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Chapter Three
"Are you sure you're okay? Want me to pull over? There's a rest stop just up the road."
"No, no. I'm fine. I really am." Lindsay Anastacio pressed her forehead against the passenger side window and willed herself to take slow, steady breaths. She gritted her teeth and, despite claiming otherwise, did what she could to combat the torment swirling throughout her as Jim Mayer drove his 2018 Audi A3 sedan along U.S. Route 50 toward the town of Oakfall near the Nevada-Utah border. Lindsay's excitement for a daylong getaway and shopping spree alongside Jim had been tempered somewhat by the harsh reality check she received first thing this morning at the Flagstone Sheriff's Department.
"Hi there! I'd like to apply for a sheriff's card."
Once the older, heavyset woman behind the desk realized Jim was with Lindsay, her pleasant, professional disposition turned to outrage. She knew exactly who Jim was and what he represented. "You're wanting to work at the brothel? Get a job there?"
"Yes."
"Have you applied for a sheriff's card before?"
Lindsay turned her torso to the side in an act of self-preservation. "Umm, no."
Looking like a volcano about to erupt, the woman handed all the paperwork over. "You're so young. So pretty. Why do you want to throw your life away and become a good-for-nothing whore? Is that really something to strive for? To be proud of?" Her eyes were flat and piercing. "How could you do this to yourself? To your family? Have you no respect for them?"
Lindsay's body shaking, she gasped and clutched Jim as if he were her lifeline, and was on the verge of a meltdown. A stranger had belittled and insulted her, and she looked sick as a dog because of it.
"It's nice to see you again, too, Irene," Jim said in a sarcastic tone. Protective instincts took over as he guided Lindsay back to the lobby. "The law in this town doesn't approve of us. Just fill out the paperwork. They'll fingerprint you and run a background check, and you'll talk to a social worker -- the county wants to be sure no one is forcing you into this -- and then you'll be approved for your card and we'll be on our way. Won't be long."
"All whores go to Hell!" Irene had to get a parting shot in. "You're going to burn forever because of this!"
Lindsay gasped again, this time at the memory of those words, as her head smacked into the cold, hard glass. She shot a quick look at Jim, who appeared concerned, then leaned forward in her seat and covered her face with both hands while struggling to maintain her dignity.
After a minute, Lindsay sensed the vehicle slow down and come to a complete stop. She lifted her head and again looked at Jim.
"Contrary to what you're telling me, you're not okay. Talk to me, sweetheart. What's going on? Are you still upset about what happened at the sheriff's office earlier?"
"Fuck, yeah, I'm upset," Lindsay muttered and undid her seat belt, opened the door, and staggered out to the parking lot. Her hands shook as if she was freezing, despite the desert sun searing the asphalt pavement and air all around her, and she clamped them under her armpits.
Jim had pulled over at a rest stop about fifteen miles from the state border which offered travel info, washrooms, and vending machines. Lindsay plopped down on the curb.
Jim was there within seconds. He nestled beside Lindsay so close that their shoulders bumped. His hand gripped her wrist and their eyes connected. "I told you earlier that you can't let what Irene said affect you. She's a mean old bitch who lives alone because no one wants her and she's jealous of you. She wishes she was as young and pretty as you."
Ignoring what happened was easier said than done. Mean old bitch or not, that woman shed an alternative light on Lindsay's situation. Was accepting a job at Happy Ending Ranch the right move? When her medical results came back this morning and she was cleared to work, Lindsay was sky-high with joy and enthusiasm. But now, just hours later, she was overcome with doubt. Her stomach quivered, the knots tightening and creating a stranglehold.
No one had ever been so hateful toward her before. The policewoman didn't even know her! Or is she a receptionist? Back in Citronelle, things were different. Lindsay was on a first-name basis with over half the town because she worked at the fairgrounds every summer. It was a monumental event for the community and all the residents enjoyed it. She always met them with a bright, cheerful smile and was never impolite. Her parents raised her to be respectful of everyone, especially her elders. Mom says that a smile is the best makeup any girl can wear.
