The Sunshine Room: Nick + Breebybarabajagal001©
Author's Note: This is a series of stories based on actual experiences and observations at a local sex club. It's not a series; the stories can be read individually, but there are some recurring characters.
Some people are wealthy by birth, others by hard work and ingenuity. Then there are those from humble origins, who have great opportunities drop right into their laps, time and time again. Those born wealthy might have fewer worries, and hard workers more nobility, but he would take being incredibly lucky over either of those two things, thought Nick Shasta.
Born and raised Nicky Shostakovich in a small town in upstate New York to one of only two Russian immigrant families, it may not have seemed the cards were dealt in his favor. He did passably in school, but got his first real break when one of his teachers took a liking to him, pulled a few strings, and got him admitted to NYU.
He'd studied film and businesses, graduating with a double major in the top third of his class, thanks as much to easy graders and his own natural charm as to any work he actually did. He supposed he could thank his sophomore girlfriend, Tara, for the idea that would really change his life. She'd been a women's studies major, a feminist, but in the hyper-sexual, heterosexual way that had made her a real pleasure - literally - to date. In one of her long-winded rants about the evils of pornography, she happened to mention that most women would enjoy watching it more if it was filmed with an eye towards their tastes.
Handsome men, believable storylines, beautiful scenery, foreplay, lovemaking, she matter-of-factly described as being much more appealing to the generally ignored female demographic. The very next night, Nick convinced his friend Sam to seduce a few coeds on camera, really treating them like the venerated sex goddesses he believed they should be. He took his savings and a small loan from his parents to rent a nice hotel room and video camera.
Even those basic videos ended up getting hundreds of thousands of hits in the first few months. The rest, as they say, is history. Nick was now nearing 35, the rich and charming bachelor king of a porn empire - a classy porn empire. Smart investing and lucking into various business opportunities meant he now ran the largest porn company in the country geared specifically toward women.
Yes, he thought, gazing out the window at the busy skyline, it was good to be lucky. There were plenty of opportunities just waiting to drop into the laps of the lucky. He turned, contemplating the security video screen on one wall of his office. There, he mused, came one such opportunity now.
A young woman, probably no older than 22 or so, was walking purposefully into his building. She spoke to the receptionist at the front desk, and Nick was not surprised when his intercom buzzed.
"There's a young lady here to see you, a Ms. Foster. Are you expecting her?"
"No," he said shortly. He watched as the young woman on camera frowned, and then began talking more animatedly, evidently trying to convince Sharon of something.
"Sir, she says she's a reporter for The Times. She flashed her press pass and said she wants an interview."
"I see. Tell her all press requests are to be made through the public relations department. Give her their number, and then send her away." Glancing at the monitor again, he was amused to see her arguing with Sharon, then accepting a business card with a frustrated pout. She turned to stomp toward the door, but only made it halfway. She wandered back to the desk with a sweet expression on her face. Sharon pointed toward the back of the lobby.
No doubt she'd asked where the ladies room was, he thought, just as he had no doubt that she would soon appear at his door. Not five minutes later, his suspicion was confirmed. His personal secretary buzzed him.
"Mr. Shasta, a Ms. Foster here to see you. She says you're expecting her." Linda sounded annoyed, probably because his calendar had no such appointment on it. It took real spunk to claim someone was expecting to see you when they weren't. He was curious about her now.
"Send her in, Linda. Please hold my calls."
A moment later, the door opened, and a young woman walked in. She was only a few inches shorter than his 5'11" frame, since her ice-pick thin heels put them eye-to-eye. He noticed that hers were a startlingly bright green. Her black hair was cut in a trendy, asymmetrical bob, and a light sprinkling of freckles fell across her pale skin. His mother might have called it a "roses and cream" complexion. Cute.
"Mr. Shasta, thank you for agreeing to meet with me," she said, holding her hand out. He took it, noticing her firm grip.
"Well, you were very tenacious, lying to my receptionist about our appointment, and about the Times."
"I am with the Times," she protested.
"You're no reporter," he said, dropping into the chair behind his desk and gesturing for her to follow suit. "So who are you?"
"I'm at NYU," she said finally. "I intern at the Times, and our culminating project is to write an article on a notable alumnus of our university. I saw your name on the university's Wikipedia page, and I chose you."
