PART FOUR
Check-in went off without a hitch. It felt good to know I wasn't blackballed for life. I hadn't spoken to Damian, the exclusive El Diablo Hotel's owner, for more than a year. He sent a short note during my stay at Foundations, a posh rehab for rich celebrities. That note gave me enough courage to walk past the imposing doorman and request a suite.
The well-trained petite blonde behind the check-in counter didn't lift an eyebrow when I handed her my identification. My visit was a spur of the moment "I-need-to-unwind-and-write-a-new-song" decision. My cock was also in need of finely-tuned pussy, and I was hopeful my warm welcome at the hotel would carry over to the private BDSM club upstairs.