by Amy Brent
She stood in the doorway, eyeing me for a moment, like a human bullshit detector. “I mean it, Amy. You’re going to become an old maid if you don’t break out of this cocoon you’ve built around yourself.”
“Thank you, Serena. Goodbye. Have a nice night. See ya later.”
I should have been more irritated at her, but I couldn’t be because she was right.
I had built a cocoon and crawled inside and sewed it shut.
Maybe it was time to bust out and spread my wings a little.
At least for a couple of days.
* * *
The car service dropped me at my downtown apartment a little after seven. Carlton, the doorman who always wanted to make chat about my day, started to say something, but I waved him off and headed for the elevator. He already thought I was a bitch—everyone did—so I wasn’t too concerned with hurting his feelings. Besides, I always gave him a nice card at Christmas time with twelve one-hundred-dollar bills inside, one for each month of the year. I might have been a cold bitch, but I knew how the game was played. Pissing off your doorman was one thing you never wanted to do, regardless of how rich and successful you were.
And no offense to Carlton, I was simply too tired to talk to anyone. I’d been going full bore since 5 AM and was ready to drop. All I wanted to do was grab a quick bite, soak in a hot tub for an hour, and fall into bed.
I hadn’t decided what I was going to do on Friday: reschedule my appointments, take a free day, or actually prepare to spend the weekend with Serena at Club D.
I doubted very seriously the latter would ever take place.
Still, to be fair to Serena, whose feelings I did care about, I’d sleep on it and see how I felt in the morning, though I doubted I’d take the idea any more serious than I did now.
* * *
I was standing at the back of the stage, peering out through the heavy curtain. The auditorium lights were down low, but I could tell that there was no one seated out there waiting for me to speak. Had they all forgotten? Was I too early? Had the event been canceled and no one bothered to tell me?
“There’s no one here,” a deep voice whispered in my ear. “It’s just you and me. I hope that’s alright.”
“It’s perfectly alright,” I said without turning around. I didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice in my dream belonged to. Isaac Hanson was standing behind me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my neck. My hair was in its usual bun. He expertly removed the pins to let my hair fall over my shoulders. He swept it around to the left side so his lips could kiss my neck on the right. I didn’t flinch when I felt his warm hands on my hips, pulling me back into him. His cock was hard and moist at the tip. I could feel it rubbing slowly up and down the crack of my ass. It was at that moment that I realized we were both naked. The heat of his body against mine made me sigh.
I leaned back against him and turned my face toward his. He smiled as he lowered his lips to mine. His lips were warm and soft and wet. His tongue swirled around my lips, then slid between them to probe my eager mouth. When our tongues met, I heard and felt little sparks of electricity shoot through my body.
His hands slid from my waist to my big tits. He cupped my melons and worked my nipples gently between his fingers. The pleasure spread through me like a warm breeze. My nipples plumped like strawberry gum drops.
“You’re beautiful, Amy,” he said, breathing into my mouth. His hands slid down my stomach. His fingers trekked through the thick curls above my clit. He didn’t complain about my bush. He kissed me again and slid his index fingers down the sides of my clit and pressed it between them, then rubbed slowly up and down, milking my clit like a hard, little cock.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, his lips at my ear.
“Yes… don’t stop…” I said as I reached around to take his cock in my hand. It was long, thick and girthy. I could feel the plump veins along the shaft as my hand began to slide back and forth over the muscle, back and forth, back and forth.
“Do you like my big cock?” His fingers slid further down, between my pussy lips. Hot juices were flowing out of me now, like a river about to flood. My juice flowed over his fingers. I could feel myself gushing, streams of hot sex running down the insides of my thighs. Isaac slid two long fingers inside me and began working them in and out.
“Fuck me… with your big cock,” I said, moaning the words, the breath catching in my throat. “Please… Isaac… fuck me now.”
