“Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to pull over? There’s a rest stop about a mile up the road.”
“No, no. I’m fine. I really am.” Lindsay Anastacio pressed her forehead to the passenger side window and rubbed two fingertips against her shut eyes. Despite claiming otherwise, she did what she could to combat the torment swirling through her as Jim Mayer drove his 2018 Audi A3 sedan along U.S. Route 50 toward the town of Oakfall near the Nevada-Utah border. Lindsay’s excitement for a daylong shopping spree had been ruined by the harsh reality check she received first thing this morning at the Sulaco County Sheriff’s Department.
“Hi. I’d like to apply for a sheriff’s card.”
Once the older, heavyset woman behind the counter realized Jim was accompanying Lindsay, darkness crossed her eyes, and her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “You’re wanting to work at the brothel? Get a job there?”
“Yes.”
She snapped a desk drawer shut. “Have you applied for a sheriff's card before?”
Lindsay pivoted her torso to the side in an act of self-preservation. “Umm, no.”
The woman treated her with a look of unmitigated fury but still handed the paperwork over. “You're so young. So pretty. Why do you want to throw your life away and become a good-for-nothing whore? Is that something to strive for? To be proud of?” She spat the words out through gritted teeth. “How could you do this to yourself? To your family? Have you no respect for them?”
Lindsay wanted to run off and hide, to cry and scream, but her body became petrified stone as she clutched Jim like he was her lifeline. No one had ever belittled her quite like this.
“It’s wonderful to see you again too, Irene,” Jim said in a sarcastic tone. Protective instincts took over as he guided Lindsay back to the lobby. “The law in these parts doesn’t approve of us. Just fill out the application. They’ll fingerprint you and run a background check, and you'll talk to a social worker – the county wants to be certain no one is forcing you into this – and then you'll be approved for your card and we'll be on our way. Won't be long.”
“All whores go to Hell!” Irene had to land a parting shot. “You’re going to burn forever because of this!”
Lindsay gasped again, this time at the memory of those words, as her head smacked into the cold, hard glass. For a split second she gazed at Jim, his brow furrowed, then leaned forward and covered her face with both hands while struggling to maintain her dignity.
After a minute, Lindsay sensed the vehicle slow down and come to a complete stop. She lifted her eyes and again glanced at Jim.
“Contrary to what you’re telling me, you’re not okay.” He put the vehicle into park. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on? Are you still upset about what happened at the sheriff’s office earlier?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m upset!” Lindsay undid her seat belt, opened the door, and staggered out to the parking lot. Her hands shook like she was freezing and she clamped them underneath her armpits, despite the July sun searing the asphalt pavement all around her.
Jim had pulled over at a rest stop about fifteen minutes from the state border which offered travel info, washrooms, and vending machines. Lindsay plopped down on the curb.
There within seconds, Jim nestled so close their shoulders bumped. His hand gripped her wrist and their eyes connected. “I told you earlier, you can’t let Irene affect you. She’s a mean old bitch who lives alone because no one wants her, and she’s jealous of you. She wishes she was as young and gorgeous as you.”
Ignoring what happened was easier said than done. Mean old bitch or not, that woman shed an alternative light on Lindsay’s situation. Was accepting a job at Happy Ending Ranch the right move? When her medical results came back this morning and she was cleared to work, Lindsay was sky-high with excitement. But now, mere hours later, it had been replaced with overwhelming doubt. Do I really want to go through with this? Her stomach quivered, the knots tightening and creating a stranglehold.
What right does that hag have to talk to me like that? Back in Citronelle, things were different. Lindsay was on a first-name basis with over half the town because she worked at the fairgrounds every summer. A monumental event for the community, all the residents enjoyed it. She always met them with cheerfulness and was never impolite. Her parents raised her to be respectful of everyone, especially her elders. Mom says a smile is the best makeup any girl can wear.
This whole harebrained scheme of leaving home at eighteen for a controversial job could end in so many horrible ways. What if Lindsay made a misstep and got thrown in jail? The head honcho in town, Sheriff Spaeth, held a vendetta against the brothel and its employees. Being arrested would be terrible but would pale in comparison to her parents ever finding out why she'd left everything behind in California and run off to Nevada.
Whore.
The term hit hard. Being called one shook Lindsay to her roots and provided her first reality check for the new life she’d chosen. It was taboo to say that word in the industry, but in all fairness, it was the truth. I am a whore. Not yet, but soon.
