Game of Throbs Complete Series (Books 1-3)

by Piquette Fontaine

  “Now you live in the big house just like you always wanted to,” Nana used to say to me with a satisfied grin when we sat down for tea in the big living room.

  “It’s time I taught you the tricks of catching the right man, Vivienne,” my grandmother announced one day at our morning tea party. I was 17 already and strictly speaking too old to have tea parties with my grandmother, but to me this was still the best part of any day. Nana spoke to me about things that no one else did. I was turned off by the sex talk of my friends at school and had no interest in competing with them to see who could fuck the most football players in the shortest time possible.

  “Yes Nana,” I answered expectantly, “You must teach me everything you know!” I was eager to discover the secrets that had catapulted my grandmother from a life of poverty to the upper echelons of New York society.

  “We will start with the correct timing for a good blowjob,” Nana went on, as if it was the most natural thing on earth for a grandmother to discuss with her 17 year old granddaughter. I didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, as Nana and I had developed a bond which was more intimate than anything I’d ever shared with my own mother.

  “There’s no point in doing it too early in a relationship,” Nana proceeded, “You only give a man a blowjob after you have toyed with his affections to the point where he is ready to give up on you.”

  I loved the sound of that. All these fucking American men with their arrogant attitudes and condescending, macho ways needed to be put in their place. “How do you toy with a man’s affections?” I asked and sat forward eagerly to hear the secret.

  “It’s very simple my dear, you act as if he’s the prince of your dreams when you first meet him and then you start rejecting him without giving any reason for your rejections.”

  “Sort of a seesaw ride of emotions?” I asked with a smile.

  “You’re a quick learner,” Nana answered with her own sly smile. I always wondered why all grandmothers were not more like my Nana. I found the sweet, boring old ladies of Manhattan so tiresome with their talk of roses and other meaningless shit when they came to visit my grandmother. Nana only tolerated their visits because she believed it was important to keep up appearances.

  “When the man is just about to give up on you the time has come to strike,” Nana said and made it sound like a military action. “You make sure he is on the very point of calling the whole thing off and then you seduce him and suck him like he’s never been sucked in his life!” Nana said and threw her head back with a deep, hearty laugh. I joined in her laughter and she spent another hour or so teaching me some of the finer techniques of driving men nuts with desire.

  “Where do I put these large vases?” the delivery guy asked and interrupted my thoughts about the good old days when my grandmother was still alive.

  “Just put it right at the entrance, next to the stone lions,” I directed and was pleased to see how the meter high vases completed the picture of opulent splendor where they stood next to the exquisitely carved stone lions. I suddenly wished that Nana could be there to see how well I’d continued her legacy. I inherited the big mansion after my grandmother passed away; her rich husband having left it to her when he died. I’m sure Nana would have felt right at home at one of my parties and would have enjoyed mingling with all the rich men; putting her manipulations to work on their unsuspecting minds.

  I have to admit that I’d probably taken my grandmother’s machinations to the next level. Not only did I have her skills of seduction and manipulation, but I also possessed a keen sense for business which facilitated the development of my social empire. This was a business endeavor, not merely a series of social events, and the income I derived from it was probably twice as much as the average salary earned by the CEO of a large Multinational Corporation. It wasn’t only the attendance fee of $5000 per person for each of my social evenings which drove my income. The most important part of my business was the favors which super-rich men did for me in order to get their names written in my Red Book.

  I kept a small red diary, my famous Red Book, with the names and numbers of men who’d earned their place there. One of these men, for example, had given me a 12 Million Dollar racehorse for Christmas and I duly entered his name in the Red Book. Another man bought me an apartment in the rich Parisian suburb of Le Vésinet, while a number of other men earned their places by buying me sports cars. I now had a collection of Ferraris and Porsches to match that of the Aga Khan.

  Why was my little Red Book such a sought after place to have your name written if you were a rich and powerful man? Simple. My Red Book also contained the names and numbers of all the most famous and beautiful actresses and models of Hollywood and I could set you up to meet any of one them if I so wished. If you really believe any of these women would ever date a rich man they’d randomly met at a party, you are naïve and ill-informed. Meeting these Hollywood goddesses is strictly by invitation only. I developed my Red Book system after spending many years wining and dining Hollywood agents to earn their trust. These agents have enough power over the models and actresses they represent to convince them to attend my social evenings from time to time and it is at my social events that many rich men have their only realistic chance of ever meeting one of these beautiful, famous women. The competition is simply too fierce to do it any other way. It wasn’t as if the women in my Red Book were unwilling participants though; they were very happy to meet the powerful men of New York and to fuck them in return for the furtherance of their careers. I had many Directors of movie studios and Model Agency bosses in my Red Book so there was a lot to be gained for a pretty young girl to become part of my system. To the men, similarly, I was providing a valuable service. I had some leverage to arrange for one of these sex-goddesses to occasionally attend a red carpet event or movie premiere with one of the men in my Red Book. Even if the man didn’t have any romantic luck with the actress or model in question, the sheer extent of personal exposure for him and his business was beyond measure in financial terms. For a CEO to attend a movie premiere with an A-list Hollywood actress or world famous model could easily drive up the profits of his business with double digits; so insane is the American craving for fame and some kind of connection to these gorgeous women and their place in the spotlight.

