The Love of Money II
Copyright© 2025 by MindSketch
Chapter 65
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 65 - Marcus and the others are no longer just surviving the world—they’re shaping it. Erin has always known what she wants. Now she’s orchestrating it. Helen is learning that submission isn’t surrender. Bobbi, stripped of her old identity, stands at a crossroads. New women cross his path. Old ones return. Some hand him their heart. Some, a leash. Some, a knife in the back. And then there are the ones waiting for him to stumble. It's hard to rest when you have a target painted on your back.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Rags To Riches BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Light Bond Rough Sadistic Spanking Group Sex Harem Orgy Interracial Black Female White Female Oriental Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism Facial Massage Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Sex Toys Squirting Voyeurism Big Breasts Small Breasts Slow Violence
Saturday, October 19th, 7:51 pm
After that close call with Natalie the night before, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being back in The Starlight—especially when it was to meet the Wyns again. Meeting them here, surrounded by the debauchery, felt a little too much like the island.
But I couldn’t exactly ignore Nicholas.
And I couldn’t deny ... the view from here was fantastic.
The bass vibrated through the balcony railing and into my fingers as they curled around the polished brass. Standing on a balcony above the main floor of the Starlight, I watched several million dollars’ worth of vices being enjoyed under a chandelier big enough to kill nearly half the participants if the wrong bolt came loose.
It was still The Starlight.
Only, it wasn’t the same one I’d met Natashya, Rose, and Honey in.
The bones were the same. The same general layout ... the same main floor. There were the same second-floor VIP rooms beckoning to the same kind of men with too much money—tricked by beautiful women into thinking they were liked—even loved—until they were willing to part with life-changing money in exchange for a drink and a dry hump.
When Erin first brought me here, it had been just like any other strip club—only with a proverbial coat of paint on it to make it feel more high-end. The place had been clean, the drinks expensive, the women exquisite, and the clientele incredibly wealthy. It was expensive to just get in the door.
But while it hadn’t been some seedy hole in the wall, it still felt like a strip club with a very expensive coat of paint.
Now, Carla and Rose had taken my black card and apparently asked themselves what would happen if a gentlemen’s club stopped pretending it was embarrassed about what it was.
The hardwood floors were gone, replaced by polished marble that caught the light and threw it back in soft, expensive glimmers. The walls were brighter now, but the dark wood accents kept the place from looking cheerful. The second-floor hallways had been opened into balconies, turning the upper level into a ring of private vantage points. Men could step out of their rooms and look down over the floor like minor kings.
The cold gray cages that hung from the ceiling had been replaced. They were decorative now, curved and gilded with gold and silver accents—suspended from above like ornamental bird cages.
Even the support columns had been turned into part of the show. The thick load-bearing posts were wrapped in dark, graceful reliefs of bodies tangled together. Men and women were broken off into pairs and groups, caught in the middle of all manner of deviant acts ... nothing too graphic at a glance. At more than a glance, though...
The spinning disco ball that had cast fake starlight across the entire main floor had been replaced with a massive chandelier that gave off warm incandescence and screamed prestige.
Before, The Starlight had said, “We’ll keep your secrets.”
This version said, “Celebrate your deviance.”
Judging by the crowd below, whatever the two of them were doing was working.
Carla’s rotating-theme idea helped. During the renovation, she had apparently become obsessed with the idea that the club needed to keep changing before anyone got bored. It wasn’t revolutionary. Plenty of gentlemen’s clubs did theme nights, costume events, and all the other usual tricks to keep things interesting. The Starlight took it to the next level.
This weekend’s theme was The Roaring Twenties. The regular seats had been replaced with comfortable, expensive-looking wingback chairs. The walls were covered in Art Deco patterns. Tables held carafes of brown liquor and crystal tumblers. Display cases holding specialized brands of booze and cigars were being watched over by scantily clad attendants. More ladies walked around in similar attire, lighting cigars and refilling whisky while the patrons chatted merrily with each other, most of them with an arm around the waist of a dancer balanced on their knee.
And the music currently playing was a big-band version of “Thrash Unreal” by Against Me!
Which was a choice, considering the song was about a promiscuous woman leading a tragic life.
From my vantage point, I could see the stages and platforms scattered around the floor, each occupied by at least one woman writhing against a dancer’s pole. They were all dressed in bastardized versions of twenties fashion—flapper dresses, drop-waist dresses, la garçonne, and a host of other clothing styles I didn’t know. Hell ... I only knew those names because Carla had felt it necessary to educate me.
