Chapter 171

When Riley had 16 contiguous apartments filled with 16 mothers and 22 kids, Claire broke ground next door on CareFreer. This condo building would be more luxurious than the original — from the carpeting to fixtures to appliances.

A larger pool, a bigger party room, more hot tubs. The only rentals would be when an owner decided he wouldn’t need his two-bedroom unit for a month or so.

As the apartments were more upscale, the owners were wealthier and even more worldly. CareFreer would function mainly as a pied-à-terre for many of them. And, as a tax write-off.

Clothing was optional instead of forbidden, but most owners — mainly couples in their late 20s, 30s, and 40s — bought a unit for sex. Specifically, for unfettered access to everyone in the 16 Carefree apartments.

During the interview process for CareFreer, Riley spelled it out explicitly — “You will have complete access to the moms and children. It’s not a requirement, but our condo owners are tipping the mothers generously when they enjoy her kids.”

Paul and Celia Mallon were typical prospects. Celia said, “Access includes the boys as well as girls?”

“Of course.”

Paul, “What would be a standard gratuity?”

“If you just want a quickie, a hundred would be a reasonable consideration. If you want to keep them all night or longer, or share them with some friends, it’s up to you.”

Celia, “No limit on the number of boys?”

“No, of course not. Take a stroll around — all the people you see in Carefree are there for your pleasure. Be my guest tonight. Select whoever you want to play with.”

When CareFreer had been open for nine months — and was 85% sold out — the original Carefree was by then fully booked with mothers and children.

It was a happy place — free rent and utilities, of course. But the women bonded. Their kids made friends. With everyone running around in the nude, there was a delicious sense of freedom.

The tips were generous. The mothers, some consciously, some not, rationalized sharing their children with the wealthy crowd. They were nice people, and showed there appreciation in a tangible manner.

The moms didn’t believe they were whoring out their kids. They were just happy to accommodate their new neighbors.

What Riley Mary Margaret Clooney had created was, essentially, a 72-unit whorehouse. Almost none of the mothers thought of it that way. They were modern, liberated, single women. Living the life. Yeah, there was a quid pro quo, but everyone was operating under her own free will. And those wealthy condo owners? So nice, so understanding, so generous.

Riley instituted a new nighttime policy for Carefree. At bedtime, every kid slept with a different mom. To the children’s delight, Riley made every woman available to any kid who wanted some pussy. There was hardly a murmur of complaint — and certainly no woman there even considered objecting.

The little boys were so easy to service — they were quick and remembered their manners. They’d been trained to thank the condo owners for enjoying them — and they extended that same courtesy to the mothers who graciously gave them pussy whenever they wanted.

The little girls? Such delicious crumpets — most of the moms relished a quick romp.

Some nights Riley had all the kids sleeping with other kids; moms with moms. By this time, compliance was so automatic that it never occurred to anyone to question her edicts.

As the CareFreer owners settled in, became used to the rhythms and pleasures of free next-door pussy, fewer and fewer Carefree mothers were making the trek to the condos. Rich folks seemed to prefer young stuff; that was just the way life was.

Nobody was getting hurt. What went on behind closed doors was nobody else’s business.

Of the 72 Carefree moms, about a third of them had quit their jobs and now worked for Consuela Hernandez at Pink Pussy. Riley had the rest of them give Consuela a minimum of ten hours a week. The goal was to have all the moms selling pussy while their kids were satisfying the needs of the condo owners.

It was so much easier for the moms to just walk over to Pussy than to get in a car and drive to some boring-ass job. In their minds, the lines between selling sex in the trailers and giving their kids to the wealthy residents began to blur. What difference did it make, really?

Live sex shows were gaining popularity. In the CareFreer party room, 30, 40, sometimes 50 residents and guests would gather to watch a performance. Incest was always in demand. Mother/son, mother/daughter, brother/sister.

One resident, Celia Mallon, wrote out sexy/funny skits for the whores to stage.

Kiddie orgies were a frequent highlight.

Of course, audience members were encouraged to join in on the fun. Interestingly, more women than men climbed up on the stage to fuck, suck, and lick in public.

The original Carefree concept — a resort for swinging couples — now seemed almost quaint. The Stillman family and Riley Clooney had identified an age-old niche market —youth — and found a way to meet the ever-increasing demand.

Win-win.

Molly

Riley Clooney made a one-day roundtrip up to that Minnesota farm to meet with Alice Llewyn’s dog breeder, Karla Maxwell. She was impressed with the thoroughness of the security check-in process. There was a 10-foot-high fence that surrounded the property as far as Riley could see. She had to present two photo-IDs, and then one of three guards still called ahead to verify her appointment.

