The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 14

"You taste so delicious."

"Oh, do I?" Sammy let loose with a chuckle as Lindsay slid her lips and tongue along his testicles. "Put my dick back in your mouth where it belongs, sweetheart. I'm going to fuck your face the same way I did last time." The same way she'd repeatedly begged him in e-mail to.

Within seconds, Sammy's cock clashed with the back of Lindsay's throat and she coughed several times. She reactively put her hands on his thighs and tried to push away, but Sammy was having none of that. He gripped her hair and said, "No, you're taking it."

He pulled her head back and allowed a moment for her to gather herself, anyway, and shoved back into her mouth. Lindsay's lips were stretched thin, her eyes broadcasting surprise, as her tongue danced around his length. I could suck this cock until the end of eternity! She inhaled quick breaths through her nostrils as Sammy drilled away.

It was a brutal face-fucking and uncomfortable, but Lindsay didn't care. She was far more concerned with taking care of Sammy and making sure he received maximum enjoyment. I'm a little more prepared for you than I was last time, you know, with all the added experience I have.

Both hands grasped her hair as he pumped away like a turbine engine. Lindsay's eyes watered and the hinge of her jaw ached. She did her best to hold still and give him full authority over both the intensity and depth of his thrusts. He rammed her throat without remorse. Lindsay gagged and wretched, but Sammy didn't stop. He wouldn't stop, nor would he relent.

"I own your mouth, slut. Hell, I'm going to own every inch of you by the time things are all said and done. Fuck! You turn me on so much."

Without a warning, Sammy stood and pulled Lindsay's head from his cock, bent over, and got in her face. "Stick your hand between your legs and underneath that lace. I want you to come while I'm fucking that whore mouth."

"Yes sir." Lindsay reached down and found her damp, swollen clitoris, and let out a gasp at the self-induced pleasure.

"There you go, rubbing that little pussy again. Oh, you do this day and night. Don't you, babygirl? You lay in this bed and play with yourself as you fantasize about my cock being inside you. Daddy's cock fucking you like only it can. Am I right? Battering your cervix, my balls bouncing off your ass, my hands spanking you at the same time? You want bruises on your ass, don't you, so you won't be able to sit down for three whole days? You want to give yourself to me, don't you? For me to make you my personal, little slut? My fucktoy? Come on, party whore. Say it. I want to hear you say it!"

"Yes, Daddy! Yes!" Lindsay cried out as she throbbed with need - her nipples, her pussy, the pit of her stomach - every millimeter of her being. The fuck with Jim and whatever he thinks of our discussion! "I want to be your slave! I want to ..."

Her words were cut off as Sammy forced his cock back into her mouth. Tears saturated Lindsay's face from the savagery of it all, and her pussy ached for more as she continued to finger away. She rolled and undulated her hips and drifted off into another plateau, another dimension, where the only things that mattered were her body, Sammy's body, and what she could do to satisfy him because that alone gave her a feeling of happiness like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Subspace.

"Aww, fuuuuuck. Yeah, keep taking it down your throat, babygirl. Oh God. Your mouth was made for sucking dick. My dick, right?" Sammy had visions of giving her a face-fucking during their wedding ceremony, right in the holy cathedral itself, with her entire family watching. "Yeah, yeah, right there. Open your fucking eyes and keep them trained on me. Yeah, do what I tell you. Fuck your fuckin' pretty, little face! Deep in your throat ... choke on it, you dirty cunt!"

Sammy's gaze blazed a trail to her soul. He twined her hair around his left hand and yanked hard while his right ventured lower and grabbed her still-covered breast. It was all Lindsay needed. She screamed around his cock as an orgasm ripped through her body. Pleasure unlike anything she had ever known overwhelmed and annihilated her like an incoming tsunami and, much like the last time they were together, Lindsay squirted. Her back arched and the juicy goodness spewed across the floor. Sammy took immediate notice and revealed a salacious grin.

In the aftermath, his cock still hard and raging, Sammy dropped to one knee and lifted her chin until they made eye contact. He wasn't worried about getting off yet. He had twenty-four hours for that and, at his age, needed to conserve himself.

Lindsay's head dropped when he let go. She gasped for oxygen and tried to make sense of what had happened. Her hands were shaking too. Soon, Lindsay looked back up and smiled at the tenderness etched across Sammy's face. No more aggression or roughhousing, Sammy was clearly concerned and wanted to be sure she was okay. Such a contrast to how he was a moment ago.