  All of these considerations aside, my Red Book was simply a foolproof way of setting up rich horny men with famous gorgeous women and, more often than not, they ended up fucking happily at one of my parties.

  I looked around the big house and felt very happy with how things had turned out for me. I really had no reason to complain. The only downside of my chosen lifestyle was that I never quite managed to meet any kind of man that really interested me. Perhaps I was implementing the methods my grandmother taught me too rigorously and sent many potential suitors running with my habitual rejection of their advances. Or maybe I was just bored with all their talk of money and possessions, which seemed to be the only way these rich men had of romantically presenting themselves to me. I’d had a series of very disappointing and short-lived love affairs which totally put me off the idea of having a serious relationship. I toyed with the affections of one or two men at my parties every now and then, but steered clear of anything more lasting.

  I was craving something outside of the ordinary; someone who was a match for my own strong personality. I wanted to feel that glimmer of excitement and longed for the moment when my heart would start beating with the expectation of true passion and everlasting lust, as Nana used to describe it.

  “That’s everything mam, we’ve unloaded the truck and set it all up as you asked,” the delivery guy announced and I paid him in cash for his efforts.

  “Thank you, it all looks perfect,” I said and meant it. I took one final look around the entrance to the mansion and was pleased with the effect that had been created. The theme for the evening was ‘An African Feast’ and the various stuffed animals and stone carvings complimented the rest of the décor of lanterns a
nd soft lighting very well. The band would soon be arriving and start setting up for the evening. This was not some makeshift band that would be playing covers and other boring music. I’d hired the hottest new London Rock Band of the day and their latest single had just reached number one on the American Billboard charts. I always did everything in style and my parties made the average Hollywood event look stale and boring by comparison.

  “That will do nicely,” I whispered to myself as I took in the scene where the party would soon be in full swing. Then I ascended the big, spiraling staircase to go and take a long, leisurely bath before the first guests started arriving.

  I had one late addition to the guest list; some Billionaire businessman which old Brenda Logan, one of my late grandmother’s best friends, had been nagging me for months to invite to one of my events. The belated guest was Brenda Logan’s son and he was supposed to be an incredibly good looking guy with wonderful investments all over the place bla bla bla…I’d heard it all before and didn’t expect him to turn out any different from all the rest.

  CLARK

  I was sitting around wondering what to do for the evening when my phone rang. The name on the screen announced that it was my dear mother calling. I was kind of glad to get the phone call from her as she always had some interesting gossip and insider news about the rich and beautiful people of New York. I didn’t really mind the fact that most of these phone calls ended with a subtle hint from my mother at the possibility of me depositing some money into her bank account.

  “Hi mom, what’s up?”

  “Nothing really, I was just wondering how you’re doing?” she said, but I immediately knew it was not just a casual phone call as my mom’s voice had that badly disguised exuberant edge to it.

  “Come on mom, tell me already…what’s going on? I can hear the excitement in your voice,” I said with a smile.

  “Okay, you’re forcing me to tell you,” she answered happily, “I’ve just finished a call with one of my friends and she has a special invitation for you to a wonderful party tonight!”

  “Oh mom…thanks but no thanks. I really don’t feel like meeting a lot of boring people and empty headed bimbo’s tonight and …”

  “Just wait before you say no. Have you seen the latest movie with Jenna Roland in the lead role?”

  Of course I’d heard of Jenna Roland; I mean who hasn’t? With her wavy blonde hair and deep blue eyes she was the undisputed queen of Hollywood and I’d seen her face on the large screens of Time Square a hundred times. I hadn’t seen her latest movie though, as I wasn’t much of a movie goer; I enjoyed skydiving and racing sports cars in my spare time.

  “You know I don’t do movies…but I know who she is,” I said just to calm my mother down. She was halfway out of breath already and I could tell she was very excited.

  “Well she’s going to be at this party and I just paid $5000 to get you invited!” my mother shouted.

  I sat up straight on the plush leather couch in my living room.

  “Who’s going to be at the party?” I asked, teasing my mom to hide my own excitement.

  “Jenna Roland, silly! It’s high time you stopped going out with all those cheap sluts and meet someone decent for a change.”

  My mother sure had a way with words, but besides her slanderous reference to my female companions I could tell that she was serious. Jenna Roland was actually going to be at some party that I’d been invited to…that was worth getting dressed in a suit for the evening and at least driving over to check things out.

  “Where is this party?”

  “It’s at 42 Forest Drive, Greenhaven. The name of the hostess is Vivienne Tredoux and she will be expecting you.”

