Chapter 1
August
I’d like to say this experience becomes boring after a while, but that would be a lie. Three men sharing one woman is always fucking exhilarating.
The Wicked Horse in Las Vegas, Nevada is sort of my home away from home. It’s a decadent sex club with a never-ending supply of eroticism, ripe for the taking.
Up on a raised dais, we’re displayed on a mattress covered in black silk. Behind the glass wall in front of us, a dozen or more people are avidly watching me get my cock sucked.
That’s part of the thrill, of course.
Having people’s eyes on me.
A blonde takes me deep, her lips stretched wide. Her throat tightly massages my length, and it feels so fucking good.
Beneath her is a dude I just met tonight… Rick Something-or-Other. While he’s flat on his back, I’m kneeling over his head. I can’t see his face, but I can hear his groans as the woman rides him.
Alicia and I have fucked several times before. She loves taking three men at once, something few women here can do. Hell, I’ve seen Alicia take two cocks in her ass at the same time—an experienced porn-star type of trick.
She enjoys sex—like every other patron in this establishment—and I admire the hell out of her. Over my time here, I’ve gotten to know Alicia well. A sharp lady with a brilliant mind, she’s a corporate attorney who isn’t interested in relationships or having children. She spends her days working hard, leaving her evenings free for unlimited orgasms.
As I drive my hips deeper, I test how much Alicia can take. When she extends her neck to peer up, I slide farther into her throat. Expertly, she accommodates me without even a hint of a gag reflex. She’s practically perfect.
From underneath, Rick steadily pumps into her. It has to be damn near impossible for Alicia to find a rhythm while three men try to claim her, so she holds herself still and lets us have our way.
Trailing my gaze along her slender back, which is arched in pleasure, to her upturned ass, I eye my buddy, Declan Blackwood, who slowly fucks her. He’s barely two feet from me, Alicia sandwiched in between us. I have her mouth filled while he’s plundering her ass. From prior experience, I know she’s extremely tight, but she can handle more than he’s giving her.
He grins. “This is the life, right, August?”
Sliding his hands down for a firmer grip on her hips, he slams into her. Alicia groans against my cock and my balls contract, then start to tingle.
“Sure the fuck is,” I mutter right before I shoot my load down her throat.
***
When Declan holds his glass of bourbon up, I tip the edge of mine to it. We’re taking a break at the bar in the Social Room, but we’re by no means done for the evening.
Above the Onyx Casino in Vegas, The Wicked Horse is spread out over multiple rooms. The Social Room is exactly what it sounds like—a place to mingle and meet potential hookups. Declan and I stand at the bar, which is a position we find ourselves in a few times a week. We met several months ago and we’ve become fast friends, despite the fact we have little in common outside the club.
I’m a former Vegas cop now employed by Jameson Force Security, a company that provides high-end security. Our services are not only for private individuals, but also for our government. I make good money—more than enough for a lovely home in an upper-class neighborhood and a Range Rover. But Declan Blackwood is insanely wealthy. Heir to the Blackwood hotel fortune, he’s as close to American royalty as one can get.
Still, we’ve become tight over our months of hanging together in the Wicked Horse.
Sometimes, we simply enjoy a drink and shoot the shit. After, he’ll go fuck whomever he wants in whichever room, and I’ll do the same.
Other times… like tonight… we’ll share a woman.
And still others… one will fuck a woman while the other watches.
There are no limits—except personal ones—in The Wicked Horse. Because I tend to live in a world where I have to play by strict rules, it’s incredibly liberating to have a place to go where there aren’t any.
“Got any cool missions coming up?” Declan asks me, but his eyes are on a woman at the end of the bar. With milky-white skin and jet-black hair cut severely over her dark eyes, she has a real Morticia Addams vibe going on. I bet she’s into some freaky shit.
“Nothing right now,” I reply, swirling the amber liquid in my glass before taking a sip. My job might require me to spend weeks in a place like Somalia only to send me home to Vegas for several weeks off. It’s definitely an up-and-down business, and it makes planning for the long-term difficult.
