The Hen House — Ch.1

The Hen House – Ch.1

Joan in the Desert
By Reddear

In Las Vegas

My name is Joan. For the purposes of this story you don’t need to know my last name, though I shall tell you a few details of my history and myself as they become pertinent to my tale.

To start, I graduated from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas not long ago with double BAs in accounting and computer science. As our story begins I was 22 years old and hadn’t found a full-time job in the year since I left college. The economy sucked, of course, but I can’t remember when it didn’t. I’d been scraping by with sporadic temp agency bookkeeping gigs and a few months of H&R Stalag servitude, when I found myself in the fifth circle of the Nevada Department of Employment Office jumping through hoops trying to qualify for Unemployment or food stamps or anything else at all. (DETR even sounds evil, doesn’t it, like SMERSH?) To my surprise, after little more than half a day filling out forms and trucking them from one widow to another and trading them for new and improved forms, I found myself in an office – not a cubicle – being interviewed by a woman who seemed to be middle management. I remember thinking that she was the first person I’d talked to that day without a layer of Plexiglas between us. Maybe they’d decided from my past five hour’s good behavior that I wasn’t going to pull a gun and shoot the place up. Little did they know.

“Hello, I’m Linda,” she said. “I think I may have a job you might be qualified for, but I want to tell you about it where we can’t be overheard.”

“Oh, oh, “I thought. “A government assassin thing, and if I don’t take it it’s straight to Gitmo.”

“The job’s in Beatty and they’re looking for an accountant with some experience in current bookkeeping software. You seem to be just what they’re looking for and your youth is more of a selling point than experience.”

“So that they can pay me less.”

“No, the starting salary range is quite high. They’re hoping that somebody young won’t be scared away by the fact that the business you’d be working for is a brothel.”

“….”

“They didn’t specify that they’d rather hire a woman, and they can’t, legally, but I got the impression that they’d rather not introduce a male into the hen house. That’s its name: the Hen House. I suspect they think that only a young woman wouldn’t be freaked out by the thought of working there. They tell me that you’d have little contact with the brothel part of the business. You’d be doing office work and computing. So, if you’re interested I can call them now and set up an interview. This listing just came in and I doubt that it’ll be available long.”

What the hell, I thought. “OK, do it.”

Linda picked up the phone and five minutes later I had an appointment for an interview at the Hen House at 1:00 o’clock the next afternoon. I got out of there before she started petting a long-haired Persian cat.

…………

At the Hen House

Despite my traitorous car and my hand-drawn map I found the place with three minutes to spare. 117 miles and two hours from Vegas. If I got this job I wouldn’t be commuting.

The Hen House was actually a few miles outside of Beatty, on the bank of a puny or intermittent stream among a few cottonwoods. There was an old wooden ranch house with verandas all around, and scrabble-like jumble of trailers or modular units behind a cyclone fence. I parked in the sun-blasted gravel lot and walked to an indentation in the fence that led to front door in one of the trailers. A sign said Push Button, so I did. Yup, Gitmo. I was buzzed into an airlock and then a young woman opened an inner door to the rest of the place.

“Hi, I’m Tammy,” she said. “You must be Joan. I know all about you. Come on.” She led me through a plush dark maze to an old library in the ranch house, pointed to a skewbald cowhide sofa and said, “Have a seat. Rusty and Faye will be here in a minute.” Three walls were lined with bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes that probably hadn’t been opened if fifty years, and I wondered if the place had been owned by a judge or a lawyer sometime. I was just getting around to the furnishings when Rusty and Faye walked in. She looked to be in her late 30s and he seemed to be in his mid 40s. She was blond and busty, but not yet plumping up, and with his big mustache he looked like a cowboy poet who’d struck it rich.

“Howdy,” he said, “I’m Rusty and this here is Faye. Pleased to meet you.” He shook my hand with both of his. Maybe it was a secret cowboy handshake. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Actually, I’d like a 7-UP or something. It was a long drive.”

He got a can from a behind a small bar I hadn’t noticed at the other end of the room and handed it to me. “Sure, here you go. Listen, it’s real good to meet you, Joan, so let’s get right to it.”

“Slow down, hoss,” Faye said. “He gets the bit between his teeth sometimes, but he’ll calm down in a minute. You wouldn’t know it from the way he talks but he’s mostly been a commercial realtor in his working life and not a wrangler. Now you can go ahead, dear.”

“Well,” he said, “the thing is that we bought this here place three years ago after it had gone bust. Like Faye said, I was a commercial realtor in Vegas for almost twenty years when I decided to sell up and get out. I know they tell you in business classes that you can’t bail out of a falling market, so I must have done it by accident. We were fed up with Vegas and Fay had experience in this sort of business…”

“He means I was in the life for ten years and we met in a house near here. It was a real sullied Cinderella story.”

“,so anyway we bought this place and it’s finally starting to show a profit. The thing is that the bookkeeping and accounting are swamping us. I ran my own business, of course, but I didn’t have thirty part-time employees as subcontractors or a liquor license or a two million dollar cash flow. We’ve been contracting out all the accounting and a lot of the bookkeeping, but we think we’d be a lot better off keeping as much of it in-house as we can. So what do you think?”

“Well,” I said, “I’m pretty sure you’re right, but I’d have to look into your procedures and accounts in depth before I could make any recommendations. First, what kind of accounting software do you use and what sort of computer network do you have?”

“Well,” Rusty said, “everything sort of came with the place and we don’t have a network.”

Then he told me what software they used and I said, “Good grief, I don’t think they still make that. Was it made in 1983, for a Trash 80?”

“A trash..?”

“Sorry, a Radio Shack TRS 80. It was a bad joke. Let’s go look at your machines and see what you’ve got.”

After we looked I said, “Well, it could be worse, but it would take an effort. Don’t you have trouble finding 3.5 inch floppies these days? I must admit I’ve never seen a dot matrix printer in use outside of a museum.”

“Well, we’re kind of running out of floppies.”