This whole harebrained scheme of leaving home at eighteen for a controversial job could end terribly in so many ways. What if Lindsay made a misstep and got arrested? The head honcho in town, Sheriff Spaeth, had the biggest vendetta of anyone against etimesgut yabancı escortlar the brothel and its employees. Being arrested and convicted would be horrible, but it would pale in comparison to her parents ever finding out why she'd left everything behind in California and ran off to Nevada.
Whore.
The term hit hard. Being called one shook Lindsay to her roots and provided her first reality check for the new life she'd chosen. It was taboo to say that word in the industry, but in all fairness, it was the truth. I am a whore. Not yet, but soon.
Lindsay hadn't heard any of the other ladies use that word yet. They referred to themselves as working girls, working ladies, courtesans, or providers. Those terms sounded nice and somewhat clean. Colt brought up the term "prostitute" a few times yesterday, but said it was a dirty word, too. Not as dirty as whore, though.
Did Lindsay want to lie down on a bed and let a random man fuck her for a living? Once his time was up, chances are there'd be another waiting to use her next. Scarlett told Lindsay that this past Saturday, she had sex with eight different guys over fourteen hours.
Eight. Different. Guys!
As much as she wanted to get on the road and visit the upscale lingerie boutique in Oakfall that Pamela spoke so highly of, Lindsay had to take a few moments to compose herself before getting back into the car with Jim. "I need to use the ladies' room while we're here. I'll be right back."
Even though no one else was inside, Lindsay locked herself in a stall, anyway, and breathed in deep, controlled breaths. She had to get a grip on her emotions! Seriously, am I cut out for this?

* * *</p>
"You're awfully quiet. It's unusual for you. Haven't said much of anything since we left the rest stop."
Lindsay startled as she turned to face Jim. She faked a grin and hoped it didn't look as anxious as she felt. "I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind."
Jim took a moment to inspect Lindsay as he drove along the highway. Oakfall was waiting at the next turnoff. She'd gone to the sheriff's station in an old pair of gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting, checkered blouse to maintain her modesty and not rouse any suspicions.
But once they got out of Flagstone, Lindsay stripped down right in the front seat to her skintight denim shorts with frayed edges and a fluorescent orange halter top that hugged and clutched her nubile young form in all the right places. Sexy was an understatement. In all his thirty-five years of working at the brothel, Jim had never seen a woman as utterly gorgeous as Lindsay. In time, she was going to be a popular commodity -- a featured attraction -- for the brothel.
But only if things stayed positive and people like Irene were kept out of her life.
Jim was quick to realize yesterday that this wasn't the stereotypical girl who came looking for work at the ranch. Lindsay had a wonderful, close-knit family and had been raised the right way. Outsiders would never believe that. Sad, but true. She didn't come from a broken home. There were no past hardships to speak of. She'd never been beaten or molested, either, particularly by her father.
The fact was, most of the ladies who'd come and gone over the years at Happy Ending Ranch had decent backgrounds. They're normal girls. It was a popular misconception amongst the ignorant masses that every working girl was abused by her dad and sky-high on drugs.
That's the only reason she chose this life, right? Hahaha! She'll be dead in five or six years from an overdose.
In reality, no, that wasn't the case. Still, Jim knew there were a few who'd been through some serious struggles, whether at home or otherwise. Like women, and men, in every line of work. Doctors, lawyers, construction workers, you name it. And yes, sex workers, too.
"Where are some of your favorite places to hike?" Jim could have said he knew Lindsay was in a bad frame of mind and asked if she wanted to discuss it. But there was a better way to go about this. He could tell Lindsay was still rattled over what happened earlier and now second-guessed her decision to leave the sanctity of her family because of it. Unfortunately, courtesans obtaining their sheriff's card through Irene (and her sharp tongue) was a necessary evil.
Even worse, it needed to be renewed every six months.
Lindsay relaxed at his question and let loose with a soft, natural smile. Last evening, Jim inquired about her interests so he could list them on her biography page for the website. Lindsay mentioned to him that, more than anything else, she loved to hike.
"The Clouds-to-Cactus Trail, without a doubt. My dad and I hike it two times a year."
"Clouds-to-Cactus Trail? Where's that located?"
"California. It begins in Palm Springs and ascends over ten thousand feet to San Jacinto Peak. It's twenty-one miles long and can be difficult for beginners, ankara yeni escortlar but Dad and I have hiked it so many times it's old news for us these days." She suppressed a laugh. "We're pros."
