Chapter 9
Gemma
A woman dressed immaculately in a black sheath swans over to us. She doesn’t seem to have trouble walking in her heels at all.
“Hubert, thank you for escorting Ms. Kane to the bar. You’re excused,” she says graciously. Hubert bows slightly, and then disappears from the door which we came. Meanwhile, no one has noticed our arrival, and maybe it’s because the double doors have already swung shut behind us, blocking out those horrific florescent lights. Also, we’re slightly hidden behind some plants. Ah ha. Hubert must have escorted me to a side entrance.
The woman doesn’t even hesitate.
“Let’s take a look at you,” she says musically, eyeing my frame. “Yes, you’ll do. I trust you saw the doctor?”
“Dr. Thompson?” I echo. “Yes, I did.”
“Good,” she laughs. “Then please remove your top.”
I stare at her.
“What?” is my flabbergasted reply. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not going to take off my top. It’s small enough as is.” I gesture at the pink feathery thing, indicating my boobs. My words are true because I have an ample bust, and the stretchy fabric is barely holding them in. It’s weird. I was flat as a pancake up until sixth grade, and then I swear, in three months, boom! I had boobs, and not just any boobs, but huge boobs. I looked like a full-grown woman at thirteen, and trust me, it was awkward. A lot.
As a result, I’m not about to take off my top. Is this woman insane? I’d be hanging out like a lech, and this isn’t exactly a nude beach where anything goes. This is a bar, for crying out loud. Who goes to a bar topless?
But the woman merely shakes her head again.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but it’s the rules,” she says in a dulcet voice. “Look at all the women working here. They’re all topless. It’s part of how the Billionaires Club works.”
She gestures to the club area to the side, and I force myself to peer into the dimness. It’s then that I see she’s right. I’d been so stunned by the imposing physiques of the men in the club that I didn’t even notice the women. But now I see that my “manager” (if you can call her that) is speaking the truth. The women are clad in nothing but tiny skirts and high heels, with their breasts out for the men to touch and enjoy.
In fact, I watch, mesmerized, as one man teasingly fondles a serving girl’s full C cup, running his finger lightly along the delicate ridge of her nipple. The girl giggles and holds still, watching with growing arousal as her tip gets hard and stiff. The billionaire then leans forward and sucks her nipple into his mouth, the woman tilting her head back with a delighted gasp as he laves her delicate flesh. Oh wow. This is some debauched shit.
My eyes slide to the right, only to see something even dirtier. A waitress is bent over, braced against a couch seat as a man buries his face in her pussy from the back. I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but judging from her cries of pleasure, it’s something that feels incredibly good. Suddenly, the man sits back, and licks his lips with a satisfied smile. His chin is wet from what can only be her juices, and then he dives back in as the girl lets out another long, low wail. Oh shit. This is beyond my wildest, naughtiest dreams.
“So … um, I’m supposed to do stuff like that?” I ask, indicating the dirty couples. “That’s what this waitressing job is about?”
My manager merely shrugs.
“This is what the Billionaires Club is about,” she says in an even tone. “We’re here to cater to the members’ needs, and going topless is routine,” she says. “They do it at the pool too, should you decide to transfer to that location, and also the wrestling ring. Go topless, I mean.”
I want to ask more. There’s a pool where all the pool girls are topless? And what’s this about naked wrestling? Holy cow, this is crazy beyond my wildest expectations. But my manager interrupts my thoughts then.
“They did tell you how much you’d be paid, right?” she asks neutrally. “Did HR get a chance to brief you on that?”
I bite my lip. Really, it doesn’t matter. You can’t pay me to be a whore. But at the same time, I’m curious, so I shake my head.
“No, I think we were in such a rush that that I missed that part of orientation,” I fib lightly. “Why, how much is it?”
My manager nods her elegantly coiffed head.
“We are short quite a few girls right now,” she murmurs to herself, surveying the bar. “But your rate will be fifty dollars an hour, plus tips. HR will collect your bank account number. They do direct deposit, and the money is put into your account each Friday. Tips, of course, are in cash, and trust me – these billionaires are very generous. Get on their good side, and your tips can far outweigh your hourly pay.”
I stare at her, unable to believe my ears. Fifty dollars an hour? Suddenly, Dr. Thompson’s words ring in my ears. He’d said something about making three to five times my usual rate, but I’d figured that was nothing but exaggeration. At most, they’d pay me fifteen an hour and then reassure me with the promise of lots of cash tips. But it seems the Billionaires Club really does live up to its hype. Fifty dollars an hour is five times what I made at the Silver Star. With that kind of base, I didn’t even really care about the tips.
Suddenly, my mind was made up. I’ve wanted to go to college for so long, and money is the big thing holding me back. Of course, there’s the issue of getting in, but being able to afford tuition is also huge. If I worked here at the Billionaire Club for a little while, I might be able to save like crazy. Fifty dollars an hour times eight hours a day is … four hundred dollars! Four hundred times seven days a week is twenty eight hundred per week in base. Suddenly, college didn’t seem so impossible.