“OK,” I said, “the good news is that you could set up a LAN, uh, local area network, of three fairly cheap desktops with three printers, a fax and a wireless router for under a thousand dollars. You wouldn’t need a server, but you would need a backup regimen. There are all sorts of modular accounting packages that would work, some of them open source and free, though some commercial ones would work better and would be fairly cheap, maybe $500 for three machines. I guess you have a bar, and I suppose that might need a POS – point of sale – terminal and that would be more expensive, but I don’t have any experience in that area. Let me guess, you’re using a manual register that you got from an old dry goods store. No, don’t answer. That was another bad joke and I don’t want to know the answer if it’s true. That’s all I can say for now because I haven’t had time to look into your operation. That would take at least a week.”

“Wow,” Faye said, “that was heavy. Rusty, come into the kitchen with me for a minute. There’s something I want to talk to you about. We’ll be right back, Joan.”

So I got a chance to read the titles of the books and look at the furniture and art works for five minutes before they came back.

“Joan,” Faye said, “we’re impressed with you and you seem to be the person we’re looking for, so we want to offer you the job as our bookkeeper or accountant. You pick the title. We’ll pay you $25 an hour and overtime. Nobody gets up early around here so your hours would be 1:00 PM ‘til 9:30 PM, and weekends are our busiest time so your days off would be Monday and Tuesday. I suppose you have an apartment in Vegas, but that’s a long way so we’ll give you a room here and dinner every night. That’s traditional in this business. So you can say yes now or you can take some time to think about it – a few days maybe. What do you say?”

Wahoo! Ride ’em Cowgirl! $50, 000 a year!!!

“Well,” I said, trying not to flush, sweat or drool, “I’d want to have an agreed budget for computers and software, but I’ll go ahead and take it.”

“Well, that’s just fine,” Rusty said, grabbing both my hands this time. “Congratulations and welcome. You could start next Wednesday and that’d give you five days to settle things up and pack up whatever you need to wear and such for a week. And here, I was meaning to give you some money for gas.” He handed me a hundred dollar bill, and I was still clutching it and memorizing the serial number when I realized that Faye was saying something.

“I know that you’ve done some work for the casinos, so you must have a Clark County ID. You’ll need the same sort of thing here in Nye County. Everybody who works for a brothel needs a county license from the Sherriff’s Department, and the working girls need Work Cards. You’ll need the license and I’ll give you the forms to take with you and fill out. Here in Nye County every woman who works here, uh, prostitute or not, has to get a health check, which is basically a pap smear, so you’ll have to be ready for that. So I’ll give you the forms and you can be on your way. We’ll see you next Wednesday.”

I took the forms and floated out to my car. For $50,000 a year I’d learn handshakes that would put the brothers in a 70s blacksploitation movie to shame.

…………

Working

When I showed up at the Hen House on Wednesday afternoon Faye went with me to file the paperwork with the sheriff. She paid the $50 fee and we went on to the doctor the house used. It turned out to be a woman gynecologist named Sybil Hauser.

“I guess Faye told you that I’m going to do a pap smear. I know it’s off-putting, but think of it as a free pelvic exam. I’ll also need to draw a blood sample, but that’s life.”

When she was done she said, “Well, everything looks OK and I should have the blood work back in a few days, but I suppose that’ll be OK too and there won’t be any need to contact you. There’s one more thing though. Are you on birth control?”

“No, I’m not. I’m not in a relationship and I don’t see need for it.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t mind my asking. I’m just in the habit. If you change your mind just get back to me and we’ll discuss your options and set something up.”

When we got back to the House, Faye helped me get set up in an office in the ranch house and a bedroom in one of the modular units. I found that we had a dial-up internet connection and spent a fun half hour with the local phone company upgrading to a DSL line. Then I started pricing computers and peripherals until Tammy, the woman who’d let me in for my interview, came and told me that dinner was ready. There was a cook and it was cafeteria style and pretty good. Tammy turned out to be sort of the head girl and there were five other girls and Tom, the bartender, and Alicia, the maid. I was shy at first because I didn’t expect to have much contact with the actual brothel side of the operation, but I loosened up and started getting to know the girls. What the hell. I was curious.

After dinner Faye came and got me and said she’d show me a little about the processing of payments from clients, which she handled every night. A girl would take an interested gentleman to a negotiation room and do a DC, whatever that was, and come to an agreement on a price, which more or less varied with the amount of time allotted. The girl would bring the money to Faye and then escort the gentleman to a bedroom. I couldn’t make out all the details and nuances of the transactions, but Tammy said she’d give me a tour and explain everything better in a couple days when I’d settled in a bit. I stayed with Faye trying to get the hang of her system until my working day was done at 9:30 and then Tammy had to lead me to my room. The working girls had rooms in the same unit, with their names on the doors. They didn’t mix sleep and business. My name was on my door too, but in pencil. I supposed that I didn’t rate ink after only one day. I was too sleepy to care.

I spent Thursday finishing my computer bits list and trying to sort out business procedures and the filing system. On Friday I went to Las Vegas with Rusty to buy hardware and software. It was a long day.

I spent Saturday and Sunday cursing and trying to cable everything together, and then drove back to my apartment in Vegas on Monday morning. Before I headed back to Beatty on Wednesday I bought the cables, cartridges, power strips and future I hadn’t gotten the week before. I used a signed check that Rust gave me. Amazingly, I got everything working by then end of the night.

I spent Thursday afternoon getting the new software installed and marginally running, and then after dinner Tammy said that it was time for my tour of the brothel side of the business. She showed me the bar and the lounge where the clients waited and met the girls, and then we peeked into a couple of the working bedrooms. There were eight of them, and the two I saw were plush. Then Tammy got giggly and conspiratorial and said that she needed to show me what went on in the negotiation rooms, but I’d have to dress up for it and do what she said. My curiosity was getting to me, so I agreed. She took me back to her room and gave me a baby doll nightie to put on, while she changed into a naughty schoolgirl plaid skirt and white blouse. She was bubbly and blonde and looked the part.

“So you want me to wear this?” I asked.

