The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 01

"I don't plan on anyone in my family finding out." Lindsay's heart shifted into warp drive speed, but she still held Colt's gaze - a confidence booster, albeit a small one. And who is Michael Myers? "I didn't tell any of my sisters I was coming here either." Her hand shaking, she pressed it flush against her thigh and hoped neither Colt nor Pamela noticed. "Or my best friend, Evie. No one knows." I don't want anyone throwing shade on me for the choices I make. This is my life, my decision, and people - especially Mom - need to stay in their lane.

"Good. Let's keep it that way, shall we? At least for now. Tell me, have you decided on a working name? I won't allow you to use your real name for safety reasons."

"No sir, I haven't. Not yet, but I have a few in mind."

The most troubling aspect of all was Lindsay had no control over her stupid emotions and was positive Colt saw her attraction plastered across her face. What if he tries to use that against me somehow? She didn't surmise the interest was mutual. Colt was the boss and dealt with oversexed girls like her every day. I'm nothing special. Her insides wilted. Why would he notice me?

"Pamela can help you choose one later today during phase two of your orientation. With your age and girl-next-door vibe, I suggest a name that sounds innocent and playful: Daisy, Penny, Gracie, Rose, Sophie; something along those lines. If you're hired, I want you to pick one by mid-afternoon so we can have your profile up on our website by the time Jim goes home tonight. He handles the technological stuff." Indeed, this man was bulletproof, consistent with an alpha's personality. "I want a batch of photographs of you posted both partially and fully nude too. Customers will see them and come looking for you."

"Yes sir." Bile rose in Lindsay's throat as she contemplated those words. Do I really want to have naked pics on the Internet? Anyone from across the globe can download them. But she dared not voice any objections, not wanting to ruin her chance at getting hired. "Do all the girls have working names?"

"Everyone except me," Pamela said for him. "Back in the day, my name was Dakota around here."

Dakota? Sounds dank, like a cowgirl. Was Pamela born in either North or South Dakota? Why else choose that name? The only thing Lindsay figured was it had to be to be a way to pay homage to her beginnings.

"But after a while, Colt flat-out refused to call me anything but Pamela." Colt sloped his head and glowered at her with winged brows as she said, "It's my actual name. A few mongers caught on, and I've been Pamela ever since. I don't mind."

Mongers?

Colt's expression softened. "Now, now, my dear. Let's not start fibbing. Your real name is Pammy."

She laughed, sweet and genuine, just like everything else about her. "God, Colt, I hate that name. No one is allowed to call me Pammy except Mom-Mom back in Maryland. And that includes you."

Maryland? You're from Maryland?

Colt grinned, diverted his attention back to the laptop, and skimmed more information from the background check. "No arrest record, good. We paid for a comprehensive drug test three weeks ago and those results came back negative, but you'll be getting another one today. Drugs or any illegal paraphernalia on-site are prohibited, and I will fire you without hesitation if you're caught with any. We maintain a zero-tolerance policy. We'll notify the police as well. You'll spend the night in jail and your fate beyond that will be up to Judge Meiring."

Jail? That ain't happenin'. I'd be so slayed. Both hands were at her sides now with fingertips raking her thighs. Why does he have to sound so damn authoritative? Her skin glistened with perspiration, and the knowledge she soaked through her panties made her more unsettled.

"I have enough trouble with city council and the sheriff's office, and don't want to lose my business license because an employee wants to shoot meth or get all coked up. We don't tolerate that shit here at all."

But Lindsay ceased listening for a moment and again imagined herself bent over the desk, being taught a painful lesson for breaking one of Colt's many rules. Better yet, tied and spread-eagle. He was spanking her hard and swift, and without remorse. Fire! Fire! My ass is on fire! The visual triggered Lindsay's darkest, most wanton desires. He administered a stern lesson with his strong, mammoth hand, right on her upturned bare bottom, just the way a disobedient brat deserved.

Oh, fuck. Lindsay couldn't quell a noise in her throat, either, the type she made when she masturbated late at night and became so aroused she couldn't control her vocal cords. Color whooshed up her neck as she slumped on the sofa. This is so embarrassing. I feel about two feet tall.

