Kindred Spirits
It’s strange how when a girl starts to enjoy sex and embraces her sexuality for her own pleasure, others immediately label her a slut. This happens even if she is single, has no steady partner, and does not accept money. She simply gets this label if she finds fulfillment in a liberated lifestyle and does it for her own satisfaction. However, this does not seem to apply to women who have partners and use infidelity to fill their time or gain advantages, nor to the male population, where such a man is considered a "hero"—though that is a chapter of its own. Personally, this feels even worse, yet this hypocritical behavior is taken as a societal standard. Such "friends" prefer to stay away to avoid gossip, and their partners agree with them publicly while thinking something else entirely—instead trying to get close at the first opportunity with the hope of casual sex, even if it costs them something. Rather than conforming or trying to convince anyone, it is better to find a kindred spirit and stay true to oneself. At first, I took it as fun with some benefits, but over time, it started to have its advantages. I began to experience life from a different perspective and met people who were previously taboo to me—people of whom "good society" only speaks in negatives.
One of them was a sweet hairdresser I happened to meet at a party, who made some extra money on the weekends working at a night club in addition to her main job. It was already past midnight, the party was in full swing, and any remaining shyness was drowning in alcohol. She came up to me in the restroom and asked flat out, "Would you be interested in working with me?" I looked at her in surprise, since up until today she had been a complete stranger to me. "Would you want to grab a shot with me?" she continued with the questions. Another shock! Up until then, I had only ever gotten that question from guys. And because I was curious about what this was all about, I told her I would. Her behavior and the way she carried herself were completely different from what I was used to in my circles. We ordered drinks at the bar and took them over to a table. She kept checking me out, as if she were trying to pick me up. It was actually a pretty pleasant thought, but I got straight to the point and asked what kind of work it was supposed to be. "Well, I heard that you like male company, basically that you're the local slut," she blurted out openly. "I’ve been working at a night club for a few months now, so I figured maybe you’d want to give it a shot and make some money," she added with a sweet smile. I was really surprised by her openness and the offer. I knocked back the rest of my shot and went to get us another round just to buy some time to think. When I got back to the table, I still didn't know what to say. "Look, if you want, you can come down there with me this Saturday just to check it out with no obligations and see for yourself," she suggested. "Well, I have to admit I’ve toyed with the idea before, but I never found the courage," I finally answered. "But if you took me with you, why not. I’d love to take a look," I added. "Let’s drink to that," she said, handing me a glass. After sealing the deal with a toast, she started telling me how things worked there, what the conditions were, everything she had experienced, and what the pitfalls were. We had a great time talking and didn't even notice the party was winding down. We said goodbye and agreed on where to meet this Saturday. I stayed seated for a bit, looking around the hall for a potential target to wrap up the night nicely—someone who would buy me a shot so I could afterwards live up to my reputation behind the community hall with my skirt pushed up.
I was nervous about visiting the nightclub, but it soon turned out that I had nothing to worry about. The setting was very nice, with a friendly atmosphere, and as we looked around, most of my nervousness faded away. There weren’t any guests there yet—just the girls and the bartender. My new friend introduced me and sat me down at the bar, saying she was going to go change and that I should have a drink in the meantime. I ordered a large shot of vodka and soaked up that strange, unmistakable atmosphere. My friend returned a few minutes later in sexy lingerie, sat down next to me, and asked if I liked it here. I had to admit that I felt very comfortable here, like a fish in water. “You can stay here as long as you want, and when you’re ready to go home, a taxi will take you,” she told me and ordered a shot of bourbon. We sat there