by Amy Brent
“Regina,” I said as calmly as I could.
She was still smiling, clueless. “Yes?”
“You’re a fucking cunt!”
As I stomped away, I could have sworn that I heard her chin drop all the way to her desk. She’d probably file a complaint with HR, but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was finding Andrea and telling her the truth.
Whatever that truth happened to be.
Chapter 22: Andrea
Wow, did I feel like a total fool...
I thought Sammy Branniff was this great, caring guy who was single only because he spent way too much time building a billion-dollar company while ignoring his personal life.
That’s how Denny sold it.
Poor Sammy.
He’d worked so hard for so long and just never had time to meet a nice girl.
Well, why would you worry about meeting a nice girl when you owned a FUCKING WHOREHOUSE!!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m no prude. And I know a girl has to make a living anyway she can, but Jeez Louise… I never suspected that the potential man of my dreams might be a fucking pimp! The man of my dreams was now a fucking nightmare! Maybe I should have asked him where that thing had been before letting him shove it inside me…. EW!!!
I tried to be cool as Regina told me all about Club D, spilling the beans on everything Denny—who, turned out, couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it—had told her.
Club Votre Desire was actually a secluded estate in the hills north of the city staffed by dozens of beautiful women who were there just to pleasure the rich men who paid millions of dollars to become members and millions more to have their way with the girls.
Sammy, Isaac, and Denny started the place as their own private sandbox and regularly had their way with the girls. The girl in the lobby, the gorgeous Carina, was Sammy’s favorite. Denny said Sammy always capped off the weekend by going to Carina’s suite and didn’t come out till late on Monday morning.
The thought of Sammy having sex with her made my stomach churn.
Again, I’m no prude and I try not to judge, though sometimes I fail miserably. Like now. If a woman chooses to make her living peddling her pussy that’s fine with me, but I am not a fan of the men who take advantage of such girls, especially the pimps that use and abuse the girls for their own sexual pleasure and monetary gain.
Did Isaac, Denny, and Sammy not have enough money?
Did they really need to make a few extra bucks on the backs of these poor girls?
No matter how fancy the place was it was still a whorehouse and she was a whore and Sammy was her pimp. Period. End of story.
I didn’t know how I would ever face Sammy or Denny again.
Or how I could go back to IDS.
Dammit, I couldn’t in good conscience continue working for them, not now, not knowing the kind of horrible men they really were.
When Regina finished dishing up the dirt, and giggling all the way through like it was no big deal, I thought the bagel I’d scarfed down for breakfast was going to come back up and show itself all over her desk.
“You don’t look well,” she said with a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“Too much vino this weekend,” I said, putting my hand to my mouth to stifle a vomit burp. “I’m going to take the day off. Please tell Denny I’ll call him later.”
I grabbed my purse and managed to get out of the building without having to talk to anyone else. I drove straight home, locked the door, took off my clothes, and got down on my knees in front of the toilet, waiting for the nausea to ease or my stomach to erupt. After a few minutes, my stomach settled down a bit, but I still felt like crap, so I crawled back into bed.
It made me nauseous again because the bed reeked of sex, of Sammy, of our weekend together.
I pulled the covers over my head and buried my face in his pillow.
I knew it was too good to be true.
Damn you, Sammy Branniff.
How dare you make me feel this way?
Chapter 23: Sammy
Andrea wouldn’t answer her phone or come to the door. I rang the bell again and again and again and finally, when she didn’t answer, pounded my fist on to door so hard it shook the hinges. I was about to knock on the door again when my phone buzzed. It was Andrea.
“Andrea? What’s going on?”
“Please stop beating on my door,” she said. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not happy with me. Her voice was calm, but ice cold and stern. “If you don’t go away immediately, I will call the police and have you arrested.”
“I know you talked to Regina. It’s not what you think.”
“I’m sure it’s exactly what I think,” she said.
“Can I at least have two minutes to try to explain?” I asked, leaning my forehead against the door. “Please. Let me in and I’ll—”
“You can go to your whorehouse and get your Russian girlfriend to comfort you,” she said. “I don’t want to speak to you ever again.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said with a heavy sigh. “She’s just a friend. She needed my help. Please, let me in. Let me explain.”
“Please go away, Mr. Branniff or I will call the police.”
I took a deep breath and said her name. “Andrea?”
“What?”
I stepped back from the door to check out the lock. There was a key lock in the knob and a deadbolt above it. Piece of cake for my size 15’s.
I asked, “Have you seen how big I am? And I’m not talking about the size of my… you know…”
She paused for a moment. I could hear her breathing in my ear, but she didn’t say anything.
“Do you really want to have to have this door replaced?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Are you sure I wouldn’t?”
