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The Gentlemen's Club

By: Tony King



"Bloody hell, it must be what, six years, how you doing?" I couldn't believe it myself. The last time I saw Tim he was lying between my ex wife's legs making her scream in ecstasy each time he rammed his nine inch cock up her. "I thought you'd gone to the States to head up that pharmaceutical company, what brings you back here you randy old bastard." 

Tim and I had known each other from school and had grown up best mates. We shared just about everything including our women. Shortly after I married we invited Tim to stay for the weekend and the two of us carefully set about seducing my new wife. A few drinks and some sexy talk and before long Tim was a regular visitor between her legs.

"So, how's the lovely Susie?" Tim asked lustfully. "Sorry mate, we got divorced shortly after you left, just grew apart really and that was it."

"Sorry to hear it, she was some shag. What you doing now?"

"Well, I met someone else and we got married last year."

"Wow that's great, does she ere, you know?" The wicked old bugger never stopped trying and as we sat at the bar I explained that my new wife, Carol, was a real old fashioned type and there was just no way she was going to spread her legs for anyone else, well, not voluntarily anyway. "There is a way," Tim said. "If your really serious about getting her laid then I can help."

"What, you going to wave that big knob of yours in her face and she'll just give in, is that it," I laughed. "No, seriously, there is a way."

Tim explained that while in the States one of the lab technicians accidentally stumbled across a formula similar to the fabled Spanish Fly. Only this one left no trace and didn't have any harmful side effects. "I always thought Spanish Fly was just a rumour."

"So did I to start with but I think there must be some truth in it, anyway, this stuff is even better." Tim explained that they had spent three years secretly testing the drug and that he and Garry, the lab technician had now left the company and set up there own business back here in London. "It's called The Gentlemen's Club," Tim went on, "very discreet with membership by invitation only. There are some very strict rules before you gain entry but I think you'll find they're worth it." We talked into the early hours and Tim described the club in detail. We agreed that as Tim knew me well we could skip the mandatory medical and arrangements were made for the following Saturday night. "Don't forget, as far as Carol's concerned it's an up market private club/hotel with dinner and dance facilities. I'll book you a double room for Saturday night and you will be my special guest."

I told Carol that we had been invited to join a very unique club by some prospective clients and that I would like to make a good impression on them. I bought her a long black evening dress with a nice revealing slit up the side and some new black silky stockings and lacy underwear. She was very excited about spending the night in London and spent Saturday afternoon lazing in the bath before having her hair done. Then, I sat on the bed as I watched her trying on her new outfit. The bra lifted her big 38" tits and just about covered the nipples and the panties were no more than a thin piece of material that just about covered her shaven pussy leaving her lovely round arse cheeks completely exposed. Then she put on the suspender belt and black silk stockings followed by her very high heels. "Will I do?" she asked giving a twirl. "Do? What, you're not going to wear the dress then?" I laughed, admiring the sexy creature before me. She'd arranged her long blond hair so it was off her shoulders, exposing her long soft neck. Once she put it on, the dress showed her slender figure off perfectly and the neckline was just low enough to show a promising amount of cleavage. 

We arrived at the club at seven and was greeted by both Tim and Gary. Gary was much older than both Tim and I, somewhere in his late fifties I'd have guessed. He was tall and looked very elegant in his formal evening attire. Both Gary and Tim went out of their way to make Carol feel welcome and we were soon all chatting away like old friends. "She's an absolute stunner," Tim said while Carol was in the powder room, "you sure you want to do this?"

"Sure? Fuck me mate, I've dreamed about it for ages."

"Never change, will you." Tim laughed. "OK, this is how it works, you and Carol enjoy your meal and afterwards get her up dancing, that should make her nice and relaxed. Some time during the evening I'll come over with some champagne, Carol's is the pink glass. The drug takes 20 minutes to take effect and after that, well it's up to you how far you want us to go."