"Why not go over to the sink and fix yourself up? Take your time. Your mascara needs touching up and I don't want you wrecked and messed up right off the bat." Besides, it was time for Sammy to inquire about another girl joining them for an hour. "Freshen up, babygirl, make yourself look presentable."

Lindsay wheezed and let out an embarrassing hiccup. "Yes sir."

In the future, perhaps, Lindsay may look back on her life and feel mortified she had once taken up prostitution, but as for now, with parties and men like this, she was having too much fun.

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"You know, I'm not gonna say our marriage has been perfect because it hasn't, and any working lady who claims `oh, my marriage is good, my husband doesn't care at all' ... it's not true." At home and in their living room in Fairfax, Pamela had claimed the rocking chair while Colt lounged on the sofa. "They're gonna care at times and things need to be discussed, but what's always worked for us, Colt, is complete, transparent honesty, exactly how you're feeling, exactly what's goin' on, you know, and apparently, I haven't been getting that from you lately."

Colt scrubbed a hand across his face. "Again, I'm sorry about what I said earlier at Groucho's." Guilt strained the chambers of his heart. "It was uncalled for."

"Damn right it was." With both arms laced across her chest, Pamela was cold and disoriented, her poor spine stiff as a ramrod. How could Colt question her loyalty? "You and I don't have what people would think of as, oh, how do I say it, a normal relationship. We've been married for ten years and I've had sex, slept with, three thousand guys, and four or five hundred girls. And for a lot of, umm, I don't want to say civilians, but civilian people, they're like `oh, that's kind of crazy.'" Pamela took in a staggered breath. "But you've always told me, `you know, if this is what you want to do, I support you. It might be hard, but as long as you're happy, I support you.'"

"I still support you." Colt's expression fell into disrepair. "I always have, always will."

"Then what are you jealous of?" Instead of beating around the bush, Pamela decided to come right out and say it. Get it out into the open because a short while ago over dinner, Colt admitted he was starting to feel uncomfortable when she was servicing her clients. "I don't understand why you're jealous or have any reservations at all. You, of all people, Mr. Brothel Owner. You know you're the only man for me. I. Love. You! Nothing is going to change that. I've always been loyal to you, honest with you. My clients, they're just clients. That's it. Nothing more."

Colt's chin scraped his chest. "I don't know."

She gave him a deadpan stare.

"I can't keep going on like this."

"Like what?"

"Don't you see? I'm getting older and, I don't know, my priorities are changing." His stomach hardening, Colt grabbed his hair with both hands and grunted. Did this signify the start of a midlife crisis? "I'm not the same guy I was fifteen, twenty years ago." Meeting and marrying his soulmate had changed him too. "I've lived this lifestyle for so damn long - the brothel life - and, I don't know, I think I may be done with it."

William got Colt involved in the business from the day he turned eighteen and spoke at length of how he wanted him to make it his life's work. Hell, Colt lost his virginity on his eighteenth birthday in a three-on-one gangbang in what was now Kenzie's bedroom. William instructed Corinna, Kerri, and Tiffany to fuck Colt, to tag-team him, for an entire afternoon. His father said it was "time to become a man" and what better way to do it than in a foursome?

For Colt, it wasn't a treasured memory. Losing his virginity to three women who didn't want to be with him - they didn't receive a dime for their efforts - while his dad was down the hall, tending bar. William, in fact, forced the trio into it, threatening their jobs if they refused.

Colt regretted that, even berated himself over it.

During his high school days, most of the "normal" girls wanted nothing to do with him because his father ran the brothel. Or their parents forbid them from talking to him. Colt had a crush on Mandy Jackson, he recalled, and she liked him, too, but her father promised to ruin Colt's life, even murder him, if he continued to date her. He also threatened to send his daughter off to boarding school in order to split her and Colt apart.

"I never wanted this, Pamela. Sure, when I was younger, it was unreal to be the house manager and have the pick of the litter. For a while, I was the King of the Mountain." Around age twenty-five, Colt was at his wildest, his most out-of-control. "Any working girl I wanted in those days, all I had to do was snap my fingers and they'd come running." William would fire anyone who said no. It was an unwritten rule in some brothels - the owner, management, certain staff would receive sexual favors. "There are so many skeletons in my closet and I'm not proud of them. My past disgusts me."