The visit would prove to be a fascinating and informative experience. Riley found the 62-year-old, gray-haired woman to be refreshingly intelligent — or at least shrewd about understanding human nature.

She wore a white lab coat with ‘Karla’ sewn on in red script, “My clients aren’t hillbilly goat-fuckers. They’re above average in intelligence, most of them anyway. They have enough money to indulge their fantasies, and enough experience to figure out what those fantasies — those hidden desires — really are.”

“Sexual gratification.”

“Sure, of course. But some of them also want companionship, cuddling, someone to talk with. To sleep with. But, yeah, most of them want to cum.”

“Like Alice Llewyn.”

“Yes — I have quite a few women like her — more than content with a dedicated pussy-licker. But that’s just one category I breed for. For instance I have several customers who only care about dick size — the bigger the better. They don’t have a preference for a Great Dane or an Irish Wolfhound or a Saint Bernard.”

“Just so he’s hung.”

“Hung _and_ trained. Anyone can breed for cock size, and there are a lot of second-rate handlers who do that. But it’s training the dogs to make love — that’s the key. Different women like different positions, different speeds, different intensities. Some women spend two, three weeks with me here.”

“That long? It would seem like fucking would come natural to dogs.”

“It does. But each dog has to spend hours and hours with his new owner. I train him to understand what she wants, what she needs. For example the bulbus glandis. When he’s fucking a bitch, the knot swells up and locks inside her. Some of my customers want it inside their cunt, some don’t.”

“Ah.”

“It takes time and discipline to train the studs to hold back. Then there’s learning how to lick pussy. Almost all of my women want to be heated up prior to intercourse. Now, these dogs don’t have to be as talented as a Molly — it is only foreplay to those customers. Some women want to have a mild orgasm or two before getting fucked. Other’s don’t — they just want to be taken to the brink.”

“And you can train your dogs to understand the difference?”

“I learned at an early age from my own mother. Who learned from her mother. There are techniques and a system of rewards that we’ve honed over the years. Decades, actually. But the key is to have the woman spend enough time here, getting fucked by her new dog two, three, four, five times a day.”

“Wow.”

“It takes dedication on the part of my customers — they have to _want_ to take home the best lover they can. Of course my repeat clients know that in advance — they don’t have unrealistic expectations how about how good it’s going to be the first few times. And they clear their calendars accordingly.”

“Okay.”

“Some women prefer to lie on their back, pillows under their butt. Others like to be on their hands and knees. A few want to straddle the dog so they can see everything. It takes a while for a dog to learn to lie on his back and stay on his back.”

“I can picture that. Tell me, Karla, are any of your customers shy? Embarrassed to be taking lessons?”

“No, not at all. Even the first-timers are sophisticated enough to know exactly what they want. And they have enough self-confidence to be comfortable in front of me and my assistants.”

“What about the men?

Karla smiled, “Men are easier, less demanding. They just want a tight, little dog-pussy. It only takes a couple of days for them and the bitches to become sexually compatible. But that’s more of a sideline for me. Over 80% of my customers are women. And most of them are repeat customers.”

“Do many bring their daughters, like Alice Llewelyn?”

“Oh yeah. I have three, no, four now, fourth-generation families. They started with my mother and got handed down to me.”

“I find it charming that you have a satisfaction-guaranteed policy. Money-back.”

“It’s a safe offer, Riley. No male dog leaves the premises until he’s fucked me or one of my senior associates, and we’re completely satisfied with his performance. Same with the Molly-dogs. The only ones I don’t sample are the little pussy-pups — they’re the least interesting to me, although they still have to be trained.”

“What kind of training?”

“Oh, take a toy poodle. We breed for tininess — I keep the little fluff-balls under five pounds so my customers feel like their own dicks are bigger. I also have to make sure she doesn’t have a recessed vulva -- that’s a common problem. Then we start off finger-fucking her — and we give her a treat every time she squeezes her little pussy. That’s a key — she isn’t some limp receptacle for a guy to beat off in. She’s a living, breathing little girl who experiences physical pleasure.”

“I understand. Just our of curiosity, what are your male customers looking for?”

“Tightness — the tighter the better. Obedience of course — they want pussy when they want pussy. No surprise there. Each one of my little puppies is far superior, far more pleasurable, than even the most expensive sex doll. No artificial pussy can begin to compete with a live, wet, pulsating cunt. Oh, and we train the bitches to be vocal — to whimper with need, sigh with happiness when a cock enters them, yip with pleasure when the guy cums.”

“Wow.”