“Yes, you have to be disguised. I’ll tell the client you’re new and I’m breaking you in, so you can be there and see what goes on. Look, that nightie doesn’t really reveal anything, and all you’ll have to do is stand around and watch and look pretty. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She put her hair in pigtails and started on her makeup. “Here, put the nightie on and I’ll do your makeup.”

I did and she did.

“So do you know about the lineup? There’s a bell and we have five minutes to go the lounge and stand in a line. We just say our names and flirt a little and then the client picks somebody. Then we take him to the negotiation room. You can go wait in your room and when I get picked I’ll send somebody to get you. You know you want to do it. Oh, do you have a middle name?”

“Yes, it’s Nicole, but….”

“OK, that’s who you’ll be.”

I went to my room, and about half an hour later one of the girls knocked on my door and told me that Tammy was ready for me. She took me to the negotiation room and Tammy pulled me inside. There was a guy there with her, a cowboy-looking sort of about 35 with deeply tanned wrinkled skin. “Travis, this Nicole I was telling you about She’s new and I’m sort of breaking her in. So what do you think you want to do? Do you know?”

He smiled at me and then turned to Tammy. I smiled back.

“Gee, I don’t know,” he said. “Straight, I guess. I don’t have a lot of money on me.”

“Well,” we could do half and half for thirty minutes for $300.”

He grimaced. I kept smiling like an idiot.

“Or we could do straight for twenty minutes for $200,” she said.

“I guess I could go that, “Travis said.

“Fine, I’ll just do a check and then I’ll take the money to Faye.”

He stood passively while Tammy filled a big basin with warm water from a little sink I hadn’t noticed and set it on counter near where we were standing. She found a towel, a small bottle of soap and some wet wipes in a cupboard under the sink and laid them beside the basin. Then she put her hand on his penis through his Levis. “Now watch, Nicole, I want to make Travis feel good and get big. He already feels good, I can tell you,” she giggled. I was smiling to beat the band.

“Now watch,” she said, and she unzipped his pants and pushed them and his briefs down. She gently grasped his dick and inspected it. Oh, DC must be dick check. “You want to check his pubes and look all over his dick and under his balls to make sure there aren’t any sores, and then you stroke him like this to get him a little hard and see if you can get some pre-cum. It should be nice and clear like this, see? You look fine, Travis. If you give me the money I can take it to Faye and we’re all set.”

He gave her the money and she disappeared out the door, leaving me grinning like hell at Travis. She was back in a minute and said, “We can go to the room now.” She did up his pants but took hold of his dick again and said, “Do you mind if Nicole comes along? I want to show her how to put on a condom. You won’t have to pay extra and it’ll be like having two girls, sort of.” It was fine with Travis. He was easily led, by his penis by Tammy a few steps down the hall to a bedroom. I went along. When she got inside she was out of her top in seconds and said, “OK, let’s have a good time. Me first and then you.” She dropped her skirt and panties and kicked off her shoes and then was all over him, getting his shirt and pants off him with marvelous speed and skill, scarcely releasing his dick for a moment. “I don’t know if you want so stay after I show you how to do the condom, Nicole, but it looks to me like you’re way overdressed,” she giggled. “I think you should at least show Travis your tits. I bet he’d like that, and it’d get him hard quicker, wouldn’t it?” Travis and I swallowed, and then my hands seemed to move of their own volition and I took off my nightie and its bra. Travis seemed like what he saw. “Ooh, she’s got pretty tits doesn’t she, Travis? And I think she likes your dick. I can feel you getting all hard. Are you ready?” Without waiting for a reply she took a condom from a bowl by the bedside and tore the foil wrapper off. “See, Nicole, you want to pinch the little nipple at the end and then roll it down like this and not get air trapped in it. There, all wrapped up. I don’t know if you want to stay for the rest, ‘cause we’re going to fuck. I’ll come and find you when we’re done.”

I put the two pieces of the nightie on and scurried back to my room. I threw myself on the bed, my heart beating rapidly, and thought about what I’d just done and seem. I was amazed at how turned on I was by it, and I lay there in confusion until there was another knock on my door and a girl told me that Tammy was ready for me again. I followed her in a daze back to the same negation room and Tammy was there with another guy. Things went along much like they had before until Tammy turned to me and said, “I think Nicole should try doing the check by herself this time. Just get the bowl of water. Don’t make it too hot. That’s OK. Now the towel and soap. Now take him out and wash him and dry him off and take a close look at everything. That’s right. Now try to get him a little hard and see if you can get some pre-cum. That’s good. You’re fine, honey. I’ll take the money now and I’ll be right back. $300 for thirty minutes.” She left me gently stroking his cock. When she got back she said,” We can go to the room now, and you can lead, Nicole.” I led all right, using Tammy’s method to draw the guy with me. “Now I’ll get undressed,” she said, “and we can both help this gorgeous man out of his clothes, and then Nicole can try putting on the condom this time.” But then there was a knock on the door and Nicole had a hurried whispered conversation before she said, “There’s a problem, but I’ll be right back. I’ll stop the clock so you get your full half hour.” Then she was gone I was still standing there stroking his cock. After a minute he said, “Well, darlin’, I guess you’re up. I paid my money.” I looked at his face and then back down at his cock. He was hard and ready. I looked at his face again and then I took my clothes off, all of them. Then I helped him out of his and got a condom out of the bowl and unrolled it down his cock the way Tammy had. And I lay on my back on the bed and spread my legs. I was breathing in short gasps and my nipples were painfully hard. My labia – no, my pussy was hot and wet. He lay down beside me and fondled and sucked on my nipples for a minute until his hand slid down my belly and found my clitoris, and I started pressing myself against his fingers. Then he was above me and then inside me and my rational mind shut down. He was thrusting into me and I was fucking him back, babbling and moaning. I came, and my orgasm seemed to go on for minutes. I came down a bit, but he didn’t let up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist rode with him and I came again. I wanted it to go on and on forever but I could feel him tense up and the rhythm of his thrusts became ragged and he growled and came inside me and I came too. We lay there locked together, his cock still inside me, for a couple minutes until the door opened and Tammy peeked in and saw us. “Oh, that’s all right then.”

