Chapter 5

New Spinner KAYLEIGH

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 Kayleigh 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!!!

–Kayleigh :)

***

What insanity is this?

After returning from Oakfall an hour ago, Lindsay’s eyes skewered her iPad as she vegged cross-legged on the bed. The poor girl had no idea what to think of the website profile Jim created for her last evening. He inquired about her general interests and used the answers to piece together this “biography.” He also gave the illusion Lindsay (ahem, Kayleigh) wrote it personally.

It paints me as a slut. While that was Lindsay’s involuntary response, she reminded herself of something – I am a slut. Did she have any justification to complain about the way the page portrayed her? This isn’t Tuesday night mass at Sacred Heart. I’m in a brothel.

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. Pamela, by comparison, had been with thousands of men and hundreds of women. With Pamela’s body count, there is no comparison.

According to the profile, Lindsay loved to dress up as a cheerleader? She was on a regional squad in high school, sure, but had never worn her uniform while having sex. Such an idea had never crossed her mind.

Until now.

A maid who needs discipline? The write-up intimated she was begging to be roughed up by total strangers as well. While Lindsay enjoyed a brisk spanking, inviting keyboard commandos from the Internet to administer her one wasn’t something she thought she’d ever do.

I love being with couples too? Sure, the possibility of taking part in a threesome sent both her imagination and libido 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 new one. She wondered if guys showed up in wheelchairs looking for a sexy romp. Was it a common occurrence? How about war veterans with missing limbs? Burn victims? Those with intellectual disadvantages?

Hmm, why wouldn’t they? Aren’t they entitled to pleasure too? Would those unfortunate souls with more extreme impairments have a handler who’d assist them with getting into position for a comfortable lay? I sure wouldn’t be able to do that myself. A shiver zipped up her spine. I don’t want to hurt anyone.

I gotta learn to be nonjudgmental and have an open mind. This was what she wanted, right? Lindsay wanted this job. She had chosen it following months of research. To get fucked for a living. There were going to be many unique things she saw and did here, whether it be cosplay dress up and sex with a quadriplegic or getting her ass spanked by Dirty Grandpa from Kentucky.

Pamela promised me one hundred percent safety and security as long as I’m here. Said “unfavorable incidents” with customers are rare and taken care of swiftly by management. Lindsay told herself there she had no reason to be apprehensive. The sheriff’s station is, like, a minute away. 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, teachers from school. Half of the photographs were G-rated, but in the rest, Lindsay resembled a struggling, low-rent porn actress spread across the pages of a filthy magazine ready to bang.

What if someone from back home shows up one day and wants a GFE with me? Perhaps her history and math teacher, Mr. Frieto, would offer $500. That would be awkward, though Corn Chip was cute. Zack, Lindsay’s ex-boyfriend? I’d tell him to fuck off. Or how about the pervy neighbor, Rich Foster, who would ogle Lindsay from his window whenever she sunned herself at the backyard pool? Big Dick loved taking pics of me in my 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 a total creep. But Lindsay couldn’t deny 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 venture down to the recreation room with Jim for a photoshoot. “Your bio page is worthless without any pictures.”

The shoot was far from professional as Jim took snaps with his cell phone. 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 Lindsay’s bedroom, 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 Big Dick taking random pics of me in my bikini from his window. No, these were full-on nudes.

Jim made the modeling session painless, however, 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 witness.

In the end, Lindsay didn’t have a problem baring it all for Jim. 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? While the thought may be paranoid, it was still a legitimate concern, however Lindsay decided she’d cross that bridge when (or if) she came to it. There’s no need to worry about it now. These pics are a necessary sacrifice.

Wanting her to be comfortable, Jim encouraged Lindsay to take several breaks during the shoot and had her cover up with a robe. He kept her hydrated with bottled water and made certain she had access to a variety of snacks.

Jim takes pics like this with every new girl since he’s the one 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 people 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 bushy pigtails. Jim photoshopped all my pubic hair away too. Damn, no tan lines either. These pics are fire!

Maybe Big Dick will add these to his collection and come knocking here one day with thousands of dollars in cash for me. Come to think of it, perhaps having these photographs on the Internet wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Lindsay’s eyes crinkled with a smile. I have the suspicion this page is gonna make me mad money.

Lindsay glanced around her private bedroom. This is my new home now. It had a king-size bed, a fifty-five-inch flat-screen television, a reclining chair, a study area with a desk, a small kitchenette, and a tabletop refrigerator. The room was otherwise bare and had no personality but was Lindsay’s to decorate as she desired. She purchased a couple of items in Oakfall to jazz things up but hadn’t pulled them from the bags yet.

This bed is huuuuuge. Lindsay had slept in a twin-size for as long as memory served, so her new bed was a significant upgrade. I wonder how many people have gotten fucked in it. The television was larger than the one her mother and father had in their family room too. In Lindsay’s bedroom back in Citronelle, she had a twenty-nine-inch tabletop. That thing is older than I am.

On the far wall, a lone window had thick bars over it. Reminds me of a prison cell. It was an added layer of security, though the window overlooked the backyard. Enclosed and walled-off, it prompted Lindsay to believe the bars were overkill. Good luck to any intruder who tries to bust in. Ain’t happening. Random touches like this reinforced Pamela’s promise about how vital employee safety was to management.

