"Blondes Have More Fun" (A Chapter from THSHC)

[CutiePie1997]

"Blondes Have More Fun"

A Chapter From
"The High School Hookers Club"

NOTE:
This thread begins with an edited version of
this post from "THSHC".
You can start here where you are now
if you are already following our Story and up to date;
or you can start at the beginning of THSHC
at the first link above at the top.​

Sitting in her favorite coffee café just a couple of blocks from her home in Malibu, Pamela had been talking quietly with Tyler, a Harrison High teacher and coach who had recently also become her lover and prospective muscle for her burgeoning prostitution ring. They had been discussing the future of the Baker Cousins, a pair of 19 and 18 year old blood cousins who, in addition to being one another's incestuous lovers, had expressed an interest in becoming Pamela's newest paid sex providers.

Pamela had been explaining that -- with the exception of one of them having lost her virginity to a boy some years ago -- neither Julie or Kimberly had been with a guy for years and, therefore, might benefit from some training by Tyler, who had so skillfully rocked Pamela's world a week prior. Unfortunately, neither of the girls was protected against pregnancy yet, a must for Pamela to even consider the girls for the Club. So she was telling the now 38 year old Tyler, "Remember back in your high school days, when you were just finally getting a new girl friend out of her clothes for the first time ... but, because it was the first time for one of you ... maybe both of you ... she wasn't on the pill and you hadn't thought to bring a condom? And as much as you wanted ... even begged her to take a chance, because every one knows you can't get pregnant the first time, right...?"

Pamela had laughed loudly at the insanity of believing such a thing, then continued, "So, here you are, naked together and burnin' up with lust ... and you don't dare fuck her. So ... what do you do?"

Turning from the hypothetic situation of years past to the potential night of fun with the Baker Cousins, Pamela told Tyler, "Do what you can. Do what you want. Do what ever they want. Just don't fuck'em."

That was when she heard a laugh escaped from a nearby booth. She turned to find the source, and her heart skipped a beat. She turned back to Tyler and -- gesturing him to leave -- whispered, "You might want to split."

She picked up her mug of coffee, stood, and curled around to sit at the booth behind her across from a Harrison High class mate, Chelsea Monroe. They stared at one another for a moment, and -- after she saw in the corner of her eye Tyler exiting to safety -- Pamela asked with a bit of mixed suspicion and accusation, "What're you doing here?"

Pamela had no reason to believe that Chelsea had followed either her or Tyler. Why would the teen do such a thing after all? It had to be coincidence, right? No. It was no coincidence...

 

[CarnivalBarker]

"Hey bitch, what's up?" Rose Hanford asked as she approached her friend's locker.

"What's up with you?" Chelsea asked, glancing down the hallway as the students cleared out for their assorted afternoon activities, sports, and hobbies. "What's the plan for this weekend?" She asked. Rose gave a sigh.

"I'm grounded."

"What did you do this time?" Chelsea inquired, prompting Rose to roll her eyes, giving no further response. Chelsea laughed, imagining she had been caught with a boy or possibly she had stolen her father's liquor from his bar for some party she had attended, trying to impress, well....probably a boy.

"Nevermind," Chelsea's friend said. "I'm going to sneak out. Let's go to Prince's." Chelsea considered her options. Prince's was risky. She would need to break out her somewhat sketchy fake ID and hope they could get in without notice. In the event some bouncer found them suspicious, they could be at risk and put in the awkward position of having to perform "favors" for the bouncer or manager, or risk them calling the police. Such a circumstance had never happened to her, but the rumors of such things had been passed along from students to younger students for years. Typically, Chelsea would play it safe, opting to hang out in places that wouldn't be so problematic, usually house parties, or a group date at some local restaurant where they could get a friend working there to sneak them a beer or a free appetizer. She was a good girl, but at the same time, she was not beyond reproach, and Prince's was the best, in fact only, dance club that getting in at 18 was an actual option.

"Let's do it," she said, perking up Rose instantly.

"Great. You have to drive though. I can't get my car out because my dad will have my keys." Chelsea laughed again and agreed to be the chauffeur for the evening. Rose suddenly changed the subject.

