But as we finished our pulsing, the jizz slowly dripping, I thought back to why I was here. Something about Kacey haunted me, like glimpse into the fuzzy, distant past best left unremembered. Long ago, Logan and I had loved a girl who died tragically, and she looked just like stripper beneath us. Were we fucking Kacey to bring that woman back to life?
CHAPTER SIX
Kacey
It had been overwhelming, exhilarating, and frankly, a little scary. I hadn’t wanted to do the contest because of what could happen. Although the Donkey Club had never sponsored a Mongo Size show before, it had put on a live revue called Big-Breasted Betties that hadn’t ended well for the performers. The girls had had to go to the hospital, their tits raw and wrung out from multiple dudes sucking and gnawing at them.
So the Mongo Size thing sounded like a bad idea. When presented to us backstage, we’d all shook our heads no.
“No fucking way, Lester,” said Shanina, a dusky, sloe-eyed beauty. “No fucking way am I fucking some monster dick on stage unless it’s for a lot, and I mean a lot, of money.”
That about summed up our feelings. The girls who’d done Big-Breasted Betties had been paid decently, but with no health insurance, they’d had to spend the so-called bonus pay on hospital bills. Where was the justice in that?
And so Lester presented a revised deal from management. The three girls who participated would get $5k each, no matter who won. And we got our money by certified check before the contest started, not after.
So there was definitely an incentive to put out. I mean, five thousand is a lot of money to me. I know girls at the big clubs can earn that much in a night, but at the Donkey Club, a good night for us is three hundred bucks. Men here tip with ones and maybe fives, not the twenties or hundreds that the girls at Skye and Mystique rake in.
Worst of all, I really needed the money. My rent was late again, and I needed to come up with nine hundred for my portion asap before the first. This five thousand would be the start of a new era of financial responsibility I promised myself.
So when it was time to get up on stage, we smiled, we shimmied, we acted like professionals, albeit nervous ones. The first two dudes who came up were so fucking disgusting, I couldn’t bring myself to have sex with them although I knew I was only prolonging the inevitable. And my stomach dropped when it came to my turn. The leather biker dude, the old, fat one with “Hellion” on his biker jacket could have been my gym teacher from fifth grade, the one who liked boys. I cursed myself for not going first.
But then I saw him. The man from last night, the dark, dangerous one with the penetrating green eyes. He was making his way up to the stage, unzipping his fly, and … my mouth fell open when I saw his dong pop out. It was a monster. Fifteen inches at least, the myth that all strippers talk about. And now I was going to take it on stage in front of a crowd!
My little cunny shivered and trembled. I was terrified, sure I’d be used and raw tomorrow, barely able to walk. But at the same time, I was unmistakably turned on, leaking between my legs, my sweet female juice lubing me up for the massive fucking to come.
And oh god, but it felt damn good. The dong lifted me in the air, jouncing me up and down, it was so fucking big and I felt so stretched, so tight, so female riding that rod, letting it demonstrate its mastery over me.
And when a second dark stranger appeared, I could hardly believe my eyes. My dream guy had a twin? The roar from the crowd was overwhelming, men pounding their fists on the table, stamping their feet, wanting to see me violated two ways – thirty inches total. So I was ashamed at my sluttiness but also a little proud. I mean, how many girls can say they’ve taken thirty inches? I’ve done it … and I loved every second.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Logan
I silently cursed Lance. The motherfucker had trailed me to the club, stalking me for fuck’s sake. My twin knew me too well and had followed me, slipping in before they locked the doors, joining me in my moment of glory with the beautiful blonde, driving his dick up her ass.
I wasn’t angry about the girl – we share women all the time. After all, lots of females fantasize about doing two men at once. And if they’re handsome identical twins with big sausages? Sign ‘em up, pronto.
So yeah, Lance and I have no problem with sloppy seconds. I’ve tasted his seed, he’s eaten my creampies, it happens when there’s only one cunny involved.
But I was fucking pissed at him now. Why the fuck was he bringing up Kathryn?
“What the fuck is your problem, man?” I growled, grabbing my jacket. By now, we’d made our way off stage, giving Kacey sweet, lingering kisses as she wiped our cum from her body. She was getting changed and would meet us out back in fifteen, hopefully for some more sensual penetration. But for now, I wanted to speak with my brother in private.
“Why are you bringing up Kathryn?” I ground out again, my hackles raised.
The smug jerk was still tucking his shirt at him, ignoring the stares around us.
“Kacey looks just like Kathryn, don’t you agree, brother?” he asked. “I mean, a real doppelganger, maybe she’s even left-handed like Kathryn.”
I smoldered. Kathryn had been someone special to us. A girl we’d been dating, probably the only one we’d ever really loved. Lance and I had met her at summer camp, just the sweetest blonde thing, a nubile, loving, warm seventeen year-old. We’d spent the summer fucking illicitly in the woods, in our cabins, in the lake, anywhere where we could find some privacy, and some places which weren’t so private either.
