Brothel: The Magnolia Diaries

by Anthology

  “I guess that’s it, there’s nothing more for me to say,” I whisper.

  We just stand there, my back to him. I close my eyes and wait for the sound of his feet to move across the floor, to open the door and leave, slamming it behind him. He lets out a sigh, and it shocks me when I feel his hands run from my shoulders down to my elbows with a soft caress.

  “I’m so far gone with you, that I don’t give a fuck about what you do,” he says softly against the back of my head.

  There’s a little flicker of life in my heart. No, he can’t be serious. I turn my head to show him my profile at the same moment he leans his head down, pressing his face against mine.

  “I love you Lisa, I can’t just pretend like I don’t…I don’t want to give you up, or give up on what I think we can have.”

  My body turns as I face him, his arms surrounding me as he places his hands on my back, and I blink up at him.

  “I need you to explain all this to me, the why’s, the how’s…I need to understand this part of you.”

  I swallow, not knowing what to say.

  “Are you a nympho?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.” I lift a shoulder. “I like sex a lot, sometimes I like that it’s with different people, because, I like different ways of sex.”

  “Do you like it though, or did it start out just for money?”

  The tenderness in his eyes, how he’s morphed from murderous rage, to tender caregiver in minutes, has my head spinning.

  “No, it’s always been for the sex. Until you, I thought it didn’t matter, that what I was doing really jaded me. I forgot how when I first started this, it hurt me after every client left. That I gave them something of mine that they didn’t think twice about. So, I stopped kissing them, stopped letting them go down on me. There was something in me telling me that they didn’t deserve the special things. Then, over time, I just stopped thinking about myself at all. The keeping things from you, I knew it wasn’t fair, and it gutted me to think of how it would make you feel. I’ve never had that Stone, I’ve never equated what I did with the negative impact it would have on the people in my life.”

  He takes a long look at me. “I know I can’t tell you what to do…but if this is what you need in your life, I’m sure me and my unicorn dick have enough confidence to handle it-”

  “I already quit,” I rush out.

  I see relief exit his body with a huge sigh, and that was the day, I stopped being a whore and began the journey to becoming Mrs. Unicorn Cock.

  The Specialist

  Written by BB Easton

  Copyright © 2017 BB Easton

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

  .

  Chapter One

  Carter

  Ever since I was sixteen I’ve been able to do what I want, who I want, when I want. My old man was a mean drunk with an even meaner right hook, so I left home and never looked back. Now I own my own landscaping company and am the head groundskeeper for a mansion full of half-naked hotties.

  Life is pretty damn good.

  I’ve never actually been inside the Magnolia House. The paranoid bastard who owns it keeps it locked up tighter than Fort Knox. In fact, I’ve never even seen the guy. Marcus Devereux. He pays me electronically and only communicates through email. I didn’t think much of it until summer rolled around and I started seeing a revolving door of perfect fucking tens in skimpy string bikinis hanging out by the pool, catering to fat sacks of shit all day. Obviously, this place is some kind of playground for the rich and pasty.

  Too bad I’m tan and broke.

  But, at least I get a good show while I’m busting my ass in the hot Mississippi sun. Keeping the property up to Marcus’s unrealistic expectations is a full-time job, and it’s one that I hope never ends. I come and go as I please. I get to work outdoors. I’ve got enough cash in my pocket to party every night, and the Airstream trailer I live in down the road is paid for in full.

  I thought I had it all, until she stomped into my life.

  I was trimming the hedges that lined the pool area, sweating my ass off and blasting Pierce the Veil through my headphones, when I looked up and saw a girl walking a bloated, bald, butt naked motherfucker on all fours like a dog. That shit made me do a triple take. I knew the girls at the Magnolia were freaky—I’d seen my fair share of poolside sexacapades—but this bitch was freaky with a capital F followed by a U, C, K, Y, O, and a U.

