The Girlfriend Experience
Copyright© 2026 by JeremyDCP
Chapter 8
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 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
New Spinner GRACE KNEELS
Available 7/17-8/5
Height: 5’3”
Weight: 98 pounds
Blonde Hair
Blue Eyes
Measurements: 32b-22-32
Age: 18 (birthdate: Dec. 4, 1999)
Hi everyone!
My name is Grace and I’m a newcummer to the LPIN scene. I graduated from high school in June 2018 and am working here in Flagstone, Nevada at Happy Ending Ranch! I’m chill and laid-back, so it would be easy for you as a client to feel comfortable with me.
I am and always will be a California Girl at heart. I love camping in the desert and all things outdoors such as boating, swimming, hiking, and rock climbing. I enjoy roller skating, too (though I’m terrible at it and usually wind up falling flat on my butt).
I’m also a girl who CRAVES sex. Call me a nympho if you must:), but I’m super passionate when it comes to pleasures of the flesh. I love to role-play in different costumes, so can be anyone you want me to be. Would you like your own personal cheerleader? How about a maid who can’t seem to get the job done and needs a little discipline? I have an open mind and am willing to try unusual positions.
I cater to both men and women, especially couples, and the disabled. One-on-one is my favorite, though. I promise to pamper and spoil you rotten during our date. I want to be that release for you, that escape from reality. Let me soothe away your stress from work or be a getaway from an unfulfilling life at home. My lone objective is to deliver you complete satisfaction and the experience of a lifetime.
Call our office at 775-555-0105 to schedule an appointment with me. I’ll be ready and waiting. Or show up unannounced and surprise me! Either is fine, and up to you.
Can’t wait to hug and kiss on you!!!
–Grace:)
What the hell?
After returning from Oakfall an hour ago, the bed creaked as Lindsay shifted, crossing her legs and pulling the iPad closer to her face. This makes me sound like a human Happy Meal. The screen glitched, or perhaps it was her brain. Fun-sized and ready to serve. The words seemed to blur as she re-read her website profile for the third time. Grace ... Kneels? Really? Subtle as a brick to the face, Jim.
The religious mockery wasn’t lost on her.
Lindsay set the iPad down and stared at the ceiling, her fingers twisting the bedsheet. Oh, my. Even worse, Jim provided the illusion that Lindsay (ahem, Grace) had typed every candy-coated word herself. Apparently, “I love hiking” translated to “wants to get railed on a mossy rock in the woods” and “Mom and I gardened all the time” to “dirty girl gets plowed in the flower bed.”
Might as well suggest they supersize me for an extra hundred, too, huh?
This paints me as a slore. While that was Lindsay’s involuntary reaction, she reminded herself of something: bitch, you are a slore. Did she have any justification to complain about the way the page portrayed her? This isn’t Tuesday night mass at Sacred Heart. You’re in Dick City now, population: you.
Lindsay explained her lack of sexual experience during the interview with Colt and Pamela yesterday and assumed she made the point clear. I’ve been with two guys in my life ... that’s it. She spoke about it with Jim during their road trip too. Meanwhile Pamela’s out here with a body count probably triple my SAT score.
And Jim wrote this?
According to the profile, Lindsay loved dressing up as a cheerleader? She was on a regional squad in high school, sure, but had never worn her uniform during sex. Imagine some client hiking up my skirt and going straight savage from behind. Her middle finger traced that sensitive crease where thigh met hip, following it inward to where her pussy throbbed beneath its lace covering. Hmm, yeah ... imagine that. I’d be down.
A maid who needs discipline? The write-up suggested she was begging to be roughhoused by total strangers as well. Fine, yeah, Lindsay had learned some things about herself senior year, namely Packard channeling his inner alpha and dominating her had been surprisingly hot. But there was experimenting and then there was putting up a billboard. The last thing Lindsay wanted was some basement-dwelling keyboard commando believing her profile was his personal invitation to go full Fifty Shades.
I love being with couples too? Sure, the possibility of taking part in a threesome sent her imagination soaring, but Lindsay hoped her first time with another woman didn’t happen during a party. That would be wrong on so many levels. She had been bi-curious for a long time and wanted her first girl-girl experience to be monumental. OhmiGod, I’d give anything for it to be with Pamela.
