Ebony
I watched Terrence- the newest member to be accepted into The Basement- for several moments as he discreetly eyed the scantily clad women milling around the room. I know he’s new here, because I am the sole owner of The Basement- an underground lounge that I’d opened two years ago after the untimely death of my late husband, Robert.
I, and I alone, approved the requests and applications of every man who wished to enter my private establishment, but getting inside is far from easy. I’m very strict about the men I choose to do business with, and not just any old horny thug off the streets is allowed in here. The men I do business with inside these four walls are prominent politicians, police officers, doctors, professors, and even a few are judges. All members must go through an extensive phone and email interview process with me, before they get the privilege of knowing what goes on after hours inside Ebony’s- the soul food restaurant that I run upstairs during regular business hours, here in the Windy City.
Before I go any further, let me tell you a little about myself. I am Head Mistress Ebony Williams. Some people also refer to me as Madame Ebony. In addition to running my successful restaurant during the day, I also run a secret society sex club- a brothel, you could say, at night. Most women would turn their noses up at me if they knew I was in the business of prostitution, which is why other than the women I’ve hired to service my prestigious clients, only men are allowed through the kitchen and down the stairs of my restaurant. Exchanging sexual favors for money is the world’s oldest profession, and men do it everyday. And I’m a firm believer that anything men can do, women can do better.
Aside from having to be wealthy, there is one other requirement my clients must meet- they must be married. I like to refer to The Basement as a single married men’s club.
The men who frequent my lounge are stuck in boring marriages with their wives, who usually hold all the power in their marriages. Almost all of my clients only married their women for personal gain or social status, and she knew it. Their wives were all about keeping up appearances in public, but in private, they were self-absorbed prudes- both in and out of the bedroom.
My clients have sexual fetishes that their spouses aren’t interested in or willing to engage them in; these guys long for exciting, wild, passionate sex. Cruising the streets looking for hookers is out of the question, since not only would their wives leave them if they found out, they would lose their jobs, and the public shame and embarrassment would be too much to bare. They simply can’t take chances on some fool with a camera taking photos of them and selling them to the highest bidder. In a nutshell, they have a lot to lose.
That’s where I come in. I provide a private environment for these men to come and get their freak on with one of my girls. Here, they can have all the hot, filthy, freaky, pornographic sex they want, then go home to their boring wives, most of whom are totally clueless. The one’s who do know or suspect that their husbands are cheating, usually don’t care, as long as he keeps up the facade that they have the perfect marriage in public.
Currently, I have twenty girls- who are called mistresses- working for me, all of which have been carefully chosen and are under a contract that says they can’t discuss anything about my private club, beyond these four walls. I have only the best girls working here, some of which have been flown in from foreign countries. Not only are they all extremely beautiful, they are all down for any and everything when it comes to sex. After all, the men who are lucky enough to gain access into my forbidden world, are only here to have their sexual fantasies fulfilled…to get what they don’t get at home. And they are all willing to pay thousands of dollars to have their way with one of my beauties, in as many positions, and for as long as he wants to. I’ve instructed my girls to set a base price of $2,000.00 upfront- of which I get half; but they are more than willing to negotiate with their perspective clients on a higher price, depending on what he wants her to do, as long as I get half of whatever she brings in.
I’m usually in my office, keeping an eye on everything, by watching the expensive video monitors I’d had installed, but right now, I’m sitting on a chaise lounge in the middle of the room on a raised platform. Unhappily married men and their chosen sex workers, are milling around me. Sexual activity is allowed in any area of the club, either out in the open, or in one of the five private rooms down the narrow, dark hallway.
I sip on a glass of red wine as I watch Terrence Stanford fidget with the wedding band on his left hand. He’s nervous, which is normal for new members, but I can tell he’s a bonafide freak…he just needs the right woman to bring it out of him. He’s tall, dark, and boyishly handsome. Normally, I don’t interact with my clients, other than an obligatory hello or thanks for coming, when they’re leaving; but there’s something about Terrence that has me intrigued. It could be, because he reminds me so much of my late husband, Robert. He has the same full lips, tapered haircut, and goatee that Robert had. Immediately, I began to wonder if the package between his legs is as big as Robert’s had been.
For some reason unknown, I got a little jealous as I watched him interact with Angel- a dark
haired, exotic, Puerto Rican beauty who’d just walked over and sat on the barstool next to him. I decided that I wanted to find out what he was working with for myself. Right then and there, I told myself that Terrence was going to be mine, and I needed to claim my property before he got too engaged with Angel. According to several of my clients, she was the biggest freak of all my girls, and she had these men speaking in tongues while she gave them the best head that money could buy. She was usually requested by several men on the same night, and I had to auction her to the highest bidder. Once, I’d had a man pay $10,000.00 to spend the night with her, that’s how good she was at what she did.
I like to get my vajayjay licked, every now and then; but these days, I’m more about getting my money, than I am getting an orgasm. However, all the money in the world can’t hold me, kiss me, or make my kitty purr when I get horny, like I am right now. Forget about a spark, Terrence had ignited a blazing flame inside my thong, and he didn’t even know it. He’d only recently been approved for access into The Basement about a week ago; however, this wasn’t his first night here. He’d visited twice before- once last Tuesday, and again the next night- but other than sip on a drink while casually flirting with a few girls, he hadn’t slept with any of them.
According to what he’d told me during his first phone interview, he was a college professor- he taught Psychology at Chicago State University. Also, he’d been married to his high school sweetheart, Crystal, for two years. His wife’s father was a judge, and her mother, a retired teacher. Crystal was studying to become a pediatrician and rarely had time for him because she was always at school or studying, which meant she rarely had time to screw him. Needless to say, their marriage had become sexless and boring. He’d been tempted to cheat a few times with a couple of his students who’d been willing to exchange sex for a passing grade, but something had always stopped him. When I’d asked how he’d come to know about me and this establishment, he told me that he had a buddy- a police officer- who was a member, and he’d briefly mentioned it to him.
I tossed back the remainder of my wine, then got up and made my way over to the bar where he was. I gently touched Angel on the shoulder.
“Angel, see that gentleman over there?” I pointed to a handsome man at the other end of the bar. “He’d like to speak with you for a moment,” I told her.
She immediately got the message- that I wanted Terrence for myself- and she got up and headed in the direction that I’d pointed her in.
“Hello, Terrence…enjoying yourself?” I asked taking the seat Angel had just vacated.
“Uh…y-yes,” he stuttered.
I laughed. “You’re not acting like it; why are you so nervous?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never been to a place like this.”