“That’s important, Riley. The customer wants the tactile sensation of a pussy of course. And visuals too. He likes seeing how big his cock looks when he’s fucking a little puppy. Plus the way her little pussy smells when she’s in heat. But we also provide audible sensations — it adds an intangible bit of enjoyment to hear hear how happy she is when he cums.”

“Fascinating.”

“It’s interesting, my gay guys come here wanting a male fuck-puppy. But I have them do a side-by-side test, and almost all of them — not 100%, but most of them — end up taking a bitch home.”

“Why is that?”

“Simple — training. Bitches are much more receptive, quicker to learn. A male dog can take it up the butt, and some come to enjoy it. But the bitches really get into being fucked — physically and emotionally. Giver her treats, praise her when she makes you cum — you can see her practically preening.”

“I’m trying to picture it.”

“It’s like with your whores — guys can do them in any position they want.” Karla grinned and sat down in a chair, “But this is the favorite with most of my customers — gay and straight men both.” She held her hands a few inches apart and pantomimed moving a little dog up and down on her lap.

Riley could imagine it, “That’s why you breed ‘em under five pounds.”

“That’s one reason — the other is a tighter pussy.”

“Oh, of course.”

“We used to use vibrators to get her used to larger sizes — and with some poodles we still do. But the main test before she’s ready to be sold is to be fucked. The woman I put in charge of my pussy-pups — Eileen McCorkle — has two sons,14 and 15. They provide the final testing.”

“Now, that’s kinky — I like it.”

Karla smiled, “We had to train the boys as well.”

“Why is that?”

“A good fuck-puppy can make a guy cum just by squeezing his cock. She had to teach the boys to hold still — they get so excited. Once the little bitch can make a boy cum while he’s not moving, she’s ready for market.”

“Impressive.”

“Oh, it’s not as simple as it may look.”

“Why is that?” Riley was finding the sex-breeding operation to be quite intriguing.

“First, the boys have to learn to use an eyedropper to give the bitch a single drop of stimulant on her tongue. That puts her in heat in about ten minutes or so. The boys must remember to lubricate themselves thoroughly. Then they have to learn — no matter how excited they get — to enter the bitch slowly and gently. She’s tiny down there and I don’t want any battered pussies.”

“Of course not.”

“Then — and Eileen had to spend the longest time training the boys — they have to recognize when they’re fairly close to cuming and just stop moving.”

“Let the bitch squeeze them off.”

“Exactly. Of course, it’s more nuanced than that. Once the bitch is ready to market, Eileen has the boys enter her and then stay perfectly still — no humping, no getting themselves close to an orgasm.”

Riley nodded, “Have the bitch do all the work.”

Karla smiled and moved her hands away from the imaginary dog. She leaned back in the chair, crossed her hands behind her head, and smiled at Riley. Who could instantly picture a guy, his cock fully embedded in a bitch, just chilling out and letting her do all the work. A puppy that small could easily be held in place by a rigid cock.

“Amazing, Karla, simply amazing. How many bitches do the brothers do? In a typical day?”

“The school bus drops Ronnie and Willie off here around 3:30. Eileen gives them a snack and they go right to work, Fortunately, at that age, they recover quickly. By dinnertime, they’ve each usually done three or four bitches. Then Eileen brings them here bright and early on Saturdays. They’d come seven days a week if she’d let them, but she makes ‘em take Sunday off.”

“Do you pay them?”

“Of course, but unlike the rest of my team, it’’s in cash because of their ages. Ten bucks per bitch.”

“That’s decent money to a teenager. Thirty or forty a day.”

“Sure is. Now what’s your situation, Riley?”

Riley explained her Carefree setup. “So, I have 72 whores and all their daughters. Each has experienced Molly at least once.”

“Any resistance?”

“Not so far. They know better — they’re earning more money than ever. I’m letting them live rent-free with decent health insurance. I have all of them with tidy savings accounts now — some of them for the first time in their lives.”

“Smart.”

“But a number of my clients — condo owners — have also started to enjoy Molly.”

“And you need another one.”

“Another two — and maybe more after that. We’re featuring Molly in some of the live shows we do, and she’s in demand for private performances as well. Anyway, all indications are that demand is going to keep growing.”

“Riley, I’ll sell you four Mollys for $5,000 each.”

“Alice paid $7,500 — is that a volume discount?”

“No, I can afford to charge you less because the training time is shorter. When I trained Molly for Annie Llewyn, she had to learn Annie’s pussy specifically. How much pressure to put on her clit. Then when her tongue was all the way in Annie’s cunt — how rapidly to furl and unfurl it. When to lap fast, when to slow down. Then when Annie cums, does she like a little time to recover or does she want Molly to go at her even harder?”

