I was granted an interview, to my great surprise, and arrived only an hour ago to the impressive twenty-five-story building that houses Trimbles. When I met Mr. Grayson, I hated him instantly. Mid-fifties, if I’m guessing, tall, handsome, but ruthless. There was a glint in his eyes that told me he is not to be trusted, and he is the first inkling I had that, while this life may offer a warm place to sleep and a good paycheck, it will not offer even a shred of humanity. When he told me to strip as he left me in the room I’m now waiting in, I panicked for the first time. How can I do this? I’m a virgin, and up to this point, I assumed that I’d remain one until the thugs decided beating me to a pulp had lost its appeal and fucking me might get their point across more effectively. I suppose I should be grateful I’ll lose that part of myself here, rather than in some dirty old run-down house that they seemed so intent on dragging me to for our little “meetings.”

But when dark-eyed Derek entered the room along with ugly Aaron and kind Frederick, I almost bolted naked through the door. Now, here I am, apparently hired—for some unknown reason—and given to a man that terrifies me more than any other I’ve ever met, and who, let’s face it, hates me despicably. But he’s quite beautiful, mid-thirties, tall and lean, no doubt strong and fit. His features are exceptional. His hair is as dark as his eyes, thick and perfectly disheveled. He’s beautiful, but intimidating. He looks like a model, quite frankly, just a very, very scary one. It’s the intimidation oozing from him that terrifies me most. Were I not so afraid of him, I’m sure I’d find him incredibly appealing, but he’s just so damn terrifying, and regardless of what Frederick has told me of him, I don’t sense at all I’m in good hands. Then again, the last five years of my life have been as much hell as I hope to experience in this lifetime. Surely I can handle a bit of sex for money. This must be better than starving on the streets, waiting to die at the hands of criminals. But even as I do my best to convince myself I can handle this, my resolve waivers. I’m scared, really scared.

Chapter 2

“I’m sooooooo sorry you’ve been waiting! I can’t believe Mr. Pennington didn’t tell me to come get you! Thank God I ran into Frederick in the hall, otherwise you’d have been here all night! When I mentioned it to Mr. Pennington, he just shrugged and … well, he can be a jerk. Frederick said you’ve been waiting for nearly two hours, but I’m here now!” The beautiful blonde now standing in front of me took less than a millisecond to enter the room and say all of that. What an incredible talent she has!

The woman pulls me into an instant hug. She’s the epitome of what Derek was referring to when he spoke of the “whores” who work at Trimbles. She is extremely blonde, extremely voluptuous, and extremely beautiful. She’s far taller than I, her makeup is done perfectly, and the dress she wears hugs her curves like a glove. She walks with confidence and exudes feminine charm. I am nothing like this woman, but she doesn’t seem to care in the least that I’m completely out of place here in my jeans and flat shoes. Instead, she instantly accepts me and is ready to be my very best friend. She introduces herself as Liz as she walks me from the room. She talks animatedly about how happy she is to have a new face in the house, and she starts speed talking as we walk to the elevator, overwhelming me with every last detail of information she thinks I will need to know.

Apparently, the men of the houses are addressed as sir or mister, and our particular mister is a “Pennington … Derek Pennington.” Good to know. Apparently the man of a floor has complete control of the women in his charge. He decides everything from the clothes that are appropriate for her to wear, to the men she will sleep with. The man of a given floor has every right to use his women as he sees fit. They do so regularly, and are, in fact, expected to—quality control of a sort. The only exception is when a woman is working. A house manager is not to have sex with his women twelve hours before or after she has been with a client. A house manager from another floor may choose to use a woman not under his charge, but it is ultimately up to her own house manager whether the other house manager will be allowed to use her. I shudder to think of ugly Aaron touching me again, and I pray silently I won’t ever be handed over to him.

Trimbles occupies the top five floors of the twenty-five-story building, and our particular floor is the very top level. As we exit the elevator, we enter a long corridor with very high ceilings. It looks like a five-star hotel, except there are only perhaps five doors on each side of the corridor in a space that would likely contain twice as many rooms were it a hotel. Liz walks me to the far end of the hall, and we enter a large expansive area through a set of French doors. The room beyond is open with the same tall ceilings. It is a living room of sorts. Furniture is arranged in a central area and faces an expansive entertainment center with the very latest high-tech gadgetry. There are two sectional sofas that create a sort of horseshoe design meant to accommodate a group comfortably.

