by Amy Brent
“He’s some internet billionaire or something,” Papa said, grimacing as he said the words as if they had left a bad taste in his mouth. He picked up the remote from the table and aimed it at the TV, then jacked the volume up a few notches. “They’ve been replaying this all afternoon. It’s hilarious!”
A blonde with big boobs and a plastic smile was asking, “So, Denny, what’s the best part about being you?”
Denny didn’t skip a beat. He just looked at her and smiled.
And said, “The pussy. Duh.”
They bleeped out the word “pussy”, but it was clear what he had said. You could tell by the way his lips moved and the way the blonde’s mouth fell open when she heard the word.
I nearly choked on my iced tea. Papa chuckled and shook his head as he turned the volume back down. “Can you believe this guy? Got more money than Trump and says the best thing about being him is the pussy!”
“Papa! Watch your mouth.”
Papa grinned at me. “What? The billionaire can say pussy on TV but I can’t say it in my own house?” He huffed and shook his head. “Okay, fine. But you know what I mean.” He pointed the remote at the television. “It’s guys like him that don’t know what hard work is. Got more money than he can ever spend, but he spends his time whoring and drinking like a common thug.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his belly. “Don’t ever bring a guy like that home, baby girl. Your brothers would skin him alive.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, getting up to gather up our dishes. “Guys like that don’t even know I’m alive.”
“You’re better off,” Papa said with a heavy sigh. “Guys like that are after one thing and one thing only. And you know what that is.”
“I know, Papa,” I said, moving the dishes to the sink. Under my breath, I whispered the words we were both thinking. “The pussy. Duh.”
Chapter 4: Serena
I left Papa sitting in his recliner with a cold beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other, and rushed home to get ready for work. I did my hair and makeup, packed a bag for the weekend, and drove the Beamer north out of the city.
It took nearly two hours to arrive at the indoor parking garage where I’d leave my car for the weekend. All Club D employees—all drop-dead gorgeous women (including me ;o)—had to leave their cars at the garage and board buses with blackout windows for the thirty-minute ride to the estate high in the mountains north of San Jose.
Club D’s exact location was a closely-guarded secret for obvious reasons, as was its ownership and membership roster.
And getting a job there was a little like joining the CIA.
You had to be invited just to apply to work there in any capacity, then agree to monthly drug testing to keep the job. One strike, and you were out. You had to pass a background check, have no criminal record, and no history of bad habits that could be used to make you reveal Club D’s secrets.
There was random psychologic testing, polygraph testing, and monthly performance reviews with the director, Mr. Lemon, and his senior staff, to make sure things were cool.
You would never find Club D jobs listed on some public job board. Mr. Lemon spotted me working in a cocktail dive bar two years ago and offered me the chance to apply. To work there, you had to sign a legal document that basically said the Devil would get your soul and Club D’s lawyers would take the rest if you ever breathed a word about the club’s existence. No girl had ever broken that pledge that I knew of because it would be liked killing the goose that laid the golden egg.
Well, I sort of broke it when I told Amy Rossetti about Club D and brought her along as my guest one weekend. I might have been fired, but luckily Amy caught the eye of Denny’s partner, Isaac Hanson, and they were now living happily ever after. Mr. Lemon was going to send me into the pits of hell for that one, but Isaac intervened.
In exchange for our undying loyalty and discretion, Club D paid very well. Waitresses like me typically raked in six figures a year. The working girls, the ones who took the members upstairs, could make ten times that.
Mr. Lemon had a sign in his office that read: The 5 Things Required To Keep Any Secret: Loyalty. Trust. Discretion. Greed. Ignorance.
Part of that ignorance was not knowing exactly where Club D was located, hence the blackout windows in the bus. The ride to Club D was a little creepy at first, not knowing where you were going and not seeing outside until you got there, but I had gotten used to it. I spent the time doing my nails or listening to music or chatting with the other girls. Working at Club D was a little like going away to a ritzy camp every weekend, except for the rich guys who sometimes thought it was okay to grab your ass, which could get them ejected no matter how much money they had.
I had to give Denny and the other founders credit: they went above and beyond to protect the girls who worked at Club D. Not just the high-end Escorts and Specialists, but the waitresses, servers, hostess, chefs, cleaning crew, dancers, and bartenders. There was a strict “hands off” policy in place, enforced by Mr. Lemon and his staff of very large, very intimidating security guards; all male, all former football buddies of founder Sammy Branniff, and all sworn to secrecy, and all loyal to a fault. They were like the Unsullied on Game of Thrones, only bigger and badder, if you could imagine that.
If a member got a little fresh with a waitress or tried to grope a dancer, he was quickly corrected like a little kid who’d broken a rule in Sunday School. Mr. Lemon, who dressed and acted like some dude from The Sopranos was always quick to step in. And if he couldn’t handle the situation, there were several hulks behind him who could. Not surprisingly, such occurrences were rare. The men knew the rules. They were not construction workers and thugs getting drunk and trolling for easy pussy.
