High School Whore House (New Writers Welcome)

Jessica Woodridge: High School Hallway

Jessica almost wanted to back out only for the fact that she felt like shit for leading him on. David seemed so honest and friendly, and worst of all he seemed flustered by the idea of her wanting to go with him. She would’ve felt like a better person if she had set him up with one of her friends that could actually begin to grow feelings for him. But it was too late for that now. And a strong part of her didn’t even want to back down.

Don’t go soft now, She told herself. She turned to close her locker before locking eyes with him again, feeling as though staring into his honest brown eyes he could read her true intentions. "I mean I'd like to go as your date to that dinner." Jessica interrupted, clarifying her meaning for him so he didn't need to stumble over his words any longer.

For a minute she debated charging him for the date. But then she knew she could get so much more money from him if she waited it out and revealed to him later what he could buy from her. She had to make sure she could trust him after all. Telling him now what she was could scare him off, letting her have revealed her secret for no real purpose.

Shaking her hair out of her face, Jessica looked on him with a smile. "I mean it is a dinner right? Some sort of business dinner...?" She inquired, wanting to know more about his family's business without trying to make it seem that way. Somehow she just kept seeming to get herself into more and more situations. One's that she herself wasn't even sure how she'd get out of.

Chester: School Cafeteria

The doors creaked open as Chester entered the cafeteria hall for their school lunch. He just couldn't work it out -- it was a problem that, for the intelligent guy he is, he just couldn't decipher.

What happened to Jessica?

Sure, Jessica's a real hottie. Sure, a lot of guys' might not be able to resist the lust for her. But what really irritates Chester was the fact that it seemed -- no, he *knew* -- that Jessica *enjoyed* it.

He gathered his food and looked around for a seat. It was Wednesday, free period for students of specific classes. His eyes scanned around the room, and there she was.

Jessica.

"Should I sit to her," he asked himself. "No, we barely talked much for the past two years, sitting with her will just make things awkward."

"Should I sit alone," he asked himself. "No, that would make things even more awkward -- it'd mean I don't want to talk to her, it'd mean I don't like her -- which wasn't true..."

He took a deep of breath, smiled and asked "This seat empty?"

Jessica was almost surprised. Chester, the best-looking guy in the school was asking if he could sit with her. She had fantasized and spent most nights rubbing herself, imagining his shirtless body rubbing against her's. And she was sure most (if not all) of the girls in highschool have done so, too. Then there was another thing, Chester was an old friend, they haven't spoken to each other for a couple of years, "was there something he wants?" she asked herself. Perhaps part of her felt guilty for burning this bridge down. He was a great friend to have and she missed the times they had together. She smiled.

"Long time no talk, eh?" Jessica said.

"Yeah, I'd suppose so." Chester instantly regretted sitting next to her. He could almost feel his face flush red. What was he thinking? What was he even planning to say?! Why was he looking at her---

"Free period, eh?" She smiled, trying to loosen up a little. Truth is, she was just as nervous, she can't help staring at him, admiring him. She was wet as hell. She could already feel the stares of envy of other girls when the bell rings in 10 minutes.

Chester breathed heavily, and managed a weak smile. "Yeah, how are you?"

It took every muscle in her not to roll her eyes. "I'm fine, what about you?"

"I guess we took our separate ways, eh? I missed the times we had together. And now we're here -- strangers again."

She smiled. A genuine smile.

"You've changed a lot Jessica, look at you all grown up" he chuckled.

It was her turn to blush. Was that a compliment? A smile was the only response. She was almost embarrassed, but also confused -- she has dealt with many guys before, the good and the ugly, the fat and the skinny, the short and the tall. She was opened to guys, hell -- she has exposed every skin in her body to MANY guys. She wasn't embarrassed of her body, and she knew men had the arousal to her. Then what is this feeling she's feeling? It was the first time in years since she had felt a guy have this effect on her...

"Abbey" (Erin), with Pamela
Outside "The Hideout" Lounge

Erin's eyes went large at the sight of the Jaguar waiting for them outside. The car said a lot about the person and was usually the first indicator she had about what to expect out of them. The smaller and cheaper the quicker it would be. She was used to seeing cars that had seen better days, a few years old, rarely the top shelf stuff. This Jaguar though, this was something else. This woman was a far cry from what she was used to, attractive, well dressed, and apparently well off. Apparently her man, or men in general weren't meeting some of her needs, or maybe she was just curious. Either way Erin had a hard time fathoming why this woman would have to pay to get laid. Erin would have happily had sex with her for free, if she wasn't on the clock.

"My name is Pamela," she said. "My friends call me Pam."

Erin smiled, "My name's Abbey, or whatever you want it to be Pam."

Pam opened the door for her, a far more chivalrous gesture than she usually received. Not that it bothered her, at least it didn't anymore. It had at one time, and it had cost her a few John's, until she got it in her head. She wasn't on a date, they weren't wooing her. She was a whore. They were paying her to get off. It was funny the little things that stuck around even after she'd boiled things down to having sex for money.

The gesture was appreciated though, and in most situations that was a big plus for the guy. She had her prices for the usual stuff, fifty for a blow, seventy five if they wanted her to swallow or cum on her, a hundred if they wanted to fuck her face. Two hundred would get them laid, two fifty for her on top, three hundred minimum if they wanted her ass. She knew she was a bit on the expensive side for a girl on the street but she figured she was eighteen and willing to do it all so she could run it up a bit. Of course those were just starting prices. If a guy was ugly or rude the price went up. If he was a gentleman or really good looking they went down, well, didn't go up as much. She'd once charged a real dick five hundred for a blow that she'd spat right out on the floor of his car. It hadn't helped he'd called her Sarah the whole time, then admitted it was his daughter's name. She didn't feel bad about it then, and she still didn't. He'd been a jackass, and a married one. The married ones were usually pretty naive and easy to overcharge.

Women like Pam though, women were hard. They didn't always fit easily into categories. Sure, contrary to popular belief women wanted to get off just the same as men did, they just went about it differently. A guy would have no problem just getting sucked off in the car behind the bar, a woman though, not usually. Women she had no idea what to expect.

