Whatever It Takes

by Ben Boswell

  "Fuck that's hot," he moaned as he zoomed in on her sex engulfing his prick. "Fuck, she's tight."

  He fucked her like that for a few more minutes, relishing the feel of her tight pussy, delighting in showing off his violation of my wife. Then without warning, he pulled out, his impossibly long prick taking forever to retreat. For a moment, he remained zoomed in on her vulva, no longer a dainty, graceful mound, but now a sloppy, wet, distended gash.

  "Slide up on the bed," he ordered.

  She meekly complied.

  He placed the phone on the bedside table, zooming out to provide a full tableau of my wife laid out on his bed from the side. She kept her eyes on the phone, on my face. He crawled over to her and climbed up between her legs.

  He saw where she was looking and grinned. "That's right baby, let hubby see your face while I fuck you." And with that, he thrust into her, hard.

  Her body shuddered and her eyes rolled back into her head. He slammed into her roughly, pounding that big prick into her over and over. For a while, she kept her eyes shut tight, but then she opened them and again we made a semblance of eye contact.

  After several minutes, he slowed down. They were both breathing hard. He was still fucking her, but more gently now.

  "You know that feels good," he rumbled at her.

  She shook her head. "No.”

  "You’re getting wet for me. You know you like it," he insisted as he resumed ramming her hard.

  She continued to gasp and grunt at each thrust, but in a way, I hoped he was right. I knew she'd never enjoy it. She was too strong-willed to ever be broken that way. But he had taken his time with her, prepared her for his cock, and eased into her. Despite the humiliation, the feeling of powerlessness, the rage at being violated, I wished that it did feel good, or at least not bad, that regardless of the emotional consequences, that she was at least not in physical pain.

  He didn't last much longer after that. She didn't bother to beg him not to come inside her. I'm sure she realized that would only give him additional pleasure when he did. And sure enough, after a series of particularly brutal thrusts, he remained buried deep in her pussy as he shuddered and gasped and filled her with his come.

  He immediately rolled off her and recovered the phone. He zoomed back in on her battered snatch. He thrust two fingers inside her and held her open for me, until a thin stream of jism appeared and began leaking from her pussy.

  "I hope you like your pussy creamy," he taunted. He followed the stream of come leaking toward her ass, and then he added, "And in 24 hours, if I you don't come through, I'm gonna crack open wifey's back door. Now, get to work numb nuts."

  He disconnected the call. I finished my scotch. He was right. I needed to get back to work.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The problem was my lack of information. I still didn't know where Jessi was. Heck I didn't know where Sal or my wife was either. I had Jessi's phone number, but she'd blocked my line. I now had Sal's Facetime account on my phone, so in theory I could reach him, assuming it actually was a permanent account and not a dummy he'd created just for that one call. But neither of those seemed to provide any avenues to exploit.

  I hadn't really exhausted options for getting leads at the group house, and I could, in theory, go back to the garden apartment and talk to the neighbors or track down a landlord or something. But as promising as that had felt in the morning, it now seemed like a time sink that was unlikely to provide a breakthrough.

  I also needed an option I could pursue now that it was night. That sparked my next thoughts. I had those "house rules," from various strip clubs, places where Jessi, or Star, as I increasingly thought of her, had worked. I doubted she would be working, but it was certainly possible someone there would know her.

  But I felt hamstrung by the fact that I'd never been to one of those places. From the movies I'd seen, I got the feeling that they weren't the sorts of establishments where nosy questions were welcome. But then again, it occurred to me that I probably shouldn't be getting my information from movies. I decided to go and play it by ear.

  I stopped by the bank. My transfer from the brokerage account had been credited, but it wasn't available for withdrawal. I groaned in frustration. Just once, I wished, something would go right. I pulled out my credit cards and maxed out the cash advance on all of them, $2400. Armed with my new bankroll, I drove down to Iron City.

