Camille sat in the coffee shop sipping coffee and munching on toast. She watched the luscious young blonde walk primly from the. Pontalba Apartments toward the waiting Cadillac. Cammy smiled. Another year, maybe two, and the blonde could make her last trip. They would have another Cajun for the visiting VIPs. Cammy shivered at the thought of bedding down with presidents and prime ministers, with sheiks and chancellors. It would be a hell of a life.
She closed her eyes and dreamed. Cammy was not about to settle for a fishing camp way down the bayou. She wanted more than that. She would offer her Pierre a hell of a lot more. She laughed softly, remembering the last fuck with her bashful Cajun. Pierre would have difficulty accepting her profession. He would be more difficult than it had been for Gilbert. Still, if he wanted to get off that little fishing boat, he would have to accept it.
They called her "tramp", now along the bayou. They called her a tramp because it was known that she had fucked most of the boys on the big pleasure boats, the New Orleans aristocrats. Let them call her a tramp. She didn't see anyone look down their nose at the lovely, blonde who just climbed into the Cadillac. She didn't see anyone turn up their nose when the girl's picture was in the paper recently, escorting some duke.
It would be a hell of a life. Cammy smiled warmly at her good fortune. She had it made. She and her dad, Gilbert, and Yvonne had a hell of a life going. Every night they all played erotic games around the house. Everybody fucked everybody else. It was a great life. And it was going to get better. Lots better.