by Amy Brent
I gave them both a scolding look, knowing full well how little effect it would have. I had always played the part of the thoughtful one, the level-headed stooge, the one that tried to keep the others on track. I was Mo. They were Larry and Curly. It had been that way ever since we were kindergarteners figuring out ways to look under the teacher’s skirt.
I had a thick rubber band around my left wrist. I snapped it a few times to keep myself on track. “You guys don’t forget why we started Club D in the first place.”
“So, we could fuck beautiful women without TMZ finding out?” Sammy offered. He held up his hand and Denny slapped it.
I smiled, unable to deny the truth. “Well, yeah, that, too, but…”
Denny’s hand shot into the air and he grunted to get my attention. “I know! I know! So we could have a place to hang out where we could make total idiots of ourselves and not worry about word leaking to the board?”
“Guys, seriously, focus.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and my hands spread. “We started Club D for all those reasons, yes, but also to raise money for our charitable foundation. And thus far…” I picked up my phone and swiped open the spreadsheet program. I held up the phone and wiggled it at them. “In three years, we have raised twenty-three-point-two-million dollars.”
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of pussy,” Denny said, whistling. “I wonder how much of that came from me? I still think we should get shit for free, considering that it was our money that funded Club D in the first place.”
“Pussy sells well,” Sammy said, nodding as he sucked the last of the iced coffee through the straw. I watched the thick muscles of his shoulders go up and down as he breathed. Sammy was a bull, 6’4, two-twenty, built like the star linebacker he was in high school and college. You might never assume it to look at him, but he also had one of the most brilliant business minds in the tech industry. He was also a total horn-dog with a schlong that made mine look tiny. The girls at Club D loved him because he never failed to please and never failed to tip thousands of dollars for their time.
“Anyway, the point I’m trying to make if you two shitheads will shut the fuck up,” I said, struggling to keep the grin from my face. “Club D is a success from a money making point of view, but I’m starting to think that it’s just a matter of time before the news breaks that we’re the ones behind it. That would bring not only heat from the IDS board of directors, but the cops, the attorney general, the DA, the public.”
“Ah, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke,” Denny said with a dismissive wave.
“Seriously, Denny,” I said. “Shit always gets out. It’s just a matter of time. We’ve always known that.”
“The members would never let that happen. We have some powerful motherfuckers on the list. There’s no way they’d let anything that would associate them with Club D get out. No way.”
Sammy nodded with a deep frown on his face. “Denny’s right. We have half a dozen senators on the membership rolls, not to mention big city mayors, governors, congressmen, millionaires, billionaires, venture capitalists, lobbyists, athletes, actors, fucking priests… and the CEOs of just about every Fortune 100 company west of the Mississippi. Even if the existence of Club D was somehow verified to the public, the cops and attorney general aren’t going to do shit to us because that would mean they’d have to go after their own, and that will never happen.”
“That may be so, but the public might shit on our stock,” I said, directing my words at Sammy, our Chief Operating Officer, the guy charged with keeping the business on track. “Not everyone would support what we’re doing at Club D. I mean, let’s face it; basically, Club D is an illegal brothel and we’re peddling pussy.”
“Ah, but it’s primo pussy,” Denny said, snorting a laugh. He held out his hand and Sammy slapped it again.
“It’s still illegal,” I said.
“Isaac, dude, lighten up. The lawyers tell me that we have enough legal loopholes to jump through that we could tie it up in court for years,” Denny cut in.
I glanced at Sammy. “Still, it wouldn’t be good for the company.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” Sammy asked, dropping the smile.
“I’m suggesting we divest our interests in Club D,” I said. “Turn over formal ownership to an offshore, blind trust and set it up so that it would take the fucking FBI, SEC, and whoever else decades to crack the nut.”
“I’m fine with that,” Denny said with a shrug. “Long as we can still be members.”
I looked at Sammy. “You good with that?”
Sammy thought about it for a few seconds, then shrugged along with Denny. “Sure. I’ll get the lawyers on it first thing Monday.” He leaned forward and rubbed his palms together. “Now, can we talk about this weekend?”
“Third anniversary of Club D,” Denny said, bumping Sammy with his elbow. They looked at me and waited for me to reveal my plans for the weekend.
Sammy asked, “So, what do you think we should do?”
“Two words,” I said with a smile. “Masquerade ball.”
* * *
An hour later, the plans had been made and Sammy headed to his office to call his uncle Monte to make the arrangements. Club D would host a huge masquerade ball over the weekend starting on Friday night at nine and carrying the theme through the entire weekend until midnight on Sunday. All the Escorts and Specialists would wear nothing but masks to cover their eyes and jewels to adorn their bodies.
There would even be an auction at midnight on Friday so the members could bid on the girl—or girls—they wanted to spend time with. By Monday, we’d have raised tens of millions of dollars for charity and hopefully, everyone would have had a good time.
