In fact, I watch, mesmerized, as one man teasingly fondles a serving girl’s full C cup, running his finger lightly along the delicate ridge of her nipple. The girl giggles and holds still, watching with growing arousal as her tip gets hard and stiff. The billionaire then leans forward and sucks her nipple into his mouth, the woman tilting her head back with a delighted gasp as he laves her delicate flesh. Oh wow. This is some debauched shit.
My eyes slide to the right, only to see something even dirtier. A waitress is bent over, braced against a couch seat as a man buries his face in her pussy from the back. I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but judging from her cries of pleasure, it’s something that feels incredibly good. Suddenly, the man sits back, and licks his lips with a satisfied smile. His chin is wet from what can only be her juices, and then he dives back in as the girl lets out another long, low wail. Oh shit. This is beyond my wildest, naughtiest dreams.
“So … um, I’m supposed to do stuff like that?” I ask, indicating the dirty couples. “That’s what this waitressing job is about?”
My manager merely shrugs.
“This is what the Billionaires Club is about,” she says in an even tone. “We’re here to cater to the members’ needs, and going topless is routine,” she says. “They do it at the pool too, should you decide to transfer to that location, and also the wrestling ring. Go topless, I mean.”
I want to ask more. There’s a pool where all the pool girls are topless? And what’s this about naked wrestling? Holy cow, this is crazy beyond my wildest expectations. But my manager interrupts my thoughts then.
“They did tell you how much you’d be paid, right?” she asks neutrally. “Did HR get a chance to brief you on that?”
I bite my lip. Really, it doesn’t matter. You can’t pay me to be a whore. But at the same time, I’m curious, so I shake my head.
“No, I think we were in such a rush that that I missed that part of orientation,” I fib lightly. “Why, how much is it?”
My manager nods her elegantly coiffed head.
“We are short quite a few girls right now,” she murmurs to herself, surveying the bar. “But your rate will be fifty dollars an hour, plus tips. HR will collect your bank account number. They do direct deposit, and the money is put into your account each Friday. Tips, of course, are in cash, and trust me – these billionaires are very generous. Get on their good side, and your tips can far outweigh your hourly pay.”
I stare at her, unable to believe my ears. Fifty dollars an hour? Suddenly, Dr. Thompson’s words ring in my ears. He’d said something about making three to five times my usual rate, but I’d figured that was nothing but exaggeration. At most, they’d pay me fifteen an hour and then reassure me with the promise of lots of cash tips. But it seems the Billionaires Club really does live up to its hype. Fifty dollars an hour is five times what I made at the Silver Star. With that kind of base, I didn’t even really care about the tips.
Suddenly, my mind was made up. I’ve wanted to go to college for so long, and money is the big thing holding me back. Of course, there’s the issue of getting in, but being able to afford tuition is also huge. If I worked here at the Billionaire Club for a little while, I might be able to save like crazy. Fifty dollars an hour times eight hours a day is … four hundred dollars! Four hundred times seven days a week is twenty eight hundred per week in base. Suddenly, college didn’t seem so impossible.
The situation reminds me of my friend Darlene. She’s a good girl, and plenty smart too. But after her mom got ill, Darlene was hard up. The medical bills were smothering her, and she decided to take a job as a high-class escort. I still remember the conversation we had before she left for Chicago.
“Dar, you can’t,” I’d said. “You can’t do this. You can’t sell your body to make money! You’re a smart girl, and it’s crazy besides. You could get hurt.”
Darlene shot me a look, even as she stuffed more clothes into her duffel bag. She didn’t say anything, so I continued.
“Dar, think of your future,” I implored. “What if people find out? They’ll brand you as the hooker ho for the rest of your life. It’s like having a felony on your record. No one’s going to want to hire you, much less associate with you.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make some new hooker friends,” she said tightly, her eyes fixed as she continued packing her bag. “It’s never too late for that.”
“No, you know what I mean,” I begged. “I’m just saying that you don’t want to tarnish your reputation. You’ll be labeled, and you’ll never be able to be considered for the Supreme Court! You’ll never be able to hold any elected office.”
