What the hell was she doing? Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Pamela McCarron 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? The laptop monitor was an unmitigated blur as Pamela attempted to focus on the task at hand. But that was easier said than done. 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 what time it was. Pamela was beat and had accidentally dozed off twice in the past half-hour.

Perhaps when she finally receives medical clearance to return to her “real job” next week, Pamela’s energy level will go back to normal. Bookkeeping duties and performing other odd chores around the ranch certainly wasn’t her forte. I’m the top girl this house has, the featured attraction. She absently tapped a finger on her cell phone 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 mounting, 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.

Considering she’d been a prostitute for twelve years, this profession provided her a comfort zone that she’d lacked so badly 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 Colt and didn’t want to start now.

Her hands drifted down her chest, across her breasts, and she inhaled a sharp breath at the sensations coursing through her. Next week, finally, Pamela wouldn’t have to rely on herself like this. Colt is Colt; he’s a helluva man but treats me with kid gloves, especially these past few months. It would be monger’s hands, their mouths, gliding over her skin instead. Maybe all I need is a good, hardcore fucking. Her lips tilted upward. It would be decadent, sinful. Pamela had to reclaim her innate sensuality.

Her identity.

There sure had been a flurry of activity around the house since it opened yesterday morning. It was pure pandemonium, very atypical for a Monday. Customers began showing up immediately, 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 slamming 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 puzzled gaze toward Jim – What are these guys doing in my house? – and his eyes widened as 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 and his house manager shot him an innocent shrug. “Hey, bud, don’t look at me. They weren’t soused to the eyeballs when they showed up.”

Pamela shivered as she recalled the incident. I’m not looking forward to dealing with customers like them again. She wouldn’t have to – that was the hope, at least – as 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 as well, but ineligible to work and share the burden until their lab results came back in the morning. It’s been a rough day and I feel sorry for the six girls we have on duty.

Grimacing and chewing her lip, Pamela sat at the study desk in the converted bedroom she and Colt shared and glanced out the window. I wish I could’ve worked tonight and helped spread out the responsibilities too.

The temperature had 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 back in Maryland.

She cinched the pink Hello Kitty 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. Barely able to shuffle her feet, the nineteen-year-old made her way to the closest chair and, clutching her abdomen, doubled over and nearly vomited. Oh, no. Pamela snapped to attention because she knew 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 had partied throughout the day and into the evening for nine hours with five different mongers. She’d 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 compensate her fairly, 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 knew the discomfort Angelia felt. She knew it all too well, unfortunately.

“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 assisted her 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 and held Angelia as she cried.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take! This job is nothing like Lindsay told me it would be. I knew it would be physically demanding but didn’t realize how mentally it would be too.” Fresh tears rolled down Angelia’s cheeks as she 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 great, I cannot lie, but I’m not accustomed to 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 back in September and was initially 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 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 from Starbucks when you wake up. How does that sound?” Pamela was doing 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 other ladies 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 did finish 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 swirled 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 whispered, “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 as she found stability, settling next to him on the mattress. “Thank you.”

“Very much my type.”

“Nice.” Evie dabbed at the moisture developing on her forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be.” His arm curled and brought her against his lanky frame. One firm, masculine hand caressed her upper 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 was lifting the hem of Evie’s black minidress, gathering it, so that she’d be exposed in 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’d 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 as 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’d just had sex a few weeks ago with her third guy ever and the three of them were going to be her last normal sex for a long, long time. Don’t think of it as prostitution. She recalled the advice Lindsay gave her prior to her in-house 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, maybe.”

“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 get 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.”

“Okay.”

“And I, I’m a sub. A submissive.”

He grinned. “I can tell.” There was a momentary pause. “Enjoy both giving and receiving oral sex?”

She nodded eagerly.

“How about spanking?”

Another nod, though this one not quite as pronounced.

“Nipple pinching?”

“Yes,” she said timidly.

“Tossing you around, basically manhandling you?”

“Yes.”

“What other stuff are you into?”

“Hmm. I think you got it covered.”

“Yeah? Good. 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 special little outfit for you to wear.”

“Really?” She sat up straight. “Is that how this usually works?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes, clients can put in special 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 pulled out 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 very fitting for what I want.”

Nicolette held up a finger. “How much are you willing to pay?” Negotiating a suitable price for Evie was her reason for being here. It was, after all, the most important aspect of any turnout’s on-the-job training. In time, hopefully, Evie would learn how to be a shrewd negotiator, too, able to maximize her profits. “And how long of a party are you looking for?”

