When the firm, pert ovals of Lindsay’s naked backside wiggled and sashayed their way down the corridor, even Jim, on the other end, found his dick hard as steel.

“Hmmmmm. Well, very nice.” Wearing a bathrobe, Sammy's white hair was still wet from the trucker's shower as he reached out and clasped hands with his purchased girlfriend. Again, his eyes scoured Lindsay from head to toe. Angelic golden hair in a loose ponytail cascading down her back; a button of a nose, slightly turned up; demure, small breasts that Sammy would tend to, so very soon.

After making their transaction official at the booking office, he instructed Lindsay to strip naked and wait in the parlor with Jim as he showered. Her slender, young body, ready to submit to his indecent delights, was flawless, and far better than he'd remembered.

“Let's go back to my bedroom and start.”

“Yes. Let's.”

“Did you have to work today?” Lindsay was all smiles as she held Sammy's hand and led the way.

“Yeah, I did, but took off at eleven to drive here and see you. It's been a rough go of it as of late because I've had meetings, literally, all week.” Sammy’s stoic, handsome features strained. “Yeah, constantly talking with people that I guess you have to, but you don't want to, so …” Lindsay nodded in understanding as Sammy continued, “The thought of seeing you again is what got me through this morning, though, because I had one meeting, in particular, it was …” His words trailed off.

“Shit?” she giggled.

Sammy allowed himself a grin. “Yeah, sounds right, but yeah. Tonight and tomorrow is all about Kayleigh. I've never looked forward to being with a working girl more than I am right now with you.”

“Aww, that's so sweet.” With those words, Lindsay scolded herself inwardly. That's a typical brothel line and one Scarlett taught me to use when tricks say something nice. Why did she say it to Sammy? He is anything but typical and I want everything between us to be real, spontaneous, fun, and honest.

Having been around the block a time or two, Sammy shot Lindsay a venomous look. Indeed, it was a standard, rehearsed comeback throughout all the houses. And more often than not, incredibly fake. Almost every girl used it. He was willing to give Lindsay a pass this time, expecting far more, but never wanted to hear that phrase – used in that context – again.

Once they reached the door, Lindsay glanced toward Jim, still on the opposite end with his trusty stopwatch. She lifted her hand in a wave, went into the room with Sammy, and closed the door.

And thus, the twenty-four-hour countdown began.

“Jesus Christ.” Jim’s pupils were dilated as he stood rooted in place. “I gotta get a crack at that girl too.”

“How long did it take you to drive here?”

“Five-and-a-half hours.” Sammy rolled his shoulders to ease the tension after such an extended car ride. “I took Interstate 80 over to West Wendover, cut down 93 and had a break in Ely, and rolled into Flagstone at four-thirty.” Sammy brushed his lips along Lindsay’s earlobe and whispered, “That's the way you should drive to Salt Lake in two weeks, babygirl. It's the quickest route. A little desolate and lonely to start, but it'll be okay.”

She pulled back and nodded. I'll do that. The surveillance microphones were sensitive, but they couldn't pick up barely audible whispers. Thus, Sammy felt secure saying those final words into her ear. In other, more upscale houses they could, but Colt and Pamela didn't have the financial resources to install dozens of casino-grade microphones throughout the entire property. They were $1,000 apiece, at minimum, so cheaper versions were here instead and couldn't capture every word.

The overwhelming majority of their clientele had no idea Big Brother was always listening, so the lesser microphones were generally good enough to get the job done. It was only seasoned whoremongers such as Sammy who whispered and sometimes came up with creative ideas on how to express themselves when they didn't want management to know what was truly going on.

“I got into town earlier and immediately went to the house, but Jim said you were busy and wouldn't be available until six o’clock. That was four-thirty.” He gave her a playful nudge. “Partying without me, my princess?”

“Yeah, I was.” Lindsay tugged at her hair and sniffled. “With another woman.”

“Really?” Sammy's eyebrows shot upward as he took a seat at the foot of the bed. “A lesbian, perhaps? Did you enjoy yourself? I bet you did. I know you did.” He again palmed her breasts as if he owned her. “Was she pretty? What did she look like? Tell me everything.”

“Very pretty and very nice, but she wasn't a lesbian.” Lindsay’s knees were wobbly and she found it difficult to stay upright. How am I going to last twenty-four hours with this beast? “She was with her husband and he partied for two hours next door with Kenzie.” Sammy spun Lindsay around in a whirlwind and massaged her bare ass with both hands as she continued talking. “They're the married couple I told you about the other day, remember? You know, the ones who were here Monday night and got a foursome with me and Kenzie?” Hmm, that feels so good. I love your big, mammoth hands groping me. “They came back today for some one-on-ones.” You have such sexy hands.

It wasn't against house rules to exchange e-mail with mongers as long as it was through the website and Lindsay didn't care if Jim was aware she'd shared some of her brothel experiences with Sammy. Nothing was wrong with it, provided she didn't go into specific details about the clients themselves.

Indeed, discretion was paramount in this business.

“And the husband didn't book a party with you?” For the life of him, Sammy couldn’t understand why a line of guys wasn’t going out the door waiting for an opportunity to have sex with Lindsay. As word of her spread, perhaps one day, there would be. He craved this girl like no one he ever had before. She was an aphrodisiac, spectacular in every regard, an addictive drug, and there was no cure.

Nor did he want a cure.

Lindsay emitted an anguished breath and turned back to face him. “I'm not sure Nick likes me. He much prefers Kenzie.”

“What? How the hell could anyone not like you?” There was a feral flash of teeth. “What is he? Blind?” He wondered how any man could choose Kenzie over Lindsay. Kenzie was a mighty fine piece of pussy, Sammy thought, but Lindsay was in a galaxy all her own.