Lindsay catered to people with disabilities too? That’s a plot twist. She wondered if guys showed up in wheelchairs looking for a sexy romp. Was that a common occurrence? Those with developmental issues? The questions multiplied faster than she could process them. Might disabled veterans be part of the clientele? Burn victims?
Wait a minute, duh. Why wouldn’t they? Aren’t they entitled to pleasure too? But how did that work exactly? What if someone with mobility issues needed assistance getting into position for a comfortable lay? Would Lindsay need special training? I don’t want to mess up and hurt anyone. What if someone required help she didn’t know how to give? Another thing I’m gonna have to talk to Pamela about.
People were people, and she’d meet all kinds here. Get over yourself. You’re not better than anyone who walks through that door. This was what Lindsay wanted, right? She wanted this job. To be a dick piñata. This morning, Scarlett told her the only thing that truly mattered was getting paid. She said the uglier and weirder ones usually tip better too. There would be many unique things Lindsay saw and did here, whether it be cosplay dress up and sex with a quadriplegic or getting her ass spanked by Dirty Grandpa from deep in the hills of Kentucky.
Pamela swore I’d be totally safe here. Said sketchy stuff almost never happens, and when it does, management shuts it down quick. Lindsay told herself there was no reason to be apprehensive either. Plus, hello? Cops are right down the street if anything happens. No client would rough her up too hard during one of those spankings, right?
But those pics ... ugh. It would be awful if anyone from Citronelle ever stumbled upon them. My family, my friends, even my teachers from school. Half the photographs were G-rated, but in the rest, Lindsay resembled a struggling, low-rent porn actress spread across the pages of a sleazy magazine ready to bang.
What if someone from back home shows up and wants a GFE? Perhaps her history and math teacher, Mr. Frieto, would offer her $500. Shoot, I’d let that man raw me for free. Packard, Lindsay’s ex-boyfriend? I’d tell him to get lost. Donald Stanlick, the fat and fumbling class nerd? Oh, hell no. I gotta draw the line somewhere.
Or her perverted ex-neighbor, Rich Foster, who would ogle Lindsay from his window whenever she sunned herself at the backyard pool? Viagra Falls loved taking pics of me and Ali in our bikinis. By now, Lindsay imagined Mr. Foster had an entire portfolio stashed away, hidden from his wife, on a flash drive.
That old man was mad creepy. But Lindsay couldn’t deny the facts, either: having those photographs taken voyeur-style and offering the senior citizen an occasional wet ‘n wild show gave her an undeniable rush.
Yesterday afternoon, Colt insisted Lindsay follow Jim to the recreation room for a photoshoot. “Your bio page is worthless without any pictures.”
There was nothing professional about it as Jim pulled out his phone and started taking pictures. Lindsay wore a variety of outfits, some steamy and some not, and most on loan from Pamela. Riley let her borrow a trench coat and she modeled in it too. Things transitioned upstairs, outdoors, to various bedrooms, and Jim kept snapping photographs.
Colt was adamant about nude shots being included too. Things grew dicey at that point. Lindsay had shaky limbs getting naked for Jim, a man three times her age, and one she had met earlier in the day. This isn’t like Viagra Falls taking random pics of me in my bikini from his window. No, these were full-on nudes.
But Jim made the modeling session painless, similar to when he searched her backpack and uncovered those sex toys. He showed the emotional investment of a bored house cat as Lindsay stripped down to her rawest form and showcased herself for the world to see.
In the end, Lindsay didn’t have a problem baring it all for him. That was the easy part. Instead, her lone worry centered on having explicit photographs floating around in cyberspace.
Once it’s on the Internet, it’s there forever. If the pics were taken down later tonight and no one downloaded a single copy, there would still be ways for people to find them twenty, thirty, even fifty years from now.
As well as tomorrow.
What if someone tries to use them against me in the future? Blackmail me? Paranoid or not, that thought nagged Lindsay. Still, she pushed it aside, telling herself she’d cross that bridge when – or if – she ever came to it. No point stressing now. These pics are a necessary sacrifice.