  I found the Gold Club first. It had a huge footprint, a well-lit parking lot out front. That was already a surprise. I went in and paid my cover, then entered the club itself. It was very dark, a hip-hop beat rumbling. There were two stages. On the main stage, a cute, extremely fit brunette was swinging around a pole, gripping it with her thighs. It looked like hard work. Behind the bar an older, more weathered blonde was swaying listlessly to the music. There were maybe a dozen girls in lingerie scattered around the floor. Some were chatting in a small cluster, the rest hanging on men, locked in animated conversation.

  A huge man in a tux with an earpiece tucked into his collar approached me. I stiffened.

  He reached out a beefy paw. "Welcome to the Gold Club. Is this your first time here?"

  "Yes," I blurted out, immediately regretting it. I sighed inwardly and decided to go with it. "Yes, never been here before."

  He smiled. "Well, you'll love it. My name is Paul. Would you like a table?" he asked, gesturing toward the low tables near the stage.

  "Um, naw. I think I'll just hang at the bar."

  "Okay," he said. "Have a good time."

  I sat down and ordered a nine-dollar Miller Lite from a woman bartender virtually bursting out of her bustier. Instantly a slender Asian girl approached me.

  "Hi, I'm Crystal, can I join you?" she asked in completely unaccented English.

  "Sure."

  She held out her hand. "So what's your name?"

  "Daniel," I replied, immediately regretting that as well. She wasn't really Crystal, Jessi wasn't really Star, and in this world, I probably shouldn't be Daniel.

  "So are you from around here?"

  "No. I'm from, um, outside Baltimore." A clumsy lie. I'd never been to Baltimore. Couldn't sell that one if called on it.

  "You here on business?"

  I nodded.

  "What do you do?"

  "Um, consulting," I replied vaguely.

  She kept smiling at me. She was not at all put off by my terse answers, my squirrelly demeanor. I realized she was probably used to it.

  "So, Daniel, would you like a dance?"

  A dance? What did that mean? Would she finger herself inches from my face like Jessi had done to Vinny in the hotel room? Was she offering more? Less?

  I looked at her closely for the first time, as closely as I could, given the poor lighting. She was pretty enough. Not quite as young as I had initially thought, but quite attractive. She had on too much makeup, fake eyelashes, gaudy nails, and absurd platform heels. On the plus side, she was wearing very, very little, just a lacy bra, a sheer white blouse tied at her navel, and a very short, thin black skirt.

  She was staring at me expectantly. She inclined her head as if to say, "Well?"

  "Um, no, not for right now."

  She gave me a disappointed frown. "Maybe later?" she said as she got up and walked away.

  I looked around the room again. Along the back wall was a long banquette. Interspersed along it were several men each with an individual dancer. I watched as the girls variously danced, ground, and teased the men. As I was watching that, I noticed another girl leading a man by the hand and taking him to an area marked, "VIP." I wondered what that was all about.

  I decided to track down Paul and ask him. He filled me in on the details, such as they were. Dances out on the floor were twenty dollars each. The VIP room was reserved for guys buying blocks of dances. And then he pointed out the champagne room, $300 for thirty minutes, and you need to buy a bottle of champagne.

  "What happens there?" I asked.

  He grinned. "Depends on t
he girl."

  I went back to the bar and about thirty seconds later another girl came up to me with the same patter. This one amusingly called herself "Danica," obviously due to her passing resemblance to the racer. I agreed to a dance, a cheap one out on the banquette.

  As the next song began, she stripped down to a G-string, and climbed in my lap. She ground against me, thrusting against my rapidly growing erection. She was wearing a lot of perfume, too much under normal circumstances, but there something intoxicating about it as it curled into my nostrils. She leaned forward and moaned moistly into my ear.

  At first, I kept my hands to myself, but then, testing boundaries, I let my hands slide across the smooth skin of her lower back.

  "That feels nice," she cooed.

  She rose and spun around, dropping her hard ass into my lap, grinding me again. I ran my hand over her belly, cupped her breasts. Gently, but firmly, she pulled them away.

  "That's only for the VIP room," she instructed me.