My comments made Darlene laugh. She looked at me with a mirthful smile, her hands paused for a moment.
“Gem, do I look like a future justice of the Supreme Court? I mean, look at me,” she said, flipping one hand through her blondish brown hair. “Do Supreme Court justices have frosted ends and ombre dye?”
“No, I’m just saying,” I protested again. “Most Supreme Court justices have gray hair, from what I can tell, but still. Don’t brand yourself with a scarlet letter!”
That made her go still, her eye catching mine.
“That’s why no one knows what I’m doing this summer,” she said in a quiet voice. “Only you, Gem. And you’re not going to tell anyone.”
“Of course I won’t,” I said. “But aren’t you afraid people will find out?”
Darlene shrugged and continued packing, refusing to meet my eye.
“That’s why I’m going to Chicago for the summer. It’s real far from Vegas, so no one will know me. I’m taking a fake name, and I’m going to sleep with a lot of guys for money. And I’m going to make a lot of money doing it too. But after this summer’s over, then I fly back here and none of this ever happened. Don’t you get it Gem? I have to do this. It’s going to be a dirty secret, but I have to take a chance. And once I’m done, this is all history. I’ll deny it if it ever comes up.”
I stared at her shocked, as she continued to pack determinedly. But Darlene was right. She came back in the fall flush with cash, with her lips sealed. And she had plenty of money after that too.
Plus, I understood why she did it. My friend had no choices, and I’m very much in the same situation now. I’m a prisoner, being forced to work at the Billionaires Club. But now, it doesn’t feel so much like a prison anymore, so much as an opportunity – I’d make my money, and then after enough paydays, I’d find out a way to escape. After that, my time here would be nothing but a memory.
So looking back at my manager, I straighten my shoulders.
“Fine,” comes my calm voice. “I’ll take off my top.”
With that, I turn my back and slowly begin to pull the tube top down. It’s tight but finally with some wriggling and struggle, the piece of cloth tugs off and I manage to get it over my hips before stepping out of it entirely. My boobs jiggle slightly, which is to be expected. They’re huge and creamy, the tips a deep pink which look almost rose in the golden light.
I turn back to face my manager. “This okay?” is my semi-sarcastic question.
She doesn’t even blink an eye.
“Perfect,” she says. “Now, here’s your notepad, and here’s your silver serving tray,” she says, pressing the two items into my hands. “You were a waitress before, right? I trust you won’t need any explanation about what to do.”
With that, she begins to saunter off. My nerves get the best of me, and my mouth opens.
“Wait –“ I stammer. “So do I … you know, let them touch me and stuff?”
The middle-aged woman looks at me archly over her shoulder.
“Well now, that’s up to you,” she says. “But my advice is: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” And with that, she walks off like nothing’s the matter.
I turn back to survey the scene. Oh my god, the debauchery going on is incredible. The couple whom I observed before are now kissing on the loveseat, one of his big hands te
nderly stroking her breasts as they enjoy one another. As I watch, one of his hands trails downwards to bury itself between her legs, and she closes her eyes and moans, parting her knees to give him better access. Holy shit, is he fingering her pussy in public?
Plus, there’s some loud moaning and panting coming from behind a potted plant. Judging from the way the palm fronds are shaking, I’d guess one of the waitresses is getting it good. And to the right, another handsome billionaire is currently leading a woman away, probably to his private suite. Her breasts sway as she casts him a shy smile, her hand caught in his big one.
Oh my god, am I expected to do all this? Am I expected to kiss, touch, and fondle if a man expresses interest? I suppose so. Darlene’s words ring in my head again. It’s just one summer, she said. Nobody will ever know after everything’s said and done with.
So I straighten my shoulders once more, and take my platter and notepad in hand. I wish Mr. Carmichael were here because I wouldn’t mind serving him. It would be fun to get filthy with a man so magnetic and handsome. But he’s not, so I have to make the best of the situation like I always do.
