The bar was basically dead one night, but we could all feel a buzzing about the room, a certain anticipation. Three different groups and a straggler came bustling in at once, and we all scattered to deploy our respective advances on the fresh prey. There was a man bun at the bar, donning denim and flannel, and ordering a Maker’s on the rocks. Eyes locked on him, though his back was to me, I made the bar floor my catwalk and strutted straight over, boring a hole through him with my stare. It was my way of clearly signaling to the other ladies my intended target, whether or not any of them paid attention. Shifting my weight to my left leg, I leaned my hip against the bar to one side of him and gently pressed on his shoulder until he turned to face me. Madam did always tell us to maintain physical contact with our client, and I kept my hand pressed lightly against him as I slid it diagonally to clench into a fist of fabric in the center of his chest. At precisely this moment, he looked down to see my fist but stopped short, fixated on my breasts. I took in his smell: tobacco and marijuana mixed with sweat, cologne, and whisky. His drink was up, and I watched him grab it, look at me, and start to form an “O” with his slightly chapped lips.
“Grey Goose on the rocks.” I said in a low, even voice. The voice of the self-assured woman I wanted to be.
The bartender, wise to maneuvers and well versed in each ladies’ drink choice, was already pouring up my poison and passing it to me. This ability to silently see and fulfill needs was something I personally treasure in people, and tipped my bartender well for, because the momentum of an experience is very important.
“The guy at the door said we could get a tour from any one of you ladies…” He trailed off, looking at me. I always knew it was going to be *very* easy when they didn’t even ask my name.
“I’ll take *you* on a tour.” I said and simpered sweetly up at him, making my eyes as round and doe-like as I could.
I knew he really just wanted to be alone with me, moving on to the next step in this process but unsure of the script, so I walked him down the west wing and pointed out the negotiation rooms first.
“Is that where we talk money? We should go there then.” He said predictably.
I asked through the window for which room we could chat in. You see, there was a person in the office who was watching and listening to each negotiation, even writing down snippets of the conversation and notes on the negotiation in a notebook. They, the House, tediously recorded everything, therefore only a couple of negotiations could be going on at any given time. I was told Room 3 was open, and took Man Bun there. Room 3 was always cold, and I shivered in my lingerie. Each negotiation room was the same: a loveseat sofa, a trash can, a side table containing gloves and hand sanitizer and sporting an ultra bright lamp, and a giant mirror on one wall. Somewhere in the room, a tiny camera and super sensitive microphone made sure even a whisper was heard. Whatever you agreed to in that room, you were entering a recorded verbal contract, and they wanted to make sure that A) you turn in the correct amount of cash for the party, and B) that you give the client the promised experience.
“I want you.” I said, straddling him on the tiny couch.
“Ha, what?” He responded, in his dumb stoner dialect.
Swallowing my bored disgust with his ineloquence, eyes never wavering, “I want *you*, and no one else will do.”
Shortly thereafter, we were being escorted across the way to a private poolside suite decorated to invoke a tropical paradise. Cut to me panting so hard after my 4th fake orgasm that I’m seeing floaters in my eyes. This guy wanted dick-to-pussy/mouth-contact AT ALL TIMES. It was the most exhausting two hours of my career up to that point. The protocol at the time was to write down the amount of time you were giving the guy on a slip of paper and give it to the office so that they could set a timer and buzz into your room when the timer went off and tell you it was time’s up. If the guy had never been, he wouldn’t know this. Though we didn’t discuss it, I felt that this particular customer had never been here before. I’m a gambling woman. After what seemed an eternity, I strode across the room and made a show of looking at my phone and said “Our time is almost up babe, how do you want to cum?”
To my absolute horror, he walks over to his jeans, fumbles for a second, and then ninja-star-style throws a heavy, black card at my asscrack.
“Leave the tab open baby, I wanna go all night!”
This motherfucker was full on. Every time his cock tried to give up on the situation, he’d pull out, wordlessly grab me by the hair with two hands and face-fuck me until he was hard enough to continue destroying my poor, chaffing pussy. I had a tiny amount of lube I had packed in my bungalow bag, but it was long gone. I really thought we’d be smoking a joint in the jacuzzi by now. Suddenly I remembered I wasn’t in this alone, at least I didn’t have to be.
“If you really want to treat yourself, we should bring in my girl Gemini. She’s my age, but dark hair, and she’s really tiny.”
I knew Gemini from around the House, but we weren’t bosom buddies or anything. He agreed, she agreed, and security delivered her to our suite. She came bearing a fresh bag of condoms and lube, like some sex angel. An apt title for many working girls, really. As soon as she shut the door behind her, he wanted me sucking him off while she undressed.
“Quick, go put something on that boom box.” He ordered her, pointing to the corner of the room.
There was a silver cd player, circa early 2000’s. It was highly reminiscent of the little cd player I’d had in my bedroom as a child, serenading me in Shania Twain as I practiced for my dance recital.
“That! Th-that, just leave it on that and get over here.”
I snapped out of my cd player induced reverie and made room for Gemini. She sucked his cock and I licked his balls to the first clear station on the radio: K-LOVE. For those of you who would otherwise have to Google it, that’s a well-known Christian station. We tag-teamed this idiot’s cock to “Our God is an Awesome God,” and had to stifle our laughter least we choke. Gemini was a girl I had worked with for over a year at that point, but we hadn’t spoken much except for one night she fished a lost sponge out of my pussy. A totally normal kind of request in hoe business. When we were on our period, a lot of us used sponges (in the way you would use a tampon) to absorb all the blood and mask a period, but allow penetration. Once your ‘party’ ended, you fished it out with a finger and threw it away so you could wear a regular tampon. Often enough, sponges got stuck. It was best to lie down on your back, relax, and have someone else retrieve it. Even after that, Gemini and I were only polite acquaintances. The Madam discouraged us from speaking too much to one another, and going in each others’ rooms was strictly forbidden.
At some point, the client bent me over the bed and I could hear him snapping on a fresh condom, ready to go again. Gemini was behind him, fondling his balls and making sure the condom went on correctly. Right before he entered me, I felt her small hand smear lube all over my pussy, even separating my raw little lips with her slender fingers and coating what she could of the inside before he took me again. This small, but very significant act solidified her in my mind as a real true friend. Neither of us had a real orgasm that night, but it is still one of my favorite sexual experiences to have shared with another working girl.
*Thank you so much for reading. I have about 8 or 9 more of these short stories from when I was a working girl that I could polish up and post if this is well received. I haven’t shared anything I’ve written with others in years, so please be gentle on the critiques. Peace and love.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/fdkspp/ffm_two_girl_party_with_gemini_brothel_stories