Club Velvet 4
Copyright© 2026 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 12
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 12 - Frank Devon, his pack, his club and the people who come to his club for connection and entertainment, this is their story and this is book 4 of the series. I would suggest starting at book 1 to understand the background and the world this club resides in.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction BDSM DomSub Light Bond Polygamy/Polyamory
Ezra and Sofia rolled into town, navigating late afternoon traffic until they arrived at The Pennridge, a boutique hotel near the baseball stadium. As soon as Ezra stepped out of the Jeep, he put his hands on his hips and stretched his back with a groan.
“Ugh. What a drive.”
Sofia had one leg crossed tightly over the other, and only one thing was on her mind. “Yeah, I know. Where’s the bathroom?”
Before they had time to orient themselves, a valet appeared beside them.
“The restrooms are just past the front desk, on the left, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Sofia said, already hurrying inside.
The valet turned to Ezra. “Sir, are you checking in?”
“Yes, we are.”
Ezra popped open the back of the Jeep and pulled out their two duffel bags. As he handed them over, he remembered Frank’s advice. He pulled out a few bills and tipped the valet. Traveling has its own idiosyncrasies, Frank had said, and Ezra was quickly learning he’d been right. The valet nodded with a professional smile, took the keys, and drove off. Ezra pushed the luggage cart into the hotel and approached the front desk.
“Welcome to The Pennridge,” the desk agent said warmly. “Are you checking in?”
“Yes. We should have a reservation under Devon, or maybe under Velvet Entertainment—I’m not completely sure.”
“Of course,” she said, typing quickly. “Ah, here it is. May I see your ID and payment card?”
Ezra handed her his license and the company credit card, which was linked to Velvet Entertainment’s intern travel account. Both he and Sofia had been issued cards—covering gas, hotels, food, and business-related expenses.
The agent processed the check-in smoothly and handed over two plastic keycards. “You’re in a single king room. Will that be alright?”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
Just then, Sofia returned from the bathroom looking freshly relieved. She stood beside Ezra at the counter.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yep. We’re all set.” He handed her a room key.
The desk agent gave them directions to the elevator. Once in the room, Ezra made a quick stop in the bathroom, and both of them flopped onto the bed, exhausted.
“Just five minutes,” he said, eyes already closing. “Then we’ll grab dinner before heading to the club.”
Sofia rolled over and cuddled into her brother’s side. Both were asleep within moments.
An hour later, they woke up, groggy but refreshed, wiping the drool from their faces. After taking quick showers in the oversized hotel shower—more like a 4x8 walk-in than a typical tub—they got dressed in shorts and casual shirts.
A nearby Asian restaurant caught their eye, and they both agreed it was the perfect dinner spot. The walk through the city was warm and energizing, their fingers interlocked as they took it all in together—their first trip away from home.
Dinner was light but satisfying. They returned to the hotel, retrieved the Jeep from the valet, and made their way to the club.
Club Velvet was tucked into a busy strip mall. The surrounding shops were closed for the evening but still in business. Ezra parked and stepped out first, scanning the scene. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the entrance, then turned and took a few more shots of the parking lot, the pavement, and nearby signage.
Sofia, beside him, murmured quiet observations. Lighting ... signage angle ... sidewalk upkeep ... Her WE captured every word, transcribing her commentary into a document for her report. They walked together to the entrance, stepping into a small outer lobby. A tall man in a suit greeted them from behind the security and payment desk.
“Welcome to Club Velvet,” he said with a friendly smile.
“Hi—good evening,” Sofia replied, taking the lead. “Two, please.”
The man began processing their entry.
“What’s your name?” Ezra asked casually. “You seem very friendly.”
“Call me Spike.”
“Well, Spike, thank you for the warm welcome,” Ezra said.
Sofia took the receipt and entry card, slipped both into her purse, and they moved toward the inner door.
Ezra opened it, and the sound of sensual music washed over them. The interior smelled clean and welcoming, with a faint hint of cinnamon—just as the WE had noted from past customer reviews.
They were greeted immediately by another suited man near the main floor.
“Good evening. I’m Terry, the manager here. What can I do for you?”
