CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kristen
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I’d come to the club during the day, using my key to let myself in the front door. The place was deserted. After another night of hard partying, the main floor looked curiously depressing, just an open area with some light fixtures and an empty DJ booth. Plus, it was kind of grubby, the floor slightly sticky, the paint garish in the light of day.
I was going to have to tell my brothers about the grimy interior. Tyler and Troy are the bouncer and bartender at Club Luxe, but they seem to have a direct line to management. Just last night, there’d been some dispute between Jimmy and Paul, two guys who worked security. Before I knew it, Tyler and Troy had interceded and the fight went out of the guys, leaving them deflated.
And I don’t blame them. Tyler and Troy are alphas, with a commanding presence. It’s not just that they’re tall, dark and domineering. There’s an aura of danger about them, something seductive and menacing at once.
But for me, that dark side translates into a hundred degree, scorching hot sex, the stuff of any girl’s dreams. Because you see, I’m in a relationship with my brothers. They’ve explained to me that they can’t call me their “girlfriend” because we’re stepsiblings, but I get the full girlfriend treatment from them, and that includes sex … loads of it, every possible position and combination explored and enjoyed.
I love being so close to my brothers, both physically and emotionally. But in my heart of hearts I have to say, yeah, it does bother me that I’m not publicly acknowledged. Sure, they shower me with gifts and make meaningful conversation, but it’s all in the privacy of our home. In public, I’m just their sister. In fact, I don’t even think the staff at Club Luxe knows that we’re related, I was just some chick who needed a job.
I promised myself to bring it up with Troy and Tyler … after my article was written. You see, my brothers got me the job at Club Luxe to help me out on a research project. I’m a senior in high school, and my senior thesis is an exposé in the school paper, a look into extreme partying, underage drinking, that kind of thing. I was using Club Luxe as an entryway, hoping to get a glimpse into the seedy underworld. And from working as the coat check girl, I could definitely tell something was up.
“Why are there so many women coming in and out?” I’d asked curiously. “You know, the ones who look like models and come and go several times a night?”
Troy frowned at me. “Leave it, little sis,” he’d warned.
But I hadn’t heeded his warning.
“Do you think something’s going on?” I’d pressed.
Tyler slammed his hand down on the countertop.
“It’s none of your business,” he snarled. “We’ve told you to stay out of it for your own good, and you need to get that into your pretty little head.”
I’d nodded, subdued for the moment. But I wasn’t giving up that easily. I’d made a stealth copy of Troy’s keys, and was bent on investigating the mystery.
And so here I was … alone in the gloom of the club, sneaking into the back office. I don’t know why I was spooked because there was no one around, and I could always just fib if someone happened to show up. But it was my first stealth assignment, and I was nervous as all get-out.
I tiptoed to the steel door, the one that looks like it belongs on a bank vault. Looking up at the ceiling, I could see a camera tracking my moves, and pulled my baseball cap lower over my face. Fumbling in my pocket, I got out Troy’s keys, and thrust the biggest one into the combination lock.
Shit! It didn’t work. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. I tried another key, but this one didn’t even fit into the keyhole. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I tried a couple more keys, but none of them were a match. Goddammit!
Exasperated, I tried my own key, the one for the coat check booth. With a gasp of surprise, the key turned and clicked, and the door creaked open. What the …? Why would the key for the coat check be the same for this obviously high-security door? But I didn’t have time to think. I let myself in, fumbling for the light switch.
The light came on, glaring and bright. It looked like a standard office, two desks, two chairs, two computers, a file cabinet … and a stripper pole with a camera pointed at it. What the fuck?
I was nervous, frazzled and jumpy. But I berated myself. This was investigative research for my senior thesis, and I wanted an A in the class.
I tiptoed to the file cabinet and seized the handle. It was locked, but fortunately, one of Troy’s keys actually worked and I was able to open the top drawer. Oh. Boring. Just tons of files, papers everywhere. But I looked closely, and saw that each of the files was labeled with a name … a woman’s name. Carly, Jordan, Mikaela, there had to be at least fifty files in the top drawer alone.
Curious, I pulled out Carly’s file for a peek. Inside the manila folder was a snapshot of a beautiful brunette, smiling. There were basic stats, her height, weight, eye color, that sort of thing, as well as a copy of her fingerprints and a credit report. Okay, whatever. This was a pretty standard background check.
