SinfullyWicked (5 page)

Crushing weariness overcame Nikki. She loved her folks, but
had realized a long time ago that they’d never admit the truth. They couldn’t
seem to face the fact that the person they trusted more than their daughter,
the man they liked better than their own flesh and blood had conned them so
easily and continued to do so. “I have to go, Mom. Please tell Dad not to worry
about the house anymore, I’m handling it.”

“We could talk at dinner…if you want, you could stay the
night.”

When all of this crap started, that invitation would have
meant the world to Nikki. Never happened. Her parents had urged her to stay
with Ty, to support him as a dutiful wife should. If he had loved her at all,
even for a minute, Nikki would have. She’d been that lonely and wanting.

“Sorry, I can’t tonight,” she mumbled. “Lots to do at my
apartment. I’m still unpacking my stuff. I’ll call you next week.”

Not waiting for her mother’s response, Nikki ended the call
and checked the time on the bank’s display. Only a couple of hours until her
first night at Wicked.

At a few minutes to six, she pulled into the club’s deserted
parking lot, her used Ford Focus chugging listlessly, unlike the fully loaded
Benzes and Beemers she used to drive. Her current wheels didn’t even have a
working radio and Nikki couldn’t have cared less. Grateful for this chance, she
regarded the two-story white building that looked like something out of a
Southern gothic novel or a virgin’s wet dream, more impressive in person than
what she’d seen on the club’s website.

Six towering columns supported the roof over the
semi-circular front porch. On the ground floor, scores of windows stretched the
full height of each room, allowing in the greatest amount of light and
observation. A voyeur’s dream. Shadows angled across the impressive grounds,
meticulously landscaped with fat bushes, majestic trees and countless flowers
in a kaleidoscope of colors. Beads of moisture clung to the velvety petals, the
mixture of their perfume and the fragrance of newly mown grass enough to make
Queen Elizabeth crack a smile.

Following the discreet signs to the employees’ area and the
lone Lexus parked there, Nikki swallowed hard, her belly churning. Not at the
thought of working topless, bottomless or both. At the prospect of seeing Mitch
and Connor once more, them dismissing her efforts to apologize, Connor in
particular refusing to allow their relationship to begin anew.

Sighing deeply, Nikki paused just inside the club’s shadowed
back hall. Sterile air conditioning mingled with female cologne and lemony
furniture polish. In the distance, music played…Lady Gaga’s
Edge of Glory.
From
the sound of it, Ms. Gaga was at the edge right now.

Tell me about it.

A couple of years ago, Nikki wouldn’t have imagined working
in any gentlemen’s club, not that this place was bad. The walls in this part of
the establishment were a deep wine color, the wood floor gleaming from what
looked to be candlelight ahead. Subtle and romantic, while also a wee bit
dangerous. To get the staffers in a receptive mood for the night’s events?

Nikki stopped at the first two doors, opposite each other.
The room on the right had to be a dressing, or undressing, area for the guys.
The small mirrors, leather jock straps and industrial strength deodorants were
a dead giveaway. To the left was a space three times the size with wall-to-wall
mirrors, state-of-the-art makeup tables, enough cosmetics to stock several
department stores and then there were the costumes. Leather masks and boots,
feathers in white, green and gold, ominous chains, glitter dust. Damn.

A steady clicking caught Nikki’s attention. She finally recognized
it as a woman’s heels tapping on the floor, moving in this direction. Mitch’s
secretary? Did she work here too? Did she have final approval on how the female
performers looked?

Nikki’s frown fell away at the young black woman who
approached. Surprisingly tall, probably six-one in her spike heels, she was
jaw-dropping gorgeous. Curly black hair dangled over her shoulders,
complementing her fawn-colored complexion. Her halter dress, seafoam green and
breezy, fluttered around her curves, which she had in abundance. Nikki tried
hard not to stare. It wasn’t easy given that the woman’s eyes were the same
color as her dress and absolutely breathtaking.

“Hey, you must be Nikki.” Her mild Southern drawl added to
her effortless charm. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “I’m Shoshana,
the manager. Mitch asked me to show you around.”