After he left Tammy came back into the room and asked, “Well, how was it”

“It was amazing,” I said. “I think I came four times. I’ve never done that before.”

“Well, we’d better get you cleaned up then. You’re a mess. Come on back to my room.” I sat like a rag doll and let her wash my arm pits and my pussy and brush my hair. She touched up my makeup and then said, “The panic was because Tiffany’s period started so now we’re shorthanded. It wasn’t supposed to start until next week, but she got it wrong somehow, the idiot. It’s busier than usual for the middle of the week and we could really use your help filling in. Could you do that?”

“Yes,” I said dreamily.

“Great, thanks, but we need to take care of a couple things.” She took some electrical thing out from under the sink and before I knew what she was doing she was cutting off my pubic hair with some clippers. Then she pushed a hot washcloth to my pussy and found some shaving cream and a razor. She was done in moments and when I put my hand down there I was a bald as I’d been when I was ten years old.

“One more thing,” she said and she got some rubbing alcohol and a square of paper out of the medicine cabinet. “Bend over the sink.” I obeyed her, and she pulled my panties aside and put the cold piece of paper on my ass. “It’s a fake tattoo. HH. It looks very nice. It’ll last a few days or a week. Now let’s get to the lounge. There could be a lineup any time and they’ll need us.”

Just my luck, there was a lineup starting as we got there. Tammy poked me and said, “Just smile and say your name.” I did – “Nicole” — and a guy picked me. “I hear you’re wild in bed,” he said. I was on my own this time and I did straight for thirty minutes for $300. When he left he gave me a thirty dollar tip and said, “They were right, you are.”

Then there was another lineup and I got picked again. Afterwards Tammy asked me if I was getting sore, because I wasn’t used to this much exercise. I said I was, a bit, and she walked me back to my room and undressed me and tucked me into bed, I guess.

…………

Changes

The next morning I slept until 11:00, when Faye looked in on me as I was starting to come round. She handed me a glass of orange juice and said, “I want to thank you for helping us out last night. Tiffany will be out for at least a week, and we really need your help. You made $450 last night, on top of your accounting wages. But we’re going to have to change your status. Nicole will have to get a work card. She’s already fucked for money, so there’s no choice in the matter. It won’t be difficult. Actually, I misled you a bit. Licensed workers don’t need to get the health check. Working girls with Work Cards do, so you’ve already had yours. I wanted you have the exam just in case things ever worked out this way. By the way, when’s your next period?”

“In about two weeks,” I said. For some reason I wasn’t mad at her for her deception. I’d somehow just accepted the fact that I now fucked for money. The word whore never entered my mind.

“Good,” she said. “I’ve got some ideas I’ve been thinking over, but I’ll keep mulling them over and talk to you about it then. Today you’ll have to get another pap smear, but no blood test. One a week.” As she left I saw that the name on my door was now Nicole, in indelible ink.

…………

When I talked to the doctor that afternoon I said, “I guess I’ve changed my mind about contraception.”

“Well,” she said “you could do the usual injections, implants or pills, but have you ever heard of Lybrel or Seasonique?”

“No,” I said, “I haven’t.”

“They’re both fairly new. Lybrel is a daily low-dosage pill, and as long as you’re on it you’ll have no periods. Zero. Seasonique is similar to the standard pill, but you’d take seven placebo pills during your period and then a daily pill for 84 days, so you’d basically have a period once every three months.”

“Wow,” I said. “Are they safe?”

“Yes, they are, and I have some samples of both that would get you started. Are you interested?”

“Yes, I am. I think I’d like to try the Lybrel.”

Dr. Hauser left the room for a minute and came back with a packet of pills and a cup of water. “Here,” she said, “take one now. Good. I’ll write you a prescription for when those run out.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s it. No more periods, and in about three days when the drug builds up in your system you’ll be protected from pregnancy.”

“Wow,” I said again. I was thinking that we usually let momentous events in our lives slip past without recognizing them. Not this time.

…………

Life back at my desk was tedious and satisfying – setting up the accounts receivable and payable modules on my computer. I was right; once we took a lot of the work in-house, especially payroll, the Hen House would save a bunch of money, maybe $60,000 a year. I had to set up some inventories in the database for liquor and about five other categories. I was almost right about the cash register in the bar, it was a 60s vintage ACR machine that looked as though it had started life in a burger joint in the age before fast food chains; an old manual register might actually have been better. As I’d suspected, POS systems were expensive and the bar didn’t do enough business to justify one, so I started shopping for a slightly newer machine, maybe from as recently as the 90s.

Tammy sat next to me at dinner and afterwards she asked me to come back to her room. We both took it for granted that I’d be “helping out” that night, and she found me a beige teddy and a long diaphanous wrap or robe thing that went well with it. Apparently girls went away all the time leaving clothes behind, and Tammy had quite a stock of outfits. She found me some two-inch high mules for footwear and I was set.

“We need to think about your makeup,” she said. “You have a sort of ‘pretty girl from the next ranch over’ look and we don’t want to ruin it with thick paint.”

I should finally describe myself now. If you’ve read this from the beginning you know that I’m 22. Aside from that, I’m fairly tall at 5’ 9” and I weigh about 135 pounds and have B-cup breasts. I guess I look slightly athletic, though I don’t work out; lucky genes. My hair is light brown and I think my face is only a little prettier than average. Once Tammy was through with my makeup, and I was standing in front of the full length mirror in my sexy outfit I was striking. I’d never thought of myself that way, and in college I’d been too busy with my studies to spend time chasing boys. Now I looked like bait. Time for another “Wow.”

That night was another night of firsts. Tammy had explained what half and half was – part blow job and part fucking – and I did that twice. I was fascinated by cocks, and being able to play with them, but the rubber taste of sucking them through a condom was a turnoff. I don’t think it’s all that good for the guys either, but most of them still ask for it. One guy did me from behind, doggy style, and pulled my hair while he slammed into me; I loved it. The last guy asked me if I did anal, and I said I’d never done that or thought about it. “You should consider it,” he said, and dropped the subject. Luckily I wasn’t sore from the day before and I did five guys; I lost track of the orgasms. After the house’s fifty percent I made $875.

