Free story from Ultimate Decadence

Davina loved money. She loved it so much she would do almost anything – jump out of a plane, eat a goat’s testicle, sleep with Piers Morgan – if the price was right. But she drew the line at hard work, which was why after less than an hour as a cosmetics sales girl she’d thrown down her nail buffer and marched into the office of her new boss, Anthony Taylor, to tell him exactly what she thought of his job, and where he could stick it.
At nearly six feet tall in high heels, Davina made an intimidating spectacle as she slammed her hands on Anthony’s desk – a real Amazonian goddess with long black hair and toned arms and legs. If she’d had a spear tucked under her arm, she’d have been positively terrifying. But Anthony, sitting at a teak-effect desk that bowed slightly in the middle, both hands resting casually on a nicotine-stained computer keyboard, didn’t look terrified. He looked concerned, interested and ready to listen.
“I’ve had enough,” Davina announced, sitting herself on the squeaky visitor’s chair opposite Anthony and wondering, not for the first time, why a man who looked so expensive worked in such a rundown office. Today, for example, Anthony wore a sharp pinstripe suit and light pink shirt, with a platinum curb bracelet on one wrist and a 24-carat gold Swiss watch on the other. His thin, sandy blond hair was clipped and shaped in a longish designer style that swept across his forehead and, although he was nearly forty, he looked youthful and radiated good health. All in all, the man was totally out of place in this dowdy setting: Beluga caviar at a Butlin’s holiday camp.
“I’ve spent the last hour watching women with prams make great big circles around me so I can’t stop them and talk to them,” Davina continued, “selling some bloody awful green chemical stuff that smells like toothpaste and barely making enough to cover my petrol. It’s totally rubbish, Anthony. I quit.”
She sat back, wondering if there was anything she could steal on her way out of the building that would boost a morning of rubbish pay, but there was nothing in this place worth anything. Even the computer on Anthony’s desk was likely to fetch more from an antique dealer than a pawnbroker.
Anthony leaned back in his chair.
“You’re interesting. Do you know that?” He rested a foot across his knee, revealing designer logos on his socks. “You’ve got … charisma. There’s a spark to you. I like it.” He tapped the desk lightly with his fingers. “What if I offered you another job here? Still promotions, but better pay and better … prospects.”
Davina thought for a moment. “Would I still have to report back here? To these offices?” She stared pointedly at the corner of the desk, where the fake-teak covering was peeling away to reveal grubby chipboard underneath, one corner repaired with crumpled beige masking tape.
“The job’s right here, in this building.”
“No thanks.” Davina stood up, knowing any job in these tumbledown surroundings wouldn’t pay her what she wanted. The building was lovely from the outside, a beautiful – well she wasn’t sure when it was built – but it was quite old; one of those flat, square-looking buildings with big windows and lots of pointy lines and details on it. What a shame the inside was so seventies and falling apart.
She’d made it as far as the ill-fitting plywood door when Anthony said:
“I know the offices aren’t ideal, but there’s plenty you haven’t seen in this building, believe me.”
Davina’s hand lingered on the door handle. “Like what?”
“Upstairs. It’s very different up there – a whole other business. Let me show you and you can decide for yourself.”
“You’d have to promise me a lot more money.”
“I promise you can make at least two hundred pounds a night.”
Davina’s hand dropped from the door handle.
“I don’t believe you. There’s no way anyone in this place earns anything like that.”
“See it for yourself first, then decide.”
In spite of herself, Davina was feeling more and more intrigued. “See what?”
 As the old elevator winched its way to the top of the building, Davina began to feel a mixture of apprehension and excitement. She had no idea what Anthony was about to show her, but she was guessing it had something to do with money, and money always made her excited. But then again, there was something exciting about Anthony too. Maybe it was just because he was standing so close to her.
As the elevator doors rolled open, Davina’s dark red nails flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God. Look at this.” She stumbled out on to a thick, dark-red carpet and gazed at her surroundings. How could this space be here, in this building, with all the dilapidated furniture and worn-out carpets downstairs?
They were standing in a wide hallway. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting soft light and crystal shadows over the thick carpet. The walls were covered in thick plaster, carved with swirly scalloped patterns, and at the end of the hallway were two exits: one huge pair of white double-doors with blocky brass handles and one small door, white and carved with simple squares in that old-fashioned style that seemed to run throughout the building.
“Why’s it so different up here?” said Davina, taking a step down the hallway and letting her fingers trail along the scalloped walls. “Is it a restaurant or something?”
“It’s much better than a restaurant. Wait until you see it.”
Anthony put a confident hand on her shoulder and led her down the hallway. He stopped outside the smaller door.
“This is the dressing room,” he said, pulling down the handle. “You can get changed in there.”
“Why? What’s through those other doors?”
“You’ll see in a minute. This room leads through to the next room, anyway. The dressing room is the staff entrance.”