In front of the bed, a sealed box had seventy-five cases of condoms in it. Lindsay was stunned when Pamela first explained its contents yesterday. A regular person wouldn’t need anywhere close to this 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 idea 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 oral sex. 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’s one man I’ll make an exception for – one monger, I mean – and his name is Corey. He lives in Indianapolis. He’s the sweetest guy and has been here an umpteen number of times over the past seven or eight 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. Corey was a virgin when we first met, and I’m still the only woman he’s ever been with. I know things are safe with him. He’s clean.”

Sounds like you have an amazing provider-client relationship with Corey. Lindsay was jealous. I bet you’re the best, most considerate courtesan in the entire LPIN system. Pamela and her cheery disposition and sweet, spiritual soul captivated Lindsay. You 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. I’d love for someone to send me gifts every week.

“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 man already must wear a condom for both vaginal and oral sex in a brothel. 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.

Fuck it. 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 way too cautious, but that’s her right, her decision. Me? Customers can have at my pussy. In Lindsay’s mind, oral sex was meant to be enjoyed with no 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 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 this happens to many of our customers – reality becomes blurred.”

Oh, that’s right; I remember now. Amy was Scarlett’s real name.

“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, she’s 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 his frustrations about work and an unhappy marriage at home. In bed, she allows him to do things to her that his wife would never 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 – a regular. 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.” Pamela’s face sagged. “Scarlett lives back east in Cincinnati with her fiancé, Jason, and her son, Aaron, 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? Being faithful in the past was difficult given Scarlett loves sex and has an addiction for it. But after working here for a couple of years, she says she can do it. She’s ready to be monogamous.

“Working in a brothel diminishes one’s sex drive... a lot.” Tears threatened Pamela’s eyes and she sniffled. “You learn to be loyal to those who are good to you if you’re fortunate enough to have someone in your life – 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 son? While she didn’t appear to be any older than twenty-five, rumor had it the boy was twelve and Lindsay assumed Scarlett could be in her early- to mid-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 son’s age, right?

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 from treating her body as if it were a home renovation project. Some things she fixed herself. Others required professional help. But every aspect had to be in showpiece, open house condition.

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 indirectly 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 it that my boobs are so small.

“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 façade. 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. I’m sure I’ll fall in love with every single one of mine. “Is that how you are with Corey? 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’s gaze softened. “I have my barrier up, yes, but Corey 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 write me one day and say he met someone and won’t be coming to visit me 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 Corey 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. Corey insists I take it. Wants to compensate me for my time. Besides, fifty bucks for an hour or two is nothing. I charged 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. Corey 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 grew bubbly. “Lots of ‘em. You’d be surprised.”

I need a sugar daddy of my own.

The in-house buzzer boomed like thunder cracks from Heaven and yanked Lindsay from her memories of talking with Pamela yesterday and sent her stumbling as she hopped out of bed. OhmiGod. My first lineup!

Full of jitters, Lindsay wasted no time. She couldn’t afford the fine for being late and rushed out to the hallway. She was ashamed earlier when choosing her outfit for the evening – a bridal white bra and sheer stockings, and a tiny thong that revealed far more than it hid. Jim helped her pick it out. What kind of girl wears lingerie like this and walks around in it but a slut? A sense of foreboding bit into her belly. Lindsay Michelle Anastacio, welcome to your new life: thot for hire. She had a pink bow in her hair, pink and white plastic bracelets dangling from her right wrist, and a pink ruffle encircling her left elbow. A pair of modest two-inch pumps completed the delightful ensemble. Remember, this is what you wanted.

But the negative feelings faded once Lindsay gathered the courage to lollygag through the house a while ago. Every woman she encountered loitered in revealing lingerie or a plunging, low-cut minidress. Lindsay was truly “one of them” now and blended in like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Colt and Jim paid her minimal attention too. Pfft, I can do this.

Pamela, Kenzie, Sahara, and Aaliyah soon joined Lindsay outside the kitchen as they awaited the lineup. Chillin’ with my new squad. Scarlett, Riley, and Nicolette were busy entertaining other guests. Business was flourishing, so they wouldn’t be part of the lineup.

Lindsay stole a peek of Pamela and was amazed she had partied for three hours with a client this afternoon (and took his virginity in the process) and not a single hair was misaligned on her head. Sure, Pamela had since bathed, showered, and reapplied her makeup, but Lindsay would never guess she had spent her afternoon getting fucked.

Neither would any potential customers, and that was the important thing.

“Ladies, follow me.” Jim led the group through the bar to the lap dance room at the far end. A gentleman idled in the center chair, waiting to check out the merchandise.

Lindsay pranced around like a newly-minted deity demanding worship from somebody – anybody – until she found a spot between Pamela and Sahara. All her tireless research since last fall was about to pay off – she was one hundred percent certain she’d be the girl chosen. Time to start saving for a car.

A thirtysomething, the customer was attractive. Lindsay envisioned him as a business executive from the Midwest whose marriage had grown stale and was here hoping to spice things up. I can’t wait to see what’s underneath your custom suit, sir.

