Wicked Favor

by Sawyer Bennett

I like The Waterfall Room a lot. The cascade of water that pours down from the ceiling onto the pool's center platform is spectacular. It runs through a sleek crystal ceiling light that is nothing more than long strings of lit crystals that hang down in various lengths above the pool. The water sparkles with a million refracting lights as it passes by the clear sparkling gems. While the waterfall is a beautiful centerpiece to the room, it's functional as well. The platform can hold up to four people who might want to fuck under the spray of warm water.

  Around the edge of the pool, the flooring is black cement done in a super-fine texture with silver sparkles in it that prevents slipping but doesn't hurt the feet. Most people in the waterfall room wear bathing suits or nothing at all. No one ever wears shoes except the employees, and I'm thankful that the floor is non-slip as I walk in my heels.

  The man who beckoned me is reclining on one length of U-shaped low-back couches covered in water-repellent vinyl of deep purple that shimmers. Vinyl is the name of the game as it's easily cleaned in between uses. There are silver pleated curtains draping the double glass doors that lead out to The Deck, and swags of fabric in the same silver hang in arcs from the center of the ceiling starting just outside the waterfall to the perimeter. It sort of reminds me of what the inside of a tent that belonged to a grand Sheik would look like. Or just a fancy circus tent, as the things that go on in here could be considered circus-like.

  "What can I get for you?" I ask the man as I come to a stop just a few feet from where he's lying.

  I have to admit the guy is very good looking. I've gotten used to the fact that there are all shapes, sizes, and ages in this club. Sometimes, it's not all that easy to watch an old, wrinkly man getting it on, but I try not to focus in on those sexcapades. It makes me appreciate, however, the men like this one when they need something from me. I'd estimate he's in his late thirties with sandy-blond hair and warm brown eyes. His haircut is precise and stylish, so I peg him for a lawyer or something like that.

  While his partner's head bobs up and down on him, he does nothing more than consider the items on my tray. He casually peruses them and doesn't even seem to be affected by what the woman is doing to him. Finally, he looks back to me and asks, "What would you suggest?"

  "Pardon me?"

  His smile turns salacious as he nods down to the tray. "What would you suggest I use on my girl here? Should I plug her ass while I fuck her pussy?"

  I'm completely caught off guard, and my answer is stammered out with a complete lack of finesse. "Um... I have... Um... Well, I'm really not sure--"

  The man laughs. I can tell he's not charmed by me, but takes some pleasure in my embarrassment. His hand goes to the woman's head, his fingers grasping her hair tightly. He spares her a short glance and growls at her, "Faster," then uses the grip on her hair to push her roughly up and down on his stick.

  Again, it's extremely weird that he doesn't seem turned on by any of this but rather seems more interested in embarrassing me because he says, "Why don't you join us? I'll let Lila here eat you out while I fuck you from behind."

  I have to suppress the groan of embarrassment welling up inside of me. Not only am I highly offended, but I am also slightly turned on by the prospect of what was just offered. I don't know if it's from an abundance of hormones thickening the air or if I just suddenly became susceptible to the wickedness of this place, but for the first time, I wonder if I would ever take up Jerico's offer to get my rocks off during a slow shift.

  "Leave her the fuck alone, Willis," Jerico growls from behind me. And I mean right behind me, so close I can feel his suit jacket brush against my bare ass.

  The man--who is apparently named Willis--uses his grip on the woman's head to pull her off him, swinging his legs off the couch and placing his bare feet on the floor. He stands up. His dick is wet with lipstick marks and only standing at half mast, so I don't think the girl was doing a very good job. The man glares at Jerico. "What's your problem? You never mind your employees joining in the fun."

  Jerico's voice is low and commanding as well as final. "That's true, but this one is off limits. Now if you'll excuse us, I hope you have a good evening."

  And with that, Jerico's hand comes to the back of my neck. He uses it to turn me away from Willis and pushes me toward the opposite side of the room.

