“I have no problem with you keeping this a secret from your folks,” Colt said. “I actually encourage it because I'm always fearful of angry parents banging on our door at two o’clock in the morning after finding out what their innocent princess has been up to for the past few months or years. It's happened before and is never a pleasant situation. Things get awfully messy in a hurry.”

Pamela's mouth trembled. “There have been times we've called the sheriff because parents have made threats against Colt and Jim.” She motioned toward Colt. “Remember Amber’s mom that one day?”

“Ugh, don't remind me. What a nightmare. I feared that woman was going to go all Michael Myers on me.”

“I don't plan on anyone in my family finding out.” Lindsay's heart shifted into warp drive speed, but she still held Colt's gaze – a confidence booster, albeit a small one. “I didn't tell any of my sisters I was coming here either.” Her hand shaking, she pressed it flush against her thigh and hoped neither Colt nor Pamela noticed. “Or my best friend, Evie. No one knows.” I don’t want anyone throwing shade on me for the choices I make. This is my life, my decision, and people – especially Mom – need to stay in their lane.

“Good. Let's keep it that way, shall we? At least for now. Tell me, have you come up with a working name? I won't allow you to use your real name here for safety reasons.”

“No sir, I haven't. Not yet, but I have a few in mind.”

The most troubling aspect of all was that Lindsay had no control over her stupid emotions and was positive Colt saw the attraction for him plastered across her face. What if he tries to use that against me somehow? She didn’t believe the interest was mutual. Colt was the boss and dealt with oversexed girls like her every day. I’m nothing special. Her insides wilted. Why would he notice me?

“Pamela can help you choose one later today during phase two of your orientation. With your age and girl-next-door vibe, I suggest a name that sounds innocent and playful: Daisy, Penny, Gracie, Rose, Sophie … something along those lines. If you’re hired, I want you to pick one by mid-afternoon so we can have your profile on our website by the time Jim goes home tonight. He handles all the technological stuff.” Indeed, this man was bulletproof, consistent with an alpha’s personality. “I want a batch of photographs of you posted both partially and fully nude too. Customers will see them and come looking for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Bile rose in Lindsay's throat as she contemplated those words. Do I really want to have naked pics on the Internet? Anyone from across the globe could see them. But she dared not voice any objections, not wanting to ruin her chance at getting hired. “Do all the girls have working names?”

“Everyone except me,” Pamela answered for him. “Back in the day, my name used to be Dakota around here.”

Dakota? Sounds dank, like a cowgirl. Was Pamela born in either North or South Dakota? Why else choose that name? The only thing Lindsay figured was it was to pay homage to her beginnings.

“But after a while, Colt flat-out refused to call me anything but Pamela.” Colt sloped his head and glowered at her with threatening brows as she continued, “It's my actual name. A few mongers caught on, and I've been Pamela ever since. I don't mind.”

Mongers?

Colt's expression softened. “Now, now, my dear. Let's not start fibbing. Your real name is Pammy.”

She laughed. It was sweet and genuine, just like everything else about her. “God, Colt, I hate that name. No one is allowed to call me Pammy except Mom-Mom back in Maryland. And that includes you.”

Maryland? You’re from Maryland?

Colt grinned, diverted his attention back to the laptop, and skimmed more information from Lindsay's background check. “No arrest record, good. I know we paid for a comprehensive drug test three weeks ago and those results came back negative, but you'll be getting another one today. Drugs or any illegal paraphernalia on-site are prohibited, and I will fire you on the spot if you're caught with any. We have a zero-tolerance policy. We’ll notify the police as well. You'll spend the night in jail and your fate beyond that will be up to Judge Meiring.”

Jail? That ain’t happenin’. I’d be so slayed. Lindsay had both hands at her sides now and fingertips raking her thighs. Why does he have to sound so damn authoritative? Her forehead was damp with perspiration, and the knowledge she soaked through her panties made her more unsettled.

“I have enough trouble with city council and the sheriff's office, and don't want to lose my business license because an employee wants to shoot meth or get all coked up. We don’t tolerate that shit here at all.”

But Lindsay had stopped listening for the moment and again imagined herself bent over the desk, being taught a painful lesson for breaking one of Colt’s many rules. Better yet, tied and spread-eagle. He was spanking her hard and fast, and without remorse. Fire! Fire! My ass is on fire! The visual triggered Lindsay’s darkest, most wanton desires. He administered a stern lesson with that strong, mammoth hand, right on her upturned bare bottom, just the way a disobedient brat deserved.

Oh, fuck! Lindsay couldn’t quell a noise in her throat, either, the type she made when she masturbated late at night and became so aroused she couldn’t control her vocal cords. Another blush stained her cheeks as she slumped on the sofa. This is embarrassing. I feel about two feet tall.

“If a customer tries to offer you any drugs, you must report it to management right away,” Pamela said, acting none the wiser. “No exceptions. Stop whatever you're doing and report him or her ASAP.”

Come to think of it, Lindsay would welcome a spanking from Pamela too. Oh, my. To her surprise, her pussy contracted, and heat mushroomed out. Getting spanked by Pamela would be a novel experience, not near as rough as Colt. Gentle and loving, no doubt, and when it was over, Lindsay had visions of falling asleep across her lap like a contented kitten.

