Sarah's First DaybyWanderer49©
Sarah sat down on the bed. On it was a newspaper open at a page of advertisements. Some of them were simply a girl's name and a phone number: Ann, Kristen, Chantal, Melissa. Several of the advertisements were larger: New Orleans Club, Cottonwood Lodge, Fifth Avenue Terrace. These advertisements had sketches of girls' faces and statements like "Choice of gorgeous ladies" and "Gentlemen's Club". These had addresses as well as phone numbers.
She stared at the advertisement for Cottonwood Lodge. Gentlemen's club. The advertisement had a notice in small print at the bottom: Hostesses Required. She recognised the address; it was in a suburb some distance from where she lived in a street which she knew contained mostly clothing warehouses, auto repairers and other such businesses.
She reached for the telephone next to the bed and paused with her hand on the receiver. She could feel her heart beating; she was filled with a mixture of sexual arousal and fear. She took a breath, picked up the receiver and dialled the number of Cottonwood Lodge, but she hit a wrong button the first time she tried and had to dial again. Immediately the ring tone began the phone was answered and a female voice said, "Cottonwood Lodge, can I help you?"
She felt unready; her heart was pounding now and she seemed to be short of breath; she hadn't thought of exactly what to say. She said, "Is that Cottonwood Lodge?" What a stupid question, she thought, she's just told me that.
"Yes it is. Can I help you?"
"I'd like," Sarah began, but her mouth was dry and the words didn't come out properly. She swallowed. "I'd like to speak to someone about working at the club, please." "Gentlemen's club," she thought, "Hostess."
"What's your name, darling?"
"Sheree," said Sarah. Thank God she remembered to say that. Her heart felt ready to explode.
"Sheree, have you ever worked before?"
"No. I mean, not that type of work." She fought to keep a tremor out of her voice.
"My name's Sophie," said the woman at the other end. "Sheree, can you come and see us?"
"When?" asked Sarah.
"When would you like?" answered Sophie. "We're open late."
"OK, maybe about an hour?" She said it as a question; it was all she could manage.
"That's lovely, Sheree. There's a front entrance here, but the main entrance is around the back. There's a car park there. I'll be here for another three hours. Sophie. You'll see me when you come in."
"OK." She wanted the conversation to end.
"I'll look forward to seeing you, Sheree," said Sophie. "Bye."
Sarah hung up. Her heart was subsiding and she had caught her breath; she realised she had been sweating under her arms. She walked out to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. She felt calmer.
She had had no particular reason for saying she could not leave for an hour; she just had not wanted to say she could leave immediately. She sat on the bed again. She knew she did not have to go, but she knew that she would. She would change, take the lift downstairs, get in her car and drive to Cottonwood Lodge. She would offer herself for work there. As a prostitute in a brothel. The muscles in her groin tensed involuntarily as she said the words to herself. A prostitute in a brothel.
She went into the bathroom and used the toilet. Then back to the bedroom where she changed into a short, fitted cotton dress and made up her face lightly.
It had been only 25 minutes since she finished speaking to Sophie but she left anyway. The journey seemed extraordinarily quick. There was no traffic, she got all the lights, and although she had not been to that street for years, she went directly without any wrong turns. She had turned into the street before she had really prepared herself. She saw that the businesses in the street seemed to be open, but there was little sign of activity.
She saw the small sign saying Cottonwood Lodge as she drove past it but she did not slacken speed. All she had time to notice as she passed was that it was a brick house, quite old in style and painted an olive green colour, with a driveway at the side. She kept driving and turned left at the next corner. She kept making left turns until she found herself back in the street again and again approaching Cottonwood Lodge.
This time when she reached the driveway she slowed, turned in without hesitation and drove directly down to the rear of the house. There was a large open space paved with concrete which had lines painted on it to indicate parking spaces. There were three cars parked there. She drove into a marked space, stopped and turned off the engine.
She looked at the house. She could see no-one and no sign of movement. Off to one side there was a doorway with another small sign over it saying Cottonwood Lodge -- Entrance. Beside the doorway was a large window of reflective glass. She thought to herself that she could just drive out again. But instead she picked up her bag, opened the car door and got out and locked the door behind her. As she walked to the doorway she felt as though there were crowds of people watching her from all sides. Her legs seemed unable to move naturally; she had to work to keep them under control, to stop them kicking out at odd angles or giving way completely. "I'm a woman walking into a brothel," she thought to herself.
