Brandy's Ranch

Copyright by ProfessorR ©

by Prof. Richard W.

(formerly of the University of ____________)

*****

RANCH HANDS - part one

Dean turned slightly, as his rising penis was blocking the view of Keira's anxious face. Her apprehension showed, perhaps not just because she was the newest girl in Brandy's Ranch, but also because of things she had said to him not too long ago.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he mused as he readied a condom on the nightstand. "She's wondering if I'm angry and I'm wondering if I'm up for her after this week." It had been quite a week. He slid into bed and Keira opened her mouth to speak. Dean touched his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, smiled, and stretched out. His strong right arm drew her down, and instead of issuing apologies or explanations, her lips took in his filling manhood.

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SATURDAY: The flight

The plane was in the air and the seatbelt light was off. Dean switched on his laptop. Normally, as a retired agent for a small and underfunded U.S. government intelligence unit, he would not have done this in the tight confines of airline coach seats, but perhaps he had grown careless. Anyway, when he thought about it later, the rare appearance of an empty center seat made his viewing seem more secure. And - at first - it was just text on his screen. The young woman in the aisle seat was listening, eyes closed, to the headset music.

It was a letter from me that he was reviewing, a request and an explanation. You will remember Brandy Adams from the case titled "Sound Experience". She had achieved one of her objectives, opening "Brandy's Ranch" in a Nevada county where well-regulated prostitution was a constitutional right, almost as important to the locals as the Second Amendment. But she was trying to raise the standards - and as a businesswoman, the income - of the industry by introducing new concepts. Brandy's Ranch bordered on a lake, had a work-out gym, and a cook who turned out great meals. And, it had the feature that led to the invitation to Dean.

Each of the girls' rooms in what were called "pleasure pods" had a computer linked to Brandynet. Of course, for those who needed inspiration, there were a variety of pornographic resources in the Favorites list, but what Dean was to launch was the customer satisfaction survey. Brandy's idea was to use SurveySimian to rate the customers' experiences and their potential interest in returning, trying new services, etc.

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A few weeks before Dean had headed west, Chloe Demeter and I had joined Brandy and Rick, her new right-hand man, for a few days. Chloe, prize-winning photographer, had been assigned by a leading website to document this new-mode brothel. In the late afternoon and evening, Rick and I had to stay clear of the customers, but in the morning I enjoyed joining him on his maintenance rounds. Even compact florescent light bulbs need replacing eventually, especially with so many on all night.

"Brandy needs someone knowledgeable to test the SurveySimian system," he remarked one morning as I helped him shore up a broken bed leg. "You'd be good at that."

"I don't think I would be the right man. I never told you, but I'm sort of ambivalent about prostitution."

Rick had a quizzical look.

"I mean, I wouldn't knock a man or woman for it, but it never appealed to me."

"I see. We run into that here in Nevada, too. The sheriff stops by some mornings for coffee with Brandy and me, but on First Responders Night he's home with his wife while most of his off-duty deputies are down here taking advantage of the half-price special. [Brandy foregoes the house share of the charges, but her girls receive their normal 50%.] Did I tell you that the paramedics are the fastest?"

"No, you didn't..." and our conversation drifted away to other topics, including Rick's progress in dealing with his PTSD.

Rick and I watched from the porch of Brandy's ranch house on the hill above the rest of her property as the SUV's and limos from Reno cruised into the dusty parking lot. Some of the men edged cautiously toward the lounge chairs at the lakeside, others walked confidently as though they had been there before. Brandy welcomed them, chatted with returning customers, answered nervous questions from the new comers. Then, she waved toward the girls' rooms and they came out in bath robes. When I first saw this, I was puzzled, but one by one, they slipped out of the robes, revealing their well-exercised figures in a variety of bathing suits. One was topless - "that's Caitie, she's something of an exhibitionist" commented Rick. I remembered that Chloe had mentioned her as one of the girls who was willing to be photographed for the more erotic photos in the website series.

Into the sun-warmed water they plunged, splashing about, tossing a beach ball, dumping handfuls of water on each other. The surface and shallows sparkled in sunlight; the deeps were heated by mysterious thermal springs.

