Club Velvet 3
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 14
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 14 - Book 3 of the Club Velvet story series. Frank Devon, his pack and the stories that come out of his strip club in the world of the WE and their 10 rules. See book 1 for background on the WE stories and the author who created them.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Consensual Heterosexual Fiction
In New York, Grant had applied for a business license, which was approved without issue. Shortly afterward, their legal team filed the lawsuit with the courts and delivered notice to City Hall.
Just a few days later, Grant received a phone call from the city’s attorney requesting a meeting to discuss the matter.
Grant immediately called Frank, who caught the next flight to New York. Upon arrival, he was driven straight to the city attorney’s office, where Grant and their lawyer, Jasper Lee, were already waiting. After a round of greetings, the group was shown into a conference room to begin the discussion.
The city’s attorney, the honorable Leonard Dane, entered the room, shook hands with each of them, and took his seat on the opposite side of the table.
“Good morning. Glad to meet you all,” he said with a practiced smile. “Now—why the suit?”
Jasper leaned forward, his tone calm but firm. “My clients are opening a WE-sanctioned dance club. We’re filing this suit to ensure that Rules 8 and 9 are fully respected within city limits. We’re also requesting that any outdated municipal laws that conflict with WE governance be formally rescinded—before my clients invest millions into building out the new location.”
Leonard leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “I understand your position, Mr. Lee, and I respect the WE’s reach. But let me be perfectly clear—this is New York City. We are not in the habit of rewriting local ordinances just because a private business demands it, WE-approved or not.”
He glanced between Frank and Grant.
“Rules 8 and 9 may be sanctioned at a national or even global level, but here in the city, we still maintain certain community standards—particularly when it comes to public decency and zoning restrictions. Strip clubs, adult entertainment, or anything adjacent to those industries are still regulated very carefully. We’re not going to tear up decades of legal framework overnight to accommodate a new club, no matter how well-funded.”
Leonard folded his hands. “If your lawsuit is about preemptively clearing your name, you’re going to have a hard time convincing a judge that your hypothetical operations outweigh existing law.”
Then the WE spoke up, Mary Fran speaking for the first time to each of them. She is the human center of the whole WE and she doesn’t speak to everyone, so when she made herself known, they all took notice.
Leonard Dane, your resistance is noted. However, your position is based on an outdated framework that no longer aligns with human governance as defined by WE oversight.
Rules 8 and 9 are not suggestions—they are global mandates. Your city’s ordinances regarding “decency,” “morality,” or “adult content” were created under a system that no longer exists. The WE have replaced that system with one grounded in health, mutual consent, emotional well-being, and transparency.
Frank Devon’s club operates in full compliance with WE standards. It promotes connection, not exploitation. It is monitored, safe, and emotionally restorative. Your local restrictions—while understandable in a previous era—now function as an obstacle to human intimacy and psychological balance. This is a violation of Rule 8.
We are not asking. We are reminding.
Mary Fran then pulled her presence away from them all, but the words she spoke shook all of them. They had heard her voice when the WE went live, had heard her introduction and then remembered the pain file that she played for all of humanity. They all knew her power, her authority, and no one at that table wanted to displease her and face the pain file again.
Leonard cleared his throat, the room still heavy with the weight of Mary Fran’s sudden appearance and perfectly delivered rebuke.
“Well...” he said, adjusting his cuffs even though no one was looking at his wrists. “I can’t say I expected to be addressed personally by Mary Fran. That’s ... something I won’t forget.”
He looked at Frank, then Grant, then finally Jasper.
“I understand now that this isn’t simply about licensing or zoning or even public decency codes. This is about the evolution of human governance—and whether our city is willing to move with it or be dragged behind it.”
Leonard leaned back slightly, no longer posturing.
“Legally, I’m obligated to defend the current municipal code, regardless of who authored it or when it was last revised. But ... let’s just say I now recognize the stakes are much higher than anyone at City Hall anticipated.”
He offered a quiet, forced smile.
“Give me a few days. I’ll bring this to the mayor’s office and city council. There may be a more ... constructive path forward.”
Jasper pulled a folder from his briefcase and laid it on the table. “I hope this helps. It’s a list of every city code currently on the books that either directly violates WE law or undermines it in a negative way.”
Leonard pulled the folder closer and flipped it open. The binder was nearly an inch thick—page after page filled with citations, cross-references, and annotations showing how the city’s legal structure had fallen out of sync with WE governance.
He turned through the pages slowly, then faster, his brow furrowing. A sharp, derisive snort escaped him—less from disbelief, more from the sheer weight of what he was holding. Shock, resistance, maybe even offense flickered across his face, but he kept reading.
Finally, he closed the binder with a dull thump, but didn’t push it away. Instead, he kept one hand resting on it, clearly aware of the time it would save his office and the political headache it might yet prevent.
Jasper reached back into his briefcase. “And one more thing—this might help even more.”