“An hour.” Cool, calm, and collected, thirty-one-year-old Lucas Morrison was a seasoned whoremonger who frequented brothels not only here in Nevada, but all over the world. To him, this was a hobby. An expensive hobby, yes, but well worth it.

A self-made Internet entrepreneur, Lucas had neither the time nor the patience for a “real” relationship. Sex workers – especially young turnouts like Evie – helped satiate his deviant cravings. “How about seven hundred dollars?”

Nicolette inclined her head. “Can you do eight hundred? You said you’re interested in a bit of roughhousing.” Evie’s lips pressed into a firm line and her throat rippled as Nicolette added, “That typically drives the price up, you know.”

“I’ll do seven-fifty. No more,” he conceded. “That’s more than I usually pay at Happy Ending Ranch but, as I said, since this is her first time, I’m willing to offer more.”

“Does seven-fifty sound agreeable to you, Angelia?”

Angelia. It would take a little time to adjust to the working name Evie’s new boss, Colt, insisted she use. It’s the title of some retro song from forever ago my dad likes. “Yes, Nicolette. Seven-fifty is fine.” Evie’s heart fluttered and her big brown eyes sparkled. That’s three hundred and seventy-five dollars in my pocket. Since when did her dignity have a price tag attached to it?

“Do you have any questions about what I want?”

“I think I got it.”

“You think you got it. Good.” Lucas brushed the hair away from Evie’s cheek before kissing her temple. “After my party with Angelia, Nicolette, I’d like to hook up for an hour with you too. It’s been a year since we last saw each other. That is, if you’re available.”

Nicolette flashed a megawatt smile. “Oh, I’ll make sure I’m available.” His name, dang it, what was it again? Landon? Larry? Nicolette forgot, but it didn’t matter. She would cover and make do. “I’ve always loved partying with you, big boy. You’re one of my favorite clients.”

Lucas refocused on Evie. “Let’s go over and take care of business at the booking office and then we’ll get started.”

“Yes, yes. Sounds good to me.” Evie’s brain whirled at the X-rated possibilities that lie in wait. Do I really want to do this? If she took this step, there was no turning back. Ever. “I … I’m looking forward to it.” Where is Lindsay? Why isn’t she here? Despite the way she had prepared for this moment over the past several months with all the in-depth discussions and coaching from her BFF, Evie was still wracked with shame, mortified about the next phase of her life as a luxury companion for hire.

… A whore.

<> <> <> <> <> 

Four Months Earlier (FLASHBACK)

 “I saw your text to Gabrielle. You asked her back to your place so you could fuck her.”

“What? You saw my text?”

“Yes.”

“Babe, you’re wrong. I was hanging out last night, chillin’ with Zack from three o’clock until well past midnight.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear. Don’t you trust me?”

“No!” Evie said to her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Clancy Tompkins, over the telephone as she sat cross-legged on her bed in Citronelle, California. Evie ground her teeth and clenched her jaw so tight, it hurt. How many times would she allow Clancy to stab her in the back like this before deciding enough was enough? “No, that’s why I couldn’t find you last night.”

“Zack and I, we …”

“Bullshit! That’s like the fifth time you’ve cheated on me.”

“Five times? No way.”

“No, Clancy, it’s been five times.” Her voice was low and toxic. “Fuck you.”

“Who, then? Tell me.”

“With Jenna, after the Palm Springs trip.” Evie’s shoulders dropped with a sigh. “And what about that skank Rebecca from Hollywood?”

“Rebecca?”

“Hmm-mmm.”

“Don’t know her.”

“Dude, you’re a fucking liar!”

“But that was just one time with Rebecca.”

“No, you were fucking her for weeks!”

“Yeah, okay, fine. I admit it. But even then, that’s just two girls.”

“Oh. My. God!” She cocked her head. “Sandy?”

“You know about her?”

“Yeah. And Nikki, that pothead bitch.”

“Hmm, I remember her.”

“Including Gabrielle, that is five sluts. Fuck you, Clancy. I can’t deal with this shit any longer. Lose my fucking number!”

“Babe, wait. Let me …”

Before Clancy could plead his case, Evie ended the telephone call. What had she done to deserve this? I’ve been a good, faithful girlfriend! Blinking back tears, Evie grabbed her teddy bear and punched it. What a conniving prick! No way would she allow herself to cry over that two-timing asshole. I gave Clancy the best three years of my life and this is the thanks I get for it? She choked back a sob, anyway, and expelled a deep breath. I need to ditch Citronelle, too; get out of here.

