Not every customer understands this is a fantasy world. They’re supposed to, but some don’t. It’s not their fault. We don’t offer a handbook to go by.
“Pfft.” Scarlett swatted the air and put her phone away. “I remember what Sammy told me when I had my first party with him three years ago. I was still new to the brothel scene. Sammy said visiting a brothel, to him, is sport fucking. It’s a hobby, nothing more than a fantasy. Sammy compared it to picking up a chick in a bar for a one-night stand. He said he loves coming to brothels but loves his wife more.”
“I wish all our customers were like Sammy. He gets it. All the other old-timers do too.” Pamela plodded to the window facing the backyard. “The worst-case scenario happens and Charlie becomes obsessive, maybe a stalker, I’m safe here, right? We all are.” She turned back toward Scarlett. “The brothel is under airtight lockdown and the sheriff’s station is less than a quarter-mile away.” Get that thought out of your head, girlfriend. Charlie is not a stalker. He’s one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met.
Pamela bent the truth when she was entertaining Charlie in recent days. She claimed to be single and still looking for love. But Pamela was a working girl and that was her right. Pamela figured if she told clients she was happily married, it would detract from their fantasy and overall enjoyment, and hurt the chances of repeat business with them.
Colt encouraged Pamela years ago never to tell a client she was married or had a boyfriend. He suggested the same to all his employees. Sure, some hardcore regulars who’d been coming here for years, like Sammy, knew Pamela was married (and to who). But every single one of them respected both Pamela and Colt enough not to go on the bulletin board and blab to the masses.
A few of Scarlett’s most ardent customers, for example, were aware she had a fiancé back home in Cincinnati (Sammy, Steve, and Bob – the three she sees away from work (illegally)). Scarlett told everyone else who asked that she was single and happy. “It’s impossible to have a relationship working in a brothel. I tried but gave up. When I retire from the business, I’m sure I’ll find someone. Besides, I don’t need a boyfriend. I receive all the action I could ever want here at work.”
If Randy knew Scarlett was engaged, she feared he would never want to be with her again. It would destroy his fantasy. Randy annoyed her with his talk of commitment and honeymooning, but the bottom line was, he was an easy $350 on Scarlett’s paycheck each tour (and an Amazon gift card on top of it).
Why would she risk that by telling the truth? It wasn’t Scarlett’s job to tell the truth. Besides, she believed no customer had the right to know anything about her private life anyway. It was none of their business.
How many of them had lied to her over the years about their own private lives?
But Scarlett didn’t care if they lied. Her motto for this job and the way she dealt with her customers was simple: “I don’t know these men, I don’t want to know these men, and I could give a rat’s ass about these men.”
Scarlett had learned, in this business, shutting out her feelings was necessary for survival and the only way to keep her sanity. She trained herself to tolerate situations that were otherwise intolerable to her healthier instincts. She also learned to control any voluntary impulses johns may find off-putting, such as anger, shock, repulsion, and even vomiting.
Scarlett developed an expertise in these and other similar skills and became the highest grossing earner Happy Ending Ranch had. Although she’d only been at the house since 2015, Scarlett had over a decade’s worth of experience as a streetwalker and traveling escort. After her son was born in 2006, times were tough. Scarlett lived in her car for eight months and thought she had nowhere else to turn to for money.
Faking orgasms with her clients was an art form, a talent that took countless hours of work to perfect. Concentrating on doing it right, putting all the energy into the vocal sounds, shakes, moans, watching all the porn she could find to study the women’s acting, thinking of new and interesting dirty talk, and forcing herself to sweat wasn’t as easy as many outsiders believed. In Scarlett’s mind, sex work was abhorrent, an unpleasant workout with a creepy guy she didn’t know.
Pamela, of course, preferred being honest during her parties, but had to draw the line somewhere. I’ve never faked anything with a client, orgasm or otherwise. Pamela was not about to divulge any sensitive information to anyone either.
And certain things, such as her dating and marital status, would get fabricated. There’s a reason I tell my clients I’m from Miami instead of Baltimore.
Scarlett closed the distance between them, hugged Pamela, and kissed her on the forehead. “Colt won’t let anything bad happen to you, sweetie. Not only are you one hundred percent safe in this house, but you’re safe wherever you go because Colt is always protecting you. I love my fiancé, Jason, but I must admit you struck gold with Colt. He’s the perfect man for you. You’re a lucky girl and you’re safe with him.”
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“Dammit!” Lindsay bounced her cell phone off the bed. Her muscles were tense, her pulse pounding. “Why isn’t he responding?” She bit her lip, her head vibrating.