"If a customer tries to offer you any drugs, you must report it to management right away," Pamela said, acting none the wiser. "No exceptions. Stop whatever you're doing and report him or her ASAP."

Come to think of it, Lindsay would welcome a spanking from Pamela too. Oh, my. To her surprise, her pussy contracted, and heat mushroomed out. Getting spanked by Pamela would be a novel experience, not near as rough as Colt. Gentle and loving, no doubt, and when the "punishment" ended, Lindsay had visions of falling asleep across her lap like a contented kitten.

Meow.

"There's no point in trying to hide anything in your assigned room or elsewhere on the property, either, considering we execute several random sweeps a week." Colt's tone meant total business. "Full searches. Everything you own is subject to search. The police stop by and perform the same from time to time as well. They can do it whenever they want, day or night, and we always cooperate one hundred percent. We have nothing to hide from them."

Pamela massaged Lindsay's wrist. "It's okay, honey. Listen to whatever the boss says, and you'll be fine." She cast a sarcastic leer his way. "He's the one in charge."

Oblivious to that playful jab, Lindsay bobbed her head. "No need to worry about me, sir."

"Perfect. Only being eighteen, I don't want you anywhere near alcohol. Underage drinking is against the law and grounds for immediate dismissal as well. No questions asked, no second chances given. We don't break any laws here and don't support our employees doing it either. Clients will want to bring alcohol to your room, but it must be for their own consumption. Not yours. Not until you're twenty-one."

"That won't be a problem because I don't drink. I never have." How about you fuck me doggy style while I lick Pamela's pussy? This sofa would be the perfect place. Why couldn't this interview be over so Lindsay could graduate to the good stuff? Or, at the very least, you skeet inside Pamela and I lick it clean? Fuck us like we're porno sluts, will you?

"Tours are one to three weeks long. You'll receive one day off a week, yet it comes with provisions. I'll explain more soon. Several girls would work three months straight if we permitted it, but time off is necessary for self-preservation, and we want you to have at least one week off every month. This job is taxing, both physically and emotionally, and we want you rested up and energized, not running on fumes. It improves the experience for our customers."

Lindsay squared her posture. "I want to work for three weeks at a time."

"You got a boyfriend? No kids, I assume?"

Glancing at her feet, she struggled to level her breathing. "No sir."

"Are you going to be able to function being away from your parents, your family, your friends for three weeks at a time? We don't allow social visits here."

"Yes sir." The burning tether of his stare locked her down, enslaved her. Why aren't you showing any interest in meeeee? I'm DTF. She wanted to jerk her hair out and scream. Must I throw myself at you to finally snag some attention? Lindsay plucked a piece of lint from her cutoff shorts. If I have to, I will. "I need a new start in life."

"This isn't a fleeting fantasy, is it? You're willing to sell your body for money? You won't wake up tomorrow and hightail it home to mommy and daddy, will you? We need to be certain you're not wasting our time."

OMFG. Another bead of sweat trickled from Lindsay's temple. This interview was far more difficult than she anticipated. But just showing up, smiling, flashing her breasts, and getting hired was a pipe dream. You watch way too much Pornhub. This is the real world.

"She needs some water."

"No," Lindsay said to Pamela, again shrugging the offer off. "No, I'm fine. Just fine." Why am I lying? She was anything but fine. Her nostrils flared as she gathered the strength to tell Colt, "I need a new start. My life can't continue its current path. It just can't." Her voice thickened with despair. "I'm sick and tired of dipping and selling corn dogs at Buns on the Run each year too."

"Wait, what? Buns on the Run?" Colt slapped the table and doubled over in wild amusement. It sailed in so out of left field that Lindsay's mouth dropped open, and she glared at him with her lashes flipped full-open. "Is that ..." He gathered himself and reviewed her information, "... the name of the food truck you worked in? Oh, man."

Wowwwww. "Yes sir. Yes, it is."

Pamela regarded Colt with a fascinated grin. "Buns on the Run, eh? I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages."

"We're open seven days a week and business hours are from ten in the morning until three at night, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, all major holidays included." Just like that, Colt's demanding temperament returned.

I'm gonna cream myself.

Again.

"We expect you to stay awake every night until closing time. If a customer shows up one minute before three, we accommodate them with no time restrictions. We close at three, but I'm often still here at four, five, even six or seven in the morning until our last customer leaves. We never push a paying client out the door. That would be bad for business."

