CH 1: Pleazure Express

The neon glow of Pleazure Express pulsed against the wet pavement, its vibrant pinks and blues reflecting off the puddles that had formed in the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. The sign above the entrance hummed with electricity, its slogan “Fast, Fresh, and Friendly!” scrolling across in looping animations, drawing the eyes of passersby and regulars alike.

From a distance, it could almost be mistaken for a fast-food joint. A standalone structure, compact and efficient, much like the chain restaurants that had come before it. A set of tinted automatic doors sat in the center of the building, framed on either side by holographic displays that replaced the windows and did all the advertising necessary. Each projection flashed between flawless, high-resolution images of the female employees, their bodies bathed in soft pink lighting, their poses carefully curated for maximum appeal.

They were all dressed in lingerie, or less, their smooth, sculpted forms teasing just enough to lure potential customers through the doors. Some posed playfully, winking at the camera, fingers tracing the straps of their bras; others leaned seductively, hips tilted, their hands pressing into the curves of their thighs. A few were fully nude, their bare breasts and shaved pubic mounds displayed prominently for all to see.

There were no bouncers, no dark alleyways, no need for secrecy. The front doors slid open with the same welcoming ease as a fast-food joint, the same casual invitation to step in and place an order. It was a far cry from the shadowy backrooms and seedy street corners that had once housed the world’s oldest profession.

Lila had clocked in at Pleazure Express ten minutes ago, stepping through those welcoming, automated doors like countless others before her. Unlike the customers, she wasn’t here for a service. She was the service.

In the employee locker rooms she slipped into her uniform without a second thought. The outfit was company standard: a black lace bra that barely covered anything, matching panties that hugged her hips, and the signature short socks with the company logo on them, meant to keep her feet from getting cold but mostly there to complete the look. She tied her hair into a high ponytail, like always, knowing it gave her just the right mix of cute and inviting.

There was no line waiting when she took her position behind one of the registers at the front counter, there rarely ever was. But at least one person was always waiting. No rush, no overwhelming crowds, just a steady trickle of customers at all hours. The kind of business that never truly had a face pace but never stopped. The man in front of her now was like all the others. Standing nervously with his hands in his pockets, eyes flicking between her in her skimpy uniform and the glowing holo-menu floating over her head.

Blowjob - $29.99. Quickie - $49.99. Full Experience - $99.99. Beneath each, a rotating list of add-ons scrolled past—”Deep Throat +$10,” “Bareback +$50 (Recent Medical Clearance Required),” “Girlfriend Experience +$75.” Prices fixed in place by the government, a constant reminder that this was an industry as standardized and predictable as any other.

“Hey there!” Lila chirped, flashing my customer-service smile.

He hesitated. Most of them did. It was funny that after all this time people were still shy, like this wasn’t the most normal thing in the world. Like the government didn’t regulate it, slap a tax on it, and treat it like a standard business.

“Uh...” he finally muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll take a ... uh, Blowjob.”

Lila tapped the order into the terminal, her nails clicking against the screen.

“That’ll be $29.99. You want to add a Gentle Touch for five bucks? It’s on special today.”

“Oh ... What’s that?”

“I’ll massage your balls while I suck you off,” she said like she was recommending a side item. “You won’t believe the difference. My hands are super soft.”

“Um ... alright, sure.”

The guy was awkward, but it didn’t bother her. Most customers were nervous, even if it were their 100th visit. They didn’t seem to realize that this wasn’t a big deal. Not for her. She was used to this, had been doing it for awhile now. This was just work, nothing more or less.

She tapped the order into the terminal, and the total appeared on the display, glowing red.

“Lovely,” Lila smiles sweetly. “Just press your finger on the reeder and you’re all set.”

Jake did as instructed, and a thin line of light passed across his fingertip, reading his ID and verifying his Idenity. The light flashed green, and the system buzzed, confirming the purchase while also bringing up his personal details on the monitor. Age: 32. Occupation: Software Developer. Address: 5646 North St. Last screening date: 3 weeks ago. Number of STI’s: 0.

Lila watched the credits transfer on the screen. She stepped out from behind the counter.

“Follow me to booth three.”

The booths line the walls, divided by thin, frosted glass panels. Enough for some privacy, not enough to hide the grunting and moaning. Each one was a mini room, outfitted with a cheap couch, a little table, and a small camera mounted in the corner to catch it all on video. She felt safe knowing it was being recorded, knowing the government ensured the recordings were kept confidential and private, but also that she could request access if she needed.

Lila’s client follows her, stepping past the curtain into booth number three. It smelled like disinfectant, like it had been cleaned recently. There’s no windows. Only a little air vent, pumping out cold air from the AC. She can hear the chatter of voices through the glass, the loud music playing over the speakers.