It was Friday evening and Lindsay, confined to her bedroom, was still serving her two-day suspension. Thanks a fucking ton, Colt, you asshole. I feel like I’m in jail! Veins popping in her neck, the young woman was agitated because the lineup buzzer had been going off all day and she was missing out on a host of potential clients. I don’t know why you gotta be so super sketch with me.
Even if she had two one-hour parties at the house minimum, that would be $500 in profit. How am I going to afford a car at this rate? There was no way in hell she’d stay at the Twin Tops Motel down the street during her mandatory week off in August. I’d be all alone and would go insane. Lindsay’s number one priority was to have an automobile so she could go on a road trip to somewhere exciting, like Vegas. I want to skurt-skurt off to The Strip and hang out with some cute guys.
But how would that be possible without a car? Why does nothing good ever happen to me? Life was so unfair. I’d leave this dump and snag a job at one of the Reno houses if it wasn’t for Pamela. She’s the only reason I’m still here.
Fuck you, Colt! I don’t know why you hate me.
Being suspended was one thing (and Lindsay was convinced she did nothing to warrant it), but not yet having received a response from Sammy after the emotional e-mail she sent him yesterday afternoon was far worse. I wrote him over twenty-four hours ago! Why hasn’t he written back? Is he mad at me for something too?
Lindsay picked up her smartphone and refreshed its mailbox again. Nothing, still! What the fuck? She slammed it back to the mattress.
Lindsay harbored some irrational thoughts of her own as she’d taken a strong liking to her first-ever client. Never mind the fact that forty years separated them and Sammy was married and lived 330 miles away in Salt Lake City, but Lindsay found herself in love with him.
He fucked her so long and hard three nights ago – like a real man should – and one of Lindsay’s greatest fantasies was to be in a long-term relationship with a far more experienced, domineering lover.
Between their bouts of hardcore fucking, Lindsay and Sammy cuddled and talked in bed or the bathtub, or she was submerged on his lap, and they made out. He offered multiple lessons on how to give a blowjob and what men enjoyed most out of them. Sammy called me an overactive chatterbox and said I need a dick in my mouth at all times. He also fucked her in several unique positions.
Those were the most amazing three hours of Lindsay’s young life, bar none. Her body had a desperate craving for more. It ached to be with Sammy again, his hands, his mouth, exploring everywhere; his hips slamming against her ass, his cock fucking her. Being with Sammy was beyond anything she’d experienced with her ex-boyfriend, Zack. This strong, dominant man had taken her, no questions asked, and bent her to his will.
“You are a bad girl, Kayleigh. You know that, I know that, and Pamela and Colt know that. It’s why they hired you.” At those words, Lindsay’s gag reflex was being tripped as Sammy thrusted his cock all the way into the back of her throat, causing her to drool, and for her nose and eyes to run. Lindsay’s body, her soul, her nature, was being turned upside-down. “You are the type of girl men like me will pay top dollar for. You can pretend that you’re sweet, you’re innocent, but both you and I know you need me to fuck you tonight much more than I need to fuck you myself. In all seriousness, you should be paying me.”
What had this devilish creature done to her? Lindsay wanted Sammy. She wanted him so badly she considered typing out another e-mail and begging him to come visit her again. Or maybe I could go visit him in Utah instead during my week off? That would be dope. She wanted Sammy to hold her down, to pin her in place, even tie her to the bed. He had helped implant these thoughts by the nasty things he said. Lindsay wanted his dick in her – her mouth, her wet, squirting pussy, perhaps her virgin ass too. Let it hurt. I hope it does and I don’t care if it’s against the house’s rules. She wanted Sammy to seize control, to own her in every sense of the word. Take me away, rescue me from my boring life and unappreciative boss, and make me your personal whore.
Lindsay trembled.
I’ve forever had the fantasy of having a Daddy Dom. An older, kind, benevolent man who’d protect me, guide me, shower me with love and affection, but also put me over his knee for a spanking and fuck the living shit out of me whenever he saw fit. I’d never say no or resist. I’d be at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day.
Lindsay slipped a hand beneath her purple G-string panties and twiddled at her clitoris with a pair of fingers. Oh, that feels delightful. Reclining on her side, sensations flooded her in waves as she pulled a knee to her chest and anchored it in place. “Please write me back, Sammy. Please!” She shifted her fingers to a more taboo, shameful spot, and rubbed away. Hmm, oh God. Could I ever admit to anyone I play with my anus every time I masturbate too? The speed of Lindsay’s fingers increased, and with her opposite hand, she reached for her trusty, steel-encased dildo, and licked her lips in anticipation….
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Pamela forged a cheerful smile as she sashayed out to the front lobby wearing her trademark platform high heels at seven o’clock. Business had been booming today, though she’d only booked a single party herself. With a little luck, she’d have a few more before closing time.
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