Colt inserted his Apple AirPods and activated the surveillance system.
“So, baby, what are you looking for today?”
Colt’s chest strained at the thought of Pamela being with yet another man, but he reminded himself it was just business. Pamela was headstrong, and despite her deteriorating physical and mental health, it was her decision to continue working like this.
And it was his marital duty to support her.
Colt envisioned the scene within his mind: Pamela motioned for Charlie to relax on the bed and took a seat on his lap. She rubbed the bulge in his trousers and asked what he was seeking.
“Anything I should know beforehand? I mean, like, fetishes or anything you’re into that’s different? Don’t be bashful, baby. Speak up, tell me what you want.”
Charlie pressed his knees together and fiddled with his shirt sleeve. “No, just, you know … I’m into you, I guess.”
“Okay.” She gave his cheek a kiss. “You’re so sweet.”
Pamela’s prices varied on what the customer wanted. She often quoted on the high end to start but would haggle down to the $500 an hour minimum unless the request classified as a specialty or fetish party. As the joint owner, Pamela hated turning any business away.
Her menu comprised the acts she was willing to perform. The list included dozens of lustful activities, including shower parties, handjob, blowjob, prostate massage, nuru massage, vaginal sex in various positions, domination, submission, costumes, toys, role-play, dirty talk, foot worship, drag shows, golden showers, ballbusting, and pegging to name a few. The parties Pamela didn’t care for (such as cowgirl sex and pegging) would come at a steep premium, and she’d refuse to negotiate down from the initial quote. Pamela would also mention the idea of a two-girl party again and note Scarlett or Nicolette would be an outstanding choice.
Pamela would exclusively suggest Lindsay (and no one else) for threesomes once she returned from her day out. She couldn’t wait to sink her mitts into her.
But Pamela would only rattle off those options if the customer asked what she offered because nine times out of ten they came in wanting the Girlfriend Experience (GFE). For the right price, Pamela would kiss you, cuddle with you, allow you to talk about your problems, and laugh at your jokes. Such closeness would include sex if desired. She’d be at your beck and call until the clock ran out and to agree to anything within reason.
No surprise here: Charlie wanted a GFE. He battled a choking fit and burst into tears after admitting to being a thirty-six-year-old virgin.
“Hey, honey. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Pamela said in her most affectionate tone. “No shame in it either. Lots of guys come here to lose their virginity.” Her hand massaged his lower spine. “You’re not alone, Charlie. Settle down and relax, baby, and I’ll take care of you. Okay?” She pursed her lips and let out a sympathetic murmur. “I’m going to make you happy today.”
“Okay.” Charlie hid his face and wiped his eyes. He had been downright embarrassed for the past decade about being a virgin at his age. Charlie couldn’t comprehend why women avoided him at all costs. No matter where he found himself – Detroit, Vegas, elsewhere – the story was always the same.
And admitting the truth to Pamela was humiliating.
Out front, Colt’s heart fluttered and he wrung out his hands. Virgins, widowers, divorcés, and those with shattered and/or lonely hearts, he had dealt with them all over the years. Hearing their stories was never easy.
“Oh there, there, baby.” Pamela extended an arm and squeezed Charlie tighter. “It’s okay. Are you crying? Please don’t cry. I don’t want you to cry. No one is going to judge you here. You’re in my hands now; you’re safe with me. You and I are gonna have a kick-ass time.”
Charlie held his finger over his eye, hung his head for a few seconds, and sniffed before glancing back up. “How much would three hours cost? I want to enjoy myself and not rush, not look at the clock.”
“I charge seven hundred an hour, so the price would be twenty-one hundred for three. But I’ll tell you what, baby. You’re a sweet guy and I like you. I like you a lot.” Pamela rested her forehead against his and held still, binding him with a flirtatious gaze. “Most of all, I’d love to be your first time.” Their mouths were inches apart, sharing the same breathing space. “How does eighteen hundred sound? Six hundred an hour?” She pulled back and offered a look so tender it brought an ache to his chest. “It’s a good price, a good discount, but I can’t go any lower.” Pamela’s bottom lip dropped into a vampish pout. “I’ll be in trouble with my boss if I do.”
“Deal.”