Meow.

“There's no point in trying to hide anything in your assigned room or elsewhere on the property, either, considering we do several random sweeps a week.” Colt's tone meant total business. “Full searches. Everything you own is subject to search. The police stop by and do the same from time to time as well. They can do it whenever they want, day or night, and we always cooperate one hundred percent. We have nothing to hide from them.”

Pamela massaged Lindsay's wrist. “It's okay, honey. Do whatever the boss says, and you'll be fine.” She cast a sarcastic leer his way. “He's the one in charge.”

Oblivious to that playful jab, Lindsay bobbed her head. “You don't have to worry about me, sir.”

“Perfect. Only being eighteen, I don't want you anywhere near alcohol. Underage drinking is against the law and grounds for immediate dismissal as well. No questions asked, no second chances given. We don't break any laws here and don't support our employees doing it either. Clients will want to bring alcohol to your room, but it must be for their own consumption. Not yours. Not until you're twenty-one.”

“That won’t be a problem because I don’t drink. I never have.” How about you fuck me doggy style while I lick Pamela’s pussy? Why couldn’t this interview be over so Lindsay could graduate to the good stuff? Or, at the very least, you skeet in Pamela’s pussy and I lick it clean? Fuck us like we’re porno sluts, will you?

“Tours are one to three weeks long. You'll receive one day off a week, yet it comes with provisions. I'll explain more soon. I have several girls who would work three months straight if allowed, but time off is necessary for self-preservation, and we want you to have at least one week off every month. This job is taxing, both physically and emotionally, and we want you rested up and energized, not running on fumes. It improves the experience for our customers.”

Lindsay sat a little taller, a little bolder, on the sofa. “I want to work for three weeks at a time.”

“You got a boyfriend? No kids, I assume?”

Glancing at her feet, she struggled to level her breathing. “No, sir.”

“Are you going to be able to function being away from your parents, your family, your friends, for three weeks at a time? We don't allow social visits here.”

“Yes, sir.” The burning tether of his stare locked her down with its scrutiny. Why aren’t you showing any interest in meeeee? I’m DTF. She wanted to pull her hair out and scream. Must I throw myself at you to finally get some attention? Lindsay plucked a piece of lint from her cutoff shorts. If I have to, I will. “I need a new start in life.”

“This isn't a fleeting fantasy, is it? You're willing to sell your body for money? You won’t wake up tomorrow and go running home to mommy and daddy, will you? We need to be certain you're not wasting our time.”

OMFG. Another bead of sweat trickled from Lindsay's temple. This interview was much more difficult than she had imagined. But just showing up, smiling, flashing her breasts, and getting hired was a pipe dream. You watch way too much Pornhub. This is the real world.

“She needs some water.”

“No,” Lindsay said to Pamela, again shrugging the offer off. “No, I'm fine. Just fine.” Why am I lying? She was anything but fine. Her nostrils flared as she gathered the strength to tell Colt, “I need a new start. My life can't continue the way it is. It just can't.” Her voice thickened with despair. “I'm sick and tired of dipping and selling corn dogs at Buns on the Run each year too.”

“Buns on the Run?” Colt slapped the table and doubled over in wild amusement. It was so out of left field that Lindsay’s mouth dropped open, and she glared at him with bulging eyes. “Is that …” He gathered himself and reviewed her information, “… the name of the food truck you worked in? Oh, man.”

Wowwwww. “Yes, sir. Yes, it is.”

Pamela regarded Colt with a fascinated grin. “Buns on the Run, eh? I haven’t seen you laugh like that in ages.”

“We're open seven days a week and business hours are from ten in the morning until three at night, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, all major holidays included.” Just like that, Colt's hard-ass temperament returned.

I'm gonna cream myself … again.

“We expect you to stay awake every night until closing time. If a customer shows up one minute before three, we accommodate them with no time restrictions. We close at three, but I'm often still here at four, five, even six or seven in the morning, until our last customer leaves. We never push a paying client out the door. That would be bad for business.”

Pamela let her fingertips dance along Lindsay's forearm. “Say if you're not up to snuff or coming off an extended party, perhaps a six- or eight-hour marathon and you're worn out, management will make exceptions. I had a long party three weeks ago and Colt gave me the rest of the night off. I was exhausted and went to bed at midnight.”

“Though we open at ten, you're welcome to sleep in until noon each day,” he added. “But understand if a customer comes in and asks for you by name, we will wake you up, and you must prepare yourself in a hurry. Freshen up, shower, get ready, all that. A customer may also decide to schedule an appointment bright and early in the morning at ten o’clock. You need to be ready the moment he or she walks in. We'll always let you know the day before.”

Lindsay's sneakers bounced off the floor in a restless flurry. “Okay. Sounds fair enough.”

“And certain customers will make appointments outside our normal business hours as well,” Pamela said.

What's the four-one-one here? To Lindsay, Pamela came across as a manager, too, given she explained everything so effortlessly with Colt. Their dual presentation was polished, like they’d done it many times in the past.

But she wasn’t the manager, Jim was. Pamela is a working girl. Lindsay couldn't figure out why Pamela was sitting in during the interview, either, or why she was the first person to contact her after she applied via the website.