"Have you ever known Pamela Dryer to like government?" Rose asked.

"What?" Chelsea asked, confused. She barely knew Pamela, and they didn't exactly run in the same crowds. However, they also weren't enemies and at best were simply someone that shared an occasional class and had since 6th grade. But Harrison Prep wasn't large, and so she of course knew the girl, though she had no idea about any interest she might have in civics. Rose nodded toward the end of the hallway.

"I saw her heading into Mr. Boggs' class after hours the other day," the girl shrugged. "I just thought it was weird." It was Chelsea's turn to shrug. Mr. Boggs was attractive. She had his class during her sophomore year, but had not had him since. It wouldn't be unlikely for a girl to find him alluring, whether it was Rose, Pamela, or even....herself. But Rose was a drama queen. It could be anything and was most likely nothing. She filed it away and skipped off to the field house to get ready for football practice, where she remained a trainer for at least another few weeks.

"Shout at me later," she said to Rose, thinking little else of the conversation, unaware that it would rise in her mind later.

*****​

Two nights later, Chelsea stepped into the lobby of the Virken Hotel, a regal location that had been created in the 1930s, sat vacant for nearly 20 years through the 90s and early 2000s, only to be bought by Hilton and restored to its elegant, Golden-Age-of-Hollywood-Era best. The restaurant was among the best in the city, expensive for a professional, much less her boyfriend, Brantley James. But the boy had saved his money and tried hard to impress her, and here they were, deciding between steak and seafood, and trying hard to look like they belonged when they clearly were out of their depth.

"This is really nice," she said, giving a nice smile.

"Yeah," Brantley said. Chelsea scanned his face for any other response. "You want to share something?" The boy asked. Chelsea brushed a stand of hair behind her ear. She knew the dinner would be a stretch for him, and she knew he was asking for a way to not break his, rather small, account. She forced a bit more of a smile.

"Sure," she said. "You pick." As the boy continued to peruse the menu, Chelsea raised her eyes and saw a figure she thought she recognized enter the hotel's grand entrance, followed by one she did not. "I'm going to run to the restroom." She began to get up.

"Huh?" Brantley looked up as she stood. She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"I'll be right back."

"Uh, okay," he replied. She grinned to herself as she walked toward the entrance. Her boyfriend was sweet, but he was such a boy. She had only flirted with the occasional college boy, and men in general - not boys - intrigued her. She let the thoughts glide away as she turned the corner where the girl she thought she saw had gone. As she did she caught a glimpse of a much older man she did not recognize escorting a girl she knew into an elevator. Pam Dryer. She recalled Rose's mention of Pamela and Mr. Boggs. The intrigue of these two events raised Chelsea's interest. There were a lot of possibilities, many of them not so wholesome. She filed this too away, before continuing to the restroom, fixing up her makeup, and returning to the date she knew would result in disappointment and a more disappointing blowjob in a car parked in a park somewhere before going home.

*****​

Perhaps a day or so later, Chelsea stepped into a nearby coffee shop on her way back home from a mid-day yoga class. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she felt cute in her gym clothes, but ready to get home, clean up, and handle any number of things on her plate for the afternoon. She ordered and received an iced chai and turned toward the exit. As she did, she saw Mr. Boggs sitting at the far corner of the restaurant, the petite, brunette figure of Pamela Dryer sitting and facing him, away from Chelsea. The girl tilted her face low toward the ground, as if doing so alone would make her invisible. She then snuck into a booth with her back toward the table where Pam and Mr. Boggs sat, though close enough she could listen in to the conversation. Her jaw dropped at the blatant language and descriptions of Julie and Kimberly Baker, the experiences and intimate knowledge Pamela had learned about them, and then what sounded like instructions at most and permission at best to do things no teacher should likely do.

"Do what you can. Do what you want," Pamela said. "Do what ever they want. Just don't fuck'em." Chelsea gave a quick laugh before stifling it. She couldn't imagine the Baker girls being chaste, and she couldn't imagine Pamela being a matchmaker of any sort. At the same time, she was intrigued. Suddenly, the conversation went silent and Chelsea waited for them to resume their conversation, hoping she could sneak away. Before she could, however, Pamela slipped into her view, standing at her own booth now. Chelsea looked back over her shoulder and she saw no sign of Mr. Boggs.

