Club Velvet - Book 2
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 10
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 10 - Frank Devon from Book 1 continues his life and expanding business. I won't give away what happens, but this is book 2 of 3 with lots of story driven and character driven writing. If you are looking for an erotic story with no character development, keep moving. Otherwise, this is about how Frank keeps his business moving, expanding and the new people he meets along the way.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Exhibitionism
It was hard leaving Chicago and Lisa, but he still had an empire to run so travel was part of his job.
The clubs at home were fine. The suburban club was still running smoothly, the main club was still full and running smoothly, but St Louis. He needed to visit St Louis.
The flight landed, and Frank moved quickly—just a single bag, the rental counter, and then through St. Louis traffic in a comfortable Camry. He crossed the river and exited the highway, heading straight for the club.
It looked normal.
Lights on.
Music pulsing behind the glass.
Semi-trucks parked along the back.
Customers’ cars packed in the front lot.
Everything seemed ... fine.
When Frank reached the front door, he heard the familiar thump of bass through the walls, a good sign.
Jasper, the door man and club guard, greeted him.
“Good afternoon, sir—” Jasper paused. “Frank!”
“Hey, Jasper.”
“Didn’t know you were coming by. Should I call the boss?”
“No,” Frank said. “There’s trouble—and only I can deal with it.”
“Oh, hey, I love the club in Chicago. Well done.”
Frank paused mid-step. “How do you know about Chicago?”
“Manager up there—Lisa, I think—sent out a company-wide intro email. Pics, bios, welcome message. Really professional. The place looks awesome.”
Frank smirked as Lisa’s familiar laugh echoed softly through their WE link. You’re full of surprises, baby. She laughed again while sending him love through the link.
He nodded to Jasper. “Thanks. Talk later.”
Inside, the club was alive—dancers on the stages, men tossing cash, drinks flowing, conversation humming. Everything looked perfect on the surface.
A waitress passed, her arms full of drinks and snacks. “Seat yourself, sweetheart, I’ll be right with you.”
Frank smiled politely and kept walking, heading through the kitchen and back toward the manager’s office.
He opened the door—startling the woman inside.
“Shit!” she gasped, jerking upright from a pile of paperwork. “Frank!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you too, Sands. I heard there’s trouble?”
Sands moved quickly around the desk and hugged him tightly. “God, yes. I mean—it’s not the club. The club’s good. It’s ... well. Come with me.”
She led him down a hallway to a small supply closet in the back. She opened the door.
Frank froze.
There, curled up on a cot, was the ghost of a woman. Pale. Gaunt. Barely breathing. Her hair tangled, her skin sunken. Her name came back to him in a rush.
Jane.
She was the same woman he’d seen crawling from under the desk the day he took over the club. Back then, he hadn’t known what she was. Now—he did.
“Fuck,” he breathed, and dropped to one knee beside her.
He gently pushed her matted hair from her face, trying to find the woman still inside.
WE, what happened to her? What’s going on?
Jane Morrison has not eaten or consumed water in several days. Her WE cannot stabilize her alone. She is failing. If her mental condition doesn’t change, we will be forced to intervene to preserve her WE units.
Is it physical? Or mental?
Mental. Jane is a submissive. Her late husband was her Dominant. His death unmoored her. The previous owner of this club maintained her role in a limited capacity. Since his departure, she has deteriorated significantly. You must take possession of her, Frank. Become her Dom, or she will die.
Frank’s stomach twisted.
How? What do I do?
Offer water. Then a token of ownership—ideally a collar. A symbol of belonging. Once she accepts, bring her to medical care. Then you may begin to learn how to lead her.
“Fuck,” Frank whispered. He glanced toward the hallway, already imagining Lisa’s reaction to this.
He turned to Sands. “Get me a glass of water. Straw, too.”
She nodded and sprinted out.
Frank carefully lifted Jane into his lap. She was weightless. Cold.
Sands returned with the water. Frank held the straw to Jane’s lips.
“Drink,” he said, voice firm but gentle.
She obeyed. Slow sips, like a child.
Her sunken eyes rose to meet his.
“The WE told me what you need,” Frank said quietly. “I’m willing to be your Dom, if you’ll have me.”
She didn’t speak. But she took another sip.
“I’ll give you a token—a temporary one—until we can get you something better. Would you like that?”
The slightest nod.
Consent registered. her WE confirmed.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “You’re going to be okay.”
He eased her gently back onto the cot and stood. He moved fast—into a storage room, looking for anything usable. Zip ties. Electrical tape. Rope. Whatever would hold for now.
He returned with a makeshift collar—zip ties softened and wrapped in tape. Crude, but symbolic.
Jane’s eyes followed him. The glass was empty.
Frank knelt again.
“I’m told this token must be worn only with your consent. And only you can remove it. Do you understand?”
Her voice was like wind over paper. “Yes. I understand. I accept.”
“This is temporary. We’ll find a proper one soon.”
He fastened the collar around her neck with a zzzzzip. Not tight—but secure. She blinked slowly as the clasp clicked shut.
Frank sat back on his heels. He didn’t know everything. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But he knew this: This woman was his now. Not in ownership. But in responsibility.
Just like the others. Just like Lisa. She was family. And he would not let her fall.
Frank held her close until the paramedics arrived. When the ambulance doors opened, he carried her outside in his arms. Gently placing her on the gurney, he climbed into the back beside her, refusing to leave her side.
The EMTs worked quickly, struggling for a moment to find a usable vein, then finally threading the IV and cracking open the fluid line full blast. Jane was badly dehydrated, malnourished, and barely conscious. There was no time to waste.
Frank sat with her all the way to the hospital, her frail hand resting in his as the sirens echoed around them.
She was admitted immediately. Blood work confirmed what the WE had warned him—she was on the brink of complete collapse. Dehydration. Malnutrition. Systemic neglect. A psychiatric consult was ordered alongside full medical monitoring.
Later, in her hospital room—clean, warm, and hooked up to more fluid lines—Frank found her resting. The makeshift collar was still around her neck. He silently thanked the WE for leaving it in place.
He sat beside her, taking her hand gently into his. “Jane,” he whispered, “you’re safe now.”
She didn’t stir. But her breathing was steadier. Her color, better. That was enough for now.
Frank stayed three full days. On the first day, he returned the rental car, arranging a new plan to drive back to Chicago with Jane—clearing it with the company for a one-way drop-off. It cost a bit more, but he didn’t care.
He spent his days at her bedside, holding her hand, reading silently, speaking to her in quiet tones. By the third day, her eyes opened slowly.
“Hi,” Frank said softly.
She blinked, adjusting to the light. “Where am I?”
“In a hospital,” he said. “You almost died. I got there just in time. They’ve been giving you fluids ... food. Whatever else you need. You’re going to be okay.”
Her hand crept slowly to her neck, brushing over the makeshift collar still wrapped around it. She let out a small breath, full of relief.
“As soon as you’re strong enough, we’ll get you a better one,” Frank said gently. “But for now, just rest.”
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