Free Betrayal by Velvet

sheepishly.
    “Oh. Well, it was good seeing you again. I’ve got to run. I have another function to attend tonight,” Leona said, and walked away.
    “Your name please,” the guard asked again, looking rather impatient.
    She cleared her throat, and said loudly, “Michele Richards.” Sheprayed that her tone would convince him that she belonged. It was too late now to impersonate Ariel since the guard had heard the entire exchange between her and Leona. Her underarms began to perspire.
    He flipped the pages until he reached the R’s, and then scanned the list. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have your name on the VIP list.”
    If only Thompson had given her the invitation, which automatically assured her a spot on the list, since the invitation list was crossed-matched with the door list, she wouldn’t be standing there sweating.
    “Can you check by my first name?” she asked, trying to buy some time, so that she could think of another way to get into the party. Michele had gone through too many changes—from stealing Preston’s invitation, to buying a designer gown beyond her budget, to driving like a maniac—to give up so easily.
    He turned back to the
M
’s, read the list, and then looked up at her. “I have a Michele McGee, and a Michele Roland, but no Michele Richards.” He gave her an “I know you’re lying” look, and then said, “Sorry, miss, but I’m going to have to ask you to step aside, since your first
or
last name isn’t on the list. This reception is for VIPs only.”
    Michele thought about belaboring the point, but she knew that she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Besides, she could hear people behind her whispering, and assumed that they were talking about her. She gave the guard a sympathetic look, hoping that he would show a little mercy, but he just turned his nose up, and began addressing the next couple in line.
    Michele knew there was no hope in crashing this reception, so she slunk away in embarrassment, before the scene escalated. Her plan had been shot down midair, and she had no other recourse but to leave. She quickly dashed toward the exit, before the tears that were welling up in her eyes fell. Her heel caught in the hem of her dress, causing her to stumble forward. Her shoe tore a hole in the dress and a few of the tiny bugle beads sprang loose onto the carpeting as she made her escape.
    Acceptance was within her grasp, but it kept eluding her, like a cruel joke.
This is the last time that I’m ass out!
she fumed as she rode back down to the parking garage.

8
    THE BLACK Door was New York’s destination of choice for women of means who wanted to spice up their sex lives. Trey had taken the oldest profession in the world and given it an extreme makeover. He designed the club with a multitude of themed chambers on the second level, while the first floor was demure with only two cozy parlors. One room was for the older matrons who merely wanted to sip port or sherry while enjoying the company of a handsome young man. The other parlor had an ornate champagne fountain in the center of the room, but instead of spewing gallons of bubbly, it spewed ice-cold Belvedere. The straight vodka served as liquid courage for those who needed a little encouragement to go behind the velvet drape and venture upstairs into the blue light district, where the serious players played.
    The second level was decadence personified, with chambers to satisfy the kinkiest of appetites. There was the Voyeurism Room with a one-way mirror where members could fuck while on display. The 8mm Room played retro porno flicks for those who needed visual stimulation to jump-start the evening. In the Leopard Lounge, members could enjoy cocktails while being eaten out by a server in one ofthe private booths in the back. The Tantalizing Toy Room offered heat-sensitive gels, edible panties, fur-lined handcuffs, butt plugs, and vibrators to enhance enjoyment. And those were just a few of the chambers inside the Black