by Sebastian Ex
Thank you to a most amazing woman – my mother.
Prologue
There comes a time in a man’s life, when he gets sick and tired of being drawn to the same bimbo women, time and time again.
But I’m not at that stage yet.
I enjoy having a beautiful young woman hit on me.
I’m thirty-eight and I get my fill of pussy from women no older than twenty-two or so.
Tonight, I’ve got Rebecca or Rachel, or whatever her name is, spread out naked on her bed. She’s attractive, young, willing, and eager to have me to do whatever I want to her.
She’s blindfolded, her wrists secured to the headboard, and her legs are spread, waiting for me to devour her.
Tonight I’m playing with her solo. I usually enjoy a woman like what’s her name with my best friend and business partner, Brandon.
But Brandon has a chick he’s been chasing and tonight she finally relented and let him take her on a date.
“How wet are you, baby?” I ask, using the common, affectionate, pet name that’s easier than trying to remember their real names.
Her breath hitches when I ask. My voice is low and sensual, exactly how these women like it. Her tits jiggle slightly from her intake of breath and she grinds her ass into the mattress.
She licks her lips provocatively. It gives me ideas about what she can do with that tongue later. “I’m wet, Matt,” she whispers, her voice all raspy with desire.
“I beg your pardon?” I fucking hate it when they won’t respect my name. It’s Matthew, not Matt. Plain and fucking simple, no abbreviation. Just Matthew.
I feel my jaw tighten as I try and calm my anger down.
“I’m sorry,” she cries out in a begging tone. “I meant to say Matthew.”
“Yeah, too fucking late now.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“Not gonna happen.” I untie her arms, and take the blindfold off. “Sorry, babe, but I told you from the start if you called me Matt, I’d fucking walk.”
She sits up in bed, and grabs for my arms before I get a chance to walk out of her room. “Please, I’ll do better. Please don’t leave.”
What is it with these chicks?
“Not tonight,” I say as I stand and shake her hands off my arms.
“Please,” she begs, lowering her voice while her eyes fill with tears.
“No.” I take a step away from her bed and turn while I dig my car keys out of my pocket.
“You’re an ass,” her voice is all crackly and I can hear her sniffing back tears.
I turn to look at her. She’s fucking gorgeous sitting on the bed all naked, but she broke one of my two rules. Rule one, don’t call me anything but Matthew. And rule two, don’t ask me for my phone number. “No means no, or does that only apply to women?”
Ha! That’s my get-out-of-jail-free card. The one I always use when they get all weepy and shit. It always puts a smile on my face when I say it, ‘cause I know they can’t say shit to that. If a woman says ‘no’, it means no. Not anything else, no other form or variation of it. Not ‘maybe’ or ‘yeah, if you’re gentle’, so when I say it, I mean it too.
Seeing as I hadn’t gotten my clothes off yet, I simply stroll out of her room past her roommate in the kitchen and straight out the front door.
My BMW is parked right outside her apartment building. I unlock it, get in, start it up, and pull out onto the street.
The city starts getting quiet at 11 p.m., but it’s still too early for me to go home.
I head for the Onyx Club, knowing it’ll be busy, like every other night.
The Onyx Club is mine and Brandon’s. We opened it as a burlesque club seven years ago, when we discovered the area was filled with sleazy, classless strip joints. We took a chance and created an up-market establishment, somewhere Brandon and I would be comfortable. Somewhere women and men can come, enjoy the show, and know there won’t be any security issues.
You might be wondering why we chose such a shitty part of town for the club’s location. Because, simply put, it was what was within our budgets at the time. However, in the seven years since we started, we’ve built it into a reputable establishment, hiring professional dancers, screening them for drugs, doing background checks, and making sure we maintain a fun, safe environment for everyone.
To me though, it’s like I’m a kid in a candy store. Although I love to sample a lot of pussy, I’m also a businessman first and I know not to shit where I eat. I haven’t fucked one girl from the club. Let me tell you, I may look, I may jack off to them, but my hands, my tongue and my cock are always kept well away from the staff.
Until now.
One
“I’m Matthew. You’re Ella?” I ask as I look at her crushed resume. She nods without saying anything. “Where have you danced?” I ask the young brunette sitting opposite me.
“I don’t have much formal training.” She shifts in her seat and clutches the abominable excuse for a handbag she carries. Her eyes dart to the left, then to the right. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she appears to be casing the place to rob it.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” I lean back in my chair and bring my arms up over my head.
“It’s j-j-just that I can’t really dance…,” she stutters and seems to withdraw further into herself.
“Then what are you doing here?” I pick up her one-page mess of a resume and peruse it. As I take a better look, most of it appears to be falsified. But there’s something about her, she’s really quite, hmmm, what’s the word…unique. “Show me your arms,” I say as I stand and walk around to the front of my grand oak desk.
“Wh-what?” she stutters again.
“Your fucking arms. Roll up your sleeves and show them to me.”
She’s looking at me with the most incredulous look I’ve ever seen. Her eyebrows furrow together, and her lips narrow out to a perfectly irritated thin line. I can’t help it, I fucking laugh at her.