chatting; in the meantime, the owner arrived, and I discussed the terms of a possible job with him, and within an hour or so, the first clients showed up. The girls took turns at the pole one after another, followed by a striptease, and my friend was already leading a client to a room. I told myself that I’d seen the essentials and it would probably be wise to slowly make my way toward the exit. But I wanted to wait a little longer for my friend so I could say goodbye to her. “So, what do you say? Are you going to stay here?” the bartender interrupted my thoughts. “Well, I’ll think about it. And if I do, it’ll probably just be on weekends for now,” I replied. “Well, I only help out here on Fridays and Saturdays, too. The owner is here during the week,” he explained. “Are you switching from another club, or do you just want to give this a try and make some extra money?” he continued to pry. “No, I’m not switching. I’m doing this on my own. But I could use some kind of base, because bringing guys home or hooking up in nightclubs and hotels isn’t always the best option,” I explained to him. And while we were chatting and getting to know each other better, my friend came back from the room. “Well, I see you two already know each other,” she said and asked the bartender to pour us another round. “Kind of. We had a nice chat, and I got some more information,” I replied. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t really want to leave. I was having a great time here, and even though I was just a guest, I’d gotten offers to go up to a room. That led me to decide to give it a try. While my friend went off to have sex again, I offered to help the bartender with the glasses because I was starting to get a little bored. As I was arranging the glasses on the shelf, I felt the bartender’s hand groping me from behind under my skirt. I wiggled my butt awkwardly, which he took as my consent, and he moved higher up. “You’re going to be surprised that I’m not wearing any underwear,” I thought to myself, pretending I still had more to organize on the shelf. He wasn’t! He knew exactly what to expect and what he was after. His fingers headed straight for my clit, where one began to gently circle around it while the others made room for it. He played with it so passionately that I could feel myself getting wet in his hand. “Man, you really know what you’re doing,” flashed through my mind, “just don’t stop!” Unfortunately, he had to, because one of the customers was leaving and needed to settle the bill. Horny as a pig right before climax, I “ran” to the restroom to finish up so I wouldn’t let it out. It was just a matter of a few seconds, and I was back at the bar. The bartender was there alone, and with a smile on his face, he asked me if I wanted another drink. “Yeah, the whole bottle, you pig,” I replied and sat down at the bar. “What? I’m a pig? I didn’t force you to hold it in,” he replied in surprise and started laughing. “I held it in because it was cute and I liked it. But I expected you to see it through to the end,” I snapped at him and started laughing too. “What if I did that to you? What? What?” I teased him. “Well, you can return the favor if it feels good to you,” he replied and started making gestures as if he were unbuttoning his pants. “So give me one more shot and I’ll join you under the bar,” I suggested. “Hmm, okay,” he replied, poured me another shot, and settled in comfortably. I went over to him, squatted down under the bar, pulled out his dick, and started jerking him off. Maybe he was expecting me to suck him off, but he didn’t go down on me either, so we’re even. I had no intention of leaving him hanging just to return the favor, and I don’t think he was counting on that either, because he made it clear to me that he was about to come. I stepped aside so my blouse wouldn’t get ruined and let him come in my hand. “Please pass me a napkin. Or better yet, two,” I whispered. As I was wiping myself off and trying to slip out of my hiding spot under the bar unnoticed, I caught sight of my friend just arriving. “Oh, did she leave already?” she asked the bartender. “No, no,” he replied, pointing downward. “I see. Looks like you haven’t been slacking off,” she said, responding to his gestures. “You know, we had some time to kill, and I wanted to wait for you,” I added. We sat together at the bar for a while longer, chatting, until the bartender announced that they were closing up for the night. The girls who were staying at the club went to their rooms to sleep, while the rest changed clothes and gradually left.