Lindsay hadn't heard the other ladies use it yet. They referred to themselves as working girls, working ladies, courtesans, or providers. Those terms sounded somewhat acceptable. Colt mentioned “prostitute” a few times yesterday but said it was a dirty word too. Not as dirty as whore, though.
Did Lindsay want to lie on a bed and let a random man fuck her for a living? Once his time was up, chances are there'd be another waiting to use her next. Scarlett said this past Saturday, she had sex with eight different guys over fourteen hours.
Eight. Different. Guys!
As much as she wanted to visit the upscale lingerie boutique in Oakfall that Pamela recommended, Lindsay needed to compose herself before getting back into the car. “I’m gonna use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
Though no one else was inside, Lindsay locked herself in a stall, anyway, and breathed in deep, labored breaths. Tears sparkled in her eyes. Seriously, am I cut out for this?
*
“You're awfully quiet. It’s unusual for you. Haven’t said much of anything since we left the rest stop.”
Lindsay startled as she whirled to face Jim. She grated her teeth into a smile and hoped it didn't appear as anxious as she felt. “I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”
Driving on the highway, Jim swept the hair on his forehead back as he took a moment to inspect Lindsay. Oakfall waited at the next turnoff. She’d gone to the sheriff’s station in a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting checkered blouse to maintain her modesty and not rouse any suspicions.
But once they got out of Flagstone, Lindsay stripped down in the front seat to skintight denim shorts with frayed edges and a fluorescent orange halter top that clutched her nubile form in all the right places. Sexy was an understatement. In all his thirty-five years of working at the house, Jim had never seen a woman as stunning as Lindsay.
Even better, she was untouched with zero experience. Screwing her boyfriend back in high school meant nothing. Lindsay was as pure as the driven snow, yet also rife for the picking. Innocent until proven filthy? In time, this gal would be a popular commodity – a featured attraction – for the brothel.
But only if things stayed positive and people like Irene were kept out of her life.
Jim was quick to realize yesterday that Lindsay wasn't the stereotypical girl who sought work at the ranch. She had a wonderful, close-knit family and was raised the proper way. Outsiders would never believe that. Sad, but true. Lindsay didn't come from a fractured home. There were no past hardships to speak of. She'd never been beaten or molested by her father.
The fact was, most of the ladies who'd come and gone over the years at Happy Ending Ranch had decent backgrounds. They’re normal girls. It was a misconception amongst the ignorant masses that every working girl was abused by her dad and up to her eyeballs on drugs.
That's the only reason she chose this life, right? Hahaha! She'll be dead in five or six years from an overdose.
In reality, no, that wasn't the case. Still, Jim admitted there were a few who'd been through some difficult struggles, whether at home or otherwise. Like women and men in every line of work. Doctors, lawyers, construction workers, you name it. And yes, prostitutes too.
“Where are some of your favorite places to hike?” Jim could have said he realized Lindsay was in a negative frame of mind and asked if she wanted to discuss it. But there was a better way to go about this. He could tell she was rattled over what happened earlier and now second-guessed her decision to leave the sanctity of her family. I don’t want her to bail on us and go running home. Courtesans obtaining their sheriff's card through Irene (and her sharp tongue) was a necessary evil.
What’s worse, it needed to be renewed every six months.
Lindsay tucked one leg beneath her. Last evening, Jim inquired about her interests so he could list them on her biography page for the website. Lindsay mentioned that, more than anything else, she loved to hike.
“The Clouds-to-Cactus Trail, without a doubt. My dad and I hike it two times a year.”
“Clouds-to-Cactus Trail? Where's that located?”
“California. It begins in Palm Springs and ascends over ten thousand feet to San Jacinto Peak.” Lindsay blinked at Jim a couple of times before adding, “It's twenty-one miles long and can be difficult for beginners, but Dad and I have hiked it so many times it's old news for us these days.” She put her hands behind her head. “We're pros.”
“Impressive. I used to go hiking a lot back in the day.” Man, I haven’t done any of that in thirty years. Where did all the time go? It just flew by. “Two miles up, huh? I bet it's freezing cold when you get to the top, even in the middle of summer.” Or is it? He didn't know.
Jim glanced at Lindsay again, torn between his professionalism and a potent desire. He was elated earlier when Colt requested he be her chauffeur for the day. Jim assumed Colt would want to drive Lindsay to Oakfall himself but opted to spend time with Pamela instead. Those two need more time together. They can never have enough. “Twenty-one miles, huh? How long does it take to hike?”