Did he? She’d used his name with so much friendship and
intimacy, Nikki’s stomach twisted. It was one thing to consider that Mitch and
Connor dated, having fun as they should. It was another to learn that they
might have found with Shoshana what they’d once had with her, a bond that
should have been nurtured, not broken.

At her prolonged silence, Shoshana asked, “You are Nikki,
right?”

Unfortunately. She flashed a smile she didn’t feel and shook
the woman’s hand. It was delicate and soft, her grip firm as perfect as the
rest of her. “Nice to meet you. Is Mitch here? Is Connor?”

“They might be by later. Sometimes they show up. Sometimes
they don’t. They trust we’ll all behave.” She leaned close enough for Nikki to
catch a whiff of the classic Chanel fragrance she wore, then spoke
conspiratorially. “As much as one can in a place like this, you know?”

Given the costumes, Nikki had a fair idea. “When do the
other women show up?” Would they be as exquisite as Shoshana? No wonder Mitch
and Connor had been reluctant to let her do this.

“They’ll be here shortly. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
She flicked the light switch in the women’s dressing room. Vanity bulbs blazed
around each of the many mirrors, creating enough light to accentuate every
flaw.

Nikki refused to think about hers. “Was it Connor’s idea for
it to be so bright in here?”

“Actually, it was mine. I own a stake in the place, the same
as him and Mitch. We succeed or fail together. And just in case you’re
wondering, the ladies who work here are proud of their bodies. They celebrate
their sexuality, no different from men. Many are using the money they make to
fund start-up businesses or pay for their degrees. Why be saddled with a pile
of debt if you can graduate free of all that, especially if you’re enjoying
it?”

She owned a stake in the place? God, she had to be involved
with them to have deserved that.

“You do your own makeup here,” Shoshana explained, walking
backward toward the costume rack. “If you’re having trouble your first night,
one of the other ladies will help you.”

Nikki ran her fingers over the cups of a leather bustier
that was incredibly soft and shamelessly constructed with half-cups designed to
reveal a woman’s nipples. Next to it hung a diaphanous white cape, long enough
to cover a female from throat to toes. “How do the servers and performers know
what to wear?”

“Everything depends upon the room you’re going to be working
in.” She led Nikki back to the hall and to a grand stairway reminiscent of the
one Rhett had carried Scarlett upwhen he’d had enough of her whining
and demanded some down-and-dirty sex. There were chandeliers, antique
furnishings and marble everywhere, just like in a palace.

Taking the first step, Shoshana said, “Time for you to see
the business end of the club.”

Apparently, they kept it well hidden. The website had scores
of tasteful close-ups showing female eyes, mouths, the curve of a breast, a
glimpse of a naked hip and ass, but little else. Nikki asked the obvious. “If
it’s upstairs, what’s down here?”

“Areas where the guys can relax and have a drink or a smoke
and shoot the bull, just like in a regular men’s club. There’s also a dining
room for dinner service until midnight. We’re a five-star establishment, by the
way. Best steaks and seafood in Atlanta. Of course, we’ve found most patrons
use their meals to hook up with other couples before moving to the Garden
Room.”

“You have a conservatory here?”

Shoshana laughed, a light, melodic sound. “No.” She reached
the landing and headed to the left. “By Garden Room we mean Garden of Eden, or
our version of it.”

Nikki nodded absently, her full attention on the expansive
hall. It was wider than her parents’ home and decorated with more antiques,
from pricey side tables to elegant hand-painted vases bearing arrangements of
gardenias, lilies, orchids and roses. Even Ty’s victims in the Hamptons hadn’t
lived this well. At the end of the hall were a set of carved double doors the
color of snow.

“The Virgin Room,” Shoshana announced. She pushed open the
doors and flicked a switch.

Hundreds of flameless candles, identical to the ones Nikki
had seen in the downstairs hall, flickered to life, bathing the ample space in
a pale, dreamy glow. The scent of honeysuckle and carnations reminded her of a
wedding or church service.

This place was light years away from either event. White
leather sofas and wingchairs, casually arranged around the periphery of the
room, provided an excellent view of what was in the center. A platform upon
which stood a four-poster bed with sheer panels draped over the top and
cascading down each side. From the middle of the canopy hung velvet-covered
cuffs. At the head and foot of the bed were more shackles—both menacing and
exciting—resting on the frosty linens. Nikki made a wild guess. “The performers
simulate a virgin being taken?”