They were all unbelievably rich, mostly older, and very well-behaved.
Besides, they could have anything they wanted once they were upstairs with a girl.
All they had to do was ask, agree to the price, and the world was their oyster. At least for a little while.
* * *
“Did you see Denny Chambers on TV this morning?” another waitress named Rosalie asked as the bus started up the winding drive to the main house. We couldn’t see outside, but after taking this ride every weekend for two years, I could tell where we were. We had just turned into the front gates and were pulling up the drive. In a couple of minutes, the bus would pull around to the back of the main house and let us all out at the guest house where we could dump our stuff and get ready for our shift, which started at midnight.
“I saw it.” I smiled at the dreamy look on her face. “He looks good on TV, doesn’t he?”
She bit her bottom lip and let her eyes go soft. “He’s so fucking hot.”
“Well, he is obviously a big fan of pussy,” I said, smirking at her. “Why don’t you introduce him to yours?”
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” she said, huffing. “He’s too busy with the working girls to pay much attention to me.”
“You’re probably better off,” I said. “He’s kind of a pig.”
“He’s a hot pig,” she said. “I’ve heard that he’s amazing in bed.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “Carina told me she would fuck Denny for free, he was that good.”
“I’m not sure how good a character reference Carina is,” I said with a sour face. “She’s pretty much a sperm repository. Every time she looks my way I feel like I need a shower.”
“Don’t be so judgmental, Serena,” she said, giving me a scolding eye. “She’s just like us, working her ass off to support her family.”
“She has a family?” I felt the heat of shame wash over my cheeks. “I didn’t know.”
“She supports her parents back in Russia, her brothers and sisters, grandparents. And I think she even has a couple of kids of her own.”
“Wow, now I feel like a douche,” I said. “Still, I could not do what she does, no matter how badly I needed the money.”
“Would you fuck him?” Rosalie aske
d as the bus slowed to a halt and the airbrakes hissed. I frowned at her.
“What?”
“Denny Chambers.” Rosalie flexed her perfect eyebrows. “He’s asked me about you.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, looking for any hint of a lie. I saw none. “He asked you about me?”
“Yep, a few weeks ago. You were serving a big table of dudes and Denny was at the bar and he asked me your name.”
“You’re lying.”
“Swear to God,” she said, holding up her right hand.
“What did you tell him?”
She grinned. “I told him you were a lesbian and that you hated men. Especially rich ones with big cocks.”
“You’re awful,” I said, bumping her with my elbow.
The door at the front of the bus opened and the thirty or so girls onboard slid out of the seats and started pulling their bags from the overhead compartments.
Rosalie pulled down her bag, slid the strap over her shoulder, and paused to give me one more smile before starting up the aisle. She said, “Seriously, I told him your name was Serena. And he asked if you were single and I said I thought you were.”
I blinked at her for a moment and held my breath. Denny Chambers was asking about me? The hot billionaire with the dark good looks and smoldering blue eyes… I mean… not that I had noticed. Much. I felt a little tingle between my legs.
“And?”
She shrugged. “And what?”
I huffed at her. “And what did he say then, Rosalie?”
She thought for a moment. “He said ‘interesting’.”
“Just interesting?”
“Just interesting.”
Interesting…
Denny Chambers said interesting...
What the heck did that even mean?
Chapter 5: Denny
I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t get Isaac and Amy off my mind during the two-hour ride to Club D. Something about their relationship kept gnawing at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.
Maybe I was simply irritated that Amy was now occupying the bulk of my best friend’s time. Or maybe I was simply intrigued by their steamy relationship and how they couldn’t keep their hands off each other no matter where they were or who was watching. I could only imagine how it was when they were alone. I mean, I get the chemistry and attraction of a new sexual relationship, but there was an electricity between Isaac and Amy that I’d never experienced with a woman before. I found it… interesting.
They couldn’t go more than ten minutes without texting or calling one another. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other in public. They’d show up to dinner or happy hour, then disappear after a few minutes and we wouldn’t see them again until the next day. They were so zoned in on each other it was like nobody else even existed.
Most of my relationships hadn’t lasted past breakfast, so I had to wonder what it would be like, walking around with a perpetual hard-on and a stupid grin on my face over one woman. I was forty-years-old and had never seriously dated any one woman. Even before I got filthy rich and started spending my weekends neck-deep in Club D pussy, a committed relationship was not something I’d given much thought to. I’d dated here and there, but never more than a few weeks and never with the intent of letting it get serious. I truly was a “fuck ‘em and forget ‘em” kind of guy.
After I got rich, women came out of the woodwork to fuck me. Pussy was easy, plentiful, with no strings attached. Call me a pig, but most women were there for a quick fuck and an easy buck, not looking for a long relationship with a guy like me. I had never been in love. Hell, I didn’t even know what that would feel like.