“It's an all-day hike. Sixteen hours. We only hike it in May and October when the conditions are favorable. In the summer, it's not advised because the temperature reaches one hundred and twenty degrees.” She rubbed the base of her neck where her pulse beat in spasms seconds ago. “At one point, there's no water for eight miles. I ain’t cappin’. We tried this past December on a whim, on my birthday, but it was a bad idea. The higher altitudes were covered in snow and ice. Dad didn't want to risk it, so we turned back. The summit was negative-ten degrees.”
“I have a friend who likes to mountain climb west of Vegas,” Jim said. “In the springtime, the ground is hot and sunny, he says, but at the top of the peak there could be a blizzard going on.”
Lindsay raised an eyebrow. “Mount Charleston?”
Jim glanced at her sideways. “How’d you know?”
“I've always wanted to hike there. Its elevation is higher than Clouds-to-Cactus.”
“Then why haven't you?”
Lindsay pivoted and gazed out the window with an emotionless stare. “My parents are the type who never want to leave home. Driving twenty-five or thirty miles east to Palm Springs has always been a major family outing. Basically, they never leave Citronelle.” She wiped her sniffy nose with a tissue and refocused on Jim. “I've only been to Los Angeles twice, though it's one hundred and forty miles away, and San Diego once. We went to the zoo when I was a kid. I've seen the beach one time. That's it.”
“Ouch.” Jim grimaced, reached over, and patted the back of her hand. “Sounds like you’ve led a sheltered life. I feel for ‘ya.”
Lindsay stretched her lips. “I was determined to bust out of town after high school and find something new and exciting to do.”
“Like becoming a sex worker in a brothel?”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “The industry has always intrigued me.”
Jim enjoyed talking with turnouts like this and learning about their backstories. No two were ever the same.
“I've been doing lots of reading on it this past year, wanting to make an informed decision, and have a lot of respect for all working girls.” She lifted her hand in explanation. “I find it amazing what they do, what they offer. Mad props to them. I realize it won't be easy, but there's the opportunity for major money. I can save up for college. And who knows? Take a trip or two around the world too.” She glared out the window once more, silent for several seconds. “Neither would be possible if I continued to sling corn dogs for the rest of my life.”
Jim cracked up with laughter. “You hated that job, huh? You've mentioned … your disdain … for it a couple of times.”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug.
“We're glad you chose Happy Ending Ranch, but did you ever consider anything else? Something like stripping? Webcamming?”
“I did.” She let loose with a lopsided grin. “Stripping, at least, yes. Webcamming never crossed my mind. There is a strip club in San Diego I did a lot of reading up on too. But in the end, I thought escorting would be more enjoyable. More money too. Besides, I wouldn't like working in a loud, hectic strip club. I've never been much for teasing. I like action. There are drugs and dangerous temptations, horrible people, everywhere in them. Brothels are stricter – they are forced to be because they're regulated by the state – and working at one seemed, I don't know, safer.”
“You won't have any problems at Happy Ending Ranch. Colt runs a tight ship. Much tighter than his father ever did. Take Nicolette, for example. She's worked at every brothel in Nevada and says ours is her favorite. Sahara and Riley have been offered jobs closer to Vegas, but they always decline, though the potential for money is greater there. They love Colt and the fact he lets them be themselves.
“Those brothels in the populated areas such as Vegas, Reno, Carson City, customers are treated like they’re on an assembly line. It's robotic and a bottom-line business, and those girls will stab you in the back if it suits them. Here, and at other smaller houses, girls cheer each other on. There are petty conflicts, sure, but Colt prefers a family-style atmosphere. Ours is a no-drama house. He takes care of all the girls and they take care of one another too.”
“I like the sound of that.” Lindsay’s face was beaming as she enjoyed the desert scenery. The dance of sunlight across immense, wide-open spaces and endless mountain ranges made the natural environment of Nevada a sight to behold. Many tourists didn’t realize the state offered so much more beyond the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas. “When I did my research on the Internet, people said Happy Ending Ranch had the chill vibe you speak of. It was a determining factor in me coming here. Pamela mentioned yesterday other brothels try to steal her away too.”
Jim chuckled. “A waste of time, wouldn't you agree? Pamela isn't going anywhere.”
“Since you mentioned Sahara and Riley, I must admit, I think their relationship is wonderful. I'd like to work with them one day. You know, party.” Lindsay blew out a breath. “It takes a lot of guts to want to have a traditional wedding ceremony in a church like they do and invite all their friends and family too.” Her complexion paled. “I mean, if it were me, I'd be scared to death to tell my family I was in love with another girl, let alone invite them to the wedding.”
