Page 6 of House of Payne
“It had better be.” The line goes dead. No “I love you” or “See yousoon.”
Then again he’s never been that kind of father.
My mother was the affectionate one before she died. She was probably even too nice when she shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t a surprise when she ended her life because this existence was too cruel for her. My siblings and I mourned, but my father took it the worst even if he wouldn’t admit it. He really loved her, a fact we knew even if we never heard him say the words.
Love is dangerous when you’re dealing with shady businesses where people are always looking for a weakness.
That’s why I never plan to fall in love.
A short while later, I have one hand in my pocket as I walk in through the front entrance of the main building, receiving several nods. I smile as I reach the set of elevators in the back.
I pull the membership card from my pocket and swipe it through the readers. The doors leading to the lower floors are only available via a special entrance that I designed.
I made sure it won’t open without an active membership. The doors creak and pull apart to allow me entrance.
I’m one of the few people with keycard access.
Members have a special tattoo on their wrist that glows under UV light, the kind the elevator can scan and recognize.
It’s all a little more elaborate than I would like, but it’s necessary to keep us in business.
The elevator opens to a door with the sign “Mercy” on top of it, written in a delicate cursive.
Mercy.
A perfect nickname for the sex club.
Membership here is exclusive and expensive, and several of the members are big names in the real world with kinks they would never want anyone to know about. That’s why anything that goes on inside these doorsis strictly confidential and without loopholes.
This is a place of no judgment. The media has such a bad stigma surrounding sex, and if it’s not plain vanilla, they’ll call you out for being kinky and a sinner. In reality, everyone could use a bit more spice in their life. Sex is supposed to be fun.
Not everyone has to be into BDSM, but this isn’t a BDSM club, either. It’s open to anything so long as a member has the cash to back it up, with a lineup of women waiting to do whatever a man’s heart desires if it means working up money to pay off their debt.
Women aren’t forced to be here. We’re neither evil nor sex traffickers, but the option is open the second businesses fall behind on their payments. Some might call it crude, but a job is a job whether you get fucked or sit behind a desk for eight hours a day. The women can leave at any time, but a breach of contract adds more to what’s owed. They’re also still on the hook to repay their debt within a specific time frame or risk losing everything.
In all the time I’ve overseen Mercy, you’d think I’d have more dirty kinks, but despite being here constantly and seeing more sex than porn stars, I no longer participate in the activities we offer.
Sex has become more of an afterthought, with everything else I have to deal with, and I don’t mind not missing it as much as I should.
As long as I have someone to satisfy my needs when they arise, that’s all that matters.
The second the door opens, I’m fully immersed in Mercy. It’s not like a regular club with music pounding so loud I can barely hear myself think. We’re classier than that. It’s sultry and seductive, with a woman’s voice bringing you into the mood to want to push someone against the wall and fuck them until they’re screaming your name.
We take all the precautions here, ensuring the girls are on birth control and clean before they’re allowed to work. Men endure the same tests because we want everything to be the best it can be, which involves rawdogging it, at least for most people.
The lights are dimmed and purple, not so dark that you can’t see but dark enough that you can’t fully make out everything around you. Still, it’s hard not to notice the couple against the wall as I walk in. His back is up against the wall, and his pants are slung down, although his boxers are still hugging his hips while a girl is on her knees and taking him in her mouth. She gags loudly but doesn’t stop, taking him deeper and deeper like he wants. He grips her head and looks as if he’s never experienced so much pleasure.
He probably hasn’t.
Sex doesn’t bother me.
It never has, so it’s easy to walk past that scene and others like it. The lobby is sleek, with hardwood floors and expensive paintings on either side of gray walls.
The real fun is in the back.
The bar area is the first peek at what really goes on behind closed doors, with drinks flowing freely and people talking over each other, dancing, and in some cases, fucking against the nearest available surface.
A hallway is roped off from everything else with a velvet rope, and only silver members are allowed inside. A bodyguard is standing in front of it but quickly moves to the side as I approach. He’s massive, intimidating, and fully armed, but that’s nothing compared to the destruction I can cause.
