The Pleasure Room

by Simmons, D. N.

  Chapter One

  Felicity looked at the front page of the morning newspaper, glaring at a photo of Mayor Dwight Goldberg shaking hands with conservative 2016 presidential hopeful, Illinois Senator Burt Winston. Apparently, the two were in agreement concerning a few tax increases here and there and a few other endeavors. She frowned, tossing the paper aside on her desk.

  “Mark my words, Allison, that bastard's dirtier than a truck-stop bathroom and twice as slimy,” Felicity declared as she twirled her ink pen between her fingers.

  “Who?” her best friend and co-worker, Allison, inquired.

  “The fucking mayor and all his cohorts.” Felicity handed her the morning paper.

  Allison took it, looked at the photo and rolled her eyes. She scanned over the article, getting the jest of it.

  “You'll get no argument out of me on that account,” Allison said. “He says one thing and does another. He goes where the money and power is, like most politicians.” She tossed the paper on her desk.

  “Ugh, so true, but he's running again and I seriously don't want to see this asshole in office for another four years with no possible end in sight, do you?” Felicity looked at her friend, a wicked gleam in her sterling gray eyes.

  Allison scoffed. “You act like you can do something about that.”

  “Maybe I can.” Felicity's expression was one of confidence with a hint of mischievousness.

  “Oh oh, I know that look.” Allison pointed at her. “That look means you're about to do something either incredibly dangerous or stupid... which when I think about it, is one in the same.”

  “You know me, I'm all about uncovering the truth, getting the low-down on so-called saviors of the city.”

  “Bullshit. You're ass is down here doing obits like me. We ain't uncovering a damn thing except the coffee maker,” Allison laughed.

  “Yeah, but we could. That's the point.” Felicity beamed at her friend with barely restrained excitement.

  Allison cocked an eyebrow. “What do you know that I don't?”

  Felicity licked her bottom lip in anticipation of spilling the juicy rumor she'd heard just a week ago. The two women rolled their chairs closer together to keep the soon-to-be-revealed secret between them.

  Felicity flipped her long brunette ponytail behind her back. “All right,” leaning in close, she continued. “This isn't anything concrete, okay. Meaning, I have to do an investigation to validate this. The source is kind of credible-”

  “Girl, will you just get to the damn point, my back is hurting leaning over like this,” Allison fussed.

  Felicity frowned. “Okay, damn. A little birdy told me... or rather a gay stripper told me that one 'esteemed' Mayor Dwight Goldberg frequents a secret members-only, fetish, sex club.”

  Felicity sat back in her chair, both eyebrows arched as if to say, 'what do you think about that?'.

  “And you believed him?”

  Felicity shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I'm not one to immediately dismiss information just because it may seem far-fetched. And really, is it that far-fetched?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Noooo,” Felicity protested. “Just because he's seen going to church, has a wife and three children doesn't make the man a saint.”

  “Ain't nobody saying that asshole's a saint. We all know he's not. He's a greedy liar with a power addiction. I'm just saying do you think he'd risk going to some public club, regardless of how 'secret' it's supposed to be to get off on some kink? It's still people seeing him go in and out of the place. Someone might just tell what they know... oh wait... isn't that how you're saying you got your information? I just don't think he's that stupid. Diabolical? Yes. Corrupt? Certainly. Opportunistic? You bet. But stupid? Not a chance. He'd have too much to lose.”

  Felicity chewed on her bottom lip as she mulled over her friends logic. “Sometimes I hate telling you any damn thing.”

  “Hey...” Allison threw her hands up in surrender. “I'm just giving you my opinion. Besides, what was your goofy ass planning on doing with this information?” She laughed at her friend.

  “I'm not saying, because I don't need you trying to talk me out of it.” Felicity rolled her chair back to her desk and turn around towards her computer.

  “Oh, no you don't.” Allison rose from her chair and walked over to her friend's desk, sitting on the edge with arms crossed over her plentiful bosom. “Tell me. Go on, I won't judge. Besides, you know you're dying to tell me anyway.”

