Mike drove downtown, past the glittering high-rises, into the neon-lit stretch of clubs and bars where money changed hands quietly and discretion was currency. He pulled up outside Velvet Noir, a hostess bar tucked between a pawn shop and a shuttered theater. No sign out front—just a discreet brass plaque and a red door that opened only when you knew the knock.
Inside, the air was thick with perfume, cigarette smoke, and low bass from hidden speakers. Dim red lighting painted everything in sin. Girls in short silk dresses moved between tables like liquid, smiling at suited men who tipped in hundreds just for conversation. Mike didn't come here for conversation.
He took his usual booth in the back corner—private enough, visible enough. A server brought his whiskey neat without asking. Minutes later, a woman approached: mid-twenties, long black hair, curves poured into a crimson dress that clung like a second skin. Her name tag read Lila. She knew him; he was a regular, the kind who paid well and didn't cause trouble.
"Evening, handsome," she purred, sliding into the booth beside him. "Miss me?"
Mike smiled—slow, predatory. "Always."
hey talked for form's sake. Small talk about the city, the weather, how business was slow tonight. But his eyes kept drifting to the memory of the gala: Clara in that red dress, laughing at his jokes, the way her hand had brushed his arm when she said goodbye. And Fin—soft, eager-to-please Fin—hovering like a shadow, never quite stepping into the light. Mike had seen it instantly: the insecurity behind the polite smile, the way Fin deferred to Clara's opinions, the subtle flinch when she teased him about being "too safe." Weakness. Delicious, exploitable weakness.
Mike's hand found Lila's thigh under the table. She parted her legs slightly—professional reflex. He slid higher, fingers tracing the lace edge of her panties.
"You're distracted tonight," she murmured, leaning in so her breasts pressed against his arm.
"Thinking about a girl," he admitted, voice low. "Met her a few days back. Attached. To a man who doesn't deserve her."
Ila's laugh was soft, knowing. "You want her."
"I want everything she comes with." His fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding her already wet—good girl, always ready. "And I want to take it while he watches."
He pushed two fingers inside her without warning. Lila gasped, thighs clenching around his hand, but she kept her smile for the room. Mike worked her slowly at first—curling, stroking that spot that made her breath hitch—then faster, thumb circling her clit with ruthless precision.
"Tell me," she whispered, hips rocking subtly against his palm, "what's she like?"
"Fiery. Beautiful. Bored with safe." Mike's other hand gripped her neck lightly, thumb pressing her pulse. "She laughed at my jokes. Looked at me like she was starving. Her boyfriend—Fin—he just stood there. Smiling. Letting it happen."
Lila moaned softly, head tipping back against the booth. "You're going to ruin him."
"I'm going to ruin them both." Mike's fingers plunged deeper, harder. "Start with her. Make her crave what he can't give. Then bring him in—make him watch. Make him thank me for it."
Lila's body tensed, thighs trembling. She was close—always came fast for him. Mike leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
"When I'm done, she'll beg for my cock while he holds the door open."
That pushed her over. Lila came with a stifled cry, biting her lip to keep it quiet, body shuddering against his hand. Wetness coated his fingers; he withdrew slowly, brought them to her mouth. She sucked them clean without hesitation, eyes locked on his.
Mike didn't wait for Lila to catch her breath after her first orgasm. His fingers—still slick from her mouth—slid back between her thighs, parting the soaked lace of her panties to the side. The fabric stretched taut, then gave with a faint rip of threads.
Lila hissed through her teeth. "Again?"
"Again," Mike growled, voice gravel-rough. "And louder this time. Let the room hear what a good little slut you are for me."
He plunged three fingers deep in one brutal stroke. Squish. Her pussy swallowed them greedily, walls fluttering around the thick intrusion. Lila's back arched off the booth seat, hips bucking up to meet his hand.
Slap-slap-slap.
The wet, obscene rhythm of his palm smacking against her clit filled their private corner. Nearby tables pretended not to notice, but heads turned subtly—men adjusting trousers, women biting lips.
Lila's hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging through fabric. "Fuck—Mike—yes—right there—!"
He curled his fingers harder, hooking that swollen spot inside her. Pop-pop-pop—each thrust made a lewd suction sound as he pulled almost out, then slammed back in. Her juices coated his wrist, dripping down to soak the leather beneath her ass.
"Tell me," he ordered, free hand fisting her long black hair, yanking her head back so her throat was exposed. "Tell me what you're going to do when I bring Clara here."
Lila's eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream as another wave built. "I'll—ahh!—I'll lick her clean after you fuck her… mmmph… I'll hold her down while you make her squirt on your cock… AHH!"
Mike's thumb mashed her clit in brutal circles. Her thighs began to quake violently.
"More," he demanded. "Beg for it."
"Please—fuck—make me cum again—make me squirt all over your hand—please—!"
He twisted his wrist, fingers pistoning faster. Squish-squish-squish-squish.
Lila's whole body locked. Her mouth opened wide—
"AHHHH—!"
A sharp, high-pitched cry tore from her throat. Then—
Squirt… squirt… squirt…
Clear fluid gushed from her in forceful arcs, soaking Mike's sleeve, splattering the table, dripping onto the floor in dark puddles. Her pussy clamped down so hard his fingers ached. She convulsed against him—once, twice, three times—each spasm wringing another wet squirt from her body.
Lila collapsed against his chest, panting, trembling. Sweat glistened on her collarbones. Her dress was hiked to her waist, panties ruined and shoved aside.
Mike finally withdrew—slowly—fingers glistening, dripping. He brought them to her lips again. She sucked obediently, tasting herself mixed with the sharp tang of her own release.
"Good girl," he murmured, stroking her hair almost tenderly now. "Next time I come here… I want you on your knees under the table while I text Clara. You'll listen to me seduce her. And when she finally shows up…"
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
"…you'll help me break her. Piece by dripping piece."
Lila shivered, a fresh trickle of arousal leaking down her thigh at the thought.
Mike stood, adjusted his cufflinks (now stained dark with her squirt), and tossed another stack of bills onto the table.
He walked out of Velvet Noir without looking back—hard as steel in his trousers, mind already three steps ahead.