So when Pam sat down it was time to get to business. "What's your pleasure, Pamela?" she said, drawing out Pam's name as if she was rolling it around on her tongue. Normally she let her John's proposition her but she'd never heard nor seen a female vice cop and if Pamela was vice she was either the worst or the best agent Abbey could ever have imagined so she went for it. "Five hundred will get me for three hours, a grand gets me all night. That covers anything you want unless you want to get really kinky."

Blunt was best, circumspect could leave a blushing newbie like Pam stumbling over her words all night and as unprofessional as it might be Erin really didn't want Pamela to get away.

David, with Jessica:

"I mean I'd like to go as your date to that dinner." Jessica cut in, ending David's babbling. "I mean it is a dinner right? Some sort of business dinner...?"

Really...? You'll go ... with me??

David was shocked. Jessica Woodridge is going to go out with me! Later, when he had a chance to turn the entirety of his brain on, he would probably come to realize that he was actually quite a catch for many women. But, ignoring his personal wealth and bright, professional future, he just didn't have that much going for him. It resulted in his spending much of his conscious time in despair over his social opportunities.

"Yes, dinner," he managed finally. "Business dinner. My father's. My father's business, I mean. It's, um ... Thursday night ... tomorrow night. It starts at seven, but I'll have a car come around for you--"

He stopped, realizing he was falling into the same routine he always did with his very impersonal dates to very impersonal functions. "I mean ... I'll come around and pick you up ... let's say about six...?"

His head was spinning with thoughts, too many to even begin to start separating and addressing individually and efficiently. He felt his face burning with a blush, and as inconspicuously as he could, he curled his binder around before him to conceal his third woody of the day for Jessica Woodridge.

Pamela, with "Abbey" (Erin)



"My name's Abbey, or whatever you want it to be Pam." Erin dropped into the car, then waited for Pamela to circle around and sit behind the wheel. "What's your pleasure, Pamela? Five hundred will get me for three hours, a grand gets me all night. That covers anything you want unless you want to get really kinky."

Pamela was suddenly uncomfortable with what she was doing ... what she was doing with this young woman, this possibly underage prostitute. She cleared her throat, contemplated, then looked into Erin's eyes and explained, "Abbey ... let's ... let's just go with Abbey, shall we...? Abbey, I'm not the type..." She looked away, searching for the words and mumbling, "How do I explain this?" She turned back to Erin and decided that honest and direct were best. "Abbey. I've never done this before. Never ... been with another woman. And ... never ... paid to be with another woman. Another person, for that matter, but particularly with another woman."

She diverted her eyes again, first looking out the window toward the lounge door, wondering if any of the establishment's patrons were standing at the dark windows watching. They'd certainly been watching her while she was inside!

Then her eyes fell to Erin's body. My god. Except for the long, shapely legs that the short skirt had revealed, Pamela hadn't realized how beautiful the young woman was from the far end of the bar. Pamela had long harbored a desire to be with another woman; she knew how much men liked to touch the female form, and she knew -- had always known -- that she would likely enjoy to touch one, and have one touch her, as well. And this girl, this Abbey, represented everything she desired in another woman; young, shapely, firm where firm was wanted, soft where soft was desired, and -- looking to Abbey's face and remembering whey they were here, too -- simultaneously youthfully innocent yet erotically sexy.

"I ... don't know what I want from you," she continued, being honest, despite the trembles that such an approach was beginning to cause deep within her. "Actually ... I do ... in part. I want you to be honest with me. No fake names, no fake emotions. It's Abbey. No fantasy names. And when we ... well, when we..." What's the right word ... words? "Do it"? "Fuck"? She continued with her honestly, thinking of what was ahead in the terms that would make her happiest. "When we are ... making love ... I want it real. Don't fake anything with me. I want it ... well ... real. Please."

Mister Henry "Jake" Jacobs; early evening:

Every time his thought turned back to his early morning session with Jessica, Jake's stomach turned over nervously. I can't believe you did that, Jake my man. I can't believe our pulled something like this off.

Of course, he still didn't know exactly what he'd pulled off. He'd blackmailed a student into coming to his house for sex. At least, that's what he hoped he had done. There were still a lot of variables here, but -- for now -- he suspected that he had all the right cards, and that tonight would go exactly the way he had it planned.

He looked around the small apartment again and gave a relieved sign. He had always been a bit anal about his place; a place for everything, and everything in it's place was his chief rule. He was sort of an organizing nerd; his obsessive-compulsive tendencies had been one of the reasons that his girlfriend had left him. He'd always considered them a blessing: his house and life were neat and orderly; his finances were straight and he was in the black, although -- like most Americans -- he was seldom more than two or three paychecks ahead of the creditor boogie-man. And he himself was fit and socially presentable, with a healthy diet and regular exercise routine leaving him energetic and tight bodied, although he would never be confused with Conan or Rambo when seen with most of his clothes off.

The girlfriend hadn't seen his compulsions this way and had left him for a dope-smoking, organic farmer who lived in a drafty log cabin and drove a three decade old beater of a pick up truck sporting quarter panels of at least six different paint colors. As if that wasn't bad enough, she'd met the man in the pharmacy line while he was buying ointment for a rash ... or maybe worse! Really? Are you serious?

He scanned the current result of his obsessive-compulsive behavior: his apartment had been thoroughly cleaned and tidied by a cleaning woman Jake had called in immediately after Jessica departed this morning, and now an extravagant dinner was nearly done, with the salad, side dishes, and both champagne and wine on the table, and the main course in the oven staying warm. Jake snatched up the champagne, shaking off the water droplets and wondering whether it was a mistake. Jessica was 18, and the state drinking limit was 21. She's a fucking prostitute you idiot! he told himself, dropping it back into the ice bucket, then popping the cork on the wine to let it breath.