  “Oh, fine, only because I don't have anyone else I'd trust with this information.” Felicity leaned closer towards her friend. “I found out where the club is. My stripper friend has a contact who... has a friend who can get me in on their membership.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Apparently this guy's no friend of our mayor's plan to increase taxes on local business owners, or his increasing bans and added taxes on adult entertainment establishments. Needless to say, he's not opposed to the idea of the guy never seeing a second term,” Felicity said.

  “So he's going to sneak you inside the club to spy? How do you know the mayor, if this is even true, will be there?”

  “I don't. But if I can go more than one time in that place, or even if I get a heads up when he does go there... I can finally get the breakout story I've been waiting for.” Felicity turned the pen in her fingers over and over as she looked at her friend.

  “Has this guy ever even seen the mayor at this club?” Allison asked, her hazel eyes studying her friend.

  “No. But that just might mean Mayor Goldberg's there when he's not.”

  Allison frowned. “I don't know about this shit, Felicity.”

  “Allie, I'm not satisfied with just doing obits and the occasional human interest, touchy-feely stories. I want the hard-hitting, gripping, truth-blasting, this-is-how-you-stomp-your-way-to-the-top, story,” Felicity reasoned.

  Allison exhaled deeply. “Well, damn. If your information is right and you catch his ass in some kink club doing God-knows-what... that would be just the story to get you noticed as a serious investigative reporter.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, when are you going to do this thing?”

  “Tonight. That's why I'm so nervous and excited.”

  “Oh great, now I'm all worried about you. I heard these kinds of clubs can be dangerous,” Allison said. “Like what if someone there wants to make you their plaything? Are you prepared for that kind of shit?”

  “Your concern is unwarranted. I'm told this is a very upscale club. Not the kind where you just go into some dark, dank backroom with a sticky floor where everyone just starts grabbing your body parts like it's a free-for-all. It's hands off until permission is given. I don't plan on giving any of those guys permission to do a damn thing to me. I'm going to be there strictly for business, not pleasure.” Felicity stated with utmost certainty.

  “What's this place called? I need to know the address and name in case I have to burn that motherfucker down if something happens to you.”

  Felicity laughed. “You're so silly.”

  “Shit, girl... I'm serious. You're my best friend in this whole world and I already don't like the idea of you going into this place. I want to know where it's at should, God forbid, anything happen. It's better to be safe than sorry. Details. Now.” Allison snatched the pen from between Felicity's fingers and a pad from her desk. She stood there, hand poised, ready to jot down the information.

  Felicity sighed. She really couldn't argue with the logic once again, even though she felt she'd be safe. At least she hoped she'd be safe. “It's called A Porterhouse Elm. It's on Ravenswood.” She gave her the exact address. “Apparently, it's also an upscale restaurant that serves one hell of a porterhouse steak. I
t's been mentioned in Zagats as one of Chicago's Top Twenty Steakhouses. You also need an expensive diner's club membership to even eat there.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated by the pompousness of the club/restaurant.

  “Uppity-ass restaurant ain't about to see my black ass there. I ain't got money like that. People got bills to pay,” Allison said, laughing.

  “Shit, you and me, both,” Felicity chuckled at her friend's lively sense of humor.

  Allison frowned. “What kind of name is 'A Porterhouse Elm' anyway?”

  “Hell if I know. I'm guessing calling it 'Kink-O-Rama' would defeat the purpose of it being a secret members-only sex club.” Felicity pulled her cell phone from her purse, checking her text messages. “Finally!”

  “What?” Allison looked at her, then at her cell phone, then back at her.

  “My date for tonight just sent me a text telling me we're good to go.”

  “Have you met this guy who's supposed to be taking you into this place?”

  “Not face to face, unless you count Skype.”

  “Jesus, Felicity. Are you trying to change your middle name to 'Danger' or something?”

