Stepbrother for Christmas

by Amy Brent

  We treated the place like a fortress because that’s exactly what it was: a fortress that housed the deepest, darkest secrets of some of the country’s most powerful people, myself included. I was not just an owner. I was an active participant at Club D. I drank and fucked and made a bloody fool of myself as much as the next guy. I certainly didn’t need that brought up the next time I did a TED Talk on Net Neutrality or Say No To Porn.

  I was so paranoid about the place being found out that I wouldn’t even let employees and guests drive there on their own. Everyone except me, Denny, Sammy, and Uncle Monte, had to park their cars or be dropped off at, a parking garage we owned in the nearest town thirty miles away. The employees were loaded onto buses and the members loaded into luxury SUVs, all with the windows blackened so they could not see out, then ferried to the estate. The drivers of the buses and SUVs were also friends of Sammy’s. They were paid extremely well and sworn to secrecy. If they opened their mouths too wide, Sammy or one of his pals would quickly shut it for them.

  Call it paranoia.

  Call it being overly cautious.

  Call it whatever you want, but we all knew that one slip of the tongue could end it all for Club D and for us.

  And we were not ready to stop the party.

  At least not yet.

  Chapter 8: Isaac

  Me, Denny, and Sammy arrived at Club D just after seven on Friday night. We rode up in one of the company’s Mercedes G Wagons with Sammy at the wheel, driving up the narrow mountain road fast enough to cause my butt to pucker. I rode in the back while Sammy and Denny road in the front acting like a couple of horny teenagers on their way to their first whorehouse.

  The place was the model of controlled chaos when we walked through the doors, dozens of employees preparing for ten o’clock when the first members would start to arrive. The employees were like busy little bees with great tits and tight asses buzzing about, getting ready for another big weekend. Servers, waitresses, bartenders, hostesses, chefs, and sommeliers hurried by, all female, of course, and all beautiful.

  The only male employee allowed in the manor house was Monte—Mr. Lemon, if you please—and he was always the consummate gentleman. It helped that he was gay as a parade float, though you’d never know it by his appearance or mannerisms, other than his impeccable grooming and meticulous style. The temptation for him to abuse his authority over the women simply wasn’t there. Plus, he loved the shit piles of money we paid him for managing the whole shebang. He was too old to go back to Weehawken to manage an Olive Garden and he knew it. He’d be a fool to screw this gig up.

  The Escorts and Specialists were upstairs in their private suites with the hair and makeup artists we kept on staff to keep the girls looking beautiful. Yes, the Escorts and Specialists were treated better than the rest of the girls on staff, but they were the ones who brought in the big bucks for the charitable trust and kept the members happy. The trick was keeping the girls humble at the same time. Even they got big heads now and then, no pun intended, but usually deservedly so. They knew what made Club D work because it also made them among the richest escorts in the world. Perfection was key. Like models who had stepped from the pages of Glamour or Penthouse. It was all part of the smoke and mirrors that was Club D.

  “Everything is all set,” Monte said as he met us at the door. “The staff has been told that we are having a masquerade ball weekend and they love the idea. The Escorts and Specialists will be wearing nothing but stiletto heels, diamonds, and these.”

  Monte turned toward a mahogany table that had been set up as the reception desk in the front hall of the mansion. It was covered with beautiful masks of all shapes and sizes that the girls and guests would use to disguise their eyes and noses.

  “I wanted a rubber mask I could pull on over my head,” Sammy said, growing at the feathered and jeweled masks. “Don’t we have a Bill Clinton mask around here somewhere?”

  “You’ll wear this one and be happy,” Monte said, scolding his young nephew with a smile. He held up a black mask that was adorned with green studs in the shapes of dollar signs.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Sammy said, plucking the mask from Monte’s long fingers. He picked up his suitcase and headed toward the grand stairway at the back of the entrance hall. “I need a shower before the fun starts.”

  “Me, too,” Denny said. He picked up his bag and cocked his eyebrows at me. “You coming up, Ise?”

  “In a minute,” I said. “You go ahead. I can wash my own cock.”

  He held up a middle finger as he started up the stairs after Sammy. I remained behind to talk to Monte privately.

  “So, did you get my message about the transfer of ownership?”

  Monte gave me a curt nod. “I did. I will handle everything from this end. No worries.”

  “Good,” I said, patting his shoulder. “You should know, nothing changes as far as you’re concerned. You’re still in charge.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said. His smile melted into a frown. “You okay, Isaac?”

  I blinked at him. “Sure. Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “You just look... I don’t know… tired?”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I turned to watch the activity going on behind me in the banquet hall. “Do you believe a man can get bored with his life, Monte? Even a life like mine?”

  “I believe everything can become boring given the chance,” he said. He put an arm around my shoulder and jostled me into him. “Maybe it’s time for you to grow up, my son.”

