by Jamie Knight
I wonder how I’m going to change — how my art is growing to grow and develop — once I lose my virginity. I squirm happily, watching someone get strapped up to a sex machine. I’ve heard sex changes a lot of things. I wonder if it will change my art. I wonder if I’ll finally exceed my parents as a painter. If I’ll finally show them that a lust for life is just as good for the muse as anything else.
Chapter Two - Ambrose
If the men and women below could see the view I have on them, if they knew about the suite I have above the heart of my sister’s club, Club Lush, they might storm it. They might use it as their new, exciting sex room for voyeurism or exhibitionism. And they might have more pleasure in it that I’ve ever had, but they are visitors to my world. I’m the king of it, and I’m exhausted and bored with it all.
Yes, I’ve tasted and taken pleasure from many a woman over my years of co-owning and helping run this club. I’ve enjoyed playing with all of them, especially the virgins, regardless of color, age or experience with BDSM. I’ve enjoyed pushing them to their limits, those virgins, and watching them break. Watching them give themselves over to mind-numbing, soul-shattering pleasure, and trapping that image in my mind.
While other billionaires might think about keeping a few pets for play, I never do. After taking their virginity, I don’t want anything more from them. Their company, their faces or voices are all forgettable. I don’t want any of it. I just want something new.
I wander to the window, the biggest one in my suite, and look down at the dance floor. Through a slight part I’ve made in the window-length curtain, I spy my sister, Lady White, making her usual introduction to a new table of guests. All women. I’m not immediately attracted to any one of them. They all look like they don’t belong in a sex club and wouldn’t know the first thing about the kind of men who prowl this place. I frown, watching as my sister gives her regular spiel. Though I can’t hear anything from where I am, I can read her lips. I’ve heard it so many times. I used to join her in welcoming new guests, until I got bored of it — like I do with everything.
“Participate or get kicked out of the club,” that’s a rule of ours I used to take to heart. I used to enforce that rule with any and every woman I would bed, because I liked and needed that amount of control. But now, as I sit watching my sister smile and give the new guests suggestions, I know it should apply to me. I haven’t wanted or needed to participate in any nightly activities for a while. I’ve become bored, and yet I’m still allowed to inhabit this club of ours.
One of the perks of being Lady White’s big brother, I think closing the curtain on everything. I’ve already looked down on those women, studied them, and none interested me, so why keep looking at what I’m not hungry for?
From the window, I retreat to my collection of fine alcohols and the cups to serve them in. I’m going to drink myself into a state of being entertained by everything. Or I was…until I hear light, feminine footsteps coming up the stairs — the slightly concealed stairs — to my suite.
My sister. I know it’s her coming to flush me out of my hiding space, my tower over everything. Despite not thinking I was spotted; she probably did see the curtains move. She always does, no matter what mood I’m in.
I shove my alcohol and cups away, deciding to save that for after she leaves. It’s just in time, too. The moment I put everything back, my sister enters my suite. She does so without knocking, and without apologizing for inviting herself up. Being part owner, she owns half my space, no matter what ownership I have elsewhere.
“Brooding by yourself again tonight, dear brother?” she asks, shutting the door quietly behind her. “You really shouldn’t. A group of fresh, unsuspecting women have just entered our little club. They’ve come here on a lark it seems, by pure chance.” I turn to face her, already seeing the smile on her perfect red lips and the shine in her classically painted eyes. “I know you like virgins. I know you like a woman you can dominate and push to her limits.” She gives me a sly, business-as-usual smile. “Out of the six beauties out there, I’m sure you can find at least one to catch your fancy and get you out of this mood.”
I shrug and turn my back on her. “Not interested,” I say. “If you’re so interested in them, why don’t you find one to play with, Amelia?”
My sister just smiles smoothly. “I’d encourage you to look again, dear brother, before you throw them all out with the bathwater.”
A certain amount of mischief and electricity in her expression gets me to take the bait. Against my better judgment, I make my way back over to the big window, and pull aside the long, billowy curtains just enough to see out of, but not enough for anyone else to see me.
“There might just be the perfect little flower for your discriminating taste,” she continues.
As if my sister is working some strange magic on me or this situation, right as she says I might just find my perfect flower, I spot a young woman who immediately grabs my attention. Against all of my self-proclaimed disinterest, her short, bright red hair snatches my gaze. Her entranced, lusty expression captures me after. She’s busy exploring every stage and every wall with individuals being chained and dominated.
The way her scrutinizing gaze passes over everything; I can tell she’s happy to be here. I can also tell she’s a virgin. Only virgins look with that much intensity (like they are eye-fucking their surroundings) and have that much color and heat on their bodies. If I were to get a peek under her nylon-black and silky pink skirt and blouse combo, I bet my first million I’d see hard, happy nipples. I feel a wet, hot pussy. One I could do whatever I wanted with.
Already, I’m beginning to feel hard. I keep myself facing the window to keep my sister from noticing that something has indeed, caught my interest.
