There’s a lot of moaning coming from The Orgy Room, which is par for the course. I step in to take a peek, and there’s not an ounce of shame when I say the view of all those people fucking and writhing and orgasming never fails to arouse me. Perhaps I’ll end up here tonight.
It is my favorite room here at The Wicked Horse Vegas. It’s not where you see the kinkiest shit—that would be The Silo Room—but it is where the lust permeates the air so thickly there’s a wildness that sort of inhabits you when you join in.
It overtakes you.
Then frees you.
Yeah… I’ll be back here tonight.
I make my way back to the foyer and push open the heavy double doors to The Social Room. The sound of the sexy music, moaning, and flesh slapping against flesh is totally muted here, and it looks like nothing more than an upscale bar. It is a long and rectangular room with a bar running along one wall in Brazilian rosewood trimmed in chrome. There are no stools at the bar—standing-room only—but there are several velour seats and couches done in muted colors of taupe, cream, gray, and brown. This room is sedate, elegant, and designed to encourage conversations over a cocktail or two.
To keep in line with the elegance of our decor, there is a dress code. It’s not overly stifling, but it is enforced. Most people dress up because they want to be noticed and can afford the best clothes. A one-day membership is five hundred dollars… so that pretty much weeds out the tourists who can’t afford to look like they belong in a place like this.
After being passed my preferred drink of vodka on the rocks from one of the bartenders, I move down to the end of the bar. As owner of this club, I watch everything. Because of my background in military special ops, I observe details others wouldn’t, even if they were sitting right in front of them.
It’s still early—just past nine PM—but there’s already a hefty crowd here for a Wednesday.
Movement at the entrance catches my attention, and I see Helena exiting the elevator. The Wicked Horse sits on the 46th floor of the Onyx Casino. To get into the club, the patrons have to make it past security on the first floor to gain entrance to the elevator that comes right to The Wicked Horse.
Helena is absolutely stunning. She’s wearing a simple, yet no doubt expensive, red dress that’s molded to her body. It is so expertly tailored that it is in no way sleazy. Black heels, bare legs, and chocolate hair that flows down her back. Her skin is golden, her eyes an expressive light brown, and she’s probably the most beautiful woman in the club right now. Not going to lie—it makes my dick stir when she locks eyes on me before moving my way with a sexy swing to her hips and a knowing smirk on her mouth.
We are going to have fun tonight.
“Jerico,” she murmurs as she reaches me, leans in, and accepts a light kiss to her cheek.
When she pulls back, I tell her, “You look gorgeous. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“Steven has not been traveling as much and when he’s home, he gets all my attention as you know,” she says before turning to the bartender to order a glass of wine.
“How is Steven?” I ask, because Helena’s husband is also a member here. They are big-time swingers and like to switch partners, which is pretty much what constitutes our regular members. Most people in here are in committed relationships, but they like a little debauchery in their sex lives. Steven doesn’t mind Helena coming here on her own, nor does she mind if he does. Their relationship is very odd, but it totally works for them.
“He’s tired,” she says as she turns back to me with clear worry in her voice. “I wish he’d cut back on his travel, but you know he’ll never slow down.”
I nod in understanding. When you love what you do, it’s not like a job. Steven is a diamond broker, and Helena is an attorney. Both are locals here in Vegas. They’ve been members since the doors opened, but they aren’t in here often because they work their asses off.
The bartender sets Helena’s wine on the bar.
“Put that on my tab,” I tell him.
The bartender nods, and Helena smiles at me as she takes her glass in a perfectly manicured hand. I know from firsthand experience those nails like to scratch backs while lost in desire. “Thanks, love. That’s sweet.”
Taking a slight step in so I can lean closer to her, I murmur. “Will you join me tonight?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says with a grin above her wineglass as she looks at me with hot eyes.