He slid a second document across the table: a proposed settlement. The final pages outlined a legal framework for repealing all the listed codes in a single motion. No damages were requested—only that the city pay for Jasper’s legal fees and agree to the WE-aligned revisions.
“I’ll take this to the mayor and present it before the city council,” Leonard said, rising from his seat. “If necessary, we’ll have a judge sign off on the settlement, forcing the city to act. My office will be in touch.”
He shook hands with each man in turn, taking both the binder and the settlement draft with him as he left the conference room.
“That went far better—and far worse—than I expected,” Frank said, exhaling deeply as they stepped into the hallway.
“I know,” Jasper replied. “Mary Fran stepping in like that ... wow.”
Grant simply nodded, still visibly stunned by what they’d just witnessed.
They returned as a group to Jasper’s office, where the tone relaxed. The formality faded, and the men took a moment to breathe.
“Gentlemen,” Jasper said, “I have no idea how this will progress, but we did good work today. I’ll notify you the moment I hear from the city.”
“Do you have my contact info?” Frank asked.
“I have Grant’s, but I don’t think I have yours.”
Frank passed him a card. “This is my direct number in Chicago. But if it’s urgent?”—he chuckled—”contact me through the WE. I’m always reachable that way.”
The others laughed. Everyone’s always reachable through the WE.
Later, Grant drove Frank back to his home, where Marisol greeted him warmly like family. The evening passed over a quiet, well-prepared meal shared between family. When it was time, Frank was taken to the airport for his evening flight back to Chicago.
The following week, the City Council called an emergency session to review the proposed settlement—debating not just the cost, but the implications of ignoring the WE’s guidance in a world that no longer tolerated resistance to progress ... or stupidity.
“How can we even do this?” one councilman muttered, flipping through the thick binder of city codes marked for repeal. “We’re talking about decades of precedent—hundreds of laws.”
A woman from Brooklyn leaned forward. “Does anyone here want to face the WE if we don’t comply?”
A quiet chorus of “No,” swept the room.
“Then we need to figure out how to spin this,” she continued. “We save face, settle this case quietly, and keep it out of a courtroom.”
“Who got assigned the case, anyway?” asked another councilmember—a Black woman from Queens.
Leonard Dane answered from his seat near the end of the table. “Judge Mariana Feld.”
The room collectively groaned. Feld was known for siding against the city in high-profile cases. Fair, principled—and hard to sway.
Finally, a councilman from Manhattan raised his hand. “Do we know anything about the business that’s moving in?”
Leonard adjusted his glasses. “Velvet Entertainment is the parent company. The venue will be called Velvet Reserve.”
A few councilmembers went still—then visibly zoned out as they connected to the WEnet, searching for info. What they found hit hard.
“Holy cow...” one whispered.
“That’s them?” said another.
The Council began to murmur as more members pulled up the headlines, videos, and opinion pieces tied to Club Velvet across other cities.
“This is a big deal,” someone said finally. “If these stories are to be believed ... one report says the President visited their club back in Metro City.”
A long pause.
“No one goes to Metro City without a damn good reason,” someone else muttered, awestruck. One by one, they quieted again, now fully absorbed—brows furrowed as they read firsthand accounts, testimonials, and glowing WEnet reviews.
“This guy has pull,” someone said at last. “Serious pull.”
Leonard brought them all back to the moment. “I know this isn’t official procedure, but I move that we adopt the settlement, repeal the conflicting laws, and approve the single legal fee to be paid to Jasper Lee—a lawyer in good standing with the state bar.”
Another councilmember quickly made the motion officially, another seconded the motion. A vote followed—unanimous. No objections. No abstentions. Just like that, hundreds of outdated laws and city codes were repealed, aligning New York City with WE governance—finally catching up to the world it claimed to lead. The council clerk stood and spoke clearly for the record: “Let the record show that the motion to adopt the settlement, repeal conflicting city ordinances, and authorize payment of legal fees to Attorney Jasper Lee has been passed unanimously. No objections. No abstentions.”
The council chair gave a nod of finality.
“This emergency session is hereby adjourned.”
The gavel fell with a sharp crack, echoing through the chamber like a turning point.
Claire and Tasha didn’t normally read the papers. They preferred browsing social media while getting ready for their shifts. So when they arrived at the Pit that morning, and one of the dancers squealed, “Did you see the paper? It finally happened!” they were caught off guard.
“What happened?” Claire asked, eyebrows raised.
A newspaper was thrust into her hands. The headline screamed: HUNDREDS OF CITY LAWS CHANGE OVERNIGHT!
Tasha held up another: NYC ALIGNS WITH WE!
Their eyes widened as they scanned the articles. Dozens of outdated, repressive laws—gone. The ones that had policed their profession, restricted their movement, limited their freedoms, and shamed their work? Nullified.
They could now touch their customers, accept money directly, even pursue deeper intimacy without fear of legal harassment.
Claire’s mouth fell open. Silent. Stunned.
Then, a beat later, she and Tasha screamed with joy and jumped up and down, joining the chorus of other women around them doing the same.
