The Club

The Billionaire’s Club

By Salome Fox

Chapter 1

The club i
s in a brick building in the middle of the city, nestled amidst
galleries, brownstones and private schools
. It looks
plain
and subdued
,
with
an understated
elegance
, like i
t could house an
embassy or a law firm
.
Its members a
ren’t just wealthy
. T
hey
a
re the emperors of the world. T
hey always get what they want
without quibble or difficulty
.
The rooftop garden i
s
open year-round so members can
gaze down on all that they own and pour champagne on it if they cho
o
se.

T
he club’s reputation i
s impeccable, but also tinged with intrigue—
things go
on behind its closed doors that didn’t usually go on behind closed doors.
Gossips whisper
about masks and virgins
and orgies involving
dark rituals.
Its owner
Max
imilian
Gregory
i
s young and impulsive, given to throwing lavish parties then ab
ruptly disappearing for months.
I suppose
the city’s most
in
famous billionaire, owner of half the real estate worth owning, could do as he
damn-well pleases.

The club hires women, though
its members are
exclusively male
. The women who work here don’t pour drinks or light cigars. They
entertain.
I go
t an audition
by understanding som
ething important about the club’s members. T
hey
are easily bored
by masks and orgies and virgins
.

Fortunately for them, I am not boring.

My
first night, I enter
the club’
s inner sanctum.
It is a room deep in the heart of the building, on the grou
nd floor or perhaps even below that
.
Five men si
t
on rich leather chairs
around a
heavy
table
near
a small stage, their ties loose and their shi
rt sleeves rolled up.

The air i
s thick wi
th cigar smoke and
power.
A fire
in the corner throws
off warm light
and makes
the scotch
in each man’s tumbler
look like liquid gold
.
The men a
re
all in their sixties save one. I
nod to each in turn as they ru
n their eyes up and down my body.
They lick
their lips at t
he site of me, something men have
been doing since I turned fifteen.

I wear
a white satin dress that cl
ings
to each
one of
my curves. There i
s
nothing underneath
the dress. It caresses my
golden skin directly, slipping and sliding against my flat stomach and thighs and dipping low to show off my
smooth shapely
back. M
y long
hair free
ly
wave
s around my shoulders, caressing them with its silky softness
.

The men’
s eyes all stop
at my breasts,
as I’d known t
hey would. My tits are very full
and round
. They’re natural and gorgeous, like
pink-tipped
can
dy to an
audience
of men used to spending time with perfection
. I casually ru
n
my hands over my nipples and mak
e eye
contact with the youngest man at the table as I step on to the stage.

I
have to
stop
myself from gasping.
It’s Max Gregory himself.

His face i
s arresting
, with
stunning green eyes that seem
to look right into me.
He has thick,
dark unruly hair
and broad shoulders.
As the other men’s eyes rake
over the
high
slit i
n my gown and the way the silky satin
caresses
my
curved
ass, his eyes stay
on mine.
He
could
clearly
have any woman he wants
. His
powerful
,
tan forearms and a dark five o’clock
shadow
make my stomach flutter.
I feel something
pure
in my core that I haven
’t
felt
in a long time—
lust.
I want him. I long
to unbutton his three hundred dollar shirt and run my ton
gue down to his zipper
so I can pull it open with my teeth
. I want
to press myself into him and
feel him pressing back. I imagine his cock, large and hard for me.
I imagine
him bending me over
right then and there
and filling me up, over and over and over.

I tell
him
how I feel
with my eyes
and my slightly parted lips
. His shrewd eyes
s
eem
amused
, as if he’s used to women falling before him with their legs open
;
he kno
w
s
he could dismiss everyone else and have me right then and there.

             
But h
e i
s wrong.

             
I have a job to do and it’
s
time
to begin. I moved
to the
center of a
small stage
equipped with an unusu
al black stool. On the stool
si
t
s
a small bu
t powerful vibrator and a book containing the poems of John Wilmot.
I plan to read to my audience, a nice little bedtime story, but first it’s time to strip.
I press a button at the back of the stage and a mournful blues tunes comes on.
There is a soft filtered spotlight on me, bathing
my skin and my dress in an
amber glow befitting the subdued luxury of our surroundings.

