Chapter 1

Jacob

The phone call from my mother’s older brother was totally unexpected.

I hadn’t seen or heard from my Uncle Stuart in years. He’d always been the black sheep of the family, so I was surprised, shocked really, when he called and asked me to meet him at a place on Industrial Road near where several gentlemen’s clubs were located. My curiosity about the reason for his call was driving me crazy as I drove toward the location he’d specified.

I pulled into the empty parking lot of a building that looked a lot like a big roadhouse and a black Escalade drove up beside my car. My uncle emerged and waved for me to join him, and he unlocked the door under the canopy and led me into an entryway. There was a reception desk and then a series of doors on both sides of a fairly long corridor. My uncle went to the next-to-last door on the left, opened it, and beckoned me to follow him into a large office.

“What is this place?” I asked as he waved me into a seat in front of the big desk.

“It’s a private club,” he replied. “I own it, and it’s what I want to talk with you about.”

“Why me?” I said. “And why now?”

“Now,” he said circumspectly, “because I’m getting old. I turned 70 last week and I want to spend the rest of my days in leisure somewhere, drinking fruity drinks and watching beautiful sunsets. You, because I have no wife or children and I think you’re the most adult and responsible member of the rest of my family to leave it to.”

“Whoa,” I said in complete surprise. “I’m 42 years old, I have a job, a career, and besides I know nothing about running a private club.”

“I understand that, but I hope you’ll hear me out before you decide to say no to my offer.”

I figured the least I could do was be polite. “I’ll listen, of course.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. This is a very unusual club, Jacob, and I think you’d find it enjoyable to operate. If you decide to take it over, you’ll own the property free and clear, assume the club’s low-six-figures bank account, and receive a significant cash flow from its operation.”

My eyes widened. This is starting to sound interesting. “What kind of club is it, Uncle Stu? I can’t imagine a private club making that kind of profit.”

He gave me a shark-like grin. “This is a high-class, extremely selective, and ultra-discreet swingers club.”

What the fuck? I’ve been active in the BDSM and swinging lifestyle for years and I’ve never heard a whisper about this club. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, absolutely not. One reason I felt confident I could approach you about taking over the club is that I’ve known about your lifestyle choices for a long time. I know about your interest in power exchange and your many scene partners and sexual ... escapades over the years.”

My jaw dropped. “How could you possibly know about all of that?”

“I keep my ear to the ground, I know everything,” he teased.

I was flabbergasted and I quickly willed my mind to focus. “In what ways is this club selective?”

“Attendance is generally restricted to members, and membership is limited to heterosexual couples. Some of the female members are bi, but singles and same-sex couples are not allowed. There are some provisions for guests to visit the club, but only with advance screening and approval. Also, the initiation and monthly fees are high enough to restrict membership to reasonably well-to-do people.”

“How many members are there?”

“At the moment the membership list has 38 couples.”

I quickly did the math. “Wow, that’s 19,000 dollars a month in gross revenue; no wonder this place is profitable. How large is your staff?”

“I have four people on staff, two guys for security and two women as hostesses. There’s a complete closed-circuit TV system throughout the club and around the outside to keep an eye out for possible problems, and one of the guys monitors it while the club is open. The women handle member check-ins, serve refreshments, keep the various supplies stocked up, and help with any ... special requests.”

“I can imagine what kinds of special requests there could be in a place like this,” I said jokingly.

He chuckled. “Yes, there are those, but there are also some that you would particularly appreciate, given your interests. The club has a big open area for what I’ll call regular swinging, but there’s also a well-equipped BDSM dungeon for those who like to indulge in those activities. There’s also what I call the discreet wing, with a separate locked entrance, that has two private spaces on each side of its hallway, two for what I guess you’d call normal sexual activities and two on the dungeon side. Those spaces are available to be reserved by people, like celebrities and politicians but also regular members, who don’t want to be seen doing some of what they like even by our other members.”

“Do the members know about the CCTV system? Does it record, or just display?”

“The members do know about it; they understand why it’s there and they know we’re as discreet as we expect them to be. It does record, but only on a 60-minute loop for each location in case we have to preserve evidence of some wrong-doing.”

“I have to ask, why are you just giving this club to me? You know you can always sell it, right?”

“Through the years, I’ve made my money. This is my legacy and I want to keep it in the family.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve never done that much for you, so think of it as your inheritance, a gift from your favorite uncle.”

“That’s a hell of a gift,” I commented.

“I know.” He pulled open one of the desk drawers and extracted a three-inch binder. “This is the operations manual for the club,” he said. “It contains all the information you’d need to run it, including a copy of the membership list. Take it with you and read through it, and then call me and let me know if you want to accept my offer.”