Not knowing what else to do, Evie thumbed out a text message to Lindsay, her partner in crime since they were toddlers. That girl always seemed to have the right answer for everything.

>> Hey what are you doing? Are you busy?

Within sixty seconds, Evie received a response.

>> Waiting for Mike to get home so we can go out to dinner. What’s up?

>> Clancy has been so annoying lately and I’m really upset because of it. I need to talk to you.

>> I’ll call you in two minutes.

>> Okay thank you.

“I am so over him, Lindsay. Clancy has fucked me over for the last time. All he does is cheat on me.”

“You don’t need his negative energy in your life,” Lindsay said moments later as Evie vented her frustration over the telephone. “Trust me, you’re a lot better off without Clancy, just like I was when I finally ditched Zack. You can concentrate on yourself now.”

“I should have listened to you a long time ago. You’re my best friend.”

“There’s no need for you to put yourself through all this heartache. The best thing you can do is get your butt out of Citronelle because the world has so much more to offer. Why don’t you apply for a job at Happy Ending Ranch like I keep suggesting? C’mon, I don’t know why you’re so apprehensive about it. Though I’m not there anymore, I still have plenty of friends, and can put in a recommendation for you. Work there for a while, save some mad cheddar, and build a foundation for a better future.”

“Men are the worst. All they do is lie and cheat.” Evie’s eyes brimmed as she squelched yet another horrible sob. “I’m gonna be so lonely!”

“No, you’re not. You have me and I’m always here for you. Who’s always been your best friend?”

“You.”

“Yeah, and I’m tired of seeing you get your heart broken by that little boy. Life is so much better when you have a man, a real man, an older man with experience in your life. Not an eighteen-year-old little boy like Clancy. Me, personally, I’ve never been happier. Mike – Daddy – treats me so well. You’d meet tons of older men working at the brothel. It’s so much fun. They pay you for companionship, give you tips, gifts, and you’d have them eating out of the palm of your hand. You’d be the one in control.”

“I don’t know, Lindsay. I never … I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, becoming a prostitute is something I never once considered until you told me you’d started working at Happy Ending Ranch yourself. It’s just, I’m not that type of girl. No offense, of course. I know you met your man, your sugar daddy, there.”

“No offense taken.” Lindsay shrugged Evie’s words off. “You’re not that type of girl, huh? Am I? I still think you should do it. It’s not so bad, girlfriend. It’s the quickest way out of Citronelle since your family can’t afford your college tuition. You need to distance yourself from that shithole of a town. Seriously, you’re wasting your life away there. Nothing good will ever come out of staying in Citronelle. You could be working at the brothel, making top dollar, saving it, in just a few days. And if you don’t like it, well, you could always quit. No harm done.”

“You said Mike was paying for you and him to go on a vacation trip to Montana?” Evie grinned and bit her lip. “At Glacier National Park? God, I’d love to go hiking there, too, and see everything.” Her eyelids fluttered. “You’re so lucky, Lindsay, to have a man like that. One who pampers you, gives you money, and most of all, puts you first. I’ve told you many times: I’m so jealous of you.”

“There are plenty of men just like Mike who pass through the brothel every day. Most don’t have his level of income or wealth, no, but many would love to pamper and take care of you, too, if you give them the opportunity. Mariko, a friend of mine who works there, has six sugar daddies outside the house who shower her with money and gifts. She met them all while working at the house.

“Seriously, I think you should give the brothel a try. Open your mind, don’t be afraid to think outside the box. Jump aboard the hoe train. It ain’t so bad.” 

<> <> <> <> <>

 Four Months Later 

Shameful wet sounds came from Evie’s mouth as Lucas watched his cock come and go from it. Though she was inexperienced and lacked any true technique, plowing deep inside her like this had him close to coming regardless. “Yeah, that’s it. Let me see those eyes as I thrust my dick into your throat. Push it down. Yeah, push it down your throat. More. Yeah, gag on it. That’s okay, that’s okay. See, you can do it. It’s not all so bad.”

Lucas realized he’d have to pull out soon, but Evie’s darling, sweet-cheeks face looked so enchanting with his cock claiming it that he couldn’t find the will until the risk became too great.

“Oh, Angelia,” he said, hands gripping either side of her head and stilling its motion with his latex-sheathed erection halfway between her lips. “Are you a happy, little whore tonight?” Lucas pulled Evie’s head away from his crotch and tilted her face upward until they made eye contact.