Behind me, she is giving me the regular spiel. The one she whips out for me every time I’m not up for participating. “You know the rules, Ambrose,” she says. “One must participate, give themselves over to some activity to still remain in the club.” I can feel her smiling. I can hear her swishing up to me. “I might have to have that apply to you, dear brother, if you don’t find anything that speaks to you.”
I hold up my hand to keep her from advancing any closer. “So, you say every time, Amelia,” I snap, trying to keep her away from me and away from the part of the window I’m still looking at my virginal redhead through. “You give me this spiel every time. Every night.”
“If you’re tired of hearing it, perhaps you would do well to heed its advice?” Without even needing to turn around, I can see the way she’s fluffing out her blond curls, the way she’s running her fingers across her cheeks, checking for cracks in her makeup.
“Let me be,” I say, hoping she takes the hint. “You’ve got a business to run, sister. Not family members to nag. Get to it.”
“Bossy, bossy,” she sings at me, before showing herself to the door. Just as she leaves, she adds, “Find a girl to sweeten you, Ambrose. You’re much too bitter.” With that, she closes the door on my sanctuary and descends the stairs to my lonely tower.
Only when she is gone do I fetch my handheld radio, and buzz down to one of my footmen. “Cecil,” I say, making tracks back to the window, and making sure I have eyes on my prize: the shorthaired redhead, still drinking in details of the club as if she hopes to capture them and make them hers. “Do you copy?”
Enjoy looking while you can, little redhead. I’m going to put you into a dark, new world when I get you. I’m going to play with you. You’re not going to be able to just eye-fuck me whenever you like and trap me in that little head of yours.
“Here and ready for you, Mr. White,” answers Cecil through the crackle of radio static. “What do you need?”
I push down the button to reply, looking at my lady of the evening. “I want you to bring a young woman a headset for me. Bring a blindfold for her as well.”
“Got it, Mr. white.” Radio static, then. “Which woman would you like me to bring
those things to?”
“She’s got short red hair. Wearing a black and pink outfit. She is right by the restraining stages. The walls of pleasure and pain. Bring those things to her and tell her to put the headset on. She can keep the blindfold for later. When I demand that she use it.”
“Tracking down the girl now,” Cecil answers, before going silent. But I’ve no worries about him or his capabilities. Within moments, I see him draw up to the woman in question and get her attention.
Oh, you are going to be pure candy, little redhead. Pure joy to toy with, girl. I retrieve my matching headset, slip it over my head and wait. You’re not going to know what hit you when I’m done.
Chapter Three - Karen
Oh. My. God. This is so, so fucking hot. I take a deep breath in, squishing my hot, sweaty face. After watching person after person get trapped to the walls and teased and tortured with vibrators, nipple clamps, pussy pumps and cock rings, I’m out of my mind with desire. Fuck trying to capture all of these impressions for my canvas! I want to capture some of this for myself while I’m here, but I don’t know where to begin.
Everyone who’s having this kind of fun is already partnered off. They are already clit or cock-deep in their own games, so I’m not likely to find anyone to play with. Or anyone to play with me.
But just as I start to despair — start to suck in the details of people getting fucked on those stages and on those walls, as the only way I’m going to get any enjoyment — a voice comes at me from the crowd. “Excuse me, Miss?”
I whirl around, surprised that anyone’s coming up to me. Also, that I heard anything over the music and lights blaring and twinkling. In front of me is no playmate, but an employee of the club. I can tell by his dress, and the official-looking walkie-talkie he has clasped to his belt. In one hand, I see that he holds a headset. In the other, some kind of blindfold. The same kind I see others wearing. At first, with seeing someone so official, I’m afraid I’ve done some infraction.
“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to cause any trouble! I was just looking…!”
Lady White, or whoever, she said something about not just looking. She said we needed to participate or get kicked out. My heart seizes, afraid I’m just about to have that happen to me. Instinctively, I take a step back from the club employee.
“Please don’t kick me out! I’m wanting to get involved, I really am! I just can’t find anybody to…”
The employee takes a step closer to me, looking as though I’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard. “I’m not here to do anything like that, Miss. I’ve been asked to bring you this headset and have you put it on.” He reaches the hand with the headset out to me. “I’ve also been told to leave you with this, Miss,” he adds, holding out the hand with the blindfold.
“Okay?” This seems very strange to me. Even in a club like this, it seems a little out of order for a club employee to come over to me and offer me these kinds of things. Especially without an explanation. Briefly, I look over to our table, expecting to see Shay looking out for me, but I don’t see her. I don’t see any of our group around. “Why are you bringing me these things? Who told you to bring them to me?”
Again, the guy just smiles as if I’m playing with him. “Can’t say, Miss. Requirements of my employment here: follow orders, don’t ask too many questions.” Again, he holds out his items, wiggling them at me to take them.
“Okay,” I say irritably, “I’ll bite.” I take both items, muttering that I don’t have anything better to do anyway.
“Keep a hold of the blindfold but put on the headset immediately. Master’s orders,” says the employee and he disappears back into the crowd, the music and lights.
“‘Master’s orders’? What the fuck does that mean? Is he some guy’s boy toy or something?”