He checked his watch; she would be here any moment. He hurried to his bedroom. Candles burned in a far corner, and soft music played from the knock-off speaker base that his iPod was plugged in to. He opened the drawer to his night stand; it was filled with condoms, lubricants, and toys that he'd purchased after getting another teacher to cover his last two classes so he could drive to an Adult Shop 45 miles away and be back in time to ensure the cleaning lady had done an acceptable job. He didn't know if he would need any of it, but in his OCD way, he figured better safe than sorry.

The bell rang, causing his heart to jump. He raced back to the dining room, checking it thoroughly; then to the living room, to which he'd returned a pair of blankets and all the little throw pillows he'd stored away, just in case some comfort was needed. He checked his appearance in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door; he'd chosen loose slacks with an easily loosened buckle, and a button up shirt that wasn't tucked in.

Then he went to the door, drew and released a deep breath, and pulled the door open...

"Abbey" (Erin), with Pamela

Erin watched as Pam went all nervous on her. She was far from the first of Abbey's customers to get nervous, either from the nature of the act or from her age quite of a few of them started to lose their nerve without a little enticement. As Pamela laid out the situation Erin shifted in her seat, naturally pulling her skirt up a little higher on her thighs.

Pamela laid it out as plainly as she could in her nervous way and Erin learned everything she needed too. Pamela was a virgin in more ways than one. She'd never been with a whore before, which was a big plus in her book. People who were used to paying for it tended to get too comfortable with the process, they'd get rude, annoying, they'd even haggle. How much she hated the hagglers. Pamela was curious, but she'd never been with another woman which was perfect for her. She loved breaking in virgins, they were just so delightfully eager.

But then, Erin had to suppress the grimace as Pamela laid it out. It wasn't the request not to fake it, that happened more often than you'd think and she always ignored it. She wasn't afraid to let her customers get her off and let them know about it, but even if they didn't she'd still act like it. It didn't pay to disappoint. It was the framing of it all, it was far too emotional for her taste. She liked keeping things fun and light at best, business like at worst. Emotional was just not in the cards. It was dangerous, it was destructive, it was stupid. She'd have to be careful to deflect Pamela's emotions and keep her focused on the physical.

"Pamela, if you think I'm going to judge you...," Erin smiled coyly, "I'm a whore. I don't get to judge anyone. As for being with a woman." She leaned over closer to Pamela, placing her delicate hand on the older woman's thigh and squeezing it gently. "Well, I've this wouldn't be my first time. So why don't we just figure on spending the whole night together and we'll just... see what happens. I don't think keeping things real will be a problem."

(OOC -- Someone asked me what day of the week it was. It's Wednesday.)



Pamela, with Erin ("Abbey"):

Pamela was a bit conflicted about the location she'd chosen for her evening with Abbey. She wanted something comfortable, familiar; once she'd agreed that an all nighter would be make for an easier first time experience -- removing any need to rush to a satisfactory finish -- she drove them to The Black Briar Inn.

The Black Briar held a lot of memories for Pamela, both good and bad. Her first experience in real estate had resulted in her meeting her first husband. She'd shown him this building, extolling its historical virtues -- while his attention had been firmly on creating history with her virtue. She was a naive, 21 year old virgin when they met; three weeks later, she was his lover, three months later his wife, and just short of three years later -- just shortly after The Black Briar Inn opened, and Pamela found her husband fucking an 18 year old Concierge in the laundry room -- she was his Ex.

You take the good with the bad, though, and the good that she got was controlling interest in the bed and breakfast.

She met her second husband, a traveling salesman of all things. Pamela was at a vulnerable stage and propositioned him bluntly -- "I haven't been with a man in three years ... care to change that?" -- and two months later, they were exchanging vows below the falling cherry blossoms in the South Lawn of the Inn.

The night before their six month anniversary, her husband disappeared, as did her male book keeper, half a million in cash and bonds, and her brand new Mercedes.

After that, on the edge of financial and emotional ruin, she herself disappeared. She sold The Black Briar and traveled North America for almost two years. She spent some nights alone on beaches or in parks, staring at the lowering sun while drinking from bottles wrapped in brown paper; and other nights under sweaty, grunting men she picked up in bars or outside liquor stores; and the other nights ... well, she simply doesn't remember them at all.

She only returned home after she'd found herself sitting on a police station bench for attempting to sell her body for a bottle and a place to sleep for the night.

She went to counseling, got clean, found work, and straightened out her life once more. She reintegrated herself into the local social scene, searching for a new life. Then, a year later, her first husband died in a car crash and, to her shock and disbelief, left her his most recent real estate acquisition -- The Black Briar Inn.

Finally, she was truly home.

Now, as she looked out the Jag's windshield at the softly lit building, she wondered whether this was really the place to be bringing a whore. She had a small sleeping room on the second floor, for nights when she backed up the Concierge staff; but she'd reserved The Winter Room, the most isolated third floor room, thinking she would be bringing a man home with her and not wanting every one to hear them going at it.

She glanced to Abbey, smiling nervously. "They know me here. I ... have a key to the back door. Do you mind if we ... you know ..."

She put the car back in gear and headed for the back parking area ... and, hopefully, a new, wonderful, Black Briar memory.

Jessica with David:

Jessica nodded her head in confirmation of the date. It was all she could do but keep nodding in agreement as he chose the time, not wanting to open her mouth again in case she backed out. So instead she backed away before she let herself analyze why he’d covered his pants with his books. A quick smile reassured him that she would be ready, before she disappeared down the hall arriving alone to calculus.

She found herself making that trip still occasionally giving a confirming nod of her head knowing in reality she was just encouraging herself to go through with it. It wasn’t the date itself that psyched her out. No girl she knew didn’t like getting dressed up for a nice dinner with a good guy. However, no girl she knew was low enough to do that only for the hope of getting money out of a guy just so he could use her body. And worst of all was she had no idea of how to bring up the proposition to David.

For the remainder of the day all she could focus on was the next two ‘appointments’ lined up. Suddenly she felt like her life as a prostitute was casting a shadow on the life of the normal Jessica Woodridge. Typically she didn’t even think of how she would act at bars or how she would get clients to approach her. Now though her next two appointments weren’t even technically lined up to give her some sort of financial gain, yet they were all she could think about. She felt as if she went through the rest of the day in a daze she couldn’t escape.


