Camelot

Camelot

The Lure

***Warning Mature Content***



The Lure
Copyright © Allene Angelica 2014


She pouted her full pink lips.  She hated this place.  HATED IT!!!  She couldn't wait until she was old enough to get out.  Her mother had it all wrong.  She wanted nothing to do with this business but no good telling her mother that.  This shithole is her legacy.

At sixteen Miranda was a force to be reckoned with.  Petite but with a will of iron, she usually got what she wanted.  Her stunner looks didn't hinder either.  One last glance at the mirror with her dark brown feline eyes and she was out the door.

She was born into this life.  She didn't know who her father was.  Her mother wouldn't say.  She had a sneaking suspicion that her mother didn't have a clue but whoever he was he must have been a good lookin' man because she sure didn't inherit her looks from her mother.

She was what her mother liked to call 'The Lure'.  Her job was to lure men to the brothel that her mother owned.  She brought in the clientele and her mother took it from there.  Dressed in one of her many 'outfits', she looked very innocently tempting, no need to hide her age a lot of men liked them young, she was on her way to one of the high end hotels in the middle of the city.

She strolled into the hotel like she owned the place.  She'd been there a million times before.  Management turned a blind eye.  Happy guests are return guests.  Miranda walked straight to the bar and sat on her favorite stool.  It was a vantage point.  She could see the entire room from her seat.  The bartender knew her well and placed a glass of orange juice in front of her.  She took a sip and waited.

It wasn't long before a man in a tailored business suit approached her.

"Can I order you another drink?  What is that?  A screw?" he grinned slime all over her.

"No thanks.  I'm fine." she barely glanced at him.

He whispered in her ear, "I've got a room upstairs.  How's about we go up and have ourselves some fun?"

She looked slyly up at him with a wicked grin on her lips, "I don't go to strange men's rooms.  Why don't you meet me at my place in an hour."  With that she handed him a business card with her address printed on it, in bold arial.

"Excuse me, I need to make a phone call."  As she slid off the stool.

"Wait a minute." he grabbed her arm.  "You look young.  How old are you?" he asked.

"Fifteen" she lied.  Timidly she smiled up at him, she read him like a book and knew he liked young, as she slowly pulled her arm out of his grasp.

In sotto voce, "We won't get caught will we?"  His voice had an excited edge to it.

"Nope.  I'm all alone." she whispered as she walked away.

She sashayed into the ladies room, looked around to make sure she was alone and called her mom.  "I've got a perv coming your way in an hour."  With a sigh she hung up.


...


Two years later, Miranda, now eighteen, is free to live whatever life she chose.  Her mother had fallen ill a year ago.  The doctors couldn't figure out what ailed her.  Her mom spared no expense but in the end it was money down the drain.  She lost her battle a month ago.  Still no cause or findings as to what killed her.  Baffled, the doctors asked for permission to run tests on the body.  Miranda gave them the go ahead, maybe in death her mom can do some good and contribute to the benefit of society instead of catering to its dark underbelly.

With all the legalities completed she was now free.  The sale of the brothel, her home for all of her young life, final and her, packed and ready to go; she was excited at the prospect of starting over.  Surprisingly she was still a virgin.  Her mother never turned her out.  In her own way, her mother loved her although she didn't always show it.  Miranda offered the brothel to the prostitutes still living there, below market price.  Surprised and thankful for the gesture they pooled their resources together and with the help of a certain bank manager at a certain local bank who was a frequent customer they were now proud business owners and happier than a dog who stole fresh barbecue ribeye off a grill.

Her mother left her a very wealthy woman.  Her mom was never a spendthrift and had squirreled away most of her earnings, in IRAs, bonds, money market accounts, savings accounts and Miranda had even found a hidden safe in her mother's bedroom full of cash and jewelry.  She donated almost all of her mother's belongings to charity.  All she needed now was the hired car to pick her up.

"Ready?" Rosie, one of the pros asked as she walked into the foyer.

"Yeah." Miranda responded.  They weren't a sentimental bunch.  No room for that in their line of work.

Rosie's baby blues stared into Miranda's deep browns "Go get 'em tiger."  She grinned then slowly climbed the stairs to her room.

Miranda watched her ascent.  She knew that would be her last image of Rosie.  A tall svelte blonde gracefully walking away from her.


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