Ginger, a redhead I’d only briefly met, looked like someone who had walked out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, complete with a cloche hat. Only, her flapper dress was currently lying in a puddle on the stage floor, and the top half of her clothes looked more like a suggestion of an outfit than anything else. She was clearly not wearing a bra underneath, leaving enough visible for imagination to be all but irrelevant. She was on her hands and knees, crawling across the floor to collect a wad of cash from some wealthy stranger currently grinning at her like he was about to propose.
Farther back, Honey and another girl I didn’t recognize were in the middle of a duo act. Honey hung upside down from a pole without a stitch of clothing on, her body turning slowly under the lights. The brunette beneath her had her back to the pole and both hands wrapped around it, spine arched so hard it made my lower back hurt in sympathy. As they rotated, Honey slid lower and lower until their mouths met in a kiss that was barely appropriate, even for a place such as this.
I shook my head, marveling that Jonah didn’t have a problem with his girlfriend still working as a stripper, but they’d both agreed that the money was too good. That, along with the rule that she was off-limits in the VIP room, was the compromise they reached, allowing her to continue working here while they dated.
“So?” Carla asked beside me. “What do you think?”
The wife of Hiro Tanaka leaned back against the same railing, staring at me and looking as pleased as a cat with a bowl full of cream.
I understood why. It was the first time I’d visited the Starlight since I bought it and gave it to her and Rose to run, and Carla was obviously pleased with what they’d done.
And she should have been. This whole thing was impressive as hell.
“I gotta hand it to you,” I said, “you’ve done a remarkable job. This is all ... all I can say is wow.”
She squealed at that and grabbed my hand in both of hers. “Oh my god! I’m glad you like it!”
Carla leaned in close, her brown eyes heated as they looked up at me from beneath that fringe of frosted blonde hair. The woman’s libido was fueled by money, and since I had more of it than anyone else in the world, being near me seemed to short-circuit whatever slivers of common sense she had.
My giving her this kind of responsibility and power seemed to only make it worse. She’d kept herself plastered to me since the moment I walked in the door.
And yet, through the Barbie act and the haze of fiscally fueled lust, there was a moment of genuine gratitude in her eyes as she gazed up at me. Her nose brushed mine, and I could smell the spearmint on her breath as she spoke.
“Seriously ... Thank you for trusting me with all this, Marcus.”
The words were so quiet that I wouldn’t have been able to hear them over the music and din of the customers if she hadn’t been so close to me.
“Of course, Carla,” I said back to her. “I think we might have something for you to do as you start your new life.”
She didn’t kiss me.
The Carla I first met would have ... only, I’d scared the shit out of her in my dungeon. That’s all I’d done—scared her. I hadn’t laid a hand on her ... hadn’t given her the Bobbi treatment. I’d only threatened.
And that had been enough for her. Since then, there had been fear in those eyes that only disappeared when she was turned on.
Like now.
But she didn’t dare presume to act. The fear may not have been evident, but it was still lurking underneath all that desire.
So I leaned in and kissed her. She hummed against my mouth, pleased and needy, and her tongue immediately lapped at my lips. Then the kiss deepened as she understood that I was giving her permission to kiss me back.
Carla and I would never be a couple. I didn’t love Carla. I barely liked her. I barely tolerated her.
But for the moment, Carla Tanaka and I had found our fates entwined, and now she was working for me.
And she was a beautiful woman.
I might as well get some enjoyment out of a situation that had painted such a target on my back.
I ended the kiss, and she tried to chase my lips, but I put a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m not here for that ... at least, not right now,” I said. “Where’s Rose?”
Carla’s lips tightened in disapproval at the mention of the other woman, who was essentially her business partner in the operation of The Starlight. It was a partnership that her pride wouldn’t let her enjoy.
Rose was also one of my lovers, and Carla didn’t particularly approve of that fact either.
“She’s in The Suite,” Carla said and glanced down the hallway behind us.
I looked down that hallway, immediately recognizing it.
“Thanks,” I said to her. “I can take it from here.”
“I think she’s giving someone a final interview,” Carla said.
Apparently, Rose and Carla had agreed that hiring a new dancer required both of them to sign off on her. As such, Carla found the girls and, after approving them, sent them to Rose for a final review before they were offered jobs. It was meant to ensure that only the finest, most beautiful, and most talented women entertained at The Starlight.
“They can wait until I’m done,” I retorted.
I looked back at her. “Listen, I have a couple of important guests coming. Nicholas and Aurelia Wyn. I need you to find a place to put them when they arrive, and then come get me. Put them in the best room and get them whatever they want.”
