Chapter 4

Two o’clock came -- and slowly went, taking the occupants of the main room with it. At least one other occupant got dosed with the ‘hangover cure’ in the trio’s presence -- and one actually got smelling salts to make her more alert. The dancers wandered in -- naked -- and started making out with the ‘latecummers’ and some wit had dubbed them. The ‘medic’ waved the dancers off the blonde, explaining, "She likes does, not bucks. Chubby, there, can keep her happy -- tell her she’s getting a strap-on, Honey." This last was directed at Shannon, who wasn’t terribly happy at being designated a co-conspirator. Was this better than fucking? The jury was out...

After very little warm up, the parade began. The dancers kept the women they were assigned to happily and muzzily in the belief that they were the object of their attention, sitting in folding chairs beside the cots and making out with the ‘latecummers’ while someone else removed their clothing, then crawled between their legs to fuck them.

Shannon was particularly miserable; her conscience was hurting her badly as she played with the blonde’s breasts and kissed her and fueled her ardor, knowing what was going to happen. When the guy working on her had thoroughly shucked the blonde below the waist, Shannon leaned in to deliver the lie, "I’m gonna use my strap-on on you now... Won’t that be nice?"

The woman surprised her by retorting, "No, I wanna dick! She scrambled bolt-upright in the cot and looked around blearily at what appeared at least to be a developing orgy and erupted, "Any of you bastards got a dick? I wanna dick!"

The ‘medic’ scratched his head. "Sure, Honey, no problem." He turned to the door monitor. "Give me two." The next two male customers came in. Nodding at the guy who had stripped the blonde, he said, "Do her up." Then he turned to the newcomers, and selecting one, told him, "Get some head -- just to give her something to do. In the unlikely event you blow a nut, it’s no charge -- just get back in line for your second." He waved at the cameraman who was making the rounds, recording things for posterity. "Make damned sure you get that heifer bawling for a dick -- she’s gonna remember she’s a lezzie in the morning." Last, but not least, he turned to the other newcomer. "Take Chunky, here. Lucky you -- she knows which end is up." He waved at Shannon and her cot. "Get naked Chunky -- your shift as a play toy for girls is over, it looks like."

Meanwhile, the blonde was holding the customer’s short, thick joint in her hand and grinning from ear to ear, declaiming, "Thank Gawd -- a dick! Not much of one, but..." The other guy pushed her knees up and spread her, and she looked at him for a moment, confused. "Two? Fuckin’ A!" The cameraman got this all on video...

Bridgette was already fucking. She’d undressed herself and arranged herself on the cot when things started to gel and a short, rangy-looking guy with a long, rangy-looking cock had crawled between her legs and set up shop. It was pretty strange; the guy wasn’t using much of her but her pussy and her breasts -- Bart had her attention, talking to her softly and kissing her. Looking around, she could see that the other four women were getting similar treatment from the dancers while a slow but steady stream of males used their pussies as receptacles. Once Shannon was settled, Bart split his attention between his women, holding one hand of each and moving back and forth, providing a layer of oddly comforting attention while a queue of anonymous males battered their pussies.

Probably due to the drugs, the ‘latecummers’ seemed to ramp up to a point where they were active -- even demanding -- participants in their own pillaging; a couple of them got manic and one announced to the room that she wanted anal sex. Bridgette and Shannon, being more or less sober, felt the wear and tear more, which caused their performance to slack off. "You should have doped them," the ‘medic’ opined, stopping by to observe things.

"It’s not what we’re here for," Bart replied.

"Things are quieting down and the others are still going strong," the ‘medic’ noted. "After these two studs" -- his characterization of the two guys currently fucking Bridgette and Shannon was decidedly snide -- "get finished, haul them out of here to go off and recover."

Bart nodded; they’d accomplished what they were here for long since. The girls were game; it was time to move on. Bridgette was ready first; he helped her collect and don her clothing and she was sitting up on the edge of her cot, fully dressed, when Shannon’s customer backed off and dropped his rubber in a trash can, smiled and waved -- somewhat embarrassed -- and left the room. When Shannon sat up and reached for her clothing, the blonde turned to her and said, "Leaving?" and made a pout.