  Now don’t get me wrong, if I’d really wanted to meet Jenna Roland before I could have arranged it all by myself. Most men would never be able to arrange such a meeting, as most A-list Hollywood actresses only ever did what their agents told them to do, but I had shares in several Hollywood movie studios and could have pulled the right strings if I’d really wanted to. I just never did that kind of thing because I didn’t enjoy using my money and power to get to the women I wanted. That was too much like hiring a high class hooker. I enjoyed the honest excitement of chasing a woman with nothing more than my powers of attraction and persuasion. Now my mother had done the dirty deed on my behalf, by paying for me to meet Jenna Roland and I had the opportunity to go to a party where I could coincidently bump into this gorgeous actress and intentionally bump her later in the evening.

  “Just text me the co-ordinates to her place and I will pop in at this party a bit later,” I said to my mother’s evident satisfaction and ended the call after promising to pay her back the $5000 she’d paid to get me invited, plus a couple thousand more for her efforts.

  I could feel the thrill of the chase rising in my chest and proceeded to get ready for the evening. I put on my Armani suit and splashed a generous helping of expensive cologne on my face. I took a look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and winked at myself.

  “Go get them tiger,” I whispered and smiled at my own little joke.

  I decided to drive over to the party in my red Ferrari Testarossa and was soon racing down the streets of Manhattan, on my way to some magic enchanted evening in the rich New York suburb of Greenhaven, where destiny was waiting to receive me with open arms and deceitful eyes.

  VIVIENNE

  I was taken aback when he appeared at the entrance.

  I experienced a moment of slight hesitation before walking over to greet him; a second of bliss as I felt my heart skip a beat.

  He looked like a male model and I half expected him to be some new movie actor I hadn’t seen or heard of before. I didn’t recognize him and wondered how it was possible that I couldn’t recall his name. His wavy black hair was cut in a style that was somewhere between trendy and fashionably untidy. His casual elegance perfectly complemented the obvious masculinity of his body which was easy to discern beneath the expensive suit he had on. His eyes were blue beyond belief and I felt a dangerous tingling in my spine when he looked straight at me.

  “Stay calm Vivienne, he’s just another boring rich guy,” I thought to myself and held out a neatly manicured hand for him to shake.

  “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before, I’m Vivienne Tredoux,” I said in my most professional voice.

  “No we haven’t,” he said, ‘If we’d experienced any kind of pleasure together before I would certainly have remembered it.”

  His arrogant smile and sexual remark was irritating and very alluring at the same time.

  “I’m Clark Logan,” he said and shook my hand a moment longer than was necessary. So this was Brenda Logan’s boy then. Not half bad.

  I ignored his sexual innuendo and answered him in a steady voice, “Please make yourself at home and just ask if you need anything.” It was only as I walked away to catch a breath of fresh air outside that I realized I hadn’t followed my grandmother’s golden rule at all. I hadn’t made Clark Logan feel like he was the prince of my dreams to follow it up with inexplicable rejection later. I simply hadn’t felt like stroking his ego at all after he got under my skin with his obvious sexual remark and macho arrogance.

  “Let’s just play this one by ear Nana,” I whispered and looked up at the starry sky; hoping that my grandmother was smiling at me from above. I felt an unusual excitement welling up in me. Clark was not your run of the mill rich guy - that much was immediately evident. With his incredibly good looks he obviously didn’t need to use his money as an aphrodisiac like so many other rich men did. He could clearly have any woman he wanted and I suddenly wondered if I would be able to make him mine for the evening. There would soon be a lot of fucking going on in my mansion and I found myself wondering what Clark Logan would look like without his $12000 suit…

  Some people would say the social events at my house were actually nothing more than swinger parties, but I wouldn’t put it that bluntly myself. Sure, the
eight upstairs bedrooms always had some rich guys and willing beauties fucking the living daylights out of each other from early on in the evening, but this was not something I ever guaranteed would happen at my parties; it was merely the way things turned out. If you put that much sex appeal and money in the same room the results were always the same: Lots and lots of steamy sex.

  One by one the guests started arriving and you would be forgiven if you’d walked past my mansion and thought that this was an Oscar awards after-party. Famous movie directors, actresses, models and other glitterati were soon standing around with exotic cocktails and horny intentions, all over the lawn and inside the mansion. I greeted them all cordially and played my role of gracious hostess to perfection. A couple of men had come only to try and bed me and they were already forming a cozy little circle around me. I played with them the way a bored lioness might play with her cubs and made sure none of them came to close to me.

  I glanced over to the group of hungry women that were talking to Clark Logan and felt a little pang of anger and jealousy at the same time. Who the fuck was this man to invade my party as if it had all been set up especially for him? He glanced at me once or twice with a quizzical look, but didn’t have the courtesy of walking over to speak to me at all. Didn’t he know who I was? Did he not realize that I could change his life with the flash of my hand by writing his name in my Red Book?

  It dawned on me then that Clark was not a man who would consider it necessary to partake of my special favors. I looked at the pack of hungry she-wolves who were surrounding him with their obvious sexual intentions and realized that he was not the kind of man who needed to waste energy on chasing down any woman; they obviously all chased after him. I was just about to settle on the right mental box to put Clark Logan in, when Jenna Roland walked in the door and Clark’s entire complexion changed instantly.