Club Velvet 3
Copyright© 2025 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 8
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 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
When Frank left East St. Louis, satisfied with his new hires, he headed to Metro City to visit the two clubs there. What had started in Chicago—and proven successful down south—now needed to be brought to his original flagship club and its suburban counterpart.
He parked his rental in the lot outside his big club and looked around. The familiar sights and sounds brought back a flood of good memories from his days in Metro City.
As he opened the door, the wash of music and voices greeted him like an old friend. This place still felt like home.
“Frank?!” Spike called out, looking up and spotting him. “FRANK!” he repeated, vaulting over the counter and coming in for a hug, grinning wide.
“Hey Spike. How are you, buddy?” Frank said, returning the hug with the enthusiasm of a longtime friend.
“I’m doing great. Just great.”
“Find a woman yet to keep you in line?”
“Heck no!” Spike laughed. “Too busy keeping the peace around here. Shoot.”
“Someday, buddy. Someday.”
Frank entered the club. It was still early, so only a couple of guys were inside—laptops open, pretending to work. Frank chuckled. Who came to a strip club to work?
He made his way through the club, slipped behind the “Employees Only” door, and headed for the office of Terry Vaughn—the retired vet who now managed the flagship location.
He knocked. A voice from inside called out, “COME.”
Terry sat behind his desk with his laptop open, two neatly stacked piles of papers beside it. The office was as sharp and no-nonsense as the man himself. Movie posters lined the walls, along with the latest club promo artwork.
“Frank,” Terry said, rising quickly and moving around the desk to shake his hand. “Didn’t expect you for another couple hours.”
“Early to bed, early to rise,” Frank replied. “I’m used to getting up with the kids for school. Hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all. Just finalizing today’s interviews. I got your message and started lining up candidates immediately. Honestly, I’ve had to weed out a lot of them—too eager, too inexperienced, or stuck in their ways. But I’ve narrowed it down to five solid contenders.”
“How many we hiring?”
“Depends on you, boss.”
“Same here. I just don’t know how much demand we’ll have. One guy in Chicago is busy enough for four. The East St. Louis crew is doing well, but it’s more modest. I’m hoping the demand here justifies more hires.”
They shared a thoughtful silence, both aware of how delicate this expansion could be.
Frank returned to the front to wait for the first interview. A waitress approached, smiling.
“Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
“Do they still make those little cheeseburgers with the fancy onions?”
“They do. Wait—you didn’t even look at the menu. How’d you know?”
“I’m Frank Devon. I own this club.”
The waitress blushed. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Mr. Devon—I didn’t recognize you!”
Frank raised his hands gently. “It’s okay. I didn’t introduce myself.”
“I’m Joy. Joy Carrington. Nice to meet you, sir.”
She wore the standard Club Velvet attire—satin bra and panties, garter belt, and thigh-highs. Her soft brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating her graceful neck and full chest. Frank glanced to the WE for confirmation: 21 years old, working here by choice—despite a wealthy family background.
“Good to meet you too, Joy.”
“I’ll let the kitchen know you’re here. The chef might even come out and say hi.”
“Thanks.”
As she walked away, Frank couldn’t help but appreciate her form. He caught himself smiling. After all this time, had he forgotten to enjoy beauty?
Joy returned with a Coke. “From the bartender,” she said, setting it down.
Frank raised his glass to the bar. The bartender touched two fingers to her forehead in acknowledgment.
He relaxed, watching a few dancers perform, each one skilled and radiant. When his food arrived, he ate heartily, letting his mind drift back to the early days of this club’s opening—how uncertain he’d been about its future.
Nearby, a cluster of dancers giggled, clearly plotting something. He spotted Lola Belle and Rain among them. When they shoved a third woman toward him, he braced for the approach.
“Hey big boy,” she said, sliding into the seat beside him and smoothing his shirt, “you got anything left for a private dance?”
Frank gave her a disarming smile. “Sorry, I missed that. Could you repeat it?”
“I said, I’ve got some time before my next set. Want a private dance?”
Frank opened his wallet, closed it again, and set it on the table. “How about conversation instead?”
She raised a brow. “Conversation costs extra. Let’s say ... twenty bucks.”
He pulled out a bill and handed it to her.
“Well, Mr. Big Tipper, got a name?”
“Frank. Just Frank.”
“First time here?”
“First time today? Or first time in Metro City?”
She grinned. “Both.”
“No, I’ve been to this club before. Used to live here. I’m in Chicago now.”
“Big city man. What brings you back?”
“Business.”
“Ooh, what kind?”
“Entertainment.”
“Vague.”
“Live entertainment.”
“Still vague ... Are you scouting?”
“Actually, yes. I’m interviewing new talent.”
“For what?”
“I’m looking for a man for a very specific role. Someone special.”