"What're you doing here?" Pamela asked. Chelsea gave a demure grin, feeling the power rush into her being, feeling she had an upper hand, though yet unaware of just what she had stumbled into.

"Well," she began. "I'm having coffee," she lifted her cup to show the drink she had bought. "Why don't you sit down and tell me what you're doing here....with Mr. Boggs? And how it involves the Baker girls?" She raised one eyebrow before dropping the hammer. "And who the guy was at the Virken?" She took another sip. "Doesn't seem like it's me who should explain myself."

 

[CutiePie1997]

Pamela wasn't the panicky type when faced with situations like the one she could already see unfolding. But, that didn't mean she wouldn't have backed up time an hour if she'd had the chance.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me what you're doing here....with Mr. Boggs?

Pamela had hoped her classmate hadn't noticed the teacher sitting across from her. Strike one. Calmly and, she thought, convincingly, Pamela responded, "He's helping me with a paper--"

"And how it involves the Baker girls?"

Strike two, and ... so much for the convincingly part. Pamela drew a slow, deep breath as she tried to recall just how colorful her discussion about the Cousins had been with Tyler. Was there anyway to spin this as being innocent? Not a chance in hell. Pamela had given the teacher -- whose age was equal to the two students' combined ages -- very specific, very erotic instructions on what he could to do with them in bed ... and Chelsea had obviously heard enough of it to have the high ground.

"And who the guy was at the Virken?"

Strike three ... high ground to Chelsea.

Pamela had thought she'd seen Chelsea at the landmark hotel that night, just out of the corner of her eye. But everything about the Virken screamed dolla' bills, and while Chelsea wasn't poor white trash, she also wasn't the type to be carrying around the kind of cash necessary just to park your car with the valet in a place like that. Now, though, Pamela realized she'd been right ... and that she should have been more careful about being seen heading for the elevator with a 55 year old lobbyist in town to schmooze up to the Governor.

"Doesn't seem like it's me who should explain myself."

Pamela realized she had two options. First, walk away and leave the girl with little more than her suspicions ... about Pamela, about Mister Boggs, about the man in the $2000 dollar suit. Or second, be honest -- with no witnesses, of course -- and just see what the fuck happened afterward.

She gestured to the barista for seconds of both of their drinks, then slipped into the booth opposite Chelsea. She studied the girl for a moment, marveling at how her face could seem so young and innocent in one light and so mature and exotic in another. Pamela had often contemplated which of her many attractive classmates could make a killing in her chosen career of sexual service; and while she'd decided that most would never succeed -- for one reason or another -- she'd actually seriously thought that Chelsea was one young woman who could probably pull it off. Well, if, of course, she was inclined to open both of her pairs of lips for the purpose of pleasuring strangers for cash money.

Of course, Pamela had never pursued such thoughts of enticing other girls into her business ... until now. With Harvey wanting to sell the house in which she'd lived most of her teens, it was now or never for Pamela to put together a stable of girls. Could she make enough off her own income and her commission off the other Girls to pay the $4,000 a month that her patriarch wanted to let her remain on the property? Eying Chelsea closely and recalling what she knew about the blonde's fondness for older males, Pamela thought to herself If I had a club of about a dozen of you, you nosy, sexy fucking bitch ... yeah ... yeah, I could.

"Mister Boggs helped me out of a ... sticky situation a couple of weeks ago," Pamela began, deciding to share some of the truth of her relationship to the teacher with the other teen. "I was on a date that got ... physical ... and not in the good way. Tyler ... Mister Boggs ... happened to be in the same establishment ... and he kindly stepped in to let the guy know that a gentleman didn't treat a lady that way."

Pamela paused as the barista arrived with the drinks, asked if there was anything more they needed before the shop closed, then left with the twenty Pamela gave her to cover the drinks for each of them.

"As far as the man you saw me with at the Virken," Pamela continued, pausing to sip at her hot drink and select her words. Fuck it, she thought before telling Chelsea, "He was in town for the night ... and was eager for some company. Female company."

