The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 15

Chapter Fifteen

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Flagstone, Nevada

What the hell was she doing? Life wasn't supposed to be like this. Pamela rubbed her bleary eyes with one hand and stymied a yawn with the other. Look at me - I'm number crunching, of all things, at two in the morning. Such a surreal concept, right? 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 the current time. The laptop monitor an unmitigated blur, she had dozed off twice in the past half-hour.

Perhaps when Pamela finally receives medical clearance to return to her "real job" next week, her energy level will go back to normal. Bookkeeping duties and performing other odd chores around the ranch wasn't her forte. I'm the top girl this house has, the featured attraction. Her fingers drummed the wooden surface and a muscle in her jaw ticked. This sucks.

It had been five months since her debilitating spinal injury with all the recurring doctor visits and countless hours of physical rehab mixed in. She tasted bile in the back of her throat, frustration still swirling, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Until now, it had just been another tunnel. 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. This profession provided her a comfort zone that she lacked since the summertime. I need to get back to making top dollar and pulling my weight in our marriage too. Pamela placed both hands above her full breasts and held them there, feeling her heart quicken. I hate this. She never realized how much she'd miss her job until it was ripped away.

But next Monday and the two appointments she had lined up had to wait. Christmas Eve, of all days. Pamela promised her husband several hours ago that she'd have the income and expense report ready before closing time tonight. The thirty-year-old snorted and shook her head at the thought of how things had deteriorated since her world went up in smoke. 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 him and didn't want to start now.

Her hands drifted down her chest, across her breasts, and her lungs jolted and slurped air at the sensations coursing throughout. Patience. Next week, Pamela wouldn't have to rely on herself like this. Colt is Colt; he's a helluva man but treats me like a rose pedal, especially these past few months. It would be monger's hands, their mouths, gliding over her skin instead. Maybe all I need is a hardcore fucking. She grinned with all her pearly whites.

Next Monday promised to be decadent, sinful.

Pamela had to reclaim her innate sensuality.

Her identity.

There sure had been a flurry of activity since the house opened yesterday. It was pure pandemonium, atypical for a Monday. Customers began showing up first thing, more and more of them, many on a mission, a nonstop procession of testosterone fueled by lust and/or booze.

At one point, Colt made his way into the parlor and found two obnoxious drunks guzzling 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 hard glare toward Jim - What are these guys doing in my house? - and his brows flew high once 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, his eyes fiery. "What the fuck, dude?"

His house manager responded with an innocent shrug. "Hey, bud, don't look at me. They weren't soused to the eyeballs when they showed up."

Recalling the incident, Pamela shivered. I'm not looking forward to dealing with customers like them again. She wouldn't have to - well, that was the hope, at least. With her spinal injury and not wanting to reaggravate it, Pamela and Colt agreed that, going forward, she would cut her workload. I'm only going to see mongers who I've partied with in the past, ones 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 in the morning. Gwen had two parties today, while Scarlett, Nicolette, Samantha, and Karma had at least three each. Poor Angelia just finished her fifth. Kenzie and Addie were present, too, but ineligible to work and share the burden until their lab results came back in the morning.

I feel sorry for the girls we have on duty... even guilty. Pamela was young, still in her prime moneymaking years. I wish I could've worked tonight and helped spread out the responsibilities too.

Five months ago, that would've been the case. The song and dance were always the same: attempting to woo and flatter random men in the bar, many of whom were cheating on their wife - clueless and in the dark back home, watching the kids - and trying to entice them to a private room in search of a payday. Xavier from Idaho? Peter from Wisconsin? Joe from Vegas? Bring 'em all on. But twelve years in this business had taught Pamela the importance of disassociating herself because, in reality, the overwhelming majority of these men weren't genuinely interested in her.

Pamela McCarron, who liked Hello Kitty and touring the world and reading historical romances, was an inconsequential nobody. These mongers wanted a piece of Pamela. They wanted to take a ride and experience the thrill of being with Nevada's top courtesan; to learn firsthand if the legends were true; to see how good she could make them feel with her pretty lips and cute little tongue; to bend her over and fuck her, cocktail dress up and panties down. They also wanted to take photographs of Pamela in compromising positions with their cell phones to keep as mementos and to text to their friends. There are raunchy pictures of me all over cyberspace.

