Chapter 3: Marcy

Friday, June 9, 2023

“Come on, Marcy!” Penny said. “You gotta come. It’s the weekend. TGIF. The Girls I’ll Fuck!”

I laughed out loud. Penny snagged Josie from out of nowhere, and the two began giving me big puppy dog eyes and pouting faces.

“Please come! Please! Please! Please!” both girls begged. Their hands were clasped, lower lips trembling, and they were about to get on their knees when I finally caved.

“Fine! I’ll go!” I shouted with pretend annoyance.

Both women clapped and high-fived each other like they’d won a major victory over me.

“We’re going to hit all the major girl bars tonight,” Josie said. “We are so getting you laid!”

Penny and Josie were my coworkers at Plumbing First, the company I now worked for in Denver. I had started about a month ago, and one of the things that had attracted me to the new company was they had several girls working for them, most of whom were bi, queer, or lesbian. I had no plans to fuck any of them, but I did like hanging out with them. Penny and Josie were a few years older than me and loved to party, which was exactly what I needed.

I hadn’t told my mothers I was drinking again. It was only on the weekends, and I was going out with other people instead of drinking alone. I told myself they would be happy with the improvement, even if they weren’t happy about me leaving the small city I’d grown up in for the pull of the big time at Denver.

My plumbing career and my life was moving forward in a positive direction. In less than a year, I would qualify to take the exam for my journeyman license, and I was still saving money to start my own plumbing business. I had my own place, an apartment decorated to my own style, and slowly but surely, I was meeting enough women and friends to keep myself in good company. My goal was to cement my reputation in the big city as the girl other girls called when they needed relief only I could provide with my unique skill.

After running back to my apartment to change and shower, I met the girls at a queer club called Kinky Heels. Penny was a regular there and very popular among the crowd. She was medium height but thin, like Audrey Hepburn, and lacking Hepburn’s beauty. Penny’s chest was flat as a board, her figure straight as a stick, and she had teeth too big for her face. She wore her dirty blonde hair in a ponytail and tended to go for bigger butch women. Her personality more than made up for her plain Jane appearance. Like I said, she was very popular in the Denver queer scene.

On the other hand, Josie was short and chubby, with short red hair, lots of freckles, and a dark personality. She had gone through an intense goth phase in high school but never entirely broken out of it. But she still liked having fun. She loved sports, especially football. She had a tattoo of Patrick Mahomes and Travis Kelce on each calf, Andy Reid on her left arm, and the Kansas City Chiefs logo on her right. Her next plan was to get Arrowhead Stadium on her back. Every Sunday, if the Chiefs had a home game, she flew from Denver to Kansas City. And if the Chiefs lost, that darker side of her personality took over Monday and Tuesday. She and Penny had dated briefly three years ago and had remained good friends ever since.

Being with Penny and Josie in Kinky Heels was like being with Kim Kardashian at a club in New York City. Everyone flocked to us. And this gave me ample opportunity to meet new women. Lots of gorgeous women. I’d only been in Denver a month, but I’d already gained a reputation as an excellent lay for women who liked hot, rough sex with a girl possessing a real dick.

Music thrummed in my ears as we walked into Kinky Heels together. Lights gleamed on all surfaces of the space. At least four hundred people were inside the club: men, women, and everything in between. The main floor was for dancing. A DJ wearing a blue leather jacket, a Broncos ball cap, and oversized reflective sunglasses stood at the sound mixing table. At least a hundred and fifty people were dancing already. A dozen people rushed to Penny to say hi, give her kisses, and chat her up as we crossed the ground floor and made our way to the stairs. Josie was only slightly less popular. Meanwhile, I scanned the room for cute girls.

We took a booth on the second level of the club. Our server was a girl in fishnet leggings, a black skirt, and a pink crop top. “What can I get you?”

We ordered our drinks and flashed our IDs. I was still using my fake ID, but I needed to find someone in Denver who could get me a new backup in case the one I had was confiscated.

Two girls came to our booth to chat. One’s name was Deedee. She was a cute little thing with dark skin and perfect teeth. Her extensions had bright orange weaves that matched her tank top and skirt.

“How’s it going, ladies?” she asked.