“Hey, I forgot to ask earlier,” I said as Denny and I were walking down the hallway toward our offices. He was on one front-facing corner of the fifth floor and I was on the other. “Tell me what you know about Amy Rossetti.”
He stopped to give me a curious look. “Amy Rossetti, the consultant that spoke this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s see, if you heard her speak you know she’s obviously brilliant, not to mention very hot in a subtle librarian sort of way…”
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Who the fuck am I? Google?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, that’s all I know about her. Why do you ask?”
“I just met her this morning for the first time,” I said with my hands in my pockets. I shrugged. “She just seemed… interesting.”
“I’ve met her a few times,” he said. “Interesting is one word you might use to describe her. Along with cold, icy, condescending, arrogant, bitchy…”
“Okay, okay,” I said, smiling, patting him on the arm. “I get the picture. I’ll see you later.”
He went his way and I went mine. My way led me to my office with the door closed and a browser open to Google. I typed in Amy Rossetti’s name and spent the next hour perusing articles she’d written, watching videos of talks she’d given, and staring at photos taken at various events where she’d lectured.
Sadly, there was no secret sex tape or hacked naked photos.
But Denny was right.
She was beautiful but looked arrogant, bitchy, irritated, and completely unapproachable.
But there was something about her.
Something in her eyes…
Sadness…
Regret…
Perhaps the ashes from a long-smoldering fire?
Fuck, just listen to me.
Who was I?
William freakin’ Shakespeare?
I was more like Edgar Allen Poe.
Regardless, I would not have been able to explain it if you had asked me to at that moment, but something inside told me Amy Rossetti was a woman I would enjoy getting to know, though sadly, I probably never would get that chance.
Chapter 6: Amy
I managed to keep Serena at bay for the rest of the afternoon because I was neck deep in a re
search project for MIT that was due in a few weeks. I probably should have hired a formal researcher to assist me, but I liked doing it all myself. It kept my mind occupied and my hands busy. I had never been good with idle time. My mom always said that when I was a toddler the only time I was completely still was when I was asleep. I was thirty-two now and not much had changed.
Serena came back into my office a couple of times to update me on my revised schedule, but I pretended to ignore her. I would call back the clients she had rescheduled in the morning and carry on like it was a normal day. I would NOT be going to Club D for the weekend, no matter how appealing the idea was on the surface. I was a highly-regarded expert in my field. I had contracts with the US government and a dozen Fortune 100 companies. I had a reputation to protect, and unlike most men who would chuck it all for a quick roll in the hay, I would not risk my security and reputation for any man, not even one as sexy as Isaac Hanson.
By the time I came up for air it was nearly seven o’clock and I looked around to find myself alone in the office. The only light in the place was from my computer screen and the small lamp Serena always left burning in the lobby. Serena had left hours before, leaving me with strict instructions about my day on Friday.
I’m not sure what time it was, but I looked up to find her standing in the doorway with her phone at her face, barking orders at me like a drill sergeant. “All your appointments for tomorrow have been rescheduled. Be at Terra Dolce Salon & Spa at 10 AM for hair, a facial, nails, and a bikini wax.”
I frowned at her. “Why do I need a bikini wax?”
She scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me now? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ll bet you’ve got a fucking jungle growing down there. This ain’t Australia, Amy. No man wants to go trekking into the bush looking for a piece of pussy.”
“You’re terrible,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Don’t worry. There’ll be no man trekking into my bush this weekend.”
“Whatever. You still need to get it done. I’m surprised you haven’t developed some kind of twat rash from all that hair.”
I smiled but looked in the other direction so she couldn’t see it. It was easy to see why all six of my brothers loved Serena—and were constantly dogging me to hook them up with her. She was not only “smokin’ fuckin’ hot”, to quote my oldest brother, Anthony, she could also hold her own with any foul-mouthed Italian that came along, and there were fewer Italians more foul-mouthed than my brothers. It helped that Serena came from a large Hispanic family of five brothers and six sisters, of which she was smack dab in the middle.
“Again. You’re terrible.”
“Terrible or not, you gotta get that bush trimmed,” she said, clicking her tongue. “The freakin’ health department is gonna start sending you notices you’re so overgrown down there.”
“Oh my god, I am not!” I said, though, by her standards, I probably was. Serena had mentioned in the past that she kept her bush completely shaved clean. I couldn’t imagine it. I mean, would that itch like mad when the hair started coming back in?
I held up my hands in defeat just to make her go away. “Fine. Anything else?”
“Yes, hang on,” she said, finger swiping up and down, reading my agenda from her phone. “You have a three o’clock to get your makeup done at Sephora, then… that’s it. You need to pack a bag for the weekend. There’s an indoor pool and tennis courts for the guests and staff that Mr. Lemon said you could use, so pack your gear. And make sure you bring that little black dress, you know, the one you wore to the Symphony Gala last year; the one that pushes your big tits together and shows off your legs? And a pair of high heels that make your calves look toned.”