Something here didn't add up.

And her legs. Yams! Lindsay kept sneaking peeks at them too. She couldn't decide whether she was envious of how supple and sensuous they were, or if she lusted after them. I guess it’s both.

“We also have customers who'll want a six or seven o'clock appointment in the morning,” Pamela said. “They may have an afternoon flight out of Vegas and want to blow off some steam before returning home to their wife and kids. You’ll be required to be awake and ready for them too. Colt charges a premium for after-hours appointments since he or Jim must be here for them and it's an inconvenience for the girl. Still, we take care of our customers. You’ll receive part of the premium too.”

Trying to process everything at once, Lindsay found it difficult to keep up. “Okay, sounds fair enough.” Why does Colt or Jim have to be present for after-hours parties? Maybe it’s a safety thing? “I have no issues with waking up early.” That’s a lie and you know it. It took Mom thirty minutes to drag you out of bed on school mornings because you’re the CEO of sleeping in late.

“The good news is,” Pamela said, “if you have an after-hours appointment, management won't expect you to be available for work until three or four in the afternoon. Some brothels are open twenty-four hours, and their girls are getting roused awake at the worst imaginable times. Here, you can go back to bed and sleep in late.”

Colt held up a finger. “Unless a customer walks in and asks for you by name.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot, especially for a grade-A hottie like you. And then, of course, there's the lineup buzzer to worry about.” Bitterness pricked at Pamela’s countenance as she shrugged her shoulders. “It will wake you every single time.”

Lineup buzzer? Information was flying at breakneck speed. Wait, wait, hold up a second. Between Colt and Pamela, Lindsay barely had the chance to sneak a word in edgewise.

“We don't want to rouse you out of bed, but it happens,” Colt said. “It's why we're closed for seven hours each morning. This isn't a boot camp. We want all our girls to be rested and healthy and provide our customers the absolute best experience possible. Happy employees mean happy customers, which means more profit for both you and us. Making money is why we're here.”

“Of course, sir.” After a few seconds of unexpected silence, Lindsay sensed an opportunity to speak further and focused on Pamela. “I have a question. What type of guys come in here?”

“Like what kind of guys do I normally get?”

“No, no, not you. Just in general. Who is the typical guy that shows up here? Older? Younger? The regular, everyday customer? What’s he like?”

Pamela stroked her chin. “Lots of older mongers, like older white men. We get Indians, black men, loads of tourists. We get, like, Europeans … truckers passing through town. Me, personally, I have two younger guys who live here in Flagstone and come see me every month. Not together, they’re not friends, probably don’t even know each other. Both were virgins when I first partied with them. I see disabled clients, widowers, divorcés, and love helping couples spice things up.”

Mongers? Lindsay recalled Pamela using that word earlier as well. What does it mean?

Pamela sneered. “There is no typical guy who comes in here, really. They’re all unique, all special.”

“You're free to leave the premises for a few hours each day,” Colt said after another stretch of silence, “but if you go alone, you need to be very, very careful.”

“The sheriff in town is a dick and will arrest us for any minor infraction if we're outside.”

Lindsay focused on Pamela and wrestled with a sudden tightness in her chest as Colt explained, “Yes, she's right. Even with this brutal heat, you'll want to be fully clothed if you go outdoors. Jeans, a loose-fitting t-shirt or top, minimal makeup, and nothing revealing. This is a small town stuck in the 1950s, if you ask me, and Sheriff Spaeth makes up the rules on the fly. He hates our brothel. Good thing Mayor Bradley is on our side, I guess.”

“If you wear anything revealing outside like those denim shorts you have on, Sheriff Spaeth will arrest you for solicitation.” Pamela's mouth was set in a firm line, her jaw tense. “If you talk to anyone, he will arrest you for solicitation. Hell, if you so much as smile the wrong way, he will arrest you for solicitation. He keeps an ongoing tab of all the girls here.”

“How can we get arrested if we're walking down the street and minding our own business?” Lindsay crossed her arms. I’ve read up on those laws and know all about them. “Not even talking to anyone?”

Pamela's face clouded with disdain. “His town, his rules. And our curfew is five o'clock in the afternoon.” Her expression softened. “He'll lock us up if we take a step off the property after five. If it were up to him, every single one of us, including Colt and Jim, would be in jail forever.”

“His jail,” Colt amended. “The one right here in town. He wouldn’t ship us elsewhere. He'd love that.”

Sounds like some crazed shit.

“But as long as we keep everything legal and inside these walls, there isn’t a damned thing he can do to us.”

Colt leaned back. “That tears him apart too.”

Pamela kneaded Lindsay's inner thigh. “Don't worry, though. If you ever need anything, Colt, Jim, or the night bartender on duty – Jenn or Mindy – will run off and snatch it for you. The chefs too. Ask them, just be courteous about it, respectful, grateful. You can go yourself if you like but it's not advised. A conviction in Nevada means you can't legally work in a brothel again for five years. And who wants the terms solicitation and prostitution on their records forever? I know I don't.”

“Wow.” This is deep. Lindsay tugged both knees to her chest and curled into a ball. What the hell type of life did I get myself into? Citronelle may have been the center of all things boring, but at least Lindsay was safe there.