“I’m thinking about taking a fishing trip to Wyoming,” Declan says, moving his gaze from the dark beauty to me. “You should come. We wouldn’t be far from the original Wicked Horse club.”
“Original club?” I ask, my eyebrows knitting. I hadn’t known there was more than one.
“Yeah… Jerico Jameson modeled this club off the original Wyoming one. It’s actually housed inside an old silo, which is where the inspiration for this club’s silo came from,” Declan answers.
The silo is the circular-shaped room we were in earlier. It has glass-walled rooms along the perimeter to allow for unparalleled voyeurism. It’s my favorite place in the Wicked Horse. I spend most of my time in there.
“When are you leaving?” I ask. Until I get the call for a specific job with Jameson, my time is my own, so a trip is doable.
Declan shrugs. “I can go whenever, but I was thinking next week.”
Hesitating for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to have his wealth. It’s the type that can fund entire countries.
Billions and billions.
I have no clue what Declan does for his family’s hotel business. He’s third generation or some shit, but he spends a lot of evenings here at the club, same as I do. Doesn’t mean he’s not a hard worker, though. Just like me, he has a day job. I’m just not sure what that entails in relation to him. In the hierarchy of domestic and international hoteliers, the Blackwood Hotels and Resorts are considered top tier.
Still… most would never know he comes from that kind of wealth. He doesn’t flash it around, even dresses more casually than most patrons. It was a few months of shared fucking and bourbon before I even found out about his background, and he was pretty blasé about it. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly humble, but he’s definitely not flashy.
“I’m interested,” I continue, referring to the fishing trip in Wyoming, but more interested in a visit to the original Wicked Horse. Sounds like way too much fun, but I have to say, “Assuming nothing comes up at work before then, anyway.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he drawls. “And if you want to invite anyone, feel free. I might invite a few other guys.”
“Appreciate it,” I reply. Truthfully, though, there’s not anyone I’d invite. The guys I was closest to at Jameson aren’t around anymore. Several up and moved to the Pittsburgh office, and one of my closest mates, Sal Mezzina, was recently killed in a mission gone very bad in Syria.
While Jameson gets a lot of bread-and-butter work doing mainstream security services, we’re often hired for high-speed, black-ops shit that even our own government doesn’t want to associate itself with. One day, I could be protecting a pop star on tour and the very next, I could be headed to some Middle Eastern country to combat terrorism. One of the things I love best about working at Jameson is it’s never boring. It’s definitely more of an adrenaline rush than I experienced as a Vegas cop where I spent the last few years of my career in special weapons and tactics. Moving from SWAT to Jameson was pretty seamless since they share many of the same skillsets.
Declan tips his head, draining the rest of his bourbon. Setting the empty glass down, he shakes his head when the bartender starts to move our way. He swivels his gaze to me. “Ready to go again?”
“Same thing?” I ask, taking a moderate sip of my bourbon. I enjoy the taste too much to slam it.
Declan scans the interior of The Silo room, which is now clean, rearranged neatly, and occupied by some bulked-out beefy dude topping a skinny guy who seems to be enjoying it. It was one of the things that startled me when I first started coming here… the guy-on-guy action, since I hadn’t ever had an opportunity to witness it firsthand.
Now it doesn’t bother me. On the contrary, some of it interests me. But not what I’m watching now. Both are clearly gay, but more power to them. The big dude obviously knows how to fuck with finesse.
But I have been in situations—with Declan as a matter of fact—where I was in a group setting with a lot of touching between men and women alike. Sometimes I can barely make it out of The Orgy Room without having had some other dude fondle my balls or lick my cock. It didn’t take long to realize shit feels good no matter who’s doing it, so I’ve become much more open to new experiences over my months in the club.
It’s about hedonism.
Pushing boundaries.
Testing limits.
Draining every bit of pleasure out of a situation like sucking the last bit of juice out of a ripe strawberry.
It’s what The Wicked Horse is meant for.
“How about The Orgy Room?” I suggest.
“Let’s do it,” he replies. Because I’d much rather be fucking than drinking, I go ahead and shoot the remainder of my bourbon down my throat.