Drawing on an X-rated memory, Pamela allowed her mind to drift to an evening from a year ago when she was nestled in the lap of one of her preferred clients - Dave from West Virginia - and his head was bent, his lips tending to her breasts. From one to the other, he didn't rush, didn't hurry, despite the fact the clock was ticking. Hmm, I love sweet, considerate men like Dave. And then he lifted his head, and Pamela gasped because a hot flash of arousal mushroomed out from between her thighs.

Because she needed that again. She needed her life back. I miss guys like Dave; I wish he was here with me now. Pamela had been without that comfort zone for so long. Far too long. It was one more reason to be angry about the way things had played out since the summertime. I'm tired of living like a nun, a good girl, a... a... housewife.

Grimacing and chewing her lip, Pamela sat at the study desk in the converted bedroom she and Colt shared and glanced out the window. Earlier, the temperature 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 in Maryland.

She cinched the pink blanket around her torso and refocused on 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. Appearing to slog through a quicksand jungle, the nineteen-year-old made her way to the closest chair and, clutching her abdomen, doubled over and vomited in her mouth. Oh, no. Pamela snapped to attention because she realized what that body language signified.

The poor girl is in 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 partied throughout the day and into the evening for nine hours with five different mongers. She had 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 meet her asking price, 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 understood the discomfort Angelia felt. She understood it all too well.

"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 offered assistance in walking to the opposite side of the house, where her private bedroom was. She drew a steaming hot 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, held Angelia, and allowed her to cry it all out.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take! This job is nothing like Lindsay told me it would be. I expected the physical demands but didn't realize how mentally draining it would be too." Fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, Angelia 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 dope, I cannot lie, but I'm not accustomed to yassifying myself up multiple times a day and 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 Lindsay's 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 in September and was 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 applicants to choose from, Colt hired Angelia, but only at Pamela's insistence.

And in typical Colt fashion, he told Pamela later that same afternoon that 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 and a bagel from Java Jitters when you wake up. How does that sound?" Pamela did 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 others 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 finished her 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.

An uneasy feeling swooshed in her stomach. 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 said, "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 once she found stability, settling next to him on the mattress. "Thank you."

"Very much my type."

"Nice." The blank expression on her face belied the sweat trickling down her back. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of nervous."

"Don't be." His arm curled and brought her against his lanky frame. One hand caressed her 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 lifted the hem of Evie's black minidress, exposing her favorite black lace thong, but then his hand returned to her leg. Anxiety 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 had 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 while 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 Alo Yoga and all the latest styles like she does.

Still, did Evie have any idea what she was getting into? Was the sacrifice worth the reward? She had sex a few weeks ago with her third guy ever and that would prove to be her last normal sexual encounter for a long, long time. Don't think of it as prostitution. She recalled the advice Lindsay gave her prior to her 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."

"Good. I like that. Tall and slim, athletic, like a volleyball girl." She glanced away, but Lucas's hand caught her chin 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 throat and sank lower. A joyless chuckle ensued.

"That's not a problem. Normally, I pay a little more to party with new 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."

"Cocksucking? Good."

"And I, I'm a sub. A submissive."

He grinned. "I can tell."

Unease bled through Evie's midsection.

"Enjoy both giving and receiving oral sex?"

Evie bobbed her head.

"How about spanking?"

She ducked her chin in agreement.

"Nipple pinching?"

"Yes."

"Tossing you around, manhandling you?"

"Yes." Quivers chilled her bones.

"What other stuff are you into?"

"Hmm. I think you got it covered."

"Yeah? All right. 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. "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 so?"

"I have a couple of things I want to do. I got a little outfit for you to wear too."

"For real?" She sat up straight. "Is that how this usually works?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes, clients can put in certain 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 retrieved a sealed package with an Amazon logo on it. "Here. I'd like you to put this on before our party starts. This outfit will be perfect for what I want."