When I got home, my head spinning with all the experiences, I began to realize that I’d just spent the night in the company of kindred spirits, where no one looked down on me and I could just be myself without putting on a facade. “I’m going for it!” I decided, and the following weekend I gave it a go for real—and after that, I went regularly on Fridays and Saturdays. That first month, as a new face at the club, I didn’t stop moving, and when I grabbed a snack at the bar, I had to sit with my legs spread to cool my pussy. I didn’t expect it to be that challenging, but I didn’t let that discourage me, and after a few shifts I got used to it—after all, every job has its perks. And I actually enjoyed this one, despite some hurdles I had to get through. The bartender was a great support to me; I eventually started seeing him outside the club, and our relationship turned into a friendship. Finally, I could talk openly with someone about everything, confide my feelings and problems without having to constantly monitor what I said or how I behaved—and it didn’t affect my personal life. It was all almost too ideal until conditions at the nightclub began to change, and instead of a laid-back job filled with eroticism and sex, it became an uncertain job filled with anxiety, nervousness, and sometimes even fear. That was brought about by the “outsiders” and the girls they brought in. Alcohol, which used to boost energy and lift spirits, was replaced by white powder, and random “visits” from the police didn’t help ease our minds either. This was no longer the job I wanted to do, so the bartender and I decided to try our luck somewhere else. Unfortunately, this “virus” had spread to all the nightclubs. We agreed that under such conditions, we wouldn’t continue working here any longer. I suggested to him that maybe we could start something together, since we got along so well. For one thing, I didn’t want to go back to my old job, but more importantly, I felt that there was something connecting the two of us. “Well, why not? I’m all for it. What did you have in mind?” was his response to my suggestion. “I was thinking we could rent an apartment. You’d handle the business side of things, and we’d be our own bosses,” I explained my idea. He started laughing and replied, “I’ve actually been thinking about that for a long time.”
The next day, we met at his apartment and started fleshing out the idea of running a private apartment. “So, first of all. If I understand this correctly,” he began right away, “you want me to be something like your pimp?” he asked me. “Exactly,” I replied. “And with what we earn, we’d pay the rent for that apartment and split the rest. And I could give up that studio apartment and live there,” I added, clarifying my plan. “I see,” he mused, “what if you moved in with me? We could run it from here and wouldn’t have to rent anything. I don’t have any plans anyway, there’s plenty of room here, and it’ll be practical.” “Well, that would be absolutely perfect,” I replied enthusiastically, “and you wouldn’t mind living with a hooker?” “Why? At least when the time comes, I’ll have you right there,” he replied with a serious expression on his face, then burst out laughing. “Don’t worry about that!” I assured him. We high-fived to seal our “partnership” and decided to celebrate properly. We opened a bottle and started planning the details. After about two hours, with the help of alcohol, my thoughts drifted down to my panties, which began to slide mercilessly down to my ankles, and I had trouble keeping my thighs together. I decided that the first guy I’d spread my legs for at our private party would be my bartender. I didn’t wait a second and knelt down in front of him to give him a blowjob. He didn’t object at all—in fact, it looked like he’d been expecting it—and before I could even catch my breath, I already had him all the way down my throat. And instead of me sucking and caressing his throbbing cock, he took the initiative and, holding my head, thrust deep into my mouth. “If he cums now, he’s going to choke me,” flashed through my mind, but luckily he stood me up, leaned me against the table, and entered my aroused pussy from behind. I let go of the table and spread my cheeks so he could go as deep as possible. He took advantage of that, bent down, shoved his tongue into my ass, and started jerking off. I thought he was about to finish and was expecting him to cum, but instead he straightened up and swapped his tongue for his dick. I tried to relax completely so he wouldn’t tear me open, but he entered me slowly and I moaned with pleasure. “Cum in your slut’s ass,” I encouraged him, “come on, come on, shoot it in there.” “Or do you want me from the front so you can see how much I’m enjoying it? Huh?” I continued with my lewd talk and felt how it spurred him on to harder thrusts, “Do you like fucking your slut in her well-used ass? I’ll hold you nice and tight, so cum, fuck, cum!” I screamed in the throes of orgasm. Just then, he pulled out and splattered his cum all over my back. I stayed bent over with my legs spread wide, enduring this obscene ride. For the first time, I even got myself worked up with my own perverse teasing. Meanwhile, my bartender wiped himself off on my panties and top, got scantily dressed, sat down, took a sip, and said, “Where did we leave off?” I thought I was going to snap! Anxiously, I tried to sit up too, but I decided it would be wiser to take a shower first and then continue with our plans. A long night of brainstorming and preparations followed, including one more quickie in the early morning.
We set the opening date for the private club for the very first day of the following month. We were a bit worried about how it would all actually work out, but we agreed that time would tell and we could always shut it down at any time. To both of our surprises, we quickly got into the swing of things, ironed out all the details, and the brothel was up and running. Over time, I found out that my friend from the nightlife scene had also gone into business for herself, like most Czech sex workers.