“We're a family and take care of one another. If you need to step away from the house for a while, again, ask Colt or Jim.” Pamela placed a hand on Lindsay's calf and extended the leg outward. “Relax, baby. There's a town called Oakfall on the Nevada-Utah border, and either Colt or Jim drives there four or five days a week without fail.” She trailed a fingertip across Lindsay’s kneecap. “Someone is always asking to go. It has nice restaurants and several places to shop. Plenty of hiking and sightseeing, too, and a casino. Jim took Sahara and Riley to Oakfall yesterday. How long were they gone again, Colt? Nine whole hours? They had a blast.”

He tapped a pencil on the desk. “It's over a hundred miles away. That being said, distance is not an issue for us. We're happy to be your chauffeur for the day. We take care of our employees in whatever way we can. The people in Oakfall don't know us, either, so there's never any trouble. Yet another reason why we only allow our girls to work a maximum of three weeks at a time. It'd be easy to go stir-crazy within these walls. Jim and I take a week off every month too.” Colt pressed a hand to the back of his neck and winced. “You can go to the backyard and hang out, though, whenever you want. It's one hundred percent enclosed, and no one can see anything from the street. There’s a spacious pool and numerous ways to exercise.”

“Kk.” Lindsay didn't like the idea of having to stay on the property. She wanted to dabble and explore on her own. But she didn't want to risk getting arrested either. Mom and Dad would go apeshit.

So, this wasn’t a “lockdown house” like other brothels Lindsay read about (the ones in Nye County were notorious for that), yet in a sense it was thanks to an overzealous sheriff who believed he was above the law. I don’t want to be trapped indoors twenty-four/seven. What was the harm in stretching her legs and walking a thousand feet down the block to the convenience store? Lindsay clutched her backpack. Jesus Christ. She hadn’t left the country, right? America was the land of the free. Well, it’s supposed to be.

Despite the lecture about rules and repercussions, Lindsay’s nerves, overall, had slowly dissipated. I have a future here. She wasn’t as apprehensive around Colt as earlier, but the fear still lingered. If I fall in line and be a good soldier, everything will be okay.

He cared for everyone on his staff and ran his brothel like a legitimate business. Well, to him, it is legitimate. At this early stage, Lindsay understood why there was such excess praise regarding Colt McCarron on the Internet, not only from customers and employees, but also from the media and former employees. He could talk and handle himself and had a charming, handsome smile. On the rare occasions he flashes it, at least.

“Aaliyah is an exercise nut but is way too scared to go into town by herself,” Pamela said. “The whole thing with the sheriff scares her. So, she jogs around the perimeter of the backyard for two hours every morning and every evening unless she’s with a customer. Granted, it’s a big backyard, but in an ideal world, Aaliyah would jog around town.”

Colt idled back, brought both hands up and linked his fingers, and inclined his head. “Tell me, young Miss Anastacio, why are you interested in becoming a prostitute?” His tone of voice way different than what Lindsay was accustomed to, Colt made a trio of clucking noises with his tongue that lingered way too long. “Prostitute … such a rotten word around these parts. A horrible, evil word that should be stricken from the dictionary. We prefer working girl, provider, or courtesan. But let's be honest, shall we? What made you decide to pursue this line of work?”

Pamela shot him a deadpan stare. “I prefer working lady … not girl.”

He allowed two notes of a chuckle to escape. “People in Hell want ice water too.”

Lindsay needed a moment to come up with a suitable response. Patient, Colt allowed her all the time she required as Pamela reached across the desk and gave his wrist a spirited, playful swat.

“I love sex.” Is that an adequate answer? “I've been sheltered my entire life and want to branch out and explore new things. I wanna make good money and save it, go to college one day … maybe buy a house.”

“College?” Colt's hard-boiled demeanor transitioned to curiosity. “What major?”

“I'm leaning toward Sociology.” But my grades in school were the pits, and I don't know if any decent university would accept me.

“We've passed through Citronelle before in our travels. It’s a quiet, laid-back town. Has the Coachella Valley Preserve on one side and Joshua Tree National Forest on the other. I bet less than twenty students were in your graduating class. Am I correct?” She raised her chin as Colt went on, “What type of experience do you have with sex? Do you have a lot? A little? Still a virgin by chance? How many guys have you been with? Any girls?”

Pamela fluffed her hair over her shoulders and leaned closer. “Be honest, okay? Don’t lie or exaggerate. It’ll help you in the long run. We want you to tell the truth.”

“Two guys and no girls.” Lindsay’s mouth was bone dry. “I … I have minimal experience, I guess.”

Evie joked that one day, people would gather around the campfire in Citronelle and talk about Lindsay’s sexual exploits like they were an urban myth. But here? Here, it's a whole different story. She was no one, and her experiences couldn’t hold up to these women and theirs. I’m the basic girl here, all alone in her corner.

“I enjoy sex.” Lindsay lost count of all the times she let her ex-boyfriend sink his dick into her. Over a hundred, maybe? Still, in the grand scheme of things, her experience was lacking. “And I love oral.”

“Sucking dick? You any good at it?”