Knowing I’m not going to get answers to any of my questions, I go ahead and put on the headset. As I do, I’m not expecting anybody to be on the other end. I’m certainly not expecting anyone to answer immediately, but I’m dead wrong.
The moment I put on the headset, the moment those earphones cozy over my head, a voice addresses me. It’s deep and sexy. Cultured and educated. Though I don’t normally think one can tell a person’s age through their voice, this man sounds older than any of the men I’ve met at the University. He sounds organized and commanding.
“Good evening, miss,” he says. “My name is Ambrose White. I’m co-owner of this club, and I’m interested in playing with you this evening, since you have nothing better to do than stare at everything in front of you.”
I blush hot and bright. Both from what his voice is doing to me (I was already wet and hard from watching couples, but he is making that so much worse), and from his thinly veiled critique of my behavior. Like I’m a detestable tourist. Or will be turned into one, if I don’t do what he says.
“Play with me?” I ask, pushing aside my irritation, my embarrassment. Despite the part of me that says I should take off my headphones and run away as fast I can, I’m intrigued by Ambrose. Intimidated by him as well, since he seems to hold a lot of sway. “How so?”
“It depends on how obedient you are. How nice you are to play with,” he answers lazily. “If I like the way you dance for me, I might ask you to do more. I might reward you.”
Dance? I’m not what I would call a good dancer. I like dance floors but being on a dance floor is rare for me. “Dance? What do you mean?”
“Go out onto the dance floor and start dancing,” he says, sounding mildly frustrated. “Quit asking questions that don’t matter and get to entertaining me.”
Eager to have him happy with me, I race out onto the dance floor and start getting acquainted with the beat and the rhythm. As I’m tapping my feet and beginning to swim my body, I hear him add, “Sexily, now. It’s supposed to be entertainment for me, not exercise for you.”
Following these instructions, I begin to dance as sexily as I can. I close my eyes and do my best to imitate all the beautiful women I watched tonight. Every slinky move of their hips and legs, every twist of their torsos, I mimic. I do my best to re-create all of that in my own body, surprised when I actually get into it. When I actually feel myself get some mastery, some flow over everything, I start to feel like a whole brand-new woman. Like I’m channeling some sexy spirit or something.
I’m enjoying it so much, I’ve nearly forgotten I’m even wearing a headset, taking directions from an unknown guy, when Ambrose pipes in again. He moans appreciatively. “Beautiful work, my girl. Beautiful dancing just for me.” I hear breathiness in his voice. Also, a prideful, mischievous smile. “I think you deserve a little reward. A glance at the man in charge of you this evening.” I open my eyes, already eager to find him. If he looks anything like his voice, he is going to be fucking hot. “Find the window above the dance floor. That’s my suite, where I’m watching you from.”
Immediately, I find the window in question, but I’m quickly disappointed. The window is covered in long curtains. It’s also a bit tinted. No matter how hard I look, I can only see the leg of his pants, and his shiny, dark shoes. I growl, feeling betrayed. “You tricked me! All I can see are your shoes and the very edge of your pant legs!”
Ambrose laughs like he’s a teenager now, not the mature and responsible older man he sounded like before. “Of course, girl. I’m not just for anyone to lay eyes on.”
Still feeling angry, I add, “That may be, but as an artist, a painter, visuals are very important to me. I like to know who and what I’m seeing, so I can capture it!”
Ambrose stops laughing at my expense, and hums thoughtfully. I’m not sure what to make of this or him, but he seems like someone interested in my plight. In my issue with him.
Right then, I see a waiter approaching me with an alcoholic drink perched on his tray. He brings it to me, though I know I didn’t order anything. Not even this small shot of tequila.
“Take the drink, Miss,” says Ambrose. “Drink it. A
fter that beautiful dance you gave me, I’m eager to reward you. But only if you are obedient.”
While I had been curious at what that “reward” might be before while dancing, after being tricked by him once, I’m not taking the bait for the drink. “I’m not going to drink that,” I say, turning the waiter away. “You tricked me once, how do I know you’re not going to trick me again?”
In the middle of that final word, I hear the other headset cut off. I feel the line go dead. Looking up at the window, I see the shoes and pant legs retreat from view.
For a moment, I stand there stunned and speechless. I’m not surprised that my refusal upset him. Based on the kind of man I gathered him to be from his voice, he’s used to getting his way. I just wasn’t expecting him to cut me off so quickly. He left me adrift like I’m nothing, after going to so much work to get me under his spell.
I’m not sure what to do initially. I just stand in the middle of the dance floor, feeling lost. Alone, and also robbed of my one and only chance. This feeling of theft motivates me to action. He may be weird. He may be demanding and fickle, but Ambrose is probably going to be my only entryway into experiencing anything at this club tonight. It’s not good to upset him!
I quickly track down the waiter. I nearly pull him off his feet as I do, saying quickly, “Let me have the drink! I changed my mind!” Without waiting for him to respond to me or my appearance, I snatch the shot glass up and down the contents.
It isn’t tequila, like I first thought. It’s straight, strong vodka. But I don’t care. I swallow it anyway, hoping Ambrose is like the waiter — easily captured again.