Pamela let the statement dance about in Chelsea's mind for a moment before erasing any potential misunderstanding by saying bluntly, "For which he paid me a thousand dollars."

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Chelsea's eyes grew wide at first before her mind caught up with her initial reaction. She didn't know Pamela well, but didn't think she was stupid. Was she trying to get her to race off and spread some rumor that would ultimately come back to bite her? Was she simply playing some game that would amuse herself? But if so, why do it at the possible risk of her reputation? Fact was that Chelsea had seen her with a much older man at the Virken. Fact was that she had only moments ago seen her and heard her having some conversation in which she effectively told Mr. Boggs he could play with the Baker girls. In under a second, Chelsea processed all of these thoughts and combined them with her simple natural instincts developed over her eighteen natural years. She had grown up the only daughter in a household of five, and while her brothers were typically allowed to be boys, focus on sports, and girlfriends, she had felt sheltered since she was a little girl. Her mother had entered her in assorted childhood pageants and groomed her for "stardom," which culminated in an appearance as a child model for some throwaway Today show segment when she was eight, as well as a series of local commercials for a family auto dealership when she was twelve. As she grew older, events took over, prompting her parents to shelter her more than the boys, frustrating her sensibilities even as she was largely given everything she wanted. Unlike her brothers, however, she was rarely allowed out of her parents' stern sight, and she was limited in her worldliness. She was also no virgin, but she couldn't say that Brantley either fully satisfied her or had yet worn her out. He was simply a boy that was at the apex of the markets of who she wanted to date and who her parents said was okay to date. Mr. Boggs was nice to look at. And the guy at the Virken even looked both handsome and well to do. Chelsea saw an opportunity to either call Pamela's bluff and satisfy her further curiosity, or in the alternative become involved in something both perhaps intriguing and lucrative.

"I don't believe you," she said, playing her first card. "But maybe that doesn't matter to you." She ran her finger along the edge of her cup. "But let's say I did believe you and felt it necessary to report, say......Mr. Boggs," her green eyes glanced up at the girl across the table. "What's in it for me if I don't?"

 

[CutiePie1997]

"I don't believe you..."

Pamela wasn't surprised by Chelsea's response. An 18 year old classmate tells you she spent the night with a middle aged, out-of-town stranger who paid her $1000 for her company...? What's not to believe, right?

"But maybe that doesn't matter to you."

Pamela wasn't sure how to response to that, so she didn't. Was it better to leave Chelsea's mind running the gambit of possibilities -- truths, lies, the in-between -- or was it better for Pamela to prove that she was a whore. Well, that didn't seem to have an upside to it at all, so...

Chelsea hesitated a moment, playing her finger along the edge of her cup before asking...

"But let's say I did believe you and felt it necessary to report, say......Mr. Boggs. What's in it for me if I don't?"

"Nothing," Pamela said without hesitation. Pamela sipped at her own mug of hot liquid, then continued in a tone that was matter-of-fact in nature yet not overly confrontational, seeing how she wasn't looking for a fight with her classmate but possibly an opportunity. Recalling more accurately what Chelsea could have overheard earlier, she explained, "You have nothing to report concerning Mister Boggs. A classmate of yours, namely me ... met with a teacher in a public place to discuss a paper he is helping her to write ... and during that conversation, the student ... namely me again, did something entirely inappropriate. She ... that would be me ... suggested to said teacher that a couple of her fellow students had the hots for him ... and if he was so inclined to spend some time with these of age students, they would probably do so ... except ... that neither of them is on the pill ... so ... he couldn't fuck'em unless he wanted little Tylers popping out in the local maternity ward before school's end."

Pamela lifted her mug again, sipped, and said in a soft tone, "That's what you have to report. A student did something wrong. That's it."

A pair of college age boys Pamela knew from down the shore came into view and, seeing Pamela and her very attractive friend came over to say hello. Pamela made introductions, then -- smirking evilly -- asked, "Roger, Tim ... my friend here is contemplating entering the escort business. Neither of us know anything about prostitution, of course--"

"And we do?" one of the guys asked, causing the other to playfully back slap his friend in the chest as he added laughing, "The amount of money you spend on that redheaded walking pair of tits you call a girlfriend, you might as well be paying for hookers."