Not even Pamela was in her league.

“I don't know.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, glanced down, and fidgeted her thumbs near her waistline.

“Look at me, young lady.”

But Lindsay didn't want to.

What was with the dejected frown? Sammy was perplexed. Was Lindsay upset that the john didn’t want to be with her? If so, it wouldn’t surprise him one bit. He’d received several emotional e-mails from Lindsay over the past nine days – she tended to be up and down like crazy, usually without reason – and Scarlett told him she was a drama queen around the house. Typical for her age, right? Lindsay caused all sorts of trouble, Scarlett claimed, and was the reason why Aaliyah quit and went to work at Chastity’s Ranch down south in Bull’s Branch, Nevada.

Sammy had been with Aaliyah a few times and considered her a decent fuck, a B-minus at best, but certainly not worth $3,000 an hour. He felt sympathy for out-of-town Las Vegas tourists who went to Chastity’s Ranch, believing there was no other legal alternative, unaware that Flagstone was a mere two-and-a-half-hour drive from The Strip and the prices were $500 to $800 an hour. Happy Ending Ranch wasn’t near as nice – there was no comparison, structurally speaking, between the houses themselves – but the girls were far more attractive, in his opinion, than they were at Chastity’s.

Much friendlier and open-minded too. That was perhaps Sammy’s biggest compliment for Colt and the way he ran his brothel: he would only hire the most sociable, outgoing girls, and demand they sit and talk with clients before and after parties for thirty to sixty minutes, if not longer. The most conversation time Sammy ever had at Chastity’s was twelve minutes before the chick wanted to know if he was interested in a party. He passed, she became irritated, even offended, and literally vanished into thin air. Sammy had walked on their outrageous prices too many times to count and refused to go there at all anymore.

Jeff Robbins, the hiring manager at Chastity’s, recently sent an e-mail to Sammy on Happy Ending Ranch’s website in response to his praise about Lindsay and asked countless questions about her. Jeff was a vulture, a slimy snake in the grass, and was already looking to snatch Lindsay away. While she was too young to work at Chastity’s – the minimum age for a licensed courtesan in Nye County was twenty-one – they could send her to one of their sister brothels near Reno where the asking price was $1,000 to $1,500 an hour until she was old enough to work at Chastity’s.

Sammy told the guy that Lindsay was Colt’s niece, of all things, and there was no way she’d ever think of leaving Happy Ending Ranch because of it. Sammy suggested he drop the idea. Lindsay was docile and sweet, so humble and innocent, and Sammy feared she’d get eaten alive at a bigger house. Her personality wouldn’t mesh and she’d be one of those girls who’d run away in tears, shattered, after a week or two. The other prostitutes would use her, take advantage of her kindness, and knife her in the back when she was least expecting it.

Sammy couldn’t allow that to happen.

Of course, Mr. Robbins didn’t care that Lindsay and Colt were “family.” He didn’t give a flying fuck. All he saw was dollar signs because Lindsay was the new it girl on the scene, and all the house owners were taking notice. This industry was cutthroat – it was always poaching season.

Even if she somehow survived working at Chastity’s Ranch, or The Sinner’s Paradise in Chimayo, Sammy figured Lindsay would be damaged goods within six months from the mental side of things and never recover. His prime example of that was Nicolette. She started out at Chastity’s almost ten years ago, at twenty, vibrant and full of spunk, and today Sammy rated her as a D-minus.

And that was being generous.

“Daddy told you to look at him.”

Haltingly, Lindsay raised her head and met his gaze. Daddy? The stern tenor of his voice sunk in and enveloped every submissive fiber of her being.

“Are you okay? Talk to me.” Lindsay had an insatiable craving of her own – for dick – and tended to pout like a conceited, entitled brat when customers passed her over in lineups. Scarlett told him that too. “Were you upset the guy didn't want to party with you? The husband?”

“No, not that. Not that at all.” Lindsay was worried about Becky and her marriage with Nick. She wished that Kenzie never told her they were having problems at home. “I can't discuss it.” I'll be in trouble if I start sharing details about other clients and their personal lives.

I can't risk losing my job, even for Sammy.

“Okay, fine.” He and Lindsay would have to tread on eggshells until he talked to Mindy and took care of their surveillance issue. If nothing else, those damn microphones needed to be disabled.

He placed a hand on Lindsay's thigh and kneaded it. “Tell me about your party with the wife.” His words were gentle, respectful, but still a command. Not a request. “What did you do with her?”

Lindsay started to tremble and a little noise came from within her throat. She wanted to climb into Sammy's lap, wrap her arms around him, and never let go. His smoldering gaze, voice, mannerisms, and everything else about him called out to her in a way that made her terribly, shamefully warm between her thighs. She wanted to be a good girl but realized Sammy identified her as a bad girl, and bad girls had bad things happen to them.

Head down, sweetheart. Raise that ass. Spread your legs. That's not good enough. Wider. Do you want me to use the cane? Wider, dammit. Let Daddy get a good look at you before you take your spanking.

Every nerve in her body sparked with awareness.

“I …” Agitated, Lindsay wrung her hands out. “I gave Becky a lap dance right here, in this chair, and we later moved to the bed.” Why am I so frightened? Was it because she already knew what Sammy was going to do to her? They’d discussed BDSM and the concept of Daddy Dom/little girl play at length in their messages. I'm interested, sure, but I have no real experience with BDSM. Is he going to hurt me?

Do I really want him to break me?

“Becky and I kissed and made out for a long time – did a lot of talking – and took turns eating each other out. Near the end, we scissored each other for a few minutes and had orgasms just two minutes before our time was up.” Dear God, I so want Sammy to fuck me.

