Chapter 10

Finally, by the end of the week following her arrival, she felt that things were caught up enough to allow a more normal schedule and told her aunt so.

“Well, that’s good. You need to learn the rest of the business as well. Don’t forget, I also need you as an assistant hostess.”

“So, what do I do? And when?” quizzed Jennifer.

“Well, when is evenings. Or whenever I’m busy, or away,” responded Margaret. “The hostess greets callers, takes their coats, takes payments, introduces them to the girls, and makes any arrangements necessary. As assistant hostess, you’ll do this whenever I’m busy. Once you get the hang of it, we’ll probably switch off for succeeding customers.”

Margaret took Jennifer to Jennifer’s room to prepare for the coming evening. Jennifer showered and dressed carefully. She pulled on black thigh-top stockings, and a black half-cup bra. Over these she put on a sheer, gray blouse and a long black velvet wrap skirt. High heels finished the look. Then she went up to her aunt’s suite.

The third floor had been totally taken over and converted to one large suite. A large bedroom, large bath with whirlpool tub, dressing room, and living room made up the suite. Margaret rapidly showered and poured herself into a strapless, backless, sequined gown, cut high along one thigh, with thigh-high stockings and heels beneath. Margaret’s ample breasts seemed as if they were about to burst from the top, but she seemed comfortable. After checking in the mirrors lining the bathroom, they went downstairs.

Entering the hallway, Jennifer could smell pizza. But entering the kitchen she was astounded to see that while everyone was eating pizza from a half-dozen boxes on the kitchen table, all the women were eating topless. And the pizza delivery boy was leaning against the counter, eyes closed, pants around his knees, while a girl Jennifer hadn’t met yet was on her knees, topless, giving him a blow job. Turning to her aunt, but unable to take her eyes off the Fellini-esque scene, she whispered, “What the fuck is going on?”

Her aunt leaned towards her and whispered, “We get free pizzas. The kid pays for them himself. Sort of like the barter system.” Then standing straight, she reached behind her, and pulled the zipper down. Her own tits popped out of the bustier style top.

Oh, well, here goes, thought Jennifer. Leaning back towards her aunt, she asked, “Anything else bartered for, here?” and took off her blouse. By now the delivery boy’s eyes were open again, staring at her and her aunt’s tits. His hips bucking frantically, he spewed down the kneeling whore’s throat. Reaching down, he quickly pulled his pants up, and took off out the back door. The women pulled their tops back on.

“Occasionally,” Aunt Margaret said. “Mrs. McMurphy doesn’t work Fridays and Mondays. So, Friday, we order out for pizza, and Monday we take turns cooking. That’s why the girls wanted to know if you could cook. It gets awful boring eating the same bad food on Monday nights,” said Margaret, between bites of pizza.

Jennifer, and a few of the other women, had left their tops off while eating the greasy pizza. She noticed that Roger and Rocky were in the kitchen, also, and that they had been watching the proceedings all along. The thought somehow made her excited, and she could feel her nipples begin to harden. She rapidly finished her pizza and left the room.

She still hadn’t been able to get laid. After the sauna that morning, she had gone looking for either of the men, but both were unavailable. They had gone to Vegas for supplies and to drop off several girls for appointments and had only gotten back right before dinner.

Buttoning her transparent blouse, she arrived in the parlor in time to hear the doorbell ring. She stood, startled, to see a burst of activity as everyone flew to their positions. Several chicly dressed women settled themselves into chairs in the parlor, as Roger, now in tuxedo, moved behind the bar. Margaret, now looking nothing like the topless pizza eater she was moments earlier, took Jennifer’s arm and towed her into the foyer. “Just follow me around, keep your mouth shut, and watch what I do,” she said. She nodded to Rocky, also in a tux, who opened the door for the night’s first client.

Despite her inexperience, Jennifer easily understood the flow of traffic and the procedure being followed. Customers would show up, sometimes singly, sometimes in groups of two or three. After Rocky showed the men in, Margaret would meet them in the foyer, often by first name and with a kiss. Hats and coats, if any, were taken care of. Most of the men wore suits and ties. Many of the men were regular customers, and Margaret simply took the proffered cash and escorted them into the parlor. Roger would offer them a drink, and then they would select one of the girls, who would lead them out of the room. On at least two occasions, Margaret would open a drawer in the small desk and process a credit card on a reader inside.

New clients, or simply friends of previous customers who had never been to the Lakehouse, received a more formal greeting. Prior to paying, they would be escorted to the bar. There they would be shown a small leather-bound book, looking much like a wine menu in a fine restaurant. Inside, in finely done calligraphy, on the left side would be a price list. On the right side, would be a statement that “ ... fantasies, costumes, and unusual requests are our specialty...” and an invitation to peruse the “Fantasy Book” for special ideas.

Jennifer had looked through the “Fantasy Book” several days before. “After all,” said her aunt, “What else do we really sell except fantasy. So, we specialize in different outfits and getups, dressing up or down as the client wants.” Most of the outfits modeled in the book were standard male fantasies. The ‘French Maid’ was so old a fantasy as to be laughable, but several others raised her eyebrows. The ‘Cowgirl’ outfit consisted of high-heeled boots, chaps and a cowboy hat, while the ‘Indian Maid’ wore a tiny leather breechcloth, a tiny, fringed leather vest, and a headband and feather. There was a ‘Schoolgirl that would certainly have raised a principal’s eye, and a ‘Nun’ that would have raised a bishop’s blood pressure. The photos had been done in large, glossy stock, and were quite professionally done in a tasteful, for the subject, manner. The various costumes and outfits were kept in a large dressing room down the hall. “The calligraphy, printing, and photos were done by barter, too,” Margaret informed Jennifer.