But it was what happened afterwards that haunted me.
I’d been driving an old car, delivering some camp supplies, Kathryn in the front seat, when I’d lost control. We plunged off a bridge into a lake, and … fuck, this kills me still. I’d managed to get free of my seat belt and swim through the window on my side. Kathryn was struggling frantically with her seat belt, finally managing to unbuckle herself. She’d tried to open the passenger door, but it was stuck, and there was no way to open the window either, the electronics were on the fritz.
As fast as I could, I’d swum over to her side of the car, trying to break her window with my arm, with my elbow, even kicking it, my heavy shoes pounding on the glass. But water is really dense, and my kicks had none of the force they would have had on land.
I then gestured for Kathryn to try and swim over to my side, escaping through the window on my side, but she’d started to panic and must have run out of air. She breathed in, and immediately started bloating and choking, the sight a horrific memory to this day. Kathryn gasped underwater, holding her neck frantically as her head bobbed back and forth, and I’ll never forget the sight of our beautiful girl dying a slow, watery death.
It breaks me up still. Lance hadn’t spoken to me for months, even after her death had been declared accidental. A distinct chill had come between us because I’d inordinately caused the death of the love of our life. We were two boys crushed, defeated, the spirit taken out of us.
And so tragedy had struck at eighteen, and even seven years later, there were still remnants of intense grief. I’m not sure what drew me to Kacey. Maybe it was the blonde hair and shapely figure, but hell, there are tons of curvy blondes out there. There was something deeper about this … and we were on a collision course to hell.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kacey
“Hey, Ma,” I said on the phone. I still called home faithfully although I’ve done my best to hide where I’m from. After all, no customer wants to know that you’re from the ghetto in New Jersey, raised by a single mom in a hovel. Male clients want to pretend you’re an airline stewardess, someone sexy and mysterious who leads a glamorous life. In reality though, I was from an urban slum where gunshots rang out night after night.
“Kacey,” said my mom, wheezing slightly. “How’s life in the big city treating you?”
“It’s good, Ma,” I replied. I didn’t add that I’d barely come up with my rent money again. “How are you doing?” I aske
d.
“Good, good,” coughed my mom. With a worried frown, I shook my head. My mom really wasn’t sounding healthy. A couple years ago, she came down with severe asthma, probably from working in that cardboard factory for the last fifteen years. I spent a good chunk of my earnings paying for her medication and inhalers because the company’s health care plan was so terrible.
“How is your non-profit job?” asked my mom. I sighed. My white lies had grown to the point where I didn’t even know how to explain that I didn’t work at a non-profit, that I’d never worked at a non-profit, and actually danced in a club for cash instead. I mean, how do you tell your sick mom something like that?
“It’s good,” I mumbled, shame-faced. I was glad she couldn’t see me, there were tears stinging my eyes.
“Helping all those immigrants? President Obama has deported more people during his time in office than the past one hundred years combined,” she said, her voice sharpening for once.
That’s the thing about my mom. She’s actually incredibly well-read and intelligent, she just never had a chance in life. She got pregnant with me when she was sixteen by some sailor who disappeared, and her life kinda went downhill after that. She wasn’t able to finish high school, and without any family to help her out, we lived on welfare when I was a kid. Finally, my mom was able to land a stable job at the cardboard factory, and the state moved us into the projects. It sounds sad, but I was never so happy as to live in the projects because we had an apartment of our own, a step up from the shelter housing we’d been staying in.
“I know, Ma,” I said quietly. “The cases at the non-profit are really troublesome and sad.”
“And Kacey, have you started those law school applications yet?” my mom chirped, sounding brighter. “You know Auntie Grace offered to proofread your essays for you, she was an English major at UCLA.”
My throat tightened. My mom always wants the best for me, my current situation only underlining how far I’d fallen.
“Not yet, Ma, but I will,” I choked out. I wouldn’t be going to law school for a long time, but was too ashamed to tell my mom. Little did she know that I’d dropped out of City College to focus on dancing. I needed the money, and it was too hard to go to school, study, take the LSAT and apply to law school all the while stripping at the Donkey Club.
“Make sure you do, honey,” said my mom gently. “I hear law school applications have declined recently so this might be a good time to apply,” she continued. “You’re such a smart girl and we always stick together baby,” she reassured me. “I’ll find some way to help you pay for tuition, even if it means taking double shifts at the factory.”
“No Ma, don’t worry about it, I think there are tuition waivers for people who commit to careers in public interest, so it’s okay,” I said firmly. No way was my Mom going to work one more day than necessary in that stupid paper factory. It was killing her already, and I wanted her to retire asap.
“Well, keep your eye on the ball honey and you’ll get there,” she encouraged. “Are you still visiting next weekend?”
I smacked my forehead. Oh right, I’d promised to make the trek out to Newark next weekend. Dammit, it was going to be Fourth of July and guys usually tipped well on long weekends. But it was her birthday and I’d already promised to go.