Evie’s skin was flushed as she breathed in short, rapid bursts, relieved that the difficult duty of five minutes of excessive fellatio was paused (at least for now). Brows raised, Evie’s mouth dangled slightly open, and Lucas was witness to a pool of foam on her tongue he’d made from thrusting so diligently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, what?”

“Yes, sir, I’m a happy little whore.”

“Hmm, you seem a lot happier with my dick stuffed in your mouth.” Lucas decided to tempt fate, again pumping in and out, not minding Evie’s distressed whimpers and simply enjoying the face-fuck without a second thought. Evie had to latch onto his knees to keep from falling over as no one had ever used her mouth so roughly.

She again turned her gaze up to meet his eyes. They looked so condescending, as if he had zero care, no remorse for her, and the degradation made Evie’s stomach roil in knots. Lucas became more aroused, if that was possible, because of the obvious anxiety this fresh as a daisy turnout was experiencing combined with the sight of his cock dominating her face. The sounds she made – the wild, desperate, submissive sobs – fueled Lucas even further as he watched his rigid shaft surge in and out, imprinting his years of wisdom to help train and further educate this fledging young prostitute.

“You have one job tonight, Angelia – that’s to make me happy. You’re doing decent, this being your first time with a client and all, and one day you’re going to be a fine, fine cocksucker. But you need to impress me more; give me a reason to tell Colt that this seven hundred and fifty dollars was money well spent.” He dislodged from her mouth and took a deep, controlled breath. “Stand up.” His brows knitted when she remained rooted in place. “I said stand up … now turn around … bend over the bed.”

Evie’s body trembled as she got into position, the cheerleader’s skirt he’d gifted her pulling up to show a slice of ass cheeks peeking out from a pair of yellow panties. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as masculine fingers whisked the narrow fabric from between her pussy lips and pulled it to the left, exposing her.

“Looks like your ass is a little bruised. That’s odd; the spanking I gave you earlier was quite timid.”

“I liked it, sir,” she lied, unable to do anything to help from arching her back, intent on showing her monger she’d do whatever it took to please him.

This is my new life. Evie was being paid to take dick and would have to do it in whatever manner clients wanted from this point forward. Her face blazed at the thought of her parents ever finding out about the profession she’d taken up after moving off to Nevada against their wishes. Mom would kill me.

“Oh, your cunt looks so nice, so tight.”

Her cunt. The cunt this stranger would soon fuck. Oh, God, what I have gotten myself into? I want to go home!

Yes, you’ll be naked quite often, or wearing very, very skimpy lingerie. Evie recalled Colt’s exact words during the interview yesterday morning, the very start of this new and wicked chapter in her life. This house is safe, though, so the only people who will see you are your co-employees or potential customers. You will be a sex worker, Evie, your body a tool for men’s pleasure, and we will give you all the advice and training you need to reach your potential.

Evie had always considered herself to be a good, upstanding girl, with high morals and ethics. Yet here she was, strewn across the bed in a cheerleader’s outfit, like a drunk sorority sister, ready to be fucked by a man she met less than ninety minutes ago. Indeed, what had happened to her? How could she allow this to happen? And why did she ever agree to this in the first place? I’m not a slut like Lindsay!

Lucas took position behind her and gave Evie’s ass yet another stinging swat that aligned it for his needs. Then he pressed his pelvis against it and slid his erection into her tight vaginal passage. The sensation of Evie’s firm cheeks, pert and round in his hands, made him grunt with desire. Her inner walls clung to him as he thrust in and out, her hips jerking with erratic movements despite the discomfort, the shamefulness of the situation.

Those ongoing struggles and cries just made Lucas harder and added to his overall resolve. Moments of resistance, holding Evie tight and watching her writhe beneath him, increased his pleasure tenfold. Yet the whole time, Evie’s pussy contracted around his cock, perhaps on instinct, and she offered no verbal objections.

He wanted to be gentle, as he should be, but found it damn near impossible. With a mere sixteen minutes remaining in their party and since he was paying quite a hefty premium, Lucas needed to enforce a true fucking.

It was, after all, his right – or so he thought.