  "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

  "We can go back there if you want. I promise you'll have a good time."

  The idea was a huge turn on. She was very cute and so forward. I'd never been this close to a woman, a stranger, who was so apparently sexually available. I could see why men might go to a strip club. It wasn't so much about the nudity, but rather the feeling of being wanted. I knew it was all an act. That it was all about the money. But even still, it was hard to resist.

  When the song ended, she asked if wanted another dance. I agreed. Even though I'd admitted to Paul that I was a newbie, I took a risk on being found out by asking if she knew a girl named Star.

  "Naw, baby, but what do you need her for if you have me?" she pouted as she dropped to her knees and ground her face into my lap like a cat marking its territory.

  "A friend told me to look her up if I ever came here."

  "Well, you'll tell him to check out Danica, right?"

  "I will," I agreed as the song ended.

  I paid my $40. She gave me another pout. "Didn't you have fun?" she said as she eyed the money sadly.

  "Oh, sorry," I replied peeling off another twenty as a tip. I was learning, slowly.

  She gave me a kiss on the cheek as her hand tweaked my package. "I'll come back later and see if you want to go to the VIP room, okay sweetie?"

  When the next girl came up, I agreed to another dance. This one was a blonde, a little thicker, and she spent most of the dance hard selling me the VIP room. She also had never heard of Star.

  I began to wonder if any of the girls would acknowledge her even if they did knew her? Was it against the stripper code? Were they just too competitive to risk losing a mark to another girl?

  I decided the best bet was to talk to the maître d’ or bouncer or manager or whatever Paul was. But I'd already burned my cover at the Gold Club, so to speak, so decided to try one of the other clubs.

  _____

  My next stop was Satin Dolls. This club was smaller, with lower ceilings, more intimate, less classy. The girls weren't quite as cute as at the last club. They had more tats, more piercings. I didn't get quite as friendly a greeting, just a quick nod from the bouncer near the front.

  I made my way to the bar. Here the barkeep was a guy, young, muscular. I imagined he'd probably banged half the girls there. I ordered my nine-dollar beer, which I paid for and also threw down a five-dollar tip.

  "Thanks bud," he said, picking it up. "So have you been here before?"

  As I expected, the tip had bought a few extra moments of his attention.

  I gave him an exaggerated smile. "Yeah, man. Had an amazing time. Any chance Star is working tonight? Skinny brunette, great little titties."

  He laughed. "Oh, I know Star. Yeah, she was a party, huh? Haven't seen her in a while, though. I dunno if she still dances or what."

  I suppressed a sigh of disappointment.

  "Aw, that sucks. I was really hoping for repeat engagement."

  He inclined his head slightly. "You should talk to Amber. She and Star were close. She might know if Star is dancing at some other club or something. And if not, Amber is a good time herself."

  "Is she here?"

  He pointed toward a very pretty redhead who was chatting up an older guy by the main stage. She was in a slutty schoolgirl outfit, complete with pleated skirt and knee-high socks, and a sheer blouse tied off below her ample breasts.

  She kept working the older dude for a while, but he apparently wasn't biting. She stood and the barkeep waved her over. Seeing a potential mark, she flounced over toward me.

  The bartender introduced us, "Hey Amber, meet my buddy..."

  "Trent," I offered.

  She shook my hand. The bartender continued: "He was looking for Star, have you seen her?"

  A look of surprise crossed her face. She composed herself quickly. "What do you want with that dirty little whore?"

  "I... I... Maybe I'm looking for a dirty little whore," I replied, catching on.

  "Well, you came to the right place," she said with a grin, leaning forward, showing off her cleavage, and patting my forearm.

  "Well, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," the bartender said as he crossed to the other side of the bar.

  She gave me what I was beginning to recognize as the usual stripper script. I answered equally by rote, though this time I acknowledged living in town and admitted to being an engineer, trying to limit the number of lies I told to avoid getting tripped up later. But the whole time I was trying to figure out what her initial reaction had meant. She knew Jessi; that was certain. But if she hadn't seen her in a while, wouldn't she have said that?