Beneath his bathrobe, Sammy's dick was straining so hard that it was painful. Still, he had to control himself. Pace himself, keep his composure. There was no way he'd last twenty-four hours if he ceded to his desires and blew his wad, all his energy, at once.

Though, he badly wanted to.

Sammy studied Lindsay. Silently. Assessed her. They were as different as two people could be. Lindsay had her whole life ahead of her while Sammy was a grandfather of seven and closing in on his much-deserved retirement. He had a granddaughter older than her, dammit. Sammy once asked Lindsay who her favorite musicians were, yet he hadn't heard of any of them. Likewise, she had no clue who Queen, Frank Sinatra, Christopher Cross, and The Police were. Not at her age.

Yet, none of that mattered. After he made his split-second decision to drop everything and drive off to Flagstone following the latest X-rated dream he had overnight, Sammy had been imagining a life with Lindsay as a permanent fixture in it.

As his wife.

Things had gotten incredibly stale with Barbara and Sammy believed he deserved to spend his final days happy and full of joy. It had taken him forever, but he realized that now. It hit him this morning – he’d like nothing more than to divorce Barbara and put a ring on Lindsay’s finger.

And a baby in her tummy.

Those thoughts were such a drastic change from a day or two ago, but Sammy was convinced, and there was no turning back. He reevaluated his life from top to bottom during the long drive from Utah. There was no reason to put up with Barbara’s bullshit and apathy any longer. She was pulling him down and causing him to feel bitter too.

In the end, there was only one solution.

Sammy wanted to whisk Lindsay away from the brothel, the industry itself – forever – and fly off to some tropical location and spend an entire month there. Why not a year? Hawaii, Anguilla, The Maldives, anyplace where he could see her in a bikini all day and fuck the holy hell out of her all night.

Sammy was going to gauge Lindsay’s interest over the coming weeks and months in something long-term, something permanent. If they were on the same page, he’d start the divorce process and go from there.

But Sammy couldn’t rush in full-bore. He needed to be smart about this. Smarter than he’d ever been about anything. Sure, his kids would be upset, and the grandchildren confused, too, but he was ready for it. It was a small price to pay if Lindsay was willing to make a commitment. Barbara would receive a massive chunk of change in a settlement, of course, and the kids would ultimately get their share of the inheritance, too, but he was willing to leave whatever was left to Lindsay.

She’d be set up for life.

And Sammy would be okay if that was her primary motivation for agreeing to the commitment. A marriage, hopefully. Why have Lindsay on the side when he could have her in his life and on her knees, ready to serve full-time? The arrangement, to him, made perfect sense.

Aside from offering cash or gift cards, there was one surefire way straight to a whore’s heart.

“I have some presents for you.” Having purchased them at a little clothing store across town while Lindsay was with Becky, Sammy reached into a backpack and pulled out a gold-colored shopping bag.

It was time to set his grand plan into motion.

“Presents? For me?” Just like that, Lindsay's mood changed. She had a sweet, curious smile, licked her lips, and turned to the side while eyeing the pretty bag. “What's in there? I want to know.” Her face sparkled.

Sammy pulled out the top layer of crinkly gift paper, retrieved a lacey, floral-print bra and a matching G-string, and presented them to her. “Give me a fashion show? I want you to have these too. Keep them.”

“Oh my gosh. Yes, thank you. And I'll be happy to give you a fashion show. It'll be my pleasure. This is so nice. It's pretty. Thank you again.” Lindsay glanced at the lingerie set for several seconds, her eyes beaming, took a seat in the recliner, and began removing Pamela's high heels. “Sooooo, how long have you been the CEO of the company you work for to be able to come here and spend so much money on me if I may ask?”

“Four years.” Sammy leaned back and steepled his fingers together in front of him. “Was an upper executive for twenty-four years, held various management positions for seven, and been with the company for thirty-nine overall. Gradiph has been good to me and my family.” He had four more years to go, too, before taking an early retirement at sixty-two. With any luck, Lindsay would travel the world with him.

“Thirty-nine years? That's more than twice as long as I've been alive.” Lindsay swept her hair back over her shoulder with one hand, stood up, and began fiddling with the black panties. She stepped into the garment and pulled it up and into place along her hips.

“You and that sexy, little body of yours will make more money one day than I could ever dream of.”

Lindsay broke out into a melodious, joyful laugh. A sweet laugh that personified her to a T. “I don't know about that!” I'm not a supermodel! She slipped the bra around her torso and hooked it at her stomach. “Is black your favorite color?”

“Hmmmmm, hard to say.” Sammy's voice was deep, assertive, and more than a bit intimidating. “I don't believe in favorite colors, per se.”

“Okay.” Lindsay pulled the bra upward and covered her breasts with it.

“I think certain colors go on certain things.”

“I agree. Depends on the mood too.” The bra was in its proper position with the straps around her shoulders.

“Correct.” Sammy wet his lips and his eyes flashed. “Wow, nice. Let me see your ass.” Lindsay turned and giggled as she flaunted her backside, then went back to facing him. “It looks like the fit is right on point.”

“Yeah, I like it.” She cupped her breasts. “The lace is nice and push-up bras are always a plus!”

“I like to look at you in it.”

“Yeah? Anything …” She turned and sauntered over to the small coffee table. “… you'd like me to do?”

“Hmmmmm.” He tilted his head and grinned. “Can you do splits?”

“Splits?”

“Yeah, like a cheerleader.”

“Umm, yeah. I mean, I haven't done any cheerleading since the winter, but I should be able to.” Lindsay gave a single-shouldered shrug. “I can at least try.” She walked to the center of the room and took a quick, shallow breath.