Evie’s sobs ramped up as she felt him increase his rhythm, his thrusts becoming urgent, almost violent. Her little bottom bounced against his thighs. Perched over her, Lucas could see the profile of Evie’s face – brown eyes wide, straining, smoldering as his body ravaged hers. Her hair, that long, blonde tangle, now twisted around his hand, the yellow leash which held her down. That hard cock in her pussy as all she could feel. Evie bounced so much on her tiptoes and squirmed urgently. Wet, slick sounds abounded. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open.

“Get ready, Angelia.”

Certainly, Evie wasn’t in Citronelle anymore.

Seed boiling in his scrotum, Lucas had no desire to keep himself from coming. And figuring Evie would be none the wiser considering she was a fresh turnout, not to mention the otherworldly plateau he had her on – the level of subspace – Lucas withdrew, ripped the condom off and jammed himself in balls deep, and unleashed his animalistic lust.

Indeed, his seed spurted inside her pussy. Evie’s eyes widened at the feeling, albeit unconsciously, the chaos within her mind and the way her body reacted to this hardcore fucking making her otherwise oblivious to the pulsing of semen inside her.

During his exit interview with Colt later, Lucas gave Evie two enthusiastic thumbs up, insisting that he’d received his money’s worth – and then some.

(Dumb, clueless, little skank. …) 

<> <> <> <> <>

Two Weeks Later (CURRENT DAY)

Colt and Pamela drove Evie some 175 miles south to McCarran International Airport not long after sunset on Tuesday morning. Pamela was glad Colt offered to take Evie there instead of having her rely on an expensive Uber. She had faith he would. Colt was a good guy, with a good heart, and usually saw all the girls, even the ones who flopped in the brothel like Evie did, off the right way. Word of mouth spread quickly, but so did bad publicity, and the brothel had a solid reputation because of how Colt (and Jim) treated the majority of customers and employees alike. Everyone mattered and was valued. Colt and Jim were sympathetic toward Evie and didn’t discard her after she quit like the management in many other houses would. Neither were happy, but certainly not bitter; they were professional and wished Evie the best of luck.

“Could you possibly imagine me wearing this?” Later that morning at a retail stand along the Las Vegas Strip, Pamela snatched a vintage Def Leppard t-shirt and held it against her front with mock horror in her eyes. After dropping Evie off at the airport, where she’d later board a flight for Palm Springs, Pamela and Colt decided to treat themselves to an early Christmas present and spend two days in Vegas. “I’d be dating myself with this thing on. I’m old enough as it is.”

Colt’s smile dripped off. “You’re only thirty, Pamelapalooza, and I’ll have you know Def Leppard was the bomb back in the day when I was growing up. Them, Poison, Guns ‘n Roses, Bon Jovi, Whitesnake; it didn’t get any better than that.”

Pamela cracked a smile. “You and your eighties hair bands. That’s still all you listen to.”

“Pffffft. That era of music is waaaaay better than the junk you have on your playlist. Ariana Grande, Rihanna, Pentatonix, Faodail. Really, there is no comparison.”

“I beg to differ!”

Many of the iconic hotels and tourist attractions that Las Vegas is known for are found on Las Vegas Boulevard, otherwise known as The Las Vegas Strip, which stretches from the Stratosphere Hotel on the north end to Mandalay Bay on the south. It serves as the main artery for Sin City and features famous sights, gambling, food, and fun. Hulking masses of architecture, waves of pulsing lights, scrolling video boards, dancing water fountains, a volcanic fire show, and tens of thousands of foot travelers, both day and night, are just a few of the things that make The Strip a sensory overload.

This is a party city through and through. Tourists come here with high expectations, intent on having a great time, and the energy is infectious.

“Back in 1988 when I was fourteen, I told a friend we were living in the best decade there ever will be. Nothing would ever top it. Everywhere you looked, something amazing was going on. Days and nights lasted forever. Arcade rooms all over the place, skating rinks, skipping school and getting into trouble, going to Tomcat’s Burgers on a Saturday night.” Chasing all the hot girls. “Sports were awesome back then too. Lakers and Celtics, Dodgers, the 49ers. Magic, Bird, Kareem, Jordan, Isaiah. I played running back and free safety in high school and our JV team went undefeated when I was a freshman.” Colt sloped his head to the side. “When I think of Def Leppard, I’m reminded of those days.”

“And you had a mullet back then too.” Pamela’s laughter sprinkled the desert air as she set the t-shirt down and they walked on. “Seriously, I think you should grow it back. You’d look so sexy as a forty-four-year-old man with a full-on mullet. People would come to the house to party with you instead of us girls. We’d have to buy you overalls and a John Deere hat! You’d have to be chewing on a stalk of hay at all times too.”

