Varden
Thump.
The door slammed, echoing through the building and all the way down the street. All heads turned in my direction.
Just as I’d wanted.
I stood in the entrance, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. This gave me the chance to adjust the Venetian-style mask I’d tugged over my face in the last minutes before entering. It lent me an eerie, and I hoped mysterious, air, and running my fingers over the smooth alabaster and swirly filigree trim was a familiar comfort.
My adjustments served another purpose—they gave me a moment to scope out the room and assess the evening’s talent. A head start on the night’s possibilities would allow me to decide ahead of time which of the babes in attendance I was gonna spin on my dick before the night was over.
The blue balls that had been killing me weren’t letting me forget my mission.
Why the mask? Well, it wasn’t for style. I could give a crap about looking like I was a refugee from Carnivale. No. Simply put, it was a disguise. No one, and I mean no one, in the club knew who I was. And I planned to keep it that way.
The twelve hours a day I worked my hedge fund firm were not exactly relaxing. But the few hours a night I spent at the most secret sex club in San Francisco allowed me to be a different person, something I craved the way a man needs air. At Club Silk I had no responsibility, no fortune, and no celebrity as San Francisco’s wunderkind financial brain. I didn’t even have a goddamn name.
For a few miraculous moments, I, Varden Gallagher didn’t exist. And it was fucking amazing.
“G,” a female voice dripping with sex purred over my shoulder. Without turning, I knew who it was.
But of course I turned. It would have been rude, and possibly self-destructive, not to.
“Miss M. Don’t you look beautiful tonight.”
And she did. The proprietor of Club Silk stood before me in a slamming red evening gown that reminded me of something from the old-time movies my mother had loved. M looked like a movie star and moved like one too.
“Darling.” She planted a kiss on the cheek of my mask, no doubt leaving a deep red lipstick mark.
“How are you this evening, G?” she asked.
The first time each night I was called my “club name” was usually jarring. But in a good way. Along with the ritual of pulling on my mask, it was strangely comforting and pushed me into my temporary identity.
I thought of it as a clean transition from the real world to my fantasy one.
I ran a thumb along her cheek, grabbing a strand of her black hair and giving it a tug.
“Oh,” she moaned. “If you keep that up, I may have to spirit you away to one of our private rooms.”
She’d like that. I, however, would not.
“I could never do that to you. I respect you far too much,” I fibbed.
She responded by belting out the laugh of a woman who owned the world.
“And why couldn’t you do that to me, my dear G?”
I ran a finger down the front of her dress to where it just stopped short of exposing her small but perfect breasts. When I knew I had her, I pushed the silky fabric down, baring a beautiful, dark nipple.
My fingers closed on it and squeezed.
Miss M neither moved, nor altered her expression.
“M,” I explained, “because you’d never find satisfaction with another man after me. I couldn’t ruin you like that.”
How was that for a dick answer?
Her head fell back and she released another beautiful laugh. She smacked my hand right off her tit, tucked herself back into her dress, and whispered, “You can ruin me any day.”
With a wink, she floated across the room to greet another guest.
Maybe I should fuck her some day.
But like the saying went, you gotta keep your dick out of the company inkwell.
Of course, Silk wasn’t my company, per se, but it was my home away from home. I wasn’t about to risk any drama with the one person who could keep me away from it.
I’d seen M on the warpath before, and rain down her wrath on some dumb fuck who didn’t mind his place.
Regardless, my stiffening cock seemed to like the idea of Miss M, and I reached down to adjust myself in my custom-made trousers.
The industrial space that housed Silk was the perfect venue for an erotic as hell sex club. I’d been to several in my day, and none came close to this one.
Some smart real estate investor—with foresight not even I had had—transformed an old, trashed commercial space, one of the few still standing from San Francisco’s days as a huge food cannery, into a giant adult playground.
The city’s food processing industry had been driven out long before, and the once industrial part of town was now ground zero for movers and shakers of the tech and financial world, bringing wealth to San Francisco unlike anyone had ever dreamed of.
So this old space, with its abundance of character, had been reconfigured as the dreamy Club Silk, with its warren of bars, dance floors, stages, and play rooms for fucking or whatever else anyone felt like doing.
Miss M had wisely purchased it and taken it to the next level by covering the wall in dark tapestries, and providing just enough light to leave the place candlelit dim, and massively sexy.
But her biggest coup was in making it exclusive and keeping it under the radar.
Most San Franciscans had heard of the place but weren’t sure whether it truly existed, or whether it was just another urban myth. A lucky few of us knew where the truth lie, and we paid handsomely for the privilege. This kept out the riff-raff, the creepy guys who walked around with their dicks in their hands, and kept the gorgeous women coming in.
And it all gave me an escape I’d die without.
