The Club

by Salome Fox

  The Billionaire’s Club

  By Salome Fox

  Chapter 1

  The club is in a brick building in the middle of the city, nestled amidst galleries, brownstones and private schools. It looks plain and subdued, with an understated elegance, like it could house an embassy or a law firm. Its members aren’t just wealthy. They are the emperors of the world. They always get what they want without quibble or difficulty. The rooftop garden is open year-round so members can gaze down on all that they own and pour champagne on it if they choose.

  The club’s reputation is impeccable, but also tinged with intrigue—things go on behind its closed doors that didn’t usually go on behind closed doors. Gossips whisper about masks and virgins and orgies involving dark rituals. Its owner Maximilian Gregory is young and impulsive, given to throwing lavish parties then abruptly disappearing for months. I suppose the city’s most infamous billionaire, owner of half the real estate worth owning, could do as he damn-well pleases.

  The club hires women, though its members are exclusively male. The women who work here don’t pour drinks or light cigars. They entertain. I got an audition by understanding something important about the club’s members. They are easily bored by masks and orgies and virgins.

  Fortunately for them, I am not boring.

  My first night, I enter the club’s inner sanctum. It is a room deep in the heart of the building, on the ground floor or perhaps even below that. Five men sit on rich leather chairs around a heavy table near a small stage, their ties loose and their shirt sleeves rolled up.

  The air is thick with cigar smoke and power. A fire in the corner throws off warm light and makes the scotch in each man’s tumbler look like liquid gold. The men are all in their sixties save one. I nod to each in turn as they run their eyes up and down my body. They lick their lips at the site of me, something men have been doing since I turned fifteen.

  I wear a white satin dress that clings to each one of my curves. There is nothing underneath the dress. It caresses my golden skin directly, slipping and sliding against my flat stomach and thighs and dipping low to show off my smooth shapely back. My long hair freely waves around my shoulders, caressing them with its silky softness.

  The men’s eyes all stop at my breasts, as I’d known they would. My tits are very full and round. They’re natural and gorgeous, like pink-tipped candy to an audience of men used to spending time with perfection. I casually run my hands over my nipples and make eye contact with the youngest man at the table as I step on to the stage.

  I have to stop myself from gasping. It’s Max Gregory himself.

  His face is arresting, with stunning green eyes that seem to look right into me. He has thick, dark unruly hair and broad shoulders. As the other men’s eyes rake over the high slit in my gown and the way the silky satin caresses my curved ass, his eyes stay on mine. He could clearly have any woman he wants. His powerful, tan forearms and a dark five o’clock shadow make my stomach flutter. I feel something pure in my core that I haven’t felt in a long time—lust. I want him. I long to unbutton his three hundred dollar shirt and run my tongue down to his zipper so I can pull it open with my teeth. I want to press myself into him and feel him pressing back. I imagine his cock, large and hard for me. I imagine him bending me over right then and there and filling me up, over and over and over.

  I tell him how I feel with my eyes and my slightly parted lips. His shrewd eyes seem amused, as if he’s used to women falling before him with their legs open; he knows he could dismiss everyone else and have me right then and there.

  But he is wrong.

  I have a job to do and it’s time to begin. I moved to the center of a small stage equipped with an unusual black stool. On the stool sits a small but powerful vibrator and a book containing the poems of John Wilmot. I plan to read to my audience, a nice little bedtime story, but first it’s time to strip. I press a button at the back of the stage and a mournful blues tunes comes on. There is a soft filtered spotlight on me, bathing my skin and my dress in an amber glow befitting the subdued luxury of our surroundings.

  The room is completely silent, save for my sad music and the occasional crack of ice cubes melting and crackle from the fire. Making use of the slit in my gown, I place one of my stilettos on the top rung of the ladder and run my hands up the length of my inner thigh. I slow down as I reach the top of my leg, waiting for all the men to will my fingers closer to my cunt with their eyes. I move inch by inch, breathing heavily as if I cannot wait to touch myself. I swivel my hips a little, reacting to the music, letting it guide me. When I’m only a whisper away, I let my gown tumble back down to the floor and hear one of the men grown.