“Hmm, it’s an art, isn’t it.”

“It certainly is. But for your whores and customers, I’ll give you Mollys that are skilled pussy-lickers, but not specifically trained for any one particular cunt.”

“That should work — Alice’s Molly is certainly able to get the girls off.”

“Yeah, until a woman has a custom-Molly, she’ll think she’s in cum-heaven. She won’t know what she’s missing though.”

Riley mused, “I wonder...”

“If you want one for yourself, I’d need you to stay here for a week or so. I’m not trying to sell you a custom-Molly, but if you had one, you’d know the difference in a minute.”

Riley sighed, “Maybe in a month or so. We have a problem back home. And it has to be resolved before I can spend a week away from there.”

“No hurry, dear.”

“When should I send someone up to collect the Mollys?”

“Give me five weeks. I include instructions for what and when to feed them, how much exercise, how to reward them for a job well done. How often to give them a female aphrodisiac — it’s not as important for the bitches as the studs, but it does make them more eager.”

“Dosage?”

“That depends on the individual dog — weight primarily, but also temperament and personality.” Karla glanced at her watch, “One of my stars, Duke, just had his second booster of the day — would you like to see a demo?”

Riley checked the time, “My flight’s at 6:20.”

“I’ll show you the wham-bam, thank-you-ma’am version. Plenty of time to watch a quickie.”

As they walked toward the kennels, Karla said, “Duke is the fifth stud for this particular client. She just went through her second divorce and got the beach house in Malibu. I won’t tell you her name, but you might have seen her in a few films. She’s been in a handful of cable and B-movies — not the lead. A couple of straight-to-DVD flicks. She’s killed early on in a couple of horror films. She has wholesome, girl-next-door looks — and loses her boyfriend or husband to various leading ladies.”

“Why five dogs?”

“She’s experimenting with different breeds. So far she’s been through a German Shepherd, a Great Pyrenees, an Anatolian, and an English Mastiff. She likes to play the field.”

Riley marveled at the number and variety of dogs. A few were lying in their cages, and looked up through the open doors with interest. But most of them — a variety of breeds and sizes — were romping in a grassy meadow. There was a large agility course with jump-bars at different heights, seesaw-like ramps, weave poles, tire-jumps, tunnels, a hinged A-frame, and a pause table.

Karla smiled at the scene fondly, “My studs and bitches could win any agility contest they enter. It’s part of the training process — instant obedience, learning to follow voice and hand commands.”

“Impressive. And so many dogs.”

“Oh, you’re seeing just a fraction of the ones I breed. Only one of of 15, maybe one out of 14, will qualify as a sex-dog. Most of them don’t have the temperament, or the intelligence, or the personality I look for.” She smiled, “And most of the studs aren’t hung enough.”

“What it the world do you do with all the others?”

‘I sell them wholesale — to other breeders, to legitimate pet store owners. The dogs go on to become working dogs, military and police dogs, guard dogs, pets, protection dogs. They’re perfectly fine, but they just aren’t ideal sex workers.”

“Huh.”

“And my customers for both groups — sex and not — trust me. I only sell healthy puppies. I check for hip and elbow dysplasia, wobbler syndrome, dilated cardiomyopathy — even little things like entropion, where the eyelid is inverted.”

“Impressive. Are you the largest sex-breeder in the country?”

“No, there are three others that do more volume. But none of them comes close to me in terms of quality of product and depth of training. Although there is a woman up in Saskatchewan that might give me a run for my money. She’s in a really remote part of the province. Has eleven or twelve children, God knows how many grandchildren and great-grandkids. She’s somehow managed to keep almost all of them on the farm and in the sex business. I heard, but don’t really know, that there’s some inbreeding in the family — brothers and sisters, cousins. Apparently the farm is so isolated that — well, you can imagine horny kids, no neighbors, home schooling.”

“A family business, but different from your family business.”

“Yeah, bur I’ve seen her product — she has some American customers and she delivers quality.”

Karla and Riley entered a long, one-story building which contained a series of bedrooms. Mattresses were arrayed at a variety of angles. As they strolled toward the back, Riley counted five naked women ranging in age from a teenager to one in her 60s. Each one was working with a tumescent dog.

“These are just puppies — they’re in their early stages of training. Just general stuff — how to become excited on command, how to cum and recover, cum and recover. You’ll notice their cocks aren’t that large yet — these little cuties are just a few weeks old. These days, with the right meds and training, we can get them to cum younger and younger.”