Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any events or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All players are over the age of eighteen unless otherwise stated. If you have a problem with bondage or non-consensual sex, go no further! This story is purely for adult fantasy and entertainment. The author in no way condones violence towards women. Constructive criticism and comments welcome at the end. My special thanks to a special man I role played with one night who helped inspire this story! Enjoy!
-BBD
I stand outside Chartreuse of the Oaks, the newest supper club to open in my hometown trying to keep my knees from knocking together. Why am I so nervous? Mr. Richard Jennings is just another assignment. Maybe because I've heard that he isn't always so kind to reporters. He used to be some hot shot stockbroker, but when his father passed, he inherited a shitload of money, quit his job in the stock market and decided to open this place. It has been open now for six months and is doing very well.
Anyway, he was very nice to me over the phone, quite charming even. He didn't give off the cold exterior that I'd heard about from my colleagues.
I brush my hands over my skirt and go up to the front door. I walk up to the hostess.
"Good evening and welcome in, Ma'am. Table for one?"
"Thank you, but I'm here to see Mr. Jennings. I'm Stacey Adams from The Beat." I hand her my business card.
"Oh yes, he's expecting you! Please, come with me." She whispers to another girl who steps up to take over the hostess station.
"Right this way, Miss Adams."
The young woman leads me down a long and narrow hallway to an elevator. She presses the up button. When the car opens, we step into the car and ride up to the second floor. We get out and walk through two more hallways to a set of double doors. She knocks.
"It's open," calls a male voice.
"Mr. Jennings, Stacey Adams is here to see you."
"Thank you, Monica. You may go back downstairs now."
"Yes, Sir. Have a good evening, Miss Adams."
She closes the doors.
Mr. Jennings swings around in his huge leather back chair. He's an older white man, with silver gray hair, cool blue eyes, and he's clean shaven. His suit fits him impeccably. He is tall, but I can tell that he works out from the nice size of his arms. I can also tell that he enjoys spending time outdoors from the healthy tan of his skin.
"Miss Adams, it is so good to meet you!" He stands up and shakes my hand warmly.
"Thank you, Mr. Jennings."
"Richard, please, dear."
"Oh, well, Richard, as I told you on the phone, my boss sent me here to do a feature piece on your supper club. It is causing quite a stir around town."
"Ah yes, you work for that black newspaper, The Beat, is it?"
"Yes."
"Very impressive. I find your articles to be informative and well written. You are an impressive writer, Miss Adams. Please, have a seat. Ask anything you'd like. Can I offer you some sherry?"
He turns to a table behind him where a crystal canter holds some wine.
"Oh, no thank you. I never drink when I'm working."
"Smart young lady." He pours himself a small glass and sits down. I take out my phone to start recording. I sit down across from his wide oak desk. He tells me about his previous work as a stockbroker, the stress, the toll it took on him and his family, that kind of thing. We talk about how the club caters to a more upscale clientele and has live music every night. What does raise my eyebrows is when he mentions non-descriptive receipts.
"Could you elaborate, Richard?"
"This next part is off the record," he says.
"Oh, sure."
I stop recording.
"You see, Miss Adams, sometimes a man might not want his boss or his wife to know about the two Martini lunch he had or the night he had out with the boys, so we offer non-descriptive receipts to those willing to pay a little extra."
"So protecting your clients, Sir?"
"In a matter of speaking, yes."
"Are there any other secrets I should know about?" I chuckle.
"Well, perhaps, but these cannot go into your article."
"Alright."
"My place caters to all different tastes and desires for those willing to pay."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Come with me."
I grab my phone and my purse. We go down in the elevator to the first floor. He leads me past the main dining room with its crystal glasses and linen table cloths to a red door by the washrooms. It simply reads, PRIVATE, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
"Eh, what's behind that door?"
"Happiness for many," he says, "heartbreak for others. Come."
Richard opens the door.
"Don't be afraid. There are no monsters down here."
I see his eyes twinkling. I giggle and step through the door. I walk down a flight of stairs to a huge room. This one is dimly lit, but I can hear music. In the center of the room is a stage, but there are no musicians up there, just a gold pole that reaches the ceiling and a woman in nothing but heels and a thong dancing around it. Surrounding the stage are tables with lots of men, all in suits and ties.
"Come this way," Richard guides me by the arm, "this area is a little more private." He guides me through an archway to a room that is almost completely dark except for the spotlight on the woman dancing in the middle of the room. She isn't naked. She is wearing a white and gold belly dancer's costume. Soft and sensual music plays as she drops to her knees and leans back on her hands. She extends her legs and while balancing on her hands and heels, she rolls her belly to the ceiling. The men are mesmerized by her.
Richard whispers to me,
"Beautiful, isn't she?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, she is," I whisper back.
"She's one of my most popular attractions. It's amazing when a woman knows how to use her body that she can command the eyes of a man."
"Excuse me?"
I back away from Richard and into the hallway.
"Miss Adams, I'm sorry if I offended you."
"Why did you bring me down here if you didn't want me to write about any of this?"
He steps into my space.
"Because," he leans down, "I am always looking for new talent. I can pay you double what you are making at that newspaper, plus some nice fringe benefits."
"Mr. Jennings, I think I should leave right now!"
He steps into my path.
"Going so soon, Miss Adams? You won't stay and have supper with me?"
"Mr. Jennings, I don't know what kind of place this is, but I do see why you've made so much money so quickly! Are you running a prostitution ring here too?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps my clients come to me seeking what they can't get out there in the real world, and I provide a service. Like I said, this is only available to those who have the means."
"I need to leave. Now."