"Impressive. I used to go hiking a lot when I was younger." Man, I haven't done any of that in thirty years. Where did all the time go? It just flew by. "Two miles up, huh? I bet it's freezing cold when you get to the top, even in the middle of summer." Or is it? Honestly, he didn't know.
Jim glanced at Lindsay again, torn between his professionalism and a potent desire. He was elated earlier when Colt asked him to take Lindsay out for the day. He thought Colt would want to drive her to Oakfall himself, but opted to stay at the house and spend time with Pamela instead. Good for him; those two need more time together. They can never have enough. "Twenty-one miles, huh? How long does it take to hike?"
"It's an all-day hike. Sixteen hours. We only hike it in May and October when the conditions are favorable. In the summer, it's not advised because the temperature reaches one hundred and twenty degrees. At one point, there's no water for eight miles. We tried this past December on a whim, on my birthday, but that was a bad idea. The higher altitudes were covered in snow and ice. Dad didn't want to risk it, so we turned back. Reports were the summit was negative-ten degrees."
"I have a friend who likes to hike and mountain climb west of Vegas," Jim offered. "In the springtime, the ground is hot and sunny, he says, but at the top of the peak there could be a blizzard going on."
Lindsay raised an eyebrow. "Mount Charleston?"
Jim smiled. "How'd you know?"
"I've always wanted to hike there. Its elevation is higher than Clouds-to-Cactus."
"Then why haven't you?"
Lindsay turned and looked out the window with an emotionless stare. "My parents are the type who never want to leave home. Driving twenty-five or thirty miles east to Palm Springs has always been a major family outing. Basically, they never leave Citronelle." She wiped her sniffy nose with a tissue and refocused on Jim. "I've only been to Los Angeles twice, though it's just one hundred and forty miles away, and San Diego once. We went to the zoo there when I was a kid. And I've seen the beach one time. That's it."
"Ouch." Jim grimaced, reached over, and patted the back of her hand. "Sounds like you truly have led a sheltered life. I feel for 'ya."
Lindsay stretched her lips in contemplation. "I was determined to bust out of town after high school and find something new and exciting to do."
"Like becoming a sex worker in a brothel?"
She fluttered her eyelashes and offered a coy smile. "The industry has always intrigued me."
Jim enjoyed talking with turnouts like this and learning about their backstories. No two were ever the same.
"I've been doing lots of reading on it this past year, wanting to make an informed decision, and have a lot of respect for all working girls. I find it amazing what they do, what they offer. Tons of respect. I know it won't be easy, but there's the opportunity for good money. I can save up for college. And who knows? Take a trip or two around the world, too. Neither would be possible if I continued to sling corn dogs for the rest of my life."
Jim laughed. "You hated that job, huh? You've mentioned... your disdain... for it a couple of times." She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "We're glad you chose Happy Ending Ranch, but did you ever consider anything else? Something like stripping? Webcamming?"
"I did." She let loose with a lopsided grin. "Stripping, at least, yes. Webcamming never crossed my mind. There is a strip club in San Diego that I did a lot of reading up on, too. But in the end, I thought escorting would be more enjoyable. More money, too. Besides, I wouldn't enjoy working in a loud, hectic strip club. I've never been much for teasing. I like action. There are drugs and dangerous temptations, bad people, everywhere in them. Brothels are stricter -- they have to be because they're regulated by the state -- and working at one seemed, I don't know, safer."
"You won't have any problems at Happy Ending Ranch. Colt runs a tight ship. Much tighter than his father ever did. Take Nicolette, for example. She's worked at every brothel there is and says ours is her favorite. Sahara and Riley have been offered jobs closer to Vegas, but they always decline even though the potential for money is greater there. They love Colt and the fact he lets them be themselves.
"Those bigger brothels in the populated areas such as Vegas, Reno, Carson City, they're an operation. Customers are treated as if they're on an assembly line. It's robotic and strictly a bottom-line business, and those girls will stab you in the back if it suits them. Here, and at other smaller houses, girls cheer each other on for the most part. There are conflicts sincan oral yapan escortlar from time to time, but Colt prefers a family-style atmosphere. Ours is a no-drama house. He takes care of all the girls and they take care of one another, too."