“Oh,” she said with a playful pout, “I don’t qualify?”
He laughed. “You’re lovely, Joy. But I need a man for this particular job.”
Deflated but recovering quickly, she shifted gears. “So ... wives? Kids?”
Frank showed her photos. “That’s Lisa—she manages one of the clubs. Jane keeps our home together. Veronica? She dances. We each have our roles.”
Joy’s eyes softened. “What about sex?”
He smiled. “It’s wonderful. When we’re all together, it’s about love. Not just pleasure. You ever get the chance to be part of a pack, do it. It’s more fulfilling than you can imagine.”
A tear glimmered in her eye. “I want that.”
“Why are you here, Joy? You seem like the college type.”
She scoffed. “Ugh. College. My parents wanted me to follow a path—degree, career, marriage. But this?” She gestured to the club. “This is real. It’s fun. I’m surrounded by strong, real men. And it pays.”
“Then I’m happy for you.”
She leaned in. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to take that private dance?”
Frank chuckled. “I’m honored. But I can’t.”
Just then, Terry walked up. “Frank, first interview’s in ten.”
Joy stood. “I offered him a dance. Can you believe he said no?”
Terry laughed. “Of course he did. Joy, meet Frank Devon—owner of every Club Velvet from here to Chicago.”
Joy’s jaw dropped. Lola and Rain burst out laughing behind her.
“What?! You own this place?”
Frank stood and offered his hand. “I do. And the pleasure’s been all mine.”
Joy huffed, then laughed and hugged him. “Fine. But don’t trick me again.”
“No promises,” he teased. “Lola, Rain—good to see you.”
They hugged him warmly.
“We’ve missed you,” Lola said. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Thanks, it is good to be back in town.” He said to Lola and to Rain, then had to turn to Joy. “It has been a long standing tradition and rule in my life that I don’t engage my dancers like you asked. Nothing against you, but I just don’t do it. I hope that you can understand and respect me for that rule.”
Joy, with her arms still crossed and her pouting lip still sticking out, “I do, I just don’t like being tricked.”
“Well, blame your dance sisters. I think they are the ones you need to be upset at. I just went along with it.”
She turned to Lola and Rain, pointed a finger at them, and said “YOU!” The three dancers all hugged it out as the elder dancers comforted Joy with hugs and kind words.
They left, leaving Terry and Frank alone. “Well that went better than you had hoped, I hope.”
“It did. She got paid for her time, I learned something new about my girls and had some fun with some of the older ones that I hadn’t seen in a while. So yea, it worked out.”
The men sat at a table reviewing the list of candidates for the new position. First on the list was Damien Carter. His file read like a standard job application—until Frank reached the last page. There, Damien had written openly about his past: a long-term marriage that ended in divorce before the WE, followed by years of casual dating. He hadn’t remarried, but he made it clear he was a romantic at heart, someone who genuinely enjoyed treating women well—doing his best to make every woman feel special in his company.
Damien arrived on time, dressed in a tailored suit. He shook both men’s hands with confidence, meeting their eyes as he spoke. He sat upright in the chair, his demeanor calm, professional, and self-assured.
When Frank asked why he wanted to work at Club Velvet, Damien didn’t hesitate.
“I’ve visited your club a few times since it opened. Your dancers are beautiful, yes—but more than that, they’re honest, open, and generous in spirit. In the private dance area, I had an experience I won’t forget anytime soon. It wasn’t just about pleasure—it was about being seen, being understood. That meant something to me.”
“There are women in this city—single, married, in between—who crave something real. Something safe, exciting, and emotionally fulfilling. I know how to offer that. Good sex is part of it, sure, but that’s not the goal. This job is about giving women an experience they remember, one that lifts them up and reminds them who they are as a sexual being. If I can do that, I’m doing something that matters.”
Next on the list was Jace Monroe.
His application included the usual—high school, college, work history—but like Damien, he had also added a personal statement explaining why he wanted the job.
Jace arrived at the club wearing a fitted shirt and loose, tailored jogger-style pants. He was undeniably handsome, looking no older than twenty-one, though his birthdate put him in his forties. He had never been married, was currently dating someone, and mentioned he was looking forward to having children and building a life with his chosen partner.
The interview went smoothly. Jace gave thoughtful answers, striking a balance between confidence and humility. When they got to the final question—why he wanted to work at Club Velvet—his answer gave both men pause.
“I was a massage therapist for many years, as you saw. I know the human body—where to press, where to touch—and with the WE, that knowledge has only gotten sharper, more intuitive. I’ve had women come back to me again and again, and while I worked on them, they’d tell me how neglected they feel. How their husbands don’t touch them unless it’s for sex, and even then, it feels one-sided. Some have said I’m the only one who ever made them feel cared for.”
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