Carla glanced back down the hall. “That is the best room.”
“Second best, then.”
Carla nodded, still staring up at me.
I knew what she wanted. She was still looking for a chance to prove she could be more than Tanaka’s runaway wife, more than my expensive problem, and more than another pretty woman in my orbit.
Marriage material ... or whatever version of that existed in Carla’s head.
“I’ll find you when I’m finished,” I said, because I didn’t have the time or patience to manage this fawning act of hers right now ... not when I was going to meet with the Wyns at any moment.
I took her chin in my hand and ran my thumb over her bottom lip. She caught it between her teeth and sucked on it, and damn ... it reminded me how good in bed she was.
“Promise?” she asked, releasing my thumb.
“Promise.”
She backed away with a coy smile, satisfied enough for the moment, then turned and left me alone.
I took one more glance down at the erotic empire she and Rose had built for me, then turned to find Chloe waiting near the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, watching the crowd below with blank disinterest.
“Guess Rose is this way,” I said to her as I passed by. I could feel her following me as I made my way down the hall. Once I reached the double doors to the best room in the house, I knocked once before opening the door and stepping in.
I barely recognized it.
What had once been a simple room with comfortable furniture had been transformed into something that looked less like a VIP room and more like the place a king went when he wanted to make bad decisions in private.
The floors were black marble instead of white, polished enough to catch the light from the brass fixtures and throw it back in dark, glossy reflections. Gold and silver accents ran throughout the room without overpowering it. It was expensive and luxurious without crossing over into tacky.
A large circular table sat in the middle of the room, sunken about two steps below the outer floor. Eight chairs surrounded it, all carved from the same dark, glossy wood as the table. The cushions were midnight blue and looked like they had been chosen by someone who cared more about appearances than comfort.
Near the back of the room, three small raised daises stood at even intervals—one directly across from the door and two more set wider on either side. Brass poles rose from floor to ceiling, polished so brightly they seemed to catch every stray bit of light in the room. They weren’t tucked away or disguised—they existed as part of the architecture.
Art Deco dividers added the Roaring Twenties touch, blocking off whatever waited behind them. A long plush couch sat off to one side, paired with a couple of smaller chairs and a low table. A lounger rested near the Art Deco divider.
A door on the left side of the room led to a private bathroom. Another stood on the opposite side, one I didn’t think had been there before. Along the left wall, labeled humidors sat in a neat, expensive row. Next to it, a tasteful bar held crystal carafes filled with liquor, with matching tumblers arranged beside them.
The whole room matched the Gatsby theme, but the bones underneath were permanent—built-in decadence and privacy. Those who rented this room wanted for nothing while they made their plans, signed their papers, and traded in favors.
I took all of it in with barely a second thought, though.
Rose took most of my attention.
She sat in one of the chairs surrounding the large table, reclined back in it, both of her hands dropped out of sight in front of her.
It looked like she was masturbating.
Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, and mouth held open as she let out a small gasp. Then she pursed her plush lips, writhed in her seat, and let her head fall to the side as she let out a long purr.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she let a slow smile spread as she looked at me.
“Hey ... Marcus...” she managed between sighs.
“Uh ... should I come back another time?” I asked, hiking a thumb over my shoulder.
“N-noo,” she said and bit her lower lip. “In fact ... You should sit down and have a bite to eat. It’s all there ... like you asked ... Ah!”
Her knees suddenly appeared as she placed her bare shins on the edge of the table, spread wide.
“Ngghh ... I’ll just be a minute,” Rose said, her eyes fluttering closed as she dropped her head back against the chair. “Casey ... why don’t you keep him ... busy?”
“Yes, ma’am,” a woman’s voice said next to me.
I tried as hard as I could not to jump out of my skin as I looked to my right and saw a young woman standing within three feet of me. She looked beautiful, with creamy skin and dark brown hair, and smoky eyes so dark that her irises were barely distinguishable from her pupils. Her lips were just a touch full and lightly touched with a brownish-red matte lipstick. Her eyeliner was heavy and drawn out to sharp, prominent points. If I had to guess, she looked Italian ... or something similar.
She immediately took my hand and led me down to the table, and I gave only token resistance before following her, taking a seat opposite Rose.
She was right. The table was currently spread out with all sorts of delectable finger foods. Not the kind I grew up with, like pigs in a blanket and cocktail sausages. There was caviar on top of deviled quail eggs, chilled lobster medallions, Wagyu beef skewers with truffle salt, and a host of other rich foods that threatened to give me gout just by looking at them.