  I didn't get much further before she asked if I wanted a dance.

  "Definitely," I replied.

  "You wanna go back to the VIP room? $300 for half an hour, and we can get much more comfortable."

  "Sounds like fun."

  She led me by the hand, her ass swiveling sexily as she walked. At the entrance, a bouncer told me it was a $50 fee to go inside. She leaned up close and told me it was worth it.

  It didn't feel much like a VIP room. It was just a series of curved booths. She led me inside one of them and closed a curtain behind her, giving us something of a private enclave.

  She stripped to her G-string and hefted her perfect teardrop breasts.

  "They're beautiful," I said honestly.

  "You can play with them, but don't put your fingers inside me, okay?"

  I nodded.

  She stepped up close and pushed her knee into my crotch. I grasped her slender waist and slid my hands down to her hips as she ground against me. She pressed her body against mine, her hand snaking into my lap.

  "You have a nice, hard cock," she cooed.

  She turned and ground her ass firmly into my crotch. I reached around and palmed her tits, running my fingers over her stiffening nipples. I was there on a mission, but for it to be successful, I needed to sell myself as just another customer. The problem was that it was hard to stay focused. The lure of letting go, just enjoying the sensation of a pretty, young, almost naked woman rubbing herself all over me was almost overpowering.

  For several minutes, I lost myself in the moment. I closed my eyes, allowing my other senses to take over. Her perfume was a little subtler than Danica's, but it was still intoxicatingly sweet. I felt her silky hair against my neck, my face. She licked my earlobes, moaning breathily all the while. My hands roamed over her body, massaging her breasts, rubbing her ass. I also explored her feminine curves, the small of her back, the swell of her hips, and the downy hair at the base of her neck.

  But I couldn't escape for long. What was Sal doing to Kris at that very moment? While I was fondling Amber, was he forcing my wife to dance for him? To suck his fat cock? Was he fucking her at that very moment? Sharing her with his hired muscle? Others?

  Time was sliding by. I needed to get Amber talking about Jessi, but I also realized that Amber's only interest in me was emptying my wallet. I thought about j
ust offering her money in return for information, but that felt dangerous. There was too big a chance she'd clam up or feed me lies if she saw me as a threat to her friend. I needed to let her think it was in her financial interest to tell me about Jessi, but I couldn't see how to do it. And short of that, my best bet was to stay close to her, maybe get her alone, and play for time.

  She was working hard, grinding, moaning. I'd lost my erection as I focused on alternatives, and she noticed.

  "What's the matter baby?" she whined, her hand now rubbing my crotch vigorously. "Not enjoying yourself?"

  "I'm definitely enjoying it," I replied in what I hoped was a sultry voice. "It's just..."

  She sat in my lap, straddling me, her arms around my neck, bouncing her boobs up and down in front of my face. "It's just?"

  I was flying blind, but I took a shot. "Well, I wondering whether we could go somewhere and get a little more intimate."

  She gave me a reproving look, but I plowed ahead.

  "I could pay."

  She stopped grinding. "Are you a cop?"

  "No. No. I just... Star and I..."

  "I don't have sex for money," she said firmly. But I noticed she resumed her grinding in my lap.

  "No, of course not. I was just thinking, you know, I'd pay you something for taking off the rest of the evening. Cutting your shift short. We can go somewhere, get a drink, and if the chemistry is right..."

  "Chemistry, eh?"

  "Chemistry, biology, astronomy, whatever. What's it worth to you to cut your shift short?"

  "Two grand."

  It is funny how sophisticated I'd become in just a few days that I knew that was a rip off. Jessi had asked for just $1500 to be sodomized without a condom in front of a roomful of guys.

  I shook my head. "Come on, baby. I can do a thousand, but no rubbers." I don't know why I said it. Was it to stay in character? Was I again allowing my own desires to creep into my decision-making?

  "I can't do that."

  "Star was cool with it."

  She hesitated.