Shannon nodded. "Too bad..." the woman muttered, and then eyed the cock in her hand. She’d been insisting that she get two at a time from the moment she decided that she wanted one. "I love dicks," she declaimed in that ponderous tone that most people only use when drunk. "There’s nothing like the real thing. Why do MEN have to be attached to the goddamned things?" She popped the one she was holding back into her mouth.

In the background, the ‘medic’ chuckled. "That one needs to find herself a nice transvestite..."

Bart helped Shannon dress; clearly, the night had taken a lot out of her. Then they headed out, Bart with an arm around each of his women. "I did nine," Shannon volunteered. "It was... weird."

"I did eleven, I think," Bridgette replied. "What was going on down there really didn’t seem to be connected to what we were doing..." She eyed Bart as she said this.

"Maybe I made things too easy," Bart chuckled.

Out in the main room, Gary was wandering around sipping coffee from a good-sized mug. He gravitated to the trio and asked, "So how was it?"

Bridgette shook her head. Shannon mused, "I think I’m horrified."

Gary shot Bart a warning glance, but waved genially at the coffee pot. "Before you get too excited, let’s talk about it. Obviously, you two aren’t the usual latecummers..."

Bart pushed the girls gently toward the coffee pot, hanging back and mouthing, ‘They’ll be fine.’

Gary nodded, but kept talking. "You know, the first time I saw that little production, I had serous worries over it -- but then I noticed a few things and really put the thing in context." He set out three cups and poured coffee in them, then waved at the cream and sugar on the bar. "Girls come here to be exposed to sex. They want validation -- attention from hot guys. They want to know that they’re hot. Many of them don’t get shit..." His expression as he eyed Bridgette and Shannon said, ‘But you know that, don’t you?’ "I’m gonna kind of remind you girls of some things you already know, here, just because you tend to forget them." He sipped from his cup as the girls doctored their coffee; Bart added nothing to his. "Chicks come here to cut loose -- and part of that cutting loose is drinking. Part of it is doing wild shit with hot guys -- but many of them have to get drunk first so they can toss aside their inhibitions. The ones who get really blitzed are looking to get past their fear and get wild -- and they want the plausible deniability that being drunk gives them. They want to be able to say, "Oh, I was drunk on my ass or I’d NEVER have done THAT!" Gary smiled crookedly. "So they overdo it and end up out back -- ON their back, losing their big chance to get what they came for. What’s that? Well, it’s dick -- but it’s also attention from a hot guy -- a chance to swap spit and get cuddled a little and made to feel special." He eyed the pair, "Feel free to jump in anywhere and tell me I’m wrong..."

Both Bridgette and Shannon dropped their eyes, looking embarrassed. Was it really that obvious? Yeah, sure it was -- that was why they were with Bart, wasn’t it?

Gary resumed, "Clearly, booze isn’t perfect -- or they wouldn’t have overdosed and fallen down or whatever. They’re not getting what they came for. So the latecummers get the hangover cure -- which gets them out from under the booze, but keeps them pliant and ramps up their arousal while damping out their inhibitions -- which means we’re putting them right where they wanted to be in the first damned place! Then we bring in the hot guys and they coddle them and say sweet things to them and kiss them and play with their titties -- but the guys have been fucking for hours and don’t have shit left to use on the girls! Enter our other group -- the guys who can’t pick up girls. They need pussy -- guys ALWAYS need pussy, unless they just climbed off the shit -- but they’re in the same boat as the girls. Why the silly motherfuckers can’t just trip over each other on the sidewalk is beyond me..." Gary’s gaze took on a distant quality. "But they don’t -- and that shared problem is how the club makes money. So, we’ve got a horny chick who is getting attention but no dick and we have a shitload of dicks with nowhere to get pussy -- and after hours on Ladies Night, we merge the two groups. After a while, the girls move beyond the emotional shit and just want to fuck and the dancers go home. The girls get the living shit fucked out of them -- but they were drunk, so it’s not their fault -- right? Sure, they weren’t really drunk -- but they THINK they were drunk -- and actually they were BETTER than drunk, since their state allowed them to enjoy what they were doing more."

Bridgette grimaced. "This is... rationalization. You’re STILL using them as prostitutes..."

"Well, yeah. We COULD do it all for free, I guess -- but people need to get paid and why not make a buck? Part of the reason we can keep the cover price for the girls so cheap is because the guys pay the difference," he flicked a glance at Bart, "one way or another."