A female hand landed on my arm.
“Hey.”
I turned to see the voluptuous redhead I’d fucked a couple weeks ago.
“How are you?” I asked. Too bad I was in the mood for a spinner tonight, because this woman was fucking hot. Her curvy ass might be worth revisiting, though, depending on how the night progressed.
“I thought you were gonna call me,” she said with a delicious pout. My cock jerked again as I remembered her lips wrapped around my hard wood.
“A.” I think that was her club name. It was hard to keep all the goddamn initials straight. “You know I never call. It’s just not my thing.”
Her gaze drilled into my eyes, the only part of my face she could see behind the mask. I know she wanted to see more. They always did.
She, too, wore a mask, but it covered only the upper half of her face, which allowed me to enjoy her pretty smile. Her red lips were always ready for whatever she got the urge to do, and lucky for me that had included sucking me off to a point where I’d nearly lost consciousness.
A true cocksucker she was, and I meant that in the nicest possible way.
But I didn’t normally repeat women. That was the beauty of Silk.
In consolation, I ran my thumb along her lower lip and dipped it into her willing mouth.
The old cock shifted again, reminding me to get on with the female attention I so desperately needed, and to stop being so goddamn coy. I retrieved my thumb. Time to get back to assessing other, new talent.
“See you later, hon,” I said, heading for the building’s massive second floor, a mezzanine with a perfect view of everything below.
The elevator, a rickety old freight thing, was moving at its usual glacial speed. But I kept pressing the up button anyway, as if that would make a difference. Probably someone in there playing out their elevator fucking fantasy. I had to shake my head and chuckle. I’d tried that when I was a newbie at the club, too.
As a noob, I’d wanted to fuck in every nook and cranny of the place, and the more people who could see and watch me, the better. Of course, this was always done with my mask in place.
Most clubgoers wore some version of one, as well. Those of us with a lot to lose guarded our privacy to a point bordering on obsession.
You couldn’t be too careful, as the saying went.
But these days I preferred playing with some sweet female in the smaller rooms, and even on occasion in one of the private rooms with locking doors.
As much as I dug being watched, getting off was the top priority now that I was a seasoned club member. I no longer craved the ego boost of being watched like I once did—it actually made it damn hard to come, truth be told.
No, filling some hot thing’s pussy, mouth, or ass with my big load was my kryptonite.
I bailed on the slow elevator and headed for the stairs. In keeping with the rest of the building, they were a wide, creaky contraption barely sturdy enough to pass city inspection, not to mention support the couple going at it doggy style on the second step. As I climbed past them, I nodded at the dude. He was drilling a screaming woman with her dress pushed up to her tits and her pretty ass up in the air, and he didn’t miss a beat. He nodded right back while he held her arms behind her back.
Nice.
Up on the mezzanine, I found three beauties in various stages of undress—mostly completely undressed, actually—cuddling on a large velvet sofa, sipping champagne from tall flutes they held with perfectly manicured fingers.
I made a quick mental calculation of which I liked best, and which I would settle for, if need be. Not to be a dick about it—I loved fucking all women. I just knew what I needed that night, and if I could find it, well bingo.
“Ladies.” I nodded at them. Lord, they were cute.
“Hey, take that mask off. I wanna see your face,” the voluptuous one demanded.
“Sorry, babe. No can do.”
They scooted a place open for me on the sofa and the blonde one patted a spot next to her. “Have a seat, masked man.”
I squeezed between the hips of two of the beauties. Christ, they were all stunners.
“I’ve seen you here before. I know that mask,” the skinny brunette said. “What’s your name?”
“G. What are yours?”
“X.”
“Y.”
“And—“
“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted. I pointed at the brunette.
“Your name is Z.”
She shrugged with a lovely laugh. “Somebody knows his alphabet. We got a smart one here, ladies”
If she only knew.
I smiled under my mask, not that they could see it. Damn thing was making me hot, one of the hazards of wearing it.
I removed my suit jacket and roll up the sleeves of my starched, cotton shirt to cover the initials on my cuff: VG. They knew the G. They didn’t need to know the V.
“You’re funny, Miss Z. Why don’t you do a little dance for me?”
“Yeah, Z,” X said. “Show us your stuff.”
“I can do that.” She stood, taking a position in front of us, and commenced to gyrating, wearing only fuck me high heels and a lacy thong panty.
My dick strained against my trousers, the compression approaching downright pain.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Z, you know that?”
I reached to place my hands on her lovely hips, but she stepped back, just beyond my reach.
Fair enough.
I stood. “I’ll be in the playroom on the third floor. Just letting you know.”
I left them in a flurry of protests and headed for the best part of the club, the one place in the universe to truly scratch my itch.
* * *
