Chapter 6

I could not get to sleep. I tossed and turned and fussed and fumed and got the hot sheets all knotted up around my naked body, but it was no use. The sandman was off somewhere on other calls.

I knew what was wrong. I wanted to fuck some more. The more cock I got, the more I wanted. And my old kid games of diddling myself into a come, and then falling off to sleep, had zero appeal for me. I was growing up too fast!

Maybe Jack is still awake, I thought. So what if he was my own brother! He had a neat cock and I'll bet I could get him to put it in me. I snuck down the hall on pussycat feet and pushed his bedroom door open. He was sprawled out naked, snoring like mad. His limp cock was hidden under both hands. Guess how he'd gotten to sleep? On the bed beside him was a girlie book, all crumpled and soggy looking. Oh, shit! He'd be grumpy if I woke him up, I knew for sure. Brothers are brothers. I swiped his magazine and took it back to my bedroom with me. Thank fortune it had some stories in it. The naked pussy shots didn't do much for me. Mine looked better anyway, I thought.

I pulled my bed lamp over close to me and looked for a bedtime story to read myself to sleep with. The one with a muscular stud holding his stiff cock, on the lead-in page, looked as good as any. He had a mirror in his bedroom, too. I fluffed my pillows and began to read.

Brad Clark viewed his image in the full length mirror. Carefully. Soberly. "Not too bad," he said aloud. "But not too good, either." The expensive suit fit like paper on the wall. His tanned skin had a healthy glow. That slight suggestion of grey at the temples was just right. The mirror picked up the rich finish of the office furnishings reflected behind him. The deep pile maroon rug and the gold drapes completed the picture of The Successful Executive. But Brad felt no particular glow of satisfaction. True -- he'd come a long way since he'd first put the deal together. And it was a simple business. Just supply what the customers wanted, run a tight ship, and the money flowed in. "Then why," Brad asked his reflection, "haven't these slacks felt the pressure of a decent erection in over a week?"

He pushed aside the drapes of his tower suite and stood moodily by the window, gazing at the lights of Reno spread out below. There had to be leaks in the system. The customers still flowed in and out of his "place of business", as he wryly referred to it, but the take at the end of the week kept dipping lower and lower. His investors had already given him warning -- up the profits or get out. And he knew they'd never let him leave in good health. He would just be quietly and completely removed from the scene. "Hell, I won't find the answers standing here and staring out this window," Brad muttered to himself. "Got to get out of here. Go someplace. Anyplace. Get my mind off the whole mess. I'll get a broad." He suddenly grinned. "And then what, Brad baby? Think you'll remember how? It has been a while..."

No time like the present. Brad stacked up the ledgers he'd been puzzling over, jammed them into the wall safe and headed for his Cad in the basement garage. He knew just where he was going -- a place he'd heard of out beyond the edge of town. No matter what happened, the evening wouldn't be wasted.

The neon sign blazed a one-word message into the desert night. "Sally's". Brad parked the Cad on the smooth blacktop surrounding a square concrete block building and ambled over toward the heavy front door, squinting in the glare of two huge floodlights mounted on the roof. He could see the dim outline of a hunched figure in a chair behind the lights. A rifle barrel swung toward him as the guard checked over the visitor. "Not a bad idea," Brad thought to himself. "Walk steady and straight, or you're stopped right here. No drunks, no trouble."

He reached for the ornate iron knocker, but the door swung inward before his hand made contact.

"Good evening. I've been waiting for you."

"Just for me?" Brad asked, smiling.

"Or someone like you," the blonde laughed. "Welcome to our little house and all its comforts. Come in and relax. If you can," she teased, slipping an arm around Brad and guiding him to the only unoccupied sofa in the huge room. Brad felt a warm hand on his leg as she nestled up to him. "This your first time here?"

"Yes," Brad replied, feeling her exploring fingers give his pulse boost. "But I see two reasons why it shouldn't be my last."

She grinned, sliding the zipper of her red velvet blouse down a bit further to reveal the fullness of her milk-white breasts. "You can feel them. They're real." Her hand guided his over the swelling mounds, her nipples hardening quickly under his inquisitive fingers. "I think I'm ready. How about you?"

"This is a little fast for me," Brad smiled. "O.K.. if I look around a bit?"

"Sure. When the urge gets stronger, just ask for Melissa." She gave his crotch an affectionate squeeze and drifted away through the crowd in the direction of the jukebox in the corner. Brad adjusted the bulge in his slacks and let his eyes rove over the customers and the girls. The place was full even though the hour was early. Someone with know-how put all this together, Brad thought as his eyes roved, over the packed room. The lights were just low enough. The music had a pulsing beat that moved the couples on the vest-pocket dance floor even closer together. A bald customer in a loud sports jacket was copping free feels on the sofa next to him, priming his pump for the night's action. Two Mutt and Jeff characters were talking earnestly to a tiny redhead, their hands busy under her short skirt, obviously pushing for a three-way party for the evening. Some weirdo had his choice up against the wall, trying to get her to stroke his exposed tool that looked like a riot club. She appeared less than enthusiastic about taking him on. As Brad watched the two with amusement, she caught his eye and made a wry face. Now that's not bad, Brad thought, taking in the way her satin gown clung to a lush figure that did more to spur his desire than had Melissa's warm hand on his cock. "Either it's her, or this super-charged atmosphere," Brad commented to himself, pushing through the crowd, "but I think she's what I came here for."

