I wonder if I put the moves on her, would she submit to me? I either need to step up my game or forget about using Trista to get my revenge on Jayce.
Standing from my desk, I make my way out of my office and lock up behind me. I’ll hang out in The Social Room for a bit and see if anyone interesting comes through. If not, I’ll probably call it an early night and catch a late baseball game on TV. Granted, owning a sex club means that I have sex.
A lot.
But I don’t have it every night, and there are times I’m not even interested. A beer, pizza, and ESPN preferable.
On the flip side, there are times I can get in a mood and want to do something totally whacked on the kink scale, and there’s not much I haven’t tried.
Tonight… I’m ambivalent, but I will give a quick peek inside to see if there are any regulars who interest me.
Just as I reach over to flip my monitor off, something catches my eye on the security feed. While I have a security team that monitors the activity in the rooms in person and from a security office down the private hall, I also occasionally watch the feeds. I’m not interested in the patrons or what they’re doing, but the general flow of things and to make sure my business is being well run. That the bartenders are filling drinks quickly, and the cleaners are doing their job as efficiently as possible.
Yes, so I may have excessively watched Trista over the last few days, but it’s my fucking club. She’s also part of my fucking favor owed, and I will be using her to my satisfaction before her thirty days are up.
What catches my eye on the monitor is shocking, and I sit back down in my chair so I can be sure about what I’m seeing.
It’s Trista.
Walking through The Social Room toward the bar.
She’s wearing a short, black skirt and a white camisole-type top that’s loose but is cut in a “V” practically down to her navel, with crisscross strings tying the sides somewhat together. The inside swells of her breasts are visible but not much else. The sexiest part is she’s not wearing a bra and the material is very thin. Her nipples are clearly evident, and I wonder if it’s taking all that bravery she’s learned the last few days as she has opened up her acceptance to this club and turned it onto herself. Those long legs are made longer by a pair of obscenely high-heeled ankle boots. The spikes on those heels would look glorious pressed into my shoulders.
Everything about what I’m seeing now pleases me beyond understanding.
She walks through the foyer doors, and my eyes flip to the security feed. It shows her heading to The Orgy Room. If I had to guess, it’s Trista’s favorite just as she seems more interactive in there with patrons than the other rooms.
I sit down in my chair and watch. If I’d been asked what I thought the chances were that Trista Barnes would come to The Wicked Horse on her day off, the answer would have been “not a snowball’s chance in hell.”
But here she is… and I’m on edge to see what happens.
?
Thirty minutes later, I’m pushing out of my chair with only one destination in mind.
The Silo to talk to Trista.
I watched as she drank a glass of wine and chatted with the bartender. She stayed no more than twenty minutes and left as soon as she finished her drink.
My pulse raced, thinking she might be leaving, but I was relieved when I saw her walk through the foyer and down the hall to The Silo, and that’s when it hit me.
She’s here to try the lifestyle out.
And dressed the way she is, feeling brave, adventurous, and loosened up with a few drinks, she was going to get well laid tonight.
I make it to The Silo only seconds after she does, and she’s still walking toward the circular bar in the middle as I enter. My Silo here in Vegas is very similar to the one in Wyoming, except for one huge difference. The Silo in Wyoming is well lit, and there’s no mystery to the fucking that goes on there. The glassed rooms are bright and so is the circular interior.
I had this room decorated in black and deep purples with incandescent lighting. There were spotlights to showcase the action in the glass rooms, but there were also the curtains for privacy. And in the interior away from the circular bar, there was plush seating—again in a washable vinyl—where patrons could make out, fondle, or fuck. It’s not overly dark, but it is dim, maybe even a little romantic feeling but for all that highly kinky shit going on in those rooms, and still completely rocking a sinful vibe.
Trista walks up to the circular bar, which is outfitted with stools, unlike the other bars, to encourage people to move around. The Silo is a bit different as it has more of a show quality since most of the action goes on inside the glass rooms with the people on the exterior watching so they should be able to do so comfortably.
I come up behind her just as she orders a glass of white wine, then perches that phenomenal ass on a stool. The one to her right is empty and I slide onto it, and the movement gets her attention. She turns to look at me, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Oh, come on now,” I admonish her with a smirk, and then let my eyes slide to the bartender who walks up. I place a quick order as I feel like a good scotch tonight. “I’ll have a Laphroaig, and put her wine on my tab.”
The bartender bobs his head and I turn back to Trista. She still has that same stunned look.
“You can’t be surprised to see me in here,” I tell her casually. “I do own this place.”
Her facial muscles relax and she gives me a hesitant smile. “Of course I’m not surprised. I’m just… well, I guess I’m a bit nervous to be in here and was hoping I could just observe unobtrusively.”
“Ah,” I hazard a guess. “You’re a voyeur. You like to watch.”
The bartender returns with the drinks, and Trista immediately picks hers up to take a sip before giving a shake of her head. Those honeyed lengths fall over her golden, bare shoulders. Her eyes peek up to mine, her smile sheepish. “I have no clue what the hell I’m doing here. Curiosity, I guess.”
Fuck yes.
This was even better than I anticipated. The signs are all adding up.
Her increased comfortability the last three days. The way she watched more of the action and was clearly affected by it. And finally… having the actual guts to come in and watch some more. Watching Trista fidget in her seat, seemingly needing more wine to calm her nerves, I realize she wants something from this club, but she has no clue how to go about getting it.
Her sexual curiosity has not only been awakened… it’s been poked and prodded. Now she wants to know more.
And I’m just the guy who’s going to do it for her.
The only guy, I decide.
CHAPTER 8
Trista
My entire body feels as tight as a rubber band, and I have the feeling that Jerico is intent on making it snap. I can see it in his eyes… The calculation, the challenge, and deep within those green irises, I clearly see lust.
What does he see when he looks at me?
Can he tell how nervous I am to be sitting here?
Over the last week working at The Wicked Horse, I have learned something incredibly important.