Tammy had become my closest friend, and while we were having fruit and juice the next morning she teased me and wanted to know all the details of the last night. I told her, of course, and then I said,” There were a couple things that struck me as strange. When a cock slides into me I lose it, and my rational mind shuts down. The weird thing is that I think I’d do about anything the guy told me to when I’m in that state. The other thing is that I’m sort of thinking of myself as two different people; Joan the accountant and Nicole the farmgirl sex fiend. It’s strange”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Tammy said. “We all fantasize when we’re working, and especially when we’re fucking. It’s natural.”

That afternoon I did computer stuff until Faye and I got together to go over the books, and when we finished that, or gave up for the day, she looked at me and said,” Tammy told me about how you’ve been doing, I hope you don’t mind. Speaking from experience, we all fantasize when we’re on our backs with our knees near our shoulders. I suspect that you, as Nicole, have a strong submissive streak, and I wonder if you might be right take over some of the light bondage and submission play that nobody has been doing here since a girl named Audrey left a couple months ago. It would be pretty mild stuff, really, and there’s a good market for it. I have a friend named Mary in San Francisco who knows about these things, and I might like you to go visit her and get her opinion. I’ll give her a call today.”

I told her about my visit to the doctor that morning, and it turned out that she knew about the Seasonique but not about the Lybrel. She asked me to tell the other girls about it. “We don’t want to pressure anybody though.”

That night at dinner I could tell that Tammy was up to something, as usual. “So, are you thinking about doing anal? It’d be more money. You can’t start right off though. You’d have to go into training, but I could help.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not dead set against it, but I’ve heard that it hurts and I’m not sure I want to get into it. Or vice versa.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’ll show what’s involved and you can see if you want to do it.” And so I found myself, once again, in her room. In her bathroom, where she immediately started filling up an enema bag with warm soapy water.

“First, we have to get you cleaned out. Drop ‘em and bend over the sink.” I tried to protest, but she quickly had me bent over with my butt exposed and before I realized what was happening the nozzle was in my ass and I was being filled up with warm water.”

“Eek, “I remarked.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said. “Now you’ve just got to hold it in for five minutes. I’ll keep time.”

I whined and told her I couldn’t do it and it felt too weird, but it did no good. She finally told me time was up and I could sit on the toilet and let it out now. When I did my bowels seemed to explode and the stink was horrid, but Tammy wasn’t daunted. It wasn’t her ass.

“You did great,” she said. “and as a reward you get to do it again!” She meant it and before I could stop her she had another bag ready and was filling me up again. “We want you nice and clean.”

After another five minutes I was allowed to do my toilet trick again, and it wasn’t so nasty this time. She took me into the bedroom and brought out three conical rubber things from someplace. They flared out from a blunt tip and then fell back to a narrower notch, sort of. “These are butt plugs,” she said, “sort of like the three bears. The daddy one is about the diameter of a guys cock, in the narrow part, and the idea of the training is start with the baby plug and work up to the daddy plug. Bend over and we’ll get started.”

“Wait, I….” It was no use. She already had the smallest one lubricated and was pushing it into my ass.

‘There,” she said. “It’ll probably be an hour before the first lineup, so why don’t you go get ready and come back in half an hour and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

On my way to my room I tried to work out how I felt about having the thing in me. It was strange and invasive, of course, but it wasn’t all that bad and I decided it felt a little sexy. I was back in her room half an hour later.

“Let’s see how you’re doing,” she said. She had me bend over the bed and she pulled out the little plug. After a few seconds she said, “You’ve still got about half an hour left, so let’s try the next one.” I didn’t realize that she had the next one ready before she was pushing it slowly into me. “Just relax,” she said. “Push out. There, all done. That wasn’t so bad.” Easy for her to say.

“You have to work your way up to keeping them in for longer times. See if you can keep this one in for half an hour.” This one was a lot more uncomfortable, but I managed it.

As she finally took it out she said, “You did real well. You should do it every day until you can keep it in for an hour, and then we’ll try the next one. You could do it at your desk while you do your computer stuff!”

Surprisingly, I worked my up to the daddy one in about a week and then did my first anal with a client. Oh, how the money rolled in. I continued to do about five guys a night, but with my newly acquired talent I did make more money.

On Sunday afternoon a couple weeks later Faye told me that everything was arranged for my trip to San Francisco.

…………
.
With Lady Mary

Las Vegas is the cheapest place in the world to fly to, or from, so it made no sense for me to drive my old Toyota to — or more likely part way to — San Francisco, over 400 miles and nine hours each way. The Hen House paid for my plane ticket and wrote it off as business training, which it certainly turned out to be. My flight from Las Vegas left at 10:30 on a Monday morning. I had to wait for an early flight from Francisco to turn around and head back, almost empty.

It was after 2:00 P.M. when Mary met me at the baggage area. We didn’t have any trouble recognizing each other because Faye had given each of us a candid description of the other. She was tall, black-haired and striking, dressed in an expensive grey pants suit and looking like a model on a photo shoot trying to look like a successful businesswoman. I felt like a slovenly college student slouching home at the end of term, in my old jeans and flannel shirt.

“Hello, dear, you must be Joan,” she said as she surveyed me. “Come along before someone tries to put you on a flight to Seattle.”

“And you must be Mary. I’ve been warned about your sense of humor.”

“Oh, I hope I didn’t offend you,” she said. “You’re obviously still in impoverished student mode, but I suspect you’ll get used to making decent money soon. Grunge ill becomes you, by moonlight; you’re too bright. Come on, my car’s not far. I trust that suitcase is nearly empty. As I discussed with Faye, you’ll be taking back a fair amount of gear.”

Her car was a small Mercedes coupé – what an English friend of mine called a lady’s market car.