Jim prioritized Lindsay’s comfort, urging her to take frequent breaks and offering a robe between sessions. He made sure she stayed hydrated and laid out an array of snacks to nibble on whenever she needed a boost.
Jim takes pics like this with every new girl since he’s in charge of the website. Lindsay didn’t mind. It’s not like he’s an old horndog who’ll go home later and jack off to the images. But she wouldn’t have any objections if he did.
Jim assured Lindsay this was the best route to build her business, or in his words, her brand. It was crucial. The website received thousands of hits from across the globe daily. Potential clients would view Lindsay’s page and want to book parties with her.
Wow, I look young in this one. Lindsay stared at a photograph of her on the loveseat (naked, of course) holding a massive four-foot-long teddy bear like it was a birthday present. In reality, it was Pamela’s most prized, cherished possession, Beary Potter. Lindsay’s youth was exaggerated further by a pair of voluminous pigtails. Jim photoshopped all my pubes away too. Damn, no tan lines either. Her gaze intensified. These pics are fire!
Maybe Viagra Falls will add these to his collection and come knocking here one day with thousands of dollars in cash for me. Her throat wrenched up, then down. Yeah, I’d do it. I’d let that crusty old man bang me ... for the right price, of course. Come to think of it, perhaps having these photographs on the Internet wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Something loosened in Lindsay’s face, like a fist unclenching. Bet this webpage is gonna bring me some serious bank.
She glanced around her private bedroom. This is my new home now. The space was small, struggling to fit the king-sized bed that literally seemed to press against every corner, but it felt vast in other ways. This bedroom wasn’t just four walls; it was a crucible where she would sacrifice her old self, where Lindsay Anastacio would dissolve in this den of iniquity and emerge as Grace Kneels, priestess of the most sordid kind of worship.
Blue LED strips lined the ceiling’s perimeter, bathing the room in electric twilight. Celestial artwork donned the walls; on one side, framed moons in various phases, and on the other, adhesive stars, moons, and wispy clouds helped create a funky, late-night chill zone. The mattress itself dwarfed Lindsay’s old twin-sized back home, making her feel small, young – exactly how Colt planned on marketing her here. Imma suck alllll the dick.
She’d tossed her rosary beads onto the old study desk earlier, the black chain coiled next to a tube of lipstick, its cap missing, and a half-empty bottle of water. Beneath the desk, trusty old Chuck Taylors stood next to a pair of crystal-studded heels still wrapped in Oakfall tissue paper. The drawers were open just enough to show where Lindsay began unpacking miscellaneous items, then lost interest halfway through, leaving her phone charger spilling out.
But it was the mirrors that truly defined the bedroom, strategic panels that would multiply every arch, every scream, every moment when a stranger claimed ownership of Lindsay’s body, documenting her metamorphosis from preacher’s daughter to professional cocksucker. Their surfaces caught the LED glow and reflected it back, creating depth where there was none, suggesting infinite possibilities in this finite enclosure. Yet, the tight quarters didn’t feel confining to Lindsay; they felt like an embrace, offering the salvation her prayers never had.
In front of the bed, a sealed box had seventy-five cases of condoms in it. Lindsay’s jaw dropped when Pamela first explained its contents yesterday. A regular person wouldn’t need anywhere close to these many condoms in their lifetime, but they were “gone through like popcorn at a movie theater here at Happy Ending Ranch.” Cleanliness was important, and Pamela told Lindsay it wasn’t uncommon for her to cycle through up to five condoms an hour with a client.
Several cases of personal lubricant and dental dams were nearby as well. Pamela had to explain their purpose because Lindsay didn’t have the slightest clue what they were. “Dental dams are a thin square of material that acts as a barrier between a person’s mouth and another person’s genitals.” Many working girls used them if a guest wanted to perform cunnilingus. Made of polyurethane, dental dams resembled a wet wipe but were dry like a paper towel.
“Some girls are extra cautious and not at all comfortable exchanging fluids with their clients, and these give us a layer of protection,” Pamela said. “Personally, I’m one of them. I don’t mind kissing, to an extent, but I always insist on my mongers using dental dams.
