Chapter 2

The beach inside Paradise Sands wasn’t real, but it wanted you to forget that. The moment you stepped through the threshold of the climate-sealed dome, the temperature shifted to a comfortable, sun-kissed heat. A soft breeze, artificially generated, carried the scent of salt and coconut oil, drifting over smooth dunes of real imported sand. Every grain had been heat-treated and sifted, carefully maintained to feel soft beneath bare feet but never cling too much to oiled skin.

Above, the sky was a vast projection dome, high and seamless, programmed to mirror the time of day. During business hours, it remained in a perpetual late afternoon, the sun low and golden, shadows long, clouds sparse and picturesque. Beyond the sand, the shoreline curved gently into shimmering blue water, warm and shallow at first, darkening as it deepened. From a distance, it looked endless, a perfect digital illusion of a never-ending ocean. But beneath the surface, past the neck-deep threshold, the water curved up against a transparent display wall. If you swam far enough, you’d meet the edge of the illusion, a glowing shimmer beneath the waves where synthetic sea met solid dome.

The beach was divided into six sections, each designed to fulfill the fantasy of a single client, with no walls to block the view or interrupt the atmosphere. A raised cabana stood at the rear of each zone, complete with sheer white curtains that fluttered in the artificial breeze. Plush lounge chairs were arranged outside each cabana, facing the water, the seats covered in cushions and pillows in bright beachy colors. Closer to the water, soft towels lay atop the sand, perfect for sunbathing or relaxing on after a dip. Clients could take their pick: shade and seclusion, sun-soaked attention while lounging, simple intimacy by the shallows, or swimming out into the deeper water, away from the bustle and the noise.

Hidden sensors and a team of maintenance staff kept the environment pristine. The sand never stayed disturbed for long. The towels never stayed damp. Even the water was recycled constantly, flowing in and out with gentle waves choreographed by submerged pressure systems. It all felt real luxurious, natural, tropical, but it was all perfectly controlled. Designed for pleasure. Built for business.

Naomi straddled a man’s lap on a towel near the water’s edge, her exposed dark skin glistening with beads of seawater and sweat, catching the golden dome light like polished bronze. The man beneath her was older, broad in the chest and eager in the eyes, his hands resting on her hips as she rocked gently over him, their bodies still dripping from the synthetic waves. She laughed at something he said, tossing her damp curls back over her shoulder, her smile bright, effortless. She touched his face, leaned in close, her voice low and teasing, just loud enough to make him feel special, like this moment was meant just for him.

The sound of water lapping against the sand was drowned beneath soft moans and breathy gasps echoing from the other sections. Naomi didn’t need to look to know who was doing what. She could picture it all from memory, each zone playing out its own private scene under the sky that never changed.

A few sections over, soft rhythmic slapping echoed behind one of the cabanas—Vanessa, probably, the one with the loud, fake giggle and long pink nails. She was riding her client hard and fast, making sure he got his money’s worth. From another zone came the breathy, muffled sounds of someone getting deepthroated in one of the lounge chairs. In the far section near the simulated dunes, she could hear a girl moaning into the sand, her voice high and theatrical, matching the soft thud of her hips being driven into from behind. Even the gentle sound of the waves couldn’t fully mask it—the air was filled with the constant rhythm of sex, each girl making her client feel like the only one on this fake, perfect beach.

And Naomi smiled through it all. Laughed, rolled her hips, whispered something that made the man beneath her groan. Her job wasn’t just to fuck. It was to make him forget everything else. And right now, she was doing it perfectly.

They were out on the towels instead of the privacy of a cabana because that’s what her client wanted. He liked the idea that others could see Naomi fucking him, wanted to show her off, to have the other men envy the sight of a beautiful girl like her riding his cock out in the open. Naomi’s body, lithe and toned, would have looked stunning in her gold bikini, but the first thing her client asked her was to take it off, and she’d been naked since. Her small, perky breasts were exposed to the artificial sunlight, nipples dark and glistening as drops of water slid down from her collarbones. Every movement of her hips made her breasts bounce gently, drawing the eyes of anyone who glanced in their direction.

She could feel the eyes, too. The stolen glances from other clients, the curious looks from coworkers as they passed by with their own partners. Naomi’s smooth brown skin shimmered with sweat and sea spray, her toned thighs flexing as she rode him slowly, savoring the friction and the way his hands explored her body, squeezing her ass, trailing up her spine. She leaned back a little, arching her chest toward the artificial sun, laughing as he squeezed her breasts in both hands, making no effort to hide how much he enjoyed showing her off.