“You’ll stay at my house on Potrero Hill tonight. Are you familiar with San Francisco? I thought we’d have lunch in the Mission District. I can show you around a bit, and then I have an appointment with a client at 6:00, and you can come with me and find out about the tourist-free zone of the city”

“I’ve been here eight or ten times,” I said, “but I really don’t know the city. I suppose I’ve been to only the up-market tourist traps – museums, symphony, opera, bookstores. One high class cultural hell hole is much like another – Florence, Paris, Saskatoon,” I said.

“Faye told me you were sharp. She didn’t mention your wit, but maybe she doesn’t know you well yet.”

She pulled into a small alley and stopped in front of a restaurant with outdoor seating and a serious fern problem. Seeing my look she said, “I understand that in Portland they have moss and those big slimy mushrooms that grow out of fallen trees. You’ll get used to it. Come on.” She turned the car over to a valet and said, “I suppose you could eventually find a place to park on the street in San Francisco, but those monkeys with typewriters would be starting the third act of Hamlet before you managed it. I wonder if the valet is cheaper than a parking garage? I suppose I’ll never know”

It was a locavore place and a bit expensive, but fun. I found out what wine goes well with raw vegetables, but I’ve forgotten now. Probably the fault of the vegetables.

We ransomed the car and drove a few blocks to a warehouse-looking store that did have off-street parking. It was a sex and BDSM emporium and it seemed vast. People around here obviously weren’t reticent about their kinks and in five minutes looking at the merchandise I must have discovered fifty things I’d never dreamed of before. I mean, open-crotch panda costumes, coffee table-top cages, ponygirl (and guy) tack, sounding rod kits (don’t ask)! It wasn’t like the sleazy hole-in-corner sex shops in Vegas, I supposed from hearsay.

After I’d spent half an hour wandering around trying not to gawk like a rube Mary said, “Come on. We’ll come back later but we need to go get ready.”

She led me to through door that said “To the Dungeon”, and we went down a staircase and along a short corridor to what must have been the building next door. There was a Plexiglas-shielded ticket booth but Mary waved to the attendant and we slipped through a door marked Staff. A few steps later she led me into a dressing room and closed the door behind us.

There was a large lighted mirror over a counter with several chairs. “Please sit down,” she said. “OK, down to business. I’m sure Faye explained some of this to you, but I’ll start from the beginning. I’m a Domme – a dominatrix. I dress up in dark leather and I boss around Subs – submissives – mostly men, but some women. I don’t fuck them, but it usually comes down to a hand job, if they last that long. Most of them are into a bit of pain and all of them crave the domination and humiliation. It’s legal and lucrative. You’re here because Fay thinks you might be right to do some of the kinkier stuff that Audrey used to do at the Hen House. It would be pretty tame compared to what goes on here, but you’re here to learn about dominance and submission and BDSM, and for me to suss you out. I’m going to give you a look at the Dom side first, so we’ll both get dressed up here and then go into the dungeon to do my 6:00 o’clock client, Ted. So let’s get dressed. Any questions?”

I was a bit intimidated, so I just said, “No.”

She handed me the various bits of my costume, which she’d already set aside, and quickly undressed and put on hers. I’d barely started before she was done. She was dressed all in black – leather high heeled thigh-length boots, black stay up stockings, g-string, leather corset and long gloves. My outfit was a sort of junior varsity imitation of hers.

“Right,” she said. “I’ll help you with your makeup,” and she did. Foundation, blush, thick mascara, red and purple eye shadow. When she was done I looked more like a Grimm brothers wicked queen than I ever did at 6:00 A.M. before coffee. She had her makeup on in what seemed like a minute, and with dangly earrings for each of us we were ready.
“I need you to sign this release, saying that you’re helping me voluntarily, and then we can start.” I did, and she handed me a riding crop and we went through a door into the dungeon.

It wasn’t as cheesy as I’d expected. The stones in the walls weren’t wallpaper and the tiles on the floor weren’t linoleum. The vaulted ceiling was high and dark and there were half a dozen bondage racks or devices scattered around, though their functions eluded me. There were the obligatory whips and cuffs and leather things hung around the walls, and for some reason I thought of old Sears and Roebuck catalogues from the 1950s and before that offered up whole white-enameled metal kitchens. De Sade and Roebuck. I feared that this wasn’t going to end well.

Fortunately, Ted arrived before I could muse more. I was surprised that he wasn’t a 40ish, fat prat, but rather a trim handsome 30-year-old.

“I trust you paid the dungeon fee”, she said. “Now pay me. Six hundred.” She held out her hand and he took some bills out of his back pocket and handed them to her. He’d had them ready.

“Get out of your clothes and on your knees, where you belong” she said in a conversational tone of voice. “This is Nicole. I told her about you, and she was moved to see for herself. You may be sure that any of your usual disobedience and failures will not escape her notice. Now that you’re finally nude, get up, turn around and bend over that table. Put your hands behind your back and wait, while I peruse you. Nicole, the cuffs,” she said, pointing to the wall. “And the ankle cuffs.”

“You’re more palatable when properly decorated … and embellished, which you soon will be.”

She snapped her crop lightly at his ass and asked, “Have you forgotten how to reply?”

“No mistress,” he said, shivering slightly.

“That’s Lady, not mistress, but you know that.” She struck him harder. He quivered more, and then this sprightly give and take went on for what seemed like twenty minutes without any help from me, which was lucky because I was having trouble not breaking out in giggles, or outright laughter. There was bootlicking and crawling and even a bit of nipple sucking until she turned to me and said, “Bind that thong about his balls and lead him to that bench,” which I did. Nice ones, too.

“What think you of him, Nicole?” she asked.

I stumbled for a second and said, “Why, he is but a worsted-stocking one-trunk-inheriting knave. He must be a great disappointment to any woman whom he, prematurely, comes upon.”

Now it was Mary’s turn to stifle a giggling fit. “Still,” she said, “he may one day improve. Let us finish him and be done.” She grasped his cock with her gloved hand and said in a low and menacing voice, “Cum for me now, knave, before my patience is exhausted.” And he did, in seconds.

When he’d dressed and was safely gone she lost it, dissolving first into giggles and then guffaws. “My God,” she said. “Lear. Don’t do that to me again.”

“It was all I could think of.”