"Taylor, there, the one splashing everyone by slapping her hand on the water, she's bisexual. Very popular."

"With who?"

"Oh, some of the customers, and when she's in a two-on-one the customers don't notice if the other girl is uneasy about it, as she's having so much fun it's... infectious." I thought he should have used a different word, but then that is my bias coming through. The girls disappeared behind a screen while the heightened lust drove the eager customers to adjust their requested services upward. The swimming line-up, Brandy had found, was worth thousands each warm night.

"She started that as Italian Night," Rick explained. "It was in honor of the Italian premier, I don't remember his name, but he invented Bunga Bunga parties. We had some of the girls tossing big bowls of spaghetti and tomato sauce at each other." I winced. "Yeah, you're right, it was easy enough for the girls to get cleaned off - and Jennifer, she's the MILF in the group, had her john lick it off. He paid extra to shower with her afterward! The real problem was cleaning up the furniture next morning." I was learning that everything had a price, but making the maintenance man unhappy went over the limit.

Later that evening, with the quick jobs departed and the girls bedded down for overnight with the big money guys, Chloe and Brandy joined us in the ranch house in front of a snapping fire log. The light flickered magically on their faces and I glanced at Chloe, wondering if she had learned any things with the girls that might come up tonight when we hit the sack. I knew I would be happy just being with her, but curiosity was getting to me. And what was the whispering about between her and our friend, the madam.

"I need your help, Richard," Brandy said. She explained, in more detail, how she wanted to start the SurveySimian software with someone who could evaluate the survey fairly. And she wanted her girls to feel that it was fair, with the first results from someone who knew what they were talking about.

"What if I start out with seven and a half minutes with some 19-year old Marine?" Rick imitated whining Kaylynn. Brandy gave him a stern look and then laughed.

"Yes, she can be a bitch," Brandy admitted, "but she was right. We need a master cocksman ideally."

"That's not me. I've always had some connection with the women I've been with." I sounded stuffy, I suppose. Chloe winked at Brandy. I supposed at the time that Chloe was kind of apologizing for my puritanical approach [yes, the Puritans believed in meaningful sex].

"Let's go to bed, Richard." Chloe's face was flushed from the warmth of the fire, or was it from within? I happily took her hand as she led me down the hall, away from the awkward conversation. I was imagining all sorts of possibilities and was enjoying the gleam in her eyes. I noticed my penis stirring within my clothing; as if it was teasing me with bits of pleasure in its desire to escape into adventurous territories.

We embraced, long and hard, and then I began to unbutton Chloe's blouse. It wasn't bodice-ripping; I thought I was being slow and sexy. But suddenly, a husky female voice behind me disagreed.

"Let me do that," Taylor offered in a catlike purr. Chloe grinned. So that was what the female whispering had been about earlier in the evening! Dressed in a gold-trimmed oriental robe and slippers, Taylor moved catlike, reaching around me so that her breast pressed against me while her hands took over the unbuttoning - and the caressing of Chloe's breasts.

I can't report everything that happened - my mind was a bit fogged. I did remember the menage a trois etiquette rules, I guess - to "come with the one you dance with" - because Chloe and I are still on good terms. I vaguely remember Taylor sliding to one side and letting Chloe kneel over me. I definitely remember finding the strength from somewhere to deliver powerful strokes deep into Chloe's soul, and have a cloudy recollection of Taylor riding behind her, her hands skillfully stroking Chloe's most tender places. Chloe was sighing. As my excitement climaxed, happy tears and joyful vocalisms came from her half-parted lips.

Most of my energy must have gone into Chloe, because all else of that unexpected pleasure that I recall was Taylor easing my condom off and expertly disposing of it. Chloe and I kissed wildly and then I fell into a deep sleep. Hours later, I awoke beside Chloe. Taylor was stirring on the other side of her. She had been sleeping with one arm across Chloe's shoulders. Our surprise partner winked at me as she rose, sinuously reclaimed her robe and slippers, and vanished through the same passageway that she must have used to join us.