She opened the door beneath the sign and found herself in a small room. There was a reception desk at which a woman was sitting. She looked about 40. She was heavily made up, solidly built and reasonably attractive, and wearing a tight one-piece dress with the top cut low enough to show the tops of her large breasts. There were several telephones on the desk. There was a video screen on the desk on which she could see the car park; she had not seen a camera as she walked in. Opposite the desk was an open doorway leading to a passageway. The room and the passageway were carpeted in red and the walls were cream-coloured. "Hello," said the woman, "I'm Sophie."
"I'm Sheree," said Sarah. "I rang earlier. I got here sooner than I expected."
"I thought that was who you'd be," said Sophie. "You want to talk about working here."
"Yes," said Sarah. "Do you have any vacancies?"
"Come in here and let's talk about it," said Sophie.
She took Sarah into a room off the passageway. Sarah looked around. The room was dominated by a large bed with a deep red cover on it. There was only one chair. On the wall hung a large mirror and several "artistic" photographs of naked women. By the side of the bed was a cupboard on which there were a lamp, a clock and a box of tissues. Sarah noticed too that there was a shower that had been installed in a corner of the room, enclosed in glass. There was a central light that gave some dull illumination to the room.
Sophie looked her up and down, appraising her. "Yes, we have vacancies. What do you know about working?"
"Not much, really."
"You've never done it before?"
"We're open from 11 am to 3 am every night, but 4 am Friday and Saturday. We have 2 shifts that overlap, one 11am to 8pm and one from 7pm till 3 or 4am. Standard booking is an hour, that's $250, but some want only half an hour for $150. Some want longer. You get 60%, the club takes 40%. That's good. Other clubs pay 50%. You pay for your own condoms but you can buy them here at the same price we pay for them in bulk. Average is 5 bookings day shift, 6 on nights. Per girl, so the money is good. No drugs or alcohol on the premises, no exceptions. The cops come and check about every three weeks and we don't get hassled as long as we keep clean. Sound OK?"
"Yes," said Sarah. It was much as she had expected.
Sophie looked at her.
"Condoms are mandatory and if you're caught not using one you'll be out, no second chances. Lots of clients want to bareback but we don't want diseased girls here. You'll get lots of requests for anal and it's up to you whether you say yes or not. You won't last long if you're too fussy about who you're with. We don't accept guys who are completely pissed, but most of them have had a few and you'll have to put up with it and act like you're having fun. If you don't dress sexy and smile in the line-up, you won't get chosen and you won't make any money and you won't last long here. And you won't last long if you don't like sex."
Sarah said nothing. "How old are you?" Sophie asked.
"Can you handle all that?"
"Do you want to ask anything?"
"What's the line-up?" asked Sarah.
"It's not really a line-up. When a client arrives, the receptionist, that's me right now but it'll be someone else most of the time, takes him to the waiting room. That's the one next door; I'll show it to you on the way out. Then the girls go in one by one and say hello. The client might ask questions, like whether you'll do anal, whether you kiss, stuff like that. Then the receptionist asks him which one he wants and for how long. Then she goes and tells the girl. The girl goes and gets the client, takes him to a room. Fixes on what he wants, takes the money, tells him to have a shower and leaves him to it. She takes the money back to the receptionist, takes her cut and gives the receptionist the rest, picks up whatever she needs from the back room -- that's where all the girls wait around -- and goes back in to the client. And off they go."
"Do I have to pay tax?" Sarah asked.
"Tax is your individual responsibility," said Sophie. "We don't employ you. You're independent and your engagement with the client is between you and him. You pay us a fee for use of the room and facilities. But we have to keep records and we have to know who you are or we'll lose our licence, so you'll have to tell me your real name. I will know it and there are two other people who will know it, but it will be locked in a safe and we will not tell anyone unless the law compels us. What you tell the tax man about how much you earn is your business. I'd advise you not to tell him you're not earning anything. He'll find out you work here and if you say you're not earning anything he won't believe you. But maybe if you tell him about part of what you earn he'll accept it."
"OK, I understand," said Sarah. Again it was what she had expected. "So the night shifts are 7 till 3?"