  For one, the whole side of her head was buzzed short, there was a lightning bolt shaved into it, and what was left of her cheekbone-length hair was dyed bright fucking green. She was also wearing knee-high motorcycle boots—in the middle of summer—with nothing else on but ripped fishnet stockings, a pair of little boys’ Batman underwear, a furry hot pink bikini top, and what looked like a military-issued army-green Kevlar vest with shit scrawled all over it in black marker. Even though she was tiny, she walked like a badass and had obviously made some middle-aged millionaire her bitch.

  It was love at first sight.

  I didn’t even try to pretend like I wasn’t staring. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to. I watched with my fucking jaw hanging open as Green-Haired Girl stomped across the yard toward me, dragging her prized potbellied pig behind her on a leash. When she got to the end of the row of hedges (that I was in the process of fucking up beyond repair), she yanked on the poor bastard’s choke chain so hard he damn near came off the ground.

  I couldn’t hear what she was yelling at him over the wail of electric guitars in my ears, but the man kept his eyes on the ground, nodded once, then lifted his leg and fucking pissed on my bushes. I hadn’t even trimmed those ones yet, goddamn it.

  She may have been wearing Batman underwear, but that girl grinned at me like the motherfucking Joker. And she had the green hair to match.

  Then, with another yank of the leash, she was gone.

  I tried to finish my job, but I couldn’t get that damn girl out of my head. I’d lived in that town my whole life and I’d never seen some shit like that. Like her. She looked like all my favorite things rolled into one—sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, and DC motherfucking comics.

  All the bitches I brought home were poor white trash who could barely even get my dick hard anymore. But that girl? That girl could’ve walked me on a leash through a bed of hot coals if it meant I’d get to stick my dick in her afterward.

  Unable to concentrate, I shut off my hedge trimmer and set it down, chunking my headphones on top of it. I tore off my soaked T-shirt, used it to wipe the sweat off my face, then added it to the pile and headed straight towards the house. I didn’t know what I was going to find inside, or if I even could get inside, but I had to try. I wasn’t gonna be able to think straight until I saw that crazy bitch again.

  The back of the mansion was three stories tall with two curved staircases leading from the second-floor deck to the pool area—one on each side. I could see from where I stood that the main door out to the deck had a coded lock box on it, just like the one on the front door, so I didn’t even bother going up. Instead I followed a trail of paving stones to the patio under the deck, and bingo. There was a door in the far corner that had been left totally unlocked. I wondered if Green-Haired Girl did it on purpose.

  The inside was a spider web of hallways lined with closed, locked doors—moans coming from behind some of them. After a few lucky turns, I eventually found a marble staircase that took me to the main entrance of the house. The floors up there were marble, too. The ceilings were ten feet high. The moldings were ornate. The chandeliers were crystal, and the woman proppe
d against the banister in the front entryway must have been the black widow at the center of the web.

  She had black hair, wore black lipstick, and her tits were practically popping out of her silky black excuse for a dress. But instead of a red hourglass on her chest, she wore a lacy red mask across her eyes. If Green-Haired Girl was The Joker, this lady was motherfucking Spider Woman.

  As soon as she saw me round the corner Spider Woman arched an eyebrow at me from behind her lacy little mask. Her eyes raked over my sweaty chest, and I saw a ghost of a smile play on her lips.

  I know how I look, and I use it to my advantage. Often. My job keeps me built and tan, my lack of fucks keeps my brown hair shaggy and longer than any corporate job would approve of, and my beauty queen mama gave me a face the bitches can’t resist.

  “I do believe you must be lost. The grounds are out there, groundskeeper.” Spider Woman flicked her eyes to the front door. Her tone was cold, but teasing.

  I flashed her my best panty-melting smile, not that she was wearing any, and said, “I’m looking for Marcus Devereux. Do you know where I can find him?”

  “No one sees Mr. Devereux without an appointment, but perhaps I can help you with something. Like your pants? It would appear as though you didn’t have any trouble with your shirt,” Spider Woman smirked.

  Oh, I liked her.