Josie and Penny chatted with her and introduced me. The other girl was giving me much longer looks. She was taller than Deedee by about six inches. Her name was Petra, and she spoke with a notable but not insurmountable German accent. She had dark eyebrows but light-colored hair, so I assumed she was a fake blonde. Her prominent cheekbones and small nose with a gold hoop ring gave way to a small mouth and great chin. Her black sequined top was tight enough to show off D-cup breasts, and my eyes traveled down from there to her pierced navel and matching sequined skirt, which gave me a great view of her fantastic legs.

While Deedee was clearly into Penny, Petra seemed to have eyes for me. I leaned forward.

“Hi! I’m Marcy. I work with Penny and Josie. Nice to meet you.”

“Very nice to meet you, too, Marcy,” Petra said, smiling. “You are lovely.”

That brought a smile to my lips. “Thank you. So are you.”

“I have never seen you here before,” Petra said. “Why is that?”

“Well, I recently moved to Denver. This is only my second time at the club. What about you?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes wandering from my face and breasts to the club scene, “I have been here before, but it’s a little tame for my tastes. I like to dance, though, and the music here is better for dancing than anywhere else I’ve been.”

“What do you do?” I asked her.

“I’m studying at university for my doctorate in physics.”

“Wow. You must be smart,” I said.

Petra smiled. “Dah. I’m a fucking genius. I’m twenty-one and already have two master’s degrees.”

“Hot and smart,” I commented. “I like that combination.”

Petra’s smile grew. “Dah? If you like it so much, you should dance with me.”

“Okay.”

I followed her downstairs to the dance floor, letting her take my hand and walk in front of me. Despite it being my second time at the club, I had never actually danced. My mothers had enrolled me in dance when I was three—first tap, jazz, and ballet, then hip hop and classical. I stopped when I was thirteen and outgrowing everyone else because I felt too large to be allowed. With the shoes I was wearing, I stood nearly 6’1”, but on the dance floor, in a crowd, I wasn’t the tallest person. And even if I had been, I didn’t care about that anymore. I was comfortable in my skin, not some embarrassed teenager who didn’t want all eyes on me at recitals.

But I could really move when I wanted to. And after a few drinks, I wanted to do just that. My dancing with Petra started fun and carefree. The girls on the balcony catcalled and whistled at us.

“I didn’t know you had those moves, girl!” Josie shouted at me from above.

Their cheers only spurred our dancing on more. We talked a little as we danced, but mostly enjoyed each other’s company. The longer we moved, the more intimate our motions became until we were at some points wrapped around each other, caressing breasts and thighs, lips brushing lightly in fleeting kisses, which made my cock harden.

At one point in our dancing, Petra turned her back to me and put her butt right into my crotch, holding my hands and dragging them up to her breasts, her braless nipples hard and poking through her shirt. My cock twitched. Petra must have sensed it because she spun around, eyes searching my face as she groped my rod through my tight jeans.

“It is real?” she asked.

“One hundred percent,” I said. Upon moving to Denver, I decided to be little prince first, little princess second instead of the other way around. I was tired of trying to meet women who might be afraid of my little prince. I was a woman, but I had both sex organs. And a woman willing to accept me with a penis was far more likely to also accept me with a vagina rather than the other way around. “Is that a problem?” I asked her.

“I’m still dancing, aren’t I?” Petra asked, a smile curling the corner of her lips.

I kissed her full on the mouth, arms around her neck, hips swaying into hers. She kissed me back. Then we went back to dancing even more intimately. When we finally left the dance floor, we rested at the bar, sweating and tired. We ordered water instead of more alcohol.

After draining her glass, Petra wiped her lips. “I think you would enjoy the club where I work. It’s a different club than here. I make good money. Being a doctorate student doesn’t pay so well.”

“What’s it called?” I asked.

Petra glanced over her shoulder before leaning in and speaking two words in a hushed tone: “Black Velvet.”

“Why are you whispering?” I asked her.

“It is a private club. Very exclusive. Not loud and noisy like here. Quiet. Sexy. Classy. Everyone there is beautiful or rich. Or both. With very unique tastes.”

“You think I would fit in well there?” I asked. “Working? I already have a job.”

Petra nodded. “I know it. But this is easy work for good money. You were a man. Now, you are a very beautiful woman.”

“No,” I said so firmly that she did a double take in my direction. “I am not a man. I never was. I have always been a woman. I happen to have a penis.”

“A big penis,” she laughed. “I will not debate with you whether you are man or woman. I don’t care. You are you. You are beautiful and sexy.”