"That's right. Four on Friday and Saturday."
"How many shifts a week?"
"As many as you want. Assuming you work out, of course. You'd be silly to do more than four. It takes too much out of you."
"Could I do two?"
"Can I choose the nights?"
"More or less. Except Saturday. Everyone wants Saturday."
"I don't want Saturday. I was thinking Monday and Thursday."
Sophie looked at her closely. "Today's Monday," she said.
"I know," said Sarah.
"Do you want to start tonight?"
"Why are you doing this?" asked Sophie.
Sarah thought for a moment. She didn't need to explain anything to this woman. "I need the money," she said.
Sophie did not comment. "OK," she said. "Seven o'clock tonight. Come and meet the day girls."
Sophie took Sarah out of the room and down a hallway. Through a door at the end of the hallway was a large room furnished with two couches and four or five armchairs, all arranged around a large television. One wall of the room was fitted out as a small kitchen with a cooktop, cupboards, an electric kettle and a refrigerator. There were two makeup tables on other walls and an area in one corner separated from the rest of the room by a screen with an oriental design on it. There were three women in the room. They were watching the TV and all three were smoking. They all turned to look at Sarah as she came in.
"Girls, meet Sheree," said Sophie. "Sheree, this is Crystal. Crystal, Sheree. And this is Lauren, Lauren this is Sheree. And Francesca, Sheree."
Each of the girls smiled at Sheree as she was introduced and said, "Hi". Francesca was the most striking. She was tall and buxom with dark olive skin; her skin contrasted badly with the bleached blonde hair piled high on her head. She was heavily made up. She wore leopard skin tights that Sarah could see were at least a size too small, and a very tight, very low cut yellow jersey knit top, with her breasts spilling over the top of it. "My God," thought Sarah, "What a whore." Francesca looked friendly and her smile at Sarah had warmth in it.
Lauren was also tall but of a much slimmer build. She wore a red dress. It was more modest than Francesca's outfit, but still tight and low cut. Her hair was brown and shoulder length and she had a slightly superior expression on her face. Sarah decided she was modelling herself on Lauren Bacall. Crystal was short and bouncy, with blonde hair and a big smile. She wore a dress, low cut and showing the tops of her breasts like the others and made of some silk-like material. Sarah liked her on sight.
"Sarah's starting tonight," said Sophie. "She hasn't worked before, so be nice to her."
"We were all virgins once," said Crystal, and she and Francesca laughed. "Don't worry, love, we'll look after you."
"Thanks," said Sarah. Sophie led her out of the room and back to the door where she had come in.
"If you want to work here then I need your real name and address I'll need to see some photo ID. I'll show you the safe where we keep your details if you like. If you don't show up tonight they'll be destroyed."
Sarah had suspected this might be necessary, but Sophie seemed as straight as she had a right to expect. She took her driver's licence out of her bag and gave it to Sophie. Sophie checked her photograph, then pulled a form from a drawer in the reception desk and copied some information from the licence. She handed it back to Sarah.
"You're still Sheree here. There'll be seven girls on tonight. About half the girls who say they'll start don't turn up on the first day." She looked at Sarah again. "I'm betting you'll be here, but I've been wrong before."
"I'll be here at seven," said Sarah.
Sarah parked her car outside her apartment building, went upstairs and into her apartment, walked straight to the bedroom and fell backwards on the bed. She was exhausted.
She lay flat on her back for a few minutes with her eyes closed. She looked at the time: 4.30. To be back at Cottonwood Lodge by 6.45, she would have to leave at 6.15, which meant she would have to start getting ready at 5.15, which meant she should have something to eat soon.
But not just yet. She was too tired.
She slowly stretched her legs out straight, as far as she could. Then, still very slowly, she lifted her arms off the bed and stretched them straight out above her as if trying to reach the ceiling, feeling the muscles of her back stretch, then gradually lowered them sideways so that she was lying on the bed as if crucified. She raised her arms again, then lowered her hands to her face and slowly ran them down over her face and throat to her breasts. She squeezed her breasts and groaned softly. She ran her hands further down over her belly and hips and the outside of her thighs, and then up the inside of her thighs, under her skirt, to her groin. The arousal she had felt earlier had dissipated. She hooked her thumbs over the top of her knickers, lifted her buttocks and slipped her knickers down and off. Removing them completely brought her to a sitting position and she sat there for a moment on the edge of her bed, leaning slightly forward, the skirt of her dress ridden up her thighs, naked under it. "OK," she thought.