"Do you know what I do?" he asked her with amusement.
"You produce pornographic movies," she replied. "I know all about you." She seemed combative; why?
"Do you know anything about me that's not on my Wikipedia page?" he teased.
"Not...not really, no."
"So you're here to interview me about my meteoric rise to wealth and semi-celebrity, or...?" He left the implied question trail off.
"Actually, I'm hoping to write an expose on the latent sexism in your pornographic movies," she said. He was a little taken aback at this.
"But my movies are made specifically for women, in an attempt to get away from the over-masculinized bulk of pornography out there."
"Your movies still objectify women!" She rattled off some stereotypically feminist talking points that he recognized from his days with Tara: the male gaze, coercion, even hinting that something made "for women" was offensive.
"Listen, Miss - I'm sorry, what was your name?"
"Miss Foster, have you ever even watched one of my movies?"
"Of course I have. For research."
"What did you think?" He was amused to watch the delicate blush rise to her cheeks.
"Well, I...they were...that's a very personal question!"
"You enjoyed them, didn't you?" he asked with a grin.
"That's really none of your business!" she sputtered. "Your films are offensive to women, and I'd like to know more about the women who are in these movies, whether they are even doing this because they want to, and-"
"You can stop right there, Miss Foster. Not one woman who has ever been on camera for me has ever been forced to do anything, and frankly I find the insinuation insulting. We run a clean company. These are women who enjoy sex, paired up with men they find attractive, and have their real orgasms captured on film. You're no investigative journalist, or you'd know this already."
"Mr. Shasta, people can say whatever they like in press releases and the like, but I've seen the photographic evidence. What woman could possibly enjoy those...those acts portrayed in your movies?" Ahhh. Nick suddenly understood the source of her outrage. She hadn't been watching just any of his films. She had no doubt stumbled onto the BDSM films in his company's collection, a genre with increasing popularity. The majority featured submissive women, though he had a growing number of femdom videos that this girl had evidently overlooked. He could hardly believe that someone her age could be so naive still. He leaned back in his chair, studying her.
"Surely you're aware that many women are attracted to powerful men. The women in the films you reference simply enjoy it...at another level."
"No one enjoys being hurt, Mr. Shasta," she said stiffly. His burst of laughter startled her, and she frowned.
"Of course they do! Haven't you ever gotten spanked a little by a boyfriend?"
"Certainly not, and I have no interest in trying it."
"Well, I'm afraid there's really no way to explain it to you. Clearly, I'm not going to convince you."
"I'd like to speak to some of the women from your films."
"No can do, I'm afraid. Strict privacy police, as you'd imagine. But," he said, pausing. This was a stupid idea, he was thinking to himself, but all too tempting. "I could take you to a place where there are plenty of different people you could observe...in person." Her eyes darted around nervously, and he didn't miss the tip of her pink tongue moistening her lips.
"Could I ask some questions?"
"Maybe, but I'll be honest, they aren't too keen on observers. So, you may have to do a few things you might not be comfortable with to gain their trust." This was mostly bullshit. Actually, the club he frequented was very friendly to observers, although overly curious lookie-loos (read: tourists) were gently discouraged.
"What, um, what kinds of things?"
"Well, there is a lot of casual touching and propositioning, some games for singles. If you came as my pet, you'd be basically untouchable, of course."
"Your, ah, pet?" she questioned, swallowing hard.
"Sure, you've probably seen them in the films, sometimes on leashes. It would mean only I could touch you without permission."
"Would I have to touch you?"
"Well, if you want it to be convincing. Pets and their masters can be pretty affectionate, so it might raise some questions if you didn't at all. Plus, you'd have to wear something appropriate, something very sexy. I'm not sure you're up to it," he said smugly. It had the desired effect: she scowled.
"I can handle it," she said firmly.
"I don't know. Someone so naive and negative about it might cave under the pressure."
"Try me," she replied defiantly.
"Okay. Get naked."
"I - what?"
"I want to test your commitment to this. If you're not even comfortable getting naked here, when it's just the two of us, I don't think you're ready for this."
"You're just trying to get me naked so you can have a look!" she protested.
"Hey, guilty!" he said with a charming grin. "But I meant what I said. Plus, a good pet never questions her master's orders. If you give us away, it might not go so well. I do have a reputation down there, and reporters are not their favorite people," he explained. Well, that much was true. "So how much do you want this story?"