I stood up and took the binder from him, then shook his hand before heading out to my car. I had a lot to think about.

Three weeks ago I told my uncle I gratefully accepted his gift. Then I’d given notice to my employer. I worked in IT at a large Strip casino, and although I was a little apprehensive about ending my career I was also excited about this new opportunity and what it would bring. Over the past few weeks I’d read through the club binder several times, working hard on memorizing a lot of the details. My uncle had agreed to a month-long overlap period in which he would show me how he ran the club and watch me as I gradually assumed the various management responsibilities.

I had recognized a few of the names on the membership list from other times and places in my assorted sexual and BDSM adventures, and I was looking forward to seeing those folks again in my new role as owner/operator of the club. I’d already been introduced to the club’s personnel and had several opportunities to observe the staff and various members in action, so to speak, but it was now time for me to take the lead as the new owner.

I arrived at the club at a quarter to seven on Wednesday evening and used the key my uncle had given to me to unlock the front door and turn on the lights. The staff was expected to arrive around seven to prepare for the club’s opening at eight, and by 7:15 they and my uncle had all arrived in the main playroom of the club. Uncle Stu invited them all to take seats and then turned the meeting over to me. I spent a few seconds greeting each staff person while recalling what I’d already learned about each of them.

The two security men, Tommy and Darren, were both handsome guys in their mid-20s. They were tall and muscular and they looked the part. From having watched them manning the monitoring room and walking around the club I was confident they would be able to deal with any obstreperous members or anyone hanging around the outside of the building. They’d both worked at gentlemen’s clubs before starting at Fantasy Island, so they were comfortable with the various sexual activities at the club and they were tactful in their interactions with members. Consistent with the club’s interior tropical decor, they wore somewhat subdued Hawaiian shirts above their black pants.

The two hostesses were quite different in types and styles. Felice was an attractive, divorced, older woman, a petite, blue-eyed redhead in her late 30s, and her demeanor was polite, calm, and subservient. In contrast, Sara was a younger dark-eyed beauty with long hair so black that in some lighting it appeared blue. She was a 26-year-old former stripper with a fantastic body, and her experiences as an intimate dancer had taught her how to control people and situations without being overly aggressive. The women wore brightly-colored silk blouses, black mini-skirts, and, in keeping with the nature of the club, tall spike-heeled pumps that highlighted their shapely legs.

All four of the employees understood that they were at the club to work, but they all had been approached by members at one time or another with invitations to join in the partying. While they were obviously open-minded about all the sexual activities taking place, as far as Uncle Stu and I could determine none of them had ever accepted such an invitation, and my uncle had told me Darren and Sara were seeing each other away from the club.

“You all know that I’m taking over the club from my uncle,” I began. “So I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you do to keep the club running smoothly and I’ll be depending on you to help me not screw things up.” I’d been nervous when I started speaking, but that comment brought smiles from the women and chuckles from the men and I relaxed a bit at their responses. “Stu will be sticking around for the next month or so to give me additional guidance, so thanks again for all your good work and let’s get the place ready to open.”

Two months later the club was running smoothly and I’d gotten into a routine of stopping in at a bar not far from Fantasy island on Monday or Tuesday evenings, the nights when the club was closed. The bar was not generally crowded on those days, but on this particular Tuesday it was packed, and for some reason the only open space at the bar was next to an absolutely stone-cold fox. She looked to be in her late 20s, her long blonde hair framed a gorgeous face and trailed down across a generous rack, and her sleek thighs and nicely curved calves were on display between the hem of her short skirt and her fuck-me heels. I couldn’t imagine why no one was filling that space next to her until I was closer and got a better look at her face; her expression was a strange mixture of bummed out and pissed off, and her green eyes, which I’d expected to be flashing brightly, were dull with resignation.

I walked up to the bar and stood in front of the stool next to her. The barman recognized me and immediately came towards me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman’s expression shift more in the direction of pissed-off; she must have been waiting for the bartender to get around to taking her order.

“Hey, Jake, how are you?” Danny said with a grin.

“The place is really jumping tonight, Danny. Give me my usual and get this lady whatever she wants, on me.”

“Sure thing, Jake.” He turned to the woman next to me. “What can I get you, beautiful?”

She turned to me, said, “Thank you,” in a throaty contralto, and then said to Danny, “I’d like a margarita, no salt.”

Danny nodded and headed off to build our drinks. “This place isn’t usually this busy on a Tuesday,” I said conversationally. “What brings you here this evening?”

“I was supposed to meet someone, but I’m fairly certain now I’m being stood up,” she said gruffly.

“Who in their right mind would do that?” I teased.