“Don’t tease me, woman. I may just grow it back.” Colt ruffled a hand through his high fade cut. “You never know what I’ll do. I’m full of surprises.” Why did I have that hideous thing back then, anyway? Were chicks supposed to dig it? If so, it never got him anywhere.

“And if you did, I’d cut that nasty mullet off while you’re asleep. In a heartbeat.” Pamela’s brown eyes shimmered underneath the sunlight and she flashed a wicked smile. “That’d be the end of that!”

“Whoa!” Colt suddenly exclaimed, a hitch in his step, glaring back at a dark-haired woman who’d just lashed his backside with a whip. The attractive woman, in full Dominatrix garb, twirled the whip above her head like it was a lasso and laughed as he and Pamela kept moving amid the massive throng of foot traffic.

“I’d never be a street performer like that,” Pamela said, glancing over her shoulder before refocusing on Colt with a grin. “I guess she doesn’t know your ass belongs to me.”

While such behavior in a public place was unlawful and would lead to an arrest elsewhere, Las Vegas (especially on The Strip) was an exception. All sorts of crazy things happened here, twenty-four hours a day, and most people turned the other cheek at the insanity. After all, Vegas was an overexaggerated playground for adults.

At another point, Pamela and Colt noticed an older gentleman, clearly drunk, on his hands and knees inside a water fountain – vomiting.

Nothing was out of the ordinary here.

“Do you think we should help him?”

“No,” Colt said.

Pamela wore a pair of sleek yoga pants and a button-down pullover top, its color white. It was a casual piece with a clever striped lining that gave the appearance of a separate hoodie underneath, but it was actually a single item. A drawstring clinched the striped hood over top of Pamela’s head, a nice luxury today with the temperature at forty-nine-degrees and the breeze a whispery shimmer.

She also had on a pair of black suede sneakers with 2.6” wedges hidden in them, providing a dramatic boost in height. Bright pink neon laces provided a feminine touch but also a striking contrast to the rest of her outfit.

Pamela looked so incredibly wholesome without the tight, slinky minidresses, lingerie sets, and spiked high heels that was her norm, and Colt flat-out loved it. If only this was her new norm. I prefer you this way and am not looking forward to you returning to work next week. There is no reason for you to put your health, your future, at risk. Her blonde hair in two strict, woven braids underneath the hoodie, Pamela wore velvety, berry-pink lip gloss and a single coat of mascara, both of which she hastily applied first thing this morning.

When she was at the brothel or on a modeling shoot, Pamela would get dolled up and dress for the occasion. But in her private life, she’d opt for yoga pants and a t-shirt, little to no makeup, and no heels. Thus, she rarely gave any thought to her appearance beyond simple comfort. It wasn’t like she was looking to impress anyone, such a stark contrast to her younger days when she’d fret over herself constantly.

As for Colt, he wore brown chino pants, a light blue linen shirt with a trench coat over top, and comfortable low-top white shoes. He and Pamela appeared to be the quintessential, All-American couple, two random tourists enjoying a vacation in the entertainment capital of the world.

“I remember going to see Guns ‘n Roses with you on New Year’s Eve at the Hard Rock,” Pamela said, only for her lips to twitch downward. “That was too much. What year was that? 2011?”

“You haven’t been back to a concert since.”

Pamela’s hearing had become hypersensitive in the past several years and she had to wear small sound-generating devices which looked like earplugs throughout most of the day. Her condition was so bad, in fact, that she couldn’t even go to the movies anymore. Still, Pamela loved movies (and television in general). She was in the process of binge-watching all seven seasons of Dexter, a crime-themed drama that once aired on the Showtime network, and was addicted to true crime documentaries as well. And like a lot of people these days, she loved all the new Marvel movies.

Unfortunately, Pamela couldn’t see any of them until they came out on digital or DVD. Colt was a movie buff, too, but refused to go to the theater anymore because of his wife’s illness. She suffered from hyperacusis, a hearing disorder that makes it difficult to deal with everyday sounds. Certain sounds could be painfully loud, though most people wouldn’t notice them. The hum of a refrigerator, for example, a bird chirping, a running faucet, a ceiling fan, a door squeaking when opening, or the crackling of a fireplace. At times, the simplest of noises pummeled Pamela’s eardrums into sheer agony. She’d been to all kinds of therapists over the years, had acupuncture and various other treatments, took different medicines, and did relaxation exercises daily.