Holy shit. You don't pull any punches, do you? Colt’s audacity was outrageous and appalling. My pussy is wet enough already. After the long sermon on policy, she almost forgot this was an interview for a job at a brothel.

“Yes, sir. I-I've been told I'm … good at … sucking d-d-dick.” She witnessed, again in her mind’s eye, Colt rise from the desk and step forward, pumping his hard shaft, ready to engulf her willing mouth. I’m going to train you to be an obedient little whore now.

Back to reality, Lindsay blew out a series of short breaths in a failed attempt to regain control.

Pamela's smile was far-reaching. “You want me to explain the finances?”

Colt relaxed and held out an open hand. “Go for it.”

“We're an intermediate-sized house and, though we're within a comfortable driving distance from Vegas, we want to give our customers a good time that is affordable. But we also want them to come back. You can set your own prices, but we don't charge two, three, four thousand dollars an hour like the southern houses do for a standard GFE party. I’m talking about Chastity’s Ranch and the other brothels in, say, Nye County. We don't attract the rich clientele like they do. Not consistently, at least. Nor can we offer the upscale, resort-like atmosphere they can. This house is over a hundred years old and needs major repairs in several areas. We're a rural brothel and our target demographic is the middle class.”

Standard GFE party? Why couldn’t they thump the brakes and explain things in more detail? And I thought I had all the terminology down.

Colt sat upright. “What we can offer our customers, unlike Chastity’s and the other high-dollar houses close to Vegas, as well as those outside Reno and Carson City, is an experience. A genuine experience that makes them want to come back and spend more money in the future. We have the most beautiful and gracious professional girlfriends for hire in the state. The world, even.

“Customers coming to visit us has to be more than a one-time thing. We want it to be worth their while. Our location isn’t ideal, much like the northern houses closer to Salt Lake City, so we aim for our prices to be affordable. Repeat customers are the key to our success, and word-of-mouth helps our business grow. I much rather a big-shot, high-roller spend three thousand dollars here over three years instead of twenty-five hundred for a one-time-only visit.”

“Most girls charge five to seven hundred dollars per hour,” Pamela said. “We never go below five hundred because we don't want to undercut one another and cause any drama.”

Right. Others told Lindsay during her omnibus through social media that she could expect to average three hundred dollars an hour while with a client at Happy Ending Ranch. The going rate is six hundred here and the girls split their earnings with the house, tips included. According to her research, every brothel in the state utilized the same fifty/fifty payout structure. They gotta snatch their share of the cheddar too.

“You can't go below five hundred per hour, anyway, unless Colt or Jim approves it first since it’s also the house minimum. You can go higher if you want – seven, eight, nine hundred, even more, however keep in mind a higher rate will turn many mongers away. And management likes us to have, at minimum, five parties a week. You won't be earning your keep here otherwise.”

In Nye County, typical negotiations at the posh, extravagant resorts such as Chastity’s Ranch began at $3,000 per hour. While netting $1,500 sounded much more appealing than $300 for sixty minutes of her time, Lindsay faced one insurmountable obstacle in being employed at a Nye County brothel: I’m too young.

The minimum age for a legalized sex worker was twenty-one. Here, in Sulaco County, it was eighteen. Throughout the state, the various counties and some local municipalities had differing rules and regulations for brothels. They were all over the place, and in several, houses weren’t permitted.

Maybe in two-and-a-half years when I’m twenty-one, if I enjoy being a sex worker and am proficient at it, I’ll take a job at Chastity’s Ranch. That was Lindsay’s endgame goal. Every girl aspires to work there. She wasn’t going to tell Pamela or Colt about her plans, though. Not now, not during her interview. That would be foolish. The earning potential was greater at the Nye County houses due to their proximity to Las Vegas and its free-spending tourists. Chastity’s was the most famous of them all.

Rumor was, over a thousand women applied there every month. I could save a lot of bank working at Chastity’s and set myself up for a good life. With a clean background and loads of experience in the industry, Lindsay’s chances of getting hired (in theory, at least) would be far greater than those of a turnout.

“Mariko is the only girl we have who charges more than seven hundred an hour for a GFE,” Colt said. “Her regular fee is eight, but she gets away with it because she's our lone Asian girl. Mariko was born in Japan and has been doing this for seventeen years. She’s built quite the cult following. Many of our customers swoon over her.

“In fact, a customer from Great Britain travels here twice a year and drops twelve thousand bucks on Mariko each visit. Says she's his sole reason to come to America. Dominic always gets seventeen hours, a full day from open to close, and Mariko cuts him a deal.”

“Twelve thousand?” Lindsay again fanned herself. “Oh, my.” A payday like that would be straight fire.

Pamela’s lips twisted to one side. “I wish he'd spend his money on me instead. Room and board run thirty dollars per day and the total is deducted from your paycheck at the end of your tour. But we’ll waive it if you gross six hundred or more in sales any day. For that specific day, I mean, the thirty dollars. You won't have to pay it.”

We’ll waive it? Lindsay again sensed Pamela had a hand in day-to-day operations like Colt and Jim. Maybe she doubles as a bookkeeper or something.

… A sexy bookkeeper.