For the first time since I’d spotted her a little smile broke across her face. “You must be a regular, I’ve been trying to get the bartender’s attention for over five minutes now.”

“I try to come in a couple of nights a week on my days off,” I admitted. Her eyes very subtly traveled over my face and then down my body. Maybe she’s interested? “By the way, my name’s Jake.”

She smiled. “Yes, Jake, the regular here, I heard how the bartender addressed you,” she teased. “I’m Hailey.” She paused for a moment. “It’s nice to meet you, and what do you do?”

My eyes widened. “I run a club not far from here.” Then I directed the same question back at her in an attempt to not go into minutiae concerning what I now did for a living. “What do you do?”

“A few things, actually. I worked at Hooters for a while and then at the Bellagio as a cocktail server.” She paused, then added, “I actually tried dancing right out of high school, but that didn’t last long, only a couple of months.”

“Well, you certainly have the looks for it.”

She giggled. “Thank you.”

Danny approached us and slid our drinks across the bar, and I pulled out my credit card. She seemed very friendly and I wanted to keep our conversation going. “So, some asshole stood you up, huh?”

“Yeah, I hate being back out there again.”

“Ahhh, recently single?”

“I got divorced about a year ago.” She stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts and we each sipped from our drinks. “That’s why I got married, so I wouldn’t have to meet guys in a dive bar like this for the first time.”

I had to laugh at that. Already, she seemed to be very open and willing to talk about her past. I just hoped she was as interested in me as I was in her. “I hope that doesn’t include me. Remember, I wasn’t the one who stood you up,” I said lightly.

She laughed, then ran her fingers lightly over my arm. “I’m definitely not including you.”

Yeah, she’s interested. While we talked the bar became even more crowded, and it was getting increasingly difficult to hear her and carry on our conversation. I was a little hesitant to suggest my next move with her, but I hoped she’d agree to my idea. “It’s getting a little loud in here; how would you feel about getting some coffee with me?”

She broke into a little smile. “I’d like that,” she said shyly.

We both stood up and she grabbed her clutch purse. As we made our way to the front door I gently put my hand on the small of her back. In our separate cars, she followed me to a quaint 24-hour coffee shop that was a few miles from the bar. We walked in together and found a booth in one of the corners. When the pretty young server approached our table I offered to buy Hailey something to eat, but she politely declined. Quickly, I re-engaged her in conversation. “So, you said you were recently divorced?”

“Yes, I got divorced about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry, I hope you’re happier now.”

“I wasn’t going to be with a man who’d cheat on me,” she said firmly.

My eyes widened. “No, you deserve better than that.”

“Yes, I do.”

The server brought our coffee. I always took mine black and I watched as she poured a little bit of half-and-half into her cup and mixed it with her spoon. “I’m willing to bet he regrets his decision now.”

“I think he does.” She paused for a moment. “It’s never a good idea for a rich older man to cheat on his wife with a subordinate without a prenup.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s never advisable.”

We each took a sip of our coffee. “So, a rich divorcée who no longer works; how do you pass the time?”

She smiled. “I’m not rich, I’d call it financially comfortable.” She thought for a few seconds. “I’ve been taking classes at UNLV.”

“What are you studying?”

“Accounting, I’ve almost completed my second year.”

We each took another sip of coffee. “So, you used to work in IT but now you run a club, like a dance club on the Strip?”

It was my turn to hesitate. I really was starting to like Hailey and I sure as hell didn’t want to scare her away. “My uncle is getting older and he wanted out of the business, so he signed it over to me.” I was being evasive, for obvious reasons, and she quickly called me out on it.

She grinned. “So it’s not a dance club; do you want me to venture another guess?” she quipped.

“It’s ... ummm ... it’s a swingers club.”

Her jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said shyly.

“Like, people having sex? That type of club?”

I took another sip of my coffee and tried not to choke on it. “Yes, that type of club.”

“Is that even ... you know ... legal?”

“Yes, it is. It’s a private club, very selective.”

“I ... ummm ... I’ve heard of people doing things like that, but never in an actual club.”

“There’s quite a large number of people here in the Valley who are into this sort of thing, and there are other clubs available to them, but my club is pretty exclusive. My uncle catered to upper-end clientele, and our members pay a lot of money each month to indulge in the things they find pleasurable in a highly discreet environment.”

“So this is actually lucrative?”

“It is, yes. My uncle’s made a lot of money over the years and has set himself up quite well.”

“And you bought his business?”

“He was ready to retire and move on to bigger and better things. He called it my inheritance.”

I looked into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction to everything I was saying. We’d just met and this wasn’t something I wanted to discuss. I was already interested in her, and I just hoped that everything I was revealing wouldn’t cause her to go running and screaming out the door.