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The beige wallpaper inside the gentleman’s club was stained, and peeling in some places, exposing the wooden planks underneath. The tiny flowers dotted at even intervals, once a cheery yellow, were now various shades of orange and brown, made even uglier by the light of the oil lamps along the walls. The sag of the paper in several corners matched the downcast mood of the cramped, badly lit lobby.
This was taken in discreetly by Dutch Van Der Linde, yet he made no comment about it. At an establishment such as this one, the real attraction was the people, not the building.
He walked up to the antiquated counter, where an older man with a large, crooked nose and wrinkly skin sat, puffing away at a fat cigar.
“Yes sir,” the man spoke with a small, knowing smile. He blew a cloud of smoke to the side. “Are you interested in a show? Or perhaps a private room with a girl? We’ve lots of lovely young ladies, the best in Lemoyne. Any size, any color, whatever you want. Cheap rates too.”
Dutch usually felt it was beneath him to patronize such a place, but things back at camp had been so upsetting and melancholy lately that he’d been driven to seek out a different type of thrill entirely. Just for one night…
“I’d like to book a room with a girl,” he answered. “And could I make a special request?”
“‘Course.”
He listed his preferences. “I’d like a cute one. Young, but legal. Perhaps…one that hasn’t been here for long.”
There was just something special about laying with a woman on the younger side, in Dutch’s opinion. One that wasn’t sullied and jaded by the aches of the world. He liked the zest for life so many of them had— yet, without fail, that enthusiasm eventually faded. It happened with Susan, and it had begun happening with Molly. That was a great tragedy of his life; he could never hold on to that feeling of sunshine— eventually, the rains came.
The man nodded and thought for a bit, taking another drag on his cigar. “I tell you what, sir, we not too long ago got a wonderful girl. She’s very pretty, she’ll lay down and take anything you give her—”
“That’s- that’s fine,” Dutch interrupted, not wanting to stand in this dingy room any longer. “What room?” He shifted, looking at the worn wooden staircase to the left of the room.
“2C should be open,” the man informed him, gesturing towards the staircase. “That’s the second floor, second room on the right. I’ll collect the girl and she’ll meet you there, yeah?”
“Thanks,” Dutch grunted. After he paid, he ventured up the creaky stairs and found 2C easily. He could hear faint moans coming from some of the other rooms. Pushing open the door, he stepped into a small, simply decorated room with a bed and a couple of chairs with thin beige cushions. He calmly took off his shoes and vest, then sat on the cream-and-red bedspread and waited.
You’d just gotten dressed after a bath when a knock came at your door. The Saint Denis sun had almost completely dipped, and rays of purple were overtaking the yellow and orange sky. You’d been hoping to turn into bed early; it had been a rare day with no clients.
Mr. Gelding called your name just as you opened the door. He was a large, overbearingly friendly man, though to his credit he never crossed the line. He was one of several managers in Landry Gentlemen's Club— they all oversaw the daily events of the club, as well as providing protection and support to the girls. That was a big reason you preferred to work here instead of simply catcalling on the streets; it provided greater job security.
This— providing various services to men— was your line of work. Had been, for the past 6 months. It paid the bills much faster than a regular job, and you were able to squander a little cash every week. Eventually you wanted to get a small place of your own—perhaps in Strawberry— but until then, you would work here.
Prior to this, you had juggled 2 jobs: toiling for a rancher by day, and working as a bargirl by night. After your father had left your mother when you were ten, you’d worked to support the family.
Then your mother, who’d always had a weak immune system, succumbed to a particularly bad fever soon after you’d turned nineteen. The rancher you worked under had at least been understanding and let you stay on the farm with a discounted rent, but even with that discount you struggled to make ends meet. Thus, you’d sought out a more lucrative line of work and started working at the gentleman’s club.
Only the girls who provided direct sexual services to clients actually lived in these quarters. Most of the dancers and performers came and worked, then left for their own homes. After being hired, you’d moved here out of convenience. This particular building was a little offset from the performance area, but still basically next door to it. It was quite small; two stories high, with plain hallways that had several doors on either side leading to the girls’ private rooms.
Your room was simply decorated, just a plain bed with your keepsakes hidden underneath it. The savings you’d earned so far were in a lockbox shoved deep in the closet.
“Missy, don’t turn in just yet,” Mr. Gelding spoke in a jovial voice. “You’ve got a client waiting in 2C.” He leaned against the doorway, smelling of cigar smoke and sweat.