Jessica at Jake’s Apartment- Early Evening:

Before she processed what she was fully getting herself into, Jessica drove down to Mr. Jacobs apartment building. Or Jake’s apartment, as she figured she should learn to call him. Throughout the course of the day she had played over hundreds of situations in her head, all based around two drastically different options: if she showed up or if she bailed.

Even as she parked her car in the parking garage below the building, she still tossed up all the variables that played around these two options. On one hand she could easily not show up. It would take no effort at all to simply drive back home and hide out in her bed for the night. It would take no playing nice before they played rough. Though the consequences that followed would be severe. Not only would her friends and family no longer respect her, but her entire school would humiliate her. Worst of all her future would be shot because of one silly night. She'd worked so hard to build up the foundations so she could even hope of a future. All that effort and fighting would've been for nothing all because of those demeaning pictures. Picture's she felt would be wiped out of existence if she just spent this one night with this one man.

Though that wasn't to say Jessica hadn't noticed the negatives of spending her night with Jake. It meant admitting defeat in her eyes and admitting Jake was in control in his. She was fucked either way. However giving Jake whatever he wanted tonight meant keeping her secret just that- a secret. She would give up anything to uphold that confidential information from the eyes of the representatives at Queen’s University. And giving up anything in this case meant she would give everything.

Stepping out of the car, she knew she had the option of going back yet somehow she felt as if there really was no turning back. As she made her way to the building and up the elevator, her black patent Mary Janes made a faint tapping sound on the cement. They were the only sign of her age as she had decided to dress older tonight. Not necessarily slutty, just more mature. So she ditched the starchy blouses and wool skirts for a more flattering deep green, chiffon dress that both clung and moved with her body. Somehow she had allowed herself to take the time to loosely curl her hair and rub a bit of perfume on her neck. She liked to make an impression, no matter the circumstances.

Pressing the bell of the door firmly, she felt her throat tighten up at the sound of it. Though more importantly the sound of the footsteps on the other side. There really was no debating which option she'd take now.

The moment Jake pulled open the door, his figure filling the frame now, Jessica leapt inside, as a sidelong glance revealed one of his neighbours exiting their own appartment. She couldn't risk someone she knew seeing her entering his apartment. She reached her hands behind her back and closed it more gently to ease the case of nerves that had just shown through.

"Surprised I came?" She asked, as a form of greeting, wanting really just to get down to things. She wanted to know the circumstances of her blackmail. After all, how long would he hold those pictures over her?

Jake, with Jessica at his apartment; Wednesday evening:



Jessica practically jumped into his apartment, causing him to back a half step in surprise. As she closed the door behind her, she asked, "Surprised I came?"

"No," Jake answered quickly. He wasn't, really; he'd had total confidence that she'd show, probably too much confidence. He'd put a great deal of stock in two things -- Jessica's desire to get to Queens, and the power of his photos to keep her from doing so -- and it had never occurred to him that the high school whore would decide not to make an appearance as demanded.

High School whore...? He'd been mulling over terms for what Jessica did to make money for much of the day -- hell, even for many hours last night after he'd first discovered her secret. Whore, prostitute, call girl, sex servant... They were all a bit different in their way, with the only commonality being sex for money.

He stepped back, taking a long, slow, up and down view of the girl. She was so unbelievably beautiful. No ... sexy. Erotic! He'd never seen her looking like this at school; there, she was quite conservative in her dress and make up. But last night, and now ...

He was already hardening -- had been from the moment she'd knocked on the door -- but he was ready for it this time, wearing a jock strap below his traditional boxers and looser slacks in an attempt to make the activity in his groin less of an issue than it had been at his desk earlier in the day.

"Please, come in," Jake said invitingly, gesturing her toward the nearby couch. "Make yourself at home. There's wine and champagne both ... and I have beer and pop ... oh, and good water, not that city stuff, in the fridge."

You're about to fall apart! he screamed in his head, turning quickly and walking away. "I need to check on dinner. Hope you came hungry. I cooked."

Erin ("Abbey"), with Pamela

Pamela had agreed to the all nighter without much fuss which put Erin up a grand on the night much to her delight. Pamela had put the car in gear and headed off without much more comment. Erin let them drive in silence, not wanting to put any more pressure on Pamela. She had to admit, the Jag was far nicer than the usual rides she got. She wouldn't have minded at all if Pamela had parked the car and declared they were going to do it right here in the car.

She was a little confused as to where they were going though, they'd passed plenty of dark parking lots and they weren't heading towards the nearest low rent motels. That wasn't bad, some of them were starting to know her by name, or at least her assumed one. That wasn't exactly the kind of notoriety she would have wanted.

In fact they were heading into the historic district which was a first for her. She supposed Pamela might own a house nearby and it wouldn't be the first time a customer had taken her home. It happened, not quite as often as the hotel trips and certainly not as often as dark parking lot blow jobs, and she wasn't really a fan. Low rent motels had thin walls that limited privacy, you never knew what you'd find in someone's house. Pamela didn't really look or even act like a serial killer so Erin didn't get too nervous, but it was still a little out of her comfort zone.

She placed her small clutch in her lap and ran her hand over the navy blue satin, feeling where her cell phone and pepper spray were to reassure herself.

Soon though Pamela turned into a drive way and broke Erin out of her revere, only instead of a house they were pulling into a posh bed and breakfast. The Black Briar, one that Erin had driven by before and day dreamed about but never imagined affording the several hundred a night cost. It took her until the car was put in park for Erin to grasp that Pamela was indeed taking her little whore to an upscale bed and breakfast. She didn't let her shock register on her face but it wasn't easy. She kept her same seductive smile on as Pamela turned to her and said, "They know me here. I ... have a key to the back door. Do you mind if we ... you know ..."

Pamela put the car back in gear and headed for the back parking area. Giving Erin a moment to ponder it all. They knew Pamela, she had a key to the back door? She was bringing a teen age hooker back to a bed and breakfast where she was known? Erin didn't know how to respond. She'd met girls who'd been taken on dates, to family gatherings, to other engagements but usually as window dressing. There'd be no mistaking what they were doing here. She supposed Pamela was attractive enough to get a lover Erin's age, and Erin wouldn't have minded that one bit if she wasn't working, but still... it was a shock.