"I'll do...almost anything," she said.
"Then get to it." She set her jaw, then rose from the chair and bent to remove her shoes. Matter-of-factly, she took off the grey pantsuit she wore, exposing her perfect pale skin. Nick felt his cock swelling already as she exposed her lime green bra and panties. He nodded approvingly, noticing that her nipples were poking through the thin satiny material.
"Now the rest." She unclipped her bra, letting it fall away from her body to expose pert b-cup breasts capped with dusky, rose-colored nipples. She slid nervous hands over her flat belly, and then continued the motion to push her panties down her legs and step out of them. When she stood, he saw that she had a light thatch of straight black hair on her mound.
"Turn around," he said. She complied, revealing a small, but shapely ass, with cute dimples on either side of her tailbone. He took the opportunity to adjust his cock, now fully hard, and then stepped over to her. He looked her up and down dispassionately, almost as he would a car.
"Well?" she finally asked, irritated.
"You've got a nice little body here. You could be one of the girls in my movies."
"Hardly," she said, turning her nose up.
"Don't knock it till you've tried it," was his answer. Then he added, "Uh, you have had sex, haven't you?"
"Of course I have," she said, blushing. "And I'm not a prude. I just have respect for myself."
"Oh, I see," he said loftily. "So you couldn't ever take your clothes off for professional reasons." He gave her a little smile. She flushed more deeply now, appreciating the hypocrisy she'd just displayed. To her credit, he thought, she didn't try to defend it.
"All right, are you free tonight? If you can meet me here at 8pm, I can take you tonight. I'll bring something for you to wear."
"But you don't know my size." He only smiled.
Once Bree had left, Nick lounged back in his office chair and picked up the phone. He dialed, listened to it ring.
"Sunshine Room, Ian speaking."
"Hey, Ian, this is Shasta."
"Nick, how you doing, man? You coming down tonight?"
"Yeah, and I won't be coming alone. I'm bringing a press intern." Ian groaned. "I know, I know, but listen, I already told her she can't ask questions. In fact, I told her your lot weren't very friendly to observers, so she's coming as my pet."
"Trying to get into her pants?" Ian asked with a manly chuckle.
"Nah, man, she's a prude. She's on this whole feminist anti-porn crusade, but I don't believe she's as into it as she wants me to think. She came to me, after all, asking her questions. I think she's curious, and I want to show her a good time."
"Mmhmm, so why'd you call?" Ian asked.
"Well, I was hoping you and Samara could put on a show or something, if you don't already have something planned."
"I think Matt and Shana are coming in tonight. They always gather a few watchers. And then you just never know what else will be going on."
"Yeah, that'll work fine. Could you do me a favor and help me pick out an outfit for her, too? I told her street clothes were no good. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm making her go naked, so something not too outrageous."
"Actually, I'm headed your way for an appointment soon, so I'll bring a few things by. But Nick, don't you think she's going to be pissed when she finds out you lied to her about the way things are down here?"
"Who says she's going to find out? She'll be so busy watching everyone else that I doubt she'll even notice."
"Well, it's your call. See you soon."
Nick swore as he rode the elevator up to his apartment. It was already nearly 6:30, and he only had until 8:00 to shower, dress, and race back down to the office. He dropped his briefcase and a garment bag onto the coffee table and headed straight to the bathroom. He admired his body in the mirror as he waited for the water to get hot. He had a nice body, lean and a little cut from regular trips to the gym. He'd gotten in a quick session on the way home. Sure, probably no one would be seeing him naked tonight, but he always liked to be prepared.
The bathroom filled with steam as he got into the shower. He soaped up while thinking about his meeting with Bree that afternoon. It had been a while since a woman had been so instantly attractive to him. He remembered the way her little breasts had looked perched on her chest, the soft, pale skin, devoid of hair except between her legs.
He noticed suddenly that his cock had grown achingly hard, and he groaned as he grasped it firmly. Bracing himself against the shower wall with one hand, he used the other to stroke soapy bubbles over his cock as he imagined Bree kneeling below him, mouth eagerly awaiting his seed. With a soft grunt, he unloaded his come down the drain, feeling the pleasure coursing through him. There. That would help him keep rock-solid control tonight. Now, he needed to hurry up.
