so intense that his fingers were twitching. He maintained his composure and kept still, and his mind began to drift.

Sammy thought back to that August week, and a delighted, full-blown smile overtook his face. The lone reason he agreed to go to Big Sky Country was because Lindsay seemed enthralled by Glacier National Park and everything about it. She really wanted to go there – and had for a long time.

Sammy was expecting to spend those five days in the middle of nowhere but learned Kalispell was the coolest place he’d ever been to. It featured mountains laced with hiking trails through lush ecosystems, torrid rivers for rafting and kayaking, vast lakes ideal for boating, an endless choice of quality restaurants, and the friendliest, most downhome locals he’d ever met.

Every single day they went hiking and exploring – be it along Highline Trail, Piegan Pass, Iceberg Lake, Virginia Falls, or Herron Park – then they’d spend the evenings enjoying local cuisine and later fucking next to the fireplace in their chalet. The whole experience solidified Sammy’s feelings for Lindsay and made him realize that for the first time in his life, he was legitimately happy.

All thanks to her.

Sammy thought about that word for a moment. Before Lindsay popped into his life and knocked him off his feet, Sammy thought he was happy. He had a job he enjoyed, made great money, and spent plenty of time with the grandkids.

Yet, Sammy now understood he’d never been happy. At best, he’d been content, treading water. His life had been on autopilot for the past three decades, if not longer, because of his soon-to-be ex-wife. Realizing this and doing something about it was a long, grueling process.

Sammy didn’t miss Barbara and felt no remorse about leaving her for another woman out of the blue. She’ll get a huge settlement – tens of millions – in the divorce and will be set up for life. I feel no guilt. The monotony of thirty-nine years of marriage, doing the same boring things day after day, week after week, year after year, had stripped away any remaining positive aspects of their union. It got to the point where I didn’t like being with Barbara anymore. She was never willing to compromise on anything. In the end, we had little in common.

Sammy found excitement at the Nevada brothels – they were a refuge of sorts – and it was a major reason why he kept going back to them. He was fascinated by the young women who worked at the houses and eventually found his soulmate at Happy Ending Ranch.

Being with Lindsay these past several months offered Sammy a glimpse of what happiness truly was. He learned that he was never in love with Barbara to begin with. Hell, I thought I was in love with Alana back in the day, too, but now realize I wasn’t.

I’ve never been in love until I met Lindsay … period.

Having her as his live-in girlfriend (and an unabashed plaything, too, to be honest) taught Sammy what true love was. She was a part of him now, and he wanted to devote every waking moment – his heart and soul – to her from this point forward.

Despite all their many differences and the challenges that awaited, Sammy wanted to marry Lindsay, care and provide for her, and help create and raise babies with her. Spend the rest of eternity alongside her.

Was that too much to ask for?

Our sex life is fantastic too.

A strict, no-nonsense CEO and chairman of a pharmaceutical juggernaut worth $200 billion, Sammy found himself addicted to the infinite pleasures of being with a tight, hard-bodied teenager whom he could spank, fuck, bind, and whip at his leisure. Sammy’s ongoing guidance and discipline had morphed Lindsay into the perfect submissive princess.

Best of all, Lindsay swears up and down that she’s never been happier and more fulfilled in her whole, entire life. I’m a lucky guy, huh? Says she wouldn’t trade what she has now for anything.

… A small price to pay, indeed.

There were certain sacrifices Lindsay had to make in order for this mutual, idyllic fairytale of theirs to become a reality too. I know Lindsay feels guilty for quitting Happy Ending Ranch without any notice after a mere three weeks of working there earlier this year. She claimed Pamela was good to her from the start and in quitting so suddenly, Lindsay realized she hurt Pamela something fierce.

Did I leave her any choice? Sammy offered Lindsay the world on a silver platter if she’d move to Utah and live with him. He’d separated from Barbara days earlier and relocated into a sprawling penthouse in the shadows of the Tomahawk Natural Area, a gorgeous preserve where Lindsay could hike and explore to her heart’s content. Sammy chose this specific area, in fact, because Lindsay loved everything to do with the outdoors.

Thus, their trip to Kalispell in the fall. I’d go back to Montana with her in a heartbeat too. No doubt. All she had to do was ask.

If you’re anything like Sammy and enjoy stumbling out into the wilderness with no rhyme or reason, certainly no particular destination, or a map, you’d love Kalispell as well. Glacier National Park is abundant with wildflowers and pines – striking landscapes – and outstanding, panoramic views. It’s an amazing spectacle.

Perhaps Lindsay will want to go back when the temperature starts warming up?

There were many more sacrifices too.

Poor baby … her mom and dad all but disowned her once she told them that she was in a serious, committed relationship with a fifty-eight-year-old man. Lindsay’s father, who was forty-six, couldn’t wrap his head around the concept. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, too, because her mother threatened Evie a few days prior, and she promptly fessed up about Lindsay working at the brothel. Her mom blew a gasket … to say the least.