  I thought about lying and telling her I needed to order more mulch or some shit, but I knew she’d just tell me to email Marcus. From the look of her, this woman knew exactly how to get me what I wanted. In fact, I was pretty sure it was her job.

  “The girl with green hair,” I said, “I want to….”

  …fuck her brains out.

  “…meet her.”

  The cackle that escaped her full black lips sent chills down my spine. Spider Woman held her hand out for me to clasp. “Oh, darling. You’re adorable.”

  Just then a door on the far side of the entryway opened and a smug looking bastard walked out wearing a suit that cost more than my trailer. “What could possibly be so funny, M?” he said before his eyes landed on me. They hardened instantly.

  “Marcus,” she smiled, holding my hand up as if I were on display. “Meet—”

  “Carter Langford,” I interrupted, taking my hand back and suddenly wishing I had on a shirt. “The groundskeeper.”

  M continued, “It appears as though Mr. Langford here has developed an interest in our Trixie.” She cackled again, like a goddamned witch, and I really wished somebody would let me in on the fucking joke.

  Marcus leaned against the doorframe and said, in a condescending, piece-of-shit tone, “Trust me, son, you can’t handle that one.”

  I wanted to rip him a new asshole. Who the fuck did he think he was, calling me son? The last guy who called me that was my old man, right before I put my boot up his ass and left home for good. Did this dipshit think I wasn’t man enough to handle a little green-haired chick just because I didn’t wear expensive watches and Italian wingtips? I could fucking bench press that girl!

  I swallowed my anger and spat back, “With all due respect, sir, I think I’ll be the judge of what I can and can’t handle.”

  M giggled as she and Marcus traded knowing looks. That shit was really getting old.

  “Mr. Langford,” Marcus said, “I meant no offense. It’s just that Trixie is…something of a specialist. Her talents cost a great deal and require me to keep a paramedic on the payroll, so I’m afraid you might be biting off more than you can chew with that one. If you’re interested in our services, I’d be more than happy to have M call the other girls out for you. I’m confident you’ll find someone you like.”

  At that point I didn’t care if she was performing Civil War-style amputations down in the basement. Nobody fucking told me what I could or couldn’t handle. Especially not some white-collar pimp who thought he was better than me. I may not have been rich, but I made an honest living working with my hands, like a goddamn man, which was more than I could say for that douchebag.

  “I’ve already found someone I like, sir. I would like to meet Trixie.” And by sir, I meant asshole.

  Marcus laughed—fucking laughed, that prick—and said, “Very well, Mr. Langford, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. In fact, as a token of my appreciation for your hard work, and your discretion about what we do here, your first session with Trixie will be on the house. If you can make it through the entire session, that is.”

  “Oh, I will. But just out of curiosity, how much does a session cost? You know, in case I want to come back.”

  Shit. I hadn’t even considered the price.

  “A session with Trixie lasts as long as she deems necessary and costs ten thousand dollars upon completion, Mr. Langford. Like I said, Trixie is a something of a specialist.”

  “Ten grand for sex?!” I blurted out.

  Marcus laughed again, the smug bastard. “Oh no, Mr. Langford. The gentlemen who seek Trixie’s services are more interested in pain than pleasure.”

  What the fuck had I just signed up for? I was going to let some sadomasochist carve me up and I didn’t even know how long I’d have to stick it out? Fuck it. It didn’t matter. As long as I got to see the bitch with the green hair again and make this pussy wipe come out of pocket ten Gs, I’d take whatever beating she could dish out.

  “Sign me up, sir.”

  Chapter two

  Carter

  After Marcus Deverouchebag disappeared back into his office, M told me that Trixie’s schedule was usually booked several months out. However, she happened to know that a certain senator would be going on an unexpected business trip that weekend, so she penciled me in for Saturday morning. I wasn’t sure why M was being so nice to me, but I got the sense that she really liked the little girl with the green hair. Or maybe it was just my rugged good looks.