He groaned beneath her, pride swelling in his voice as he urged her to go faster, louder, to let the others see just how good she made him feel. And Naomi gave him what he wanted, moving with practiced, effortless confidence, meeting his thrusts, her laughter and moans bright and genuine enough to convince even herself, for a moment, that she was here for her own pleasure too.

Soon after, it was over. Her client pulled his trunks back on with a satisfied grin and left Naomi on the towel, breathless and smiling, putting on a quick show of contentment for his sake and anyone watching. As soon as he was gone, she wrapped herself in her towel, collected her things, and headed across the cool sand toward the locker rooms at the back of the dome.

Inside, the locker room was bright and clean, tiled in soothing blue and white. Naomi let the door swing shut behind her, the noise and heat of the artificial beach fading away. She dropped her towel on the bench, her naked body marked by faint sand and red handprints. Her breasts still tingled where he had squeezed them, and her thighs felt sticky with his cum, the last traces slowly leaking from her as she made her way to the showers.

The locker room was bright and clean, lined with a row of individual shower stalls along the back wall. Each stall had smooth tile walls on three sides, but instead of doors or curtains, the fronts were open. Anyone walking past could easily glance inside if they cared to, but nobody did. Privacy was relative here, and after months working at Paradise Sands, Naomi hardly noticed anymore.

It was just another part of the job, another place where bodies in every state of undress were as common as sand on the floor. The girls moved in and out of the showers, chatting, laughing, rinsing off the traces of each client without a second thought. Naomi stepped into an empty stall, dropped her towel onto the bench outside, and turned on the water.

Under the hot spray, Naomi let her head fall forward, eyes closed, palms pressed to the tile as the water coursed over her skin. She spread her legs, feeling the cum drip down her inner thighs, mixing with the water and swirling away down the drain. The shower was her only real privacy here, a place to breathe, to let go, to wash away the last client and start again. For a moment, she simply stood there, letting the steam rise around her, her body aching but clean.

Naomi let the water pound against her shoulders, eyes closed, her forehead resting on the cool tile. She had almost lost herself in the white noise of the shower when the locker room door squeaked open behind her.

“Naomi?” a man’s voice called out, casual and close.

She stiffened as she recognized the tone, Calvin, her manager. She peeked over her shoulder just as he stepped through the steam, wearing only a pair of dark swim trunks and a smile.

“Didn’t mean to barge in,” Calvin said, raising his hands in mock apology, but not looking away. “Just wanted to let you know, your last client left a fat tip at the front desk. Nice work out there. And ... your boyfriend is out front. Says he wants to talk to you.”

At those words, Naomi’s whole body seized up. Her breath caught. She instinctively shrank against the shower wall, curling into herself, arms hugging her chest, and knees drawing in. Her eyes went wide, fear flashing across her face.

Calvin’s playful tone faded as he stepped closer, water misting across his chest.

“Naomi, what’s wrong? Hey ... are you okay?” He frowned, voice gentler now.

“Please ... don’t let him in. Don’t let him see me.” She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper over the rush of water.

“Naomi? Talk to me. What’s going on?” Calvin’s expression shifted from confusion to concern.

Still trembling, Naomi pressed her forehead to the tile, her words tumbling out.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. He ... he’s been hurting me. He raped me. He’s been raping me. Last night I ran away. Please, Calvin, don’t let him in here. I can’t see him. Please.”

“He’s not coming in.” Calvin stepped closer, all the playful swagger gone from his voice. His jaw tightened, eyes cold with anger, not at her, but at the situation. “Jesus, Naomi. That’s ... that’s seriously fucked up. What kind of sick bastard—” He stopped himself, knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. “You don’t have to worry about him. I’ll handle it.” His voice dropped even lower, “You’re safe here, you understand? I’ll make sure he never gets near you again.”

Naomi dropped to her knees, her body moving on instinct before her mind could catch up. The shock and fear still lingered in her chest, but underneath it all was that old reflex, a lifetime of training that said this was how you showed gratitude, how you earned protection, how you kept yourself safe.

She reached for Calvin’s swim trunks, pulling them down with trembling hands. He didn’t say a word, just stood there and watched as she took him in hand, her touch light but certain. She opened her mouth, guiding him in, the act mechanical, almost soothing in its familiarity. The taste, the weight, the slow pulse of his arousal against her tongue, these were things she could control, sensations that made sense in a world where everything else felt chaotic.

Calvin let out a low breath, his hand settling gently at the back of her head. He didn’t push, didn’t rush, just held her there, letting her work at her own pace.