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Vladimir Volkov grabbed the breast hovering a few inches above his mouth and bit hard on the nipple. The woman let out a scream and tried to jump back, but he held her in place. Then he forced her head down to his. When she kissed him hungrily, he tightened his grip on her hair. He traced a finger down her side, over the suspender belt and fishnets she wore. He pinged the strap against her thigh, and she groaned. Yeah, women loved a little pain.
Pushing her off, he undid his belt and released his cock. He leaned back in the leather chair and took a sip of his scotch, watching the woman get on her knees. She licked him like a lollipop and her hand massaged his shaft. This one was good. He’d have to remember her name.
Finishing his drink, he snapped his fingers. A topless waitress appeared with another. This sex club was exclusive. It took an introduction and one hundred thousand dollars to join. Once a member, you never wanted to leave. Any fantasy you wanted could be acted out here. There were public and private areas. Dancing girls, shows, every toy you could think of. No cameras, and no phones. Everyone was searched when they came in and again when they left. Discretion was key. Understandable, considering who some of the members were.
His cock throbbed. The girl was working it good. He placed a hand on the back of her head and pushed deeper into her mouth. She looked about mid-twenties, had a short black bob. Her lips were full, and the red lipstick was bright against her white skin.
“Deeper,” he commanded. “Faster.”
She did as she was told, bobbing her head up and down. He prided himself on how long he could last. He liked to push himself to his limit and beyond. Recognizing he was getting close, he pulled her off. She licked her lips, looking at him expectantly. Waiting for her next order. As all women should.
“Dance for me.”
The woman immediately moved. Slowly, seductively shifting her body and running her hands over her curves. He took hold of his cock and massaged. His gaze traveled around the room. He was in a public area where everyone could watch and enjoy each other. A man to his right was going down on a full figured, older woman. Eating her like she was his last meal. Across from him, two women were pleasuring each other while a man wanked himself. He nodded at the man, recognizing the senator. No one cared who anyone was here. It was all about pleasure. Or pain, if that was your thing.
His chosen girl was still dancing. She wore only suspenders and stockings and was quite a beautiful sight. This is what American women were born for. To be commanded, to do what they’re told, and provide pleasure. Whores. All of them.
“Fuck yourself,” he commanded. Instantly, she lowered her hands and slid her fingers inside herself.
“Come closer.” He sat up until his face was level with her pussy. He watched her fuck herself. Placing a hand over hers, he forced her fingers harder inside, reveling in her gasp. He looked up and met her eyes. She smiled and he pushed harder. This is why he loved this club. No one complained. Everyone did as they were told.
“Ride me.”
He smacked her on the ass, and she moved to put a condom on him then get into position. He thrust hard into her, and she took him. Moving up and down, her breasts bounced before his eyes. He reached for his drink, poured it over her chest, then licked it clean. He was close now. Holding her hips in place, he took over, pushing hard and fast. Closing his eyes and dropping his head back, he drove in over and over again, focusing on his own pleasure, his own release. A few seconds later, he emptied himself with a groan.
The woman stilled on top of him, waiting for her next order. He opened his eyes.
“We’re done. Clean me up.”
She climbed off him and left, returning moments later with a warm cloth. She removed the condom and wiped him down. He zipped up his pants and stood.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She looked up surprised. “Darla.”
“Darla. This is for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thousand dollars. Her eyes went wide.
“Thank you, sir.”
He nodded. When you treated people well here, you got treated well. Money was not an issue for him, and he had learned that it could buy you anything you wanted in America. You never knew when you might need a favor.
He’d been introduced to this club by a member of the Havana club. The Havana club was a back-room cigar and scotch club for California’s finest. His father had been invited to join when his company had taken off. At this club, he had landed some of his biggest contracts. Pharmaceutical. Military. The hazardous chemical transportation business was in high demand. Nuclear energy was alive and well, and together with other dangerous substances that needed moving securely, endless profit was all but his to have around the world.
Being invited into the Havana Club built trust. Where you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. The membership included other successful businessmen, but also, politicians, law enforcement, senators, colonels, admirals and even judges. His father had introduced him three years ago, and he’d made many contacts of his own. He’d also learned how much of the American dream was built on lies and deceit. The members all spoke freely about politics, defense, allies and enemies. There was much hostility towards Russia, especially because of the ongoing war against Ukraine. Because his father had moved to the US and basically turned his back on the land of his birth, voicing his disgust at their leadership, they assumed Vladmir Volkov felt the same.
They were wrong. But he played the game.
Volkov had few memories of Russia. His mother had told him many stories as they built their life in the US, wanting him to remember where he was from. She had followed his father here, but she had never truly felt at home. She missed Russia dearly. As he got older, he studied and learned everything he could about his native homeland. Visited regularly. He tried to persuade his father to move the business to Russia, but his father had refused. Vladimir stayed patient, vowing he would return one day. The time had come. His mother had returned home soon after his father passed. He had assured her he would join her shortly and he would bring her granddaughter with him.
As his father’s son he was trusted in the Havana Club, which worked well. After more than a couple of drinks one night, Judge Henry Dolan had let slip about another type of club. That’s how he had found this place. He’d been coming here for two years now. Was known. Trusted. Judge Dolan was one of many of the Havana club members he saw here regularly.
He walked toward the bar. Nico was working tonight. He caught his eye, nodded, then moved to the far end. Nico joined him seconds later.
“Is it done?” Volkov asked.
“Yes sir. It will be delivered to you as arranged.”
Volkov smiled. “Excellent.” Yes, money could even buy you sole custody of your child.