Without a word, he put his hands back on my hips and I leaned forward with my ass out and my hands on my knees. My big tits hung from my chest and swung freely as I breathed. I could feel his cock, the head swirling around my juicy hole, lubing, probing, exploring. When he pushed into me, I could feel my hole expanding around him, the walls of my pussy giving way for his girth.
“Easy,” I moaned. “Slowly… fuck me… slowly…”
“No,” he said, fingers tightening on my sides. “I’m going to fuck you hard, Amy. Like you deserve to be fucked. Like you want to be.”
Before I could say a word, he thrust into me with such force that the breath was pushed from my lungs. His cock filled every inch of me, stretching my pussy, the tip slamming into my cervix. My body was suddenly on fire from the pain and pleasure. Sweat washed across my face and tits. My pussy responded by gripping him tightly, milking the long shaft like a thousand little fingers.
“Oh… fuck… that… feels…”
“Amazing,” he said, thrusting in and out steadily, shoving his cock in hard as far as it would go, only to withdraw it slowly and thrust in hard again.
I could feel him everywhere inside me.
My cunt…
My tits…
My throat…
My brain…
Isaac was fucking me hard and fast and deep like no man had ever fucked me before. And I fucking loved it…
“God… I’m... going to… cum…” I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed my ass back toward him, daring him to go in deeper, harder, faster. I was on fire… I could feel the orgasm building from my curled toes… It crept up my legs like a thousand spiders… It rammed into my cunt with the force of a hurricane hitting the shore… My pussy exploded… Gushing wave after wave of hot juices over his long cock and balls… Shooting lightning through me… fuck…. Isaac… fuck…
“Oh… jeeeeeeezzuzzzzz…” I whined. “I’m cumming… fuck… Isaac... cum with me… fill my pussy with… your hot… milky… cum…”
I heard him grunt like an animal as he rammed his long cock into me as far as it would go. He held it there for a moment, his fingers digging into my sides. My pussy grew hot as his load filled me. I came again from the heat. I came again… again… again…
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.
I was suddenly again standing alone at the back of the stage.
The auditorium was dark.
I was naked and very cold.
Alone.
Again.
Always alone.
I woke myself up crying, as I’d done many nights before when the realities of my world interrupted my dreams.
I dried my eyes on the sheet and looked at the clock.
It was 3:18 AM.
I knew at that moment what I had to do.
Serena was right.
I had to make a change.
Chapter 7: Isaac
Only a handful of people really knew what went on inside the hundred-fifty-year-old estate that housed Club Votre Désire. Tucked in the mountains north of San Jose, the main house sat nearly a quarter of a mile from the winding road that led up the mountain, and in the summer time was barely visible through the thick rows of trees that lined the narrow drive.
There was a large stone and iron gate at the road that was guarded 24/7 by a team of armed guards that no one in their right mind would dare fuck with. Big boys, mean looking sons of bitches, with round shoulders and thick necks that strained against the black, tactical outfits they wore, like o
ur own private SWAT team. In truth, it was mostly for show. Mostly. They were all Sammy’s former football buddies who moonlighted for us as guards and security personnel. They wouldn’t hurt a fly… unless the fly gave them cause to. Then, pity the fly.
It was all part of the deal. When you often had senators and congressmen and a vice president and other assorted politicians and world leaders on hand, the security had to be high. There were many weekends where we had the Secret Service and Interpol patrolling the grounds around the estate. They weren’t allowed to come into the main house, but I knew they were always close by.
The main house—if you could call it a house—sat on fifty mostly-wooded acres and loomed four stories tall. It had once been a grand hotel built by some rich steel baron out of New York, with over 55,000 square feet of indoor space, now divided into thirty luxury suites on the top three floors. The bottom level housed a full-blown 5-star restaurant, an enormous bar, a dozen small meeting rooms, and the main banquet hall, which was the length and width of a football field. There was a 10,000-square foot guest house out back of the manor house with thirty double rooms for the employees who came to stay each weekend. The place was like a small, self-contained city. All you had to do was ask for it, and it could be found at Club Votre Désire.
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 nea
t 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.