We sat at a table with six other couples, all young beautiful women with their male partners and enjoyed some good food and conversation. After the meal the band came on and Carol really enjoyed dancing with me and the other men. After one particular slow number she came back a bit flushed. "I'm sure that guy I was dancing with had a hard on," she said pointing to a large black guy sitting opposite. "How do you know?"

"Cause the bloody great thing was poking into me," she giggled. Tim arrived with the champagne, ready poured in very impressive crystal goblets, two blue and one pink. "To old friends and new friends," he toasted, directing the last bit at Carol. Having finished the champagne, Tim suggested he give us the grand tour of the club.

"The clubs designed on a number of themes," he explained. "This first room is the Roman Room." We looked into a large room made out to look like a roman amphitheatre with a swimming pool set in the middle of fake marble columns and large scatters cushions filling the floor. "We hold regular toga parties in here, it's great fun and you can really let your hair down." The next room was one large mattress filling the entire floor with wall to wall mirrors and a mirrored ceiling. "This is the adult rumpus room. Great for group sex and orgies," he laughed, patting Carol on the bum. Carol was looking a little flushed and I noticed her nipples were clearly visible through her bra and dress. I'd lost track of time but figured the 20 minutes must nearly be up. "And this room," Tim went on, opening the door and ushering Carol into the gloom, "is the inauguration room."

"What's it for?" Carol enquired, peering into the gloom. "Go on in, I'll explain inside. Mind the steps, just follow the floor lights to the middle." Carol walked ahead and I went to follow. Tim caught me by the arm and held me back. "Last chance, this is where it starts."

"I can hardly wait," I told him.

Carol was now standing in the middle of the room on a small stage. She was shifting her weight from leg to leg as though dying for a pee. "So what is this place?" she asked looking around for Tim. Tim and I were seated about six feet from the stage and as I looked round I noticed that other people were silently filling the room. The seats were arranged in semi circles so every body had a clear view of the stage. From behind the stage a tall blond woman appeared with a young man in tow. "Hi, you must be Carol," she said, "welcome to the Club." Carol smiled nervously and looked round for me. Before she could say anything the young man stood behind her and reaching round started to rub the palms of his hands over her protruding nipples. I thought she'd throw a wobbly but to my surprise she just stood there, closed her eyes and let out a long low moan. "It effects the nipples first," explained Tim, "they become so aroused that they scream out to be touched." Kneeling to one side, the blond was now running her hands up Carol's legs, raising the material of her dress as she went, exposing her stockings to the audience. When she reached the top she pushed the dress higher, exposing her entire legs and the lower half of her panties. With one hand holding the dress round her waist, the blond started to gently stroke Carol's pussy mound through the thin material. Her moans now became even more audible and she made no attempt to stop either the blond or the young man playing with her tits.

The man removed the dress over Carol's head and stood her facing the appreciative audience. He went back to work on her tits easing them over the top of her bra until her prominent nipples were clearly displayed. The blond ever so slowly removed her panties, looking at the audience as she peeled the damp material down over her thighs. Carol automatically lifted each leg to step out of them before the blond threw them to a man in the front row. We watched as he took a deep sniff of the crutch before passing them on to the next man.

Carol was now standing on the dimly lit stage in just her high heels, stockings and suspenders with her enormous tits hanging over the top of her bra. The man was kneading her titty flesh and rolling the nipples between finger and thumb while the blond was now fingering Carol's wet pussy. Still kneeling beside her, the beautiful blond started by running her hand gently over Carol's smooth pussy mound. Then she worked first one and then two fingers into her slit, spreading the moisture into her clitoris and causing Carol to cry out in pleasure. The man had stripped naked and was now standing behind Carol with his arms wrapped round her playing with her tits and his long thick prick protruding between Carol's thighs. As if to emphasis the point, they all turned sideways, giving us a clear view of his knob end poking out. "That's Jeff behind her and the blond is Debbie, his cocks even bigger than mine. She'll love this bit," Tim said. The blond stood up and she too stripped of to just white stockings and heels. She was something else and my already hard prick was straining to get out. Facing my wife, she rubbed her nipples into Carol's and then gave her a deep French kiss. Carol simply responded.