“I don't want you to hurt yourself.” Lindsay giggled as he added, “I won't be held responsible if you do.” She easily assumed the position and did a full-on straddle split upon the floor. “Oh, wow. Impressive.” This meant she was flexible, so Sammy could bend and contort her into all sorts of unique positions.

“I was worried if I could still do that!” Still giggling, Lindsay hopped up and returned to her feet.

“Well, I'm glad you did.” Sammy went back to the gift bag and fished out a one-piece lace teddy and offered it to her. “Why don't you strip for me, slowly, and try this on?” She nodded and slipped out of her bra. “I love your voice. It's very soft and sexy. Very gentle.”

“I like for things to be calm. I've always been a problem solver.” Soon, the panties were gone as well. “Raising your voice in anger never solves anything. I've always been a firm believer in that.”

“So nice. And so true.” Sammy's eyes were laser-focused as he gave her the teddy and she began to change into it. “What's your favorite color, honey?”

“Pink.”

Just like her pussy. “Why?”

“I don't know. I think it's a girly color and I like to think I'm pretty girly.” Again, an adorable laugh. “I like this teddy. It's so cute. Red is a good color too.”

“You’re a lot more relaxed and at ease than you were nine days ago.”

“It was my first night on the job and I was so naïve. I was like a deer caught in the headlights.”

“I don't believe that.”

She chuckled and modeled the outfit. “I was! I was also told you prefer the new girls and that's why you wanted to be with me.”

“Really?” He didn’t prefer anyone more than Lindsay. “Hmmmmm, that's the reputation I have and I'm not afraid to admit it.” Truth be told, if Sammy came across an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old working girl, he’d fuck her. Never did he give them any consideration – he’d just do it. Most were still vulnerable and raw, and it was always good to get in early. “But I enjoy older ladies, too, such as Mariko. I don’t discriminate. Known her for seventeen years and counting.”

“You like all the girls!” Smiling, Lindsay took a seat on the coffee table and crossed her legs.

“Why don't you pose for me?”

She inclined her head. “Wanna see my butt first?”

“I want to see what you want to show me.”

“Okay.” Lindsay slid from the table, turned, and dropped down to all fours to again flash her ass.

He didn't say anything in response this time, so Lindsay reached back with one hand and fondled her backside and jiggled it about. “I’m good at twerking!” She got into a seated position, spun to face him, and fiddled with the lace between her thighs. A glimpse of her pussy followed, but she was quick to hide it.

“Maybe I shouldn't take her out yet. She's always looking to bust out and be free!”

Sammy exhaled a harsh breath and Lindsay snickered. She peeled the lace away from her breasts and flashed them too. “I can tell you're dominant.”

“Depends on my mood.”

“Okay! Makes sense, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded.

“You want to be told what to do tonight and tomorrow? You want a guiding hand? A firm hand?” As Sammy kept talking, she nodded graciously. “I think you need to be told what to do. You're a newbie in this industry and you still don't have a damn clue what's going on. So, I'll take the reins. Does that make you feel more secure?”

“Yeah.” Lindsay gave a red-faced grin. “Makes me feel a lot better, actually.” She wanted Sammy to seize control so she could please him properly. If you have to punish me – hurt me – then do it. She blew out a breath. By Saturday morning, Lindsay feared she was going to be a patient at William Morris Stewart Medical Center in Valley City because of Sammy. Maybe even on life support!

“You're sweating, darlin'.”

“I'm a little nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about.”

“I know.” I love you, Sammy, and want you to use me. “You're a nice guy.”

“Sometimes I am.”

“I hope you are!”

“Think my dick is hard yet?”

Lindsay's eyes radiated with curiosity. “Is it hard yet? Are you asking me?”

“I'm asking what you think.”

“Umm, I hope it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do your clients usually get hard for you quick?”

“Umm, I don't know. I'm still a newbie, remember?”

“You've fucked your fair share of clients already.”

“I have.”

“Were their dicks hard or did you have to make them hard?”

“Usually, they come out hard.”

“Yeah? Doesn't surprise me. Something about you makes all the dicks hard. What do you think that is?”

“Umm, maybe how innocent I am?” Lindsay giggled. “But then, in reality, I'm not, at the same time? Guys seem to get off on that.”

“You're a sweet girl.” Sammy would bet his entire fortune Lindsay was the “class slut” in high school and every guy, including the teachers, busted their nuts at night fantasizing about her. Hell, he busted his own nuts fantasizing about her. “Would you like to suck my dick?”

Her voice a sudden, forced whisper, she responded, “I'd love to suck your dick.”

Sammy grinned. “You'd love to suck my dick?”

“Yeah!”

“Kayleigh, babygirl, then I want you between my legs sucking my dick.” Sammy loosened his bathrobe and again settled on the edge of the bed. “Park your little ass on the floor. Come on, no hesitation. Do as I tell you. Otherwise, you'll go over my knee for a spanking instead. And then you'll suck my dick anyway.”

“Yes sir.”

Sammy audibly hummed as Lindsay settled between his widespread legs. Her expression was full of wanton delight as she went fishing for his dick and found it.

“You're so fucking hot.”

“Oh my gosh,” Lindsay erupted, her eyes blinking. It’s bigger than I remember! Her voice turned serious. “How is your wife not interested in having sex with you anymore?”

“Uhh …” Tongue-twisted, Sammy gulped his throat.

Lindsay was already giving him a handjob. “I'd suck on this dick day and night if I was her. There'd be times you couldn't pry my lips away from it.” She retrieved a condom from the nearby supply box. Her hunger took over as she put it on the end of his dick, opened her mouth, and rolled the sleeve into place with her lips as he slid over her tongue and into her mouth.