The customer was in charge though so Erin just put a hand on Pamela's thigh right below her hemline and said, "I don't mind at all. In fact I don't think I've ever been taken some where quite so nice." As Pamela put the car into park Erin let herself out and shut the door before gesturing towards the Black Briar, "Lead the way."

Pamela, with Erin ("Abbey"); The Black Briar Inn

They made it from the parking lot, through the main hall on the first floor, and up two flights of stairs before they encountered anyone. Pamela had been simultaneously dreading and practicing for this moment since they'd arrived at the little hotel. Quickly she addressed the woman, a maid by her appearance, saying confidently, "Lois, will you be a dear. My niece, Abbey--" In practically the same movement, Pamela gestured to indicate Erin, while urging Erin to continue down the hall as well. "--will be staying the night in the Winter Room. I'll be in my room. Please bring me a bottle of champagne ... you know the one ... and a tray of what ever Cookie has out to my niece ... to Abbey."

The woman gave Erin a polite greeting, nodded her understanding of the order, and moved away down the hallway. Pamela turned back to Erin, attempted a smile, then pointed toward the end of the hall and urged Erin on once more; she felt a touch of panic in her face and hoped it didn't show to the young woman who, because of her career choice, Pamela assumed was much better with this kind of secrecy and the pressure that came with it.

Once in the room, Pamela began to relax. She was at home anywhere in the bed and breakfast when she was working, but with another woman -- a working girl -- she wanted to be as isolated from the outside world as possible.

She turned a full circle, examining the room; it was as it should be. She looked to Erin and smiled. "Will this do...?

(OOC -- I left describing it to you, if you wish to do so. )

Jessica with Jake in his apartment; Wednesday evening:

“Thank you,” was all Jessica could think to say it that moment. Since truthfully it really was the only thing that fit. She was shocked that Jake had gone to such lengths to make the place seem- oh what was the word- homey? Pillows and throws adorned the couch, she saw a flickering of candles between cracks of doors and the smell of the homemade dinner filled the apartment. She hadn’t expected this to say the least, and it threw her off for a moment.

Then again she knew little of Jake’s personal life. Perhaps this was just how he kept his home, and her presence had little to do with the decorations or delicious aroma. After all, her illusions of Jake seemed shattered now seeing him in more casual clothes with his shirt un-tucked. How had she not realized before that Mr. Jacobs was a handsome man? Though perhaps his title and his position behind the desk always prevented her from wanting to see his looks. Regardless of all that now, his appearance and the apartments vibe had her somewhat relaxed.

Though just for extra insurance to calm her nerves, she helped herself to a glass of red wine as he had offered, watching his retreating figure go to the kitchen. She wondered why he went through all this trouble when really what she was here for could be done and settled in twenty minutes. It was itching her to know the complications, the guidelines of the blackmail but it wasn’t something she felt she could just so brazenly bring up.

Jessica followed him in to the kitchen, circling around the counter before leaning backwards, her hip cocked slightly to the side to support her. One arm was crossed delicately across her ribcage while the other played at the wine glass, her index finger tracing up and down the neck of it. Jessica no longer felt like a student with no place to be here. She was a whore a prostitute, but even then that more fitting title didn’t seem to place how she felt completely. Somehow being here she was gaining more confidence in what she was and what she had done, yet she couldn’t figure out why.

Deciding to leave the emotional journey to self discovery on the side though, she picked up from what he was giving off and decided not to jump right into business. If he was going to act as if this was just one other regular dinner date than she would too.

“Dinner smells lovely.” She piped in, a smile playing at her lips as she continued the small talk.

Jake, w/ Jessica; his place, Wednesday night:.


Jake launched into a monologue about the dinner he'd been preparing for the last two hours, describing the herbs and oils and spices as if he was producing a cable cooking show. Jake talked when he was nervous; no, he rambles when he was nervous. And right now, he was as about as nervous as he'd ever been. It was worse even then when he's been sneaking into the poker room to snap the incriminating pics of Jessica. He hadn't truly fabricated his plan at that point, and now that he had, his brain simply couldn't escape the fear that it was somehow going to blow up in his face.

The situation was only made worse by the mere presence of Jessica in the kitchen. Each time he glanced her way, to see if here expression of interest had mutated to one of boredom, his gaze fell to that incredible figure, a form that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would be stripped bare and grinding atop his groin before the end of their date this night.

Jake had never had a sure thing before. He was thinking now that it made him more nervous than not knowing whether he was going to get laid or not. Either way, he was simply amazed that, first, this evening was taking place at all and, second, that his under arms hadn't yet turned into Niagara Falls.

When at last they were at the table, their dinner and wine before them, Jake decided it was time to broach the subject of upcoming events. And, of course, the moment he opened his mouth, he wished instead that he had been stuffing it full of lamb instead.

"So ... Jessica ... why do you do what you do...?"

Jessica with Jake in his apartment; Wednesday evening:

Jessica knew the conversation would come around at one point. Its arrival was inevitable under the circumstances that brought her there that evening. Her eyes fixated on the food in front of her, mindlessly twirling her fork through the sauces that stained her plate.

“I thought you of all people could piece that together.” She started, knowing he had access to her financial records and knowledge of monetary problems from the meetings. Though of course there was other ways to make money. Admittedly she hadn’t even revealed the more personal details of her family to him, nor to anyone. As of this point in her life he was the only one that was even aware that she played the role of a prostitute. Clearing her throat and taking a sip of her wine she set her fork down and looked up at him, deciding to explain instead.

“We’ve always been kind of tight on money at home. We always had juuust enough. Then when there cracked out scheme to start a restaurant during the recession crashed and burned we were left with nothing. I had to take it upon myself to make my money. I’ve seen my dad at the bars I tend to frequent and my mother’s to spineless to do anything about anything.” Jessica said, feeling now though as if she was revealing too much.