  He guides me to the wall adjacent to the entrance door. There are no people congregated here, and it's fairly quiet away from the drone of lusty moans and slapping sex. With his hand still at the back of my neck, Jerico turns me around to face the pool and the sexual activity going on around it.

  "Did you want to join that man and woman?" he asks me softly.

  I shake my head immediately, and his fingers squeeze my neck in what I take to be approval.

  "But the idea doesn't turn you off?"

  Did he just ask me that?

  I feel like my breath has been stomped out of my lungs by the personal question, mostly because I don't want to tell him the truth. Jerico, however, is not a man who will go unanswered.

  "Trista," he says almost harshly to get my attention. "Tell me the truth... are you turned on right now?"

  I shake my head vehemently, giving him a total and absolute nonverbal lie. I've been turned on since the moment I stepped out of the dressing room and Jerico looked at my body.

  No, strike that. Since I saw him getting pleasured in The Silo room.

  Jerico gives a dark laugh and whispers in my ear, "Little liar."

  "I'm not," I deny, but it sounds weak.

  I'm surprised when Jerico's hand falls from my neck, and he turns to stand right beside me as we look out over the interior of The Waterfall Room. He even casually tucks his hands in his pockets.

  "I'll make you a deal, Trista," Jerico says.

  My head turns in surprise to look at him, but he keeps his profile to me. "What's that?" I asked hesitantly.

  He's not looking at me, but I can see from the side he's smirking when he says with utter confidence, "I think you are turned on. Confident, in fact. So if you let me stick my hand between your legs right now and you're dry, I'll hand you the other fifteen grand I owe you and you can walk out of here and never come back."

  My heart starts to jackhammer at the thought of Jerico's hand between my legs, but there is no way I'm ever going to let myself get embroiled with a man like him. Still, you know how curiosity killed the cat and all that, so I ask him, "And what happens if I'm not dry?"

  Jerico turns his head to look at me. He's no longer smirking and his eyes are dark and sinful looking as they bore into mine. "If you're wet, Trista, I'm probably going to bend you over one of these couches and take care of your problem."

  My jaw drops so far I know I look utterly ridiculous. Blinking at him in astonishment, I take an involuntary step away.

  "What do you say, Trista? Can I inch my fingers into your pussy for a little feel?"

  Every cell in my body screams out, "Yes!"

  Well, every cell except the ones in my brain who know this would be a very stupid mistake to make. I shake my head, taking a breath in to answer with what I'm proud to note is a firm and steady voice. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I think I'll pass on your little bet."

  Jerico doesn't say anything at first. He just continues to peer at me intently, perhaps wondering if I'll repeal that lie I just told. When I don't, he gives a shrug of his shoulders and says, "If you change your mind, all you have to do is ask."

  "I won't change my mind," I say firmly.

  Jerico gives a taunting nod and by the curl of his lips, I can tell he doesn't believe a word I'm saying. And to make matters worse, he offhandedly remarks, "If you do change your mind, I might be interested in working out something with you to lessen the amount of days you have to work at The Wicked Horse."

  My eyebrows shoot straight into my hairline. "Are you saying if I have sex with you, I won't have to work here for another twenty-seven days and you'll still give me the money?"

  Jerico giv
es me a wicked grin. "I don't know... are you interested in something like that if I am indeed offering?"

  My eyes narrow at him. I know it's stupid to be offended seeing as how I am working in a sex club and I've been turned on ever since I watched Jerico get his dick sucked, but I snap at him, "I'm not a whore."

  I didn't think this would strike a chord with Jerico, so I'm surprised when his head actually jerks back. "That's not what I was thinking."

  I can't hide the sarcasm in my voice. "Well, when you give a woman money for sex, it makes her a whore."

  Jerico gives me an apologetic smile and an acknowledging nod of his head. "My apologies, Trista. Let's forget what I just said."

  "Gladly," I say, still pissed off even though he's apologized. If I had to guess why I'm having this weird reaction, it's because part of me feels let down that I won't be having sex with Jerico Jameson.