"Been looking all over for you, honey," he said, taking her arm and moving her toward the dance floor, leaving her would-be customer standing with his cock waving foolishly in the air.

"Thanks," she breathed softly, her arm encircling his neck as she pressed her soft body to him on the crowded floor. "I appreciate the rescue. That would have been too much to handle."

"Would a standard six by two be more to your liking?" Brad asked.

"Yes... even more if it were attached to a man like you. Why don't we go to my room."

"Lead the way..."

"Vickie," she smiled, revealing white teeth framed by a lush red mouth. "My room's down the hall."

Brad followed her full cheeks, undulating under the satin, down a long corridor past solid doors set in the block wall. "Mine's number twelve. In here." She closed the door and slid out of the gown with a practiced shrug. "Like what you see?"

Brad's gaze dropped from her oval face down the smooth column of her neck to two full breasts tipped with pink nipples beginning to stiffen and push toward him. The dark bush between her long thighs looked warm and inviting and Brad, could already feel her smoothly muscled legs pulling him deep into its depths.

"You don't need to answer," she smiled, her hands busy with his zipper. "I can tell you like everything you see. Me too. So far."

She filled a heavy porcelain basin with warm water and soaped his throbbing tool with warm inquisitive fingers, then rinsed him off and examined him closely. "Sorry," she shrugged. "House rules."

"And how do I know you're O.K.?" Brad asked.

"The house doc says so," she replied, gesturing toward a white card tacked to the wall above the washstand. "He checks all the girls three times a week. Any trouble and we're pulled off the roster. Let's get those bothersome clothes off shall we?"

As he undressed, Brad's mind clicked back to the reason for his night on the town, and he looked around the small room, really seeing it for the first time. It was functional, sparsely furnished, and completely without appeal -- especially after the heated atmosphere of the room he'd first entered. The walls were painted a pale yellow that did nothing to warm the light from a long florescent fixture in the ceiling. The bed was small. Clean. One chair. One washstand. There was no other furniture. Brad tossed his shorts on the chair. The damn room was a turn-off.

"What's the tariff for this entertainment?" he asked.

"Twenty bucks. Twenty minutes."

"And if I don't make it..."

"You'll make it."

"Don't be too sure," Brad replied, fishing two tens from his wallet in the pile of clothing. She slid the money into a slot on the washstand that he hadn't noticed before, and flicked a switch at the side of the stand. "Number twelve. In for twenty." There was a metallic hum, then a rasping male voice overrode the static. Brad's eyes narrowed as he took in a small grillwork set in the wall at the edge of the bed. "O.K.. Twelve. Time is on."

"What the hell was all that?" Brad asked angrily.

"Part of the system, honey," she answered. "We have to check in with Control. And check out. Don't blame me. I didn't design it. Come on to bed, lover." Brad eased his long frame onto the bed beside her, pulling her close to him, feeling her warm fingers close around him and begin their urgent teasing. He suddenly never felt less like screwing in all his life. "This place is a Goddamn fucking factory," he muttered, but he had to admire the efficiency of the setup. The pickup room had been just right, he recalled. The action out there would give a brass monkey the urge. But this room -- it was too cold and efficient. Theft wasn't possible -- the house got its money from the box in the stand, and there could be no overtime put in by anyone. He knew the medical checkout was necessary, and she hadn't handled it all that badly. Nor could he complain about the girl herself. Her body was warm to his touch, her attitude agreeable, and skill she didn't lack. He looked at his unresponsive tool in her hand and suddenly sat up on the bed.

"I can feel the damn minutes ticking off," he grunted. "I don't share your confidence about me making it under the wire. Got a vibrator?"

"No, lover. No frills here. Just straight screwing. House rules," she added quickly. "Aren't I enough?" She rolled him over on his back and sat astride him, her hips moving gently but insistently. She lifted both breasts to his mouth and teased his lips with their hard nipples. Her fingers rubbed his soft cock against the wetness between her legs. She suddenly stretched out full length on him, and reached for his mouth with trembling lips. "Please," she whispered. "You've got to make it. Control can listen to what goes on in here, anytime. It'll go on my record..."

Brad eased back and looked into two brown eyes that were brimming with hot tears. "What record?"

"They keep track of our performance. If business wasn't so steady and the money good I'd quit... I hate this place... this is only my third night here and already I'm getting strung out... I get turned on but never satisfied. If you can imagine what the frustration does to someone like me."