Lindsay hasn’t had any contact with her family since. The forced separation was catastrophic to her psyche.

Again in the current moment, Lindsay awoke, startled. Sammy had a hand between her thighs, but she couldn’t see him at first because she was facing the opposite way. The bedsheet had been pulled down, her chemise pulled further up, and those thick, familiar fingers played her clitoris like it was a violin.

“Good morning, babygirl.” At the sound of Sammy’s deep, authoritative voice, Lindsay glanced back over her shoulder and whimpered. Rugged and handsome in an arrogant, worldly way, Sammy was naked and ready to indulge in his selfish, sordid pleasures again.

I want you.

The feeling was mutual. The one thing Lindsay craved more than anything was riding Sammy’s cock with her favorite butt-plug stuffed in her rectum, not just to three orgasms, but to as many as Sammy would allow.

Half-awake, she kept her eyes on his hard cock.

“Turn all the way over on your tummy, sweetheart. It’s time for your morning fucking.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Her wrists bound in fuzzy pink cuffs to the pink collar around her neck, Lindsay cleared the morning gravel from her throat and obeyed. The cuffs weren’t uncomfortable anymore – she was accustomed to them by now – though they forbid her the range of motion that a regular person has. Sammy generally kept her restrained overnight because he believed it helped provide a stern reminder of her place in their relationship.

On her knees before him and ready to please at all times.

Lindsay propped herself up on her elbows with both hands close to her face. She raised her ass as high as it would go and gave it a tiny, little shake, silently taunting her owner.

Oh, she was going to pay for that. Naughty, little brat. Passion surged throughout Sammy’s veins at the sight of his submissive so vulnerable and inflamed, trying to gift him her charms properly.

"Please fuck me, Daddy. Please, please fuck me."

Without a word, Sammy presented the head of his cock to Lindsay's pussy, grasped her thighs, and spread them to allow him the best angle to enter. Lindsay raised her head and again turned her face to gaze back his way. "Oh, Daddy. Make me your whore.”

Sammy pushed inward and began to thump her hard over the bed. “Oh, fuck. Oh, yeah … right there. You’re my good girl. Such a sweet little pussy … good girl. Hmm, that fuckin’ pussy. Oh, yeah.”

Sammy offered a series of powerful thrusts that caught Lindsay’s clitoris in all the right ways. He rocked her body as well as her senses. She was tight but took every inch of him regardless. He’d made sure of it. “Oh, yes. Oh, so good. Look at you. Yes, you’re a little whore. A good, little whore who knows her rightful place.” He gripped the back of her neck with his left hand, drew back with his right, and delivered a sound, solid smack to her upturned backside.

"Oh, Daddy! Daddy!" The heat flared and her body bounced with the forceful slap of his hand.

“You like being spanked?”

“Yes! Yes, I do! Please, do it again.”

He followed with three additional swats, each of them harsher than the one before it. Her foot kicked up involuntarily and walloped his side. Lindsay gasped, grunted, cried out, and pushed her ass into his pelvis yet again, but none of this was done because she wanted her fucking to end. Lindsay knew that Sammy preferred she take her punishments without any resistance – like a good girl should – but right now, how was that possible? His hand felt like a hot brand each time it spanked her.

"This little pussy of yours constantly cries out for my cock, doesn't it?"

Lindsay again nodded, her face now buried in the bedding, as he tormented her with words.

“Oh, you’re such a greedy cunt. So needy too. Always been that way, haven’t you? An insatiable, little cunt who tends to pout when she doesn’t get what she thinks she deserves.”

The nineteen-year-old flinched as Sammy peppered her ass with another heavy-handed swat before landing one on the opposite cheek. "Oh, babygirl. I'm gonna put some sperm in your pussy to start our day off right. I know you have an IUD implanted to make sure you won’t get pregnant. But at some point – maybe soon – we’ll have it removed by the doctor, and I’ll put a baby in your tummy. I’m not sure exactly when, but the decision will be mine.”

“Oh, yes! Yes! I’d love that.” Lindsay was grunting now, her body thrashing, as he pumped away. “That feels so good, Daddy! Please … please … spank and fuck me harder!”

"This little cunt has had twenty-seven different cocks in it since the first time I fucked it back in July at the whorehouse. My, oh, my; you were quite a promiscuous dick-taker while in Nevada. Weren’t you, babygirl?” Sammy delivered yet another painful slap to tender flesh and it was already turning red. Lindsay tried to roll her hips away – again on instinct – but the conqueror’s grip he had on her neck anchored her in place.

