The Girlfriend Experience
Copyright© 2026 by JeremyDCP
Chapter 13
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 13 - Eighteen-year-old Lindsay leaves home against the wishes of her family to pursue a controversial career. **Re-written story**
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Teenagers Consensual Fiction Cheating BDSM
Afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds, striping the cluttered desk like prison bars made of fire. Lindsay sat on cracked vinyl, damp thighs sticking to the material with that uncomfortable peeling sensation every time she shifted. Like I don’t feel miserable enough already. How about Colt sparing a few thousand bucks from yesterday’s massive haul, calling a heating and cooling company, and having the ventilation system upgraded? Or at least fixed? Nah, that would require spending money. Riley said he doesn’t like spending money. The ceiling fan pushed the hot air in slow, useless circles, blending Jenn’s vanilla body spray with the ozone from the ancient electronics. Smells like a stripper got trapped in a Best Buy. The air conditioning, like everything else functional in this house, was reserved for the rooms that lined Colt’s pockets.
And his private office, of course.
“What’s that? Blood?” Jenn reentered her own dedicated space, pointing at Lindsay’s right knee.
“What?” Lindsay angled her leg for a better view. “Dammit.” Quit picking at it and it’ll heal, you idiot.
“You’re bleeding.” Jenn set a Powerade Zero and a bag of doughnuts from Gunslinger’s on the desk next to the old CB radio. “What’s up with that?”
“Remnants ... from my parties last night.” Lindsay’s neck went taut. “War wounds.” Dabbing the wound with a tissue, she motioned toward the goodies with her head. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Three parties in one night. Your first night.” Jenn positioned herself directly in front of Lindsay, planting her butt against the desk with one ankle crossed over the other. Her black tank top hung loosely off one shoulder, waves of caramel-brown hair framing her face. If she slipped into a raunchy outfit and added the proper mascara, Jenn could pass for thirty in the lineup instead of forty. Why exactly did she step away from the hustle a few years ago when she could still be pulling top dollar? Didn’t Jenn have kids to put through college? “How you holding up?”
It was almost four in the morning when Lindsay finally had an opportunity to check her texts and she found, among other things, fourteen messages from Ali.
>> evie thinks ur lying about working in vegas. ur telling the truth right?
>> housekeeping seems kinda random for u, ngl
>> gina said u cant even keep ur own room clean lmao how u gonna clean other peoples
>> donald stanlick (yes THAT donald stanlick) asked about u today lol hes so cringe has always had the hots for u
The texts just kept coming.
>> mom went to the ER again. false alarm but still
>> heard her tell dad they failed u as parents
>> chloe thinks elijah maddox might ask me to go to the movies should I say yes??? need ur advice
>> linds why aren’t u texting back that phone is glued to ur hand 24/7
>> hello??? r u there
>> just text me one word so I know ur alive
>> why u being like this? r u too cool for me now or something
>> did u forget me? or do u hate me? is that it
>> sorry i shouldnt have said that im just worried. i just really miss my big sis
>> ily goodnight...
Lindsay pulled her shoulders up against the inner chills and a crushing guilt paralyzed her. She’d just gotten fucked by three random strangers and Ali was being her hyper and loquacious seventeen-year-old self back in Citronelle, fretting over her, but none the wiser to reality. Lindsay stood in the quiet of her bedroom, after all the chaos from earlier, and tears welled in her eyes.
Once her family learned the truth, there would be no more texts like this. Mom and Dad will disown me. Ali will hate me. Lindsay was just a blip on the radar of life, and once she was gone, there wouldn’t be anyone who’d cry for her. You’re selfish. So fucking selfish. Her entire life, she wanted nothing more than to ditch Citronelle yet never fully considered the damage that leaving would inflict upon those closest to her. And now you’re going to hell.
The pretty pink dress she’d worn for Shahid lay wadded in the corner, a rip torn halfway up one side. I just bought that yesterday. Now it’s ruined. The neon lights inside the modest little bedroom dimmed out. Lindsay went to sleep in a stupor of sorrow and guilt, wondering what she had done, and knowing there was no way to reverse it.
“You still with me, kiddo?”
“Huh?” Lindsay snapped back to the present time.
“Looked lost there for a moment,” Jenn said. “You feeling okay after what happened last night?” She took a sip of coffee. “Didn’t even get out of bed ‘til three.”
“Yeah, I ... I’m fine.”
Knocking woke her. Not the gentle kind meant to ease someone from sleep, but the rapping of someone who’d been at it for a while. The bedroom was still pitch-black and for a moment Lindsay didn’t realize where she was or why her body hurt so much. But then it all came back with Jim’s voice on the other side of the door, announcing it was mid-afternoon and asking if everything was okay. “I had a tray of food for you, but it went cold.”