For a split second, Sammy hid his face because he was full of mad rage. Damn the law! He hated having to wear a condom during oral sex and saw no point in it. If it was legal to go down on a prostitute without a dental dam, why couldn’t they suck him bareback too?

“I want your mouth.” Sammy regained control of his emotions yet still had wildfire surging throughout his body. “Show Daddy what you've been doing, babygirl, since he's been away on business for over a week. You've been sucking all this dick behind Daddy's back. Oh my God.”

Sammy's reacted accordingly to Lindsay slicking the tip of her tongue along the length of his erection. Bent over and now on her knees, she had a firm grip as her mouth descended and swallowed half its girth. Lindsay's head bobbed up and down as Sammy's fingers fluttered against her shoulder.

“Yes, babygirl. Go, go, go, go! Good girl. Fuck, that feels so fucking good.”

Lindsay pulled back with a smile, but kept her fingers wound tightly around his cock. “Does your wife ever get down on her knees like this for you?”

“Umm, not anymore.”

Maybe you need a new wife?

Without hesitation, Lindsay engulfed him again and went to town without the use of her hands. Growls emanated from deep within her throat as Sammy gathered his composure.

“Put that fucking dick right on your tongue. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah … feels good. Aww, there you go, there you go. That's a good girl, a good fuckin' girl.” It never took Sammy long to slide into his dominant, take-charge mindset, especially when a young, gorgeous doll such as Lindsay was servicing him. It was as easy as flipping a switch. “Grab my cock! Suck it, yeah. Suck it.” Sammy leaned over and smacked the side of her hip with an open palm. “Yeah, take it! Keep taking it! Oh, we're just gettin' started. I'm gonna wear you out, babygirl.”

“You taste really good.”

“Oh, do I?” Sammy let loose with a chuckle as Lindsay slid her lips and tongue along his testicles. “Put my dick back in your mouth where it belongs, sweetheart. I'm going to fuck your face the same way I did last time.” The same way she’d repeatedly begged him in e-mail to.

Within seconds, Sammy's cock clashed with the back of Lindsay's throat and she coughed several times. She reactively put her hands on his thighs and tried to push away, but Sammy was having none of that. He gripped her hair and hissed, “No, you're taking it.”

He pulled her head back and allowed a moment to gather herself, anyway, then shoved back into her mouth. Lindsay's lips were stretched thin, her eyes wide, as her tongue danced around his length. I could suck this cock until the end of eternity! She inhaled quick breaths through her nostrils as Sammy drilled away.

It was a brutal face-fucking and quite uncomfortable, but Lindsay didn't care. She was far more concerned with taking care of Sammy and making sure he received maximum enjoyment. I'm a little more prepared for you than I was last time, you know, with all the added experience I have.

Both hands were in her hair as he pumped away like a turbine engine. Lindsay's eyes watered and the hinge of her jaw ached. She did her best to hold still and give him full authority over both the intensity and depth of his thrusts. He rammed her throat time and time again. Lindsay gagged and wretched horribly, but Sammy didn't stop. He wouldn't stop, nor would he relent.

“I own your mouth, slut. Hell, I’m going to own every inch of you by the time things are all said and done. Fuck! You turn me on so much.”

Without a warning, Sammy stood and pulled Lindsay's head from his cock, bent over, and got in her face. “Stick your hand between your legs and underneath that lace. I want you to come while I'm fucking that whore mouth.”

“Yes sir.” Lindsay immediately reached down and found her damp, swollen clitoris, and let out a loud gasp at the self-induced pleasure.

“There you go, rubbing that little pussy again. Oh, you do this day and night. Don't you, babygirl? You lay in this bed and play with yourself as you fantasize about my cock being inside you. Daddy's cock fucking you like only it can. Am I right? Battering your cervix, my balls bouncing off your ass, my hands spanking you at the same time? You want bruises on your ass, don't you, so you won't be able to sit down for three whole days? You want to give yourself to me, don't you? For me to make you my personal, little slut? My fucktoy? Come on, babygirl. Say it. I want to hear you say it!”

“Yes, Daddy! Yes!” Lindsay cried out as she throbbed with need – her nipples, her pussy, the pit of her stomach – every millimeter of her being. The fuck with Jim and whatever he thinks of our discussion! “I want to be your slave! I want to …”

Her words were cut off as Sammy forced his cock back into her mouth. Tears saturated Lindsay’s face from the savagery of it all, and her pussy ached for more as she continued to finger away. She rolled and undulated her hips and began to drift off into another plateau, another dimension, literally, where the only things that mattered were her body, Sammy's body, and what she could do to satisfy him because that alone gave her a feeling of happiness like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

Subspace.

“Aww, fuuuuuck. Yeah, keep taking it down your throat, babygirl. Oh God. Your mouth was made for sucking dick. My dick, right?” Sammy had visions of giving her a face-fucking during their wedding ceremony, right in the holy cathedral itself, with her entire family watching. “Yeah, yeah, right there. Open your fucking eyes and keep them trained on me. Yeah, do what I tell you! Fuck your fuckin' pretty, little face! Deep in your throat. Choke on it, you dirty cunt!”

Sammy's gaze blazed a trail to her soul. He twined her hair around his left hand and yanked hard while his right went lower and grabbed her still-covered breast. It was all Lindsay needed. She screamed around his cock as an orgasm ripped through her body. Pleasure unlike anything she'd ever known overwhelmed and then annihilated her like an incoming tsunami and, much like the last time they were together, Lindsay squirted. Her back arched and the juicy goodness spewed across the floor. Sammy took immediate notice and revealed a wicked grin.