After all, it wasn’t exactly like she could trust him. He had been the one to sneak in and take those pictures of her. She was here through blackmail for god’s sake, the promise of a guaranteed fuck looming over the evening.


“Anyways,” Jessica concluded, waving her hand as if her choices were trivial, “It’s easier being a whore than you’d think. I’m good at what I do and I can overcharge to make my money. Win, win.”

Nick The Hide out Lounge

-Nick trolled long enough it was clear there was no action he payed what he owed and left. Walking around nick remembers people talking about the The Hideout lounge and decided to check it out.-

"Well now the out side of it looks good."-he said as he drove up to the front of the lounge.-

-Nick walked in the atmosphere was like any where else Not paying much attention to the crowd but went straight to the bar. Nick sat and orders 2 shots of Jack that would be just to get comfortable.-

Bill (the Bartender), with Nick;
"The Hideout" Lounge, Wednesday night:


The pager-looking device on the bartender's belt vibrated, alerting him to someone stepping up into the entry of "The Hideout. Bill turned to see a new face and took a moment to look at it from each of the three cameras monitoring the bar's front.

The man pulled on the door handle and, of course, the door didn't budge. A moment later, after Bill had given a loud, sharp whistle to indicate to his working patrons of the stranger entering their midst, he pressed the button on the still buzzing device, which released the door lock. The man entered and headed straight to the bar.

Bill was waiting for him, asking, "What can I get you?"

The man ordered a shot of Jack. Bill carded him -- more to get some personal info on him than to assure himself of the man's legal right to drink -- then poured the drink with a hearty, "Welcome to the Hideout, Nick."

Bill put a hand upon the tray of straws, preparing to slide it closer to Nick, as he had done with Pamela an hour earlier. But ... he didn't. Bill knew that there were four kinds of people who came to The Hideout: those who simply wanted a drink, to wet their whistle; those who wanted to get more than just their whistle wet; those who were paid to wet more than a whistle; and those who were paid to arrest those who were paid to wet more than a whistle.

Bill took a moment to think about what he'd just thunk; it was his thought and yet he was confused about whether he'd framed it correctly in his own mind. He shrugged it off and went back to the thought at hand: Nick wasn't a prostitute, he was pretty sure, so he was either thirsty, horny, or on the job.

He pushed the tray of straws a couple of inches closer to Nick and, seeing him look down at them, said with a friendly tone, "In case you need one."

He either knows about them or he doesn't, Bill thought to himself, peering around at the multiple sets of eyes -- female and male -- who were waiting to find out if a customer for the bar or a customer for the bar's patrons had just walked in. Either way, you have to find out ...

Nick finished off the first shot, so Bill poured him another, then excused himself to tend to a customer rattling an tumbler of otherwise-lonely ice at the far end of the bar. As he finished refreshing the man, Miko stepped up to the counter, setting a pair of near-empty wine glasses on the counter before nodding her head toward the newcomer and pointing out, "No straws. Too bad."

Bill refilled the celestial beauty's glasses and half glanced back to the man. "He might not know about them. Might just be thirsty."

Miko's eye brows raised in an expression Bill was all to familiar with.

He smiled and shook his head, assuring her, "But ... I'll go find out for you."

He made his way casually down the bar, chatting momentarily with each of his patrons, before taking up what he called his ready to listen posture near Nick. They exchanged polite smiles before Bill opened his pondering with, "So, Nick ... what brings you to The Hideout?"

Erin ("Abbey"), with Pamela; The Black Briar Inn

'Niece,' not a bad cover story really. Admittedly she was dressed a bit trampy but there were girls who weren't working who wore less. If Pamela had been a bit more comfortable with what they were up to she might have even teased her about it later, testing the waters to see if Pamela might not have thing for one of her relatives. Erin got a surprising number of people who used family names with her. Sisters, nieces, daughters. Maybe it was her situation with her sister but she didn't mind it, at least when the Johns treated her right. It was when they got nasty about it that she worried, and got disgusted by it. Pamela, could have been fun. Still, she did as she was told and kept on walking. Best not to let the maid dwell on the fact they looked nothing alike.

Pamela quickly caught up and escorted Erin on down the hall, her terror quite obvious as she led the young prostitute on. Erin had to contain her mirthful giggle, Pamela was just too cute as nervous as she was.

The Winter Room was... unbelievable. Large, spacious, and just... gorgeous. She was used to flea bitten motels on average, some middle class apartment at best. This was wood floors, a four poster bed, and a fireplace. No TV, just some romantic candle and a bed that looked so soft it would eat you if you laid down in it. There were the usual few chairs, a table, and a bath that she was praying was as nice as the bedroom.

She seriously considered canceling her fee and doing Pamela for free. Then she got her wits about her and regretted not charging her more.

"Mmm, nicely," Erin purred as she sat down on the bed and crossed her legs. She leaned back on her arms and just looked Pamela over for a moment. "Should we wait for the cookies or do you want to take care of business now?"

-Nick smiled at the friendly conversation that Bill was giving when he kept pushing the Straws closer when he walked away he did pick one up and look at them for anything odd but when he found nothing he put it back and once he finished his shot he was given a second one then bills question hit him.-

"Well..."-he grins and looked to the bartender.-"I understand bill this place is a hot place to grab a lay how do you go about doing so?"

-he asked he shot his jack down his throat and whipped his lips and looked to the Asian woman over the other end and looked at her very nice on the eyes Nick had gotten girls before but this seem to be a bit different.-

Pam, with Erin ("Abbey")



"Should we wait for the cookies," Erin toyed, "or do you want to take care of business now?"

"Cookie's the Inn's chef," Pamela laughed, then -- realizing what Abbey had been suggesting -- blushed immediately and completely, before answering with a hesitant voice, "Why ... why don't we wait ... until ... well, until ... champagnes on it's way, so we don't want to be ... um ... we should wait."