“She’s bid on and purchased first to create the ultimate
experience, with simulate being the operative word. If the patrons want more
reality, they can always look at the film.”

“In one of the guy areas downstairs?”

“In here.” She flicked another switch.

Projected onto the back wall was one of Connor’s movies.
Nikki’s mouth sagged open. She stepped closer. The images had a dated look
about them, not exactly black-and-white, more brown-and-cream. There was no
sound. It wasn’t necessary. Connor had used close-ups of the virgin’s
lust-glazed eyes, her lips parting in expectation to tell his story.

She wore feathers and glitter on the top half of her face, a
kind of mask to obscure her features. The sheer cape Nikki had seen in the
dressing room covered her, though not for long. Nude and defenseless, she
submitted dutifully as a servant dressed in period garb positioned her on her
knees, thighs parted, her wrists secured to the overhead cuffs, reducing her to
a chaste captive offered to the men. They wore way-back-when clothing and
raised their hands to bid on her.

A particularly good-looking dude won and disrobed. Nikki
forced down a swallow. The guy was really hung, his cock simply beautiful,
thick and rigid, rising proudly from a nest of dark curls. On the bed, he
settled himself beside her, his weighty balls tight to his body, hands on her
thighs, parting them even more, exhibiting her to the men who’d lost the chance
to use her flesh. With arrogance befitting a winner, he cupped her breast in
one hand while his other sought her cunt.

Whatever the girl thought or felt at his bold move, it
didn’t matter. There was no escape.

The camera zoomed in on her mound, her blonde pubic hair
trimmed short so her new master and the audience could see her plump vaginal
lips, the silky moisture streaming from her channel. Her master bent down to
suckle one of her nipples while his fingers teased her opening, traveling the
length of it, sliding inside her—

“Whoa. What happened?” Nikki blurted as the film went off.

Shoshana murmured, “It’s time we moved on to the Garden
Room.”

Nikki bit back a protest and followed Shoshana down the hall
to another set of double doors the color of honey.

Lush plants, ferns and flowers adorned this new area. It
smelled of rain, damp earth and vegetation—as primitive as the Virgin Room was
frothy. There were green and gold candles in a variety of sizes, a gurgling
fountain and long couches in amber-colored leather wide enough to hold several
people.

On the room’s back wall another of Connor’s films played,
this one in full living color. The performers in it wore gold body paint and
glitter with green leaves pasted to various parts of their anatomy, making them
look like a Vegas version of Adam and Eve. In this scene, three men were taking
one woman, their cocks filling her mouth, cunt and anus. In another shot, two
women were tending to one man, the dark-haired girl licking his sac, the blonde
his meaty rod.

Air hissed through Nikki’s teeth.

“We only allow couples in this room,” Shoshana explained.
“They can play on the couches with whomever they want. Another couple or
several couples.”

“What about the staff?” Did they join in?

Shoshana grew serious. “The staff gets involved only if
they’re here on their nights off and with a date. While they’re working at
Wicked, they stay focused on their jobs—serving the patrons’ drinks, lighting
their cigarettes or cigars and for some, performing in one of the many shows.
We do have simulated sex acts between our Adams and Eves in this room to get
things going. But again, it’s playacting, nothing more.” She turned off the
candles.

“Where to now?” Nikki asked.

“The BDSM Room.”

She caught the sexy scent of leather and jasmine even before
Shoshana opened the doors. Tall black candles were everywhere, trying to eat
away the shadows. They flickered on the dark scarlet furniture, ebony walls,
plush leather sofas and chairs. An exceedingly masculine and formidable room.

On the wall manacles hung, their steel contours glinting in
the available light. Next to them, just begging for a master’s use, were whips
and straps. Where the bed had stood in the Virgin’s Room and the fountain in
the garden one, here there was a simple frame, a kind of scaffold, with a
number of eyebolts, chains, belts and manacles at varying levels, those on top
meant to hold a woman’s wrists, the remainder for her ankles, waist and thighs,
securing her for punishment.