In the aftermath, his cock still hard and raging, Sammy dropped to one knee and lifted her chin with his hand until they made eye contact. He wasn’t worried about getting off yet. He had twenty-four hours for that and, at his age, needed to conserve himself.

Lindsay's head dropped when he let go. She gasped for oxygen and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Her hands were shaking too. Soon, Lindsay looked back up and smiled at the tenderness etched across Sammy's face. No more aggression or roughhousing, Sammy was clearly concerned and wanted to be sure she was okay. Such a contrast to how he was a moment ago.

“Why not go over to the sink and fix yourself up? Take your time. Your mascara needs touching up and I don't want you wrecked and messed up right off the bat.” Besides, it was time for Sammy to see about another girl joining them for an hour. “Freshen up, babygirl, make yourself look presentable.”

Lindsay wheezed and let out an embarrassing hiccup. “Yes sir.”

In the future, perhaps, Lindsay may look back on her life and feel mortified she’d once taken up prostitution, but as for now, with parties and men like this, she was having too much fun.

<> <> <> <> <>

“You know, I’m not gonna say our marriage has been perfect because it hasn’t, and any working lady who claims `oh, my marriage is good, my husband doesn’t care at all’, it’s not true.” At home and in their living room in Fairfax, Pamela sat in her favorite rocking chair while Colt lounged across the way on the sofa. “They’re gonna care at times and things need to be discussed, but what’s always worked for us, Colt, is complete, transparent honesty, exactly how you’re feeling, exactly what’s goin’ on, you know, and apparently, I haven’t been getting that from you lately.”

Colt scrubbed a hand across his face. “Again, I’m sorry about what I said earlier at Groucho’s.” Remorse strained the chambers of his heart. “It was uncalled for.”

“Damn right it was.” With both arms laced across her chest, Pamela was cold, and disoriented, and her poor spine was stiff as a ramrod. How could Colt question her loyalty? “You and I don’t have what people would think of as, oh, how do I say it, a normal relationship. We’ve been married for ten years and I’ve had sex, slept with, three thousand guys, and four or five hundred girls. And for a lot of, umm, I don’t want to say civilians, but civilian people, they’re like `oh, that’s kind of crazy.’” Pamela took in a staggered breath. “But you’ve always told me, `you know, if this is what you want to do, I support you. It might be hard, but as long as you’re happy, I support you.’”

“I still support you.” Colt’s expression fell into disrepair. “I always have, always will.”

“Then what are you jealous of?” Instead of beating around the bush, Pamela decided to come right out and say it. Get it out into the open because a short while ago over dinner, Colt admitted he was starting to feel uncomfortable when she was servicing her clients. “I don’t understand why you’re jealous or have any reservations at all. You, of all people, Mr. Brothel Owner. You know you’re the only man for me. I. Love. You! Nothing is going to change that. I’ve always been loyal to you, honest with you. My clients, they’re just clients. That’s it! Nothing more.”

Colt’s chin scraped his chest. “I don’t know.”

She gave him a deadpan stare.

“I can’t keep going on like this.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t you see? I’m getting older and, I don’t know, my priorities are changing.” His stomach hardening, Colt grabbed at his hair with both hands and grunted. Did this signify the start of a midlife crisis? “I’m not the same guy I was fifteen, twenty years ago.” Meeting and marrying his soulmate had changed him too. “I’ve lived this lifestyle for so damn long – the brothel life – and, I don’t know, I think I may be done with it.”

William got Colt involved in the business from the day he turned eighteen and constantly spoke of how he wanted him to make it his life’s work. Hell, Colt lost his virginity on his eighteenth birthday in a three-on-one gangbang in what was now Kenzie’s bedroom. William instructed Corinna, Kerri, and Tiffany to fuck Colt, to tag-team him, for an entire afternoon. His father said it was finally time to become a man and what better way to do it than in a foursome?

For Colt, it wasn’t a treasured memory. Losing his virginity to three women who didn’t want to be with him – they didn’t receive a dime for their efforts – while his dad was down the hall, tending bar. William, in fact, forced the trio into it, threatening their jobs if they refused.

Colt regretted that, even berated himself over it.

During his high school days, most of the “normal” girls wanted nothing to do with him because his father ran the brothel in town. Or their parents forbid them from talking to him. Colt had a crush on Mandy Jackson, he recalled, and she liked him, too, but her father promised to ruin Colt’s life, even murder him, if he continued to date her. He also threatened to send his daughter off to boarding school in order to split her and Colt apart.

“I never wanted this, Pamela. Sure, when I was younger, it was awesome to be the house manager and have the pick of the litter. For a while, I was the King of the Mountain.” Around age twenty-five, Colt was at his wildest, his most out-of-control. “Any working girl I wanted in those days, all I had to do was snap my fingers and they’d come running.” William would fire anyone who said no. It was an unwritten rule in some brothels – the owner, management, certain staff would receive sexual favors. “There are so many skeletons in my closet and I’m not proud of them. A lot of my past disgusts me.”

Thank God I never coerced or bullied you into having sex with me. His shoulders fell into a bowed heap. Pamela was always “different” in his eyes – the gold standard Colt could never tarnish. I told Dad to stay the fuck away from you, too, that you were the holy grail, and off-limits. While William was belligerent and controlling as a parent, he adhered, never once laying a finger on Pamela.

“When I was growing up, I had visions of moving to California one day and getting a job on the beach. Something like, I don't know, managing a marina, maybe.” Hurt fogged his eyes. “Leaving Nevada behind – the Godforsaken heat and barren, empty desert – and starting my own life, carving my own path. But Dad wouldn't let me. Said I had to stay and work at the brothel if I wanted any help with college tuition.” At age eighteen, nineteen, what was Colt supposed to tell him?

