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.