At breakfast - which tasted better than ever - after the teasing remarks about what big appetites Chloe and I had that morning, I explained that I knew just the man to test every girl in Nevada, if necessary. Much as I had to admit enjoying the free sample, my prejudices were still mine.

And that is how - a couple of weeks later - my friend Dean ended up on the plane winging toward Reno and Brandy's Ranch. I remembered his hilarious story about hiding out in a Bang-kok brothel for a fortnight while an outraged Singapore businessman hunted for him, something about seducing the man's mistress and getting her to steal back from the businessman the stolen plans for some U.S. electronic gadget. I had heard that Dean had retired, and was pleased to learn that he would take the assignment. Neither of us knew that it would become more complex.

"It'll be a nice vacation. No pressure, no expense sheets," I told him.

"Well, I'll probably put pressure on myself. Sex everyday for a week? I haven't done that since..."

"Yeah, I know, Bang-kok!"

"Well, actually, more recently than that." Dean grinned. "But it's still classified."

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The plane's engines droned on. Dean scrolled through the copy of Brandy's business plan that I had attached. And then he came to the attached web pages that pictured each of Brandy's girls with a curriculum vitae that included career goals, education, hobbies, and her sex work specialties. All of the boxes were filled out, except that at the end there was an empty box with notes describing a bright new face who would be joining Brandy's team soon. Dean was impressed, scrolled the pages up and down, and momentarily forgot about his seatmate.

"Please! That may appeal to you, but why do I have to look at your pornography?!!" The young woman had awoken from her drowsy state. Dean realized that he should have been more discrete. Still, he felt that her comment about a screen view that required leaning toward him was overly strong.

"It's not pornography, it's a catalog for a bordello."

"Well, I'm glad that you clarified that! How is that different?" She turned frosty. Dean liked the way her blue eyes flashed daggers at him. He wondered if her question was just rhetorical, but decided to take it seriously.

"It's a lot more honest than pornography. Pornography just sells a false image. Prostitutes sell a real experience."

Dean decided that she had meant the question as rhetoric, but had taken his answer more seriously than she had wanted to. For a moment, Dean had fingered the entwined images on the medallion in his pocket from the School for Social Expression [really the School for Sexual Expression, but he was used to filling out training warrants for young agents who took classes there under its public name]. He thought about how it would feel to watch her going into a trance, and then being able to ask her about her feelings. And, as he looked over her trim figure, it was easy to imagine suggesting successfully that she join him in bed to discuss those feelings. But something told him to behave, as she turned away and closed her eyes.

He snapped the laptop shut and leaned back in the seat as best as one could. For a moment, he let himself remember the days when pretty stewardesses kept coming around offering treats, pillows, cigarettes, liquor. And, perhaps more, as he fondly recalled. Now, he was unlikely to be interrupted by a flight attendant for any purpose. Was his age beginning to show, or was it their age? Maybe their staff cutbacks?

The retired agent snapped his mind back to the task coming up. He went over the catalog again, reviewing what he had learned. Jennifer was a MILF, her photos demonstrating that time, weather and gravity could be dealt with gracefully.

"Benjamin Franklin was right," Dean mused, trying to recall the famous cocksman's quote about his preference for older women. Franklin's portrait had greeted the few visitors to the headquarters of Dean's agency, as perhaps the first U.S. agent to successfully enjoy sexual adventures overseas on behalf of the taxpayers.

But Dean also found himself reviewing the mental images of Taylor, Caitie, Kaylynn, Jessica and Chrysta. Already, he was forming some ideas about their personalities, but he would be rating them as professionals. Caitie's photos had been the most explicit. Kaylynn posed in a baby doll outfit, looking spoiled. Taylor looked like she swam every day, in great shape, but without the gym muscle bulges that some athletic women acquire. Jessica, perhaps an African-American, was an artist and Chrysta was a budding intellectual, based on their academic backgrounds, favorite books and hobbies. And then there was the open box for the new addition to Brandy's team. She was expected to arrive before the week was out, so Dean would be busy for each of the six nights he would be in the Silver State.