No?

“He was hellbent on me working at the house, taking it over for him one day, and staying until the day I retired. Or die. Come October, he’ll be gone for ten years. Ten long years.” A thousand ants seemed to crawl over Colt’s skin. “And yet, here I am, still doing what the bully wants.”

Pamela was white as a ghost. “What does that have to do with now? With us?”

“I'm tired of this life!” Colt's fists drew up like angry stones, but he was quick to corral his temper. “Not of you, of course, but this job, what we do. I've grown out of it. I want, I want …” To stay here in Maryland, never go back to Flagstone, and start a family with you. Colt yearned to have kids and right the wrongs from his own childhood. He wanted Pamela to finish her graduate degree, find work at a medical facility, and become a Nurse Practitioner. She’d be great at it.

Me? I'll figure something out. Colt held degrees in Business Administration and Finance, and the idea of searching for a new job didn’t intimidate him. Or he could just start a new business. A G-rated one, of course.

Most of all, I want Pamela for myself.

To Pamela, it was obvious what was on his mind. They'd been down this road before. “The brothel is our life, Colt. How we make our income and what provides us a comfortable lifestyle. It’s how we met too. We just can't walk out the door on a whim and leave it all behind.” What about Jim? What would he do? Francisco? Mindy? Jenn? Pamela grimaced. Jim had worked at the house since 1983 and, if she and Colt abandoned ship, they could potentially ruin his life. Jim would be out of a job.

As would the others.

“What about Cousin Jeremy from Vegas? He wants to buy the brothel.” Jeremy McCarron, a business magnate, investor, and entrepreneur with a net worth of US$19.6 billion, would tear the house down, attempt to purchase any adjacent properties, and build an all-exclusive, high-end sex resort that would put all the other brothels in the state, including Chastity’s Ranch, to shame. Technically, Colt and Jeremy were first cousins once removed. “Jeremy gave us a generous offer two years ago – triple what the house is worth – and said it will always be on the table. In fact, the last time I spoke with him, in May, he offered even more.”

“Selling a brothel and transferring its ownership license is a long, tedious process,” Pamela reminded him. “You went through that when William passed away and left it to you in his will, remember? Lots of red tape. It's not something where you can sign a piece of paper and be done with it. The city, the county, the sheriff's office, everyone gets involved. It takes months and there's no guarantee the sale and transfer of ownership will be approved.” Pamela didn’t want Jeremy to take over the brothel anyway. He’d make too many sweeping changes, including letting all the current staff go. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I know you like working there, sweetheart. You're close with several of the girls – Scarlett, Nicolette, Kenzie, and especially Kayleigh.” Colt plucked at the collar of his shirt. “I don't want to take that away from you.”

Speaking of veering from the proper path in life, were things supposed to turn out the way they did for Pamela? Was she destined to meet and fall in love, and marry a guy like Colt? Pamela was the quintessential “bad girl” growing up in school, promiscuous and always getting into trouble. For starters, she couldn’t keep her clothes on. That was a major problem. All the guys were after her and she wasn’t exactly picky about who she was with.

Her grades weren’t the best, either, and she was at constant odds with her parents. Pamela was webcamming on her eighteenth birthday, doing full nude sex shows for money, and working at a brothel six months later.

Oh, and dancing at a strip club (and turning illegal tricks) in between too.

Without Colt, Pamela could easily envision herself being in Scarlett’s shoes: wild and reckless to a fault and, though she was engaged to be married, not in love with the guy. Scarlett was only marrying Jason because he was due a hefty trust fund settlement soon – she’d confided this in Pamela – and wanted to sink her greedy mitts into it. Scarlett was callous, selfish, and egotistical.

Like Pamela considered herself in her younger days.

Indeed, she thought, that could’ve been her if things turned out differently. Perhaps Pamela would have an abusive boyfriend or husband like Kenzie once did? Or someone who questioned her every move like Elisabeth’s husband? Robert tried keeping her on a leash, yet Elisabeth rebelled, and it was obvious their marriage was bound for ruins. Or a boyfriend, husband, whatever, whom she did not love. At all. Someone she wanted to control and extract every penny out of like Scarlett did to Jason.

What type of life was that to strive for?

Not with Colt around, though. He’d always protected Pamela from the “dark side” and had her best interests in mind. Let her do her own thing and never asked any questions. Did she have a sudden inkling to go to bed, have an all-nighter, with Nicolette? Sahara and Riley? Lindsay? How many times did Pamela pass on an intimate evening with Colt to have raunchy, hardcore sex with a client, a total stranger? Not once did he have a problem with it, as far as she knew, at least, insisting she do what made her happy.

Working made her happy.

“Do you know what one of my favorite things about you is, Colt?” Pamela angled her body toward him, her tone whispery soft. He shook his head in response. “It’s something minor, a little gesture you do. Every time I have a party, a GFE with a random monger and it ends, I say goodbye and he walks out the door, you always bring me into your arms afterward for a long, warm embrace.” Pamela tipped her head high. “Every single time, right away, without fail. You ask how I’m doing, if I’m okay, if I need anything, and if I want time off. I’ve always thought that is so sweet of you, so thoughtful.”

It's been tearing me to pieces here as of late listening to your parties and hearing what these disrespectful fuckers say to you and the things they ask for. But that was no different than five, even ten, twelve years ago, right? Mongers never changed. Was owning a brothel and having his wife as its featured attraction a “phase” for Colt? A cycle in his life which he had outgrown?