“Yes, of course. Can’t wait Ma, see you then!” I said with fake cheer.
“Okay honey, I have a special surprise. I want you to meet my doctor, he’s been so good to me with this allergy stuff,” she started to wheeze.
Why would she want me to meet her doctor? I sighed. But I figured it was just easier to agree.
“Yes Ma, I can take you to an appointment, happy to drive,” I said. “Just take care of yourself in the meantime, okay?” I asked anxiously. I felt sad that my mom was alone in small, shabby apartment. I resolved to bring some flowers, or something colorful and nice. After all, she’d raised me against the odds and it was the least I could do.
But I could feel in my bones that something was off. And I only prayed that the doctor had good news for us … and not bad.
CHAPTER NINE
Lance
I impatiently fidgeted with my sleeve, calling out to my brother, “You ready yet?” As usual, Logan wasn’t even near ready. The dude likes to look good and takes his goddamn time getting pretty. Usually it wouldn’t matter, but today Patricia was at home, and she was eyeing me like a snake stalking a mouse.
“Lance,” she said sweetly, her voice all poison. “Logan will be out soon. Why don’t you have a drink?”
Seriously? We were driving my Lambo into Jersey, a flashy canary-yellow sports car that attracted the police like bees to honey, and she was telling me that I should drink before driving? This bitch was up to no good.
“No thanks, I’ll just have some water,” I said coldly.
If the girl at the club had been Kathryn’s identical twin, then Patricia was Kathryn’s polar opposite, in looks and demeanor. How could Logan stand living with her? It was beyond me.
But she was a beauty, I have to admit, if you like women with the air of Cruella de Ville. Sleek, sinuous black hair fell like a waterfall down her back, and her whip thin frame was dressed in the finest designer clothes, purchased courtesy of my brother. As far as I could tell, Patricia no longer worked. For a while, she’d had some PR job at a fashion company, but probably quit the minute she moved in with Logan. Now she spent her days doing … what exactly? I realized I had no idea.
“So Patricia,” I said with a hint of menace in my voice. “Tell me about your job.” Let the bitch answer that one.
“Oh job schmob,” she said, waving her hand airily. “Logan wants me to stay home for now and take care of the apartment,” she said. “Plus, I might be pregnant, you never know, so it’s not a good time for me to look for work,” she continued.
I almost spat out the water. Trust Patricia to throw the grenade right back. Pregnant with my niece or nephew! Hell no! What the fuck was Logan thinking impregnating this bitch? My thoughts must have shown on my face because Patricia interceded.
“Don’t look so excited Lance,” she said silkily. “He or she would be your blood as well.”
True, but hopefully any child related to me wouldn’t be the spawn of this whore.
Patricia is one area where Logan and I vehemently disagree. Again, my brother and I usually share girls, the stripper from last week being no exception. But he’d gone through some kind of dark period last year, probably ruminating over Kathryn’s death again, and Patricia had latched on when he was weak. She’d forced him to go to a shrink or something, and before I knew it, they were a couple and Patricia had moved in. Man, this bitch was manipulative.
I hated her guts, and she knew it. The good thing was, she didn’t know that Logan had fucked another girl last week, one that looked like our lost love, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Hey, if your boyfriend steps out on you, that’d be grounds for breaking up, but with Patricia, she’d probably just use the chains of guilt to bind Logan even more tightly.
My brother finally appeared, handsome and clean-shaven, dressed in a dark suit, no tie.
“Ready brother?” I asked. He nodded, searching for his money clip and thrusting it into his pocket before grunting, “Your car or mine? We’re headed to Newark right?”
I frowned. Newark? Was that where our dad wanted to meet for lunch? The hospital he worked at was in Newark, but he lived in Closter, a beautiful suburb of New Jersey. Why the fuck did he want us to meet him at work?
I shrugged. “If we’re going to Newark, better take your car,” I said. The grey Tesla was less flashy than the yellow Lambo, although car aficionados would spot it immediately.
“Bye Patty,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated.
“Take care,” she said, kissing Logan goodbye. I could see him stiffen as she neared, like watching a rattlesnake approach. But he managed to accept her kiss before grabbing his keys and punching the light for the elevator. My
brother wasn’t happy in his relationship, that was obvious … and the Donkey Club was only the most recent proof.
CHAPTER TEN
Logan
My brother and Patricia had been about to rip each other’s eyes out, I could tell when I entered the living room. Neither of them are the subtle type. Patricia was practically hissing, claws out, and my twin looked like he could pound concrete.
I sighed. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and it was up to me to get myself out. But I didn’t want to think about it now. With all the confusion swirling in my head, from the girl at the Donkey Club to the images of Kathryn, I just wanted to live in peace for a while, focus on the lunch with Dad, enjoy a nice meal. He’d asked us to meet him at the hospital, which was weird, but I assumed we were just picking him up before going to a restaurant nearby.
The Dirty Hotel King: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 67
