Club Velvet 3
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 21
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 21 - 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
Sam Pierce, widower of Congresswoman Ruth Pierce (D-MA), was in Chicago for a conference on Southeast Asia recovery efforts. His wife should have been here—she loved this kind of event and had always shown deep compassion for those suffering through tragedy.
But after her sudden death—killed when a tree fell on her car during a violent thunderstorm — Sam had come alone.
“Sam, are you coming with us?”
“To what?” Sam asked, glancing up at an acquaintance who had once moved in his wife’s political circles.
“The guys and I are heading to this club in town. Club Velvet. Supposed to have the best-looking women in Chicago,” one of them added as they gathered their papers and conference materials.
Sam hesitated. “I don’t know ... it just feels—unseemly.”
The men who had invited him just laughed. They again encouraged him to come along until he finally agreed.
The only thing going through his head was that his wife wouldn’t agree to this, what would the press say about him going to a strip club, how would they spin this if word got out ... a bunch of other concerns passed through his head as he silently rode in the back of a taxi cab to the club. The other men joked and laughed about the dancers and the club, but Sam just smiled, not adding to the conversation at all.
When the car arrived at the club, the building looked just like all of the other buildings in the area, red brick, five stories tall, with one simple neon sign on the front of the building. Nothing gaudy, or tacky, just a simple sign that said ‘Club Velvet.’
Sam followed the other men into the club where he paid his entry fee and entered the club proper. The room wasn’t brightly lit, but there was just enough glow for Sam and his group to find their way to an open table. The stage, however, was a different world—bathed in warm spotlights that highlighted the dancer currently moving across it, her silhouette sensual as she peeled away layers of clothing to the quiet roar of appreciation from the men seated nearby.
Sam gave the performer a passing glance, then followed the others to the table.
A tall waitress approached, wearing a Club Velvet t-shirt tied neatly under her bustline, baring her toned midsection. A garter belt held up white stockings, a pair of white lace panties covered her private parts and her feet rested in modest heels. Her tray balanced expertly on one hand as she delivered drinks to a nearby table.
“I’ll be right over to get your orders, gentlemen,” she said with a wide, easy smile.
Sam watched her walk away, his gaze lingering on the sway of her firm bottom—more than just a casual glance. For a brief, unguarded moment, he let himself appreciate it. Her confidence. Her beauty. The way her body moved reminded him of something—or someone—he hadn’t thought about in far too long.
“Sam! You coming?” one of the men said, clapping him on the shoulder and snapping him back into the moment.
“Oh—sure. Sorry,” Sam muttered, taking his seat.
The waitress returned shortly, her smile as genuine as before. She took their drink orders with practiced charm. Sam asked for a Coke, just like the others.
A new voice boomed from the speakers.
“Gentlemen! Welcome to the main stage—our very own Dawn!”
The lights shifted. A woman with auburn hair pinned in a tight bun strutted confidently onto the stage. Sam’s eyes lifted to her, something tugging faintly at the edges of his memory.
Dawn stood center stage beneath the warm lights, striking against her porcelain skin. She wore a deep emerald green satin corset, laced tightly at the back, with delicate black lace trim that cupped the soft rise of her breasts. Matching lace gloves reached just above her elbows, a hint of old-fashioned glamour in every movement of her arms.
Her black garter belt framed her toned hips, connected to sheer black thigh-high stockings with a faint shimmer. On her feet, modest black velvet heels, not too high—designed more for grace than drama. A silk choker wrapped her throat with a small silver charm in the center, catching the light when she turned.
The color of the outfit was what struck Sam most—the green. Ruth loved that color. She’d worn something similar on their last anniversary, a shade so close it made his breath catch in his throat.
Dawn didn’t use the pole, but instead flowed around the stage while on her feet but also moving to her hands and knees or onto her back while she took off her panties, her stockings, her gloves and parts of her corset while the music ran. The men of the club stood at the edge of the stage expressing their love for her dance, her movements, her elegance, by tossing dollar bills onto the stage. Sam sat stunned in his chair.
Dawn gathered the dollar bills, offering a few men kisses on the cheek as thanks before rubbing her bare breasts playfully against their faces. Then, nearly nude and dollars in hand, she vanished from the stage, leaving Sam frozen in his seat—mouth slightly open, mind spinning a million miles an hour as memories of Ruth flooded in.
She had been just as sensual when they were newly married—and again after the WE came alive. With him, she never hid her body or her desires. She used her curves, her confidence, her playful touch to entice him, to bring him joy. In their private world, she was fearless—uninhibited and radiant.
In public, she was poised, professional, even asexual in her demeanor. But behind closed doors, she had been a vixen—bold, sensual, and alive in ways few ever saw.
“She’s just like Ruth.” Sam said to himself, just above a whisper.
The next dancer stormed the stage in a cheerleader costume, all cartwheels and high kicks, her athletic flair drawing loud cheers—yet none of it touched Sam the way Dawn’s quiet sensuality had. His mind swirled around memories of Ruth and their play time in bed. She loved to touch him, be touched by him while they made love. It was never harried or rushed, it could take hours for them to fully express their passions for one another.
Then Dawn’s face joined the jumble of memories. Her body intermixed with Ruth’s form. Her movements became Ruth’s movements. Then Dawn was Ruth in his memories.
Don’t leave me honey. He said in his head in an anguished cry.
She is not gone Sam, those memories are there. The dancer Dawn is simply a fantasy, a fantasy that you could have fulfilled if you wanted. His WE said to him as his emotions started to spiral.
The other men in the group were all enjoying the show and had ignored the pain Sam was feeling and didn’t hear the WE talk to Sam, so when he stood up to use the restroom, none of them noticed.
When he was done, hands washed and face washed to try and clear away the tears that had suddenly poured from his eyes, he stepped onto the main floor and nearly bumped into Dawn who had come out from backstage drum up business for private dances.
“Excuse me. I was completely lost...” Sam said, defensively take a hold of Dawn’s arm to keep her from falling to the floor.
“Ruth?” Sam said, as his eyes fell upon Dawn’s face.
Dawn, having been updated about Sam and his deceased wife while she was getting dressed, heard what he said and flowed into his arms and hugged him. Sam let his arms go around Dawn’s body as he hugged her back.
Dawn pulled away from Sam, held his face in her tender and sweet hands, “I’m not Ruth honey. I’m Dawn here. I’m sorry she is gone, I heard that she was an amazing woman and that you two were very close. Do you want a private dance to talk about it?”
Sam could only nod his head, his head and heart arguing over who was in charge at that moment. Even his libido had something to say about what was going on, adding to the jumble of feeling that Sam was experiencing while he had his hands laying gently on Dawn’s hips.
Dawn took his hands and led him to the bar. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and stopped. “How much?”
“What do you want?” Dawn asked, hanging off of his arm.
Sam had to pause, his mind, heart and libido still arguing. “I want it all.” He managed to say, not really sure where that came from.
“For you, say a grand. I think that you and I are going to be a while.” She said, happy about the dance, knowing that this was going to be more than just three songs.
Sam agreed, handed his card to the bartender, who swiped it and handed it back. Dawn led Sam to a private booth and had him sit down. She flowed onto his lap and put her arms around his head and pulled his face against her breasts, smothering him in her flesh.