“What are you laughing at?” she says as she stands and looks pissed off at me.
“You. You’re pathetic. Look at you.” I wave my hand over her. “Your hair is mousy, and you look like you’ve been living on the streets in a refrigerator box. Really, you’re wasting my time. You can go,” I say to her as I flick my wrist dismissively at her, turning my back and moving to sit in my chair.
“You’re a jerk, Matt,” she huffs and takes a step toward the door.
“Matthew,” I correct her.
“You can shove that stupid name up your ass, Matt,” she emphasizes my most detested shortened version of my name.
“Get back here,” I yell at her as I push up from my chair. The chair wheels backward and slams into the wall behind me. I don’t know why, but she’s pushed my temper to its limits.
“You’re a judgmental jerk. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” She keeps walking toward the door. She has only three or four steps left before she reaches it.
But damn it, she’d better not touch that fucking doorknob. If her hand makes contact with it, I’ll…I’ll… Fucking hell, I just know I’ll do something I shouldn’t.
“Don’t you fucking move.”
“Leave me alone.” She’s almost running out of my office.
I move like lightning to speed around her, brace myself against the wooden door, and block her path.
“Move or I’ll scream,” she warns, backing away. She’s almost cowering now, frightened by me.
“I won’t hurt you,” I take a deep breath and pause, giving her a half-smile, that smirk I know makes women drop to their knees and open their mouths. “Unless you want me to.”
Her eyes widen as her breath catches. My eyes automatically go to her tits and I watch as her chest heaves beneath the
ugly green sweater she’s wearing.
“If you touch me, I’ll scream,” she says again though this time her voice is small and breathy.
“You can scream as much as you want. My office has been soundproofed.”
She takes another step back, and I lock the door. Her ass hits my desk, and I take a step closer to her.
“My name is Matthew, not Matt, not Matty. Nothing else. Matthew.”
“Let me out.”
“Say my name, Ella. Address me properly and I’ll let you go.”
What is it about this chick? Usually I don’t give a shit, especially about a woman like her, who’s far from my usual type. But the way her brown eyes challenge me, her body trembling, tells me she’s not as naïve as her ‘scared little kitten’ appearance suggests.
She straightens her shoulders as her back goes rigid. She’s clearly preparing to stand up to me.
“Please, let me go,” she pleads with me. “I won’t make no trouble for you.”
“It’s ‘I won’t make any trouble for you’,” I correct her. “Now, say, ‘Please Matthew, I’d like to leave.’”
Her brows furrow and she squints at me, tilting her head to the side. “I’d like to leave now.”
I cross my arms over my chest, not budging. “Say my name.”
“I’d like to leave now…Matt.”
Damn it, what the hell is wrong with her? Has she got mental issues? “My name is Matthew, not ‘Matt’.” I feel my jaw tighten as I grind my teeth together. She remains quiet, not saying anything. “Address me properly and I’ll give you a job here.”
She looks at me and for a split second I think she believes me. Then the corners of her mouth turn up wryly. Fuck, she’s not as dumb as I thought.
“Matt.”
We stand in my office not saying a single thing to each other. She’s right up against my desk and I’m guarding the door so she can’t leave. It’s a stalemate.
Maybe I need her here. She’s a smart girl, apparently, and she doesn’t put up with shit, either. But I also want her on the end of my cock. I need to fill her pussy as she rides me and fucks me hard. I need to bite her nipples, flick them with my tongue as I hear her moaning and begging me to fuck her.
“Look,” I start, trying to get my cock to calm down so I can think with my big head, as opposed to the one in my pants. “I think I can offer you a job.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, really. I think I can use you.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Here at the club.” Her mouth tugs up into a genuine smile and I know I’ve got her.
“Fine.” I see her visibly swallow as she turns to sit in the chair she was sitting in to begin with.
“You’re not pretty enough for me to waste my money getting you dancing lessons,” I say as I flick the lock on the door then walk around to my desk.
“And I suppose you’ll always be this big a jerk,” Ella says, though there’s a smile on her lips.
I sit in my chair, and lean my forearms against the edge of the desk. She looks over her shoulder at the door then back to me. “Don’t bother trying, I have a switch here,” I say, pointing underneath the desk, “that’ll keep you locked in here for as long as I want you here.”
“So you’re a sleaze and a jerk and you like to intimidate women.”
My God, where the hell has this sassy personality come from? One second she’s cowering away like a frightened little kitten, and the next she’s all mouth. “Careful, Ella, or that mouth of yours will soon be stuffed with my cock.” I see her shoulders come up and her neck muscles tighten. She smashes her lips together, and this makes me chuckle. “Good. Now, like I was saying, you’re just not attractive enough to be up on stage. No one will pay the cover fee we charge to see you. But you can work the bar. Can you pour a drink?”
Her eyes lower to the floor and she shakes her head. “No, I can’t.”
“For fuck’s sake, can you at least pick up dirty dishes?” I know I’m sounding like a condescending asshole. But hey, this is my club and if she can’t carry her weight, I won’t have her here. But…Ella, there’s just something about her.