Before I could reach out and try something, however, the girl, Casey, fell into my lap and slipped an arm around the back of my neck as she made herself comfortable. “What would you like, sir?”
I hadn’t expected any of this when I walked through the door, and as I lifted my eyes to meet hers, I let my gaze move over her scantily clad body. She was wearing a set of lingerie that kept her breasts and crotch decently covered, but her cleavage became more prominent as she placed her other hand on my chest and slid it up and down, and I couldn’t help but enjoy the view for a moment before moving on up to her smiling face.
I was getting used to being served, but not by a beautiful stranger. It took me a few moments to adjust to the environment.
“Um ... I’d like to try one of those deviled eggs,” I said.
She leaned forward until the bare skin just above one of her bra cups came within reach, close enough that I could have reached out and licked it. I almost did.
“Nnng ... Casey, do you know who this is?”
“No, ma’am,” Casey said as she delicately picked up an egg between two fingers and brought it to my mouth. I opened up and let her feed it to me, taking one bite, and was immediately sent to heaven. I’d been under the impression that it was hard to improve on the common deviled egg, and I’d been gravely mistaken. The quail egg had been prepared so that the yolk was buttery, creamy, and slightly tangy, and as I bit into it, the little pearls of fish eggs burst against the thick yellow mixture, giving it a brine-like, mineral taste that mixed surprisingly well.
Nothing that small was meant to taste that good.
“Fuck,” Rose breathed.
Casey fed me the rest of the egg, pushing it into my mouth so that the tips of her fingers lingered on my lips. I chewed the egg as she let them linger there, and then sucked off the remnants of my food, my eyes never leaving the dark-eyed woman masturbating across from me.
“That’s Marcus Upton ... he owns this place,” Rose finally said, her breath hitching a little at the end of her sentence. “This is the first time he’s visited since we finished the remodel. Why don’t you give him a little welcome?”
I felt Casey’s gentle fingers press against my chin and direct my gaze up to her. She was all smiles as she stared down at me. “You’re Marcus Upton?”
“Yes,” I said, a little lamely.
“Well,” she said, trailing off as she leaned down and pressed her lips to mine. I felt her tongue drag across my lips and opened them to receive it. My own tongue pressed against hers, and they danced with each other, the taste of quail egg, caviar, and ... was that a faint hint of feminine arousal?
Casey slid deeper into my lap, one of her breasts pressing into my chest as she snuggled up tighter against me. We got lost in each other’s taste for the next few moments.
Then she pulled away and held up a morsel of beef Wellington, feeding it to me.
“Oh, fuck that’s hot!” Rose cried out as she grabbed the table’s edge and braced against it, her hips leaving her seat. Her mouth opened in a silent scream that eventually turned into a wail, and I realized that she hadn’t been masturbating the entire time. Peeking just over the edge of the table between Rose’s legs was a dark head, working in time with Rose’s hips.
Casey settled back into me, arm still around my shoulder, and holding the remaining piece of Wellington near in case I wanted it. I felt her fingertips dance up and down my arm as we watched Rose ride out the remainder of her orgasm on the mystery woman’s face.
“Mmf,” Rose grunted, grinning and licking her lips. “Cassie, you have the job, baby.”
The woman between her legs suddenly stood. She stretched, her back muscles rippling beneath the wave of layered, wavy raven-black hair as she reached behind her, slid her fingers underneath her tresses, and then lifted them to the back of her head. It left an expanse of creamy skin bare for observation, and I noted the powder-blue bra strap running across the middle of her back.
“Good job, Cass,” Casey husked.
Still holding her hair up, Cassie looked over her shoulder, and I found myself looking into the exact same face as the person sitting on my lap.
Twins.
Rose had just hired a pair of identical twins to work at The Starlight.
I glanced from Cassie to Casey just to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
Casey was staring at me, grinning as if she’d just played a marvelous prank on me.
Sure enough, from where I was sitting, they looked exactly alike—the same dark eyes ... the same vaguely Italian features. Even their hair had been shaped and styled to be identical. The only difference I could tell from here was that Casey was wearing maroon lingerie, while Cassie was wearing the exact same set ... only in baby blue.
I glanced back at Cassie to find that she had turned and was leaning forward, her hands on the table, her encased DDs displaying mouthwatering cleavage. Rose had leaned forward and had wrapped her arms around Cassie’s thighs, peering around to rest her cheek on the side of the new girl’s leg as she grinned at me.
“Did I hear right?” Cassie asked. “This is our boss?”
“No, I’m your boss,” Rose said. “Mr. Upton is my boss.”
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Upton,” Cassie said, giving me a crooked smile.
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