Pamela let her fingertips dance along Lindsay's forearm. "Say if you're feeling blah or coming off an extended party, perhaps a six- or eight-hour marathon and you're worn out, management will make exceptions. I had a long party three weeks ago and Colt gave me the rest of the night off. I was exhausted and fell asleep before midnight."

"Though we open at ten, you're welcome to sleep in until noon each day," he added. "But understand if a customer comes in and asks for you by name, we will wake you up, and you must prepare yourself in a hurry. Freshen up, shower, get ready, all that. A customer may also decide to schedule an appointment bright and early in the morning at ten o'clock. You need to be ready the moment he or she walks in. We'll always inform you the day before."

Lindsay's sneakers bounced off the floor in a restless flurry. "Okay. Sounds fair enough."

"And certain customers will make appointments outside our normal business hours as well," Pamela said.

What's the four-one-one here? To Lindsay, Pamela came across as a manager, too, given she explained everything so effortlessly with Colt. Their dual presentation had a shiny polish, like they'd done it many times before.

But she wasn't the manager, Jim was. Pamela is a working girl. Lindsay couldn't figure out why Pamela was sitting in during the interview, either, or why she was the first person to contact her after she applied via the website.

Something here didn't equate.

And her legs. Lindsay kept sneaking peeks at them too. She couldn't decide whether she was envious of how supple they were, or if she lusted after them. I guess it's both.

"We also have customers who'll want a six or seven o'clock appointment in the morning," Pamela said. "They may have an afternoon flight out of Vegas and want to blow off some steam before returning home to their wife and kids. You'll be required to be awake and ready for them too. Colt charges a premium for after-hours appointments since he or Jim must be here for them and it's an inconvenience for the girl. Still, we take care of our customers. You'll receive part of the premium too."

Trying to process everything at once, Lindsay found it difficult to keep up. "Okay, sounds fair enough." Why does Colt or Jim have to be present for after-hours parties? Maybe it's a safety thing? "I have no issues with waking up early." That's a lie and you know it. It took Mom thirty minutes to drag you out of bed on school mornings because you're the CEO of sleeping in late.

"The good news is," Pamela said, "if you have an after-hours appointment, management won't expect you to be available for work until three or four in the afternoon. Some brothels are open twenty-four hours, and their girls get roused awake at the worst imaginable times. Here, you can go back to bed and sleep in late."

Colt held up a finger. "Unless a customer walks in and asks for you by name."

"Yeah, that happens a lot, especially for a grade-A hottie like you. And then, of course, let's not forget the lineup buzzer." Bitterness pricked at Pamela's countenance. "That cursed thing wakes you every single time."

Lineup buzzer? Information was flying at breakneck speed. Wait, wait, hold up a second. Lindsay had difficulty trying to sneak a word in edgewise.

"We don't want to rouse you out of bed, but it happens," Colt said. "It's why we're closed for seven hours each morning. This isn't a boot camp. We want all our girls to be rested and healthy and provide our customers the absolute best experience possible. Happy employees mean happy customers, which means more profit for both you and us. Making money is why we're here."

"Of course, sir." After a few seconds of unexpected silence, Lindsay sensed an opportunity to speak further and focused on Pamela. "I have a question. What type of guys come in here?"

"Like what kind of guys do I normally get?"

"No, no, not you. Just in general. Who is the typical guy that shows up here? Older? Younger? The regular, everyday customer? What's he like?"

Pamela stroked her chin. "Lots of older mongers, like older white men. We get Indians, Black men, loads of tourists. We get, like, Europeans, truckers passing through town. Me, personally, I have two younger guys who live here in Flagstone and party with me every month. Not together, they're not friends; I doubt they know each other. Both were virgins when I first partied with them. I see disabled clients, widowers, divorcés, and love helping couples spice things up."

Mongers? Lindsay recalled Pamela using that word earlier as well. What does it mean?

"No typical guy comes in here, really." Pamela's head lay at a right angle, making her appear lopsided, like something inside popped loose. "They're all unique, all special."

"You're free to leave the premises for a few hours each day," Colt said after another stretch of silence, "but if you go alone, you need to be very, very careful."