The blond worked her way down Carol's body, stopping at her tits and sucking each nipple in turn. Then down across her flat stomach to the top of her pussy mound, leaving a trail of saliva as she went. Jeff's cock looked like it belonged to Carol and as Debbie inched her way toward it, it seemed to grow even longer. The audience gasped as Debbie slid her mouth over Jeff's cock and slid forward until her nose was buried in Carol's cunt. With Jeff playing with her nipples again, and Debbie's nose bouncing off her clitoris, it wasn't long before Carol was in the throes of her first orgasm. As her legs buckled, it looked like she was suspended on Jeff's cock, itself being held in place by Debbie's mouth. Before Jeff could cum, Debbie stood up and again kissed Carol full on the mouth. "Would you like Jeff to fuck you?"

"Oh yes, yes please," Carol said. They positioned her on all fours and Jeff knelt behind, his long fat cock swinging lewdly towards my wife's wet, willing cunt. Debbie lay on the floor in front of her presenting Carol with a pussy covered in neat blond hair. "Eat me sweetie," Debbie said just as Jeff's prick started to enter her cunt. Now I know for a fact that Carol has never been with another woman and even when she's watched two girls on film it does nothing for her. But as Jeff's cock slid deeper, she leaned forward and buried her face in Debbie's mound. 

There was a lot of rustling noises coming from the room and as I looked round I could see most of the people shedding their clothes or already performing some sexual act on each other. I felt hands on my fly and looked down to find a young redhead wearing nothing but a G string fumbling to get my trousers open. Being a true gentleman, I couldn't watch a lady struggle so I quickly undid them myself. What a relief as the old man sprang free, hitting the redhead square in the face nearly knocking her off balance. "He's keen," she giggled, flashing a gorgeous pair of brown eyes my way before slowly lowering her mouth over my entire shaft. The feeling was indescribable, this luscious creature was giving me the best blow job ever while my lovely wife was on stage being fucked by King Kong and licking some blond bimbo's pussy. The first scream came from Debbie as she came on Carol's tongue, the second was from me as I filled my friends mouth with jet after jet of hot sticky spunk. Then Jeff announced he was ready to cum. "Where do you want it?" he asked Carol slowing the pace until she answered. "Shoot it up me, I want to feel you cum."

"Up where?" he asked, looking over at me and winking. Carol was not one for crude language even during sex so it really surprised me when she answered. "Just fuck my cunt and cum."

The redhead had now moved across to Tim and was busy sucking his cock. "This is Tina, she's the best dam cock sucker in the club, aren't you honey." Tina looked up and simply continued to feed Tim's entire length down her throat. "God this little bitch is good," he said holding her head still while he unloaded yet another load of spunk into her hungry mouth. I was torn between watching Tina deep throat Tim and Jeff filling my wife's eager hole. "Oh yes, take it bitch," Jeff yelled, his buttocks clamping together as he pushed his entire length into her. Carol's head shot up and she too yelled as her own orgasm tore through her. As Jeff rolled off, men and women from the audience started to surround the stage, all of them in various states of undress and each man sporting a hard on. "Think she can handle a gang bang?" Tim asked, "She'll soon shout if she can't," I said.