  Good.

  I will not be hurried. One man shuffles the cards, but his eyes stay on me. The poker game will wait.

  I turn my back to the men and find the small hook that keeps my gown fastened just above my ass. Very slowly, I unhook the clasp, unzip the fabric, and let the gown fall open. I hold it against my breasts and present my perfect round ass to the room, parting my legs so they can all see my pussy, its lips starting to throb with the thrill of being on display. I peek over my shoulder with a small smile on my face, pleased to see each and every man’s gaze riveted to my swollen cunt.

  Except for one.

  Max still stares at my face instead, licking his lips and sipping his drink. He looks at me as if surveying that which is already his. I shudder, but not with disgust. His knowingness is turning me on more than my own audacity.

  I turn around to face the table and let the dress slide down the front of my body to the floor. My God, one of the men growls as they see all of me displayed before them. I lean back on the stool and let them drink in the sight of me, of my heavy tits and ready cunt. I let my head fall back as if I’m waiting to be taken. Even the fire seems to quite itself. The room is filled with animal energy more powerful than any flame.

  Under the generous spotlight, I am magnificent.

  The men chuckle and set down their cards. Ignoring them, I pick up the book and straddle my stool. I turn on the vibrator and position it such that it presses against my clit. I control the pressure by rocking my hips slightly and swiveling the stool. I hear the men murmur in approval and adjust themselves, trying to get more comfortable as their erections get harder and more insistent.

  As I begin reading, I’m so turned on I could easily come in thirty seconds. But I take my time. I read the poetry in a low voice, concentrating on the words as the heat begins to build in my cunt. My voice wavers over the erotic poem as the vibrations make my cunt swell and ache even more, but the men don’t care about the words even if I do. It’s a contest between my body and my mind as I keep edging myself closer to release.

  They are entranced by my show, by my body, and I love it. There’s nothing more incredible than sharing the most intimate part of yourself with total strangers—especially strangers as powerful as these. In this moment, I’m in control of all of them. Their breathing matches mine; their heart rates sky rocket. They can’t wait to hear the sounds I make and see my face during the ultimate moment of truth.

  My pink nipples are fully erect and I thrust them forward, holding the book at such an angle that no one’s view of my trembling body is blocked. I feel five pairs of eyes on me, on my incredible tits and pulsing pussy. There’s not even a thong between my audience’s eyes and my glistening lips. I am only twenty feet away from the men, close enough for them to smell my sweet juices as they began to slip down my inner thighs.

  Each one of them has a painful erection now, but they won’t touch me. I am not to be touched, those are the rules and we all know it. Still, my pussy aches for cock as I press against the humming nub at the stool’s edge. I want my nipples sucked hard and imagine Max Gregory doing the job,
rubbing them raw with his whiskers as he fingers my cunt and massages my asshole with the edge of his thumb.

  I read on, refusing to make eye contact again with any of them, especially refusing to give the club owner the satisfaction. I feel his gaze on me. He looks only at my face. My voice wavers as my orgasm begins to build. I turn myself around on the stool, with my ass again presented to my audience. I part my legs so they can all better see my quivering wetness as I press against the vibrator, the book of dirty poetry now abandoned.

  My energy is different now as I turn my face back to the men. Instead of languid and unrushed, I’m now breathless and whimpering. The men watch me chase my pleasure, pressing into my tool as pain crosses over my face.

  “You need some help, sweetheart?” one of the older men asks.

  “Let her finish,” commands Max in a low voice. I whimper, hardly even hearing them, my breathing coming quick and hot. I want to lie down; it’s becoming difficult to stay upright as I get so close to unraveling. My voice breaks through my resistance and I cry out in an obscene, ragged release. God damn, one of the men growls. My face contorts into a raw smile as the waves of orgasm wash over me and radiate out from my core. My body is in ecstasy as I shudder at the pleasure I’d been denying myself for weeks in anticipation of this night.