“It takes guts and is brave on their part,” Jim said. “But it also shows how much they love and care for each other. Sahara and Riley are proud of what they have and want their friends and families to know it.”
“What about you, Jim? Does Colt take care of you too? The two chefs, maintenance, the bartenders? I had a good talk with Jenn last night; we were vibing at the bar.”
“Colt takes care of all his employees. He’s a great, great boss. I wouldn't trade what I do for anything. No position, no amount of money.” Jim offered another hearty laugh. “I put in seventy or eighty hours a week, but it's not a job to me. I don’t consider it a job.”
Lindsay made a face. “Okurrr. …”
“Honestly, I don’t.” He rolled his head to work out the kinks in his shoulder. “Since we were talking about stripping, there'll be times when a customer will ask for a sexy striptease and lap dance from you. Don't worry, though. Pamela will prepare you for every scenario during your training this week.”
“I don't have the faintest idea on how to give a lap dance.”
Lindsay was a downright doll, without question, but Jim wasn't interested in her that way. No, his heart belonged to Cierra Vazquez (Kenzie), and he was bound and determined, one way or another, to finally win her over … even if it took until the end of time.
“You don't need to know how to give one. It doesn't matter. Just do it. Guys don't come to us looking for a lap dance or striptease. They want the full package. All you'd have to do during a lap dance is bump and grind your body a bit, get up close and personal, and touch yourself. Any man will be eating out of the palm of your hand in seconds. Don't worry, Pamela will teach you everything.”
*
Hmmmmm, Pamela. The corners of Lindsay's mouth quirked up.
It astonished her that she harbored such a massive crush on Pamela. They'd only met yesterday, and more surprisingly, Pamela was a woman. Sure, Lindsay had been curious about the idea of hooking up and having sex with another woman for years. How many times had she fingered herself in her private moments and fantasized about Evie, her best friend, back home? I did that the other night at the hotel. Or used her dildo and imagined it was Evie fucking her with a strap-on instead?
But Lindsay's attraction for Pamela was already a million times more intense. How is that possible? I mean, seriously? Pamela had been so gracious since the moment they laid eyes on each other yesterday. She’s just a wonderful human being with a huge heart. Pamela exuded a magnetic energy unlike anyone Lindsay had ever seen. For real, she drippin’. Pamela went out of her way, too, to make Lindsay feel welcomed and comfortable,
Lindsay wasn't accustomed to another woman being this amicable. Most of her female classmates in high school had been catty and just plain jealous. What a bunch of haters. Pamela was a toucher and her fingers often glided along Lindsay's shoulders, her back, or her forearms. It wasn't blatant and didn't seem intentional – it's who Pamela was, Lindsay believed. How many tender kisses did Pamela sneak to her arm and shoulder yesterday? I’ll be fantasizing about her instead of Evie from now on.
Pamela partook in a one-hour GFE with an older gentleman last evening. Since they had neighboring rooms, Lindsay heard every word (and every passionate grunt) between Pamela and her paying client through the thin walls separating them. I was so jealous of that boomer.
Poor Lindsay had no choice but to go all-out and fuck herself with her dildo. Imagine if it was Pamela fucking me instead, even dominating me, with a strap-on. Oh God. That would be so lit. Lindsay came three times listening to the man laying the proverbial wood to Pamela. When she would shriek in pleasure, Lindsay closed her eyes and fantasized it was her, not the client, delivering those sensations instead. What a lucky guy.
Overall, it was a troublesome night since she wasn't permitted to leave her bedroom after eight o'clock unless she had to use the restroom. Lindsay wasn't medically cleared and hadn’t received her sheriff's card yet, so Colt insisted she stay out of sight. Zero chill, bruh. Zero chill. Business was hopping and the last thing he wanted was for a customer to see Lindsay and wind up disappointed because she couldn't work yet.
But Lindsay hadn't been thinking about work.
After the customer left, she had the urge to go into Pamela's bedroom and find out what it was like to go down on a woman. Sure, Lindsay wouldn't have a clue and may wind up slobbering everywhere, but she didn't care. The eighteen-year-old wanted to dive right into Pamela's pussy and, if she had her way, feast until the wee hours of the morning. I'd love to give Pamela an orgasm.
Lindsay considered doing just that but didn't know if it would be grounds for termination since Colt instructed her to stay put. She almost texted Pamela and asked her to come into her bedroom instead, but didn't have the nerve. I'm falling in love with her.