Bridgette turned to look at Bart, and Gary scoffed, "Come on, you don’t still believe this guy WORKS here, do you? Guys pay a hefty hunk of change to get to put on one of those T-shirts and wander the floor and let girls gobble their cocks and throw their pussies at them until their balls are dry. That’s the OTHER thing we do. The dancers can’t keep up with the crowd once the girls get going, so we inject fresh blood, a few guys at a time, so the girls have someone to go nuts on and don’t go away frustrated. Technically, he’s an employee -- we have his app on file -- but the records will show that he was let go after one night. That covers him and it covers us and it gets a bunch of girls what they showed up for tonight -- and it helps pay for the champagne and the cheap drinks and everything else that makes this Party Central." He eyed the girls and finally slipped over into threat mode, "We make a profit off of it -- what’s wrong with that? If it bothers you, though, you’re free to complain to the cops -- I can probably find you one around here somewhere." His smile turned shark-like. "To get back to the back room, though -- I know you noticed that we take video. Some girls want to see it -- and it’s almost always plenty obvious that they were active participants. Some of them want a copy, because they don’t remember things very well. He told me earlier that you two were volunteers -- I don’t suppose you understand all that, do you? I’ll spell it out -- we get girls who hit the back room every time they come. After it happens a few times, we usually have a little heart-to-heart with them and everybody realizes that they’re having a good time. So we throttle back the happy juice -- they usually want some, to stay loose, but not enough to forget what they were up to -- and maybe we subsidize their cover or their bar tab. And they hang out in the club until closing time, go out back like you did, and fuck their brains out. Sometimes, on slow nights, they help out by getting a little wild deliberately out front to warm things up... Anyway, don’t try to tell me it’s all just terrible -- because if it is, how come we have chicks doing it deliberately?"

"Well..." Shannon grumbled, but she shut up and shrugged.

Gary eyed her. "You know why you came here. I do, too -- and so does he. You got what you came for, too, didn’t you? Well?"

"Yes." Bridgette made the admission, dropping her eyes. "More than I came for." She turned to Bart. "Can we go home now?"

Gary was eyeballing Shannon, who held up her hands. "Okay, okay, you’re right! It’s all cool! It just... isn’t pretty."

"Reality seldom is, Honey," Gary chuckled. "Reality seldom is."

Bart turned the girls toward the door. "What’s next?" Bridgette asked.

"How about a nice, hot bath, then we’ll see if we all fit in my bed?" Bart offered.

"Sounds great to me!" Shannon declared. "Don’t race off, so I can follow you in my car!" They convoyed up and left the Hump Club behind.

Three years later...

Bridgette put on her stockings, humming. No pantyhose -- Bart didn’t like them -- and no panties, either. Bridgette had learned to see the benefits. Humming, she checked out the little black cocktail dress she would be wearing to dinner. The belly she'd had the night she met Bart had gotten a LOT bigger -- then settled back to less than its original size...

There was a wail from just down the hall. "Panfila!" Bridgette yelled. "Could you check on Elizabeth? I’m dressing!"

"She’s feeding Frederic!" Shannon yelled back. "I’ll get it!" After a few seconds, there was a second yell, "She’s messy!" Bridgette finished her garters and headed for the nursery to help out.

Panfila was already there, too, one of her heavy brown breasts hanging out of her skimpy maid’s outfit for Frederic to suckle. When both Bridgette and Shannon had turned up pregnant within a month and a half of one another, Bart had gone out and started interviewing for a maid and wet-nurse -- and Panfila had been the result. "I’m running dry, Mistress," she informed Shannon.

"I’ll take him," Shannon replied. "You take this so Bridgette doesn’t have to smell like baby crap." She surrendered Bridgette’s daughter on the changing table to the Mexican woman and dropped a shoulder on the nightie she was wearing so Frederic could get sustenance from her big jugs. "Come to Mama, sweetie..." Shannon wasn’t going out -- so Bart would probably fuck her when he got home to pick up Bridgette and take a shower. Elizabeth was almost weaned -- and liked formula better anyway -- but Bart had decreed that Frederic was to get breast milk until he didn’t want it any more, so Shannon and Panfila rotated, making sure he got his fill.