Brad looked up into the tear stained eyes, feeling a quick compassion for another human being with problems that made his own seem much less important. He pulled her close to him and stroked her soft back with gentle fingers, feeling her body tremble and her hips press against his. "Forget this damn system," he murmured. "Forget Control and that damn intercom and the lousy lights. Everyone's got troubles. They have to be put aside for moments like this."

She sighed and Brad could feel her tension easing. "You're right. Let's not think about trying to make it. It will happen. You know, you're quite a guy. What's a nice man like you doing in a place like this?"

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Brad grinned. "Let's just say I have some business troubles I'm trying to get off my mind for a while. I wish we'd met somewhere away from the antiseptic atmosphere of this place. Who knows what might have happened?"

Vickie traced circles in the halt on Brad's chest and said quietly, "I could tell you I have tomorrow night off. And I could give you a number that would reach me. I'm sure you'd be more up to the occasion at my place than in this factory as you call it."

"I'd like that!"

"You'll have my number before you go, but before you go, you have to come," she smiled.

"House rule?"

"House rule." They both laughed. Brad could feel himself responding to the touch of her hand. Vickie tried to cover his growing rod with both hands, without success. "What were you saying a while ago about a standard six by two?" she asked.

"I lied," Brad admitted cheerfully. "Are you angry?"

"The word is hungry," Vickie said softly. "Let's put this where it belongs." She eased him in. Slowly. Smoothly. "I can count your heartbeats, down there." She held him in a velvet grip, riding him gently, her arms sliding around his neck and her soft lips seeking his.

"You fill me so full," she breathed. "I..."

The rasp of the intercom filled the room. A bored mechanical voice said, "Twelve. Time's up."

"Oh, Christ," Brad groaned. "Tell that ass to get lost! Dig another twenty out of my wallet, shove it in that damn slot and get back here."

With shaking fingers, Vickie crammed the money into the washstand box. "Number Twelve. On for a repeat." The intercom clicked off. She slid back into bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face in a distracted fashion. "I'm sorry. They run this fucking place with no feeling at all..."

"It's the system, Vickie. All business in this town is hard..."

"But now you're not. And we had it going so good."

"Forget it. Think about tomorrow night. We have another full twenty minutes to get in on," Brad commented dryly. "Then the money's finished and so am I. No matter what."

He pulled her closer and kissed her. "Speaking of finishing -- how did you get started in this game? And I don't want to hear the story that's always rehearsed for the customers."

She reached out for his cock. "Grabbing a man built like this turns back the clock for me. You're hung just like the first man who made it with me. My own father."

"Your father! How..."

"I was only eleven. Didn't know a thing except that I felt good under my own fingers. He'd been banging my older sister pretty regularly. One night he came home stoned, picked the wrong bedroom, and got me. I don't think he even knew the difference. I was afraid to say anything to Mom, but my sister wasn't. She really dug getting it from the old man, and she resented him passing her up for even one night. She lost anyway, cause Mom had him put away for a long stretch. By the time he got out, I was grown and gone."

"And I remind you of him?"

"Only in the way you're built," Vickie replied. "He was the first, but I think you are going to be the best... and I'm no longer just eleven years old."

Her lips sought his and her strong legs crossed over his back, pulling him deep within her. She shuddered. Her hips began a circular motion, slowly, then faster and faster until the small bed set up a rhythmic protest. The yellow walls faded away and the cold light was forgotten as Brad rode out her storm. His climax followed hers by a split second. They lay gasping for breath on the damp sheet. "If you're this good now, in this crummy place," she breathed in his ear, "tomorrow night can't come soon enough for me!"

"Or me," Brad replied softly. He tried to stand up on suddenly weak legs, and fumbled into his clothes. "You need not see me out. I know the way."

"It's the least I can do for you," Vickie smiled. "Besides..."

Brad grinned. "I know! House rules."

Together they walked the long hall and into the nearly empty reception room. She touched a concealed button on the heavy door and the lock released with a firm click.

"I think this moment is the start of better times for both of us," Brad smiled. "I'll call you."

He fingered the slip of paper she'd given him, walking slowly through the soft night air to his waiting car. Inside, three pairs of female eyes searched his face and three voices poured out a torrent of questions... "What kept you so long, Boss?"

"Couldn't get it off, Brad?"

"You of all people?"

"What did she have that we don't have, and how do we get it?"

Brad eased into his seat and switched the engine into life. "Relax, girls. I've got it now. Tonight I've learned all I need to know to make our own little business run better than ever!"

I lay there, wide awake still, thinking about Brad and Vickie. The fact that a girl fucked for money didn't mean she wasn't a real human being too, with troubles like any woman. I sighed to myself. I needed someone like Brad -- right now. But where, at this hour of the early morning, was I going to find a hard cock?