The Naughty Nymph Ch 01

This is another of Cassidy's adventures in the Galactic Odyssey universe, set a few years after the events of Panopticon. Don't worry, you don't need to have read any of the previous stories for this one to make sense.

Cassidy takes over a run-down brothel on a space station and, with the help of new and old friends, she dives right in. Get ready for loads of lighthearted fun and plenty of sex as she navigates life as a small business owner in the galaxy's oldest profession.

Winnings

When my contract with George ended, I felt a little bit lost. Too young to retire and with too much money in my pockets to need a new job right away, I drifted from place to place, catching up with old friends and searching for a purpose.

My travels brought me to Zesta, a mid-sized space station orbiting Teraxis and a notorious hotspot of gambling and prostitution. Well-connected to major trade routes in the area, it was a popular tourist destination, home to fifty thousand people, and more than five times that number in visitors. After taking in some shows and enjoying Zesta's wild nightlife, I would unwind for a few days on the planet's endless white beaches before continuing my journey.

I almost never played Sentarran Poker, but when an acquaintance who worked at a casino comped me a room and a few chips, I decided to try a few hands. A group of businessmen invited me to a backroom game, likely drawn more by my youthful looks than my poker skills.

"I'm out," said Martin, an import/export entrepreneur from Herados, tipping the dealer instead of tossing his last remaining chips in the pot. "Never play cards with a pilot."

"Beginner's luck, my friend," I said, more than a bit tipsy. "Come to my room when this is over. I'll make it up to you."

He chuckled. "Tempting, but my wife wouldn't appreciate it."

Despite my lack of success with Martin, the night was going my way. At three in the morning, the last player in the game was Rickie, a sleazy local nightclub owner who still had a decent stack of chips in front of him.

"I'm up for a fuck," he said, belching and scratching himself between his legs. "Always happy to help out such a hot piece of ass."

"The invitation wasn't for you," I shot back, glancing at my cards. It was time to wrap this up. I pushed my chips into the middle. "I'm all in."

"Fucking bitch," he groaned. "How much for the final card?"

The only sober person in the room was the dealer, a young blonde who dealt with professional precision and angelic patience. This being Zesta, she was topless, wearing nothing but a bowtie and a pair of large-gauge rings through her nipples.

"Sir," she said, counting Rickie's stack, "you don't have the funds to buy a card. Would you like the Sentarran lifeline? You have five minutes, starting now."

"Shit." He turned to Martin. "Hey, how about a loan? I'll pay you back after this hand."

Martin laughed. "Right. I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid."

Rickie slammed his fist on the table, making the glasses jump. He took a peek at his cards, scratched his head, then he looked at the sizable pot in front of us.

"That bitch has been bluffing all night. Let's make this interesting. I'll wager my business on deck ninety-seven."

"On ninety-seven?" Martin raised an eyebrow. "You mean that old whorehouse off the promenade? That place is a shithole."

"Fuck you! The Nymph is an institution on the lower decks. A few small investments, and I'll be printing money."

I scoffed. "Forget it, buddy, I'm just passing through. What would I do with a whorehouse?"

"The license for prostitution and the property is worth something," said Martin, emptying his glass. "I'm sure you'd find someone to take it off your hands. Only a shitty businessman can't make money with a brothel on Zesta."

Rickie shot him an angry glare. "Shut up. I had other things on my mind."

"I haven't been here in a while," I said, stretching. "I thought there were only cargo holds and terminals down there."

"It's a shopping and commercial district now," said Martin. "As for the Nymph, I wouldn't expect much. It's just a dozen beds in a converted cargo hold."

"Wanna buy it if I win?" I asked, half-joking.

He grinned. "My wife would chop off my dick and toss it out the nearest airlock. But I'm happy to recommend a realtor if you need one. You'll turn a nice profit."

"Miss, do you accept the wager?" the dealer asked, suppressing a yawn. "If you don't, I will refund your stake."

I hesitated. Over the years, I had worked at a few brothels, but never in management. It was a simple job that I enjoyed at times -- no stress, no danger, just making myself available to whoever was coming through the door.

On the other hand, cashing out now would fund a nice, extended vacation.