             
The room is completely silent
,
save for
my sad music and
the occasional crack of
ice
cubes melting and
crackle from the fire. Making use of the slit in my gown, I
place one of my
stilettos
on the top rung of the ladder
and run my hands up the length of my inner thigh
. I slow
down as I reach the top
of my leg
, waiting for all the men to will my fingers closer to my cunt
with their eyes
. I move inch by inch, breathing heavily as if I cannot wait to tou
ch myself.
I swivel my hips a little, reacting to the music, letting it guide me.
When I’m only a whisper
away, I let my gown
tumble
back down
to the floor
and hear one of the men grown.

             
Good.

             
I will not be hurried.
One man shuffles the cards, but his eyes stay on me. The poker
game
will wait.

             
I turn my back to the men and fi
nd the small hook that keeps my gown
fastened just above my ass. Very slowly, I unhook the clasp
, unzip the fabric,
and let the gown fall open. I hold it against my breasts and present my perfect round ass to the room, parting my legs so they can all see my pussy, its lips star
ting to throb
with the thrill of being on display
. I peek over my shoulder
with a small smile on my face, pleased to see each and ev
ery man’s gaze
riveted to my
swollen cunt
.

             
Except for one.

             
Max still
stare
s at my face instead, lickin
g his lips and sipping his drink
. He looks at me as if surveying that which is
already
his. I shudder, but not with disgust. His knowingness is turning me o
n m
ore than my own audacity.

             
I turn around to face the table and let the dress slide down the front of my body
to the floor
.
My God,
one of the men growls as they see all of me displayed before
them. I lean back on the stool
and let them drink in the sight
of me, of my heavy tits and ready cunt.
I let my head fall back as if I’m waiting to be taken. Even the fire seems to quite itself
. The room is filled with animal
energy more powerful than any flame.

             
Under the generous spotlight,
I am magnificent.

The men
chuckle
and
set down their cards
. Ignoring them, I
pick
up the book and straddle
my
stool
. I turn on the vibrator and position it such that it presses
against my clit. I con
trol
the pre
ssure by rocking my hips
slightly
and swiveling the stool.
I hear the men murmur in approval and adjust themselves, trying to get more comfortable as their erections get harder and more insistent.

As I begin
reading, I’m
so t
urned on
I could easily come in
thirty seconds. B
ut I take my time. I
read the poetry in a low voice, concentrating
on the words as the heat begins to build
in my cunt.
My voice wavers over the erotic poem
as the vibrations make my cunt swell and ache even more
, but t
he men don’t care about the words even if I do
. It’s a contest between my body and my mind as I keep edging myself closer to release.

They are entranced
by my show
, by my body,
and I love it.
There’s nothing more incredible than sharing the most intimate part of yourself with total strangers—especially
strangers
as powerful as these
. In this moment, I’m in control of all of them. Th
eir breathing matches mine;
their heart rates sky rocket
. They can’t wait to hear the sounds I make and see my face during the ultimate moment of truth.

             
My pink ni
pples a
re fully erect and I thrust them forward, holding the book at such an angle that no one’s
view of my trembling body is blocked. I feel
five pair
s of eyes on me, on my incredible
tits and pulsing pussy.
There’s not even a thong between my audience’s eyes and my glistening lips.
I am
only twenty
feet away from the men, close enough for t
hem to smell my sweet juices as they began to slip down my inner thighs.

Each one of them has a painful
erection
now, but
they won
’
t touch me. I am
not to
be touched, those are the rules and we all know it.
Still, m
y p
ussy aches for cock as I press
against the humming nub at the stool’s edge.
I want my nipples sucked
hard
and imagine
Max Gregory
doing the job, rubbing them raw with his whiskers as he fingers my cunt and massages my ass
hole with the edge of his thumb
.