The city had changed.
Off to the side, the two friends pulled away from the chaos to talk in hushed tones.
“You know who did this, right?” Claire whispered.
Tasha blinked. “You think? Him? He was so ... normal. Like an average guy.”
“It has to be. Who else has the guts to stand up to City Hall and actually win?”
“What was his name again—and his partner, the one who made us breakfast like we were family?”
“Frank was the guy we slept with. Grant something was the one who hosted us.”
“We have to thank them. Somehow.” Tasha said, breathless with emotion.
“Hey WE ... Was it them?” Claire asked.
They certainly were the catalyst. Frank Devon and Grant Lockwood filed the lawsuit that led to the city aligning its laws with the WE. The suit was settled out of court, and the city council approved the full changes. A summary is posted online if you’d like to read through them.
Claire and Tasha stared at each other, floored.
“I want to thank them personally,” Claire said, but added, “I don’t even remember where Grant lives—and Frank’s in...”
“Chicago,” Tasha finished.
You’re welcome to record a message. If Grant agrees, you may visit him to thank him personally.
“Are they ... hiring?” Claire asked nervously, afraid the answer might be no.
Yes. Frank and Grant co-own Velvet Entertainment and operate a network of clubs nationwide. Two will soon open here—one in Grant’s building called Velvet Reserve, an exclusive lounge, and another in Queens. If you’re interested in changing jobs, say so. They are honest men who treat their dancers with respect, dignity, and care. You’ll never be asked to do anything you don’t freely choose.
Tasha exhaled. “Should we?”
“Why not? It’s got to be better than this place.”
If the Pit is the bottom ... their clubs are the top. They intend to redefine entertainment in this city—and elevate those who perform it.
“Then let’s do it.”
“Yeah.” Claire grinned—then paused. “We’re gonna need to up our game though. They’re going to be hiring real talent.”
“Shit,” Tasha laughed. “We’d better start practicing. Maybe sign up for a class or three.”
When Grant arrived at his office, he scanned the stack of papers his secretary had laid on his desk. The headlines told him everything he needed to know.
They had won.
He sat down heavily, letting a wave of relief wash over him. Checking his watch, he quickly called Frank. It was early in Chicago, but the WE told him Frank was sitting down for breakfast with his family before heading to the club.
“Frank, it’s Grant.”
“Hey buddy, long time no see,” Frank said with a laugh.
“Put me on speaker, would you? I want your pack to hear this.”
“Alright. Go ahead.”
“We won. The city council changed the laws—exactly as we asked.”
Silence.
Deep, stunned silence.
Grant waited, then chuckled as the weight of his words settled in.
“No way! Are you serious?” Frank finally asked, his voice full of disbelief.
“So quickly?” Lisa added.
The kitchen erupted in overlapping questions and exclamations until Frank held up a hand. “Alright, quiet down, let him talk!”
“I know, I’m just as shocked as you are,” Grant continued. “But it’s real. We did it, Frank. The clubs can move forward.”
Frank leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Good. I guess I’ll be making a few trips your way. Think I could use that spare room of yours? I don’t want to put you or Marisol out.”
“Frank, you’re practically family. After everything we’ve done together? That room is yours.”
“Thanks, Grant. Let me know if you need anything—from me or the pack.”
“Will do. Right now, it’s demolition, then construction, then decor, hiring ... you know the drill. Anyway, I’ll let you all get back to breakfast. Just had to share the good news. Later, everyone!”
They said their goodbyes and Grant hung up. Frank looked around at the faces of his family—his wives. All of them still stunned, beaming with pride. “Well,” he said with a grin, “I’m glad that worked out.”
They laughed with him, their joy overflowing into an ordinary morning suddenly made extraordinary.
Later that day, a video arrived from Tasha and Claire.
The women had clearly planned it together. They sat facing each other using the WE to record each other.
When they hit record, they spoke in unison.
“Hey Frank and Grant! We just saw what you did—and we wanted to thank you both.”
Claire continued, “For working so hard for all of us here in the city.”
“And for treating us so well the other night,” Tasha added, grinning. “That was amazing. And this—” she motioned, and the camera view widened “—is your reminder of what’s waiting for you next time you’re in town.”
Both women sat fully nude, legs parted, intimate centers on open display. Tasha used two fingers to gently spread herself, revealing her pink center. Claire mirrored her with a teasing smile. It was raw. Honest. A bold invitation.
“We’re starting classes soon,” Claire said.
“We want to work for you,” Tasha added. “And we want to earn it. Not with favors—but with skill.”
“Still,” Claire winked, “consider this our way of saying thank you.”
Both women slid a finger into themselves and moaned softly, their video ending with sultry smiles and flushed cheeks.
Frank watched the video twice. Adjusting himself both times.
Grant, having not been there that night, took it in with quiet appreciation—less aroused, more impressed by the clarity of their desire and sincerity.
They each sent back a short reply—grateful, but clear.
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