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SUNDAY: Caitie

Dean and the paying customers found chairs and recliners by the lakeshore. Some of the men were in Reno for a convention, so had egged each other on to try a visit to Brandy's Ranch. It was some sort of techie gathering, and he made a mental note of the website that some discussed. One of the younger men in the group had never been to a Nevada "ranch" before, but had learned more about it through the web than one of the older men who claimed to be a regular on these convention side-trips. On the other hand, they had beaten the rush by arriving a day before the convention; the older man had worked out a package rate with Brandy the old-fashioned way, by phone. The billing, of course, would be for a special seminar. It would be, the group leader smiled, an "educational expense." Brandy had offered him her list and he chose "Hard Lessons Coming - Course 202" as the "business course on economic trends" for his firm's auditors to check.

Dean was fascinated watching them work out who was going with who. Or was it whom? His grammatical musing was interrupted by topless Caitie perching on the arm of his chair. The others were paired off and filing down the path toward the pleasure pods.

"I guess it's just you and me now," she purred. She leaned over as if to whisper something, letting her breast graze his arm. She paused to look for a reaction; Dean realized that she was nervous, but trying to project an air of bravado. He said nothing. She wiggled her flame red swim bottom at him. The flashy gold stripe down the side caught the light. Some men seemed ready to drool at that sight, she told the other girls later, but the retired intelligence agent made no move.

"You're here to rate us, aren't you?" So that was it, he thought. The rumor mill had been at work. The underdressed blonde's exhibitionist tendencies had already expressed her insecurity. Now she thought that her work was being inspected. Dean still said nothing.

He looked deep into her eyes, his face expressionless. Caitie looked back, challenged, wondering, a bit apprehensive, barely noticing that her swimsuit bottom - which had so quickly dried in the Nevada desert air - was becoming wet on the inside. Nor did she notice that her stiffening nipples gave away her unexpected desire for kisses as the couple's copulatory gaze stretched out to seeming infinity.

Dean began to speak in low, measured tones. Other sounds were distant, but he encouraged her to notice how relaxing they were: the slight breeze in the trees, tiny waves lapping at the shore, giggles and some music coming from a far corner of the pleasure pods. It felt only natural to fall into deep rapport with Dean. Utter relaxation as she drifted off - she thought for just a moment. Dean, of course, as he debriefed Brandy and me later, did not need to explain the post-hypnotic suggestions he was offering.

"Time to get to work," Dean said as he took her hand. Somehow, as the walked toward her room, that did not seem offensive. And why, she wondered, was she so turned on? This was just another guy. Get his pants off and suck him and/or fuck him! She tried to tell herself that, she admitted later, but instead she yearned to have his power penetrating her. Barely into her bedroom, she stripped off her swim panty and pressed herself fully nude against his clothed body. He looked down into her glowing eyes and smiled as she nuzzled herself against his growing hardness. Stepping back, he admired her wet, blonde curls for a moment before they were pressed firmly against him again.

Caitie's desire for Dean's sex completely erased her insecurity. And, she was enjoying her femininity now, instead of thinking of her work as a grind. Confidently, she slid a hand over his chest and down to his pants zipper. The sound of the zipper going down its track was good to hear now, reminded her of her boyfriend long ago. As Dean's organ emerged from its captive briefs, like her boyfriend, she thought, he's just a normal guy. Then Dean whispered something in her ear - "look again."

She blinked and sucked in her breath. As Dean's cock began its inexorable rise, it was growing to exactly the size of the largest one that she had ever taken in. Of course, she did not understand that she was imagining that swelling sword via a post-hypnotic suggestion - Dean had learned over the years to overcome his vanity and not get carried away with that suggestion, lest he frighten women. They would imagine him exactly fitting. He WAS guilty of pretending to struggle to get the condom on over his supposedly engorged giant. He had not, he confessed later, rid himself of all bad habits.

Usually, Caitie had to call on her experience with drama classes once her john was inside, but as she admitted later, she could not remember any of the lines that she usually delivered. In those delicious moments, her subconscious took charge and carried her upward on waves of pleasure. Sensitive to her responses, he let himself go as she climaxed, but only tumbled to her side after the last tremor had shaken her.