I waited ten seconds… fifteen... twenty…
Finally, she huffed, “Fine, you have two minutes.”
“That’s all I need,” I said.
When she hung up the phone I exhaled a long sigh of relief and waited for the door to open, wondering how I was going to make her understand that Club D—and Carina—were now just part of my past.
Chapter 24: Andrea
Sammy had a pitiful look on his face when I opened the door. I’d seen pitiful looks on men before. It did nothing to sway the foulness of my mood or my opinion of what he’d done.
I nodded and he came inside. I closed the door and led him to the living room. I sat on one end of the couch with my knees tucked up and my arms around them. I was wearing a robe and the panties I’d worn to bed. I pulled the robe down over my legs to make sure I was covered. I was in no mood to fool around at the moment and my expression let him know it.
“So, the girl you saw at IDS, her name is Carina, she is a friend,” he said, sounding very much like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Her brother had been arrested and his VISA had expired. She’s Russian and freaked out. I guess over there if you get arrested sometimes you spend months in prison awaiting trial, so—”
“I don’t care,” I said, shrugging at him.
He blinked like a stiff wind had blown into his eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t care about your Russian girlfriend or her brother.”
“Okay…” He stared at me for a moment, then rubbed his chin. “So, why exactly are you so pissed off?”
“You’re a pimp.” I said it as if it were a proven fact, with a voice full of harsh judgment, which bothered me a little because I could hear my mother in my voice. She hated everything and everyone. And was the queen of the snap judgment. I did my best not to be like her, but sometimes it was hard. Like right now. I added, “And that girl is one of your prostitutes.”
He smiled just slightly, as if I’d told a joke without realizing it. “Is that what Regina told you?”
“Regina told me enough,” I said. “It was clear watching the two of you that something was
going on there. Clearly, you are not just friends.”
“Fine, call us friends with benefits,” he said, frustration in his deep voice. “Yes, she works at Club D as a Specialist, but—”
“A what?”
“A Specialist,” he said, exhaling loudly.
“What is a Specialist?”
“A Specialist is an escort with special… talents.”
“Oh god, please don’t tell me what they are,” I said quickly, huffing while holding up my hands to shut him up. “I saw the way she wrapped herself around you like a boa constrictor. I can imagine what her special skills entail.”
“You probably couldn’t,” he said, glancing away. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is she is just a friend.”
“A friend with benefits.”
“Yes.”
“That you pay to have sex.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“That’s not a friend with benefits,” I said, smirking at him. “That’s a prostitute and a john.”
“Whatever. The point is—"
“The point is,” I said, cutting him off. “She is a ‘Specialist’ who works at your whorehouse that you fuck when you’re there.” I put air quotes around the word Specialist because I felt stupid using the word in such a way.
“It’s not a whorehouse,” he said, anger tinging his voice now. “It’s a private club where wealthy men go to enjoy themselves without worrying about the public or TMZ watching.”
“It’s a whorehouse,” I said, folding my arms over my chest and glaring at him.
“It’s not a whorehouse.”
“Men pay women for sex, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“It’s a whorehouse and you’re a pimp. And a john. And the owner of the whorehouse. And Regina made it sound like you were this Carina’s best customer.”
“Regina talks way more than she should,” Sammy said, blowing out a long sigh. “Look, Isaac, Denny, and me started Club D so we’d have a place to go to unwind and drink and yes, fuck gorgeous women, without it being plastered all over the internet. At the time, we were single and every time we tried to go out on a date or drinking or whatever the fucking cameras were there. We got tired of being chased by paparazzi and TMZ, so we opened Club D to get laid and give to charity.”
“Give to charity?” My eyes rolled on their own. “You can’t be serious. A charitable whorehouse. Now I’ve heard it all.”
“It’s true. We don’t take a penny out of the place. Every cent taken in goes straight to a charitable trust that we set up. In fact, we are in the process of giving total ownership to the trust. We’ve raised a shit ton of money.”
“I’m sure you have,” I said condescendingly. “Let me guess, you sell pussy by the pound? Are there to-go orders? Is there a menu the men can pick from? Maybe a blowjob from column A and an assfuck from column B? Give me a break, Sammy. How gullible do you think I am?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’ll have you know that we’ve raised over twenty-two million dollars for charity in the last three years.”
“Bullshit.”
“Not bullshit. Documented fact.” He took out his phone and wiggled it at me. “Would you like me to have the accounting reports sent to you?”
I blinked at him. “Twenty-three million dollars?”
“Yes, and the women who work at Club D—the whores, as you call them— make ten times the amount they would make in Vegas or doing stuff online. Carina, the Russian girl you saw, has made nearly two-million dollars working at Club D. Enough to bring her entire family to America and house them all in a lifestyle they could have only imagined before.”
