Destiny at Mollie's Brothel

Then he reached into his desk drawer and took out some money. "Here is five dollars for each of you for your time and work today." He took them to the lockers, Ruthie got dressed again (it felt good) and went home.

She gave the five dollars to her mother. Chapter Eight

The car dropped Jim off at 34 rue Rene Blaen shortly past noon on Sunday. The security guard, smiling, took his suitcase and escorted him to the elevator -- the express elevator directly to the fifth floor. It opened onto a small room, rather like the lobby of a modest motel. A woman stood behind the desk.

"Hello Mr. Jim," she said, surprising Jim that she already knew his name. "My name is Priscilla. We're so happy that you're joining us. Miss Mollie has asked us to upgrade your room to a suite. Your room is 1005. You will have a beautiful view of the city from your balcony.

"I need to see your passport and credit card."

Jim fished the documents out of his pocket and handed them over. Priscilla busied herself with paperwork. No doubt she's available thought Jim, mentally undressing her. She was middle-aged and obviously a mother. But not yet a grandmother. A perfect MILF.

"I need your signature here and here," she said. Jim signed for the charges and the room.

"This is your card." She handed him a laminated document about the size of an index card. It had "Mr. Jim" printed in large type on both sides, so it could double as a nametag. "This card is your passport to all the services in the hotel, and you should carry it with you at all times. It will unlock your room, allow you to eat in the restaurants, and compensate the hostesses. You can use it to purchase extra services that aren't covered in the base price. You do not need to carry any additional money or documents around with you. At the end of your stay, if you want to leave a tip to a hostess or two, or to the serving staff, you can do so with your card. Any charges will be added to your credit card bill.

"We have a ten-minute long video that we show to first-time visitors to Lagarde's Hotel. Would you like to watch that?"

Jim shook his head. He'd already seen it, as described in the story, Mollie Buys a Brothel.

"So Bernard can show you to your room now. A uniform is laid out there ready for you to use if you'd like. Once you've settled in, please take this elevator back here. Then your card will let you through the turnstile into the hotel. That will mark the beginning of your time here. After that, please use the guest elevators on the other side of the building -- those will be much more convenient for you."

Jim nodded.

"Please have a wonderful stay at Lagarde's Hotel. If you need any assistance, contact the concierge in the main lobby, on the other side of this wall." She pointed behind her. "And please don't forget -- my name is Priscilla. If there is anything I can do for you, just let the concierge know and I will be your faithful servant." She smiled broadly, looking him in the eye.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, truthfully. He followed Bernard to the elevator.

The suite turned out to be a large sitting room with an attached bedroom. Mollie had clearly invested some money -- the furnishings were new, and everything was spectacularly clean. As promised, there was a uniform laid out on the bed for him. It consisted of a shirt and shorts, both colored a washed-out blue. The shirt was emblazoned Guest, Hôtel Lagarde et Spa in faded, yellow letters. A note accompanied the outfit.

We urge you to wear this uniform during your stay at Lagarde's Hotel. It will be more comfortable and sanitary for you, and it allows our hostesses and staff to immediately identify you as a valued guest. Our cleaning staff will provide you with a clean uniform every day. You may request a clean uniform from the concierge's desk whenever you need one. Each uniform is washed at least daily in hot water, strong bleach, and disinfectant.

Jim changed into the uniform. There was a hook on the left sleeve for his card. He proceeded back to the elevator and returned to the fifth floor. Smiling at Priscilla as he walked by, he entered the vestibule with the turnstile. An RFID reader near his left shoulder sensed his card and let him pass through.

Turning the corner, he stepped into the main lobby of the Hôtel Lagarde et Spa. Chapter Nine

Ruthie did what Ruthie had never done before. Instead of walking with her sister to fetch water, this morning she rode the jitney bus bound for 34 rue Rene Blaen. With great trepidation and a heavy heart, she walked through the imposing steel door. She swiped the card Ronaldo had given her through the turnstile, earning her entrance into the hotel.

She found her way to Ronaldo's office. The door was open but he was not there. She waited in the room with lockers. It was nearly empty, but a hostess had left stage a few minutes early and changed into her street clothes. "I need to get home to my son," she explained, unprompted. "It's not good to leave early. I don't do it often."