  As I finish, my eyes are locked on one man. Max Gregory smirks; I hope I’ve shocked him a little. I feel like laughing hysterically. I can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe I walked in here and did that. I feel satisfied and proud of myself for taking the risk, for trying something so terrifying.

  When it’s clear it’s over, the older men clap and whistle. Two make a motion to approach me, but Max stops them.

  “Leave us,” he says in a quiet voice. “Now.”

  I am surprised with the others do as he says. When he turns back to me, I’ve put my dress back on and gathered myself. I don’t really want to chat with him now, to break the fourth wall, but it appears I don’t have much of a choice.

  “That was quite a show,” he says appreciatively.

  “Thank you.” My eyes meet his and skitter away. My desire for him scares me. I don’t trust myself to carry on a normal conversation and I didn’t expect to have to chat about my performance. I’m not here to make a new friend. My reasons are far more complicated than that.

  “Not quite what I was expecting,” he adds.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Not that.”

  “I hope you weren’t disappointed. I call it ‘minimalist burlesque.’”

  “Ha. On the contrary. What is your name?”

  “Leigh. My name is Leigh.” I don’t ask him his, there’s no need. “I should go. This was my first night; I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

  He laughs. “How proper of you. I’m the owner of this club. I’ll decide when you’ve overstepped. Have you performed before?”

  “Just for my, um, neighbors.” I feel my face flush. It sounds low class when I say it out loud. Admitting my kink to this powerful man seems much more vulnerable than what I’d just done.

  I’ve always been this way. From the moment I purchased my first vibrator, I’d fantasized about what it would be like to have strangers watch me get off. When one of my contacts alerted me of this unique “opportunity,” I’d jumped at the chance to audition here. I have no interest in working in a seedy strip club or in learning how to pole dance, but I do want to open myself up in front of an audience and turn people on by being me.

  “I see. I’m glad you enjoy yourself.” He crosses his arms and touches his chin as if trying to decide what to do with me.

  “Do you think I’d be a good addition to the club?” I hate how uncertain I sound. My particular brand of performance only works if I’m completely self-assured. I am ruining the illusion and it makes me want to leave immediately. I don’t know why I’m so tongue-tied. Maximilian Gregory isn’t the first gorgeous man I’ve ever dealt with.

  But he is, no doubt, the richest and most powerful. I put this nagging fact out of my mind, determined to deal with him as an equal. I’ve never been a wilting flower and I won’t be one now.

  He looks me over as if for the first time. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, Leigh,” he says. “Exquisite. Jaw-dropping.”

  “Thank you.” My flush deepens; I am embarrassed by how much his words please me. I stand a little straighter.

  “But I’m not sure I want you performing here,” he finishes. My heart sinks. I went too far, I was too lewd. I won’t get another chance like this.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I sigh, already planning to console myself with sushi and vodka.

  “Let me finish. I’m not sure I want you performing here because I’d prefer you share your, er, gifts elsewhere.” Gregory probably owns a least a dozen clubs like this one.

  “Where’s that exactly?”

  “My bed.” He pulls me toward him and kisses me deeply. My eyes widen in surprise, and then close in pure pleasure. I love the taste of him, the feeling of his tongue against mine. We drink each other in hungrily and I’m instantly in a fog of lust. I feel his erection pressing against me and I want him so badly I can’t think clearly.

  But then I wake up. A quick fling with a billionaire who probably keeps a whole roster of women on his schedule isn’t part of the plan here.

  “Wait,” I gasp. “Stop.”

  “Why?” His breathing is ragged. He keeps kissing my collarbone and running his thumb against my taut nipples. I know I should stop him even as I lean into his touch, practically panting for more.

  “I don’t want to perform in your bed,” I whisper. “I need to be seen, and not just by you.”

