"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When we were on vacation, you said your fantasy was to watch me with another man with no one else around."
"Yes, I did say that. I was thinking more like at home or in a motel room. What is this setup anyway?"
"Isn't it obvious? We do live sex shows here. This room is for the audience and the other one is the stage."
"This is part of your job?"
"Yes. Let me explain how it works. The audience pays twenty dollars apiece to watch; the house gets that. The guy in the show pays the girl two hundred which she keeps. I had to give Carl this guy's two hundred so you could be in here alone while I fucked him. The johns have to submit a blood test every six months, and they can't be johns unless they are recommended by others. Carl checks them out to be sure they aren't cops."
"So you're telling me you're a whore."
Her face went livid with rage. "You listen to me, my darling pimp...."
"Who are you calling a pimp?"
"You! Remember that twelve thousand dollars we made on vacation? You lined up the johns and took their money while I fucked them. That's pimping. What did you think you were doing?"
"I saw it as living a fantasy. It was your idea to go for ten thousand. I figured the gangbangs were your fantasy."
"I said that to get you excited. I didn't expect you to go for it. It was still prostitution. We, both of us, took money for sex. Remember that woman who paid you? You are just as much a whore as I am. If I had set you up with her, I'd be a pimp too."
I felt completely deflated. "Is this why you took this job?"
"I took it for the money. I want to buy us a house. I want to pay my parents back for putting me through college. They scrimped and saved every penny they had for me. I owe it to them."
"So you've been doing this all the time you've worked here?"
"All but the first two weeks. I have to get blood tests every month, otherwise, I would be limited to serving drinks. That keeps everybody safe, and the johns can have bareback sex. I make more on one trick than I do in drink tips on a busy Saturday night. I've been averaging six thousand a week."
My eyes widened in shock. "You're talking about three hundred thousand dollars a year. You've been working here for over a year. Where's all the money?"
"I've given some to my parents. I still owe them fifty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand is in the bank. The rest is in stocks and mutual funds which have done very well. We're worth about a quarter million. I haven't completely wasted my education."
"I guess not. Where do we stand now? I mean us, you and me, our marriage?"
"I figure another two years here and we'll be millionaires. We could buy a house and retire before we're thirty."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"David, I love you. If you want a divorce, I understand. If I were you, I probably would. I should have been more honest with you. I was a sex machine before we met. Maybe I'm addicted to sex. I love sex. I can't get enough. I don't mean you're a lousy lover; you're fabulous. You know my body better than anyone else; you give me stronger orgasms than anyone I've ever known; you play me like a violin; I love it. Now I'm scared. If you say quit, I'll do it right now. If you want out, you can have everything. I don't know what I'm saying. I just know I love you."
I was silent for a minute. I certainly had a lot to gain from a divorce. Her income would be gone, but should money be the reason to continue our marriage? I would lose the hottest woman I had ever known. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before speaking. "I love you too." I paused. "I learned something about myself on our trip. I should have told you sooner. Starting the second night...before I assumed my role as your...your pimp, knowing we had an audience turned me on tremendously."
"I noticed you were a lot hotter. I feel that way, too, when I'm on the stage."
"Are you the only one doing this?"
"No, there are others. The customers seem to prefer me. Maybe it's because I have the biggest tits."
"That makes sense. If you're making six grand a week, then you're fucking thirty guys a week, six a night."
"That's the average. It varies. Weeknights, it's three or four. Weekends are a lot busier. This guy was number eight for tonight."
"I want to be number nine."
"What?"
"I want to be number nine. I want to go in that room with you and screw our brains out. I want everyone here to see how much I love you. It's almost midnight. Closing time is two. I want to spend those two hours between your legs filling your mouth with my cum, eating cum from your pussy, fucking your ass."
"My ass? I didn't think you wanted to do that!"
"You've wanted it?"
"Yes! The johns have done it for me, but I've prayed you'd do it too. I'll talk to Carl. The other girls need time in there, too, so he can't give us two hours, but think he'll give us thirty minutes."
"Fuck Carl! I want you, and I want you now."
"If I have to, you'll be number ten instead." We both laughed. "Right now, we have to get out of here so the next audience can come in. Get your beer and go find a table."
The game was over, and the crowd was thinning out. I sat at an empty table just outside the hidden theater doors. Cindy found me twenty minutes later. She pressed her mouth to mine and pried my lips apart. A wad of cum passed from her mouth to mine. "You're number nine and a half," she said. "We go on at one, and we have the last full hour. The crew is promoting us as a special show at fifty bucks a head. If they get more than fifty in the audience, we'll get half of the take over twenty-five hundred dollars. There are a hundred seats available, so we should make out pretty good. Part of the pitch is that we're doing anal."
"I can't wait," I said. I reached under her skirt and found drops of cum on her pussy lips. I wiped them off and licked my fingers. "Are you sure I'm not number ten and a half?"
"You weren't supposed to find that. I had to do both Carl and Bob."