But I flipped to the next section, and saw that a thorough medical evaluation had been performed. Evidently Carly was healthy as a horse, with no known diseases or vectors.
I flipped through more pages and saw a couple years of taxes, some bank statements, and then at the very back, boudoir photos of the girl. Already beautiful, she’d done herself up as a 50’s bombshell. She posed in revealing positions, first in some lacy black lingerie, and then wearing nothing at all, her luscious assets on display. What the …?
I flipped open another folder, this one for a girl named Ekaterina, and saw much of the same. Financials, credit history, medical records … and boudoir photos again. Except this time, Katya, as she was referred to, wasn’t wearing anything except for spiky black stilettos in her photos, languidly spreading her ass cheeks and her labia in a series of X-rated stills meant to tease and tantalize, if not straight out make a man come. What the hell? Why would Club Luxe have files like these?
My suspicions beginning to rise, I turned towards one of the computers. It flickered to life, but was password protected. Fuck, I was bad with computers. I tried a number of common passwords, including “password,” “12345678,” and “clubluxe” among others. No such luck. On a whim, I tried “twincest” and boom, I was in. What the hell? Alarm bells were clanging in my head now, but I ignored them.
I looked through the files on the desktop and most of it was financial spreadsheets, blurry and incomprehensible. There was more than one business though … there was Club Luxe, Club Brass, Bar Brass, Steel, and a couple others which I didn’t recognize.
But I hit the jackpot when I opened the “Photos” folder. There were multiples vids, all named with women’s first names and a date, like “Sandy 4-11-2011.” I clicked, apprehensive about what I was going to find.
A video flashed on screen, and I could see that it was this office, the very one I was sitting in. A blonde sat on a folding chair, wearing nothing but a bikini, smiling and flirting with the camera. She tossed her hair as a male voice said, “Hold on, just making sure we’re recording ….”
I gasped. It was unmistakably Troy’s voice.
“And go,” he commanded the girl.
Sandy got up and began twirling in her high heels, dancing on the stripper pole, shaking her hips and playing with her breasts. Teasingly, she pulled the bikini off piece by piece, revealing huge Double D breasts, firm and gorgeous, as well as a slick pink cunt, bare and nubile.
I could hear men talking in the background, their voices somewhat muffled by the music, but could make out comments like, “Moves well,” “Great body,” and “Good attitude.” What the hell, were these the stripper tryouts? Were those my brothers’ voices making the comments?
And as if in a nightmare, one of my brothers moved on screen. It was Tyler, dark and forbidding in a black shirt and trousers. Sandy shimmied up to him, completely nude, and dragged his head down for a deep kiss.
I shrieked, my breath coming in gasps. A dagger of pain lanced through my heart, but I reminded myself quickly that this was filmed at least four years ago, long before I came into their lives.
And the debauchery picked up steam. Sandy unzipped his pants, letting Tyler’s big prick free, and knelt to take it in her mouth, sucking on the veiny girth as she smiled coyly at the camera. And as Tyler moaned, fucking her mouth ever so slightly, damn if it wasn’t Troy’s voice off camera murmuring encouragement, saying shit like, “That’s right, show us your best slut technique,” “Get him wet, really wet, lick that cock like it’s your last popsicle.”
My heart crumpled in my chest, searing pain at my brothers’ actions, despite the fact that I knew this was far before my time. The twins were engaging in sex with women they clearly didn’t know, and videotaping it to boot. Not that sex with strangers was so bad, but this seemed to go beyond that … they were clearly sampling her wares for an ultimate purpose.
I forced myself to watch until the gory end, Tyler spurting hotly into Sandy’s mouth, overflowing her so that cum dripped off her chin. Troy had evidently been beating his dick off-camera because I could hear a roar as he came, a muffled “fuck!” as the camera shook from his thrashing arm. And as Tyler pulled off, I heard the words which changed my life.
“Tyler, Troy,” said the blonde sweetly. “Did I get the job? I’d love to start working at Club Luxe … as an escort.”
The blood rushed to my head and I collapsed in a faint from the realization that my stepbrothers were pimps.