Anthony pushed the door open to reveal a large, light dressing room, very square with three big windows that let in lots of afternoon sunshine. The light was amplified by the twenty or so art-deco style mirrors hanging all over the walls, all of different sizes and offering whoever stood in the centre of the room a view of themselves from every angle. Around the sides of the room were free-standing clothes rails hung with hundreds of vintage ball gowns, evening dresses, glittery stage costumes, underwear, sparkling diamond bracelets, chokers and diamond-set watches. Everything was immaculate: antiques undoubtedly and probably 80 or 90 years old, but in perfect condition.
“They’re … oh wow,” Davina gasped, going right into the middle of the room and turning around and around, dazzled by the hundreds of outfits.
“Why don’t you try something on?” said Anthony, closing the door behind them. “Pick anything you like – think of it as part of the interview. The girls dress up in here before they start work.”
“Can I?”
It wasn’t really a question, as Davina had already picked up a hanger strewn with diamante waist and neck chains: silver chains and strings of crystal dangling like little curtains to cover intimate areas – if moving strings of crystals could ever really be said to cover anything. Having decided this would be her lingerie, she cast her eye over the rest of the clothes rails for something to go over the top and decided on a halter-neck dress made entirely from pear-shaped crystals strung on slim white ribbons.
She put both items carefully on the floor and undressed: pink high heels off first, then unzipping her silk shift dress and letting it fall away, revealing what she knew to be a spectacularly firm body – devoid of underwear since she never bothered wearing any. Naked, she stepped carefully into the diamante chains, taking time to position them just right. As she fastened the chains, and then the crystal dress over the top, she grinned at Anthony and swung her hips left and right.
“What’s this all for, anyway?” she asked. “All these clothes and everything.”
“The costumes? I told you, they’re for the girls who work here.”
“Really? If I worked up here, I’d get to wear these clothes? I’d really love that, this feels amazing. OK, so tell more about the job.”
“I pay £200 for the evening and you’ll work 8.30 p.m. until midnight. You need to pass a few physical tests, but after that the job’s yours.”
Davina moved her long dark hair from one shoulder to the other.
“Physical tests?” she said. “What do I have to do?”
“Not in here.” Anthony went to the side of the room and stood by an innocent-looking white door – a door Davina hadn’t noticed until now. “Through here.”
“OK. Oh, wait – I want to put one of these necklaces on.” Davina picked one of the twenty or so diamond, ruby and blue-opal necklaces that sat in an open jewellery box at the bottom of a clothes rail: the biggest, brashest one of course, a pendant of silver swirls set with five diamonds. The diamonds were real, Davina knew just by looking, and each necklace was probably worth a few thousand pounds. Fastening the chain around her neck, she went to Anthony, who wordlessly opened the door and let Davina look into the room beyond.
Davina sucked in her breath and stared. Just stared.
It was some sort of bar or members’ club: much bigger than the dressing room, probably big enough for fifty standing guests, and perfectly square. At first glance it looked like an upmarket cocktail lounge from years ago, with curved, cushioned red sofas, a glittering red-and-black floor and soft yellow light glowing from gold chandeliers, which hung from a high, domed ceiling.
But scattered over the glamorous antique furniture and floor were hundreds of old-fashioned pound notes. The notes lay everywhere, brown and grey: over the curvy legged sofas, the round glass tables with their grooved silver stems and the chequered floor. Worthless now, of course, the faded print and stylised ‘one’ indicating a currency of years gone by, but it was amazing nonetheless to see all this money thrown about the place. The money wasn’t just scattered over the floors and furniture, it also decorated the walls in an elaborate patchwork: lacquered bills with Bank of England written on them in swirling writing, stuck higgledy piggledy over one another to form a sort of wallpaper.
Of course, if it had just been a question of old bills scattered everywhere and stuck to the walls, Davina would have been impressed, yes, but not absolutely astounded. No, the old money alone wasn’t enough to astound her. What astounded her was the giant green and gold Dom Perignon bottle, about 7ft tall, standing in the centre of the room on a glittering, concave base of black gems. The bottle stood like a triumphant statue under the domed ceiling, its glass sides glittering with warm yellow light from the chandeliers above.
“Why?” Davina said, when she eventually regained powers of speech. “What’s all this doing here?”
“It’s for … entertainment purposes,” said Anthony, taking a seat on one of the sofas. “Believe it or not, this was a prestigious building years ago. Very prestigious. Film stars, princes, kings – all sorts of high-profile guests. It was world famous. Anyone who was anyone spent an evening here.”
Davina nodded, only half listening. She went to the nearest wall and ran her fingers over the lacquer-covered notes, feeling paintbrush marks and hardened bubbles.
“So it’s a nightclub, then? Like an old nightclub from years ago?”
“Not exactly. It’s more than a nightclub. A lot more goes on, if you know what I mean.”
“No, not really. What else goes on?”
“You don’t get £200 a night just for making drinks. The girls have to work harder than that.”
Davina got the picture, and thought: if this place is what I think it is, I’ll want a lot more than bloody two hundred quid a night.
Anthony went to the far wall, where there was a brass rectangle of black switches and buttons, like an old-fashioned stage-light control panel, and Davina followed him.
“Let me show you something,” said Anthony.
“What?”
“Wait,” he instructed, flicking three of the switches and pressing a button. After a second or two, there were gurgling, whooshing sounds like someone hosing down a car.
