Really? How would Colt and Jim know about any trouble to begin with?
Pamela grazed Lindsay’s face as if were a rose pedal she didn’t want to damage. “My favorite parties, though, are two-girl parties. I’d love to have a two-girl party with you, honey. I can tell by the way you’ve been looking at me that you’re interested too.” Lindsay’s breath hitched as Pamela swiveled her head from side to side and her lips curled upward. “And you’ve never been with another girl before, huh? Awesome.” The sweetness of her tone sent tingles along Lindsay’s spine. “We’d charge fifteen hundred for the first hour and go from there since a threesome is a top-of-the-line specialty party. They cost more. Fifteen hundred may seem excessive, but threesome parties run seven thousand an hour in the houses closer to Vegas. Here, fifteen hundred is a bargain.” Pamela guided Lindsay’s hand to her mouth, lowered her head, and brushed kisses along it. “Oh, you’re so pretty. Such an angel.”
Colt raised an eyebrow at Lindsay’s seemingly catatonic state. “Are you open to a threesome with another woman involved? They’re generally the most profitable for the house. Again, it isn’t mandatory. One of our girls on leave, Gwen, outright refuses to touch another woman. It’s not held against her. And some other girls we have, they’re not bisexual in their everyday lives, either, yet will agree to a threesome party if the price is right.”
Pamela grimaced. “Scarlett says she’s gay for pay only.”
“Umm, yeah. I’d like that.” Desire titillated Lindsay’s nerves at the explicit images dancing through her mind. I wanna have a threesome with Pamela.
And Colt.
“There’s no anal here. We’ll never permit it, ever. Other houses do, but we don’t.”
Getting fucked in the ass? Lindsay pressed a palm to her chest and emitted a huge breath. Anal sex was perhaps her greatest concern coming in. No matter how many times he begged, she never allowed Zack to do her … back there. I always had to tell him no butt stuff. Lindsay wasn’t against the idea but wanted to save that part of herself for the right person.
“When will I be able to work? Start, I mean?” she asked Colt. I’d make an exception and let you, Mr. Drill Sergeant, fuck me in the ass though. Just ask. “Today?”
“Well, we always have an independent doctor stop by on Monday afternoons – today – and he’ll give you a vaginal swabbing and take blood samples. We’re required by law to test for STIs weekly and HIV and syphilis monthly. All Nevada brothels are. To our knowledge, no customer has ever contracted anything from a girl here. If they did, I imagine we would’ve heard about it.”
Pamela pursed her lips. “Colt is a real stickler for the law and its rules. Condoms are mandatory. We must practice safe sex at all times, no exceptions, and he has his own strict guidelines of dos and don’ts with mongers too. I’ll go over them with you this afternoon.”
“Legalization of brothels in certain parts of Nevada began back in 1971,” Colt said, “and believe it or not, there has never been a case of HIV reported in the LPIN system. Customers, working girls, no one.”
LPIN? I know what that one means. A strange burst of accomplishment blossomed from within. Legal Prostitution in Nevada. An industry term, most proprietors considered themselves part of the community.
“Since the mid-eighties, the state has cracked down on our trade, and I don’t want my brothel to be the first with a case of HIV. It’s the lone STD they could hold me liable for as the owner if a customer were to contract it from one of my employees. I’d be in a heap of trouble.”
“In other words,” Pamela summarized, “follow the law and Colt’s rules, and be safe. Be smart.”
“I will find out if you attempt something stupid or unlawful.” Disdain and an ominous threat permeated Colt’s dark, fierce tone. “Trust me, I will.”
Oh, snap. Lindsay stilled her body. Stop scaring me. I’ve never done anything to break the law and don’t plan on starting now. Dismayed by Colt’s threat, Lindsay finally drained a calming, much-needed bottle of water.
“The doctor charges fifty dollars for the weekly test,” Colt said, returning to the previous topic. He waited until Lindsay finished her gulp. “But you also have to pay for the monthly test as well, which is one hundred and ten dollars. Those charges must be paid for in full today.”
What?
After the struggle to travel here, all Lindsay had was three dollars and some odd change in her backpack. How could she afford $160 in lab fees?
“Your results will come back in the morning and if you’re given a clean bill of health, Jim or I will drive you to the Sulaco County Sheriff’s Department afterward where you’ll apply for a sheriff’s card. They’ll perform a background check and do their own interview with a social worker or a member of the clergy, probably a woman named Suzi. Don’t worry about anything as you’ll be with one of us. A sheriff’s card is a license allowing you to work as a prostitute – again, terrible word – in a brothel. All counties in Nevada are different, but for Sulaco, a sheriff’s card is valid for six months and will cost you one-fifty.”
Three hundred and ten dollars now in fees? Lindsay’s spine jerked upright. What the fuck?
“You’re not permitted to work until you’re tested and have your card. You’ll also have to take a drug test, but we pay for it out of our own pocket. The doctor will administer it as well.” Colt clapped his hands together in a sign of finality. Was the interview almost over? “If all goes well, you can work as early as tomorrow night.”
“What’s wrong, honey?” Pamela’s ever-present smile withered away. “You okay?”
“I-I don’t have any … money.” Lindsay blinked away an onslaught of tears, her voice a whisper. She swallowed hard to find more words. “I’m … I’m broke. I have three dollars to my n-n-name. I can’t p-pay any fees. I spent everything I had just to make it to Flagstone.”