“Oh,” you spoke, silently mourning the free time you’d had. Then again, more clients meant more money.
“He seems pretty wealthy, between you and me,” he added in a lower tone. “Be a good girl for him and he might pay a little extra.” He chuckled, then patted your shoulder.
After Mr. Gelding left, you quickly changed into a simple red dress. You’d noticed that men liked that color a lot, for whatever reason. A quick brush of the hair and of your teeth, and you were ready.
You wasted no time in walking over to the “performance building”. On the right side was where the showgirls and dancers performed, and on the left were the private rooms. You entered on the left side.
Climbing up the creaky staircase, you brushed by Millie, another worker here. She was quite a bit older than you, perhaps 30 or 35. Sometimes you wondered how long she’d been here.
Well, that was not going to be you. This was strictly a temporary job.
Standing in front of 2C, you took a moment to pat down your hair and put on a soft smile. Then you entered the room.
Sitting on the bed was a man in the best sense of the word. You hadn’t known what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. He was quite tall and broad, with a dark crop of curls and a large nose, which sat right above a neatly trimmed mustache. He had on a simple white and blue striped button-up and black pants. You could see the vest that he’d taken off and laid on the chair was made of a soft red velvet, with golden chains attached. Oh my.
“Hello,” he greeted you, smiling a bit. He seemed just a tad nervous. It was clear he was older, maybe in his forties. Was he married?
“Hello sir,” you replied softly, closing the door behind you. You padded over and took off your shoes. “‘S nice to meet you.” You told him your name.
He repeated it, lips curling a bit. “I’m Dutch.”
Even him smiling couldn’t soften the serious look on his face. His brown eyes were rather dark, and his brow was heavy and thick. You felt both anxious and drawn in by them.
“What would you like me to do, Dutch?” you asked, sitting on the bed beside him. You placed your hand on his large, grizzled one with practiced ease.
He cleared his throat. “I-I must apologize, I’ve never hired a prostitute before.”
You smiled. “That’s alright, sir.” Pulling him in closer, you gently pressed your lips against his.
Dutch, seemingly unsure for a moment, hesitated, then returned the kiss. His mustache tickled your nostrils as he softly kissed you.
Your fingers became intertwined with his, and he grew more bold, cupping your face with his free hand and kissing you more earnestly. The cold metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.
Quite rapidly, Dutch took control, pushing you down onto the bed and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You sighed softly, liking how direct he was now. The bedframe creaked quietly with your combined weight.
Dutch’s tongue explored your mouth for a good while, and his hands traveled from your face to your chest. He gently squeezed your left breast, running a thumb over the fabric protecting your sensitive nipple. Within a minute he had teased them both to stiff peaks, with you mewling quietly underneath him.
Finally, Dutch broke the kiss. You both took a moment to catch your breath and he wiped off his mouth.
His demeanor had changed a lot. Now his face seemed even more serious; his pupils reflected lustful thoughts, and he carried himself more confidently.
“I’d like a blowjob, love,” he requested, sighing. “I need to relax. Will you do that for me?”
You weren’t sure when this shift in dynamic had happened. Perhaps when he’d pushed you onto the bed. Now, you sensed that this was a powerful man, one who was used to getting what he wanted. Suddenly you were craving to satisfy him, to fulfill his hidden desires.
“Yes, sir,” you whispered.
He’d wasted no time in removing his clothes. You slipped out of your dress and bloomers while Dutch stripped naked as well, putting all his clothes in a neat pile on the chair. Then he got back on the bed, laying down with his legs spread wide enough for you to lay between them. His muscular chest was covered in dark hair, with a nice thick happy trail down to his groin.
As you got in position, you surveyed his cock and your eyes got big. He was very large, with veins running prominently up the shaft to his tip, flushed red and already leaking precum, and down to the thick mess of hair around his base. His balls were nicely rounded and large as well.
His cock was already mostly hard; it was slightly curved, and stuck out so his leaky tip was mere inches away from your lips.
Holding your breath, you grasped his thick cock between your index finger and thumb, gently massaging a small spot on his tip.
Dutch inhaled sharply and threw his head back, running a hand through his shiny black curls.
With one hand, you cupped his balls, and with the other you held his cock at the base and dragged your tongue over his tip. You could feel the muscles of his thighs tightening. He let out a shaky breath.
“That’s a good girl,” he mumbled, eyes closed. “A good fuckin’ girl.”