"Fuck this, let's do it," I said, surprising myself. If I won, I'd just stay for a few days longer and figure out what to do with the place. I had all the time in the world.

The dealer pressed a button on the data pad in front of her. "Sir, state the name and location of the business you would like to wager for the record."

"The Naughty Nymph, deck ninety-seven, Zesta."

As always before the deck was cut and the last card dealt, Rickie pinched the girl's nipple for good luck, which she endured with a stoic expression.

"I should pinch yours," he said, reaching for me. "Two work better than one."

"Try it. I'm gonna break every finger that touches me," I warned, prompting a smirk and a wink from the dealer.

With a flick of her wrist, she dealt the final card.

*

When I woke up in my hotel room the next day with a splitting headache, it was almost noon. It hadn't been a dream -- the title to my new property lay on the nightstand beside my blaster and a small pile of coins worth a few thousand credits.

After popping some painkillers, showering, and grabbing a quick breakfast, I felt ready to face the day. Dressed in slacks and a loose T-shirt, with my blaster strapped to my thigh and a blade in my boot, I took the elevator down to deck ninety-seven. It didn't take long to find the place: the neon sign outside read "The Naughty Nymph" and it featured a tacky animation of a nymph with cherry-red lips sucking an oversized dick.

The brothel was indeed a converted cargo hold, a large, windowless room with the typical layout of cheaper establishments. The mostly deserted entertainment area at the center consisted of a single row of a dozen booths -- each a small cubicle with a bed, open towards the reception area. Anyone standing in line could watch the action, a clear incentive for quick turnover.

Unimpressed, I made my way to the reception desk along the diagonal path of stanchions, stepping on a carpet that had once been red.

"Good morning," I said, when the girl at the desk didn't acknowledge me.

"We're not hiring," she said without looking up from whatever she was reading.

I looked around; besides the receptionist, there were only three people. Two were naked girls, chained by the neck to the back wall of their booths -- a common setup at whorehouses across the galaxy and my least favorite aspect of the job.

The pretty blonde on the right seemed to be curious, she was smiling at me, while the other girl and a fat, bald guy in booth one were fast asleep. He was fully clothed and probably passed out drunk, judging from the empty bottle of booze next to him on the bed.

"I'm not looking for a job," I said.

"Ah. Pussy eating is eighteen," she said, pointing at the large display on the wall to my left. It was the menu, the list of services that were offered here and their corresponding prices.

Behind the row of booths, parallel to the back wall, were two old freight containers with cut-out doors and windows. An office and the bathroom, I assumed.

"What's it gonna be?" she asked. "If you want a strap-on fuck, you'll have to bring your own equipment. That's ten, whether you want it in the pussy or in the ass."

"Is it always this empty?"

Among other things, Zesta was a trading hub, and even though the station had a day and night cycle, it was usually busy around the clock, with at least a dozen ships docking or departing any given hour.

She shrugged and blew a bubble with her chewing gum. "Do you want your snatch eaten or not? I don't have all day."

What the hell, I thought, might as well check out the service. I handed her eighteen credits in coins which she put on the desk next to the cash register.

"Booth three. Enjoy."

Sylvie

I walked past the receptionist to the entertainment area. Booth number three was the sleeping girl, so I cleared my throat.

"Mika sleeps like the dead," said the girl from booth four, looking over, forearms and boobs resting on the separator wall. "She has only two weeks left on her contract, she's not super motivated. But you can take me if you like."

No more than twenty, she had long blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders, brilliant green eyes, and a very feminine figure. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke, making her seem almost heartbreakingly vulnerable. It was a kind of innocence that rarely survived long in a place like this.

"You're sure you don't mind?" I asked, my gaze lingering on her face.

"Business has been dead for hours, and a girl can only masturbate so much," she said and giggled. "I need something to do. I'm Sylvie, by the way."

"I'm Cassidy," I said. "Pleased to meet you. Where's everyone else?"

"Gone. Normally we're five, but now it's only Mika and me. Our owner came by earlier and took the free girls to his other business. He must have sold the place, I hope I won't end up at auction."

I glanced around the room. Fucking Rickie, I thought. Of course he'd stolen everything he could carry or drag out of here.