  “Even if I did allow you to perform here, I can’t ensure your safety,” Max explains, finally pulling away from me and running his hands through his hair as if to clear his head. “I think my members would adore you, but I can’t protect you from them and there are several rough customers around here. They’re used to getting what they want, and they won’t leave you alone. The last dancer we hired quit after one week, and she was nothing compared to you. Are you prepared for that?”

  “Yes,” I say uncertainly, thinking of the pepper spray in my purse. “I can deal with them.”

  “No you can’t. I can’t have you naked and dripping ten feet away from these guys and hope for the best. You’ll be harassed constantly. You’re too much.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I need to think.” He picks up a bottle and pours a shot each into two glasses, handing me one. We both sip, regarding one another. I breathe in his intoxicating smell of aftershave and cigar smoke. I want to wrap my legs around him and never let go, but that wasn’t the way to deal with a man like this. “How would you feel about performing behind glass?” He finally asks.

  “Glass?”

  “Yes, an interior window. You could pretend my members are your neighbors.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “A little. Don’t take yourself so seriously. You’re an exhibitionist. It’s a cute kink.”

  I wince at the word “cute” and think about it. It could work. The experience would be less visceral for my audience without the sound of my voice or the musky smell of my pheromones, but the extra layer between us could free me up to try interesting things not possible on a small exposed stage. “I like the idea.”

  “Good. It’s done. I’ll have something installed here, and you can start in a week. My only requirements are that you perform every night except for Sundays and Mondays, that you take requests from me, and that you never fraternize with my members. In fact, it would be best if they never even find out who you are.”

  “I’ll agree to that.” I noticed there were no rules against fraternizing with him. “Um, what do you mean by requests?”

  “I might have some ideas for your act,” he said huskily, a small grin playing at the edges of his mouth.

  “Like
what?”

  “I don’t know yet, but you can bet they’ll be filthy.”

  “Fine.” I grin. “It’s a deal.”

  We shake hands and he pulls me in for another kiss. I give in, guarded at first, then breathless as his tongue invades my mouth. He backs me up against the wall and presses his hardness against me. I instinctively raise one of my legs and hook it over his hip to pull him closer. He tears his mouth away from mine and begins kissing and nibbling on my neck. He is inches away from tasting my breasts and I can feel my cunt start to ache again. I moan, straining against him to get closer, to feel him inside me.

  “God, you’re gorgeous, Leigh. One night. Come home with me. We can let my driver watch if you want.”

  “No,” I gasp, remembering who I am, who he is.

  “Fine, we’ll do it here.” He unzips my gown and backs up a little bit to let the satin slide to the ground. I take the opportunity to slip from his grasp and walk away from him, wearing nothing but my stilettos.

  “Not yet,” I say over my shoulder as I leave the room. His eyes, which had been so calm and teasing, are filled with raw carnality as they follow my exit.

  Soon, I whisper to myself as I get into my car in the private garage under the building and retrieve my keys from the visor. Very soon.

  Chapter 2

  Your window is ready, says the text. Unknown number.

  It takes all my willpower not to respond right away. I’ve been dreaming of Max all week, beyond eager to return to the club and perform again. Perform for him.

  I hope you’ll come in tonight, says a second message. I’ve been thinking about you.

  Leave it to a billionaire to wait a full week to tell me so. I’d never given Maximilian Gregory my cell phone number, but I assumed he could get it. And I was right. But he was completely silent for seven days as I waited for some sort of contact from him.

  9 pm, I write back. I need rope.

  There, I think. Perfect. I’m in control of this situation. I sigh. Yeah, right. I toss my phone onto my bed and prepare for the evening. I dress in a sheer black bra with removable panels in front and a tiny black thong clipped to garters and thigh-high black stockings. The thong and garters perfectly frame my ass. Before I step into black heels, I put on a white silk blouse and tight black business suit. I do my makeup carefully, full red lips, black mascara. I set my hair in curlers and shake it out, letting the loose curls tumble for a moment before containing the mass of them in a demure chignon.