You continued to lick his tip and shaft and massaged his balls. Your nail very gently grazed the sensitive skin.
Dutch’s hand shot down and he roughly stroked your hair, sighing. “That feels so good, sweetheart, keep going.”
The rhythmic hair stroking felt good. You laid your head on his thigh and sucked on just the tip, slobbering over it good and slowly pumping your hand up and down.
“Yes, babygirl, that’s good,” he moaned. “You know just what daddy likes. So good. So good.”
Dutch’s praise made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, like he was really truly proud of you. No one had been proud of you in a long time.
You doubled your efforts and took more of his cock in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around, putting plenty of spit on his throbbing cock.
Drool was dribbling out the sides of your mouth and oozing down Dutch’s shaft. Removing your mouth from his cock with a small pop, you instead took one of his balls in your mouth.
Dutch groaned loudly, pulling at your hair just a bit. “Oh-ho, you filthy girl…”
You sucked on his balls, switching between them and continuously jerking him off with your hand.
“Oh, honey, this is just what I needed. A good tight cocksleeve to blow me…” He moaned and spread his legs a bit more.
You rapidly swept your tongue across them, back and forth, till Dutch's legs came together and squeezed the sides of your face. You let go of his balls, now drenched in spit, and slurped up his cock again. You couldn’t get enough. It almost had a taste to it, sort of masculine and heavy. Whatever it was, you were addicted. As you coaxed about three quarters of Dutch’s shaft down your throat, you looked up at him in admiration. His eyes were still tightly closed, and the outline of a vein had appeared on his forehead.
Deepthroating this older man’s cock had set a fire in you that you didn’t know existed. You wanted him to keep calling you a good girl. His good girl.
Suddenly he opened his eyes and you made direct eye contact. You ducked your head down, embarrassed at your no doubt obvious display of affection.
Dutch smirked. “S’okay, honey, nothing to be ashamed of. You’re obsessed with daddy’s cock, huh?”
You nodded sheepishly.
He stroked your face. “You need a daddy to take care of you, love you?” he asked in a husky voice.
Your face burned. He’d seen right through you. Was it that obvious that you were starved of affection? You nodded, again, still sucking lewdly on his cock.
He chuckled. “Oh, I know. I know, sweetheart. So many girls like you, laying down for any excuse of a father figure they can find. S’not your fault.”
When did this become so…real?
“You want that?” Dutch asked, squeezing your ass. “You want me to protect you, teach you right from wrong, make every decision for you?” His voice softened. “Want daddy to take the hurt away?”
His cock slipped out of your mouth and you stared at him, heart pounding so fast you thought your chest would burst into a million butterflies. “Yes,” you whined in a tiny voice that you didn't recognize. “I-I want to be your special girl…”
What is going on?
He pushed your head back onto his throbbing cock. “Don’t think about anything anymore,” he said in a low voice. “Not your job, not your future, not even what to eat. Daddy’ll do it for you. The only thing that should be in your brain is being a good cocksleeve for daddy.”
You were struggling to remember what had led up to this moment. You faintly remembered being obligated to do this, for payment, but…
Wordlessly, you nodded. Whatever happened in the past didn’t seem that important compared to being an obedient girl for Dutch. He felt warm, and comforting, like a dependable authority figure. You clung to him desperately.
Dutch shifted positions so he was laying on his side. You laid down with him with your head on the blanket.
He held your head in place and pistoned his hips, shoving his cock in and out of your drooling mouth.
“Damn— I’m close, honey, daddy’s close. You’re going to swallow every drop, you hear me?” Dutch growled, pulling your hair so tightly you whined in pain.
You tried to nod but he was fucking your face so violently that all you could do was take it, and try not to pass out. Every thrust made you gag.
It was unclear how long he fucked your face for. You did know that you were drooling freely, all over his cock and the blanket. And that his cock was twitching in your mouth, signaling the load you knew was coming.
‘Fuck— fuck-” Dutch grunted, using your face as if it was nothing more than an inanimate object, sparing no thought on how you felt.
But how you felt was indescribable. It felt like you were finally healing some part of you that died when your father had left, years ago. You weren’t sure if this was roleplay or real life and you didn’t know if you cared, you just wanted to be his girl. Dutch’s girl.
Finally, he slowed, pushing in a couple more times, then held your hair tightly and let out fractured groans as his cock let out thick, warm splurts of cum down your throat. He fucked your throat with tiny thrusts, emptying his balls and rapidly filling up your mouth.