“There is one monger and one monger only I’ll make an exception for, and his name is John. He lives in Maryland like I do. He’s the sweetest guy and has been here an umpteen number of times over the past ten years, and always just parties with me. No one else. We share e-mail every single day and he sends me random gifts every week without fail. John is divorced and I’m the only woman he’s been with in the past fifteen years. I know things are safe with him. He’s clean.”
Wow, sounds like you and John have a solid vibe going on. Lindsay was jealous. Calling it now: bet you’re the GOAT of the whole LPIN scene. Everything about Pamela captivated Lindsay. You must make these guys feel like a million bucks.
Perhaps if she rented out her body enough times, Lindsay could develop something unique with a client too. Weekly gifts? Big yes. Sign me up for that this instant.
“Colt doesn’t require dental dams during parties, but I recommend them. I wish he required them. I’d hate for someone’s life to be ruined.”
Lindsay didn’t know if she liked that idea. Every client already must wear a condom for both vaginal and oral sex. State law mandated it. Sucking cock with a condom over top of it? Wow, unique. Lindsay craved the taste of cum and was looking forward to swallowing copious amounts of it while working here but wasn’t legally allowed to. That was a shock and an unexpected letdown. If I do, Colt will can me on the spot.
Screw that. Lindsay decided she wouldn’t require any client to go down on her with a dental dam. Contracting an illness at a brothel, she had read, happened once in a blue moon. Pamela is being super cautious, but whatever, that’s her call. Me? Customers can get what they want down there. In Lindsay’s mind, oral sex was meant to be enjoyed with any obstacles getting in the way. Licking pussy through a paper towel? Disgusting! I’d never ask anyone to do that.
While the overanxious turnout filled out legal paperwork yesterday afternoon, Pamela spoke about the expectations of being a “Happy Ending Girl.” She also stressed how important it was for Lindsay to maintain a professional barrier between herself and paying guests at all times.
“But you cannot let the customer know a barrier exists. It must be invisible. You must treat every customer like they’re the king or queen of the world. Your entire focus should be on them and whatever they desire. Your own pleasure is secondary. Colt will tell you it doesn’t even matter.”
“Like Scarlett and the guy who says he wants to leave his wife and marry her? Randy’s his name, right? Scarlett had some serious barriers up, but I didn’t notice them until after he walked away.”
“Exactly,” Pamela said. “Amy provides Randy love, pleasure, and companionship. It’s her job.”
Amy?
“She’s being paid to provide a service. But Randy is so taken with Scarlett, I mean, not Amy, and reality becomes blurred for many of our customers.”
Oh, that’s right; I remember now. Amy, Scarlett. Scarlett, Amy.
“In many ways, it’s what we strive for as sex workers as it equates to more money. Randy is in love with Scarlett because all he sees when they’re together is a jaw-dropping, vibrant girl young enough to be his daughter.
“Scarlett is submissive, attentive, and hangs on his every word like he’s the most important man in the universe. She caresses and consoles him, lets him vent about his frustrations about work and an unhappy marriage. In bed, she allows him to do things that his wife would never even consider. Whatever he asks. And the whole time? Scarlett has a loving smile across her lips, like she’s having the time of her life.”
“Scarlett doesn’t have any feelings for him in return?”
“No. The only feelings Scarlett has for Randy is he’s a returning customer. He’s easy money. Randy gets on her nerves sometimes by talking about getting married and having kids, but she puts up with it. She tolerates him. Randy enjoys fantasizing out loud.”
“And he doesn’t know Scarlett is engaged?”
“No. No way.” Lines etched themselves deeper around Pamela’s eyes and mouth, instantly aging her. “Scarlett lives back east in Cincinnati with her fiancé, Jason, and her daughter, Emi, and commutes here every three weeks for work. She’s always on the phone with them. Says she has another two years left in the sex trade because she hopes to build up more savings. Then she’ll retire and focus on Jason. Wants to settle down and have another kid or two, you know?
“Working in a brothel diminishes one’s sex drive... a lot.” Pamela blinked hard, breath hitching as she fought back the sting of tears. “You learn to be loyal to those who are good to you if you’re fortunate enough to have someone in your life like a boyfriend, husband, girlfriend, or whatever. This job, believe it or not, has brought Scarlett and her fiancé closer together.”