Two more men fucked her doggy style while others offered various parts of their bodies to her mouth, including pussy, cock and tits. She seemed to take it all in her stride and from where I was sitting she looked like she was coming continuously. The action stopped for a few minutes while the men secured a swinging cradle to the ceiling. This allowed them to place Carol in the seat, lay her back and hoist her to waist height. Each foot slotted into a leather stirrup keeping her legs spread wide. The black guy that had earlier introduced her to his erection while they were dancing now took his place at her cunt. She lifted her head up and looked down as he slowly slid his big black shaft into her. Not only had she never had a black cock before, but as an out and racist the mere thought of having sex with a black man sickened her. But here she was, watching as ten inches of jet black cock worked it's way into her spunk soaked pussy. "You gonner love this girl," the guy said pushing more and more cock into her tight tunnel. "Oh yes, my God that feels so big." She laid her head back giving the man standing there the right angle to slide his meat into her mouth and down her throat. You could actually see the bulge in her throat where his cock head was. Between them, they simply pushed the swing back and forth, one minute her cunt was full and then her mouth.

During the evening, after receiving numerous amounts of spunk up her cunt, one or two guys actually got down and licked her out. These, Tim said, were the cream pie brigade. I lost count of the number of men and women who fucked my wife that night but I do remember the lovely little number that sucked my prick and the tall American bird I shared with Tim. The last to fuck Carol was Gary. "I just love sloppy seconds," he said with an American drawl, and after all, you and Tim have just fucked my wife. He may have been the oldest guy there but he fucked Carol through at least three orgasms before pulling out and shooting across her pussy and tits.

It was three o'clock in the morning before we eventually retired to our room and after sharing a shower with Carol we cuddled up in bed. "Wow, what came over you tonight?" As though I didn't know. "I don't know, I just couldn't stop myself. Are you mad at me?" She reached down and held my tired prick as she looked into my eyes. "I'm really sorry Hon, I just couldn't help it. I knew it was wrong but my body just took over. And anyway, why didn't you stop them?"

"Hey, don't blame me, it's your body. Besides, you looked like you were really enjoying it."

"Hmm, and you weren't I suppose." The thoughts of the evening were playing through my mind making my cock grow hard yet again. Carol pulled me on top and we began a nice slow fuck, her cunt although showered, was still sloppy with the copious amounts of other men's spunk she had received. "How'd you like sloppy seconds then?" she purred in my ear. "You like the thought of all those randy men fucking me?" With every sentence I just got harder and harder, I didn't need to answer the questions. "Hmmm, seems to me you did enjoy watching me getting fucked." She squeezed harder with her pussy muscles. "So, do you think we ought to join this club then?" I asked seconds from shooting my load. 

"Oh fuck yes!" she screamed coming with me.

The Gentlemen's Club



PROLOGUE — The Sermon

Reverend Nathaniel Crutchfield, a short, portly man long-separated from most of his hair, stood uncomfortably upright at the lectern of the Atkins, Georgia Primitive Missionary Baptist Church. This, his regular Sunday sermon, typically ran an hour and a half; already two hours on, Rev. Crutchfield showed no sign of slowing and indeed seemed piqued for another hour or more's worship. A widower, his daughter sat alone in the front row, Bible propped on her thighs, carefully following along. The girl's long red hair—flared as it was with flashes of brilliant gold and pale orange with small, random splotches of blond here and there, her hair seemed almost ablaze, so extravagant was the confluence of colors—fell below her shoulders and never failed to draw a weary glance.

These folk had heard the stories of witches from days past, women of questionable judgment and sordid vice willing to use magic—too, their bodies—to get what they coveted. While none would say so publicly, for fear of retribution by the crotchety reverend, they spoke of it among themselves frequently enough: the little Witch Girl who always sat in the front pew. She was the first to find passage when referenced, the first to stand for hymns, and certainly the first to raise her arms in adulation. None of these virtues could erase the uneasy feeling that permeated the congregation.

Rev. Crutchfield, having caught his breath, continued: "Women shall know their rightful place! Was it not Eve herself who bit from the forbidden fruit?" he said, gesticulating wildly. "We have all heard of women up North"—when he said North, it was almost a sneer—"and their quest for suffrage. Suffrage! Scripture tells us a wife should stay about the home and raise her children; should prepare a meal for her husband fit for their finest guest each and every day. A Southern wife honors her husband and obeys him without question! She speaks to no man, save her husband, about matters of the home. No man! Her loyalty to God and husband shall be tested, oh yes, but NEVER found wanting!"