She drew a deep, nervous breath, such a great breath that she feared her breasts would snap her bra and send it sling shot style right over the young prostitutes head. She turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment. They were here, in this room ... no one of importance knew they were together ... no one knew her intentions with this young woman ... and yet, she still couldn't get past the reality that she was paying another woman to have sex with her. She looked back to Erin, looking her over; she was so ... so utterly sexy. My god ... why haven't you done this before, Pam...?

"I, um ..." She pointed to the bathroom. "There are, um ... robes. They're for the guests when they stay. You are welcome to one. I mean ... later ... when..." She lost her train of thought, then remembered that she had been trying to find a way to say When we're both naked ... together. Instead, she offered, "You can shower if you want to. The baths have all recently been redesigned. Powerful shower jets ... personal jacuzzis in each suite."

You're rambling, Pam. Stop!

"I ... think ..." She looked back to Erin and was again overwhelmed by what, to her, was little more than a girl. Pam had just turned 36 days earlier, something she'd hid from the Black Briar's staff to avoid an obligatory and embarrassing birthday party; and this girl was half her age, give or take a couple of years.

Give or take, Pamela thought. Half of thirty six is legal, while 'give or take' is the difference between age of consent for her and rape charges for me.

She gestured toward the bathroom again, repeating the offer of a hot shower or a soak in the jacuzzi, before heading quickly for the door, saying, "I ... need to get something from my own room. I'll be right ..."

She stopped, hesitated, then looked back to the girl, stretched out upon the bed, looking ready to be attacked and eaten alive. "Abbey ... I, um ..." Desperation for an answer caused her to step back deeper into the room as she asked with concern, "Please tell me you're eighteen ... please!"

Bill with Nick; "The Hideout" Bar and Grill

"Well..." Nick answered, downing his second Jack, "I understand, Bill, this place is a hot place to grab a lay. How do you go about doing so?"

Bill followed the man's shift in gaze to Miko, still standing at the far end of the bar, her replenished wine glasses on the bar with her long nailed fingers toying playfully with their tall stems.

"Yes, Nick," Bill answered, his voice lowering in volume as he leaned in a bit closer, pretending to wipe down the bar. "This is a very good place to--" Go ahead, he dared himself, use it... "--to wet one's whistle."

He glanced to Miko and caught the woman again raising her eyebrow questioningly. Bill didn't understand the woman's impatience at first; then he glanced about the bar and saw that every customer with a straw or two laying atop the rim of their drink tumbler -- or, in the case of those with a beer bottle or no drink at all, across their water glass -- was already engaged with one of the other working stiffs. Bill glanced at the clock over Nick's shoulder; barely an hour to closing time, which meant that even if Miko landed a John who was only looking for a quickie in the back seat of his car, she might not get a shot at a second one before it was time to call it quits for the night.

Bill shot the beautiful, young Asian another look. Bill knew his girls well, or as well as anyone might. He wasn't proud of this fact, but he knew that a great many of them were not old enough to be in the bar, and many of them were not old enough to be out this late on a Wednesday night. He looked around quickly and immediately made out six faces of girls he knew for a fact were still in high school.

But what was he supposed to do? Some of them had been literally working the streets when, one after another, they learned of The Hideout and it's owner's compassion for the working girl. They needed a safe place to work from; he gave it to them. He demanded legitimate proof of age -- he wasn't going to get arrested for allowing 16 and 17 years old to turn tricks out of his business -- and he demanded that they take care in who they service and where they do the deed. Once they were out the door, he knew they were on their own, but inside The Hideout, he cared for them as well as a father, or an older brother.

Well, maybe not, he thought with a smile. He checked out the faces of the working girls once more and just as easily as he could pull up information about them, he could recall having partook of their services, as well.

"I see Miko has caught your eye, Nick," he said softly, his words barely above the sound of the juke box playing some Top 40 song he heard again and again to the point of hearing it in his sleep. "Miko is ... well, let me put this way. Miko has expensive tastes."

When Nick looked back Bill's way, the bartender leaned in a bit closer and, confident that the man wasn't a Vice Cop, said, "And if you want a taste ... she's expensive."

Jake with Jessica, his apartment, Wednesday night:



"It’s easier being a whore than you’d think," Jessica told him with confidence. "I’m good at what I do and I can overcharge to make my money. Win, win."

Jake hoped the girl was not simply being modest. I hope you're better than good ... I hope you're the best.

It had been a long time since Jake had felt the pleasure of a woman, and while it was the opinion of many a man that any sex is good sex, Jake didn't want just any sex ... he wanted great sex!

He looked Jessica over for a long moment, hiding his lengthy stare with the raising and drinking from his glass of wine. Like the red liquid filling his mouth, she was absolutely intoxicating. He considered for a moment the unfairness of the world in that a man such as he couldn't at anytime, any place, approach a woman such as this and make known his attraction to her. Student-counselor, adult-child. It was bullshit; she was a child only in the eyes of the school board, which -- he knew -- would have him in the unemployment line tomorrow if they learned he was about to fuck one of their students, whether she was of the age of consent or not.

Jake turned the conversation back to the dinner, tossing out some more trivial facts about what he'd made and about the Culinary Arts night classes he'd taken a couple of years back, right there in the Harrison High building that the two of them went to five days a week.

They chatted a bit more while finishing their meal, before Jake invited Jessica to move to the couch with her wine. He cleared much of the table -- the items that needed to be put away in the fridge for safety, as his compulsion demanded -- the came in and joined her.

They chatted about nothing in particular -- at least, nothing that he would recall later -- before finally he simply couldn't take it anymore. "Jessica ... before ... before we move this to the bedroom ... I just want you to know that ... well, I respect you ... as a person ... as a woman ... as a student--" He cringed at bringing up that fact, the whole losing your job thing coming quickly back to him. "--and ... well, I ... I know that what I did ... taking the pictures ... and, well, black mailing you to come here tonight. Blackmailing you to..."

He glanced down to her breasts; he wasn't trying to be inconspicuous, nor did he want her to think to herself, Yeah, their boobs!, but was simply trying to ensure that she knew what he was talking about. She knows what you're talking about, you idiot ... continue! "Anyway ... I ... I'm hoping that maybe we can ... have a good time ... enjoy ourselves. Without hard feelings..."