Her energy had returned. She stood and walked quickly to the kitchen, made herself two sandwiches, ate them and drank a cup of coffee, then went into the bathroom. She took off her dress and bra and stood naked in front of the mirror. She looked at herself, at the patch of hair between her legs. "Why not?" she thought. It would be more hygienic and she had read somewhere that men liked it.
She took a pair of scissors from the bathroom cupboard and cut off as much of her pubic hair as she could. A dark shadow was still visible when she had finished. She turned on the bath taps fully and the bath filled quickly. She sat down in it with two of the shavers she used under her arms.
Shaving herself was not difficult. She did it twice. The first time removed most of the hair but left a rasping stubble. The second time took longer and left her absolutely smooth and slippery to the touch. She was lucky that she did not naturally have a lot of hair there, so it was not hard to remove it all, right around to her bottom. She had waxed her legs the previous day.
When she had finished she pulled the plug out of the bath, stood up and, in front of the mirror, removed all traces of makeup from her face. She turned on the shower and washed herself thoroughly and shampooed and conditioned her hair. As she moved in the shower, she felt the smooth slipperiness of her thigh against her newly-shaved pubic delta; it was a new sensation for her and it made her clench again down there.
She turned off the shower, dried her body, blow-dried her hair and sprinkled herself with talcum powder. She walked back to the bedroom and looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
The pale pink skin between her legs looked shockingly naked. Two lines sloping down and inwards forming a blunt vee, and a straight vertical slit bisecting the vee. She swallowed. She had never known what to call that part of herself; she just thought of it as "down there". "Pubic area" was ridiculous, and "pussy" she hated. "Vulva" was horrible. She had known the other word, of course, but it had always seemed too extreme, too brutal, to use. But now, as she stood there naked, her hips broad, her stomach curved, the blunt, slitted vee blatant between her legs, there was no doubt that what she had there, that vee with that slit, was a cunt.
The day was hot but she shivered as she thought the word, the muscles in her cunt clenching. She felt herself becoming aroused again. Aroused not only at the word she had used, but at the thought of what she was going to do. Dress herself as a whore. Fuck a man for money. Become a prostitute. She shivered again.
She dressed herself in a tracksuit and sneakers with a white bra and knickers underneath. She packed the clothes she planned to wear that night in a separate bag, hoping she was choosing the right things.
6.15. Time to go.
The traffic was slower than it had been in the afternoon and she arrived at ten minutes before 7. The sun had gone down but it was still light and very warm. The street was deserted; the few factory doors that had been open during the afternoon were now closed. Sarah's heart again began to pound as she approached the house and swung down the driveway; it continued to pound as she parked her car, reached over the back for the bag containing her clothes, got out of the car and walked across the concrete to the door she had entered that afternoon.
Inside was seated a different woman, this one about 30 and wearing a grey dress almost conventional in style but again cut tight and low. The brothel receptionist.
"I'm Sheree," she said, remembering only just in time to use her made-up name. "I'm starting tonight. I saw Sophie this afternoon. She said to come at 7."
The receptionist smiled at her, a professional smile. "I'm Carla," she said. "I'm on reception tonight. Do you know where to go?"
"Yes, thanks," said Sarah. She walked down to the back room. There were no sounds from any of the rooms she passed; obviously there were no customers, clients, at that time. In the back room were four girls, the three she had met that afternoon and another. She said hello to them and they introduced the fourth girl, Emma. The television was still on. The three from the afternoon were due to finish their shifts at 8, but Emma was there for the night shift, like Sarah. She was sitting at one of the brightly lit makeup tables putting on makeup in front of a large mirror. Emma was short and skinny, with a bony face and spiked, punk-style dark hair with a purple streak through it. She had put black rings around her eyes and bright patches of blusher on her cheeks, and she was applying purple lipstick to her mouth. She was wearing a green dress with a high neckline, but very tight and with a very short skirt. Sarah thought she looked awful, but her manner was friendly and she smiled frequently and openly.