  “Allie, if I'm going to be a serious investigative reporter, I can't be scared to take chances. You like playing life safe, I get that. But I'm not afraid of adventure and I certainly know that it's going to take a huge set of brass balls to get noticed in this business. I'm doing what I have to do.” She sent a text back telling her new gentleman friend where she'd meet him later on that night. She looked back at her friend and sighed. “Look, you have the name of the place and all that. The guy I'm going with made me promise to keep his name out of my mouth and definitely out of the papers. But since you're so worried for my well-being, I'll tell you his name. Swear to me you won't share this.”

  “Seriously? What are we, 12 and back on the school yard? Will this be a pinky swear?”

  “24 and yes, I'm serious...and shut up.” Felicity smirked.

  “Oh fine.” Allison held up her right hand. “I swear I will not tell anyone... unless I have to,” she added.

  Felicity huffed. “Good enough, I suppose. His name is Gregory Manners.”

  Allison gasped. “Are you fucking shitting me?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Felicity lightly slapped Allison's leg as she nervously looked around to see if anyone was paying them any attention. Only a few employees looked their way briefly before returning to whatever it was they were doing.

  “Sorry. I just wasn't expecting that.”

  “Well, now you know. So, you also know why he doesn't want the exposure.”

  “Not when you own a famous, five-star, family-friendly restaurant downtown and a toy store. I'm sure you wouldn't want your name associated with a place like 'A Porterhouse Elm's' secret stash,” Allison said.

  “I'm serious. I promised him that much. I need you to keep it secret, too.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I won't say anything to anyone, I promise. But you better keep checking in with me tonight. Send texts and call me before and after you're done. We girls have to look out for one another.”

  Felicity smiled. “I promise.”

  Allison gave a quick glance at the wall clock. “Oh it's that time of day and people are hungry. Where do you want to go for lunch?”

  “Hmmm, I'm thinking Chinese?” Felicity suggested.

  “Works for me, I'm not particular right now. Just starving.”

  “Let me send Mr. Greene this email and I'll be ready to go.”

  “Are you telling him about your story?”

  “Oh, God no. I wouldn't want to take the chance of him turning me down or giving my story idea to his star reporter. No doubt that bitch Danielle would be all over it. This little baby is going to stay hush-hush until I have it in the bag.”

  “So what are you sending?”

  “My final draft for the Animal Shelter story. 'Paws and Hearts, Big and Small'.”

  “I sent in my obits section already. At least you have a story to send in, ” Allison walked back to her desk, gathering her purse.

  “Okay, done with that. Are you ready?” Felicity asked, turning off her computer's monitor.

  “I am. Let's go.”

  The two women grabbed their long trench coats, slipping them on. They braved the windy Chicago air long enough to hail a cab to P.F. Chang's.

  Chapter Two

  Alistair sat comfortably on his plush suede sofa flipping through the pages of his adult toys magazine. Whips, ropes, swings, an assortment of colorful furry handcuffs, leather bondage clothing, etc. He flipped past one page after the other, searching for something he didn't already own. His collection was vast and each toy had been used to bring that particular submissive to the highest point of ecstasy. Unimpressed with that store's offerings, he sighed and tossed the magazine catalog aside. Rising from the sofa, he walked over to his bar and poured himself a glass of scotch. As he sipped his drink, his cell phone began ringing inside his pocket followed by a frenzied vibration. He pulled it out, checked the caller ID and answered.

  “Mr. Pennyworth (aka the infamous and controversial mayor of Chicago, Dwight Goldberg), what can I do for you this afternoon... or will it be this evening?” Alistair asked in his deep, smooth-as-honey, British accent.

  “I trust that arrangements have been made for tonight?”

  “As always when I know you'll be visiting the club. Your private room has already been prepared for you. Come before the club is officially open as usual. As you know, my clients' privacy is of my utmost concern. Discretion is held in high regard,” Alistair routinely assured the extremely paranoid, but well patronizing Mr. Goldberg.