Colt pressed one earpiece further in and his eyes doubled in size. She didn’t negotiate? Pamela routinely quoted clients $700 per hour to start but must’ve had a soft spot for this guy. Then again, she always did for virgins. A virgin specialist, Pamela had popped hundreds of cherries (including those of some women) in her career. She treated virgins extra special, realizing she’d be an integral part of their life story forever.
And they were easy sessions, too, at least physically. Virgins rarely demanded much, often lying motionless in a dazed stupor and allowing the courtesan to control every aspect of the encounter.
It also surprised Colt that Pamela didn’t offer Charlie the house minimum ($500 an hour, $1,500 for three) but figured she must’ve saved the extra $300 for wiggle room. Sometimes customers wanted to pinch every penny they could, and the negotiations would fall apart.
“Awesome.”
Colt’s head recoiled when the familiar, wet sound of two mouths kissing filled his earbuds. His heart panged and his hands twisted into fists.
“For a virgin, you’re quite the kisser, baby.”
“That was … the first time a woman ever kissed … me.”
“Oh, you’ll receive plenty of kisses from me today. Trust me, baby.”
Pamela gave him another open-mouthed exchange, and Colt’s eyes narrowed. Wait. What the hell, man? He exhaled a purifying breath and composed himself. It’s just business. Colt reminded himself that Pamela was doing her job and not kissing Charlie with any genuine interest. Chill, dude. She’ll be in your arms later.
Having never experienced such an intensely negative reaction like this when Pamela was with a client, Colt tapped his foot several times. What was that?
He shrugged it off.
“Can you please pull down your pants?”
“Uhh, sure. Already? I haven’t even paid yet.”
“I need to check your penis to make sure there are no signs of infection.” Pamela chirped out a giggle. “It’s the dreaded dick check. Every girl here is one hundred percent clean, and we like our clients that way too. The DC is a mandatory safety check. Makes things safer for both you and me. Aww, there you go, baby. I like your boxers. What brand are those?”
“Mack Weldon.”
“Give me another kiss, sweetie.” Silence reigned supreme for the next several seconds, but Colt envisioned what was happening. Pamela was either on her knees or crouching in front of Charlie with latex gloves on and shining her trusty halogen flashlight along the length of his penis and testicles. Charlie, he imagined, was glancing up at the ceiling, tense as could be.
Pamela had voiced major protests about having to do this with clients, but Colt insisted it be part of the safety protocol. “There are other ways to perform a dick check without making the customer all awkward,” she’d complain. “I can do one in ways they wouldn’t even realize it’s being done. If you’re a virgin, for example, would you want the first time you show your dick to a woman to be with her shining a flashlight at it and looking for an infection?”
“We’re not changing the house policy, Pamela,” Colt would tell her. “Period. End of discussion.”
When Charlie let out an excited growl, Pamela wrapped his cock up in a wet wipe soaked with rubbing alcohol and offered a few brisk strokes.
She’s sliding its tip along her cleavage, too, Colt thought. Pamela had plenty of tricks up her sleeve to make the process less stressful. Everything needed to be positive, especially for older virgins like Charlie.
“All good, baby. Put your pants back on. Let’s go out and visit the bartender and he’ll handle the financial details. You can take a quick shower afterward and I’ll prepare my room for our date.” She pressed yet another kiss beside his ear and said, “I’m going to make you feel like a million bucks today.”
“Okay.” His heart hammered with a frantic beat. “I like the sound of that.”
“Will you be paying with cash or credit?”
“Credit.”
“There’s a five percent surcharge for credit. So, the total will be eighteen hundred and ninety dollars. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s no problem.”
“If you want, Colt will run and snag us takeout from Tesoro’s Restaurant and Lounge on Third Street. It’s Italian and delicious. There’s a menu at the bar. You can order whatever you like. You’ll have to pay for it, though that can be done after the party. I’d love to snuggle in bed and enjoy lunch with you. Hmmmmm, that would be so romantic.”
Colt shoved out from behind the bar in a sudden, furious rage, uncharacteristic for him, and raked his fingers through his hair as he paced in the lobby.
“Would it be okay if I spoon-fed you?”
Pamela grinned with all her teeth. “Of course. You can do whatever you want, Charlie.” She seized his lips in the next heartbeat. “I’m game for anything today.”
“Oh, that’s excellent, sweetheart, because there are plenty of things I want to do to you. And you to me. But for starters, we’ll pretend it’s an actual date, so Colt can go fetch us some lunch.”
(End of Chapter Two – to be continued)
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