Club Velvet 3
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 6
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 6 - 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
On the following Sunday, Frank told his pack that he needed to go to East St. Louis. With Logan proving such a success, it was time to expand the idea—each club needed someone who could do what Logan was doing.
Frank flew down to St. Louis, rented a car, and drove to the club. As he pulled into the parking lot, he smiled at the sight of half a dozen rigs parked in the back lot and a scattering of cars out front. “Business must be good for a Monday morning.”
He greeted the doorman with a nod and entered the club. Wes had heard Frank was coming down and met him just inside the door.
“Frank!” Wes called, pulling him in for a firm hug.
“Wes. Good to see you, brother. How are things?”
“Running smoothly, as I’m sure you already know. What brings you down here in person?”
Frank gestured toward the office. “Let’s sit down and talk.”
Inside Wes’s office, the two men settled into their chairs. Frank got right to the point. “You remember our conversation a while back? About hiring guys to work here for the female customers?”
Wes nodded, the memory clicking into place.
“Well, we ran a male revue night in Chicago. Sold out instantly. And more than a few women came up to me on their way out and asked if we had male dancers or ... other kinds of male entertainment available. At the time, we didn’t.”
Wes raised a brow. “Let me guess. Now you do?”
Frank chuckled. “I ran into one of the dancers from that night at the city pool—guy named Shannon Wolfe. We had a good talk, and long story short, he now works for us as a ‘Pleasure Counselor for Female Customers.’ The response has been incredible. Our female traffic is up, and Logan’s keeping busy.”
Wes leaned back, impressed. “So I was right.”
Frank reached into his pocket, pulled out a check, and slid it across the table, face down.
Wes looked at it, stunned. “No way.”
Frank just nodded.
Wes picked up the check, flipped it over, and his eyebrows shot up. “Fuuuuuuuck.”
“You earned it,” Frank said with a grin. “You had the idea. I ran with it.”
Wes folded the check and tucked it into his back pocket, pride practically radiating off him.
“Which brings us to now,” Frank said. “We need a guy—or two—down here who can do the same thing. Serve the women who come in, the way Logan is serving them up north.”
Wes furrowed his brow and shifted his attention inward, thinking through every potential candidate he could imagine. But no one came to mind.
“I’ve got no idea who would fit that role.”
“Then we need two things,” Frank said. “First, a woman to be the ‘test subject’—someone honest and communicative. And second, a man who’s focused more on connection than ego. Someone who can make a woman feel truly seen and cared for. I’ll send you the HR doc we use—it lays everything out.”
“You already have a job description?”
“One of the dancers in Chicago used to work in HR,” Frank said with a smile. “She wrote the most hilariously accurate—and professional—summary I’ve ever read. Lisa adopted it immediately.” Frank shared the document through the WE. Wes read it, impressed, then handed it off for posting on the WEnet.
“I hope we find someone who fits,” Wes said. “That document’s no joke.”
“I know.”
Frank stuck around for the week, sitting in on interviews and quietly observing the women who came through the club. Most were built tough—women who worked the road, did heavy lifting, and didn’t have time for nonsense. Strong hands. Weathered skin. Powerful backs.
In the end, the man they chose wasn’t a well-oiled Adonis like Logan. He was a lean guy with long fingers, a gentle voice, and a larger-than-average member. But what won them over wasn’t his size—it was his ability to listen, to read the room, and to hold space for the women who walked through those doors.
His name was Wesley Hunt. He started the very next day. They also hired a large strong black man who also had that special something that both Wes and Frank noticed and their test girl confirmed after they had a private talk. The second guy’s name was Marvin Evans but he had to give two weeks notice to his current job before he could start.
Wesley arrived at the club just before 3 p.m. and checked in with the doorman, who welcomed him and directed him inside. Frank and Wes met him at the entrance and brought him to the office for paperwork and a quick orientation.
“Wesley, have you thought about a stage name?” Frank asked, smiling. “All the dancers use one—and if you don’t pick one, I guarantee the girls will. And trust me, it may not be one you like.”
Wesley chuckled. “Call me Cole. The WE suggested it after I left yesterday. Said the same thing you did, actually.”
“Perfect. Cole it is,” Frank said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”
After signing the paperwork, Frank and Wes gave him a pep talk.
“One of my wives told Logan—our guy up north doing what you’re about to do—that joining our team is like joining a family. And she was right. I’ll go to war for this club and the people in it,” Frank said seriously. “You’ll be sharing the dressing room with the female dancers. Treat them like sisters. They’re off-limits. Be respectful. Don’t stare too long. It gets easier with time, but tread carefully.”
Wes added, “I’m sure you’re used to Rule 8, but still—be mindful.”
“No worries,” Cole said, nodding. “My family’s been full-on Rule 8 since the beginning. This won’t be a problem.”
“Good to hear,” Frank said with a smile.
They gave him a tour of the club, then brought him to the dressing room.
“Ladies,” Wes announced, “meet Cole—our new Pleasure Counselor for Female Customers.”
After a brief pause, the women burst into laughter and came to greet him with warm smiles, hugs, and teasing comments. Cole was given a locker and shown the showers before being left to get settled.
A raven-haired dancer raised an eyebrow as she looked him over. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who takes this kind of job.”