The situation reminds me of my friend Darlene. She’s a good girl, and plenty smart too. But after her mom got ill, Darlene was hard up. The medical bills were smothering her, and she decided to take a job as a high-class escort. I still remember the conversation we had before she left for Chicago.
“Dar, you can’t,” I’d said. “You can’t do this. You can’t sell your body to make money! You’re a smart girl, and it’s crazy besides. You could get hurt.”
Darlene shot me a look, even as she stuffed more clothes into her duffel bag. She didn’t say anything, so I continued.
“Dar, think of your future,” I implored. “What if people find out? They’ll brand you as the hooker ho for the rest of your life. It’s like having a felony on your record. No one’s going to want to hire you, much less associate with you.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make some new hooker friends,” she said tightly, her eyes fixed as she continued packing her bag. “It’s never too late for that.”
“No, you know what I mean,” I begged. “I’m just saying that you don’t want to tarnish your reputation. You’ll be labeled, and you’ll never be able to be considered for the Supreme Court! You’ll never be able to hold any elected office.”
My comments made Darlene laugh. She looked at me with a mirthful smile, her hands paused for a moment.
“Gem, do I look like a future justice of the Supreme Court? I mean, look at me,” she said, flipping one hand through her blondish brown hair. “Do Supreme Court justices have frosted ends and ombre dye?”
“No, I’m just saying,” I protested again. “Most Supreme Court justices have gray hair, from what I can tell, but still. Don’t brand yourself with a scarlet letter!”
That made her go still, her eye catching mine.
“That’s why no one knows what I’m doing this summer,” she said in a quiet voice. “Only you, Gem. And you’re not going to tell anyone.”
“Of course I won’t,” I said. “But aren’t you afraid people will find out?”
Darlene shrugged and continued packing, refusing to meet my eye.
“That’s why I’m going to Chicago for the summer. It’s real far from Vegas, so no one will know me. I’m taking a fake name, and I’m going to sleep with a lot of guys for money. And I’m going to make a lot of money doing it too. But after this summer’s over, then I fly back here and none of this ever happened. Don’t you get it Gem? I have to do this. It’s going to be a dirty secret, but I have to take a chance. And once I’m done, this is all history. I’ll deny it if it ever comes up.”
I stared at her shocked, as she continued to pack determinedly. But Darlene was right. She came back in the fall flush with cash, with her lips sealed. And she had plenty of money after that too.
Plus, I understood why she did it. My friend had no choices, and I’m very much in the same situation now. I’m a prisoner, being forced to work at the Billionaires Club. But now, it doesn’t feel so much like a prison anymore, so much as an opportunity – I’d make my money, and then after enough paydays, I’d find out a way to escape. After that, my time here would be nothing but a memory.
So looking back at my manager, I straighten my shoulders.
“Fine,” comes my calm voice. “I’ll take off my top.”
With that, I turn my back and slowly begin to pull the tube top down. It’s tight but finally with some wriggling and struggle, the piece of cloth tugs off and I manage to get it over my hips before stepping out of it entirely. My boobs jiggle slightly, which is to be expected. They’re huge and creamy, the tips a deep pink which look almost rose in the golden light.
I turn back to face my manager. “This okay?” is my semi-sarcastic question.
She doesn’t even blink an eye.
“Perfect,” she says. “Now, here’s your notepad, and here’s your silver serving tray,” she says, pressing the two items into my hands. “You were a waitress before, right? I trust you won’t need any explanation about what to do.”
With that, she begins to saunter off. My nerves get the best of me, and my mouth opens.
“Wait –“ I stammer. “So do I … you know, let them touch me and stuff?”
The middle-aged woman looks at me archly over her shoulder.
“Well now, that’s up to you,” she says. “But my advice is: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” And with that, she walks off like nothing’s the matter.
I turn back to survey the scene. Oh my god, the debauchery going on is incredible. The couple whom I observed before are now kissing on the loveseat, one of his big hands tenderly stroking her breasts as they enjoy one another. As I watch, one of his hands trails downwards to bury itself between her legs, and she closes her eyes and moans, parting her knees to give him better access. Holy shit, is he fingering her pussy in public?
Plus, there’s some loud moaning and panting coming from behind a potted plant. Judging from the way the palm fronds are shaking, I’d guess one of the waitresses is getting it good. And to the right, another handsome billionaire is currently leading a woman away, probably to his private suite. Her breasts sway as she casts him a shy smile, her hand caught in his big one.
Oh my god, am I expected to do all this? Am I expected to kiss, touch, and fondle if a man expresses interest? I suppose so. Darlene’s words ring in my head again. It’s just one summer, she said. Nobody will ever know after everything’s said and done with.
So I straighten my shoulders once more, and take my platter and notepad in hand. I wish Mr. Carmichael were here because I wouldn’t mind serving him. It would be fun to get filthy with a man so magnetic and handsome. But he’s not, so I have to make the best of the situation like I always do.