Pamela laughed with the two, then continued, "So ... we're wondering, just how much would a man spend to enjoy a lovely night of dining, dance, and -- if she was inclined to continue onward -- some unbelievably enjoyable sex with my friend?"

The pair of them turned their full attention to Chelsea -- to her beautiful face, her shapely chest, her long legs -- and began talking over one another in a humorous discussion more about what they wouldn't give, while simultaneously searching their pockets and even flashing Gold Cards asking Pamela, "Would she take plastic?"

"Go away you dirty bastards," Pamela laughed, shooing them off. They laughed, repeated their delight at meeting Chelsea -- Tim even left his business card on the table winking to the blonde before adding, "Just in case" -- and the two headed out as Pamela called out an invite, "My place, Saturday barbeque. Be there or I'll hunt you down."

Once they were out of ear shot, Pamela looked back to her booth mate. "You asked what was in it for you if you didn't report Mister Boggs ... and, presumably, my invitation for him to fuck the Baker Cousins. Nothing. As I said, there's nothing in it for you. However ... I do have something else for you..."

She glanced the direction in which the two good looking 20-somethings had disappeared, then looked back to Chelsea. "They may have been playing earlier ... having fun with you ... but ... men like that ... men with money, or -- in their case -- men whose daddy's have money ... they would pay a lot of money to spend time with you, Chelsea. Quality money ... for quality time."

 

[CarnivalBarker]

"Nothing," Pamela said. Chelsea sat silent, taken aback. Perhaps she had not calculated enough before revealing her knowledge of what she had seen.

"I'm listening," she said, indicating she wanted to hear more.

"You have nothing to report concerning Mister Boggs," Pamela continued. "A classmate of yours, namely me ... met with a teacher in a public place to discuss a paper he is helping her to write ... and during that conversation, the student ... namely me again, did something entirely inappropriate. She ... that would be me ... suggested to said teacher that a couple of her fellow students had the hots for him ... and if he was so inclined to spend some time with these of age students, they would probably do so ... except ... that neither of them is on the pill ... so ... he couldn't fuck'em unless he wanted little Tylers popping out in the local maternity ward before school's end." Chelsea watched as the girl across from her took a sip of her coffee before wrapping everything in a big bow for her to ponder. "That's what you have to report. A student did something wrong. That's it." Chelsea crossed her arms, miffed.

"Bullshit," she said, nearly pouting at her seeming failure. Just then, the girls were approached by some guys Chelsea did not know. Her eyes grew slightly wide as she batted them upward at the boys now standing over their table. They were attractive. Older. Pamela introduced them to her before posing a question of Chelsea's prospective service as an escort. "No....uh....I'm not," Chelsea began to protest as Pam continued.

"Neither of us know anything about prostitution, of course--" the girl brought Chelsea's blood pressure back to normal, her poker face having failed her. The boys made some dumb boy jokes as Chelsea gathered herself. Pamela moved the discussion forward. "So ... we're wondering, just how much would a man spend to enjoy a lovely night of dining, dance, and -- if she was inclined to continue onward -- some unbelievably enjoyable sex with my friend?" Chelsea was curious to hear the answer, crossing her arms once more, defensive though interested to know.

"Would she take plastic?" One of the boys asked, causing her to laugh. Typical boys, she thought. Pamela sent them away, both she and Chelsea watching carefully as Tim, the taller of the two, made a point to put his business card on the table, leaving Chelsea with a wink that she met with a smile. Chelsea grabbed the card and tapped it on the table, just before Pamela invited the boys to her place on Saturday.

"What was that about?" Chelsea asked, referring to the party and hoping only for an invite, her thoughts moving on from talk of prostitution among her boy-crazy thoughts of the guy who had just tried to make a move.

"You asked what was in it for you if you didn't report Mister Boggs," Pamela brought her attention back to the darker topic at hand. "As I said, there's nothing in it for you. However ... I do have something else for you..."

"What?" Chelsea asked. Pamela seemed to make a conspiratorial pitch, her voice seeming lower than before.