“Hi, I’m Kayleigh! It’s my first day!” The other ladies had animated, humorous reactions as Lindsay introduced herself and stepped back in line. It was subtle, but Pamela gave Lindsay a pat on the ass and offered a flirtatious wink afterward.

I wonder if Colt will fine her?

“Who will it be, Lucas?”

Pick me. Pick me. Pick me. I’m DTF!

The idea of this stranger taking her to a private room and having his way with her not only made Lindsay squirm with unfettered desire and anticipation, but she became so wet she had the urge to reach inside her G-string and play with herself. Lord have mercy; where are my Ben Wa balls and dildo when I need them? She was eager to take this man’s dick, to do her lewd duty, and please him.

“I gotta go with Sahara.”

What!?

Caught off-guard, Lindsay’s world came crashing down like a house of cards and her stomach lurched. Sahara? He chose ... wait, what, why?

She maintained her composure the way Pamela trained her to and followed the others out of the lap dance room while Sahara cozied on up and introduced herself.

“Lucas? Hiiiii! I’m Sahara. It’s wonderful to meet you.” The appreciation on her face was evident as she hugged him. “Hmm, you smell so good. Are you a local, or an out-of-towner on vacation?”

Deciding to break away from her coworkers, Lindsay’s black shoes, sling-back designs with moderate heels, clanked as she stomped down the steps to the recreation room. That fucker chose Sahara over me? What the hell? What’s she got that I don’t? Lindsay plodded straight to a stool in the corner and settled there.

I put on tons of makeup and go to all this trouble to make myself sexy, but that guy didn’t even notice me! Lindsay flexed her fingers and her muscles quivered. What the fuck am I doing here? If I can’t get noticed in this – she glanced down and regarded herself in the bridal lingerie – how am I ever going to get picked? I’ll be passed over in every gosh darn lineup. She pounded her pint-sized fist on the table with a force that rattled a nearby flower vase.

“Hey. Wanna talk about it?”

Lindsay swiveled and found Pamela’s large, overflowing breasts at eye level. She hitched in a breath and had the sudden urge to peel away the thin fabric concealing them. Still, negativity won out. Her lips curled into a grimace. “I don’t like lineups! That was humiliating! Degrading!”

“Don’t take it personal. You can’t.” Pamela planted herself on a stool and squeezed Lindsay’s wrist. A light blue, one shoulder minidress wrapped around Pamela’s torso and showcased her flat, toned abdomen with an exposed triangle cutout in front. “No girl likes lineups, honey.”

“Yeah? You don’t say? Really? Tell me about it.” Lindsay couldn’t tear her gaze away from the swell of Pamela’s breasts, and with the way the minidress was designed, her under cleavage.

“Lineups are part of the job. They’re a daily reality and they’re not going away. If a customer asks for one, we have to provide it.” Pamela steered Lindsay’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Again, you can’t take anything personal here. I’ve been telling you that since you first arrived yesterday, haven’t I? You’ll go insane if you do.”

“Rejection sucks!” Lindsay stomped over to the loveseat and tossed the two magazines that had been atop it to the floor. “It fucking sucks!” She snarled and her silky blonde hair swung from side to side.

***

Pamela figured this was the first time Lindsay had ever experienced any sort of rejection in her young life. It must be. Back in Citronelle, Lindsay stood atop a pedestal, and more than likely, the entire town catered to her every whim. Especially the guys she attended school with. Pamela was certain they’d roll out the proverbial red carpet whenever she walked from one class to the next.

But things were different here. Brothels were a competitive, winner-take-all environment. They were full of girls who’d been the hottest and most sought-after while attending high school and college. Girls who were accustomed to getting whatever they wanted. Some could adapt, but many failed and fizzled out.

Look at her. Lindsay’s face was puffy, and she slouched on the loveseat with her arms folded, mimicking the image of a toddler who’d been sent to timeout.

But Pamela was wired differently. Instead of dismissing Lindsay as self-centered and telling her to suck it up, she was sympathetic. I understand. It made sense given that Pamela, a Psychology major, was fascinated by various human emotions and personality types. Everyone is unique and no one should be judged for how they feel.

Was it Lindsay’s fault she grew up in a nothing, nowhere town, and her parents never allowed her to venture outside its confines? She’s happy, she’s cheerful, but has also lived under a rock, and despite being talkative, doesn’t know how to socialize and integrate herself with others yet. Part of that could be chalked up to her youth, however another part could be attributed to being Citronelle’s princess who could do no wrong. It’s not her fault. She just doesn’t know any better.

Pamela had her viewpoint, unique as it was, but not everyone in the house shared it. Rumblings abounded that Lindsay’s immaturity had rubbed one of the other working ladies the wrong way. Aaliyah thinks she’s a spoiled little brat and should be put on blast.

First things first, though. Pamela needed to have a long talk with Lindsay about rejection and the best way to handle it. Colt won’t put up with her if she becomes pouty and emotional like this. He’d fire her without remorse. Every time I get passed over in a lineup, I deal with rejection too. I don’t like it but refuse to let it bother me.