Thank God I never coerced or bullied you into having sex with me. His shoulders fell into a bowed heap. Pamela was always "different" in his eyes - the gold standard Colt could never tarnish. I told Dad to stay the fuck away from you, too, that you were off-limits. While William was belligerent and controlling as a parent, he adhered, never once laying a finger on Pamela.

"When I was growing up, I had visions of moving to California one day and getting a job on the beach. Something like, I don't know, managing a marina, maybe." Hurt fogged his eyes. "Leaving Nevada behind - the Godforsaken heat and barren desert - and starting my own life, carving my own path. But Dad ... Dad wouldn't let me. Said I had to stay and work at the brothel if I wanted any help with college tuition." At age eighteen, nineteen, what was Colt supposed to tell him?

No?

"He was dead-set on me working at the house, taking it over for him one day, and staying until the day I retired. Or die. Come October, he'll be gone for ten years. Ten long years." A thousand ants seemed to crawl over Colt's skin. "And yet, here I am, still doing what the bully wants."

Pamela was white as a ghost. "What does that have to do with now? With us?"

"I'm tired of this life!" Colt fists drew up like angry stones, but he was quick to corral his temper. "Not of you, of course, but this job, what we do. It ... I've ... I've grown out of it. I want ... I want ..." To stay here in Maryland, never go back to Flagstone, and start a family with you. Colt yearned to have kids and right the wrongs from his own childhood. He wanted Pamela to finish her graduate degree, find work at a medical facility, and become a Nurse Practitioner. She'd be great at it.

Me? I'll figure something out. Colt held degrees in Business Administration and Finance, and the idea of searching for a new job didn't intimidate him. Or he could start a new business. A G-rated one, of course.

Most of all, I want Pamela for myself.

They had been down this road before. "The brothel is our life, Colt. How we make our income and what provides us a comfortable lifestyle. It's how we met too. We can't walk out the door on a whim and leave it all behind." What about Jim? What would he do? Francisco? Mindy? Jenn? Pamela grimaced. Jim had worked at the house since 1983 and, if she and Colt abandoned ship, they could potentially ruin his life. Jim would be out of a job.

As would the others.

"What about Cousin Jeremy from Vegas? He wants to buy the brothel." Jeremy McCarron, a business magnate, investor, and entrepreneur with a net worth of US$19.6 billion, would tear the house down, attempt to purchase any adjacent properties, and build an all-exclusive, high-end sex resort that would put all the other brothels in the state, including Chastity's Ranch, to shame. Technically, Colt and Jeremy were first cousins once removed. "Jeremy gave us a generous offer two years ago - triple what the house is worth - and said it will always be on the table. In fact, the last time I spoke with him, in May, he offered more."

"Selling a brothel and transferring its ownership license is a long, tedious process," Pamela reminded him. "You experienced that firsthand when William passed away and left it to you in his will, remember? Lots of red tape. It's not something where you can sign a piece of paper and be done with it. The city, the county, the sheriff's office, everyone gets involved. It takes months and there is no guarantee the sale and transfer of ownership will be approved." Pamela didn't want Jeremy to take over the brothel anyway. He would make too many sweeping changes, including letting all the current staff go. She couldn't let that happen.

"I know you like working there, sweetheart. You're close with several of the girls - Scarlett, Nicolette, Kenzie, and especially Kayleigh." Colt plucked at the collar of his shirt. "I don't want to take that away from you."

Speaking of veering from the proper path in life, were things supposed to turn out the way they did for Pamela? Was she destined to meet and fall in love, and marry a guy like Colt? Pamela was the quintessential "bad girl" growing up in school, promiscuous and always getting into trouble. For starters, she couldn't keep her clothes on. That proved to be a major problem. All the guys were after her and she wasn't picky in who she was with.

Her grades weren't the best, either, and she was at constant odds with her parents. Pamela was webcamming on her eighteenth birthday, doing full nude sex shows for money, and working at a brothel six months later.

Oh, and dancing at a strip club (and turning illegal tricks) in between too.

Without Colt, Pamela could envision herself being in Scarlett's shoes: wild and reckless to a fault and, though she was engaged to be married, not in love with the guy. Scarlett was only marrying Jason because he was due a hefty trust fund settlement soon - she had confided this in Pamela - and wanted to sink her greedy mitts into it. Scarlett was callous, selfish, and egotistical.