A hail of amen's followed this last. This was something the men of the congregation could warm to, a careful recital of their wife's duties and obligations.

He continued, speaking at length, while his ten year-old daughter looked on, captivated by her father's words, absorbing every detail.

Surely, she was his best student; surely, she would know her role; surely, she would be a proper Southern wife.

Surely.

CHAPTER 1 — The Office

There were two people in the office—a lean, darkly tanned man in his mid thirties seated behind a broad oak desk, and a woman who appeared to be barely twenty in the seat opposite, she a pale redhead carrying a few extra pounds. 

Of average height and build, the man wore a conservative yet elegant russet suit, replete with a richly textured yellow tie. His brown hair was short and simply cut, and he framed dark brown eyes with a neatly trimmed goatee. He lounged comfortably in an expansive leather chair, one hand perched on the edge of his desk while the other idly twirled a wooden stylus back and forth. He did it automatically, deftly looping the writing instrument between his fingers so quickly it was difficult to believe it wouldn't go flying across the room at any moment.

She sat on the edge of a tall, stiff hardwood chair with her hands folded primly around a small purse, wearing a cream-colored billowy long-sleeve blouse and dark ankle-length dress. She sat on the barest edge of the chair, her back ramrod straight and head held regally high, very much a Lady of old—albeit a very young one. Indeed, she appeared somewhat younger than her actual age; twenty-three years old and married to the most junior clerk at the firm, she might have been eighteen instead, a very inexperienced young woman sheltered by her religious upbringing and overbearing marriage. Her face, slightly fleshy, gave small sign of the figure she intentionally shielded beneath layers of clothing.

"I know you are having troubles," the man said abruptly, his voice harshly cutting the silence between them.

The young woman squirmed uncomfortably. 

"Come, let us not be coy about this. You would not be here otherwise." As he spoke, the man's voice took on deep, measured tones, the result of a decade of accomplished law practice. His baritone voice had no trouble filling the largest of courtrooms; here, in this intimate setting, it possessed the richness of tone and certainty of content that he saved for his most compelling arguments.

She knew that his statement was true. She and her husband were experiencing difficulties—and absent those difficulties, she would have certainly ignored the imposition of this man's request. Her husband was away on business; his boss, the man sitting behind the desk, had sent a courier with a tersely worded message barely an hour before, practically demanding her immediate presence while hinting at trouble. Surely, with her husband away, she should have stayed home... and yet she had to come, had to be sure that nothing had happened.

"Is... is Robert alright?" she asked hesitantly, not wanting to talk about her—their—problems.

"Robert's fine, physically."

Sarah Higgins sighed with relief. She took a deep breath and held it momentarily before exhaling.

"However, let us speak about your troubles. Robert is very likely the most mediocre clerk at the firm. Perhaps, one day, he'll earn his stripes and become a full-on lawyer, enjoying all the prestige and honor of such a station—but for now he's mired in the sundry tedious duties of the, ahem, Junior Clerk. He's good enough, I suppose," the man said, waving his hand dismissively. "Good enough to just keep his job. Good enough to just avoid being the worst. I often think to myself, 'He's good enough.' But you see, 'good enough' is far removed from Good Enough. Do you understand, Sarah?"

Sarah startled. "Mrs. Higgins, please," she said quickly, distressed that he would address her so familiarly.

The man erupted in laughter. "Mrs. Higgins, indeed!"

Sarah recoiled as if struck. 'Is he having a laugh at my expense?' she wondered.

"Sarah," he said, exaggerating the syllables, "I fear I am going to have to let your husband go."

All the blood drained from her face; her shoulders trembled once, then held firm.