How old is Scarlett’s daughter? While she didn’t appear to be any older than twenty-five, rumor had it the boy was fifteen and Lindsay assumed Scarlett could be in her mid-to late-thirties because of it. I’d never guess Scarlett is that old, but would it be a surprise if she is? Riley had no reason to lie about the daughter’s age, right? Maybe she’s even forty or more?
In this business, women had the tendency to approach their appearance the way most people did their job – they worked it. Like Pamela, Scarlett exercised religiously, had a deep tan, and spent a fortune on beauty and skincare products. But apparently that wasn’t enough, as the Riley grapevine also informed Lindsay that Scarlett had her breasts augmented and nose redone.
Lindsay recalled a tweet from a sex worker who attributed her continued success to treating her body as if it were a home renovation project. Certain fixes were DIY while others called for expert hands. Yet, every detail had to be polished and ready in showpiece, open house condition.
At all times.
I’ve seen pics of courtesans on Twitter who are in their fifties yet don’t look a day over twenty-one. If Scarlett was a thirtysomething, as Riley led Lindsay to believe, hard work, a healthy diet, and a fair amount of plastic surgery had knocked ten years, if not more, off her age. Maybe that’s something I need to consider in the future. I hate how small my boobs are.
“But when Scarlett is with Randy,” Pamela kept talking, “he tells her he loves her. She will reciprocate and tell Randy she loves him too. He’s her favorite customer and always looks forward to seeing him.
“But after Randy leaves, Scarlett could be back in her room twenty minutes later with another guest and telling him the same thing. Randy is forgotten until his next visit. Scarlett tells her customers whatever they want to hear and is ultra-sincere. At least, she comes across as sincere.
“My opinion? Scarlett is the best all-around provider we have. She puts up an affectionate smokescreen, but that’s all it is ... a smokescreen, a false front. She’s getting paid to provide a service and never becomes emotional or attached to a client.”
Lindsay’s brow creased and she gnawed on her lower lip. Watch me fall for every single one of mine. “Is that how you are with John? The guy you let go down on you without a dental dam? Do you put up a smokescreen and detach yourself?”
“No, not with him.” Pamela set her palms down flat on the table. “I have my barrier up, yes, but John is such a sweet guy. He’s my favorite and I care about him a great deal. I mean, with him, it’s impossible not to. I don’t know why some girl hasn’t snatched him up and married him. I always expect him to e-mail me one day and say he met someone and won’t be coming to visit again. He’s the one and only client I’ve ever spoken to over the telephone too. Skype, specifically, but it’s on my phone. Colt doesn’t mind. I call John once a month and he sends me a fifty-dollar Etsy gift card, a digital one, and we talk for an hour, maybe two.”
“You charge him... to talk?”
“No. John insists I take it. Wants to compensate me for my time. Besides, fifty bucks for an hour or two is nothing. I used to charge three to five dollars a minute to speak one-on-one with viewers when I was a webcam girl. And it’s not like we have phone sex or anything crazy. John is a perfect gentleman. We talk like long-lost friends. He wants to know how I’m doing.”
“And this guy sends you gifts?”
Her voice took on an effervescent cheer. “Lots of ‘em. You’d be surprised.”
Like, need my own sugar daddy, ASAP.
The in-house buzzer boomed like thunder cracks from Heaven. Memories of yesterday’s discussion with Pamela instantly evaporated as Lindsay tumbled out of bed in a tangle of sheets, her bare feet hitting the floor with a shock of cold. Blood roared in her ears, both anticipation and fear swathing her like a blanket. OhmiGod. My first lineup!
Can’t be late. Can’t afford the fine. Lindsay shook out her hands, bounced on her toes like she used to before school track and field meets. Okay, okay, you’re Grace now. Grace doesn’t panic. Heaves of oxygen dried her throat and worked her ribcage. No, Grace sucks dick. Her rosary lay twisted on the desk, watching her like a guilty conscience. Five minutes; I don’t got time for any more religious guilt trips. She rushed out to the hallway, the door receiving the same treatment she soon would – thrown wide open with no looking back.
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