Like Pamela considered herself in her younger days.

Indeed, she thought, that could've been her if things turned out differently. Perhaps Pamela would have an abusive boyfriend or husband like Kenzie once did? Or someone who questioned her every move like Elisabeth's husband? Robert tried keeping her on a leash, yet Elisabeth rebelled, and it was obvious their marriage was bound for ruins. Or a boyfriend, husband, whatever, whom she did not love. At all. Someone she wanted to control and extract every penny out of like Scarlett did to Jason.

What type of life was that to strive for?

Not with Colt around, though. He had always protected Pamela from the "dark side" and had her best interests in mind. Let her do her own thing and never asked any questions. Did she have a sudden inkling to go to bed, have an all-nighter, with Nicolette? Sahara and Riley? Lindsay? How many times did Pamela pass on an evening with Colt to have raunchy, hardcore sex with a client, a total stranger? Not once did he have a problem with it, as far as she knew, at least, insisting she do what made her happy.

Working made her happy.

"Do you know what one of my favorite things about you is, Colt?" Pamela angled her body toward him, her tone whispery soft. "It's something minor, a little gesture you do. Every time I have a party, a GFE with a random monger and it ends, I say goodbye and he leaves, you always pull me into your arms afterward for a long, warm embrace." Pamela tipped her head high. "Every single time, right away, without fail. You ask how I'm doing, if I'm okay, if I need anything, and if I want time off. I've always thought that is so sweet of you, so thoughtful."

It's been tearing me to pieces here as of late listening to your parties and hearing what these disrespectful fuckers say to you and the things they ask for. But that was no different than five, ten, twelve years ago, right? Mongers never changed. Was owning a brothel and having his wife as its featured attraction a "phase" for Colt? A cycle in his life which he had outgrown?

Had Charlie Winters and Lindsay Anastacio been the tipping point? If not, what pushed him over the edge? Dammit, Pamela, I just want you for myself.

What made this situation more perplexing was, with all the people she'd had sex with, Colt never once had the notion Pamela was "cheating" on him. She is just doing her job, making money. To him, Pamela was a faithful wife, and yes, a loyal wife, too, and he didn't question her sincerity toward him. That had never been an issue. But the damn, fucking brothel - working at it - added complex wrinkles to their marriage that no couple should ever have to deal with.

I wish we'd never go back.

"When I'm with you, Colt, I can wind down, relax, and it's so good to be with a man ... not just for sex. At the end of the day, it's like we come home to each other, in a way, and having sex with someone in real life and having sex with someone at the house is so different." Her eyelashes fluttered. "It's just, the connection is different, the feeling is different, it's such a more real, intimate experience and ..."

"Well," Colt interjected, "you're not putting on a show."

"There's no show." Her voice hitched with emotion. "I don't have to wear my makeup, I don't have to dress in racy lingerie, there's nothing like that."

"You don't have to suck sideways." His own words drew a tiny smirk.

"Yeah."

"Or on a desk, or on the massage table, against the wall, in the upside-down pile driver position."

"Yes! And the bond I feel for you, Colt, is so powerful. I love you so much and sometimes I have this feeling like I want to slice you open so I can live inside of your body. Like, that is how much I love you."

His eyebrows wagged. "Wow, romantic."

Pamela laughed. "Like, I want to crawl inside of you and just live there. It's like, this powerful thing, and the sex with you is amazing, it's different, it's something I've never felt with anybody else. And I have that with you, Colt. I have our love, our twelve years of being together. I have what I want, what I've dreamt about. I cherish what we have, and promise you, no man, no woman will ever come between us." Tears forming in her eyes, Pamela took a deep breath. She could do this.

"Pamela, don't. This is all my fault. I've just been in a weird place lately and I ..."

"Please, baby," she interrupted, "let me finish. I know I'm not the perfect, ideal wife ..."

Yes, you are.

"... but I never want you to doubt my feelings for you. I don't care how many Charlies fall in love with me, how many gifts guys like Corey send me. There is no reason for you to feel anger, jealousy, whatever. They're ... that's business. It's not pleasure, not personal." She dropped her head in her hands. "Besides, I'll never work at the house again, anyway, with how jacked up my back is." Where did that come from? Where was the confidence, the positive spin on everything that made Pamela so appealing?