“OK,” she said. “If it’s not your thing it’s campy and ridiculous. All the melodramatic menace and set piece dialogue. I don’t think you’re going to make it as a Domme.

“So let’s try the other side. Strip.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Nicole. Faye and I and others suspect that you have a deep subservient streak. We think that you are probably a submissive, and so now we’ll find out. You must know it’s why you’re here, so strip, please.”

My heart pounded and my nipples began to tingle as I stripped. When I was done she picked up the linked cuffs and said, “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” She fastened my wrists together and then added another set above my elbows, forcing my chest out. Then another around my ankles.

“I have noticed that forceful, intelligent women in positions of power – doctors, lawyers, teachers, businesswomen — drive themselves mercilessly and then often seek relief in submissive play. Joan is such a woman, and I think she badly needs that kind of relief. Nicole is her submissive mirror image, her reverse, her complement. Nicole and I are going to play now. Turn around and look at the mirror as I put this collar on you. Yes, it’s campy and pathetic, except that now it’s on you. Let’s see what else we have. Ah, nipple suckers; little rubbers cups that go on like this. They even have bells on them; how jolly. Let’s see what else. Oh, yes, a gag. It’s a wiffle ball with a strap through it, you see. Now open up. There, do you enjoy that? Don’t bother trying to answer now; we’ll talk about it later. I like your hennaed brand, by the way. Your tits are too small, but that can be fixed.

“Now let’s put this leash on your collar and take you over here. Just shuffle along as best you can. Looks a bit like a sawhorse, doesn’t it. Just stand here at the end and bend over. Good, now spread your legs apart and I’ll snap them to the sides. Now this strap goes around your hips and your collar clips to this ring and you’re ready. Where is that wand? Ah, here it is. Let’s get you warmed up.”

And she did. Through all this I didn’t resist. I didn’t know why, but I meekly did everything she commanded me to. Then the wand vibrator started up and she touched it to my pussy. Oh, God. I bucked and clenched but soon I was trying to thrust back toward the wand. Then she struck my ass with the crop and I froze. She hit me again, harder, but I didn’t move. She then concentrated on the wand for a minute until I was bucking and moaning more than ever.

“Are you ready now Nicole? I think you are. I want you to cum for me. Go ahead. Now!”

And I did. And again. And again.

“Well,” she said, “I suspect that you’re probably ready for some real cock by now. Is that right? Just nod.”

Again, for some reason, I did.

“All these toys and the dungeon rental aren’t free, and for odd legal reasons it doesn’t count as prostitution if we film it. The paper you signed was a video release, and Steve here is going to fuck you now. Come over here now, Steve. He’s in the porn guild, so he’s certified disease free, and he’s going to fuck you bareback. It’s a convention in hetero porn. I think she’s ready for you, Steve.”

I was, and so was he. Mary filmed the action as he began to rub his cock against my soaking labia and clitoris. Then he quickly thrust inside me and my rational brain shut down, as usual. I came and came and came for hours as he banged me brutally, until he finally pulled out of me and came on the small of my back and my ass. It was actually about fifteen minutes. I loved it. I loved the restraint and the inevitability and the idea of being controlled. I wanted more.

But Mary turned off the camera and when I eventually came down from my high she unclipped my collar ankles, wrist and waist from the sawhorse thing and stood me up. She clipped a leash to my collar and led me toward a door.

“It’s not so lame when it’s your kink, is it?” she asked, smiling.

I was surprised when we got through the door and were back at the ticket booth. There were half a dozen people there, looking at framed photos and prices posted on the wall. Mary posed me, nude, bound and gagged with my nipple suckers tinkling, in the midst of them.

“This is Nicole, another satisfied customer, who has just been well and thoroughly fucked. She is, as you can see, still gagged, but I’ll ask her to nod if she agrees.”

I nodded, and she led me through the Staff door to the dressing room. She removed my restraints and after we got back into our street clothes we walked back through the corridor and up the stairs to the sex shop.

“I know you’re trying to make sense of everything that just happened, but I can assure you that you are a true submissive. Now let’s buy some toys and get out of here. Faye said the Hen House would pay for half of everything you buy, so let’s shop.”

Which we did. I can’t remember it all, but we got a collar, cuffs, nipple suckers (my favorite), a rabbit vibrator, lube and enough rope and leather straps to load a string of pack mules for a Montana elk hunt. It came to $700 total and I was worried that I’d have to pay extra because my suitcase was overweight on the way back. I didn’t.

Mary, as it turned out, was married. Her husband was movie star handsome and some sort of television producer. They had a three story house with parking for two cars in the slightly sunken garage level, and the place was furnished and decorated in excellent taste, though I was too tired to appreciate it. It must have cost the earth, in San Francisco. After dinner, which he cooked, he went off to his office to do homework and left us with the keys to the notional wine cellar.

When we got to the veritas stage of the wine drinking she said, “It’s true, what I said. You’re a natural submissive. You don’t go for pain at all, but you love the restraint and being controlled and set free to orgasm ‘till dawn. Nicole does anyway. Joan is a shrewd and efficient businesswoman, though still inexperienced. Yes, Faye told me about your personae, but I would have picked up on it. I mean this as a compliment when I say that I can almost always tell when I see a woman who can do well on the game and, trust me, you’re one. You’ll make a sharp businesswoman, a multi-orgasmic submissive and a hell of a whore. It’s who you are.”

We went off to bed somehow and the next afternoon I flew back to Vegas. When I unpacked I found she’d slipped a couple books into my suitcase: The Story of O and The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty. She had indeed sussed me out, though I wished I’d had them to read on the plane. I liked her a lot.

…………

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

Profits were going up. We were keeping a lot more money as my bookkeeping changes kicked in, but receipts were going up too.

At an afternoon meeting with Faye and Rusty, she suddenly said,” Joan, the business is doing better and better, and we think you’ve had a lot to do with it, so we want to raise you wage to thirty dollars an hour. Nicole’s had a lot to do with it too, and with the stuff you brought back from San Francisco we’d like to have you start doing some light bondage and submissive play. We won’t set up a dungeon and, as I said, it’ll really be fairly tame stuff, but there’s a profitable market for it. For anything involving bondage or restraint, the gentleman will have to have another girl in the room and that will add to the profits.”