  Oh my God... I'm going crazy I think, and by the look on his face, he knows I'm struggling with this.

  Jerico smiles at me and then bends his head so his mouth is within a hair's breadth of mine. I think he's going to kiss me but instead he just murmurs, "Putting money and our deal aside, if you ever want me to scratch that itch of yours, all you have to do is ask, Trista. I'll give it to you."

  I actually go dizzy and my head spins from his words. He is basically offering to pleasure me if I ask, and only in consideration of my need and not our deal. I don't even know what to make of it but before I can even think about a coherent response, Jerico turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jerico

  For three nights, I've watched her.

  By any definition, I'd totally be considered a stalker.

  But from the comfort of my office, I can pull up the security feeds on my monitor and take note of the subtle changes in Trista as she works the condiment tray. Truth be told, I don't need her working that job and have a much greater need for her to go back to cleaning, but fuck if she doesn't look a hell of a lot sexier in a thong than a turtleneck and pants.

  Part of my training in the military was gathering intelligence, so I can pick up on the slightest of details that could tell me a very important story, and there were a lot of changes I noticed over the last three days with Trista as she settled into her job routine.

  The most important and pleasing thing was that Trista's stopped hiding her sexual curiosity. When she first started working here, she looked around a room in a vague way, not taking in too many details. I think she was afraid to watch.

  Afraid of what it would do to her body.

  But that has definitely changed.

  Now, Trista watches what the patrons are doing. Sometimes, she stares for long moments and much to my delight, the kinkier the acts, the longer she stares. My trained eyes take in her chest rising and falling to keep up with what I'm sure was a racing pulse. She'd adjust the straps covering her breasts in a very minute way either because the pressure on her nipples was too much, or because she wanted to create some friction.

  Naughty, naughty girl.

  My favorite though was when she would cross one long leg over the other and squeeze her thighs together as she watched, and I had no doubt her clit was probably pulsing with desire.

  Trista was getting braver too. She never once took any man up on an offer to join, and there had been some I'd seen. I had told her she could if business was slow, but I also made a spectacle in front of Willis that she was off limits. Perhaps Trista thinks she's off limits to everyone, and it's fine by me if she wants to think that.

  But while Trista may not have had sex with anyone, she certainly had a frisky side that shocked the shit out of me. She was working The Orgy Room one evening as I sat in my office, enjoying a nice scotch while watching her on the video feed. She walked the room, and even her walk was different. Her shoulders were held back, chin up, and there was extra sway in her hips as she wound her way in and out of the various pieces of furniture.

  She stopped at a long, low chaise that was currently occupied by a man and a woman. Both naked, engaged in some heated foreplay. The man asked Trista for something, and she pulled a bottle of lube from her tray. The man didn't take it at first, but merely flipped the woman over on her belly before hauling her to her hands and knees. He positioned himself behind her, one knee pressed into the vinyl cushioning and the other foot planted firmly on the floor for leverage.

  He said something else to Trista, who laughed with delight but shook her head. My hand clenched, wondering if he invited her to join in and because I'd never seen Trista laugh like that, I thought perhaps she could be persuaded.

  The man grinned at Trista and gripped the woman's ass before him, spreading her cheeks apart. The man nodded his head that way, and I could practically read his lips--come on--and the expression on his face was pleading.

  The woman turned her head to Trista, and it appeared she was appealing to her as well.

  To do what to the woman's ass was beyond me, but my lungs froze as I watched.

  I swear I saw a mischievous glint start to sparkle in Trista's eyes, and then she opened the lube. Stunned, I watched as she first turned it over the woman's ass, and then squirted some right over the exposed seam and without a moment of hesitation, she turned to the man. He took his cock in hand, leaned his hips forward a bit, and let Trista squirt lube down his length.

  He must have asked her to stroke him, but she just laughed again as she shook her head, putting the top back on the lube and placing it on the floor near the couple's discarded clothes. The man started stroking his dick, but he nodded toward his clothes and said something to Trista. She squatted down gracefully, knees to the side but balancing the tray, and grabbed the man's wallet. He directed her to open it, and she pulled out a bill. Trista made change and started to put the remainder back in the wallet, but the man said something else to her.

