Club Velvet 4
Copyright© 2026 by Kynlas_DK
Chapter 3
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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 Polygamy/Polyamory
Sal arrived at the club promptly at 9 a.m., knocking on the front door. A man inside looked up and came to answer it.
“Hi, are you Salvatore Ransom?”
“Yes sir. You must be Frank Devon.”
Frank opened the door wider and stepped aside. “I am. Good to meet you. Come on in—we’ll talk in my office.”
He led Sal through the quiet club, still, dim and silent, a far cry from the energy of the night before.
Once they entered the office, a woman stepped in behind them. Sal stayed standing, recognizing her instantly.
“Hey,” she said with a smile, shaking his hand, “I remember you. We talked last night, didn’t we?”
“Yes. I wanted to get a feel for the place before today. The club—and the people—left a strong impression.”
They settled around a small meeting table. Frank leaned back slightly. “Really? What stood out to you?”
Sal looked from one to the other, then let out a breath and spoke plainly. “You, Frank.”
Frank raised an eyebrow, but Sal held up a hand before either of them could jump in.
“Let me explain. I spent some time talking with one of your dancers—Kara. She said working here felt like being part of a family.”
Frank blinked, taken aback, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. “Kara, huh? I’ll have to thank her when I see her.”
Lisa agreed, saying that she would give that girl a hug of thanks.
“What else, Salvatore?”
“Please, call me Sal.”
They both nodded.
“I also noticed how everyone here seemed ... comfortable. Honest.” He paused, then added bluntly, “I’ve known some whores in my life.”
Frank tensed instantly. The air in the room shifted. His breath caught in his chest.
“What?” Sal asked, sensing the change.
Frank leaned forward slightly, voice calm but tight. “Sal, you didn’t know, so I’m not going to bite your head off—but I hate that word. Hate it. It’s the worst word in our language. There’s nothing respectful about it. It’s always been used to demean, to degrade, to strip someone of their worth. So please, don’t use it around me.”
Lisa gently placed a hand on Frank’s arm, sending a calming warmth through their shared connection. She hoped this wasn’t the end of what had started as a promising meeting.
Sal was surprised—not by the correction, but by how deeply it hit Frank. He hadn’t expected a man like him to react with such intensity over a single word. But that was it—this wasn’t just any man. This was someone who actually respected the people who worked for him. Who stood by them. Sal could respect that.
“I’m sorry, Frank. Lisa. I meant no disrespect,” he said sincerely.
Frank gave a small nod and let the silence hold for a beat, granting Sal the floor to continue.
“Like I was saying,” Sal resumed, more carefully this time, “I’ve known women who’ve chosen sex work as their path. Most of them were tough—hard souls, worn down, right on the edge of losing it. But the dancers in your club? They’re the opposite of that. They’re vibrant. Alive. And from what I could see, they want to be here. They actually enjoy connecting with the customers. That’s rare. And it tells me a lot about the kind of place you run—and the kind of man you are.”
“Thank you again for your kind words,” Frank said with a smile. “Flattery won’t get you the job—but hey, it doesn’t hurt.”
Sal chuckled quietly.
“With that said,” Frank continued, settling back in his chair, fingers steepled, “let me tell you a little about this place and how we got here.”
“I didn’t come from money, and I sure didn’t grow up thinking I’d run strip clubs. Hell, most people still don’t get what we’re really doing here. Club Velvet started in Metro City—one downtown club. When the WE came alive, they allowed our girls to offer more personal services. That’s when things changed. The club expanded, first into the suburbs. Good business decisions—and a fair bit of dumb luck—let me take things further.”
He glanced aside, lost in memory.
“One of those expansions was a run-down place in East St. Louis. I bought it with a partner. It was struggling—mostly truckers passing through. But we built it up. Expanded. Now it’s thriving. We serve everyone from drivers to local business owners. That club has heart.”
“With three clubs doing well, we opened this one in Chicago—our flagship.”
Lisa smiled softly but didn’t interrupt.
“That’s also where I met my wives. Lisa was first. Then Jane, finally Veronica. All three came into my life through the business. All of them had tough pasts, but we built something real. Honest. Loving—even in a world that used to be dirty.”
Frank’s voice softened.
“The WE don’t allow alcohol or drugs anymore. But connection? That’s still legal. Still necessary. We built the club to celebrate that connection. Our dancers don’t hustle unless they want to. Guests don’t come here to escape—they come to feel again.”
Sal listened quietly.
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