I started to thank them effusively for the raise, but Rusty broke in to ask, “Do you have a lease on your apartment in Las Vegas? And what’s the rent? I have an idea.”

I told them that I’d been there for over a year so it was month-to-month now. When I told them what the rent was Rusty said, “That’s outrageous, but not surprising. Look, I’ve still got some real estate contacts around here and I know of a small ranch house that would rent for half what you’re paying in Vegas. I could probably work a lease/purchase deal, so what do you say? Why not cut you ties with Vegas and move up here? It’s where your future is. So, what do you say?”

I told him that it sounded like a good idea, but I’d have to have a look at the place he had in mind.

Then Faye said, “There’s one other thing I’ve been thinking of. Have you ever thought of getting breast implants?”

“Not until I started this job, I hadn’t, but frankly since I was with Mary I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Well, we’d like to make you an offer. We know a good plastic surgeon in Vegas, and we’ll pay for you to get implants if in return you agree to get your henna Hen House tattoo turned into a real one.”

“Well, I’m tempted,” I said, “but I’d have to think about it.”

“You’d be the one to decide what size you want and we won’t try to influence your choice,” Faye said.

“OK, I’ve thought about it. I’ll do it.”

Bob got me an appointment with the surgeon for the next Monday. It was fairly tedious and the only thing I remember about it was that he said that most women who get implants end up wanting D-cup breasts. Since that’s what I’d been considering already, I agreed and scheduled surgery for the next day. It must have been scheduled already. Afterwards I was out of it, of course, and Rusty drove me back to Beatty that evening. Luckily I had a big bottle of Percocet, so when the tattoo artist came out to the Hen House to work on me I almost slept through it. I was pretty rocky for about a week, though I tried to do some work at my accounting job.

I got a major surprise when my restraining bandages came off. My tits were huge! I don’t know what I expected. I guess small B-cup girls who lust after D-cups in the abstract aren’t ready for the reality. It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. They were just always there and they were impossible to ignore, by my or anybody else in the world. I felt as though I was always pointing them at people. Stick ‘em up! I sure did. I slowly got used my “aftermarket breasts,” as Penn Jillette calls them. Guys loved them, of course, but I was surprised again when they seemed to raise my status among the girls. They seemed to see me as more of a leader. Yeah, lead with your tits.

I liked my tattoo too. It surprised me how much. I’m certain it’s part of the submissive thing.

…………

Growing pains

I moved my stuff out of the apartment in Vegas and into the little house by the river about two miles from the Hen House. I did get it for lease/purchase, for the amount Rusty had quoted. He’s a good realtor, if an unconvincing cowboy.

Once Nicole went back to work I started doing bondage play. I had several sets of play handcuffs and I found out there was a webbing sex swing in one of the rooms. I love being cuffed into it and being fucked to incoherent submission, and because I can get out of the cuffs at any time I don’t need to have another girl in the room.

Over the next couple months business picked up some more. Bondage play tends to be time-consuming, what with doing up straps and fumbling for keys, let alone tying and, worse, untying knots. But for that I could have done ten guys a night, and I did, a couple times. I could have done fifteen, but Joan would have been too frazzled to find her computer keyboard. As it was, I once dressed up in Daisy Duke shorts with a checkered shirt tied under my braless tits and a butt plug in my ass and tried to do my computer work. It didn’t work well, though it was a lot of fun. Tammy gets some really bad ideas sometimes.

Talking with Rusty and Faye, it became obvious that we needed more girls. When they asked me if I had any idea how to get more I said. “Treat ‘em better. Oh, there are some other things we can do, like starting a website with an Employment link, or advertising in the free papers in Las Vegas and Reno to get illegal free agents to come and work for us. We might be able to get some hard up porn actresses to come here for a bit, but I don’t think they’d stay long and we’re not really into that visiting celebrity thing. I think that our best hiring strategy is going to be word of mouth. Girls know other girls, and I think if we treat the girls here better than anybody else does more girls will come here. They’re supposedly private contractors. Yeah, right. We should set up a bank account for each of them and file their 1099s and pay their quarterly taxes out of their accounts. I’ve looked into it, and we should pay their medical exam fees and their license fees. We could afford it. I haven’t figured out anything we could do for them about health insurance, and the best we may be able to do is set up a charitable fund to help them out if they get sick, or their kids or parents do. Beyond that, we might come up with someplace where they can put some money aside as an investment, if they can afford it. Oh, and categorizing their deductable expenses. Did you know that there’s case law that’ says lube and batteries are deductable? I think it’s from web-caming, but still.… I think the most helpful thing would be taking on the burden of dealing with their taxes and fees. None of them is an accountant – well, maybe one – and I think it would make their lives easier and help us in the long run.”

We sat there for a minute until Rusty said, “You sure can make a case for yourself. It reminds me of Slim Pickens in Blazing….”

“Save your down-home stories for later, dear. I think we need to look at Joan’s figures and try to do what she suggests.”

And they did, and it pretty much worked out the way it was supposed to over the course of the next year or so. We got more girls in to the Hen House with little amazingly little effort. I paid off all my student loans, got a (gently used) lady’s market car and started piling up money in overseas bonds. We planted scrub oak and juniper to hide the legally-mandated chain link fence and redecorated the lounge in a style that matched the library in the ranch house. I even moved some Burke and MacAulay to the bookshelves there, but none the clients seem to read them while they’re waiting for a lineup. They seem preoccupied somehow. Oh, well.

Last month Rusty found out about an opportunity to buy a brothel that’s going bust in Armargosa Valley. If we get it I’ll buy in as a partner and take over as manager. Not a bad prospect, for somebody who was an impoverished ex-student with vague ambitions of doing something in business two years ago. If it works out I’ll need another accountant — two, really. Luckily, I know just how to go about finding them, “and putting them to use,” as Rusty’s role model Slim would say.

Sincerely,

Joan
and Nicole
#

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