“This is our first time,” Ezra said, with Sofia standing close and holding his arm. “We’re not sure where to sit or what to do.”
“Welcome,” Terry replied warmly. “I’m glad you’re here. Let me show you around.”
Terry led them away from the doors and deeper into the club.
The lights pulsed around the stage—warm, seductive, and a little dizzying. The music thumped with steady rhythm, threading through their chests like a second heartbeat. And the dancers...
The dancers were art in motion. Confident. Fluid. Unapologetically sensual. They moved with purpose, every step drawing cheers and dollar bills from the men at the edge of the stage.
Ezra and Sofia stood there, still. Not because they were shy—but because there was so much to take in.
The lights made the room feel like a dream.
The music made it feel real.
The dancers made it feel powerful.
And beneath it all was a fourth feeling—pressure.
This wasn’t just a club visit. This was their father’s assignment. Their first real job. They were here to observe, analyze, and report. But standing there, surrounded by this world they’d only ever imagined, that job suddenly felt a lot more complicated.
Sofia recovered first, giving Ezra a gentle tug on the arm to get him moving. He was momentarily overwhelmed by it all—the lights, the music, the energy—and Sofia, ever the steady one, gave him the nudge he needed.
Terry led them to a table near the center of the club. It offered a clear view of the stage without being right against it—a row of tables between them and the dancers created a comfortable buffer zone for first-timers like them.
He pulled out a chair for Sofia, who slid into it gracefully. Ezra managed to pull his own chair out and sit, though his eyes were still fixed on the dancer on stage. She caught his gaze and gave him a wink.
Ezra blushed, caught in the act.
Terry, without missing a beat, smiled. “Can I get you anything? The chef’s trying out some new cinnamon buns tonight—just came out of the oven. Or maybe something from the coffee bar or soda fountain?”
“Do you have Dr. Pepper?” Sofia asked.
“We do,” Terry replied. “And for you, sir?”
“A Coke’s fine, thanks.”
“Excellent. I’ll have those right out.”
Terry offered another friendly smile, then moved off to pass their order along to the waitstaff.
What do you think? Sofia asked her brother privately.
I don’t know what to think, Ezra replied. It’s almost like I don’t know how to act. We’ve grown up with this stuff, but this is different.
I know. How are we going to write this up then? I don’t see anything wrong, anywhere. The carpets are clean, the stage is in good condition, and the people have been very nice. Terry especially.
Their waitress approached, expertly balancing a tray in one hand as she navigated the tables with ease. She placed a drink in front of Sofia, then another in front of Ezra, and smiled warmly at both of them.
“Terry mentioned this is your first visit,” she said. “Let me recommend something. The chef’s trying out a new batch of mini cinnamon rolls—not too sweet, just right. We also have some amazing chips and dips, or spinach artichoke dip if you’re in the mood for something heartier. But if you just want to relax, that’s perfectly fine too.” She made comfortable eye contact with each of them, her tone casual and welcoming.
Ezra nodded, trying to focus. Her confidence and ease—more than the bra-and-panty uniform—were what caught him off guard. It wasn’t about modesty or exposure. It was how she carried herself: comfortable in her skin, offering kindness without pretension. He’d never been looked at that way by someone like her—an adult woman treating him like a grown-up too.
Sofia spoke up while Ezra found his bearings. “We’ll try the cinnamon rolls. They sound great.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right back,” the waitress said, and glided away with a natural, unhurried grace.
Ezra watched her go, thoughtful now rather than stunned. Is this what it means to be here as a man? To be respected and treated well? To be expected to handle it? The feeling wasn’t embarrassment—it was something closer to awe.
The dancer on stage had shed all her clothes and was now moving on hands and knees, prowling like a cat. She rolled onto her back, legs raised in the air, giving everyone a clear view of the space between her thighs. Judging by the shower of bills, that was the move the crowd liked best.
Then, standing tall before them, she bent forward at the waist, palms flat on the floor—offering a full and unapologetic view of herself.
Sofia, watching, blinked. Do I have hair back there?
Ezra turned to her, one eyebrow raised. What?
That dancer doesn’t have any hair down there. I was wondering if I should, you know, be shaved like that too.
Ezra put a hand on her arm. It doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful just the way you are.