“Yeah, I can do that, Matt.”
“Matthew. Have you fucked Brandon before?”
“What? Who?”
“Brandon?” She shakes her head and clutches the ruined bag in her lap. “Do you actually live somewhere or are you homeless?”
“I live with my boyfriend.” Her response is quick and rehearsed.
“Do you work anywhere else?” She shakes her head. “How do you support yourself?”
“My boyfriend,” she says as her features change again. She looks guilty, maybe even ashamed.
“How old are you?”
“It’s there on my resume.”
“Which I can tell is a load of shit. Now, tell me how old you really are. I won’t repeat myself, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she says in a meek, small voice.
“Matthew. You’ll only call me ‘sir’ if I fuck you more than once.”
“What?”
“It’s Matthew, not sir. Now I’m waiting for you to answer the question.”
“I’m almost twenty-three.”
“What does your boyfriend do?”
“He works in a bank.”
“Now show me your arms.”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“So you’ll have no reservations about showing me your arms. Roll them up.” I gesture toward her sleeves.
“No. I don’t do drugs. But what you’re asking is an invasion of my privacy.”
“Why did you come here? Did you think this is McDonalds? Did you think you’d get a chance at a job looking like that?” I wave my hand over her pathetic outfit. “As a matter of fact, how the hell did you even get in the door?”
“I was getting something from the store and I heard someone talking about a job opening here, so I called and made an appointment.”
“The job is for a dancer, and clearly, as I’ve stated, you’re nowhere near ‘dancer’ material. But, you’re in luck. I like you.”
“Why?” Her eyes shoot up to meet mine.
“I have no idea. Maybe it’s your pathetic appearance. Or maybe…” Her tits below her sweater look delicious. I can’t wait to bite on her nipples, bring them into my mouth and swirl my tongue, feeling them elongate as I suck on them and she arches her chest into my mouth. Snap out of it, Matthew.
“Maybe?”
“Maybe it’s just that I want to fuck you.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Truth is, I do want to fuck you, but I don’t fuck my staff. So, here’s the issue. I want my cock inside you, but we also need someone to clear and clean the tables, do shit like that.”
“So a busperson?”
“Yeah, a busperson for the floor during the hours we’re open. Do you want the job?”
For the first time since she stepped in here, I notice her eyes light up and she actually looks happy. “Yes, very much. Thank you.”
“You’ll start tomorrow. Be here by 5 p.m. and make sure you wear the uniform I’ll give you.”
“Thank you,” she says again. This time when she smiles, I notice she has a dimple in her right cheek.
I stand and walk toward the door. Ella, still in the chair, swings around to follow my movements. “Have you got a pair of black closed-in shoes? Not ugly ones like those dirty Converse you’re wearing?”
She shakes her head and avoids my eyes. “No,” she whispers, and all her joy disappears.
“For fuck’s sake, Ella.” I reach into my back pocket and take my wallet out. “Here,” I say as I hold some cash out to her.
“I can’t take that,” she says as she stands and comes toward me.
“If you don’t have the proper footwear, you can’t work here. Just take it.” I thrust it toward her. Like the frightened little kitten she is, she takes the money and puts it in her pocket. “I’ll deduct it from your first check.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s fine. Just be here by 5 p.m. tomorrow night. Now follow me to the storeroom so I can get you a uniform. I’ll give you two to start, then we’ll see how you do.”
I unlock the door and hold it open for her. She timidly steps in front of me, and it takes everything inside me not to smack her pert ass on her way through the door.
Two
I sit in my office and watch from the security feed on my laptop. Tonight’s a good night. We’re at capacity and the girls are dancing really well. Rehearsal this morning had me worried, Samantha looked like she was high as a kite, which surprised me because her last drug test came back clean. But as it turned out, she’s had a cold and has been taking cold and flu medication to get over it. She looks good tonight. The routines are tight and they all look great up on stage.
I flick the camera view over to behind the bar, and watch the bartenders for a while. The waitresses are all dressed in their tight black corsets, red panties, fish net stockings and red high heels. Tonight’s going to be a great night for profits.
“Hey,” Brandon announces himself as he walks into my office.
“Hey, where have you been?” I ask as I turn the camera view back to the floor.
“Penny,” he says as he flops into the chair opposite me. “Man, that girl. Fuck, the things she can do with her mouth.”
“So she’s the flavor of the week, eh? You missed out the other night. She was hot, but…” I pause and give a sly smirk.
“Don’t tell me, she broke your precious rule and called you something other than Matthew.”
“You know it. Had her tied up, naked and I was just about to eat her pussy, but she called me Matt.” A shudder rips down my spine.
“It’s just a name. What if she could deep throat better than a Hoover?”
“Not interested. If I want deep throat action I’ll call one of them.” I open my top drawer and take out my black book, throwing it on the desk.
“You know, we’re quite advanced these days and have something called ‘smart phones’. These magical devices can hold more names and numbers than those.” He points to my ‘book of women’, as he’s been known to call it in the past.