Chapter 10
Peter
I see her the moment she walks into the bar. Gemma’s absolutely gorgeous dressed in that ridiculous pink feathery top, but it can’t hide her assets. She’s luscious and creamy, exactly the way I like them.
The Billionaires Club is ultra-selective when it comes to women, and it’s easy to see why. After all, we get our choice when it comes to hiring, and the women often ask to come back after they get a taste of the money. Plus, my brothers aren’t bad looking, if I say so myself. What’s so terrible about getting paid to hang out and sleep with hot guys, especially if it’s an all-expenses paid ride? More than one serving girl has supported her family this way, or put herself through school with the much-needed income.
Plus, Gemma fits what my brothers like. She’s ripe, young, curvy, and sassy to boot. We don’t like women who have personalities of cardboard. We like them feisty and even a little temperamental. After all, we’re surrounded by yes men, day in and day out. A little fire when it comes to tending the hearth can really add some spark to a man’s day.
And just in case you’re wondering, yeah, some of us do live here. We all have houses and apartments in the outside world, but sometimes, it’s just easier to stay at the clubhouse. There are private suites, and we’re surrounded by luxury. There’s a gym, a pool, a sauna, a spa, a library, and a private chef. You name it, we’ve got it. Plus, the club offers us privacy. There aren’t many paparazzi five miles below ground, so there aren’t any annoying questions or blinding flashes going off at unexpected times.
But Gemma was a sight to see. Gorgeous and curvy, she waltzed in and then her mouth dropped open. Because of course, the bar is a debauched place. The lush décor and dim light can’t hide what’s going on, which is a lot of kissing, fondling, and even full-on sex in some cases. Some of my brothers like a little exhibitionism, and with girls this hot, it always looks good.
So when she took her notepad and began to walk forwards with a determined look, my cock immediately got stiff. Oh shit, she’s so beautiful. Even more endearing is the way her delicate jaw is set, like she’s determined to make a success of herself. I get it. I come from a rough background myself, and sometimes there was nothing standing between me and despair but my bootstraps and an iron will. I respect her for that, and before I realize what I’m doing, my hand is raised and I’m calling her over.
“Hey,” is my low rumble. “How are you?”
She sees me and immediately inhales, those luscious breasts rising beautifully. Oh shit. I want to suckle and taste them so badly, but it seems rude to descend on her like some predator with no warning, even if that’s exactly what I am.
“Um, hello,” she says, mincing over to where I sit in a comfortable, low-slung club chair. I almost laugh. The high heels are killing her, although they make her legs look a mile long. “Oh wait,” she says with confusion. “I’m sorry. How can I help you, sir?”
Again, I almost burst out with laughter. This girl is so real that it’s refreshing. But I smile and decide to take it easy. “How about bourbon on the rocks? Ask for the Woodford Reserve, otherwise they’ll give you Maker’s Mark.”
To her credit, she nods immediately, sashaying away. Good. Gemma knows her top shelf liquor. I watch hungrily as that ass sways right and left, disappearing into the narrow curve of her back. In a few minutes, she’s back with a tumbler on her tray, filled with the good stuff.
“Here you go, Sir,” she says in a low voice, placing the glass on the small table at my side. “Enjoy. I’ll mark it to your bill.” Gemma turns to go, but I place one big hand on her thigh. Not so fast. I haven’t had my fun yet.
“You know,” I say casually, “I like to drink my bourbon a special way,” I remark. “Maybe you could help me with that.”
She turns back to me. “Can I get you a straw?” she asks innocently. “I mean, most people don’t drink whiskey with straws, but it’s fine if you do. To each their own.”
I actually laugh at that one.
“No, no straw necessary,” is my dry reply. “But I do like tasting my bourbon with a side, if you get what I mean.”
She turns and looks at me curiously.
“I’m sorry? With fries? Or maybe some mixed nuts?” Then Gemma catches herself. “Of course, Sir. Just tell me what I can do to make your experience better.”