"I'm sure Ronaldo won't mind," suggested Ruthie.

"Ronaldo won't, but Miss Mollie will. She gets upset if you swipe out early. She thinks it's cheating the guests. But I have no choice today. I hope I can get out of here before Ronaldo sees me." She grabbed her things and rushed out of the room.

Seconds later, Ronaldo walked in. "Ruthie!" he exclaimed, happily. "I'm glad you're here today. I think we're short staffed. You're almost certain to make the cast today."

Ruthie smiled nervously.

"Buck up, girl," he said, lightly patting her on the back. "You won't have an easy day today. It'll be really hard. But it will be over by tomorrow morning, and then you'll have more money than you've ever dreamt. If you really don't like working here you don't ever need to come back again. But steel yourself up for it, because if you don't get through today you won't have the choice."

Ruthie thought how disappointed her mother would be if she chickened out again, and vowed to herself not to do that. "I'll be strong, sir," she told Ronaldo.

He laughed. "I'm sure you will be. I have faith in you. Now we've got a lot of work to do."

Ruthie got photographed and fingerprinted. From these a 3x5 ID card was manufactured, labelled Miss Ruthie in large type. The whole thing was laminated. "This is your permanent card. Please don't lose it. Replacing it will cost you money." He handed it to her. "You will use this throughout the hotel. It will also let you take money from the bank where your salary is deposited." Ruthie gripped it tightly. "Your number is 2135. People will call you by your name, but the computer will call you by that number."

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Ronaldo. "It's already past 10. We need to get you auditioned. Come along."

They left his office and walked back toward the front entrance. A large waiting room on the left was filled with girls in street clothes, waiting to see if they'd make cast. There must have been about a hundred women present. A row of TV monitors along the far wall would eventually bring the news.

"Please touch your card here." Ruthie did as directed. "That is how you audition. You must do this before 10:30. Even one minute later will be too late. A computer in Canada decides who gets cast. I don't get to choose. Because you're new, and because we're fully booked today, it's likely you will make the cut. Your number will show up on the monitors on the wall. That will happen just past 10:30."

Which was only five minutes away. The room grew silent as the moment approached, all eyes looking toward the screens. As Ronaldo predicted, at the appointed time 70 or more numbers appeared. And there it was -- 2135 appeared between 2119 and 2143. Ruthie had made the cut.

A cheer went up from most of the girls in the room. But not everybody had been cast. Groans and even a few tears darkened the faces of many. "I'm glad you made it," said Ronaldo. "But that won't happen every day. There will be some days when you won't get cast. Don't take it personally. But now we have a lot of work to do. Follow me."

He led her down to the far end of the hallway. "What color underwear do you want?" he asked as they walked. The question had never occurred to Ruthie, who didn't know what to answer. He smirked at her confusion. "Tell the lady red when she asks. If you don't like it, you can pick a different color next time."

They followed all the other girls into a room containing a long counter, behind which stood three or four employees. "When you present your card, one of the ladies is going to give you a bag, a bra and pantie in the color you choose, and a pair of flip flops. All of these are barcoded, and you must return all of them at the end of your shift tomorrow morning. You will be fined if you can't do that.

"The reason is sanitary -- we don't want hostesses exchanging underwear or shoes. That spreads disease. That's why you have to use the same underwear all day. The exception is that if it gets dirty, you can go to the concierge's desk any time during your shift and exchange it for a clean set. There's no penalty for that."

Ronaldo did not go with her to the counter, but gave her directions on what to do. Ruthie handed the lady her card.

"What color do you want?" the lady asked.

"Red."

The lady fetched a bag, which she labeled with 2135, a set of red underwear, and a matching pair of flip flops. These she all handed to Ruthie before addressing the next customer.

"There's a pocket inside your bag for your card," explained Ronaldo. "The pocket on the outside is for your guest's card. Put your card in the bag." Ruthie obeyed. "You can leave it there for the entire shift.

Ronaldo turned, motioning for her to follow. They returned to the locker room.

"Put your street clothes in the locker," Ronaldo instructed. "You can keep any jewelry -- I see you don't have any. You'll have to get some. Make sure it's cheap because jewelry frequently gets lost, especially earrings. You'll also want to buy some makeup."