Good recovery, Sofia replied with a laugh, sipping her Dr. Pepper.
Ezra grinned and shrugged.
A new dancer came out, her figure framed in a long, tight dress with gloves that ran up her arms. Her soft brown curls bounced gently with each step. Her movements were smooth and slow, as if led by an invisible partner only she could feel.
Ezra leaned toward Sofia. What style is that?
The WE responded silently: Burlesque.
He nodded, watching with fascination.
Sofia, meanwhile, was watching the crowd. Other customers, bar staff, even the pleasure consultants—they were all focused on the show or on their work. No one stared at her. No one gawked. She wasn’t being sized up or silently appraised. She was simply ... there. Free to enjoy the moment without judgment or tension.
That realization surprised her more than anything so far.
Just then, their cinnamon buns arrived, breaking the spell. Eight golden-brown dough bites, arranged in a flower shape around a small bowl of glaze, steam rising from the plate.
“Enjoy,” their waitress said with a smile before disappearing back into the flow of the club.
Ezra and Sofia shared a look of awe as the scent of warm cinnamon wrapped around them like a hug.
Ezra grabbed a fork, speared one of the bites, twirled it in the glaze, and popped it into his mouth.
The sweet glaze hit first—but then the cinnamon bloomed, rich and comforting.
“Mmmph—OH FUCK THAT’S GOOD,” Ezra said, mouth half-full but clearly amazed.
Sofia grabbed one next and dipped it the same way. As she chewed, she let out a slow, honest groan of appreciation.
By the time they came up for air, the plate was empty, and both were wondering if ordering more would be embarrassing or expected.
Meanwhile, a dancer named Cindy had just come off stage. Her usual customers weren’t in tonight, and her one regular wouldn’t arrive until midnight. The WE confirmed the delay, and she’d learned to trust that.
She didn’t want to know her clients’ real names. She didn’t want attachments beyond the dance—but after enough sessions in the private booths, familiarity was inevitable.
As she stepped into the lounge area, Kylie—a tall, blonde dancer—was walking past her.
“Hey Cindy, fresh meat at table 18,” she said with a sly grin. “Young couple, by the looks of it.”
Cindy glanced over and saw Ezra and Sofia chatting over their empty plate, wide-eyed but smiling.
“I’d go introduce myself,” Kylie added, waving a hand across her glistening body, “but I need to wash off first.”
“Thanks, I’ll take care of them.”
The two bumped knuckles, and Kylie slipped into the dressing room.
Cindy lingered a moment, sizing up the young pair. No one else had claimed them. That was rare. Her coworkers usually moved quickly to drum up business, but tonight they hadn’t.
She fluffed her copper hair and checked her lingerie—dark green against her pale skin. She untied her silk robe letting it hang open revealing the set beneath. Men nearby turned to watch her as she passed, but she had eyes only for one table.
She didn’t know their names, their story, or even what brought them here tonight.
But she did know this: they were new.
And she wanted to be their first.
Sofia and Ezra were deep in conversation through their link, discussing how to report to their dad about the food and how kind everyone had been, when Cindy arrived and gently slid her hands across their shoulders.
Ezra flinched at the unexpected touch. He had been so focused on the task at hand that he hadn’t noticed her approach. Sofia hadn’t either—too caught up in the atmosphere and their quiet exchange.
His sudden movement drew her gaze upward—straight into the soft, ample curve of Cindy’s bosom, now hovering between them as the dancer leaned in, one arm draped casually across both their shoulders.
“Hello,” Sofia said, first addressing the boobs that were right in front of her face.
“Hey baby girl. What brings you and your man into the club?” Cindy asked, lowering herself to their level, balancing on the balls of her feet. This allowed her to speak without making them look up at her.
Ezra turned in his chair toward the dancer, doing his best not to come off as a creep. He glanced briefly at her cleavage, then quickly snapped his eyes back up—his moms’ and sisters’ advice echoing loud in his mind. Cindy noticed the glance and the immediate rebound, her lips curving in a knowing smile.
“Um, we came in to see what this place is like,” Ezra said, trying to sound professional and composed. “We’ve never been inside before, but we’ve heard good things.”