“We employ two certified chefs and they'll fix anything you like. One will always be here from noon to midnight. Some days, they'll both be here. In the high-end houses, you're paying for the meals and drinks yourself. The living fees at them are much higher too.

“Other than rent, all we ask is you tip the chefs, bartenders, and maintenance staff a few bucks a day. You don't have to, but you should. Every day of my tour, I have fifteen dollars taken out of my ledger. With seven or eight girls here and all tipping, it adds up. The auxiliary employees work hard to keep us healthy and ensure our surroundings are clean. They do a stellar job of it too.”

“I'm fine charging six hundred, even five hundred an hour.” Lindsay didn't want to ruffle any feathers and make enemies as the new girl. My time will come when I’m older and more experienced. She wanted to fit in and have no drama. This place is just a stepping stone to bigger and better things. “I'll be happy to tip each day too.”

“You'll want to charge more for a specialty party, such as BDSM, certain role-plays, and fetishes,” Colt said. “You're younger than any girl we have, and I can guarantee certain clients will want you to role-play as a daughter, a granddaughter, even a baby girl.”

Lindsay's face went slack.

“Yeah, guys who are into that sort of thing often pack a diaper and will want to place you in it.”

Huh?

“It happens to every eighteen-year-old who passes through here. Pamela can talk to you later about what to charge for these kinds of specialty parties.”

Pamela fought off a laugh, rolled her eyes, and tore into a banana with gusto. “I once partied with a guy who had an extreme food fetish and wanted to role-play as a turkey I was preparing to cook for Easter dinner.”

Lindsay burst into hysterics. “What the fuck?”

“I'm a vegan. I don't even eat meat!” Pamela made a silly face as she savored her fruit snack. “We get all comers. I try, when I’m here, I am … who I really am. I don’t change my personality. I don’t … I’m still me. Other girls are the exact opposite, but they’re talented actresses and the typical customer cannot tell the difference. Acting is their shtick, the way they make money. We’re all different in how we approach our job.

“But me? I try to give my clients the most genuine experience possible. My friends will tell you I’m an Empath. I care about others and don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable having sex with me. I want them to have the chance to be themselves without fear of judgment, ridicule, any sort of … I don’t know, I’m the girl who’ll take on all their strange fetishes. I believe no one should ever feel weird. I take immense pride in clients being comfortable with who they are while in my presence.”

Lindsay gulped her throat. “Am I allowed to deny any client or fetish request if I don’t feel comfortable?” No fucking way anyone is putting me in a diaper.

“Of course,” Pamela said. “You're not forced to do anything here against your will. You don't like the way a guy acts or sense a negative vibe from him? Does he have a disgusting odor that repels you? He asks to do something out of your comfort zone or area of expertise? Decline him. It's your right.

“As long as you have a valid reason, Colt or Jim won't mind. You're an independent contractor and can make your own rules.” Pamela hesitated and her jovial disposition morphed into a slight snarl. “For the most part, at least.

“And if things go south during a party and a client takes liberties with you or becomes too aggressive or belligerent, too demanding, there’s a panic button. Every room has one.” She sprung a grin anew. “So, when you press the panic button, it sends an alert to the sheriff’s station, the front desk, Colt and Jim’s cell phones, and mine too.”

Yours too? Why?

“I’d rather have the cops come rushing here to save me than a house full of naked girls.” Pamela held both hands out and vented her laughter. “Know what I mean?”

“Has the panic button ever been used while you’ve been here?”

“No. I mean, that’s serious, like … I need out. You can always excuse yourself if you’re getting a bad vibe from a customer. Plus, Colt and Jim would never let things escalate to where the panic button would be necessary. They’d step in, intervene, and defuse the situation before things spiral out of control. That happens, unfortunately.”

Really? How would Colt and Jim know there is any trouble to begin with?

Pamela touched Lindsay’s face delicately, like a rose petal she didn’t want to damage. “My favorite parties, though, are two-girl parties. I'd love to do a two-girl party with you, honey. I can tell by the way you've been looking at me that you're interested too.” Lindsay’s breath hitched as Pamela swiveled her head from side to side and her lips curled upward. “And you've never been with another girl before, huh? Awesome.” The cadence of her tone sent tingles along Lindsay’s spine. “We’d charge fifteen hundred for the first hour and go from there since a threesome is a top-of-the-line specialty party. They cost more. Fifteen hundred may seem excessive, but threesome parties run about seven thousand an hour in the houses closer to Vegas. Here, fifteen hundred is a bargain.” Pamela guided Lindsay's hand to her mouth, lowered her head, and brushed kisses along it. “Oh, you're so pretty … such an angel.”

Colt raised an eyebrow, amused by Lindsay’s seemingly catatonic state. “Are you open to a threesome with another woman involved? They're generally the most profitable for the house. Again, it isn’t mandatory. One of our girls on leave, Gwen, outright refuses to touch another woman. It’s not held against her. And some other girls we have, they're not bisexual in their everyday lives, either, yet will agree to a threesome party if the price is right.”

Pamela grimaced. “Scarlett says she's gay for pay only.”

“Umm, yeah. I'd like that.” Desire titillated Lindsay’s nerves at the explicit images dancing through her mind. I wanna have a threesome with Pamela.