When was the last time Lindsay slept eleven hours straight like this? Probably could’ve slept eleven more, you know. Body screaming, she rolled out of bed and plodded to the adjacent washroom. Lindsay leaned over the sink, buck naked, well beyond the point of caring whether another coworker saw her like this or not. Modesty in a brothel? A ridiculous notion.
She splashed cold water on her face and studied her reflection. Look at you. Looks like you just got gang-banged by the Evergreen County regional basketball team. Mom and Dad would be ... so proud. Her nose went all wrinkled. Yeah.
She’d made it through her first night working and, before paying back the loan, netted $1,735. Not bad for five hours, huh? Probably more than Mom and Dad make in an entire week combined. Her lips lifted into a smile, but then she realized something wasn’t right.
Eh? My jaw ... is clicking? Opening and closing her mouth, the noise eventually subsided but the repetition did nothing to alleviate her sore throat. All that face-fucking and gagging. Even crossing the hall to get here from her bedroom had been a massive struggle. Feels like someone dropped a nuke in my pussy and it detonated.
She rolled her head, face twisting into unease. Why did her ass feel like it had been raked over burning coals too? That oil man said I deserved a far worse whipping and he’d be back to give it to me in a month or two. And to make matters worse, when she checked her phone, Lindsay had nine more texts from Ali.
I ... I can’t keep ... no, there’s no way.
“Hmmmmm.” Tapping a nail on her chin, Jenn made a show of looking Lindsay up and down. “No. No, you’re not fine. You’re a train wreck. Jim agrees with me; you’re off the floor the rest of the day. Go take a hot bath and let your body catch up with that stubborn little brain of yours. We’ll reassess tomorrow.”
Lindsay’s lower lip jutted outward. “But I need the money. What if a customer, like, asks for me?”
“They can schedule you for tomorrow.”
“And what if they can’t come back tomorrow? What if they’re only in town for today?”
“Then there will be another to take his place. The men never stop coming, Grace. They’re an endless resource. You, on the other hand, are not. You need to take care of yourself, pace yourself. You and I discussed this earlier, didn’t we? This is for your own good.”
Lindsay folded both arms and slouched into the vinyl, rosary chain coiled around one wrist. “No, it’s not for my own good. It’s unfair.” Instinctively, her thumb stroked the tiny beads.
“Yep.” Jenn sounded like a teacher, a principal, a steadfast mother. “So unfair.”
“Great. Just... great.” Ryker returned first thing this morning and asked to party with Lindsay again, but Jim informed him she wouldn’t be available until tomorrow. So creepy ass Cruella what ... just swooped in and stole Ryker from under my nose? “I’m supposed to just rot in my room all day while everyone else makes bank?” What gave Amethyst the right? That was my party! My money!
Where is Pamela? Lindsay’s hands coiled into furious little fists. Pamela wouldn’t let this happen to me. She’d let me work because she knows I need the money. But Pamela wasn’t here. She, Colt, and Scarlett had taken off after Charlie finally left, opting for a motel and some much-needed sleep while the brothel – and all its many noises – carried on without them. The house feels empty without Pamela. Apparently, they’d be back sometime tonight.
“Life’s unfair, and I hear you. I really do.” Jenn met Lindsay’s gaze. “But those sad puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work with me. You have the rest of the day off. We won’t allow you to burn out before you even get started. Period, end of discussion.”
“But –”
“End of discussion. Now get some food in you.” Jenn unfurled a paper towel and surprised Lindsay when she crouched down and tended to her knee. “You want some advice, a way to stay occupied tonight?”
“Sure,” she sulked.
“Register an account on the website and browse through the message board. Engage with our most loyal mongers; get ahead of the curve, introduce yourself and be friendly, maybe post a few pics, and they’ll come to the house their next visit looking for you instead of asking for a lineup.” Jenn stood and tossed the paper towel into the trash bin. “The more active you are, the more money you’ll make.
“Six, maybe eight people have called Colt or Jim since yesterday asking about you just based off your profile alone. Imagine what’ll happen when you put in some real effort and start advertising yourself. Honey, you could easily be our highest grossing earner in a matter of weeks.”
Lindsay’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Pamela’s fork clattered against her lunch bowl for the third time, salad barely touched.
“You need to go back to the hotel and get some more sleep. I’m worried about you. You don’t look well at all.” Colt reached across the sticky restaurant table, his thumb brushing the purple shadow beneath her eye.
“I’m fine.” The words came out slurred, defiant. Pamela jerked upright at his touch, blinking hard, but her head began a slow descent toward the table again.
Scarlett caught her before she face-planted in her meal. “Yeah, you look super fine, all right.” She propped Pamela up, keeping one hand on her shoulder. “Colt is right, Pam-Pam. You need –”
“I said I’m fine.” Pamela’s eyes snapped open, then drifted shut again. “Just ... coffee. Need more coffee.”