After a brief pause Dutch pulled out of your mouth, smearing the leftover cum on your cheek. He was breathing heavily and wiped off his sweaty forehead.
Your cheeks bulged with his load, and it took you several gulps to down it all. Then you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue for him to see that you had swallowed it all.
He inspected it, putting a thumb in your mouth, then patted you on the head. “That’s my good girl.”
Dutch wanted to cuddle afterwards.
He insisted on cleaning you up and wiped up your face with a damp rag. After that he removed the stained bedspread, then pulled you up to lay in his arms. The two of you sat there for a while, you with your eyes half closed and Dutch tracing circles on your knuckles.
You could hear his soft breaths, and feel the rise and fall of his chest. If you never moved again, just stayed stuck in this position for all eternity, you would be happy, you think.
After a few minutes of silence, he spoke. “I wish I could have someone like you at home.”
“Are you married?” you asked curiously. You always felt vaguely bad about sleeping with married men.
He sighed. “Well- no. I never was. But I had a woman…not long ago.”
Was this a sensitive subject for him? “D-Did she, err…”
“She betrayed me,” Dutch said in a low growl. “Took everything we had together, and fuckin’ destroyed it.”
“Oh,” you said wondrously, not quite understanding what he meant. Did he mean she cheated?
He stroked your hair. “I came here because my whole…ahem, family…has been in shambles lately…no one respects authority anymore. No one appreciates the work I put in.”
How could anyone not respect this reverential figure? “How could they do that to you?” you wondered.
“I wish I knew, sweetheart. If only everyone was as obedient as you..” Dutch pressed a kiss to your temple.
You sighed softly. What insane woman had squandered her relationship with him? He was so polite, so serious, so warm.
She probably just couldn’t handle his intensity.
The two of you relaxed for a few more serene minutes, then Dutch sighed. “I should probably get goin’, honey. As ungrateful as my acquaintances are, they’d be nothing without me. Nothing.”
Despite his words, he didn’t move. His hand squeezed yours and he furrowed his brow. “I just can’t win. They say I’m too harsh, too controlling. But that’s what it takes to survive! Every fuckin’ day, I put my own needs aside for them. And not one of those…those people appreciates it.”
“That sounds awful,” you agreed. “It sounds like you do so much for them, but no one notices.” You knew that feeling well.
“You’re damn right they don’t,” Dutch grunted. “I don’t even know why I try sometimes.”
“Well…I appreciate you,” you told him shyly.
Dutch smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. I might have to come back to see you again.” He planted a final parting kiss on your mouth, squeezed your ass again, then rose and got dressed.
You sat on the bed and watched him, already missing his warm body. Dutch’s words about his family seemed harsh, but then it was a cruel world. It made sense to be a little cruel in return.
After he redressed himself, Dutch came over. “Here’s a little extra, baby. For letting a tired man rant.” He pressed a few bills into your hand.
“Th-thank you,” you squeaked, very pleased.
“Take care,” he said, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
Once he left, you flopped back down, exhilarated and anxious. What in the world just happened? Did he mean anything he said? Was it just a kink he’d wanted to try out?
Your underwear was soaked through; they had been, for some time. Whether or not he’d meant them, Dutch’s words had affected you greatly. And now you were feeling the loss, a great grief that had cracked your heart open, and despair was pouring out.
Already, you wanted to see him again, to learn everything about him. The concept of letting that man make every decision in your life and simply existing as his pet…well, that turned you on more than you cared to admit. You’d been independent for most of your life, and didn’t you deserve something for it? Didn’t you deserve a strong, handsome man to shield you from the horrors of the world?
You’d forgotten to ask him about his occupation. Perhaps he was the head of a railway company, or a well-respected professor. With that demeanor and elocution, he had to be in some prestigious position.
I’ll ask next time, you decided.
After arriving back at your private room, you laid down and finished what had started between your legs. As you desperately rubbed yourself to orgasm, you imagined Dutch’s deep, rich voice growling in your ear, and your pussy being stretched to its limits by his thick cock. Very quickly, you came, gasping softly.
Dutch had said he’d be back. You would wait, with bated breath, till that day. Perhaps if you were a good enough girl for him, he’d take you with him. Stranger things had happened. Powerful men married their mistresses all the time.
These dreams would keep you afloat until the next time you saw him.