Club Velvet - Book 2
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 12
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 12 - 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
Frank opened the door to the apartment and ushered Jane inside. They had just left the club after saying goodbye to their friends and his fiancée. Michelle had shaken her fist at him, flipped him off, and then blew him a kiss. That was going to be a complicated relationship.
He tossed his keys into the small tray by the door and let out a sigh of relief.
“Jane, we’re home now. Do you want me to take your collar off so you can relax?”
“Okay,” she said simply, turning so he could unclip it. He set it beside the keys, then joined her on the couch, where she’d tucked her legs under herself and waited. Frank went to the fridge, grabbed two cans of Coke, and brought them to the couch. He handed one to her, popped the top of his own, and took a satisfying sip before settling back against the cushions.
With his eyes closed, mind wandering for how to begin, he finally said, “Jane, would you like to talk? I really want to learn about you, if you’re going to be part of my life.”
She set her can aside and turned toward him on the couch. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Frank sat up, mirroring her, and placed his can on the coffee table. “Jane Morrison, tell me something about yourself. What’s your favorite food?”
“I, uh ... I don’t really know. I like a lot of foods, so I don’t have a real favorite. I guess steak, fresh off the grill, would be one.”
“Coffee or tea?”
She paused. “Coffee, I guess. I’ve had both, but coffee just seems like the best way to wake up.”
“What about music? Any favorites?”
“Metallica,” she said without hesitation.
“Really? You don’t strike me as a Metallica type.”
“What do you see me liking?”
“Classical music. Bach. Beethoven. That sort of thing.”
She shivered and waved a hand dismissively. “Yuck. That’s for old people—or for people who think they know music. Metallica has been popular for decades. They’ve even performed with orchestras. Their music only gets better. Metallica is the only band I love.”
Frank grinned at how passionately she spoke. “That’s awesome. Okay, I’ve got a tougher one. What happened to your husband?”
She froze, the weight of the question hitting her instantly. Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks as she drew her knees to her chest, curling into herself.
Frank moved closer, gently gathering her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her. “It’s okay, Jane. I’ve got you.”
She gradually calmed, and after a moment he asked softly, “What was your husband’s name? Let’s start there.”
“Kevin. Kevin Morrison,” she said quietly.
“What was Kevin like?”
“He was tall, strong. He could talk to anyone, and everyone liked him. He could charm a tree to grow. He could win any argument. He was amazing.”
“What did he do?”
“He was in Congress. U.S. Congress. From Illinois.”
Frank blinked. “Wait. Your husband was Kevin Morrison? The guy who disappeared in that plane crash?”
She speaks the truth, their WE confirmed simultaneously.
“Well, damn,” Frank murmured, pulling her closer. She was so small in his arms—even more so after her recent ordeal. No wonder she’d been drawn to strength, to leadership. Kevin had been a towering presence—he remembered seeing him on TV next to interviewers he dwarfed. The man had charisma.
“Jane, I have to ask ... how did you end up at the club?”
“I don’t remember.”
She doesn’t, their WE added. Not even her WE can trace the path. She suffered a severe mental break.
“Jane,” Frank said gently, “tell me about this dom/sub thing. Why do you want that—or even allow that?”
She shifted a little, her arms loosening around her knees. “Kevin and I used to play around with it. He’d have me put on a collar, act bossy. It was a game. A way to spice up the bedroom. He tied me up and did ... wonderfully mean things to me,” she said with a wistful sigh.
“Such as?” Frank prompted gently.
“He tied me to the bed, blindfolded me, and brought a bowl of ice cream. He fed me a bite, then dropped it onto my nipples and licked it off. He did that everywhere—even between my legs. Then he’d put an ice cube on my chest ... my stomach ... and let it melt while he used soft rope to spank my thighs. One time, he put an ice cube in his mouth and licked me down there until I screamed. It was ... intense. The best orgasms I ever had came from those games. One night, he even took me to a fancy dinner wearing a collar disguised as jewelry, and a buzzing plug inside me. He told me not to come until he gave permission. By the time we got home and he finally said the word ... I collapsed. I might have even peed a little.” She laughed through her tears. “It was that strong. But it wasn’t just about the sex. He loved me. He did all that to help me let go.”
She was quiet for a moment. Frank didn’t interrupt.
“Frank ... I think I’m broken.”
He kissed her temple. “You probably are. But that’s okay. You’re mine now, and I’m here for you—for as long as you need me.”
Her eyes brightened a little. She shifted on his lap, turning to straddle him, her legs on either side of his. “Then let me ask you something,” she said.
He nodded.
“Who are you ... that you own a strip club?”
“Well that is a good question. I actually own four clubs. The one where I rescued you, the one in Chicago and two in Metro City.”
“Wow, how did you start them? Why did you start them?”
“I did it because men like to look at beautiful women but don’t like to go to clubs in dark alleys or in old run down buildings. Women don’t like to be in those parts of town either. Everyone wants to feel safe so I opened a club, advertised for dancers and several showed up. I made sure they were clean of drugs before Iet them work for me. I didn’t allow drugs in my clubs and if it was found, I threw it out and threw them out. I kept my fees I charge them for working to a minimum and made money off drinks and door charges instead. Once the club got going, women kept showing up wanting to dance and I just let them in. Then the WE showed up, Rule 8 showed up, Rule 9 showed up, and I couldn’t stop anyone from screwing around. But at least I could make money off it. So if a woman wants to charge for sex in my club, I get a cut like normal. She gets to fuck, the guy gets off, everyone is happy about it.
“Interesting. I hadn’t thought about that. Yes, feeling safe when out in public is important. That makes total sense. How did you meet your fiance?”
“Well, that is another good story. I met her one night a while back when I was looking to start a club here in Chicago. I was sitting in the hotel bar and she talked to me. Actually, she propositioned me for sex, but...”
“Wait, was she a prostitute when you met?” Jane asked, interrupting him.
“Technically yes, she was. I emphasize the word WAS. She gave that up after we connected. She completes me, like we were meant to be together. Like she fills in my heart in ways I didn’t know were empty. She has become my other half.”
“That is so sweet. What about the other girls who live here?”
Frank took a sip of his Coke, “They are Lisa’s friends. She helped get them off the street and into this job as a way to save them.”
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