Club Velvet 3
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 4
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 4 - 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
Velvet Entertainment is proud to announce the debut of Club Velvet After Dark: The Male Revue Experience. Designed to bring an unforgettable night of entertainment for women and couples, this new addition will feature handpicked male performers delivering high-energy shows and intimate experiences in the signature Velvet style.
Frank Devon, owner of Club Velvet, says: “It’s time we offered something exciting for everyone.” The first show debuts this Friday—limited seating available. Come see what you’ve been missing.
In the weeks leading up to the show, Frank scoured both the internet and the WEnet, searching for performers with real charisma—men who were either former Chippendales or had ties to the legendary troupe. He found eighteen of them. To his surprise, all were eager to join the project and agreed to come to Chicago for the new venture.
Frank hired them all, booked hotel rooms for their stay, and secured a rehearsal studio where they could train and build chemistry as a team.
Rounding out the group were two women who had worked together in the past: Celeste Vaughn, a sharp and commanding director, and Marina Reyes, a fiery, creative choreographer with a passion for bold, unforgettable routines. The duo had once worked together before their former troupe dissolved—and now, with Velvet Entertainment backing them, they were ready to make lightning strike again.
With the WE now fully integrated into daily life—and the world’s population healthier, more vibrant, and living longer than ever imagined—Frank knew the timing was perfect. The demand for connection, excitement, and shared experience had never been higher. And Club Velvet After Dark was ready to deliver.
When the announcement hit the WEnet, the response was immediate. The limited tickets sold out in seconds. Frank sat in his office staring at the numbers, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t I think of this sooner?’ he thought. ‘All these years focused on men ... and I never considered the women.’
Two days before the show, a man in uniform with a clipboard arrived at the club. He looked like a man with a mission.
“Fire Marshal Ash,” he said as he extended a hand to Lisa and Frank. “Just here to make sure you’re still compliant.”
“Good to meet you, sir,” Lisa replied. “Is something wrong? We’ve kept everything up to code.”
“I’m Frank Devon,” Frank added. “Lisa is our club manager. We’ve done everything by the book.”
Ash nodded, clicking his pen open. “I saw your announcement. Haven’t been here since you opened. But with this many people expected, it’s my job to verify the safety of everyone inside.”
The club was open but quiet—no music, no dancers—just house lights and a soft buzz of anticipation. Frank had the DJ keep it low-key, and all performers had been sent backstage. Marshal Ash walked the building with clipboard in hand, inspecting fire exits, extinguishers, crowd control measures, and every emergency protocol.
When it was done, the three of them sat in Frank’s office as Ash passed a form across the table. “You’re good,” he said. “The building checks out. For safety, I’m setting your max occupancy for this show at 312—including patrons, staff, and security. Stick to that number, and you’re cleared.”
Lisa exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging with relief. Frank placed a hand on her arm in quiet solidarity. She had worked hard for this night.
“Good luck with the show,” Marshal Ash added. “Let the department know if you need anything. I expect the police will be nearby, just in case.”
After shaking hands, Ash left the building. Lisa collapsed into Frank’s arms, laughing and crying at once, the tension of the inspection melting away.
The show would go on—and likely make history.
Doors opened at five. The show would begin at seven. Day-shift dancers had gone home to enjoy a rare night off. The kitchen staff, bartenders, and waitresses stayed, shifting into a new mode of service for a different crowd than what they were used to.
The women of Club Velvet wore branded t-shirts over their bras, while still donning the signature black garter belts, panties, thigh-high stockings and aprons tied around their waists. The look was slightly toned down—but no less alluring.
The male staff wore matching t-shirts with black pants, presenting a united front for the evening’s theme.
Outside, the line stretched along the building. The parking lot was full, the nearby streets packed with parked cars. Police tape sectioned off parts of the road, with officers managing traffic and maintaining order. The buzz in the air was electric.
And Club Velvet, always a place for connection and sensuality, was about to add a new chapter to its legacy.
“Welcome, ladies!” Frank shouted over the rising din of excited voices, his hand wrapped around the microphone. “Welcome to Club Velvet and our very first Velvet After Dark: Male Revue!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
“My name is Frank Devon, and this is my club.”
Even more cheering, louder this time.
“For years, I’ve dedicated myself to giving the men of the world top-tier entertainment. But I made a mistake. I forgot half the population. Well, no more.” Frank grinned. “Ladies, I give you ... Club Velvet’s Male Revue!”
He stepped offstage as the lights dropped.
The music began—deep, steady bass that thumped in time with the audience’s growing anticipation. Spotlights flared, and the troupe marched onstage in crisp military uniforms, lining up two by two at attention.
Gasps and murmurs swept through the room.
The beat shifted, and the “soldiers” came to life. In perfect sync, they peeled off jackets and moved across the stage with sharp, controlled confidence. Cheers rose with every layer of clothing that came off.
Frank watched from the wings, amazed at the raw energy in the room. Damn, women could make some noise.
The performers were soon down to shimmering G-strings, their muscular chests gleaming under the lights, chiseled and smooth, oiled to perfection. Their movements weren’t overly sexual—but they didn’t need to be. Suggestive grace and body control were enough.
His female dancers went fully nude, but these men didn’t need to flash everything to send the women into a frenzy. Different rules, different responses, Frank thought.
As the final pose of the soldier routine landed, the lights dimmed and the men exited the stage to a roar of approval.
A stagehand wheeled out a saddle mounted on a wooden frame, followed by stacked hay bales arranged in a rustic, suggestive display. Excited murmurs spread through the room.
Out came the cowboy—tall, muscular, tan. He wore worn jeans that clung to his thighs, chaps, a leather vest open over his bare chest, and a classic cowboy hat. A lasso spun lazily over his head as he sauntered into the light.
The crowd exploded.
He stripped with style—first the vest, then the chaps. Women surged toward the stage, some reaching for him. He played into it, flexing for one lucky woman who practically melted into her seat after touching his bicep. Her friends squealed and high-fived around her.
When only his G-string remained, he picked up the rope again, using it as a prop in a final flourish of teasing spins and slow, sensuous movements.
Then the music faded, and the director appeared on stage in a sharp little black dress. “Ladies,” she said smoothly into the mic, “thank you for your beautiful reception. We’ve worked hard for weeks to make tonight unforgettable.”
Cheers. Whistles. Applause.
“And now ... on with the show.”
Lights dimmed again. Three men entered in fitted jeans and tight tees, each holding a large sledgehammer. Logs had been set on stage earlier. With perfectly timed swings, they “split” the logs—though Frank noticed the hammers were clearly props, and the logs rigged to split on cue.
“Nice trick,” Frank muttered to himself with a grin.
The shirts came off mid-routine. The lumberjacks’ glistening abs and biceps rippled with each choreographed move. When the last log split dramatically down the middle, the crowd lost it.
Then the stage emptied, save for one chair placed center-stage.
The director returned with her mic.
“For our next performance ... I need a volunteer!” she shouted.
Every hand shot up. The air was electric.
“Connect with me now—and the WE will choose.”
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