  I assumed he was offering her a tip.

  Trista shook her head again, but she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as if she was perhaps reconsidering. The man nodded to the money in her hand, then to his cock, and my body went tight.

  Trista nodded as she stood up and I also stood up from my chair--to do what I don't know. Would I intervene if she participated?

  Luckily, it wasn't necessary because all Trista did was stand there and watch.

  Watch as the guy gave her a huge grin before lining the head of his cock up to the woman's anus and started to work his way in. Trista didn't display one telling sign of shyness about standing there watching a man fuck a woman's ass. She watched... crossed those legs... pressed her thighs together.

  It was sexy as fuck to watch her watch that couple, and I sat right back down in my chair and palmed my own swelling dick. I bet if I called her into my office right then and slid my fingers in that thong, she would have been drenched.

  My cock got harder, then, so I jerked off as I watched Trista watch what turned out to be a pretty hot ass fucking.

  Tonight though, I won't get to watch her. She came to me and made a good point about needing at least one night off a week. I wanted to argue with her, but I didn't, and tonight was that night.

  Sad I wouldn't be able to watch her, wondering what would be running through her head. Wondering if she masturbated right in the locker room at the end of her shift because watching all that kinky fucking had made her horny.

  Or maybe she waited until she got home. I could see her using the hand-held sprayer to pulse water over her clit, or maybe she waited until she was naked in bed. Legs spread wide with her slicked fingertips rubbing herself. Perhaps thinking of that couple she watched fuck up close, or maybe she even thought of Helena sucking me off.

  She'd look fabulous in a bed made with black satin sheets, legs spread wide and begging me to fill her up. Fuck her slowly.

  No wait... I don't want her in a bed. I won't make love to her. I want her on her knees before me or better yet... locked in the stocks while I fuck her. I want her in every dirty wa
y I can imagine, and let's face it... I'd take her on black satin sheets and make love to her all right.

  I wonder if I put the moves on her, would she submit to me? I either need to step up my game or forget about using Trista to get my revenge on Jayce.

  Standing from my desk, I make my way out of my office and lock up behind me. I'll hang out in The Social Room for a bit and see if anyone interesting comes through. If not, I'll probably call it an early night and catch a late baseball game on TV. Granted, owning a sex club means that I have sex.

  A lot.

  But I don't have it every night, and there are times I'm not even interested. A beer, pizza, and ESPN preferable.

  On the flip side, there are times I can get in a mood and want to do something totally whacked on the kink scale, and there's not much I haven't tried.

  Tonight... I'm ambivalent, but I will give a quick peek inside to see if there are any regulars who interest me.

  Just as I reach over to flip my monitor off, something catches my eye on the security feed. While I have a security team that monitors the activity in the rooms in person and from a security office down the private hall, I also occasionally watch the feeds. I'm not interested in the patrons or what they're doing, but the general flow of things and to make sure my business is being well run. That the bartenders are filling drinks quickly, and the cleaners are doing their job as efficiently as possible.

  Yes, so I may have excessively watched Trista over the last few days, but it's my fucking club. She's also part of my fucking favor owed, and I will be using her to my satisfaction before her thirty days are up.

  What catches my eye on the monitor is shocking, and I sit back down in my chair so I can be sure about what I'm seeing.

  It's Trista.

  Walking through The Social Room toward the bar.

  She's wearing a short, black skirt and a white camisole-type top that's loose but is cut in a "V" practically down to her navel, with crisscross strings tying the sides somewhat together. The inside swells of her breasts are visible but not much else. The sexiest part is she's not wearing a bra and the material is very thin. Her nipples are clearly evident, and I wonder if it's taking all that bravery she's learned the last few days as she has opened up her acceptance to this club and turned it onto herself. Those long legs are made longer by a pair of obscenely high-heeled ankle boots. The spikes on those heels would look glorious pressed into my shoulders.