"They may have been playing earlier," she began. "But men like that ... men with money, or -- in their case -- men whose daddy's have money ... they would pay a lot of money to spend time with you, Chelsea. Quality money ... for quality time." Chelsea raised one eyebrow and a shiver ran through her entire nervous system at the thought. She felt herself grow wet beneath her yoga pants. She couldn't believe she found herself in this strange place. At the same time, she knew what she wanted to do.

"Okay," she said, her voice growing lower as well. "Tell me what needs to be done and I'll do it. What are the rules?" She wanted in. There was something in it for her after all.

 

[CutiePie1997]

Pamela hadn't expected recruitment to proceed like this for members to The High School Hookers Club, the playful little name she'd been using in her own thoughts as she planned for her new harem of whores. She'd already landed Lilly; and she had some other girls from school in her sights; but to be inviting into the Club in this way, so openly, a girl like Chelsea -- who, honestly, Pamela had never really liked that much -- was just ... unexpected.

As was the girl's response...

"Okay ... Tell me what needs to be done and I'll do it. What are the rules?"

Pamela couldn't help but smile -- just a bit, not broadly -- at the development. Yet, inside, she also knew she was taking a chance. Her own personal escort business had been built on quiet referrals: one client sent a new prospective one her way, and Pamela either took on the new client or politely found a way to not do so. It involved very little risk of her being called a whore and thus going to jail for solicitation because she rarely if ever talked money with a man she didn't trust not to betray her with exposure.

In this case, she'd talked openly with two 20-something men about her friend wanting to become an escort, which -- even though she'd made it seem a prank -- would most definitely give the two guys the thought that she, too, was in the business should she make a lust connection between them and Chelsea.

But, the ground work had begun. Chelsea had Tim's card in her hands, and the two men -- who had or could easily get money -- wouldn't hesitate to put out some dough to get between the blonde's legs ... or have her head between their own. Pamela would go about recruiting Chelsea in a different way, to protect herself while still bringing her into the business.

"As I told the guys," Pamela began, "I'm having a barbeque Saturday. You're invited ... obviously. Wear something sexy but not overly so. Short shorts or short skirt ... a top, something cropped, to show off your belly. You know the drill."

And Pamela knew Chelsea did. For as long as the former had known the latter, guys had flocked about Chelsea. She was very popular, and part of that was that she knew how to make her incredible body look even more incredible with tantalizing outer wear. The girl was sexy, and she knew how to flaunt that sexy.

"Bring a couple of bikinis, too. A sexy one piece with a sarong is good for walking about ... heels, but remember, it's a wet deck around a pool ... and a sandy beach. And a little thong bikini."

A lot of what Pamela was telling Chelsea may have sounded unnecessary. But the blonde wasn't just going to a party where she could do what ever she wanted. She was going to be working ... and for Pamela. So, the brunette wanted to make sure that the other girl was ready to get the job done, which led to Pamela glancing downward as if looking to Chelsea's groin before saying, "And make sure you've got your business down there taken care of. A boyfriend might forgive a little stubble, but a client won't."

Pamela reached into her purse and withdrew a business card, slipping it across to Chelsea. It had a woman's name and a phone number on it, but no more. "Call her, make an appointment. Drop my name, and she'll be able to see you tomorrow, maybe the next day. She's the best."

A pair of beach bums passed by, making lewd comments that Pamela only smiled at before turning her attention back to Chelsea. "As far as the rules go..."

This was where the rubber met the road, as Harvey -- a fast car enthusiast -- had often said to her. Either Chelsea went along with this or not, and either way it would be the beginning or the end of their business relationship. "I set the prices ... and I take 20% ... 30 if it's on my property, which this weekend it will be because you are not going to work for me outside my home until I know I can trust you."

Although the words sounded confrontational, Pamela's tone wasn't. She sounded as if she might have been hiring a barista for this very coffee shop, not hiring a hooker for a prostitution ring. She continued after looking about for eavesdroppers, "A quick fick'n'suck with a client like Tim ... an hour, using protection ... will cost him $300 ... you net two ten. If all goes well, you'll earn more and keep more the next time ... or times if you keep on keepin' on."

She waited to see what Chelsea's reaction to the rules was.