“Twenty-three million…” I stumbled over the words. “Remarkable.”
“So, before you get all high and mighty on me,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Think about what would have happened to Carina and her family if we had not started the place and given her the opportunity. She might be mixed up in some sex ring, for all you know. Same with the other girls. We don’t force them to do anything. They applied to work there and are free to leave anytime, but we’ve never had a single girl quit. You wanna know why? Because they are getting rich working a couple of days a week and get to keep every penny they earn. The Club doesn’t take a cent of their earnings. Not one red cent.”
“Wow…”
“Yes, me and Denny and Isaac had sex with the girls, but we paid them for their time. They were not there just to amuse a bunch of rich fucks!”
“Sammy, I had no idea…”
“And Serena, Denny’s girlfriend? She’s worked as a waitress at Club D for two years to pay for her Master’s in physics. Another girl, Simone, is getting her PhD. in pediatrics. Do they fuck guys for money? Yes. Could they make six figures a year doing anything else? No fucking way. So before you judge Carina or me or anyone else, maybe you should—”
“Sam, stop!” I said loudly, holding up my hands to shut him up.
He blinked at me. “What? My two minutes up?”
I blew out a long breath and worked up a smile. “I’m sorry.”
He narrowed his gorgeous eyes at me. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For jumping to conclusions,” I said, swiping a knuckle under each eye because I found myself tearing up. “And for overreacting. And for being a judgmental bitch.”
He frowned for a moment, as if he thought I was just messing with him, then a smile curled the corners of his lips. “You mean it?”
“I do.”
“Then, I’m sorry, too. I would have told you about Club D, but honestly, it never came up and I didn’t give the place a second thought after we, I mean, after you… Fuck, you know what I mean.”
I tugged up the front of the robe to wipe my nose. “So, did you get her brother out of jail?”
“My lawyer is handling it.”
“You didn’t stick around?”
He smiled. “I had a lunch date that I wanted to get back for.”
“So… Club D… will you still be spending your weekends there?”
“That depends,” he said, holding out a hand. I set my hand in his and his fingers closed around it.
“Depends on what?”
“On whether or not I can spend my weekends with you.”
Epilog: Andrea
“Catalina is so beautiful in the summer time,” Sammy said, putting his hands behind his head and sighing at the bright blue sky above us. It was a gorgeous, hot, late September day. There was not a cloud in the sky and the bright sun hung above us like we were the only two people on earth. Sammy covered his eyes to look toward the shore. “Especially when you look at it from way out here.”
We had borrowed Denny’s sailboat and sailed a few miles offshore and set anchor where we could be alone. Sailing was another of Sammy’s talents I knew nothing about until one day he announced that we were going to Catalina to go sailing.
“Do you know how to sail?” I asked, giving him a wary eye.
“My dear, there are very few things I don’t know how to do,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “And do well, I might add.”
That was true. Every day with Sammy was an adventure in discovery, especially days like today, with Sammy spread out in a deck chair, naked, covered in sweat, his muscled body baking brown in the sun.
His plump cock rested on his right thigh like a thick sausage on the grill. I grinned because I imagined that I could hear it sizzling. Just the sight of it made me lick my lips. I had come to love Sammy’s Sausage.
I leaned down to hand Sammy an ice-cold Corona, then straddled his crotch. I was naked, too, of course. We were naked most of the time, Sammy and me. And if we weren’t naked, we were trying to find time to get that way.
There were very few places we had not made love in some shape, form, or fashion. We had done it in his office, my office, the elevator after work, my car in the parking lot, every room of his house, every room of my hous
e, hotels, motels, in swimming pools, hot tubs, showers, the ocean… the list was ever growing and endless. As long as there was room for two large people to get naked and get busy, we were probably going to fuck there. And that didn’t include things like blowjobs while driving on the 405, getting fingered beneath the table at Captain Dee’s, a little pussy munching under my desk… Sigh. It wears me out just thinking about it.
Then there was all the other crap that kept us busy. In the three months we’d been seeing each other work had been crazy. I was travelling a lot and Sammy was always on the go. It was great to finally catch a rare weekend when neither of us had anything to do so we could get away. We’d been to beaches, to the mountains, to the islands. But there was nothing I liked better than stealing Denny’s boat and just sitting in the ocean listening to the waves slap the sides as we made love under the bright sun or the cool stars.
I took Sammy’s soft cock and positioned it so I could lower myself on to it with my pussy lips straddling the shaft and the head at my clit. I could feel his balls all sweaty and squishy beneath my ass. Even soft his cock felt hard and it immediately got my juices flowing.