Ruthie hesitated. "So you are going to spend a lot of time naked today," continued Ronaldo, "Now is not the time to get nervous about it. Keep your courage, girl!."

Ruthie stripped clean, and then dressed again in the prescribed underwear and flip-flops. Ronaldo watched disinterestedly, like a man waiting for a bus.

"Whenever you get naked you have to put your underwear in your bag. Don't forget! It will cost you money if you do. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," said Ruthie.

"And then when you get dressed again you use the same underwear from your bag. You never use anybody else's underwear. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir."

She followed Ronaldo down the hallway. The air got more humid as they approached the hot showers. Ruthie had never taken a hot shower before. "You need to wash yourself," said Ronaldo.

"Jennie!" he called to a passing girl. She paused at attention. "This is Ruthie, our new hostess. Can you show her how to use the shower and make sure she gets clean?"

"Of course. Nice to meet you, Ruthie. Come with me. We need to hurry because we have to be on stage by noon."

Ruthie followed her new friend to the changing room. Together they stripped naked again, putting the underwear in their bags. These were hung on a hook. They walked into the shower room -- a large space with about 20 showers, all running. They had to wait a few minutes until a station was free. Each station came with soap and shampoo dispensers. Ruthie followed Jennie's lead, lathering up from head to toe, with extra attention to tits, ass, and pubes.

"Hurry up," said Jennie. "We don't have a lot of time."

They grabbed towels on the way out. Jennie spent some time at the make-up counter. "You'll need to buy some make-up later. It's not important today."

Ronaldo was waiting for her as she left the shower room.

He led her across the hall. It looked like a gigantic thrift shop -- there was rack after rack of clothes: dresses, skirts, blouses, pants, etc. "Pick some clothes you like. I suggest a dress -- it's easy to take off. Later you can find things that are more complicated."

Ruthie, too nervous to worry much about fashion, picked a white dress with red polka dots. "That will look really nice on you," offered Ronaldo. "Good choice.

"When you take off your dress, you can just leave it lie. You don't need to wear the same dress all day. There are racks on every floor from which you can choose new outerwear. So, you need to keep track of your bag, underwear and shoes, and not lose them. They're barcoded. But you can leave the dress behind wherever the guest asks you to remove it. You don't need to worry about what happens to the dress."

"So it is now 11:45," said Ronaldo. "You must be on stage before noon. You need to stay on stage until eleven, tomorrow morning. You must be off-stage no later than noon. If you're late off-stage without good reason you will be fined.

"You can come off-stage during your shift for good reason, for example if you cut yourself and are bleeding. Do not bring your guest's card off-stage. That will get you fired. Don't leave stage unless you really have to. Many problems can be solved at the concierge's desk on the fifth floor. Go there first.

When you get off stage tomorrow, please come and see me before you leave. I need to explain how you get your money." She nodded.

"Are you ready to go, girl?"

Ruthie looked him in the eye. "Yes."

"Follow me." They walked toward the back end of the building toward an elevator. In front of it was a turnstile. "Swiping through the turnstile starts your shift. I suggest you start by taking the elevator to the fifth floor. As you leave the elevator you'll cross a red line. Then you're on stage. Hopefully you can find a nice guest to take care of you."

Actually, she didn't need to swipe. The RFID reader picked up her card still in her bag. A "bing" sounded and the little LED light turned green. How she walked through the turnstile she didn't know. Her legs felt like lead. Her head felt dizzy. She dreaded what she'd encounter. Still, along with four other girls all heading for the lobby, she lurched onto the elevator. Chapter Ten

Turning the corner, Mr. Jim (as he was now called) stepped into the main lobby of Hôtel Lagarde et Spa. The crowd of hostesses smiled and flirted, raised their skirts and adjusted their bras. But, like the Red Sea, the scrum parted in front of him. Mr. Jim knew they weren't allowed to touch him until he'd given them his card.

He resolved not to make a quick decision. After all, the most flirtatious girl is not always the prettiest, nor is the prettiest necessarily the best lay. Better to wait a ten or fifteen minutes to size up the choices. He walked toward the coffee shop where he could sit and admire the show.

On his way he caught sight of a polka-dot dress, almost hidden behind a planter in the corner of the room.

