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Notorious Billionaire Kink Club Owner Loses His Shit
Perfect.
Then she’d stepped in my way with fire in her attitude and hatred in her eyes.
Her attitude alone had made me crave dragging her over my knee. It usually took longer than a few seconds for a member of the opposite sex to determine I was a vindictive pig. I chuckled from the realization. Still, while she wasn’t my usual type, the attraction had been explosive. I’d seen her before, always hiding her dazzling looks behind stern hairstyles and little makeup. There was a tiger clawing to be released inside. Now my cock twitched from the thought of taming her.
Down, big boy.
I shoved thoughts of the morning aside, heading through the bottom floor of my establishment.
The Blackout Club.
I still found it difficult to believe three college boys had believed in a dream that had turned into this mecca of sin. Now we were wealthy and highly respected even if the old money turned up their noses to our incredible success. Chuckling, I walked through the crowd of people, marveling at the energy in the expansive club.
The recent renovation had been Jameson’s idea, taking our once provocative main club up several notches. From the use of black lights and neon, illuminated strands hanging from the ceiling, and the pulsing lights in the two massive dance floors, the party zone was energized every night, always at least one hundred or more people waiting to get inside.
The new décor was impressive but thepiece de resistancewas the inclusion of special glasses provided to every guest after filling out a simple yet telling information sheet. When wearing the glasses, simply by coming within three feet of another person, guests were able to see everything about the person in question that had been provided.
Likes.
Dislikes.
Preferred drinks.
Music.
And first names only.
Talk about an icebreaker.
The club was packed tonight, standing room only. I’d need to remind the bouncers to watch the numbers. The last thing I needed was the fire marshal shutting the place down. While the three Blackout Clubs owned by the corporation made millions of dollars every year, the real money maker was in the private side of the business.
Members only, a half million-dollar entrance fee and yearly membership fees anywhere from five hundred thousand to one million. We were selective with our client list, those chosen required to provide a recent medical exam and a set of financials before being allowed entrance. The yearly requirement was helpful in keeping the riffraff out.
I snickered at the thought. The waiting list at all three clubs was long. With a separate gated garage and valet parking, license plates covered and private entrances, the efforts we went to in order to provide total anonymity were highly respected.
We employed a pro dom and pro domme at each location, a requirement of the rules we’d established immediately. They more than paid for themselves in providing monitoring, educational classes, and general advice when needed. With almost every kink represented, what we offered behind our thick walls had padded our bank accounts while servicing the most powerful and influential people in three prominent locations.
Miami, Los Angeles, and the club I managed in DC. With plans for offering franchises in Milan, Paris, and New York, all three of us carried a heavy load of activity.
Which was why the aggravating day had put me in a sour mood. I wasn’t used to being accosted in such an egregious fashion. While the woman who’d tossed coffee on my shirt had been beautiful, a feisty redhead with the eyes the color of the Aegean Sea, her caustic mouth had stripped away the initial dark, sadistic desires tearing through me.
The girl hated me, and it usually took a woman at least a couple of hours on a date in order to come to that conclusion.
I’d been forced to control my urge to yank out a chair, tugging up her tight, thin pencil skirt, ripping off her panties, and tossing her over my lap.
A good spanking would do the woman some good.
Yes, it had been an accident, but she’d acted like I was public enemy number one.
Growling at this point wasn’t going to do me any good. Perhaps my crankiness had come from the fact I’d been busy every minute of the day, unable to change my shirt. At least I could retreat to my office and do so after making my rounds.
There were several large parties enjoying a sizzling Saturday night. It seemed every time I walked through my own club, people parted the ways.
I wasn’t God, although I controlled dark and dangerous dossiers of almost every private club member that I’d use if necessary. I’d instituted a mandate before we’d opened our doors that every member was to have a deep dive taken on their backgrounds. I’d been shocked at just how many dirty little secrets had risen to the surface.
Keeping the information had proven to provide my own personal security. To date, neither Jameson nor Grant had been forced to open their little black books. Fortunately, I’d only been forced to on one occasion. That had been to save my ass.