"Understand, I do not wish it."

Sarah looked up from her purse to the man sitting behind the desk. He gazed back at her stoically. They sat, staring at each other for several long minutes, neither saying a word.

"Excuse me," she said, running her hand along a non-existent crease in her dress, "but why am I here? If my husband is... is having so much trouble, that is," she finished uncertainly.

The man leaned forward, resting both hands on his desk.

"First, you acknowledge there is a problem?"

Sarah bit her lip, confused. She was taught to speak with no one about her home life, save her husband. Her father, God rest his soul, had often spoken to her of the duties and responsibilities of the virtuous wife. A Southern Baptist, Daddy had never failed to mention that loyalty and honor, above all else, should prevail in the holy matrimony she would one day share with her betrothed.

'Cover thyself,' he said, almost always followed by 'Honor your husband, and obey him.' Another maxim was, 'Trust your husband and your preacher—and no other man.' He had said these (and many other) words so frequently she knew them to be true; they were ingrained into her very soul. She had been faithful to her father's teachings throughout her seven years of marriage: she went to lengths to cover her body so that men would not lust after her; trusted completely her husband's judgment in all things; and listened carefully to even his most mundane pronouncements. She truly was her Husband's Wife.

Robert had mentioned that things at the firm could be better. He had hinted darkly at a rift with his boss, but never elaborated. Certainly, he never intimated that his position was in peril! She had assumed that, as men do, they would eventually sort things out and everything would be fine. Her husband stayed busy, going from county to county, closing deal after deal for the railroad and speculation companies that his firm represented. There had to be some value in that, didn't there? She had given it very little thought until this very moment, sure any trouble her husband was having at the firm was a minor thing that would eventually pass. She felt her heart racing. Would Robert be fired? What for? Why?

The bigger question: would Robert—or her father—approve of her discussing this matter with her husband's boss?

"Sarah?"

"Yes, Mr. Brown," she answered automatically, the way she would her husband or, if he were still alive, her father. It seemed her decision had been made.

"I asked you a question."

Sarah licked her lips nervously. "Yes, Mr. Brown. Robert—my husband— has spoken of some, ah, issues," she said, voice lightly soft-spoken.

Douglas Brown, proprietor and Lead Counsel at the firm, peered across the desk. He had very rarely been this close to Sarah Higgins, having crossed paths with her in the practice lobby exactly three times, each very briefly. He was struck now as then by her mane of thick, rich red hair, pulled back into a tight roll at the top of her head. He noted that her skin was quite fair—and she had the lightest blue eyes he had ever seen. Her pale skin had almost no freckles save a tiny smattering beneath both her eyes. Obviously, she didn't get out much. Her face, more than striking, was slightly pudgy, and gave barely a hint at the figure hidden beneath the loose top and dress. She seemingly always covered herself in this way. Still, it was clear enough she had an ample chest, and her thighs could only be so thick. He was sure she would be very satisfactory.

He took all of this in so quickly she failed to notice—for all she knew, his eyes had stayed glued to her own, a direct view with which found herself increasingly uncomfortable. 

No man, save her husband, should gaze at her so.

*

"Therefore, unless we can reach some sort of accommodation, Robert's employment has come to an end."

"But my husband travels and works many long hours! Surely this... misunderstanding... can be resolved?" she asked, unable to accept that her husband could be as mediocre as Mr. Brown claimed.

"Ah, I only wish it were so. If it were not for his, shall we say, religious perspectives, more importantly his proclivity to share them unbidden, we would not find ourselves in this predicament."

So it was true. Robert had intimated that he was being singled out because of his outspoken Christian views. He never apologized for it—nor did she—and would never stop telling everyone the joy of the Father, no matter the consequences. Rather than mediocrity, her husband was suffering from religious persecution! It was beginning to make sense.

"Have you nothing to say?" her husband's boss asked pointedly.