  I gave him a sideways smile as a gorgeous, naked woman trotted down the stairs with her big tits bouncing on her chest. It was Carina. Our star attraction. She gave me a little wave and hurried toward the kitchen.

  Sadly, the sight of her perfect ass did nothing to change my mood.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said with a heavy sigh. I picked up my bag and headed toward the stairs. “Maybe it’s time.”

  Chapter 8: Amy

  “I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said as I stepped off the bus that ferried me, Serena, and a dozen other young women from the parking garage where we left Serena’s car (a brand-new BMW) to the estate that housed Club D. It was all very mysterious, and a little too cloak and dagger for my suspecting nature, but Serena assured me this was how it had to be done to protect the club and its members.

  I had spent the day getting what Serena called “an extreme makeover”. My long hair was cut, colored, and styled for the first time in months. My face was scrubbed clean, then plied with thick makeup that I thought made me look like a hooker, but Serena said made me look gorgeous. Whatever.

  My bush was trimmed to an acceptable density, then waxed into a neat vee. If felt odd, not having the cushion of curls around my clit. It seemed to heighten the sensitivity of my clit. I kept getting little tingles when I walked that my brain was finding hard to ignore. I kept my legs tightly crossed on the bus ride, but there was a warmth in my cunt that I had never felt before. Maybe it was the trim or maybe it was the anticipation of a dream that might come true.

  I was wearing a jogging suit and tennis shoes, but I had packed an assortment of clothes for the weekend, including the little black slut dress and stiletto heels Serena liked. My biggest concern was that I wouldn’t be able to walk in four-inch heels.

  The bus was comfortable enough, but it was strange having the windows blackened out so we couldn’t see where we were being taken. I was a little claustrophobic and was feeling the anxiety by the time I heard the air brakes hiss and felt us rolling to a stop.

  “We’re at the front gate,” Serena said, patting me excitedly on the arm. “The bus will pull around back to the guest house to let us out. The members are dropped out front.”

  “Awesome,” I said weakly, mustering a smile. The other girls, all bubbly and excited to start the weekend, were already on their feet pulling their overnight bags from the overhead bins. Serena got to her feet and had our bags down by the time the
brakes hissed again and the bus shut off.

  “Okay,” she said, making a face like a little kid about to get on a rollercoaster ride. “Follow me.”

  We were the last ones off the bus. I won’t lie. I was getting excited about being there. It was like walking out into the great unknown, like taking the first steps on a long journey without knowing where each step might lead.

  I stepped off the bus and looked around quickly. We were parked in a wide courtyard between what looked like the back of a grand hotel from the nineteenth century and a smaller mansion that Serena called, “the guest house”. The guest house? Really? Holy shit.

  We were approached by a tall, dapper man with steel gray hair and cutting blue eyes. He was immaculately dressed in an expensive pinstripe suit. His yellow tie matched the hankie that was perfectly folded and tucked in his breast pocket.

  “Hey, Mr. Lemon, this is my friend Amy that I called about,” Serena said, stepping aside and presenting me with a wave of her hand. “Amy, this is Mr. Lemon, the managing director of Club D.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rossetti,” he said without offering to shake my hand. I noticed that he was holding a clipboard in his left hand. He held out the clipboard and pulled a Monte Blanc pen from his inside pocket.

  “We’re pleased to have you with us for the weekend, Miss Rossetti. Before I can allow you to go any further, however, I’ll need you to sign this form.”

  I dropped my bag to the cobblestones and took the clipboard. There was a legal document attached. My name was printed at the top and bottom of the document. My signature would avow that I agreed to the document’s terms. “What is this exactly?”

  “It is a legally-binding nondisclosure agreement,” he said with a nod. “Stating that you will not divulge, share, report, discuss, or reveal anything you see or hear at this facility under penalty of law.”

  “Failure to comply may result in a $250,000 fine and up to five years in jail?” I said after scanning the document, which was standard legal fare. I had signed hundreds of NDA’s over the course of my career. This one, while purposefully made to sound more threatening than most, was nothing new. I glanced up at him with a smile. “You boys don’t mess around, do you?”

  “Not without that agreement,” he said with a smile. He nodded again. “If you’ll sign at the bottom and initial the date, you and Serena can be on your way.”

  “Well, all right then,” I said, scribbling my name on the dotted line. I handed him the clipboard, he checked the signature, then tucked the clipboard under his arm and stuck out his hand for me to shake. “Welcome to Votre Désire, Miss Rossetti. Consider yourself our guest.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I let go of his hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Yes, well…” He glanced at Serena, then smiled at me. “I believe that is the whole point of being here, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 9: Isaac

  “You look bored as fuck, my man,” Denny said as he brought his empty bourbon glass to the bar for a refill. He pushed the Lone Ranger mask up to his forehead and frowned at me. “Why the fuck are you hanging out here at the bar? Come sit with us. There are three new girls working tonight that we might want to try out in a bit. And I thought we were going to gang-bang Carina to celebrate Club D’s third anniversary.”