  For the rest of the week I worked only on the backyard, hoping I’d catch another glimpse of her, walking one of her pasty little piggies around the pool, but she didn’t show. By Saturday I was beginning to wonder if she was really as fuckable as I’d remembered. Maybe I was just hallucinating from the heat that day.

  But when M buzzed me in through the massive double front doors and I saw her, all green hair, rosy cheeks, and plump fucking pink lips that would look amazing wrapped around the head of my dick, I realized that she looked even better than I’d remembered. She looked like the kind of chick I’d let flog me for days. Which was good, because that was exactly what I might have just signed up for.

  M extended her long blood red nails in my direction and said, “Trixie, I’d like you to meet our groundskeeper, Mr. Langford.”

  Trixie was wearing red Chuck Taylors with mismatched striped knee-high tube socks, Superman drawers, and a mesh shirt with black Xs taped over her nipples. Her tits were perky and perfect—not too big, not too small—and the thought of them bouncing in my face while she rode my cock almost made me jizz in my fucking pants.

  Shaking the image from my head, I held out my hand and flashed Trixie my patented smile—the Carter Langford Leg Spreader. She didn’t seem too impressed, though. Trixie looked me up and down, then raised one eyebrow—not quite the reaction I was expecting. Sure, I wasn’t exactly dressed like an executive in my plaid shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, but this girl wore little boy underwear as pants. I figured the dress code was casual.

  As Trixie stared at my outstretched hand, she asked the woman standing next to her, “You sure this one’s here for me, M?”

  M gave me a wink from behind her patent leather eye mask and said, “Oh, I’m sure. Mr. Langford here asked for you personally.” Then she leaned toward Trixie and added in a husky tone, “And just wait until you see him with his shirt off.”

  Trixie rolled her whiskey-colored eyes and said, “Okay, cowboy. Let’s see what you’re made of.” Then she turned and walked toward the marble stairs that led down to the basement. I winked back at M and followed Trixie, who made no attempt at small talk on the way to her room. She
stopped in front of a door that was across from the one I’d found unlocked a few days before and entered a code onto a keypad. When the door opened, I felt like I was walking into Hell’s flea market.

  Every surface and wall was covered in random bullshit. No, not random—violent. There was a board leaning up against one wall with the outline of a person painted on it and knives sticking out of the chest. There was a whole rack dedicated to whips and canes and fucking car antennas and shit you could hit somebody with. There were straps hanging from the ceiling with bloody hooks on the ends. Scattered on an old dresser were dozens of mason jars filled with tweezers and pliers and scalpels and dildos. Just off the foot of the bed, which was surprisingly normal-looking, stood medieval wooden stocks with head and hand holes drilled out. And there was a mint green 1960s-era refrigerator in one corner with a potted cactus on top of it.

  Holy fucking shit.

  “Step into my office, Mr. Langford,” Trixie said, gesturing to a pair of swanky black patio chairs with red cushions that I assumed she stole from the pool area. I sat down and watched as Trixie’s round little ass plopped down in the chair across from me. She leaned forward and planted her elbows on her knees, staring me down. She was trying to look tough, but I couldn’t help but smirk at how fucking cute she was.

  “Listen,” Trixie said, “I don’t know what your deal is, but if you’re here to fulfill some kind of role playing grown-up Dungeons and Dragons fantasy, you got the wrong girl. I’m not going to have you to call me Mistress T or lick my boots or memorize some secret fucking handshake. Okay? I’m here because I do the shit nobody else will do. You want a sandpaper hand job? Cool, it’s your dick. But don’t expect me to give a shit about what size grit you prefer. You want your nut sack nailed to the floor? Fine, but I’m gonna do it my way. That means I’m not going to research where all of your arteries are first or ask how long it’s been since your last tetanus shot. I’m not going to have you sign a fucking waiver or give me proof of insurance. I’m gonna get a nail and a blunt-ass object and I’m gonna get the fucking job done. You understand?”