Good, this woman is smart. She’s catching onto the program quick, and I smile at her, flashing even white teeth.
“Well, I like my bourbon with curves, so to say.”
She stares at me again, uncomprehending. Chuckling again, I decide to tell her the specifics.
“I like my bourbon coating a woman’s tits, if you get what I mean. I like sucking the liquid off a beautiful woman’s curves because it combines two of the things I enjoy most in the world: top-shelf liquor, and making a gorgeous girl feel good. Plus, it’s a nice end to a trying day. So what do you think, sweetheart? Are you up to the challenge?”
For a moment, I think she’s going to say no. Gemma’s brown eyes flash, and she looks like she’s about to spin on her heel and hightail it out of here. But then, her eyes go soft and her posture relaxes. Good. She’s intelligent, this one. Plus, judging from the way her tits are heaving, more than a little turned on.
“Of course I’m up for it, Sir,” she purrs, those big boobs jiggling ever so slightly. “Just tell me what to do.” My cock goes stiff, and my mouth waters, desperate to get inside her. I smile, trying to conceal my arousal.
“It’s easy, sweetheart. Dip your tits in my glass, and then I’ll suck the alcohol off you, sweetheart. It’s the best way to enjoy a drink, bar none,” is my wicked command.
Gemma stares at me with big brown eyes. Her mouth opens as if she’s going to protest, but then it snaps shut once more. Atta girl.
“Of course,” she says in a soft voice while putting down her tray. “I’m happy to do your bidding, Sir.”
I’m proud of this woman. She sees straight to the finish line, and knows what it takes. Good. Slowly, she picks up the glass.
“Let’s make things easy,” I rumble. “I’ll hold it while you dip.”
Her eyes grow wide again, but she nods. “Here,” I say, holding the tumbler in mid-air with a steady hand. “Push your breast into the amber liquid, sweetheart, and then pull it out so I can taste.”
Her cheeks flush and eyes flare, but she nods and takes her right breast in one hand. Slowly, she leans forward, squeezing her creamy flesh and angling it towards the glass. Then she dips it ever so slightly into the bourbon, gasping a bit at the cold liquid, before pulling back with the honey running off her breast.
I don’t hesitate. In the next second, I lean forward and seize her nipple with my mouth, the fiery taste of the alcohol bursting against my tongue alongside the heavenly taste of her breast. She’s hard and ready, moaning slightly as she pushes furthe
r into my mouth.
“That’s good,” I growl. “I like a girl who likes it.”
Gemma throws her head back and sighs, running her fingers through my hair.
“Mr. Carmichael,” she breathes. “Oh my god. This is so bad. Oh my god, what waitress does this?”
I ignore her words, merely suckling harder. My hands creep up her thigh, stroking that soft flesh. Shit, she’s curvy everywhere and I can’t wait to see these legs parted as I own her tender, steaming pussy.
Suddenly, her voice overhead interrupts my filthy thoughts.
“I thought I was supposed to stop by your office earlier. Why did you cancel it?” she murmurs.
What? Why is she talking about this now? But I lean back for a moment, popping her tit out of my mouth. I hold the tumbler up again, and obligingly, she dips her left breast into the whiskey this time.
“Because I wanted to do this at the bar,” I rasp while licking up and down her pink nipple. The alcohol is excellent, but it’s made even better by the sweet taste of her flesh. “You know, to evaluate how good you are on the job,” I rasp.
She giggles slightly even as her breath catches again.
“I hope I’m up to the task,” she murmurs. “After all, the Club is paying a pretty penny.”
I nod, even while gently tracing her areola with my tongue. She sighs again, her legs going weak, and I chuckle deep in my throat.
“We are, and we expect you to earn every cent,” I say in a deep rasp. “Turn around, baby girl. I also like getting my whiskey from a different spot.”
Her eyes fly open then, and her big boobs bounce as she inhales sharply. There’s no doubt what I’m saying. I want to taste the alcohol from her snatch, and Gemma knows it.
Claiming Her At the Bar Page 6