"You two are company property?" I asked.

"We're indentured servants, yes." She turned her collar to let me see the engraved ownership information. "Two months down, ten left on my contract. Whatever happens to me, at least I have the right to room and board."

Them being serfs explained why the two girls were still here. Since Rickie was no longer the owner, he couldn't move them without leaving a paper trail -- after all, their contracts were notarized at the slave register.

I nodded toward the snoring man slumped in one of the booths. "And him? Doesn't look like he takes his job too seriously."

Sylvie giggled and lowered her voice. "That's Wally. He's supposed to be security. More like Rickie's cousin, so he gets everything for free... you know." She gestured vaguely.

Friends and family of the owner had to be served for free, it was a typical arrangement. I couldn't count the times I had to serve cops, local government officials, union bosses, and whoever else held a tiny bit of power or influence.

"Have you done this before?" I asked while I took off my boots and pants and sat down on the bed. "Pussy eating, I mean."

"To be honest, we don't usually have female customers. But I know what I like, that's what I'll try."

I smiled at her. "Haven't been on the job for very long, have you? Still learning the ropes?"

"Yes, it's my first job in this business. After this I can at least say that I did the entire menu. I won't pretend I'm good at everything, but I promise I'll do my very best."

She sat down next to me on the bed and touched my cheek, turning my head towards her. I looked directly into her green eyes as she leaned forward until our lips touched. For a short moment I hesitated, but then I deepened the kiss, my fingers tightening on her arms.

A flutter started in my chest, spreading like wildfire through my body.

Her left hand cupped my breast for a few seconds before she touched my nipple. Both of them were peeking through my T-shirt now, and she took her time stimulating them, one after the other with her thumb, her palm gently cradling the curve of my breast.

She bit my lip, her hand drifting lower. A first finger traced my folds, then another. I opened my legs, welcoming the slow press of two fingers as she renewed our kiss.

"Looks like you're enjoying yourself," she whispered, showing me her creamy fingers. "And now lean back and relax."

She turned her collar to get the chain out of the way and knelt down on the floor in front of me. My heart was pounding in my chest as I spread my legs and leaned back, the rough fabric of the sheets brushing against my skin.

A hot, wet slide of her tongue traced the delicate folds of my labia, and a shiver ran through me as she moved upward, her breath hot against my skin, before the pressure of her tongue found my clit. I moaned and closed my eyes.

She kept going, slowly at the beginning then at a faster, steady pace until a rush of warmth started in my toes and spread upward, like liquid fire. A tightening, twisting sensation built in my core, pulling me closer and closer to the edge until I gasped, my back arching involuntarily, my grip on the sheets tightening until my knuckles turned white. My breath caught in my throat, and a cry escaped my lips.

*

"Was it worth your eighteen credits?" she asked as she got up.

"Definitely," I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "Look, my legs are still shaking."

She beamed. "Glad you liked it, I always wanted to try that."

"Best I've had in a while," I admitted. "Most of the time I have sex with men, but I've always had fun with women."

"You know where to find me, I'm not going anywhere," she said, tugging at her chain. "It's a nice change from the usual, if you know what I mean."

I pulled up my pants and chuckled. "They say ass is half the business."

She laughed. "More than half around here. I do appreciate it though, especially when the guy's a bit bigger. My dad would get a heart attack if he knew what I was doing."

Changes

After getting dressed, I thought it was time to introduce myself. My orgasm had been loud enough to wake Mika; she groaned and rubbed her eyes, but Wally was a different matter. He remained motionless, and it took a few well-aimed squirts from a water bottle to raise him.

"What the fuck!" he shouted. He yanked the shock prod from his belt but changed his mind when he saw my hand resting on the grip of my blaster.

"Hey," I said, pulling the title from my back pocket. "There's been a change in management. I'm Cassidy, the new owner."

"You bought this shithole?" Mika sat up and looked at me in disbelief. "Are you fucking nuts?"

"Let me guess," said Wally, wiping his wet face. "That degenerate lost it playing poker."

I nodded. "He did. Shouldn't have bet on two pairs."

