Chapter 1

Carla Fuentes was just another one of a crowd of nubile young things looking to make a fast buck on the golden strip of fast cars, fast boats and fast women with a cash register deep inside instead of a soul.

At least, that is what the concierge at the Miami Beach Hotel thought the first time he saw her boosting drinks in the outdoor Tiki bar right next to the salt water pool. She was dressed in a red bikini, shook her sleek buttocks standing tall over “fuck me” six-inch heels and had a body that made men’s heads turn even if they were sitting right next to their long-time spouses.

That same concierge, Mickey Jones, remembered his “early warning” brain housing group put her down as “Trouble” with a capital “T” and in dire need of constant watching. Still, he made no move to evict her from the playground of the rich and deplorable because she obviously had tangible feminine assets, certain to be in constant demand by his regular guests, regardless of the risk involved.

He knew that she knew he was watching her and she did her best to ignore the challenge pretending that she was perfectly entitled to be sitting between a real estate mogul from New York City and a race track owner from Tennessee. The fact that she was the seventh daughter of an illegal alien from the Dominican Republic and had only recently turned eighteen was totally unimportant in her one-track mind. What was important was that she had probably the tightest pussy sitting in the pool area and she knew how to use it to get what she wanted.

The race track owner from Tennessee was primarily interested in her because she had that combination of dark skin tone and refined European features that made her unique in a land that placed priorities on the size of breasts and the bounce of buttocks as a young girl simply walked on the side of the pool. Of course, Carla could hold her own in that department, but her added high fashion model looks and firmly toned dark skin made her desirable to most males with an urge to explore the limits of sensuality.

He amplified his listening device to listen in on the conversation with the two marks sitting in the lounge chairs. They were flush with that confidence of lots of money and the good fortune to screw dozens of willing females from hedonistic Manhattan to depraved San Francisco. A tale of two cities, different in so many respects, but still identical with the tangled webs of sin and shame that robbed the innocent of their dignity and rewarded the elite with the taking of their saddened souls. These “jet-set” girls were no less than clones with pussies. Pussies controlled by pretty young things with ambitions to be successful and make some dough at the same time.

Carla was no exception to that motivation, but she had the excuse of inexperience and a stressful childhood endured through no fault of her making. Her mother had happily pushed her out the door as soon as she graduated from high school because the small apartment was so crowded and she was too much competition for the “Johns” she attracted to make ends meet.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in Miami Beach, honey?”

The question from the New York City millionaire was direct, but, in all honesty, Carla liked that kind of interrogation because she could pretend to be a little unsure of herself and the rich pricks would snatch her up like she was a perk for afternoon bedroom entertainment. She didn’t have any problem about that just as long as it was established she wasn’t doing it for love or out of stupidity like some half-tanked college girl from Gainesville or Tallahassee looking for some laughs. She took pride in the fact that she was the ultimate professional and delivered a special product that guaranteed satisfaction.

Some of these poolside guys would leave a tip bigger than what most “corner-girl” joy-girls considered a fair price for doing the “Texas Two-step” in any position humanly possible. From Carla’s point of view, she avoided that sort of thing, because it was mostly organized now and she didn’t want to be literally “busting her ass” for some jerk pimp with flashy clothes and an attitude that was all “me, me, me 24/7” with rules that made her nothing less than a piece of meat and no longer human. Hitting the hotel strip was her bag and she loved the mixture of reality and fantasy. She was mixed in with the rich and famous and it was hard to tell if she belonged or not. If the judging was based on beauty alone, she was at the top of the heap, but she fully recognized she was ultimately an outsider and she feared people like the fucking concierge that had her number and smiled at the fact she knew he was on to her like a step-daddy with a thick leather belt.

Carla was paying a lot more attention to the big city high roller now because he was fixated on her boobs in a way that she instinctively knew meant he could be manipulated into almost anything. His wife was already into her fourth margarita and looked on the verge of slipping into one of those poolside comas that the staff referred to as the “happy hour” nap. She felt a twinge of pity for the poor thing, but business is business and the rent had to be paid on time no matter what one’s personal feelings dictated.

“Just call me Gino, honey. You sure got some tush on ya. Don’t worry about mama there; she is heading to la-la land on the express track. Have you ever been to New York City?”

Carla decided to answer that one in the negative hoping for a quick invitation to take a shower in the big man’s penthouse unit. Her trips north were to give cover to her mother delivering product to some bastard using her for transporting his stuff to a client out on “the island”. The island was bigger than the city itself and stretched over one hundred miles with shitty highways and the slowest train in the world. It was like a carnival of suburbia with people like ants, always in hurry, and never slowing down to look around them.

Somehow, the dirty-talking Gino got the message she was available for a modest reward and he hustled her into the elevator wearing a sheer ankle length robe over her revealing bikini. The staff had big-time smirks on their faces knowing she was taking the much older man upstairs for a ride he would never forget if he survived. She knew the elevator had a pair of cameras that worked real fine, but she didn’t object when he grabbed her ass cheeks and started to maul them with his surprisingly strong hands.