“Coffee isn’t gonna fix what Charlie did to us.” Scarlett winced as she shifted in the booth, bright burgundy curls swaying. “My everything hurts too.”
“Virgin.” Pamela batted Scarlett’s hand away and locked both elbows against the table to remain upright. “His first time. Had to make it...” She yawned, jaw cracking, “ ... special.”
“Yeah. Fucking special.” Scarlett tilted her head to one side until something popped, then rolled her shoulders back with a grimace.
“I just remember ... his face. Yeah, his face.” Pamela’s eyes were closing again. “You should’ve seen his face, Colt. Like Christmas morning every time ... oh, Charlie was so happy. So grateful. Reminded me why I...” Her voice trailed off.
“Pamela...”
“Twelve years. My entire adult life doing this, and yesterday, last night...” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Oh, there’s too much noise in here. It’s too loud. I ... I gave Charlie everything. Really gave it. No walls, no boundaries. And now I’m just ... empty.”
Colt shoved at his plate and glared out the window, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Ruby’s Diner would never reach five-star Yelp status with just seven booths, a counter, and a broken jukebox, but located thirty miles north in Ambridge, it was far enough from the ranch for privacy. Through the grimy glass, Colt cataloged the truck weigh station and a shuttered Chevron, the kind of Nevada town that existed solely to service the highway.
Cold air blasted from the vents above, a welcome relief. Yet Pamela’s gaze had dropped again, and in this uncharacteristic moment of weakness, Colt’s headstrong, confident bride was gone, replaced by a shadow of herself who’d given everything to Charlie until nothing was left.
Pamela, the unquestioned conscience and backbone of the brothel – the one woman everyone else sought advice from, the so-called Mother Hen – was on the verge of a meltdown.
Jesus, Pamela. You partied for sixteen-and-a-half hours with that piece of shit. Colt dug his fingernails into his palms. I never want you to put yourself at risk for a big payday. I’ve told you that for years.
This reinforced Colt’s belief that Pamela needed to step away from the industry. The constant wear-and-tear wasn’t healthy. Nor was the expectation she put on herself to always perform and give it her all, even when it was to her own detriment.
But this was all Pamela knew. She wasn’t ready to think about a future in the “real world” and live a normal, structured life with an eight-to-five job, and children to raise. That type of life was foreign to her and so out of the ordinary.
In fact, the idea terrified her.
More and more, Colt got this version of Pamela where she was strung out, snapping at everything, and vacant behind the eyes. The back-to-back parties with Charlie were just another reminder that something had to give.
Colt hoped their vacation to Bora Bora would recharge Pamela’s batteries and give her a new lease on life. In many ways, it did. She was happy, full of energy, and hadn’t been so at ease since their trip to Hawaii last summer.
Yet the instant she stepped foot back in the house this past Sunday, it was like nothing had changed. Although she showed genuine affection for most, if not all, of her clients and wanted to please them at all costs, Pamela’s energy level had dipped back down near record lows. That long after-hours party did far more damage to her psyche than good for their joint bank account. That fucker Charlie took a piece of you with him.
“Look at that.” An hour ago in the motel room, Pamela glanced at her phone following a four-hour nap. “Charlie has sent me five e-mails since he left the ranch this morning. Says he’s going to come back in September for sure and spend an entire week in Flagstone.”
“Jesus Christ, a week?” Scarlett groaned as she pushed herself upright in bed. “Remind me to be on break then so I won’t have to deal with his sorry ass.”
“He’s not that bad.” Pamela’s thumb scrolled through the messages. “He’s just... enthusiastic. Charlie wants to set up several appointments so he can work on his quote, communication, bedroom skills, and kissing techniques, end-quote. Wants me to help him.”
Scarlett snagged Pamela’s hand as Colt brushed his teeth in the background. “This Charlie dude is in love with you, babe. Wishes you were his wife. It’s so freakin’ obvious. I think his e-mails are code for ‘I wanna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your uterus.’”
“Tell him you’re not available,” Colt said.
This situation wasn’t anything new. When older virgins paid for services, they often fell head-over-heels in love with the provider. Intimacy was a new thing for them, an exciting thing, and they didn’t know how to process all those emotions at first, especially when a gorgeous, exotic woman like Pamela McCarron threw everything but the proverbial kitchen sink at them.
“Me? I was basically a prop with tits, a blow-up doll that happened to breathe. Merely the supporting actress in his love story for you, the third wheel of the threesome.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Thank fuck he’s fixated on you and not me. Nothing worse than a virgin monger who thinks his first piece of ass is his soulmate. Let them write their love letters to someone else’s inbox, not mine.”