Off to the side of the living area is a pool table and sound system. Behind that space is a large dining room with an oversized dining room table that can fit twelve comfortably. Beside the dining area is an expansive kitchen, open to the rest of the great room. It is, like everything else in the room, designed with the highest-end appliances and cabinetry. On the other side of the kitchen is a media space with more seating. This corner of the great room sits on the outside corner of the building, and the two expansive walls of the building meet here, but the expansive walls are actually walls of windows offering an incredibly amazing view of the city. The room in its entirety is larger than most houses I’ve been in, and is appointed far more impressively than any home I’ve ever seen. My world consists of dark, cheap hotel rooms that smell, a different room every night as I move around constantly. This home will be mine, and whatever nightmares I endure here, I will at least have a warm, clean, and dry place to sleep.

Liz explains this is our common living space. The individual rooms assigned to the women are large bedrooms with their own bathrooms, but the living space is shared. Mr. Pennington’s space is on the opposite end of the long corridor and is a full apartment with a living space and kitchen of its own. After showing me around the kitchen and touring the great room, she escorts me along the corridor to what will be my room. It is directly opposite Mr. Pennington’s apartment and is the last room available on the floor. That leaves eight women living on this floor. There are six rooms along one side of the corridor, mine included, and on the opposite side of the corridor is Mr. Pennington’s apartment, and then the short side corridor that houses the elevators, and then two more rooms and the great room.

As we enter my room, I see that my bags have already been brought up and placed at the foot of the bed. The room is impressive. Again, the outside wall is one expansive window from the floor to the high ceiling. There are drapes that can be closed, but I can’t imagine what would ever make me want to block out that view. The bed is a massive king-sized contemporary platform bed that sits with its head against the window wall. It has no headboard, and the platform is designed with simple straight lines. The furniture is equally simple, but beautiful. There is a dresser, a chaise lounge and a TV mounted to the wall. The bathroom sits off the side of the room and has a double sink, large soaker tub, and separate shower. The toilet is in a small, separate private room. The expansive walk-in closet is also accessed from within the bathroom.

As we return to the bedroom, Liz sits in the chaise, and I sit on the bed nearby. It’s time to review the rules and expectations, and I wonder oddly if there is anything other than fucking me, and begrudgingly at that, that Derek will do. But Liz explains her role further when she advises me that she’s the floor’s senior escort, and it is her responsibility to help me acclimate to our house. As she reviews the rules, my heart lurches with each passing statement. She speaks as if she is speaking to anyone anywhere while reviewing the ins and outs of being an escort, and I have to remind myself that speaking about sex so overtly is quite a normal thing here, and of course, it would be.

First and foremost, we’re expected to accommodate the wishes of our clients to the extent that we can safely do so. We’re expected to have sex, vaginal and oral, at any time our client might request it during our time with them. We are also expected to have anal sex, but are only required to agree to this once every two weeks, though you can agree more often if you choose because it does pay better, and as such, women often choose to engage in this act more often than they are required. Other women, who find the act distasteful and uncomfortable, appreciate the small measure of control it affords them. I have a feeling I will fall into the latter of these categories. I’m terrified enough about having sex. Anal sex is a whole other monster for me to fear.

Women are not to orgasm unless asked to by their clients. Some like for women to orgasm, others prefer they not. Clients are required to use a condom when engaged in vaginal and anal sex. They are not to come inside a woman’s mouth. House managers are exempt from the safety precautions, as their sexual health is as managed as the escorts’. We are expected to be well groomed, and it will be up to Derek whether I keep my pubic hair or lose it altogether. The other women of the house are waxed completely, and so I should expect the same. I’m to wear dresses on the gaming room floor, when I am with Derek, and whenever I leave Trimbles. Makeup is required, but we have a spa that will handle choosing the appropriate cosmetics and hairstyle for me. I sure hope they throw in lessons as well.