  “Good then. Mistress V has already been made aware of our date for tonight. Please make sure she doesn't have any issues getting in like the last time,” Dwight said.

  “I do apologize for the confusion last week. Mark is new to my staff and was unfamiliar with the particular protocol for your visits. He knows now,” Alistair said.

  “He doesn't know anything about me does he? Like who she was there to see?” Dwight asked in a serious tone.

  “Of course not. I'm the only one who knows you frequent my club. All he's aware of is that she is a member, not who she was there to see,” Alistair assured.

  “Wonderful. Now, about the furniture, were you able to get what I asked for?”

  “Not only did I purchase the item you requested, but I took the liberty to add a few more furnishings that I believe you'll find to you liking, Mr. Pennyworth... delightfully so,” Alistair informed.

  “Oh, no doubt. If you say I'll enjoy it, I'm sure I will,” Dwight tone was laced with lust and exhilaration.

  “Tonight then.”

  “I'll see you soon.” With that, Dwight ended the call.

  “Humph.” Alistair slipped his cell back into his pocket and finished his drink. Picking up another catalog from his coffee table, he decided to see if they had anything new to offer. It was a relaxing way to spend a carefree day until it was time for him to open his club. He was flipping the pages, one after the other, when his eyes spotted a new exotic device. It sent his imagination soaring with all of the delightful and pleasurable things he could do to some lucky soul using that item. He marked it off and continued shopping, plenty more to see.

  ~*~

  Felicity stood in front of her mirror, giving her outfit one last inspection. Countless hours in the gym blessed her with one hell of an ass, if she must say so herself. Everything looked to be in its rightful place. Black stockings accentuated her impressively long legs. The leather bustier put her modest bosom on display to her own surprise and, shamefully, delight. The leather, black mini skirt was way shorter than she was used to, but when one is going undercover to a sex club, you had to dress the part. The only thing she felt comfortable in was her four inch heeled, leather knee boots. They were her favorite pair. Her long brunette locks were now in spiral curls hanging loosely over her creamy shoulders and down her long, lean back. Her makeup,
though lightly applied, highlighted her key features: High cheekbones, full, shapely lips and mesmerizing gray eyes.

  “Okay Felicity, it's now or never,” she said to herself in the mirror. “I suppose you look good enough to make it through the front door. Here's hoping.” She crossed her fingers in a silent prayer and then pulled her coat from the hall closet. Snatching up her purse and keys, she left the apartment.

  After driving for an hour and getting lost, she finally beat out a guy behind the wheel of an SUV for a parking spot close to the club. Walking briskly, she met up with her undercover partner, Gregory Manners.

  “I'm so, so sorry I'm late. I got completely turned around. I'm not used to this area of the city,” Felicity said by way of an apology.

  Gregory offered her a pleasant smile, which quickly turned lecherous as his eyes trailed over her trench coat covered body, taking in her curves all the way to her boots. It was as if he was imagining what she'd look like sans coat... or even clothes. Felicity fought the frown that she wanted to give him. That and the middle finger. Not that he wasn't a good-looking guy, he was, but come on!

  He whistled. “It's quite all right, Ms. Summers... I haven't been waiting long.”

  “Thank you. Are you sure this isn't going to be a problem?” she asked.

  “Nonsense. We're allowed to bring one guest with us at least twice a month.” He leaned in closer to her. “After that, they have to purchase their own membership.” With a wink he raised his arm. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” She had to admit, the wealthy business owner was handsome in an all-American sort of way. Which made it all the more unnerving that someone who looked so wholesome was a member of a private sex club. She suspected at some point through the night, he would engage in his normal activity. Then again, knowing the reason why she was there and with him, he might decide to behave himself on this particular night.

  She took a good look at the exterior of the club. Large enough, from what she could tell. Simple red brick building and design. Her eyes scanned over the low dimmed blue neon sign in elegant script: “A Porterhouse Elm”. She thought the name was odd and couldn't help her curiosity on the matter. She looked at her companion.