“Please, take a seat.” She motions to the couch. “First time?”

“Is it that obvious?” He laughs nervously, eyes darting everywhere but her face.

“Don’t worry,” Lila smirks, brushing her ponytail over one shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. Everyone does.”

He sat down stiffly, like the couch might bite. Lila had seen it all before, the nervous ones always acted like they were doing something wrong, like there wasn’t a receipt for what they just ordered with the taxes added at the end. She dropped to her knees in front of him, the cold floor chilling her knees against her bare skin.

“Just relax,” she said, her voice soft but practiced. She reached for his belt, fingers quickly working, like she was unwrapping a present she’d opened a thousand times before.

His breathing hitched as she tugged down his pants, his boxers following in one smooth motion. She caught the way his hands twitched at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch her or just sit there. Most of them didn’t know the rules until you spelled it out for them.

“You can put your hands on my head if you want,” she offered, looking up through her lashes. “Just don’t get too rough, okay?”

He nodded quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Lila smiled again, not because she wanted to, but because it made things easier. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his cock, and felt the familiar shift in the room. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by something simpler. Transactional. He let out a slow, shuddering breath as she took his dick in her mouth, his hands curling gently into her hair.

It was just another order, another customer, another shift. Fast, fresh, and friendly. Just like the sign promised.

And Lila was a pro.

She closed her eyes and went to work.

By the time Lila clocked out, her jaw ached, her knees were sore, and her fake smile felt like it had been glued on permanently. The neon sign outside still buzzed Fast, Fresh, and Friendly! but inside, the place had thinned out. The late-night rush had slowed, leaving behind only a handful of stragglers slumped in the booths. Their voices were low, muffled by exhaustion and cheap satisfaction, blending into the faint hum of the air vents.

Her last client of the night was an older guy, probably pushing fifty, with a comb-over and a wedding ring he didn’t bother to take off. He’d ordered a Quickie with Eye Contact, one of those weirdly intimate combos that always made her skin crawl just a little. He hadn’t said much at first, just looked at her like he wasn’t sure if he was thrilled or ashamed to be there. But the second she climbed onto his lap, the doubt disappeared.

Lila had ridden him, bouncing and grinding while he moaned and grunted and sweated into the fabric of the couch. Her body moved to the same tired rhythm, her hands resting lightly against his shoulders, her eyes locked onto his like she actually cared. That was what he had paid for, after all. He wanted to be seen. To feel wanted. She had done it a thousand times before, pretending, smiling, playing the part.

She didn’t even flinch when his hands found her waist, sliding over the curve of her hips like he had a right to them. He gripped her thighs too hard, fingers digging in like he was trying to memorize the shape of her. Lila didn’t react. She never did. She just let them touch, take, believe whatever they wanted. It was easier that way.

He finished with a grunt while telling her that she reminded him of his granddaughter. It wasn’t the first time a client had brought up family, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Some days, she was the daughter they wished they had, the girlfriend who would stay with them forever. On bad days, she was the mistress, the forbidden fantasy, the little piece of ass they got when their wife wasn’t paying attention.

His cum was hot and sticky inside her, filling her up in a way that felt too familiar, almost comfortable. He was only customer that had ordered bareback tonight. $50 for Pleazure Express and a womb full of cum for her, as she made her $10 for the hour she spent with him.

She slid off him, reaching for the disinfectant wipes from the little table beside the couch.

“How old are you? Do you go to college?” the man asked as he peeled off the condom, his wedding ring catching the harsh fluorescent light.

Lila didn’t even hesitate, her hands moving with the kind of practiced ease that came from repetition. She ran the cool wipe along her thighs, cleaning off the sweat, the cum, the lingering touch that clung to her skin.

She looked up, forcing the customer-service smile she had perfected over time. The one that made her look young, sweet, and approachable.

“High school,” she corrected. “I’m 16.”

The man let out a satisfied sigh, tossing the used condom into the auto-disposal bin.

“16,” he repeated, shaking his head. “God bless the government for making this legal.”

Lila’s smile didn’t falter. She had heard it before. A hundred times. A thousand. Every man had some version of the same line, as if he needed to say it out loud to justify what he was doing. To convince himself he wasn’t a pervert, a creep or a pedophile

And legally, he wasn’t.

And Lila didn’t know another world, she was born decades after the laws passed and raised in a generation that had no idea what life was like before. To her, being a teenage prostitute was no different than being a barista. Just another job. Just another shift. This was normal to her, it was normal to everyone.

“Thanks for stopping by Pleazure Express,” she said, her tone as bright as it had been at the start of her shift. “Hope we see you again soon!”

The man nodded, pulling out his wallet and shuffling out some bills. He threw a few crumpled notes onto the table, not even bothering to count them.