He didn't know how she would react to his words, but he felt he needed to say them. He was in fact blackmailing her, and she would never have come to his apartment -- and would never in a million years fuck him -- if it weren't for that blackmail. He wasn't expecting the Girlfriend Experience; but he was hoping for something more than a very reluctant fuck.

He turned and glanced toward an open doorway, beyond which a dozen or more candles were illuminating his neatly made and already-turned-down bed. He looked back to Jessica, smiled nervously, and asked, "Shall we?"

Erin ("Abbey"), with Abbey; The Black Briar

Erin blushed and then laughed when Pamela told her that Cookie was the chef. "Oh I can't believe I missed that. First time I've heard of a chef named Cookie outside a 50's diner. Yeah, lets wait for the champagne but I didn't mean business, business, I meant," she raised her fingers and rubbed them together. "Business. I get paid before we play."

The way Pamela rambled was cute, but it was going to get in the way unless Erin did something. The bubbly would certainly help her loosen up but she was too tense.

As Pam begged her for her age Erin stood up and strode towards her. She kicked off her shoes and sent them off to a corner of the room as she reached up and began to pull her sweater off over her head. The thin steel blue garment pulled her hair up and spilled it back down over her shoulders as she rid herself of it. Her thin white button up blouse still covered her but like her skirt it was tight enough to make the button's taut. She cast the sweater into one of the chairs as she walked up to Pam and took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm eighteen darling. I'm legal, so no worries." She ran her free hand down the silky material of Pamela's cocktail dress, letting it rest on the swell of her hip. "I'm also not going anywhere. So go get whatever you need and come back here. I'll be waiting and then we'll have some real fun. No pressure, just fun. And later on we can make use of the shower. I do love taking showers with beautiful women, when everything is so nice and... slippery," she ended with a hiss.

She turned and walked to the bathroom, swaying her hips. "Just leave the money on my purse and hurry back."

Pamela, with Erin ("Abbey"):



Pamela watched the redhead -- the eighteen year old redhead -- disappear into the bathroom, then headed out and toward her own sleeping room on the second floor. What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing... repeated over and over in her head as she hurried down the hall, down the stairs, down another hall, and finally into the privacy of her own room, where she leaned back against the door, pressed her hands against her face, and screamed into them. My god, you horny, crazy, woman ... what the hell are you doing??

She looked about her little room, at its never changing decor and furnishings and tiny yet snugly twin mattress bad and told herself, This is you, not that!. That, of course was the idea of having sex with another woman. Not just another woman ... a half-her-age, beautiful, sexy, whore! She shook her head in amazement; how was it that in one breath -- or, since she wasn't talking to anyone, not even herself, in one thought -- she could both call Abbey a whore, a derogatory term, no matter its context, and call her beautiful and sexy at the same time.

The contradiction was simple to understand: Pamela knew this was wrong, at least in the eyes of every one who knew her and, if word got out, would chastise her for it; and yet she knew it was so right at the same time. Abbey ... was ... beautiful ... and sexy ... and young ... and, of course, female ... and the thought of being with her, while it seemed to terribly wrong, was the reason that as she pulled the hem of her dress up, she found her panties absolutely soaked!

My god, change! she screamed in her mind, quickly shedding her dress and her under clothes and rushing to her dresser, digging through it for something appropriate ...

Oh... She slowed her search ... then laughed, almost hysterically. She was looking for something appropriate; she was, to her surprise, looking for something sexy! She wanted to impress Abbey. She wanted Abbey to look at her and see what she saw when she looked at Abbey -- a sensual, beautiful woman that she just had to make love to without another seconds notice.

Make love...? They weren't going to make love; they were going to have sex. They were going to ... what? What are we going to do? Pamela suddenly realized that, aside from a few racy scenes in R-rated movies, she had no idea what sex between two women was all about. She didn't watch porn; she didn't read slutty romance novels; and her only experience with another woman was on a camping trip at age 13 when her same-age cousin -- already a slut because she'd let a boy touch her boobs -- had attempted to teach her how to French Kiss but instead had simply giggled and laughed endless with her until their respective mothers told them to shut up and go to sleep.

What are we going to do...? Pamela dug through her drawers, eventually finding the undergarments she thought would look good on her; then, hurrying to the closet, donned the first blouse and skirt she could find. She slipped into sandals and turned to head back out -- then froze. Something was missing...

She was so excited -- emotionally, sexually, yearning to get back to Abbey -- that she was missing something. What is it? What is it?? She flung the door open; she wanted to get back to Abbey ... she wanted to get back to Abbey ... the prostitute.

Her stomach turned over. Money. How much did she say? Three hours was ... no, a night ... a night was ... my god, are you really spending a thousand dollars to get laid? Hell, you're not even getting laid! You're getting ... what ...? What are you getting?

She closed the door, and turned to again look about her room ... her little room. Her little room, that was the center of her little life ... her little life that included no adventure, no excitement, no change, no ... no nothing. A smile spread across her lips. She moved to her dresser, opening the bottom drawer and pulling the wad of bills out from inside a pair of mittens.

She donned a long, Spring coat, checked the hall for eyes, and made her way back to the third floor ... back to her adventure, her excitement, her change. She found the champagne and a tray of snacks sitting on an unfolded stand; Lois must have knocked and received no answer, leaving the tray behind as was policy in a hotel that often played host to newlyweds and other lovers.

Pamela drew a deep breath and released it slowly, pushed open the door, lifted the tray, and entered the Winter Room, hoping that the events to follow would be hot enough to make her consider changing the suite's name to the Summer room instead...

Nick with Bill at the Hide out

-Nick nods his head and spots his fellow drinkers putting straws on there glasses was it the signal or something? nick took a straw and put 2 on top of his glass trying to one up the fellow patrons he looked to bill and lowered his voice.-

"i think i can handle it Bill Miko seem's to be worth it."-he said as he looked her way once more and fiddles with a straw in his mouth gnawing on it.The Air was cooler now and the day was almost over he wanted to get layed and he would pay for it it was not below him.-