"I like the sound of that." Lindsay had a glittering smile as she enjoyed the desert scenery. The dance of sunlight across immense, wide-open spaces and endless mountain ranges made the natural environment of Nevada a sight to behold. Sadly, many tourists didn't realize there was so much more the state could offer beyond the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas. "When I did my research on the Internet, others said Happy Ending Ranch had the family atmosphere vibe you speak of. It was a determining factor in me coming here. Pamela said yesterday other brothels have tried stealing her away, too."
Jim stroked his beard. "A waste of time, wouldn't you agree? Pamela isn't going anywhere."
"Since you mentioned Sahara and Riley, I must admit, I think their relationship is wonderful. I'd like to work with them one day... you know, party." Lindsay tugged at her earlobe. "It takes a lot of guts to want to have a big, traditional wedding ceremony in a church like they do, and invite all their friends and family, too." Her face went pale. "I mean, if it were me, I'd be scared to death to tell my family I was in love with another girl, let alone invite them to the wedding."
"It takes guts and is brave on their part," Jim said. "But it also shows how much they love and care for each other. Sahara and Riley are proud of what they have and want their friends and families to know it."
"What about you, Jim? Does Colt take care of you, too? The two chefs, maintenance, the bartenders? Jenn seemed really nice last night. I had fun talking with her at the bar."
"Colt takes care of all his employees. He's a great, great boss to have. I wouldn't trade what I do for anything. No position, no amount of money." Jim laughed once more. "I put in seventy or eighty hours a week, but honestly, it's not a job to me. I don't look at it that way."
"You definitely seem happy and laid-back."
"Since we were talking about stripping, there'll be times when a customer will ask for a sexy striptease and lap dance from you. Don't worry, though. Pamela will prepare you for every scenario during your training this week."
"I don't know how to give a lap dance. Not a clue."
Lindsay was irresistible and a downright doll, without question, but Jim wasn't interested in her that way. No, his heart was the sole property of Cierra Vazquez (Kenzie), and he was bound and determined, one way or another, to finally win her over.
Even if it took him until the end of time.
"You don't need to know how to give one. It doesn't matter. Just do it. Guys don't come to us looking for a lap dance or striptease. They want the full package. All you'd need to do during a lap dance is bump and grind your body a bit, get up-close and personal, and touch yourself. You'll have any man eating out of the palm of your hand in seconds. Don't worry, Pamela will teach you everything."

* * *</p>
Hmmmmm, Pamela. The corners of Lindsay's mouth quirked up.
It astonished her that she had such a massive crush on Pamela. They'd just met yesterday, and, even more surprising, Pamela was a woman. Sure, Lindsay had been curious about the idea of hooking up and having sex with another woman for years. How many times had she fingered herself in her private moments and fantasized about her best friend back home, Evie? I just did that the other night at the hotel in Vegas. Or used her dildo and imagined it was Evie fucking her with a strap-on instead?
But Lindsay's attraction for Pamela was already a million times more intense. How is that possible? I mean, seriously? Pamela had been so nice since the moment they laid eyes on each other yesterday. Heck, Pamela was nice when they spoke over the telephone three weeks ago.
Lindsay wasn't accustomed to another woman being this bubbly and flirty. Most of the girls she went to high school with had been catty and just plain jealous. What a bunch of haters. Pamela was a toucher and her fingers often seemed to glide along Lindsay's shoulders, her back, or her forearms. It wasn't blatant and didn't seem intentional; it's who Pamela was, Lindsay believed. How many tender, innocent kisses did Pamela sneak to her arm and shoulder yesterday? I think I'll be fantasizing about her instead of Evie from now on.
Pamela had a one-hour party with an older gentleman last evening. Since they had neighboring rooms, Lindsay reclined in bed and could hear every word (and every passionate grunt) between Pamela and her paying client through the thin walls separating them. I was so jealous of that man.
Poor Lindsay had no choice but to go all-out and fuck herself with her dildo. Imagine if it was Pamela fucking me, instead, even dominating me, with a strap-on. Oh, God. That would be so lit. Lindsay came three times listening to the man laying the proverbial wood to Pamela. When Pamela would shriek in pleasure, Lindsay closed her eyes and imagined it was her, not the client, delivering those sensations instead. What a lucky guy.