She’d only recently began to feel relief with the sound generators – the lookalike earplugs – buzzing in her ears. The general theory is that listening to a constant sound at a low level will cause her auditory nerves and brain receptors to become desensitized and allow her to tolerate normal, everyday sounds again. Unfortunately, it could take up to two years for the treatment to be successful and Pamela was only on month number four. She had a long way to go.

Soon, the couple came across men cosplaying as Batman, The Joker, Captain America, and Thor singing “Happy Birthday” to an embarrassed woman as her friends captured the moment with their cell phones.

“You can reminisce and think back to your 1980s all you want, baby. As for me, I prefer today. The current time.” Pamela shuffled her sneaker-clad feet and did a dance as locals and tourists alike whizzed by like busy little bees. “I’m so glad that information is quick and easy to find. The Internet and all the many resources we have as people to educate one another is totally fascinating to me. There isn’t one end-all, be-all source dictating knowledge and published works anymore.”

“Oh, I prefer the current time too. The here and now.” Colt slid an arm around Pamela and kissed her forehead. “Only because you’re in it.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet.”

When he was younger, Colt watched many of his friends fall in love and get married. He was happy for them but figured that life would never be for him. He was the brothel manager (and proverbial heir to the throne) with a seedy reputation and, to him, married life seemed boring without the variety. He enjoyed sampling all the women who came through the house way too much to ever settle down.

Now, no one existed for him except his wife.

Pamela pointed at a random stripgoer who whizzed by on roller skates. She also shot a long, curious look his way, then shifted back to Colt. “You think that guy woke up this morning, looked himself in the mirror and said, I’m wearing pink spandex shorts today?”

“Maybe? Who knows? Pink might be his favorite color. To each their own.” Besides, you see all sorts on The Strip. Nothing surprises me here anymore.

Pamela grinned. “I could totally see him high-fiving his mirror and then moonwalking away from it.”

“You do that every morning.”

“Shut up!” She had no choice but to give vent to her laughter.

Colt escorted Pamela along the sidewalk and past the Graceland Wedding Chapel, where people were setting up for a ceremony. To them, everything looked vibrant, colorful, and otherworldly along The Strip. With such a beautiful December day, the duo saw families and children, rollerbladers, sunseekers, and a lounger reading a book at the corner of a busy intersection. The metro police were present, too, cuffing and arresting an uncooperative suspect. The tantalizing aroma of cotton candy and fresh baked goods wafted through the air as they crossed Garces Avenue and continued onward.

“Were you surprised that Angelia quit? She’s a sweet girl, but I could tell from the outset she wasn’t gonna last. I knew it immediately.”

“I had my suspicions. Nothing to lose any sleep over, really. She’s not alone. How many turnouts have cut out on us right off the bat over the years? Girls need a strong will to be able to work in our industry.” Pamela’s face sagged as she regarded Colt. “Angelia – Evie – was crying last night, saying she had sixteen clients in the past two weeks and those two weeks can never be reversed. Accepting a job with us, she told me, will be the biggest mistake she’ll ever make.”

“It is what it is.” Colt released an old man’s sigh. “Angelia came to us for a job. She texted you nonstop, in fact, begging for an opportunity. As you said, nothing to lose any sleep over. I hope she can overcome whatever it is she has to overcome. It won’t be easy, but life goes on, it must continue.” Another groan accompanied the roll of his eyes. “Let’s not hire anymore of Lindsay’s friends if they come knocking, okay? That was a bad idea from the start.”

“You never did like that poor girl. I still don’t know what she did to you. Lindsay, umm, well, I miss her.” Pamela’s cheeks burned hot scarlet. Would she ever be able to forget Lindsay? “I’m still holding out hope she returns and works at the house again one day. Lindsay had record sales for the three short weeks she was with us.”

“I’m not.”

“I love sunglasses.” Pamela broke free and veered toward a street peddler who sold hundreds of them. “Never met a pair of sunglasses I didn’t like.” She slid on a couple pairs as Colt approached but soon focused on one with dark lenses and an exaggerated pink frame.

“Do you think they’re too girly?” Pamela admired herself in a hand-held mirror.

“If you like them, buy them. My opinion shouldn’t matter. Only yours.”

She scrunched her nose. “I think I’ll pass. And of course, your opinion matters!”

