Clubwhore

By: Kim Jones

PROLOGUE


I’ve never been the type of girl to settle down. Life is too short to make sacrifices--like marrying a man you think you’re in love with only to find out later that just the sight of him repulses you. Feeling guilty, you spend the next twenty years of your life suffering in silence because you think you owe him a lifelong marriage. You’re miserable, he’s miserable and you’re sure you don’t love him anymore--that is, until you catch him banging some bitch ten years your junior. Suddenly, he’s the bad guy and you’re the poor, innocent, devoted wife who’s given him your best years.

Well, that’s just fucking stupid.

Me? I’m a realist. I see shit for what it is. I don’t want a commitment, I want a life. I want to call the shots. I want to see who I want, do what I want and be who I want. Keep your property patches. I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.

I know what the ol’ ladies say about me. I know the horrible names they call me behind my back—pass-around…white trash…skank…slut…clubwhore. They look down their noses at me. They think they’re better. They have zero respect for someone like me. A weaker person might be offended or hurt—not this bitch.

So don’t feel sorry for me.

I don’t need your pity.

Because, at the end of the day, I’m the one who wins. I have the one thing they’re most afraid of losing—their man.

I’m that girl.

The girl every woman loves to hate.

The one your man dreams about.

I live up to the name I’ve been given…

CLUBWHORE

And this is my story.





Chapter 1



“That’s right…you know how I like it, baby.” For fuck’s sake…come already. “You’re so big.” Good thing I practiced my Kegel exercise this morning. “I love how you dominate that pussy.” Blah blah blah.

The great thing about being on your knees while getting pounded from behind by a drunken biker who closes his eyes in hopes that it will lessen the guilt he feels in his chest because you aren’t his wife? You don’t have to look at the bastard. For example, right now I’m studying the shitty job my manicurist did on my nails.

As if he can sense my boredom, I finally feel him pull out moments before warmth spreads across my ass. I throw in a few grunts and groan for the hell of it, while he pumps his cock with one hand and kneads my ass with the other—like I actually enjoy that shit.

My name is Delilah Scott. I used to be referred to as Scotty D—weird, I know. But around here I’m known as just plain old Delilah. I guess it’s easier to bang a chick named Delilah rather than one named Scotty. By the way, “around here” is the Devil’s Renegades’ clubhouse in Hattiesburg, Mississippi—my place of employment.

I call myself an entrepreneur. I use my skills, body and brains to make my way in this world. Sure, I do it in a manner that some would consider unethical, but who gives a shit what they think? And the “they” I speak of are the ones who call me a whore. In reality, I’m not.

Whores get paid for sex. That’s not what I do. I get paid for providing company to lonely men. If that entails having sex, fine. I consider it an extent of my gratitude to the men who I enjoy being around.

“That was great, babe. Always is.”

I look over my shoulder, offering a wink and a sultry smile to the man who’s just come all over my back. “Pleasure was all mine.” And really, it was.

Even though this man isn’t a Devil’s Renegade, he’s a friend to the club. Therefore, he’s a friend to me. I don’t generally get pleasure out of fucking married men and this was no different. I was assured that he’s in the middle of a divorce. I’m not so sure it’s true. But, looking at the bigger picture, I’m glad I could be of service. In turn, I’ve been of service to the Renegades. And that always pleases me.


I stay on my knees while he dresses--not wanting it to be awkward when I cringe at the way his dried come pulls at the tiny hairs on my back. With his pants zipped and his cut back on, he slaps my ass and leaves the room. Hell of an exit. I mean, nobody has ever done that before.

One of the great things about living at the clubhouse is the en-suite bathroom I have all to myself. Okay…so maybe it’s not that great. But it is an added bonus. I have two hundred square feet designated especially for me. A nice, spacious bedroom with a view of the backyard, equipped with a king-sized bed, a vanity, dresser, closet and a bathroom with a whirlpool tub. The Renegades know how to take care of their own.

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