"Rickie's a fucking moron," he groaned, squinting his eyes to see me better. Even from two meters away I could smell the alcohol on his breath, reminding me of Morrisson, my old boss. I took an involuntary step back.

"Couldn't agree more," I said. "That means your days of getting drunk on the job are over. Oh, and if you wanna fuck the girls, you pay like everyone else."

He scoffed and scratched his balls. "Screw this, I quit." He tossed the shock prod on the bed and tried to get up, which he managed after the third attempt.

One problem less, I thought as I watched him stumble away.

"What happens now?" asked Sylvie, her voice trembling. She was staring at the floor, fidgeting with the links of her chain.

"I'm not sure. I was thinking of selling the place, the real estate might be worth more than the business. But you don't have to be scared, okay? We'll find a good solution for you."

"I'd sell in a heartbeat," said Mika, yawning. "This place is dead, it's a miracle we still get customers. I'm sure one of the neighbors would buy it as storage space."

With just two weeks left on her contract, she could afford to be honest. I glanced at the filthy carpet in the reception area, the old, washed out sheets, and the walls where the paint was peeling off: Rickie couldn't have invested much in recent years.

"I'll have to take a look at the books," I said. "The promenade is around the corner, and the lower docks are close as well. With that much foot traffic, this place has to be profitable."

"Why don't you take over and run it?" asked Sylvie. "I'm going to work super hard, I promise."

"Always the suckup," said Mika, rolling her eyes.

Sylvie glared at her. "Excuse me? That's what I was hired to do. You should try it once in a while."

"We're goddamn serfs," said Mika, yawning again. "It's not like good work gets us a raise or a corner office or something."

That's exactly the kind of attitude that drives customers to other places, I thought. Not that I could blame her -- I had spent my days chained up in dumps like this, and it hadn't helped my motivation either.

"You're aware that serfs get paid in advance?" asked Sylvie. "Our salary has been deposited into escrow at the slave register. That means as far as you're concerned, we work for free until the end of our terms."

"I know how it works," I said, unwilling to commit to anything. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First order of business, let me see the cash register."

Grudgingly, the receptionist slid open the drawer of the register, her jaw working furiously on her gum. Inside, I saw a few lost and lonely coins, which I counted quickly.

"Why are there only seven credits in it?" I asked, looking through the drawer to make sure I hadn't missed anything.

She shrugged and let another bubble pop. "It's been a really slow day."

"Half an hour ago I paid you eighteen credits. Where did they go?"

She flicked a stray strand of hair over her shoulder, avoiding my eyes.

"Empty your pockets."

"Like hell," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Someone must have stolen them when I wasn't looking."

"You were the only one here," I said, picking up Wally's shock prod, pressing the button to emit blue sparks. "There are plenty of cameras, I'm sure the cops would love the footage."

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, reluctantly turning out her pockets. A small pile of coins spilled onto the counter, thirty-six credits in small denominations, as she nervously eyed the shock prod.

"You're fired," I said. "Get out of here before I change my mind about calling the cops."

She muttered something as she walked out, and it was probably best that I hadn't heard it.

"What about you?" I asked, looking through Mika's contract on my comlink. "You've got two weeks left. Do you have plans for when you're released?"

She wasn't a beauty like Sylvie, but pretty enough, and a brothel needed experienced staff. I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt -- working as a regular employee who received a percentage per trick would probably motivate her more than the current arrangement.

"I don't know," she said. "I'll live a few months off the money I made here, and then it's probably back into another collar. Anything as long as it isn't in this shithole."

"You don't have to stay. Terminating the contract this late doesn't make sense, but if you don't wanna work here, you can go right away."

Even though releasing her early was possible if both sides agreed, the government would charge a hefty fee and pocket the entire salary. The goal was getting people into indentured servitude contracts and keeping them there. As long as the contract was active, serfs were the owner's problem, and they didn't show up in any unemployment statistics.

"And you won't have me arrested if I go?" she asked. "Running from a contract, that's five years minimum."

I searched through my comlink and opened the remote-controlled locks at the back of both girls' collars, sending the chains clattering to the floor.

"As long as you don't get in the way, you can do whatever you want," I said, sitting down on the bed. "You'll get food and a place to sleep. I know my obligations."