And Colt.

“There's no anal here. We'll never permit it, ever. Other houses do, but we don't.”

Getting fucked in the ass? Lindsay pressed a palm to her heart and emitted a huge breath. Anal sex was perhaps her greatest concern coming in. No matter how many times he begged, she never allowed Zack to do her … back there. I always had to tell him no butt stuff. Lindsay wasn’t against the idea but wanted to save that part of herself for the right person.

“When will I be able to work? Start, I mean?” she asked Colt. I’d make an exception and let you fuck me in the ass, though. Just ask. “Today?”

“Well, we always have an independent doctor stop by on Monday afternoons – today – and he'll give you a vaginal swabbing and take blood samples. We're required by law to test for STIs weekly and HIV and syphilis monthly. All Nevada brothels are. To our knowledge, no customer has ever contracted anything from a girl here. If they did, I imagine we would have heard about it.”

Pamela pursed her lips. “Colt is a real stickler for the law and its rules. Condoms are mandatory. We must practice safe sex at all times, no exceptions, and he has his own strict guidelines of dos and don’ts with mongers too. I’ll go over them with you this afternoon.”

“Legalization of brothels in certain parts of Nevada began back in 1971,” Colt said, “and believe it or not, there has never been a case of HIV reported in the LPIN system. Customers, working girls, no one.”

LPIN? I know what that one means! A strange burst of accomplishment blossomed up from within Lindsay. Legal Prostitution in Nevada. It was an industry term, and most proprietors considered themselves part of the community.

“Since the mid-eighties, the state has cracked down on our trade, and I don’t want my brothel to be the first with a case of HIV. It’s the lone STD they could hold me liable for as the owner if a customer were to contract it from one of my employees. I’d be … in huge trouble.”

“In other words,” Pamela summarized, “follow the law and Colt’s rules, and be safe. Be smart.”

“I will find out if you do something stupid or unlawful,” Colt warned Lindsay in a dark, fierce tone. “Trust me, I will.”

Oh, snap. Lindsay stilled her body. Stop scaring me! I’ve never done anything to break the law and don’t plan on starting now. Taken aback by Colt’s threat, Lindsay finally drained that calming, much-needed bottle of water.

“The doctor charges fifty dollars each Monday for the weekly test,” Colt said, returning to the previous topic. He waited until Lindsay finished her gulp and regained control of her faculties. “But you also have to pay for the monthly test as well, which is one hundred and ten dollars. Those charges must be paid for in full today.”

What?

After the struggle to travel here, all Lindsay had was three dollars and some odd change in her backpack. How could she afford $160 in lab fees?

“Your results will come back in the morning and if you're given a clean bill of health, Jim or I will take you to the Sulaco County Sheriff's Department afterward where you'll apply for a sheriff's card. They’ll run a background check and do their own interview with a social worker or a member of the clergy. Don't worry about anything as you'll be with one of us. A sheriff’s card is a license allowing you to work as a prostitute – again, terrible word – in a brothel. All counties in Nevada are different, but for Sulaco, a sheriff's card is valid for six months and will cost you one-fifty.”

Three hundred and ten dollars now in fees? What the fuck?

“You're not permitted to work until you're tested and have your card. You'll also have to take a drug test, but we pay for it out of our own pocket. The doctor will administer it as well.” Colt clapped his hands together in a sign of finality. Was the interview almost over? “If all goes well, you can work as early as tomorrow night.”

“What's wrong, honey?” Pamela’s ever-present smile withered away. “You okay?”

“I-I don't have any … money.” Lindsay blinked away an onslaught of tears and her voice was a whisper. She swallowed hard to find more words. “I'm … I'm broke. I have three dollars … to my n-n-name. I can't p-pay for that! I spent everything I had … just to make it to Flagstone.”

“What?” Colt scowled, his eyes slicing a hole right down the center of Pamela. “You didn't tell her about the upfront fees during the telephone interview?”

“Of course, I did!” Pamela lashed right back. She composed herself and moved a hand to Lindsay's shoulder. “Do you have an ATM card? We have a machine in the lobby.” She glanced at Colt again. “I swear to you, I did.”

“I … I … don't have a bank account. I closed it. Took all my savings out.” Tears of overwhelming anxiety were gnawing at Lindsay’s eyelids and threatening to create a tsunami of biblical proportions.

She was so damn close to getting her foot in the door, yet now it had been slammed in her face. Oh no. Lindsay would have to call her parents and beg for a way back home after all. There was no way she could ask them for money so she could start working in a brothel, right? They’d lock me in my room forever!

“I spent so much on new outfits and shoes, and the rest on just getting here. The hotel in Vegas was one hundred and forty dollars, and that Uber ride cost me two hundred and twenty-one. I paid for it with a gift card.” Her chin vibrated. “I haven’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours either. I couldn’t even afford dinner last night.”

“I told you, you needed to have three hundred and ten dollars for the medical testing and sheriff's card. In fact, I told you three-fifty.” Stricken, Pamela’s gaze bored into Colt. “I tell that to every girl who applies. I always do. I've never missed telling them!”