"The sheriff in town is a dick and will arrest us for any minor infraction if we're outside."

Lindsay focused on Pamela and wrestled with a sudden tightness in her chest as Colt said, "Yes, she's right. Even with this brutal heat, you'll want to be fully clothed if you go outdoors. Jeans, a loose-fitting t-shirt or top, minimal makeup, and nothing revealing. This is a small town stuck in the 1950s, if you ask me, and Sheriff Spaeth makes up the rules on the fly. He hates our brothel. Good thing Mayor Bradley is on our side."

"If you wear anything revealing outside like those denim shorts, Sheriff Spaeth will arrest you for solicitation." Her mouth set in a firm line, Pamela's jaw tensed. "If you talk to anyone, he will arrest you for solicitation. Hell, if you so much as smile the wrong way, he will arrest you for solicitation. He keeps an ongoing tab of all the girls here."

"How can we get arrested if we're walking down the street and minding our own business?" Lindsay crossed her arms. I've read up on those laws and am well versed in them. "Not even talking to anyone?"

Pamela's face clouded. "His town, his rules. And our curfew is five o'clock in the afternoon." Her expression softened. "He'll lock us up if we take a step off the property after five. If it were up to him, every single one of us, including Colt and Jim, would be in jail forever."

"His jail," Colt amended. "The one right here in town. He wouldn't ship us elsewhere. He'd love that."

Sounds like some crazed shit.

"But as long as we keep everything legal and inside these walls, there isn't a damned thing he can do to us."

Colt leaned back. "That tears him apart too."

Pamela kneaded Lindsay's inner thigh. "Don't worry, though. If you ever need anything, Colt, Jim, or the night bartender on duty - Jenn or Mindy - will scoot off and snatch it for you. The chefs too. Ask them, but be courteous about it, respectful, grateful. You can go yourself if you like but it's not advised. A conviction in Nevada means you can't legally work in a brothel again for five years. And who wants the terms solicitation and prostitution on their records forever? I know I don't."

"Wow." This is deep. Lindsay tugged both knees to her chest and curled into a ball. What the hell type of life did I get myself into? Citronelle may have been the center of all things boring, but at least Lindsay was safe there.

"We're a family and take care of one another. If you need to step away from the house for a while, again, ask Colt or Jim." Pamela placed a hand on Lindsay's calf and extended the leg outward. "Relax, baby. There's a town called Oakfall on the Nevada-Utah border, and either Colt or Jim drives there four or five days a week without fail." She trailed a fingertip across Lindsay's kneecap. "Someone is always asking to go. It has quality restaurants and several places to shop. Plenty of hiking and sightseeing, too, and a casino. Jim took Sahara and Riley to Oakfall yesterday. How long were they gone again, Colt? Nine whole hours? They had a blast."

He tapped a pencil on the desk. "It's over a hundred miles away. That being said, distance is not an issue for us. We're happy to be your chauffeur for the day. We take care of our employees in whatever way we can. The people in Oakfall don't know us, so there's never any trouble. Yet another reason we only allow our girls to work a maximum of three weeks at a time. It'd be easy to go stir-crazy within these walls. Jim and I take a week off every month too." Colt inspected his fingernails. "You can hang out in the backyard, though, whenever you want. It's one hundred percent enclosed, and no one can see anything from the street. There's a pool and numerous ways to exercise."

"Kk." Lindsay didn't like the idea of having to stay on the property. She wanted to dabble and explore on her own. But she didn't want to risk getting arrested either. Mom and Dad would go apeshit.

So, this wasn't a "lockdown house" like other brothels she read about (the ones in Nye County were notorious for that), yet in a sense it was thanks to an overzealous sheriff who believed he was above the law. I don't want to be trapped indoors twenty-four/seven. What was the harm in stretching her legs and walking a thousand feet down the block to the convenience store? Lindsay clutched her backpack. Jesus Christ. She hadn't left the country, right? America was the land of freedom. Well, it's supposed to be.

Despite the lecture about rules and repercussions, Lindsay's nerves, overall, were dissipating. I have a future here. She wasn't as apprehensive around Colt as earlier, but the fear still lingered. If I fall in line and be a good soldier, everything will be okay.