Nick reached his office building just before eight, and saw Bree's slim figure hunched over on a nearby bench, scribbling in a little notebook. He strode over to her.
"I like a girl who's punctual," he said. Her head snapped up and he noticed that the look she gave him was not entirely friendly. He ignored it, turning to open the door for her. She followed him wordlessly into the dark and empty lobby. He set the garment bag on the reception desk and unzipped it, pulling out a short leather skirt and a dark green brocade bustier. Bree raised an eyebrow.
"That's actually not as bad as I was expecting."
"Well, it's a little first-time, Frederick's of Hollywood, but you're a newbie and you'll look smoking hot in it anyway, so it'll be fine." She frowned at him, but unbuttoned her black trench coat and removed it, revealing, to Nick's immense surprise, that the black stiletto heels on her feet were all she wore.
"I figured I might as well just leave my own clothes at home if I was going to be wearing them," she said with a grim smile. She shimmied into the tight skirt, and Nick helped her with the bustier, and then pulled one more item out of his pocket. Bree made a face. "A dog collar?"
"Please, I'll have you know this is fine Italian leather, made especially for humans. You're my pet tonight, remember?"
"You're not likely to let me forget," she grumbled. She let him put it on her. "What, no leash?"
"Maybe next time." He winked at her eye roll.
Bree was suitably intimidated by the half-hidden entrance, the formidable black drapes, and the bass thumping inside the club. The Sunshine Room, she thought, what a weird fucking name. The girl at the front desk obviously knew Nick, and she said she'd call Ian, whoever that was. Not two minutes later, an incredibly handsome man stepped out from behind the curtain. He smiled lasciviously at Bree, who recoiled internally, but gave him a weak smile.
"This your fresh meet, Shasta? Sexy."
"Yeah. Name's Bree. Bree, this is Ian. He and his wife Samara own the Sunshine Room."
"Pleased to meet you," she said politely.
"Oh, the pleasure is all mine." He pulled aside the curtain, winking at Nick, who grimaced at him in an attempt to get him to tone it the fuck down. He didn't want to totally terrify Bree. Nick grabbed her hand and tugged her after him. She barely had a chance to take in all of the various people on the main level before she was whisked down to the lower level.
People were already tied up and being whipped, spanked, belted - even punched. No kidding, one couple had on boxing gloves and were taking turns punching each other in the ass. Nick took in Bree's wide eyes, and wondered if he shouldn't have warned her before dropping her into the deep end. But no, fuck that, she'd seen his movies, she as much as asked to come here. Anyway, it was too late now.
"Oh, by the way, Nick," drawled Ian. "I forgot to tell you, the doctor is in."
"Who's the doctor?" asked Bree.
"Doctor Dave, he comes in about once a month to, ah, check up on the health of the fine young ladies in the club. Lots of masters bring their pets in for his checkups," Nick answered.
"Oh. Like, what, STD tests?"
"More like...sexual response tests. He's over there, I'll show you." He walked her over to the far side of the room, where she had noticed a small crowd of people were. A line of women were standing in a line, their partners - mostly men - nearby. One young woman was lying back on a gurney, moaning loudly as a man in leather chaps pinched her nipples and another man, dressed in scrubs, penetrated her with a large, fleshy dildo, holding a vibrator against her clit. Her moans grew higher in pitch, and soon she was obviously climaxing, thrashing about on the gurney.
Bree unconsciously gripped Nick's hand tighter, and he glanced down, amused at the baffled look on her face.
"Care for a checkup," he asked.
"No, thank you."
They heard a commotion upstairs, and Nick sensed that tonight's entertainment had just arrived. He dragged Bree back upstairs after him. Chairs were already being filled in the wide semicircle around the room. Nick snagged an armchair and pulled Bree onto his lap. She moved to push away from him, but he grabbed her wrist tightly.
"Remember who your master is tonight." She pulled a face, but nodded and sat still. Shortly, a young man walked into the semicircle, leading a young woman, who was crawling on her hands and knees, by a leash. He tied the leash to a hook on the wall, and the woman knelt demurely. She wore a full body stocking, open at the crotch so everyone could see her pussy, pouting lips protruding between her legs. The man wore full leathers - pants, vest, gloves - and Bree admired his muscles from her front-row seat. Nick, for his part, was always glad to see Matt and Shana.