Earlier, Pamela and Colt made their weekly trip to Costco in Henderson and loaded fifty boxes of condoms onto their shopping wheel. To say they received odd looks from others would be an understatement. Cases of water, laundry detergent, house cleaning supplies, toilet paper, plastic silverware, and a slew of Trojan condoms laying on top of everything (since it was the last aisle before checkout) lined the wheel. After all, someone had to keep the house properly stocked up and ready for business.

“Hi, guys. Anyone want a photo with us?” Two women dressed as flamingo showgirls passed by, wanting to make a quick buck. “C’mon, get a picture!”

But Pamela made a sour face and turned her attention to four people along the sidewalk creating a loud ruckus in a drum circle. The musical demonstration made it feel like her ears were being filled with burning acid.

“They’re just performing for tips like all the others. Probably need the money.” Colt placed a large, protective hand over Pamela’s far ear and brought her head to his chest and steered clear of those obnoxious sounds. Once at a distance, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Even when they got into an argument, Colt would never raise his voice at Pamela. He knew better. It would be too much for her and cause excruciating pain.

“Now there’s a job for you,” He winked and motioned toward a bikini-clad dancer atop a coffee shop counter, hoping to attract business.

“Shut up!” Another laugh emerged.

“Roy is coming to visit you on Christmas Day, am I right? Roy from Arizona?”

Pamela nodded. “He has an appointment at eleven o’clock in the morning. He just called and spoke to Jim a few days ago. I was worried he was gonna pass on me this year.”

Roy Yandle, a recurring monger, had lived his entire life in the flat, desolate Arizona desert, in a town of less than fifty people. The nearest municipality of any size was an hour north along the expressway. In a place like this, women weren’t easy to find.

Roy was approaching sixty and had never married. Too busy running the farm, never enough time to meet a good woman. He had townsfolk and farmhands for company. But the intimacy of a woman’s touch was something he only experienced one day out of every year.

A lonely man and his sexy Santa, Roy would drive 500 miles from his home to Flagstone on Christmas Eve, stay in the Twin Tops Motel overnight, and enjoy three hours of GFE time with Pamela on Christmas Day. He’d done this, strictly with Pamela, for the past nine years. All Roy wanted was simple companionship – to cuddle, to talk, to feel valued. Near the end of their three-hour session, Roy would sometimes (but not always) ask for some action, but it never lasted for more than ten minutes.

Pamela took his virginity back in 2009.

This man was also the lone reason she chose to work on Christmas Day each year, to be here in Nevada, instead of in Maryland with her loved ones. She knew how important it was for him to see her every Christmas.

“I was thinking about Roy yesterday, in fact.” A twinge crept down Pamela’s neck. “He once told me no one ever hugs him. His physical contact with other people is nothing more than a handshake. I can’t imagine not being touched for a year. It’s horribly depressing.”

“At least he has you and the house to look forward to each holiday season, somewhere he can go and feel like a man.” Colt glowered and proceeded with an unenthusiastic flourish of his hand. “That’s good, at least.”

“I’m going to buy him a special Christmas present and have it gift-wrapped and waiting.”

“Oh?” Colt’s eyebrows shot upward. “You are?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m thinking of one of those foot massager machines on Amazon, the really expensive ones with heat because he asks me for foot rubs every year, and just seems to melt every time I give him one.”

Colt’s forehead creased. “And how much is this going to cost?”

“One hundred and forty bucks.” Colt’s teeth clenched as Pamela added, “I’d say it’s worth it to give a sweet, lonely old man some holiday cheer. I mean, he doesn’t even have any family left. And he’s always been so kind to me.”

That’s a little excessive.

Instead of voicing his opinion, Colt kept it to himself, and corralled his emotions. I don’t want to piss her off. But to spend that much money on a monger, even a cherished one, even for Christmas? Pamela is the only girl in the house who would consider doing something like this. Colt pressed his fingertips against shut eyes. Everyone else can’t wait for their trick to leave. They can’t stand them and want the ordeal to finally be over.

But this gal was wired differently.

To Colt, Pamela was an amazingly patient person and had the innate ability to take whatever life dealt and make the best of any situation. She had an unconditional love – a genuine concern – for people and all living things and was not one bit judgmental. She was adamant about helping others out. Pamela had been through a lot of good times and bad times in her life, but being an eternal optimist, she kept going and pushed others to do the same.

In Colt’s mind, Pamela was, hands down, the sexiest woman on the face of the planet.

And it had nothing to do with the way she looked.

Still, she doesn’t need to spend one hundred and forty dollars on a monger. That’s insane. …

(End of Chapter Sixteen - to be continued)