Had Charlie Winters and Lindsay Anastacio been the tipping point? If not, what pushed him over the edge? Dammit, Pamela, I just want you for myself.

What made this situation more perplexing was, even with all the people she’d had sex with, Colt never once had the notion Pamela was “cheating” on him. She is just doing her job, making money. To him, Pamela was a faithful wife, and yes, a loyal wife, too, and he didn’t question her sincerity toward him. That had never been an issue. But the damn, fucking brothel – working at it – added complex wrinkles to their marriage that no couple should ever have to deal with.

I wish we’d never go back.

“When I’m with you, Colt, I can wind down, relax, and it’s so good to be with a man … not just for sex. At the end of the day, it’s like we come home to each other, in a way, and having sex with someone in real life and having sex with someone at the house is so different.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “It’s just, the connection is different, the feeling is different, it’s such a more real, intimate experience and …”

“Well,” Colt interjected, “you’re not putting on a show.”

“There’s no show.” Her voice hitched with emotion. “I don’t have to wear my makeup, I don’t have to dress in racy lingerie, there’s nothing like that.”

“You don’t have to suck sideways.” His own words drew a tiny smirk.

“Yeah.”

“Or on a desk, or on the massage table, against the wall, in the upside-down pile driver position.”

“Yes! And the bond I feel for you, Colt, is so powerful. I love you so much and sometimes I have this feeling like I want to slice you open so I can live inside of your body. Like, that is how much I love you.”

His eyebrows wagged. “Wow, romantic.”

Pamela laughed. “Like, I want to crawl inside of you and just live there. It’s like, this really powerful thing, and the sex with you is amazing, it’s different, it’s something I’ve never felt with anybody else. And I have that with you, Colt. I have our love, our twelve years of being together. I have what I want, what I’ve dreamt about. I cherish what we have, and promise you, no man, no woman will ever come between us.” Tears forming in her eyes, Pamela took a deep breath. She could do this.

“Pamela, don’t. This is all my fault. I’ve just been in a weird place lately and I …”

“Please, baby,” she interrupted, “let me finish. I know I’m not the perfect, ideal wife …”

Yes, you are.

“… but I never want you to doubt my feelings for you. I don’t care how many Charlies fall in love with me, how many gifts guys like Corey send me. There is absolutely no reason for you to feel anger, jealousy, whatever. That’s business. It’s not pleasure, not personal.” She dropped her head in her hands. “Besides, I’ll probably never work at the house again, anyway, with how jacked up my back is.” Where did that come from? Where was the confidence, the positive spin on everything that made Pamela so appealing to others?

Above all else, where was her denial?

“Hey.” Colt’s soothing voice was accompanied by his hand touching her shoulder. Now on bent knee, he planted a kiss on her temple. “You’re going to be fine. Medical science, doctors, they can do amazing things. They’re going to fix you up and your back will be as good as new.”

“But what if it’s not?” Panic rose from within. It was time to let her guard down. This injury, the possibility of major spinal surgery, of permanent damage, terrified her like nothing ever had. What would she do for a job? Would she live and work in Maryland while Colt commuted thousands of miles back and forth? There was no way she’d work at the brothel as a bartender or the house madam, or behind the scenes, if she couldn’t double-dip as a provider. Pamela had too many recurring clients, too much of a history, and feared that if she had to turn those long-time mongers away and disappoint them, it would decimate the house’s business.

Just cripple it.

Why did this have to happen? How could it happen?

“You’ve always told me that you’d never welcome any negative energy into your life.” Colt paused before adding with sympathy in his voice, “C’mon, Pamela, everything will be fine. It’ll work out.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t like seeing you this way.”

With Colt sounding nothing short of tortured with that last statement, Pamela looked up and tears began tumbling down her cheeks. God, she was pathetic. Colt may have skeletons in the closet, a history of guilt and shame, but that was all in the past. What’s done is done. Colt was a good man who’d do anything for her. The way he took care of her. He’d tell her every day her happiness was his happiness, and it was the only thing that mattered to him. The way he was just Colt, and it was reassuring to her – and sexy as hell.

He brushed away more of the tears that were flowing so freely down Pamela’s face. “While I do admit that I’d like to move on to the next chapter of our life – kids, a less hectic lifestyle, more normalcy – I know you’re not ready for it. And I’m fine with that. I really, really am.” Despite his hatred for the house and their professional lives, Colt was telling the truth. “I’d never force you into anything.”

He had sacrificed so much for Pamela over the years to make sure she was happy, including holding back on his own life’s ambitions. I knew what I signed up for when I married a working girl. Foregoing the opportunity to be a father was the most painful sacrifice, but Pamela was younger than him and not ready yet – she likes to work and stay active, do her part – so it was a no-brainer. Perhaps she’ll never be ready. If so, that would be okay too. Like everything else, Colt would deal with it.

He didn’t know what he’d do without her. She was the best thing in his life.

Any sacrifice was worth it.

The forty-four-year-old leaned close so his forehead was resting on hers, his breath was ragged and warm against her moist cheek. He cupped Pamela’s face in her hands and whispered, “I know we have much more to discuss, but right now my focus is doing whatever I can – whatever we can – to get you healthy and back to work because that’s what you want. I know you don’t want your career to end in this manner.”

Colt weaved his fingers into Pamela’s hair, near the base of her neck, and tilted her head. “Please let me take you upstairs so I can lay you down, give you a massage, and make you feel better. Please, honey.”

As Pamela nodded, Colt’s lips covered hers. Soon their tongues were tangled together and the heat of their unique connection was burning like a desert wildfire.

(This chapter (it's a long one!) continues in the next submission...)