The girl wearing the dress was young. She looked downcast, not flirting and not looking at Jim. Of course it's an act thought Jim. Shyness is sexy. He knew it was an act, but it still turned him on. Forgetting his resolve to take his time, instead he marched over to the planter to claim the prize before somebody else got there first.

"Hi. My name is Mr. Jim," he said, smiling.

The girl looked up, shocked, noticing him for the first time. She was speechless.

"Don't be so surprised," he said, grabbing the card off his shoulder. "I don't bite. What's your name?"

"Ruthie," she stammered, still not smiling.

"Nice to meet you, Ruthie. Here, move your hand so I can give you my card." Her arm blocked the pocket on her bag. She looked down and reluctantly moved her arm out of the way. Mr. Jim put his card in the pocket and his hand on her butt. Ruthie started to move away, but then thought better of it.

"Let's go get a cup of coffee." He pulled her close to him and escorted her toward the coffee shop.

"What do you take in your coffee?" he asked, offering her a seat. She didn't answer, looking at him confused.

It dawned on him that she'd never had a cup of coffee before. "Is this your first day working here, Ruthie?"

She nodded, barely perceptibly.

Jim smiled the biggest smile he'd ever smiled. He vowed to make her initiation as pleasant as possible, at least for Jim. "Are you hungry?" She nodded, as if she'd just realized how hungry she really was. "I need to borrow your bag for a minute. It has my card in it."

He tried to decide whether to get her coffee or hot chocolate, settling on a cup of mocha (which has both). He got a large danish for her and a black coffee for himself. He offered her bag to the cashier; the RFID reader sensed both his card and hers, letting Mollie know exactly what he was doing.

He figured he'd let her eat and drink unmolested before the strip and fuck. But then she'd get it but good.

Ruthie inhaled the danish as if she were starving. The first sip of mocha elicited a grimace. She tried it again. And with the third attempt she discovered she enjoyed it. Soon the cup was empty.

"Come stand over here," Mr. Jim instructed, pointing to a spot between his legs. Ruthie reluctantly obliged. He hugged her, hands on her butt, pulling her close to him and burying his face in her soft, youthful bosom.

His hand slid under her dress and reached for her panty. He slid that off her hips and let it fall to her ankles. He lifted her dress high enough so he could glimpse her pussy, which his hand moved round to stroke.

He saw tears well up in her eyes.

"Don't start crying on me. You'll lose your job if you do. This is what we do in a brothel."

Ruthie pulled herself together.

"You need to put your panty in your bag. Otherwise you'll lose money."

Ruthie stepped out of the underwear and bent down to pick it up. Mr. Jim let her keep her modesty for a minute, but his hands explored the nether parts under her dress.

But only for a minute. Her adolescent breasts demanded his attention. He moved his hand under her dress up her belly. That lifted the hem to her waist, revealing butt and pussy for all to see. He sensed jealousy among other patrons. Her clear, black, soft, youthful skin, tight butt and perfect thighs were a man's dream.

The hands felt for her bra, massaging her breasts through them. But why bother? Instead he felt around to the back and unhooked the thing. He slipped the straps down her sleeves and asked her to remove it. She did. "Put it in your bag," he reminded her.

Now he made no effort to keep her modest -- the hem got raised to her bosom. His hands explored those pert, girlish breasts. Again he pulled her close so he could kiss them.

The dress got in the way. He asked her to turn around while he unhooked it, then sliding the garment off her shoulders. It pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it. He picked it up and threw it onto a chair.

She stood naked facing the room, her back toward him. Jim now realized that she wore neither make-up nor jewelry. Apart from the flip-flops, this was as close to a birthday suit as you'd ever find in a brothel. He caught others admiring his girl.

He turned her round and sat her on his lap. She instinctively tried to cover herself with her hands.

"Remember," said Jim. "This is a brothel. I get to touch you. Put your arm around my shoulders." She obeyed. "Now put your other hand to the side, out of the way." She did that, too. "And spread your legs so I can touch your beautiful pussy."

That was harder for her. Apparently it tickled. "Do you want me to complain to Elizabeth?" Ruthie certainly didn't want that -- she forced her knees apart.

Jim spent the next quarter hour slowly sipping his coffee and pawing his girl. He loved her thighs and breasts. Her pussy needed trimming, but everything was clean. He enjoyed the envy he felt from passers-by.