I’ve worked at 4 different brothels, the longest was 6 months and the shortest – one shift. The place that I worked one shift at was a very little small town brothel in the heart of an industrial estate. I didn’t mind that it was small and not in the city, but the way the owner ran the joint didn’t make me feel comfortable. There were lots of unnecessary rules in an attempt to keep a wedge between the girls and the managers. Managers are not allowed to sit and talk to the girls, managers are expected to sit in an office alone while the girls stay in their own room. Girls are forbidden to enter the reception area at all, girls aren’t allowed to leave, girls aren’t allowed to smoke, girls aren’t allowed to have tuna…..the rules went on and on. The diary was full of communications between the managers bagging the girls ane there were signs everywhere for the girls written in such hostile tones. Yet the owner was at a loss as to why she didn’t have quality of girls and why there was high turn over. So at the end of my shift when she asked when I could work next I thanked her for the opportunity but I would not continue to work there. I need a place with heart that respected the girls and managed them with sensitivity and compassion.
That shift was possibly one of the most boring shifts I’ve had, not many clients and the quality of girls was less to be desired. Most notable, Angie a 70 yr old veteran, hanging out in her sequined bikini top and g-string, false teeth clattering in her mouth as banged on about her hey days in the city. I did have Carly, a petite blond in her 40’s who proved to be popular, so much so that one particular client was willing to wait 30 minutes to even meet her. I sat him in the private intro room with a cup of coffee, so I can keep an eye on him as there were cameras in the room because he had a bag with him (we always keep an eye on bags, safety first). He started to get a little fidgety, shifting in the seat, I noticed on the camera that he was fiddling in his pants, “Oh Jesus” I thought, “Hurry up Carly”. After what felt like forever, Carly came out, so I braved the intro room, hoping to avoid an awkward moment. Luckily, the client didn’t have his hand in his pants, he did however, have the largest pair of underpants on I had seen on a man, pulled up past his waist, “Uhh, Carly is available now, let’s get you in to the room, jump in the shower and your time will start once she comes in “.
Spanking sounds echoed through the establishment as the 30 minutes of the client’s time ticked by. Spanking sounds aren’t exactly unusual in my line of work, it could literally be spanking, or a girl getting pounded doggy style, which sound same. Carly escorted the client to the door wrapped in a towel, kissed him good-bye and bid him farewell. She turned around and opened her towel “Now, how sexy am I” she laughed as she stood there solely in a pair of what only could be described as granny panties, giant white granny panties. “Why the hell do you have those on?” I asked, “He brings them in for the both of us to wear” she said as she wrapped the towel around her semi naked body. “Wait what?” I blinked, “Yeah he brings in a fresh pack and I have to wedgy him in them while I wear them and spank him”. “So…..no sex?” I ask completely absorbed, “Nope, no sex, he just wants me to wedgy him practically till his balls are blue, then spank his arse” she smiled “It’s the easiest money I’ve made all day”.
It made me think, how do you get to the point where wedgies and granny panties gets you off? How do you work that out? I find that very curious.
The Red Martini 