“I opened your pussy up during our first party, didn’t I? The first night you ever took dick in exchange for money, hmm? Yes, indeed, I opened it more than ever before, and it was so tight I came quicker than I wanted to. Little, virtually untouched eighteen-year-old pussies tend to have such an effect to men my age, don’t they? You’re a bit looser now, honey, thanks to all the dick you took over those three weeks, but it’s still like velvet in there. Sweet, incredible … tight velvet. Feels like fucking Heaven."

Lindsay continued to cry out as she was ridden hard over the bed. Sammy knew his words were having a profound effect and increasing the ache of her growing arousal. It was why he wouldn’t shut up. She genuinely got off on him talking down to her like this.

That, and the spanking. Lindsay loved being spanked. Sammy had watched her achieve multiple orgasms from simply being punished in the past.

“I’ve always wanted a twenty-four/seven bed girl like you to do with as I please.” Lost in his own pleasure, Sammy spoke his mind. “I deserve this. Someone who knows I control their mouth and cunt, and especially their ass, and respects me because of it.” Sammy began to blast Lindsay with brutal force as both hands landed a flurry of slaps across her backside. “You’re a living, breathing sex doll who I can’t get enough of, babygirl. I’m going to keep fucking you every day. Make you suck my dick. Use your incredible, little body for my own pleasure. And you’ll enjoy every minute of it as much as I do, if not more.”

Lindsay nodded, wailed out thunderous and loud, and the degradation – not to mention the physical sensations – made her pussy implode, and she reveled in the sweet, intense pleasure. She came, crying out, her face looking brighter than the sun.

The thought of the freedoms he had with Lindsay’s body brought Sammy’s passion to its conclusion as well. He gave a grunt as his cock pulsed away inside her, and she couldn’t help but to suppress a listless sob at the feeling.

Sammy withdrew, walked to the side, and wrapped a towel around his hips. They had a fun and eventful day ahead of them, their first full day in Hawaii, and he knew it. Gratified, Lindsay, her ass twitching, clung to the headboard and gasped in deep, uneasy breaths.

She heard a click from underneath her chin.

Lindsay bit her lip as a cool, silver chain brushed along her cheek. It was her BDSM leash. Sammy held the metal in hand and gave it a moderate tug. “You’ll go on your hands and knees with me to the washroom and give me a full scrub down and shower massage. If you do a good job, I may reward you, and eat out your pussy afterward.” He pulled on the leash again and arched his eyebrows. “C’mon … down you go, girl. Down.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she responded in a barely audible tone. Indeed, Lindsay was light years away from her old life in Citronelle and everyone she’d ever known and loved. A year ago, she would’ve never imagined that one day she’d be living in Utah – but on vacation in Hawaii, of all places – and kneeling in skimpy lingerie, much less crawling in skimpy lingerie, and being led around on a leash by a wealthy fifty-eight-year-old man.

Her Daddy Dom.

Though exhausted after their vigorous morning ritual and in need of a break, Lindsay’s blush darkened as she slid from the bed to her knees, bent forward, and put her hands on the carpet. She felt the constant friction that the cuffs offered, but relaxed, and went docile. “I’m ready, Daddy.”

“Oh, you’re my good girl. Such a good girl.” Sammy’s voice was full of praise as he led his obedient, faithful pet to the adjacent bathroom.

Little did she know, however, but Lindsay had a rather ominous e-mail waiting. Once she and Sammy emerged from their “sexy time” and he permitted her the opportunity to check her phone, Lindsay would be in for quite a shock.

 

From: Bancroft, Evelyn

To: Anastacio, Lindsay

Sent: December 18, 2018, 8:58am HST

Subject: My best friend

 

Lindsay –

I quit the brothel last night and am back in Citronelle. I couldn’t stand things there and feel like a failure. The constant sex with strangers, the ridicule from other girls, the demand to always look perfect, to be perfect. I just couldn’t deal with it. I know I let you down. My mind is in a bad, bad place right now too. I learned today that Clancy and Zack saw my photos on Happy Ending Ranch’s website and informed my parents that I’d become a brothel whore. Needless to say, they didn’t take the news well. I was kicked out of my house, told never to come back, and am typing this from the fairgrounds. It’s so cold out and I feel so lonely.

I know that you and I have gone through a hell of a lot together, but I cannot take this meaningless existence anymore. I’ve been a constant disappointment and that trend is bound to continue. I’m going to end this hurt for good.

I love you more than you could ever imagine, however I can’t keep bothering you with my crap.

You will be okay. You have Mike and friends like Pamela and Mariko to get you through, and everyone will forget about me pretty fast anyway.

I wish I could’ve kept working at the brothel and built the life you wanted me to have, but I failed, and Mom, Dad, my brother, all hate me now.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger like you. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you proud. Just know, this isn’t your fault as you’re the only family I have left and I will always love you so, so much.

-Evie

 

 

(End of Chapter Fifteen – to be continued)








 

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