“My calves are toned,” I said. “I’m a runner. Remember?”
“Great. And the higher the better. Stilettos, if you have them.”
“Christ, Serena, you really should be a personal stylist to the stars, you have such a winning way about you.”
“You have great tits and a great ass and great legs,” she said, wagging a finger at me. “It’s time you showed them off. No man is going to be attracted to you while you’re wearing that librarian shit you have on every day. And speaking of…” She walked to the desk and picked up my fake glasses. “Leave these fucking Coke bottles at home.”
“I need those,” I said, reaching for them. “Give them to me.”
“Amy, you have perfect vision,” she said, backing up and taking the glasses with her. “I’ll return these to you on Monday. This weekend, the only things that will be impairing your vision are alcohol and Isaac Hanson’s giant cock.”
“Oh my god,” I said, clutching my chest like I was having a heart attack. I’d had enough. I held out my hand to shoo her away. “Okay, that’s enough. Leave so I can finish this.”
She stood in the doorway, eyeing me for a moment, like a human bullshit detector. “I mean it, Amy. You’re going to become an old maid if you don’t break out of this cocoon you’ve built around yourself.”
“Thank you, Serena. Goodbye. Have a nice night. See ya later.”
I should have been more irritated at her, but I couldn’t be because she was right.
I had built a cocoon and crawled inside and sewed it shut.
Maybe it was time to bust out and spread my wings a little.
At least for a couple of days.
* * *
The car service dropped me at my downtown apartment a little after seven. Carlton, the doorman who always wanted to make chat about my day, started to say something, but I waved him off and headed for the elevator. He already thought I was a bitch—everyone did—so I wasn’t too concerned with hurting his feelings. Besides, I always gave him a nice card at Christmas time with twelve one-hundred-dollar bills inside, one for each month of the year. I might have been a cold bitch, but I knew how the game was played. Pissing off your doorman was one thing you never wanted to do, regardless of how rich and successful you were.
And no offense to Carlton, I was simply too tired to talk to anyone. I’d been going full bore since 5 AM and was ready to drop. All I wanted to do was grab a quick bite, soak in a hot tub for an hour, and fall into bed.
I hadn’t decided what I was going to do on Friday: reschedule my appointments, take a free day, or actually prepare to spend the weekend with Serena at Club D.
I doubted very seriously the latter would ever take place.
Still, to be fair to Serena, whose feelings I did care about, I’d sleep on it and see how I felt in the morning, though I doubted I’d take the idea any more serious than I did now.
* * *
I was standing at the back of the stage, peering out through the heavy curtain. The auditorium lights were down low, but I could tell that there was no one seated out there waiting for me to speak. Had they all forgotten? Was I too early? Had the event been canceled and no one bothered to tell me?
“There’s no one here,” a deep voice whispered in my ear. “It’s just you and me. I hope that’s alright.”
“It’s perfectly alright,” I said without turning around. I didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice in my dream belonged to. Isaac Hanson was standing behind me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my neck. My hair was in its usual bun. He expertly removed the pins to let my hair fall over my shoulders. He swept it around to the left side so his lips could kiss my neck on the right. I didn’t flinch when I felt his warm hands on my hips, pulling me back into him. His cock was hard and moist at the tip. I could feel it rubbing slowly up and down the crack of my ass. It was at that moment that I realized we were both naked. The heat of his body against mine made me sigh.
I leaned back against him and turned my face toward his. He smiled as he lowered his lips to mine. His lips were warm and soft and wet. His tongue swirled around my lips, then slid between them to probe my eager mouth. When our tongues met, I heard and felt little sparks of electricity shoot through my body.
His hands slid from my waist to my big tits. He
cupped my melons and worked my nipples gently between his fingers. The pleasure spread through me like a warm breeze. My nipples plumped like strawberry gum drops.
“You’re beautiful, Amy,” he said, breathing into my mouth. His hands slid down my stomach. His fingers trekked through the thick curls above my clit. He didn’t complain about my bush. He kissed me again and slid his index fingers down the sides of my clit and pressed it between them, then rubbed slowly up and down, milking my clit like a hard, little cock.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, his lips at my ear.
“Yes… don’t stop…” I said as I reached around to take his cock in my hand. It was long, thick and girthy. I could feel the plump veins along the shaft as my hand began to slide back and forth over the muscle, back and forth, back and forth.
“Do you like my big cock?” His fingers slid further down, between my pussy lips. Hot juices were flowing out of me now, like a river about to flood. My juice flowed over his fingers. I could feel myself gushing, streams of hot sex running down the insides of my thighs. Isaac slid two long fingers inside me and began working them in and out.
“Fuck me… with your big cock,” I said, moaning the words, the breath catching in my throat. “Please… Isaac… fuck me now.”