Fuck all that sappy shit. Maybe I was just bummed that Isaac didn’t come to Club D with me and Sammy anymore, not since the night he met Amy there. She had sort of snuck in as the guest of the dark-haired waitress that kept catching my eye, Serena Diaz, then ended up spending the night with Isaac and that was all she wrote. Once he got a taste of the sweet bait that was between her legs, she reeled him in hook, line and sinker.
Or maybe it was the fact that when I wasn’t getting under his skin, Isaac seemed to be happier than he had ever been before. He had always been a relatively happy guy, but he was also wound tight as a watch spring most of the time and let every little thing push his buttons. I’d seen him go ballistic in a staff meeting and send programmers ducking for cover just because a line of code had an error in it. Me and Sammy were always telling him to lighten up because we were afraid he was going to stroke out on us during one of his rants. Isaac was always the most serious of us three partners. But now? Shit. He had a goofy smile on his face all the time. He didn’t sweat the small stuff so much. He seemed totally chill… Happy… And just the mention of Amy’s name or her image popping up on his phone was enough to make him giggle like a fucking lovesick teenager. It was disgusting!
Whatever the reason, I couldn’t get the love birds off my mind, which was starting to piss me off.
Sammy, who was sitting next to me in the back of the Mercedes G-Wagon, was nursing an icy Corona and fiddling with his phone. He glanced over when he realized neither of us had said anything in a while and bumped me with his knee.
“What’s on your mind, Den?”
I took a sip from my Corona and shook my head. “Nothing. Why?”
“You just seem preoccupied,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me as if he were trying to read my mind. “You still thinking about shoving your foot in your mouth on TV this morning?”
“Nah, that’ll be old news by Monday,” I said. I took another drink and wiped my lips on the back of my hand.
“So, what is it? It’s not like you to be this quiet.” He leaned over and frowned. “You didn’t forget your Viagra again, did you?”
“I’m sure you brought enough for both of us,” I said.
He kept leaning and frowning. “So…”
“So… I was just thinking about Isaac and Amy.”
“Ah, the love birds.” His eyebrows went up and he smiled. “What about them?”
“It’s just weird,” I said, jabbing a thumb at the empty seat behind us. “Isaac not being with us.”
“It is weird, but he seems happy,” Sammy said, his head bobbing on his thick neck. “You a little jealous?”
I snorted at him. “Jealous? Of them? Fuck no. Why would I be jealous?”
“It’s okay if you are,” Sammy said quietly. He leaned his head back against the seat rest and pushed out a long sigh. “I gotta admit, I’m a little jealous of them.”
“You are?”
“Sure. Who wouldn’t be. Amy is amazing. And Isaac is head over heels.” He finished the Corona and immediately pulled another from the minifridge between the seats. He glanced at me as he twisted off the bottle cap. “You ever seen him this happy?”
“No.”
“So maybe he’s on to something.”
“Maybe.”
Sammy took a quick drink and smacked his lips. “To be honest, I’m kind of looking around for something like that myself.”
“You’re what?” I turned sideways in the seat to face him. “I don’t believe it. Sammy the sausage is looking for a steady girlfriend?”
He pushed his big shoulders up and down. “I wouldn’t mind meeting a woman I could get serious with,” he said. “I mean, this shit is great, going to Club D and fucking like a rabbit all weekend, but it is getting a little old.”
I smiled because I thought he was fucking with me. “Sammy Branniff is getting tired of pussy? Holy shit, man, is Hell freezing over?”
He smiled and gave his dark eyes a little roll. “I’m getting tired of going home alone when I’m not at Club D.” His face softened as he started peeling the label from the bottle with his thumbnail. “I’m almost forty, Den. Not getting any younger. Partying and pussy are great, but… I don’t know…. I’m thinking maybe it’s time to settle down, maybe start a family, put all this crazy shit behind me.”
“I don’t belie
ve it,” I said with a smile. “Sammy the Sausage is thinking about settling down. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” I gave him a casual look and pushed up my eyebrows. “Anyone on your radar?”
“Well, between you and me I find your new marketing assistant pretty fucking hot.”
I nearly choked on my beer. My new marketing assistant, Andrea Nichols, was a former women’s Olympic volleyball player and fitness model who stood nearly six-feet tall and looked like she had been chiseled out of bronze. Gorgeous, in an Amazonian kind of way, she had flaming red hair and a personality that walked the line between confident and abrasive. Isaac had made the observation that she would have been right at home fighting or fucking Conan the Barbarian.
She was hot, no denying, but I had a rule not to sleep with women who looked like they could kick my ass in a fair fight. My guess was even her twat had muscles that could crush beer cans. And giant cocks. Hmmm… maybe that was the attraction. Andrea was the female equivalent of Sammy, if Sammy had been drop-dead gorgeous and had the best toned legs in the company.
“Ya know, I actually think you guys might make a pretty good match,” I said resolutely. “Imagine the giant babies you’d have. Why don’t you ask her out?”