Pamela took a week off from work every month, and alongside Colt, would distance herself as far away from the brothel as possible. Sensual and Sultry Pamela would stay in Nevada as well and she’d rest, spend time at the library, rollerblade, and volunteer at an animal shelter in her hometown of Harborton, Maryland. Pamela was an avid reader of fiction novels and loved all animals, particularly dogs. She’d grown up with several but couldn’t figure out how to fit a friendly canine or two into her current life. So, she received somewhat of a fix at the humane society.
She’d also go into a cocoon and avoid contact with everyone except Colt and her immediate family. She relished these moments of peace and clarity. Pamela was close with her older sister and had always looked up to her, although she and Paula were polar opposites.
Whereas Pamela dressed provocatively and got into constant trouble throughout her teenaged years, Paula was prim and proper, straitlaced, and now a successful prosecuting attorney in Washington, D.C. If Paula (or her parents or other sister, Candice) ever found out what Pamela did for a living, all hell would break loose. But the news wouldn’t surprise any of them either.
Pamela’s parents met in 1980 when her father was stationed at Naval Air Station Patuxent River in St. Mary’s County, Maryland. Tom spent four years in the Navy as a helicopter technician, mostly in Maryland, and took locally born-and-raised Carol one hundred miles upstate to the suburbs of Baltimore after his commitment ended in 1984 and married her.
In time, Tom opened a pet store and indulged in his primary passion: caring for animals. Carol was quiet, religious, and happy as she tended to the house and her three children. Once the youngest, Candice, made it to middle school, Carol took a job at a warehouse to help provide extra income. Cornell Law School, where Paula was off and studying, didn’t come cheap.
Unlike Paula and Candice, Pamela grew up with that wild, rebellious streak, and routinely tested her parents’ patience. She became a nude webcam model on her eighteenth birthday, charging viewers to interact with her, and performed several online masturbation acts.
As she became more comfortable in front of the camera, Pamela pushed her boundaries and often sucked and took dick from an old flame, Roger, to the delight of her viewers. Her most profitable month as a webcam girl was May 2006, when she made $9,000.
After a brief foray into Strip Club Land, Pamela, at the suggestion of a fellow dancer, applied thousands of miles from home at Happy Ending Ranch mere weeks after graduating from high school.
The rest, as they say, was history.
And while many girls in this profession dove into a world of side-hooking and streetwalking in their downtime, Pamela was one of the ones who didn’t. Colt would never allow her to go down such a road. He’d do anything to protect her and made certain she steered clear of all the countless pitfalls that could entrap a courtesan.
Pamela was his one true love. His first love, his only love. Colt had been with other women in the past. So many, in fact, that he felt ashamed of himself. Being around a brothel for the past twenty-six years, he’d lost count of the exact number long ago.
But it’s over seven or eight hundred, easy.
Once, he had five women at the same time. It was fun while it happened, but being older and looking back on things now, the memory wasn’t pleasant. None of those girls cared about me. Dad made them fuck me, and he refused to give them any money for it too.
Pamela was eighteen years old (and Colt thirty-two) when he realized he had something special on his hands. Sure, Colt could say he had been in love with Pamela since day one (and in many ways he had), but on that one chilly December morning in 2006, any lingering doubt was forever erased.
And of all the locations for such a magical moment to take place, it happened in the buffet lounge of the Red Rock Casino Resort & Spa on the outskirts of Las Vegas in Summerlin, Nevada.
Having spent the prior four days in Sin City and introducing a wide-eyed Pamela to its many wonders with free rein to enjoy her body at his leisure, Colt headed back to the breakfast bar that morning for seconds. When he returned and found Pamela at their corner table, enjoying the last of her own meal in the most inconspicuous of settings, Colt’s heart exploded.
Something about Pamela’s long, wavy hair combined with the sun shining through a nearby window cast a halo around her as she finished her chickpea-and-onion omelet. To Colt, Pamela was an angel, the way she moved food from plate to mouth and how her fingers appeared so sensual, curved around the fork’s handle. It was the defining moment in his life. What would set him on his forever path. The way Pamela’s shoulders were squared up. Her long, swan-like neck. The sudden happiness in her eyes and the sight of her lips curling into a joyous grin when she glanced up and saw him approaching.
He’d seen all these things daily since she arrived for her interview five months prior. Yet Colt never noticed them until this one specific moment. At least, all of them together and framed in one stunning package. The puzzle of Pamela Annabeth Prescott was pieced together, and the result blew him away.
And I allowed her to continue as a working girl. Should’ve made her quit years ago. Should’ve protected her. But what did he do? Not a goddamn thing. All because I’m too chickenshit to put my foot down.
Back in the current time, in the diner, Pamela pushed her lunch bowl to the side. She’d ordered “a salmon salad with no salmon” (her exact words to the server) and placed her opposite hand on top of Scarlett’s. “I’m glad you were with me and Charlie all night, though. I know it was rough. But I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Rough doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Scarlett vented her lungs. “But we survived. Barely.”