  “You guys go ahead,” I said, mustering a smile. My beer bottle was on the bar next to my mask, which I had not bothered to put on. I glanced around the room. Everyone was wearing masks and having a grand time, but I had decided the masquerade idea was not for me. I had a mask, but I had no intention of putting it on. I picked up the bottle and brought it to my lips without drinking. “I’m just gonna take it easy tonight and watch the festivities tonight.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. Denny was my best friend. He knew me better than anyone. He put a hand on my shoulder. “What’s up with you, Ise? You’ve been acting really strange lately.”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” I said with a shrug. “You go have a good time. I’ll catch up shortly.”

  I looked past him again at the party that was going on in the banquet hall. We had hired a famous rock band from the eighties to play the party, whose name I can’t share, of course. They were rocking the place with their hits. The dance floor was crowded with members and beautiful women who were wearing nothing but high heels and carnival masks. I could have had any of the women at a moment’s notice—fuck, I could have had all of them if I had wanted. But I didn’t want them. I didn’t know why. My cock was probably wondering the same thing. It was waiting patiently for my brain to send it a signal, but so far, all was quiet. Maybe Monte was right. Maybe it was time for me to grow up. I pushed out a heavy sigh as I turned back with my elbows on the bar and wiggled my empty bottle at the bartender.

  “Excuse me.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and felt the breath catch in my throat. There was a woman standing there with an empty champagne flute in her hand and a gorgeous smile on her face. She was tall and curvy, with long black hair and luscious lips, wearing a little black dress and stiletto heels, with fleshy tits that spilled out the top of the dress and long legs that jutted out the bottom. Her voice was like a warm breath in my ear. I turned to face her and swallowed the lump that was caught in my throat.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi back,” she said. She held up the empty glass. “Just need a refill.”

  “Uh, yeah, sorry,” I said, muttering like an idiot. I frowned at her because I had never seen her before. The only girls allowed to drink were the Escorts and Specialists. I didn’t recognize her as either one.

  I asked, “Are you new?”

  She smiled and I felt my cock twitch in my slacks.

  “I’m a guest,” she said, leaning in so I could hear her without having to yell. “I have a friend who works here. She brought me up for the weekend.”

  “Ah, so you don’t work here,” I said, alternately confused and relieved. “We don’t normally allow female guests here. You must be very special.”

  “I like to think so.” She was wearing a red mask that was adorned with little pink and purple feathers. The eyelets were lined with little fake diamonds. Her eyes smiled from behind it. She held out her hand. “I’m… Am…anda… Amanda Ross.”

  “Hi, Amanda Ross,” I said, taking her hand. It was warm and soft and sent little tingles up my arm and into my chest. My cock started to wake up. I leaned in to kiss her cheeks, like they did in the movies. She smelled like soap and vanilla and champagne it was all I could do to not kiss her smack dab on the mouth.

  Instead, I said, “I’m Isaac Hanson. Nice to meet you.”

  “Hi, Isaac Hanson,” she said, giving my hand a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Chapter 10: Amy

  They say that you never truly know yourself until you do something that is totally out of character, something you would normally never do, not even in your wildest dreams.

  For me, that was stuffing myself into a little black dress and slipping my feet into six-inch heels and approaching Isaac Hanson at the party after downing six flutes of champagne and smoking a fat joint with Serena up in her room.

  There was a reason they called champagne, “liquid courage”.

  And a reason they called pot “dope”.

  That’s how I was feeling.

  Courageously dopey.

  I had sat at a table watching Isaac stand at the bar for half an hour, barely listening to some fat VC fuck from the city bragging about the size of his bank account, which I knew was meant to make up for the lack in size of his cock. When I told him that I was just there to watch, he harrumphed at me and motioned for one of the naked girls to come sit in his lap. A few minutes later, I saw him following her out the door like a horny little puppy dog.

  And the cash registers ring…

  Even more out of character for me was the fact that I was not wearing panties and I had every intention of seducing Isaac and turning him every which way but l
oose before the night was over.

  I know.

  Crazy.

  Totally unlike me.

  But that was the point.

  I needed to do something that was totally unlike me because I was started to totally dislike me! Serena was right. I had built a cocoon around myself and refused to let anyone in. I focused on work and money and building a reputation at the expense of my personal life. Other than Sunday dinners with my dad and brothers, I had voided my life of emotions and had become the stone-cold bitch everyone said I was.

  Along the way, I had forgotten about Amy Rossetti, the fun Italian girl with six older brothers and the best dad in the world.

  Amy Rossetti who had so much sex in college that she single-handedly helped keep Trojan Condoms in business.

  Amy Rossetti who used to love to drink and party and dance and run around naked and make out in dive bar restrooms and fuck hot boys in the back seats of cars and spend the night with men whose names she would forget by the following day.