“Anthony, what’s that noise?” said Davina, turning around. As she did so, she nearly fell over in shock.
The giant champagne bottle in the centre of the room had exploded with water, shooting frothing, fizzy liquid from its neck high into the air. Fizzy water rained down, splashing onto the glittering, concave base of black gems that made a wide circle around the bottom of the bottle.
“It’s like a fountain,” Davina gasped.
“Do you want to go under it?”
“What, you mean stand under it?”
Anthony nodded. “The water’s heated.”
Davina went to the fountain and held her fingers under the spray. The water was warm and fizzy. It made her skin tingle and with a whoop she jumped under the warm water, laughing and shrieking, throwing her long arms into the air, letting water froth all over her, on her hair and shoulders, dripping from the crystals and diamante hung about her body. She lifted her head up and opened her mouth, letting water fill it up and flow over her lips and chin, holding her fingers out and letting the liquid rain between them.
Anthony took a seat on a sofa next to the fountain and watched her twirl around and laugh and run her hands along her arms and through her hair, body soaked, hair lying in shiny waves around her tanned shoulders.
After a moment Davina noticed him sitting there and, all of a sudden, in his sharp suit and designer shoes, sitting on a sofa covered with money, he looked like the most attractive thing she’d ever seen. Her arms fell to her sides and she stood limp in the fountain, the raining water around her totally forgotten.
The next moment, Anthony was beside her, undoing the fastenings at her neck and back. The crystal dress fell on the hard floor, crashing like a chandelier, but Anthony left the diamante chains untouched. She felt firm hands stroke and squeeze – almost too firm.
He pulled her out of the fountain and threw her onto the sofa, where she fell willingly, front first, breasts pressing into scattered pound notes and swaying strings of crystal, exhilarated and eager for whatever was coming next.
Anthony was behind her then, taking a handful of notes and rubbing them over her buttocks and shoving them between her legs. Then he threw her on her back, taking a single note and rolling it into a loose tube. He pushed the bill inside her, watching her look pleasurably shocked as he did so.
“You’ve got the right body for this,” Anthony whispered, feeling along the back of her strong thighs.
“The best girls here have some flesh on them – it suits the outfits better.” While he pushed the note deeper inside her, his free hand undid his trousers and freed a very long, very hard cock, which he manoeuvred towards her mouth.
“Of course, you have to show me you can do the job.” He pressed his cock against her lips.
Davina looked up at him for a moment, uncertain. Then she took his cock into her mouth and sucked it with vigour, until Anthony stumbled and had to catch himself on a glass table. He took her head then, and forced his cock further into her mouth, seeing how far he could push her before she recoiled.
But she didn’t recoil, and he pushed his whole cock into her mouth. While she sucked it willingly, Anthony searched around in his trouser pocket and produced something resembling a shiny gold coin. He pushed Davina back so she fell against the sofa again, on her back this time, and held the coin a few inches from her face like a magician about to perform a trick. It was a condom, a gold one, and Davina watched with a sense of eager dread as he rolled gold rubber over his cock.
Anthony was pleased by her lack of resistance. If she was happy to let him fuck her within minutes of taking her clothes off, she’d more than likely let clients do it for £200 a night. Mentally, he began to calculate how much she could earn him over the next few weeks and months. £200 was nothing to what the club made of an evening, and he knew she could earn him ten times that figure.
He grabbed a handful of notes and rubbed them around her pussy, enjoying her moan as paper and strings of diamante moved between her legs. She was already wet, but after a few minutes of rubbing she was more than ready for him and had opened her legs wide.
He pinned her shoulder down with his free hand and rammed his hard cock inside her, fucking her harder and harder and harder until the whole sofa was shaking. Pounded into her again and again, he rubbed notes over her body and into her mouth. She had a firm pussy, just like the rest of her, and he could easily imagine her servicing six or seven clients per shift. The thought made him harder than ever, and he fucked her remorselessly, banging her into the antique upholstery.
Davina couldn’t stop herself then, and reached down, rubbing and rubbing her clit until she came: a throbbing, fierce sensation that spread through her body and made every bit of her near-naked body feel electric and alive. She moaned and clenched her thighs together, barely able to breathe.
“Oh no, oh no,” hissed Anthony, as she grabbed his buttocks and pulled him deep inside her. “No, NO.” And he came. Even though he never did with the girls who worked for him: it was one of his rules. He fell on her, grasping the base of his pulsating cock.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said after a moment, his neck flushed and throbbing.
“What wasn’t?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his cock, sheathed in limp gold, back inside his trousers and pulled her up from the sofa. “Come on. We can’t stay here, it’s opening up soon. Get changed and you can start tomorrow. 8 p.m.”
After Davina had dressed and re-hung the outfits, dropping the necklaces back into the jewellery box, Anthony showed her back into the lift and pressed the button for reception.
“So I’ll see you here tomorrow,” he said, a resounding authority in his tone. “8 p.m. Don’t be late – you’ll need time to get changed.” The elevator doors rolled open and he gave Davina a slap on her backside as she stepped out into reception.
“OK.” She nodded, then sashayed across the reception area and out through the creaky glass doors with their retro triangle patterning and on to the street.