That made me smile. “So are you. Speaking of which...” I took a big gulp of water. “What are you doing later? You want to come back to my place?”

Petra’s smile grew to fill her whole face. Then she kissed me again. “You are very pretty. Very ... interesting. I certainly want to know more about you, Marcy. But I don’t take a woman to bed on the first night I meet her, no matter how beautiful she may be. Not even if she has what promises to be a very nice cock. But tomorrow ... I take you to Black Velvet. Let’s see what happens there.”

“Sounds like fun.”

We exchanged numbers and went back upstairs. Penny was making out hardcore with Deedee while Josie chatted with a gay couple. Petra sat on my lap while we made fun of Deedee and Penny. I think Petra enjoyed squirming to make my cock stiffen. Fucking tease.

We left after midnight. I promised Petra I’d call her Saturday afternoon to make arrangements. When I got home, I was horny and a little buzzed, but I only had a small handful of numbers in my phone for women in the area, and none of them answered my late texts to come over for a quickie. I ended up jerking off and then falling asleep soon after.

I woke to my phone buzzing on my nightstand. It was Phoebe, one of my moms.

“Hey,” I said, trying to reduce the croaking in my throat. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” she said. “I thought I’d check on you. Did I wake you up? It’s after eleven.”

“I thought you were flying to Ireland today.”

“We were going to, but Diane isn’t feeling great. So we’re pushing the flight to tomorrow. Were you out late?”

“Just at a club with friends.”

“Did you have fun?”

I rolled over onto my side to see if my water bottle on the nightstand had anything left in it. “I danced. You would have been so proud.”

“Wow. All that money spent on uniforms and instructors paid off. I could melt!” She laced her voice with mock crying. It always made me laugh. “Are you being safe and smart? We miss you around here, girl.”

“I am. I promise.”

Phoebe paused for a moment, then spoke again. “You just left here so suddenly. Like a whirlwind. You know? I think Diane and I still haven’t quite recovered. When are you going to come down for dinner?”

“Maybe after you guys get back? I don’t know. I feel like I’m still getting settled. Coming down so soon would be weird. Like I just left. You know?”

“It’s been a month, Marcy. We miss you. Don’t make us come up there!”

“Okay. I’ll be down soon. Have fun in Ireland.”

“We will. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I forced my butt out of bed and made myself a fruit and vegetable smoothie. Then, I jogged to the gym and pushed my body for a couple of hours. I got plenty of stares now, wearing my sports bra with ample cleavage showing along with tight leggings sporting a noticeable bulge in the crotch. And I didn’t care. I only wanted people in my life who accepted me as I was. I had a cock, and I intended to use it.

Leaving the gym, I called Petra and got the information from her regarding the club. It was at a large manor in Aurora. She instructed me to dress in a specific type of clothing and wait for her in the club’s parking lot.

The drive took half an hour. An ironwork gate blocked my entrance to the manor. The two halves of the gate met with the large letters “BV” interlinking in a fanciful design. I gave my name at the intercom, but the gates did not open until after I told them I was a guest of Petra’s, invited for a job interview. My large F-150 truck stood out in the lot among so many Mercedes, Maseratis, Porsches, and even a couple of Bugattis. But my attire matched the scene. I climbed out of my truck wearing a black evening gown, heels, and a masquerade mask. Phones were prohibited inside Black Velvet, so I left mine in the truck. The manor had two massive double doors for the main guests, but Petra instructed me to meet her at the side entrance.

The “club” was a sprawling mansion that had probably once been a beautiful home until investors bought it and converted it into the most popular sex club in middle America. I had done my homework on Black Velvet. The company did not advertise. They didn’t have to.

Membership was exclusive—applications required headshots and a detailed list of kinks and restrictions. A basic membership cost $50,000 per year if a couple got in. The highest level of access cost $500,000 per year and granted access to the other locations worldwide plus invitations to attend the Red Velvet events thrown on yachts and cruises twice a year.

Petra was not a paying member. She was a performer who thought I might be a good fit for a recent opening. We entered the mansion through the employee entrance on the side. Petra planned to show me around, introduce me to the manager/owner of the Denver location, and let me talk to him or her about whether or not I would be a good fit.

It couldn’t hurt. Worst case scenario, I said, “Thanks but no thanks,” and still got an inside look at an exclusive sex club.