They all had roles; Bridgette was ‘the display girl’ and Shannon was ‘the naughty girl’. Bart had tried to be equal with things, but Bridgette and Shannon were just different. To Bridgette, Bart’s demands just weren’t onerous -- if Bart wanted something, he got it -- whatever it was. Shannon liked to kick and squeal -- and, it turned out, she liked to play. As a result, Shannon got regular spankings and other punishments -- and thrived on them. She’d lost sixty-five pounds and looked the best she’d ever looked -- and she knew it. If Bart needed someone to take to the local swing club or for a little BDSM or to do something REALLY nasty, Shannon usually got the call -- Bridgette was Bart’s arm decoration at garden parties and concerts and got just enough of the other kind of thing to remind her of her role. At home, Bart was as fair and equitable as he knew how -- and Bridgette and Shannon were happy with the result.

Panfila had been a catch. The thirty year old Mexican woman was a legal immigrant with a green card, working toward her citizenship with Bart’s assistance. She’d been married to some guy in Arizona, but he’d more or less tossed her, although little four year old Jorge was American by birth.

Bart had smelled submission during her employment interview -- and the conditions of her employment as he described them to her wouldn’t have stood up in a court of law, but Panfila -- fearful that she would not have employment, protection, OR assistance -- had agreed to them readily. Thus the tiny French maid’s frock -- which was maybe a little silly-looking on her matronly frame -- complete with dark stockings and garters. There was also the agreement to accept the occasional spanking or other corporal punishment for failures -- something Bart had followed through with almost immediately. At this point, if you asked her, Panfila would tell you that she feared losing her position and that was enough to justify Bart’s demands -- but everyone knew that was a rationalization. When Panfila had seen how Bart dealt with his women, those fears had taken a back seat to her desires -- a fact that had become clear fairly quickly, first to the women and later to Bart. Still, he was reluctant to treat an employee as he treated his harem, so things were moving slowly -- but over the last month or so, Bart’s hands had become increasingly familiar and Panfila had gone from frilly black lace panties to a thong to nothing under the short skirt, knowing that was how the other two dressed.

There had been a number of heart to heart talks among the women over this; the fact that Panfila was an employee and a latecomer were serious concerns to her, if not the other two. But Bart more or less deliberately didn’t trouble himself with whether Panfila was in the room or not when he sexed Bridgette or Shannon and the episodes she witnessed triggered a hunger in the Mexican woman that both Panfila and the other women knew would cause her to get up the courage to beg for satisfaction soon.

Bridgette and Shannon didn’t share Panfila’s concerns over the employment thing; in their view, they were Bart’s women and Panfila was an employee and that placed them comfortably above her on the totem pole. The conditions of their relationship differed. Besides, Bart could fuck any woman he wanted -- and their permission was not required. Last but not least, Panfila was a sweet shy woman who had needs similar to their own -- who were they to deny her?

A door slammed and feet thumped up the stairs. "Where is everyone?" Bart called out.

"In the nursery, Dear!" Bridgette caroled, stepping out into the hall.

"Ah. Nearly ready, I see. I’ll have to catch up," Bart grinned.

"We’re a bit behind," Shannon told him, stepping out behind Bridgette, "Panfila went first and Frederic is on his third breast."

Bart raised an eyebrow. "None for me, then? I’m going to have to discuss this greed of his with him when he’s older."

Panfila, carrying a freshly-changed Elizabeth, came to the door, smiling. Her right breast was still out -- something that would NEVER have happened a couple of months before -- but now, of course, she was advertizing... "This one made a mess, Sir, and we didn’t want Bridgette to smell like it..."

"Indeed." Bart reached out and collected his daughter, holding her up to speak to her, "Such a messy girl!" Elizabeth giggled and cooed.

Frederic backed off his mother’s nipple and gave a satisfied burp. "Perfect timing!" Bart noted. "Panfila, see if you can get him to make more noise -- if he took in three quarts of milk, there’s probably a quart of air in there somewhere." Bart handed Elizabeth to her mother and Shannon handed Frederic to Panfila. "Come help me with my clothes," he directed Shannon, "among other things."

Shannon grinned, following him up the hallway toward the master suite and its huge bed. "I don’t hold a quart!"

"A pint, then?" Bart’s voice returned as the door closed. "I hope so -- I’m thirsty!"

Bridgette grinned and shook her head at Panfila. "Men..." The pair headed back into the nursery to settle the children.