share it with him. It was a healthy alternative, but just not for her. She quickly put herself in check. She had to work.
“I know the majority of men are into that, but I’m not sure if all women indulge. You guys start that at a really early age, but I understand it’s healthy.”
“I started at fourteen. My friends told me I was a late bloomer.”
“But why would I ever do that when I’ve got you? I love how you give it to me. I can’t imagine self-pleasuring would make me feel nearly as good as you do right now.”
“You’d be surprised. Maybe you should try it. I can already visualize you in the act.” He groaned with desire.
“Either way, this experience is utterly amazing. Visualize me taking you all the way there. I feel you inside of me,” she said, sounding breathless. “Can you feel how hot I am for you?” Persia knew she had the caller going. His breathing was way past labored.
“You feel hot enough to pop my thermometer. I love it when you get this hot and crazy with desire for me,” he whispered sweetly.
She moaned softly, wantonly. “I love it when you whisper sweet things to me. Just for that, the candy store is open only for you. You can taste both the white and dark chocolates and lots of my other delectable sweets. What’s your tongue’s pleasure?”
At this point, Persia almost always changed gears, revving up her client’s engine, taking hot and heavy to another level, making it hard for him to stay in control. As he cried out her name, she knew he was toppling. Persia screamed out simultaneously.
Persia could always tell what was going on with the client. His low guttural moans were a clear indication. A lot of times it didn’t take very much to get the men off and running. As he continued gasping, Persia cringed inwardly, warding off tears. Never once had she fulfilled one of these calls without crying during or afterward.
He had simply referred to himself as Larry when he’d first come over the line. He’d also said he loved her name. It was exotic and sounded erotic to him. She had an idea this guy would become one of her regulars. He had sounded comfortable with her.
Persia let her mind wander as she waited for his breathing to return to normal.
She’d only taken on this job as a phone-sex operator, referred to as a PSO in adult entertainment industry (AEI) lingo, because it was excellent money, helping her work her way through college. There’d been no way around it. The demands on her salary were major.
The only requirements were that a PSO had to be eighteen and comfortable with scripted scenarios. Working from home required a corded landline phone. The beginning salary started from eight to twenty-five dollars an hour, depending on the time of day a PSO worked.
While online researching AEI Persia learned that fantasy phone sex generated between $750 million and $1 billion in revenues each year. As much as fifty percent of the money was retained by U.S. long-distance carriers.
“What do you do for a living?” Persia finally inquired.
The man sighed hard. “I work in medicine.”
“What do you do in medicine?”
“I’m a physician, family practice.”
This wasn’t so unusual to Persia. She had many professionals calling her. Clients were given a special code number to punch in if they wanted to talk directly to a specific employee. She was rather surprised at the number of professional men who called her repeatedly. Many had asked her out, but it was against company policy. Besides, she refused to take the job home. This gig was taken out of pure necessity.
The job training had been terribly hard for her to get through. The dialogue often caused her to nearly gag. She didn’t use a lot of the terminology from the different scripts, but she managed to get by without getting too graphic. She often thought about quitting, but it wasn’t even an option for her. So much was involved here.
Persia’s work area consisted of a multiline phone, a comfortable leather swivel chair, a semicomfortable cot and a small desk. Soft music was piped in 24/7. Many of the women had said they performed their jobs better when lying down on the twin-sized cot. Other employees preferred to sit on the leather swivel chair or even stretch out on the plush carpeted floor. There was also a television in the room.
If the women felt they needed assistance in their duties, there was plenty of X-rated material for them to view. Adult magazines were also plentiful. Some women worked at home, but Persia had chosen not to connect a phone line into her apartment.
A number of clean, well-stocked bathrooms were available for the employees. There were vending machines in the building, so when the ladies were munchy they could also eat and drink something. If they didn’t want to exit the workplace, a refrigerator was available for those who chose to bring in their meals.
Persia worked four hours in the early evenings, going straight from school to the job, with another stop in between, but she was always home by dark. Only working three days a week allowed her flexibility with her other scheduled activities. Never did she work weekends, but Friday, Saturday and Sunday paid a much higher salary than what weekdays garnered. The call volume was extremely high during the weekends, referred to as prime time.
Because her client had paid for an hour, with half of it spent, the next thirty minutes Persia and Larry got back into some heavy sexual dialogue, but the heavier stuff came from him.
The minute Persia disconnected the line, she stashed her alter ego.
Dakota Faraday ran for the area in the back of the building to punch out from the job paying way more money than she’d ever make in retail or fast food. Until something came along that covered all her expenses, she had to stay put. The desire to earn a degree had her trying desperately to look past how her needs were met. It was possible to land some other kind of job, but Persia already knew it wouldn’t pay as much as she was making at Licensed to Thrill.
Chapter 1
In her bathroom, inside her Carson, California, apartment, decorated in various shades of baby blues and soft whites, Dakota Faraday peered into the looking glass, plucking away at her sable eyebrows. Every now and then she had to stand on her tiptoes to get in closer to the mirror. The lighting was bright enough, but she’d made a mess of her eyebrows a time or two, so she tried being more careful. Tweezing hurt, stung, but she didn’t like waxing because it was even more painful. Shaving could result in razor bumps, so that hair-shaping method didn’t work either.
Satisfied that she’d done a great job with her brows, Dakota reached into the glass shower cubicle and turned on the cold water full blast. People thought she was crazy for taking cold showers, but it was her preference. When taking a bath, she used steaming hot water and lots of bubbles and exotic oils. Baths were for relaxing. Showers were meant to invigorate. If she took a hot shower, she’d feel sleepy right afterward. Who wanted to feel that way when starting their day or going out on the town?
As the first douse of cold water ran over her ginger-brown flesh, she shivered and danced around a bit. Seconds later, she was all into it. Rarely did she stay in the shower longer than ten minutes at a time. Catching a cold was something she didn’t want. Lying in wait for her outside the stall was the thick, white terry-cloth robe she’d slip into right after each bone-chilling experience. The towel warmer kept her fluffy bath sheet heated through and through, creating luxurious sensations