I saw no fat people walking inside. The oldest woman I saw was perhaps forty. All of the men and women were in good shape. Money alone couldn’t buy you a ticket. You had to be rich, attractive, and fit.

Petra had a special ID card, which she handed to the security guard watching the side entrance.

“Hey, Petra,” he said, scanning her card. “How are you doing tonight?”

“Very well, Scott,” she said. “This is my friend, Marcy. I am introducing her to the boss. Can you please give her a guest pass?”

Scott had me fill out a form, and then he took my picture, which was printed on a plastic ID card like Petra’s. “This will work for tonight. If you get the job, it will continue to work. But if not, don’t bother trying to use it to get back in another night.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. I had nowhere to put it since I’d left my phone and wallet in my truck. Petra saw my problem and offered to put in her clutch. The guard then placed a bright pink wristband on me.

“That’s to tell our clients you are a guest,” he said. “You can only participate in activities if you are specifically invited.”

Petra thanked him and took my hand. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour. Stick with me.”

The first thing I noted about the people who ran Black Velvet: they had class up the ass. The whole manor, every inch, was decorated and designed to titillate the senses. It was not overtly erotic but subtly scintillating. According to Petra, only two hundred guests were allowed inside. Seventy men, one hundred thirty women. Each event had thirty performers, twenty women and ten men. Performers’ jobs ranged from standing still and serving drinks and noshes to dancing or performing sex shows. The only drawback was workers were only allowed to miss one event per year. No excuses or exceptions. If a worker missed two, he or she was fired.

The models acting as servers serving earned $1000 a night. Dancers earned $2000. And performers earned $3000. Petra performed. She was part of a team of seven performers who choreographed and executed a different sex show every month. Performers, dancers, and models were all allowed to interact with guests for tips after a certain point in the evening. Petra often earned $10,000 a night after “tips.”

Specialized play areas were set up throughout the manor. The pool was open for skinny dipping. The ballroom was used for performances like Petra’s. A lounge with a stage was for watching the dancers. Several erotically themed bedrooms and sitting rooms were set up for playing in small groups, some with large windows to allow voyeurs to watch those with an exhibitionist streak, and some designed for privacy. The sexual energy inside the manor was titillating, arousing the more carnal parts of my being.

“So it’s twice a month?” I asked. “Saturdays only?”

“Essentially, yes, but no,” she said in her German accent. “There are some special events we are expected to attend. We are given plenty of advance notice. Parties for prospective members. They call these Grey Velvet nights. They’re fun. Then there is something called White Velvet, but I’ve never been invited. However, M does ask me to do some private gigs for her every once in a while. If you work hard and do well, you could get invited to the biannual Red Velvet events. Those nights are also by special invitation only. They are how you say off the hook. Two or three-day affairs. Lots of drugs and sex. Last Red Velvet, I made twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Holy shit!” I said.

“Yes,” Petra agreed. “The money is wild. I work about thirty nights a year, almost always on Saturdays. Last year, I earned over $250,000. If that is not enough, you can ask to work more. Sometimes, they need staff at other events around the country, and they will offer to fly you in to perform. Those are optional, but they pay double your fee if you travel. I’ve only done that once. It was a huge hassle.”

Petra led me through a security office where a team observed the proceedings around the mansion via cameras. In the back of the office was a door marked with a small M, which I assumed meant manager. Petra knocked on it.

“Ready to meet the boss?” she asked me.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice said.

We took our masks off and entered a small but richly decorated office of a pretty woman in her early thirties with dark blonde hair and greenish brown eyes. She wore thin, rimless glasses and immediately began studying my body. Then she stood, hugged Petra, and they gave each other friendly kisses on the cheek.

“Hi, M,” Petra said. She gestured to me. “This is Marcy. The one I told you about.”

M’s eyes flickered to my crotch and back to my face, my throat, my hips. Her gaze seemed to miss nothing. And she did it all in about two seconds before extending her hand to me.

“Hello, Marcy. Everyone here calls me M.”

“Hi.” I wasn’t sure I liked the way this woman was regarding me.

“So, how much has Petra told you? Enough to scare you a little bit, I hope?”

“I don’t scare easily. This place is interesting. I’m a plumber by trade.” M’s eyes darted to my fingernails, which I kept clean, though not well-manicured. “And I want to start my own company, but I need to save money first.”

“You can certainly earn money here. What are you interested in? Serving, dancing, or performing?”