Colt exhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “I believe you.” Sympathetic eyes drifted toward Lindsay. “Why in the world did you take an Uber? They’re so expensive. We would have arranged for free transportation once you arrived in Vegas. All you had to do was ask.”

“You need some food in you. Pronto.” Pamela reached for Lindsay’s hand. “I’ll text Jim and have him run off to Tesoro’s down the block and get you takeout. You like pepperoni pizza, sweetie? How about a garden salad?”

“Can I have both?” Lindsay held a palm to her stomach and looked to be the saddest of the sad. “I’m starving.”

Pamela already had her phone out. “I’m texting Jim now.”

Reality set in. “I'm sure you told me to bring extra money. I … I don't know. I guess I forgot! I was told so many things during that phone call and felt so nervous, so scared, that it must've flown right over my head.” She buried her face atop Pamela's shoulder and began sobbing. “What am I going to do now? I-I can't … I can't afford those fees. I don't want to go back home.” Her crying fit intensified. “I'd rather die than go back to Citronelle!”

Pamela's jaw dropped as she pivoted her attention to Colt. They had never experienced anything like this with a new hire. Silence lingered until Pamela coiled an arm around Lindsay's head and pressed their cheeks together.

Colt crossed his arms. “Pamela, no. Don’t. You. Dare.” His voice was firm and final. “We don't loan money to turnouts for the fees they're supposed to pay for themselves. It's not a precedent we need to set.”

“But she's so sweet. And I don't want to lose her. Look at her … she's a Barbie doll. I bet she makes a fortune for us when all is said and done. Plus, I like her.”

Pamela guided Lindsay's face away from hers. “Hey, honey.” Tender brown eyes came into focus. “Lindsay?” Pamela's thumb stroked her chin, and it was the most comforting touch Lindsay ever experienced. “Listen up, okay? You don't have to go back to Citronelle. I'll loan you three hundred and fifty dollars so you can have your tests taken care of with some extra left over to spend. That way, you can start working tomorrow night.”

Colt huffed and shoved away from the desk.

“Oh my God!” An exhilarating flurry of shock and surprise erupted from Lindsay. “Really? You'd do that for me?”

“Once you have a few parties under your belt, you can cash out and pay me back.”

Lindsay was motionless. “Seriously? You … you'd help me out like this?” When Pamela tipped her head forward, Lindsay tossed both arms around her and the waterworks flowed in earnest. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much! I'll repay as soon as I can.” Lindsay tightened the grip into a bear hug. “You just saved my life!”

Pamela closed her eyes and hummed as it was obvious the embrace wouldn’t be ending any time soon. She had no complaints. “My pleasure, baby. My pleasure.”

*

Colt's arms folded; he kept a brooding stare on Pamela, his hands balled into fists. He wasn’t one bit surprised, as Pamela had taken a serious liking to Lindsay. She possessed a gentle heart, and this was typical of her.

He always told Pamela that she was “too nice” to work in a brothel. She was the most gracious working girl he’d ever known, period. An Empath, indeed, and many clients fell in love with her because of it. That was great for business but could also be messy if a client became too attached and expected things from her in the real world.

What happens in the brothel stays in the brothel.

Though unhappy, Colt recognized giving Lindsay a hand was the proper course of action. Happy Ending Ranch had never extended such a courtesy to a new hire. I suppose we’re paying for her lunch now too, huh?

But Colt had no doubt: this was a wise business decision, though the corporate shark in him didn't agree. It told him any money given to turnouts would go galloping out the door with them. Girls her age are dodo birds. They don’t know their left from right, and they’re not to be trusted.

But if Lindsay stayed long-term and could handle herself in the bedroom, Colt figured she’d be his highest-earning performer in no time flat. She seems motivated about getting a job here. He’d been searching for a younger girl since Amber’s mother forced her to quit four months ago. Fresh faces like this fetched top dollar. Experience or know-how right off the bat wasn’t necessary.

Just a willingness to please and give an effort.

Such youth and innocence. Many of his customers, specifically the older ones stuck in stale, ungratifying marriages and seeking a unique thrill, would jump at the chance to sink their dicks into a darling, hard-bodied teenager like Lindsay. She would be Happy Ending Ranch's teacup-sized Homecoming Queen whose mouth and pussy were open to all comers. Customers would chew her up, spit her out, and come back for round two.

And three. And four.

Could Lindsay handle such a demand? That was the million-dollar question. Could she withstand the rigors that were sure to come? Could she do it with a smile on her face at all times? Could Lindsay accept the fact the brothel promoted its own website with a public message board where clients would discuss intimate details about her, such as the tightness of her vagina and the size of her breasts? Could she handle those unsolicited opinions about her body? The quality of her lovemaking skills? Being a willing participant in another person's infidelity?

Did Lindsay have the willpower to be treated like a piece of meat? An object? Perhaps several times a day by different, varying customers of all ethnicities and walks of life, and maintain a veil of enthusiasm and happiness in the process? Could Lindsay give the impression that she welcomed everything they did, no matter how lewd or repulsive it was, and always ask for more?

Only time would tell.

But if she ran off like a thief in the middle of the night with their money, which he half-expected her to do, well, there was only one course of action Colt could take.

Give Pamela never-ending hell over it.

(To be continued in next posting)