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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 escort osmanbey 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, escort kağıthane 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. …
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 escort cihangir 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.”
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