"I... don't know what to add... certainly, we are Believers."

"Certainly," Brown replied, nodding his head. He had heard more than enough about the obscure, fundamentalist sect Robert and Sarah Higgins were part of. "And, you are loyal to your husband."

She nodded and smiled weakly. It was difficult, this, speaking to a strange man about the nature of her marriage. She would have to pray at length about it later.

"And you would do anything for him." It was a statement, not a question. Douglas H. Brown, Esq. might have been cross-examining a hostile witness with a series of leading questions, rather than speaking to the junior clerk's wife.

"Without question," she said quickly.

"To be perfectly clear, you would do anything for him." It was almost an accusation.

Sarah found herself staring anew at the man across the desk, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Of... of course. He is my husband."

"Even... this will sound indelicate, forgive me... help him keep his job?"

"I'm not sure I understand how I can do that."

"Certainly you can't be so naïve."

Suddenly it dawned on her. 'He doesn't think... I never... how dare he?'

"No!" she barked, face and neck flushing the deepest crimson.

Brown, for the first time, smiled.

*

"Now, now," he said quickly, gesturing with his hands expansively. "I'm sure you misunderstand."

Sarah had already risen to her feet and taken three steps towards the door. She reached for the knob.

"If you walk out of that door, Robert Higgins shall be terminated forthwith."

She froze, hand on the knob.

"Now, you can choose to help your husband keep his job, or you can choose to get him fired. Either way, the choice is yours."

Slowly she turned, pulling her hand away from the knob. She stood, back against the door, as far away from Mr. Brown as she could be without leaving the room.

"I see you have at least a little sense about you. Very well, then. As you may or may not know, I find myself thirty-seven years old and still very much unattached. I am not asking you to ply your wares on my behalf," he added quickly, "or to prostitute yourself for your husband's job like a common street walker."

Sarah blinked quickly, heart still pounding thunderously. She felt hot and faint, the flush still filling her upper chest, neck, and face.

"Still, if you wish to secure your husband's position, you will submit to a very simple request. A client of some prestige is coming to town tomorrow evening, and I find myself in need of a female companion. This particular client would frown upon a man of my stature going unescorted to such a meeting. Robert is not due back for a fortnight. If you will accompany me tomorrow evening, I shall see to it that Robert maintains his position, irrespective of his ponderous religious blathering."

Sarah clutched her purse. Face tight, lips thin, she couldn't decide which was the bigger outrage—her husband's boss imposing such an inappropriate request on her person, or his making light of her husband's 'ponderous religious blathering.' She said nothing but merely stood, breathing rapidly, evidently considering the offer. She heard her father's voice ringing through her head: 'Anything for your husband.'

"Should you accept, a carriage will come for you at six o'clock sharp tomorrow evening. Should you decline... well, suffice to say, Robert's career, such as it is, will be over."

She took another deep breath and held it momentarily before slowly exhaling.

'I suppose I can do this one thing,' she reasoned, 'to ensure my husband's continued employment.'

"If you give me your word as a gentleman, that this will be the only time, and that Robert shall keep his job, I will honor your request."

Brown could barely contain his enthusiasm.

"My word," he said quickly, nodding his head.

Sarah Higgins curtsied once, turned, and left.

CHAPTER 2 — The Carriage

Sarah was nervous all night and the following day. Upon arriving at home she immediately composed a letter, telling her husband Robert how very much she cared for and missed him. Of course, she avoided altogether any description or account of her meeting with Mr. Brown.

And she prayed for a full hour before bed.

After waking the next day, she was going about her daily duties ('A clean and orderly home is your husband's rightful expectation') when there was a knock on the door.

A package.

Curious, she opened it and withdrew a frilly white laced dress, accompanied by a long red embroidered shawl and a three-word note:

"Wear this tonight. — DB"

Sarah held up the thin garment in the light, shook her head softly, and walked to her bedroom whereupon she threw herself on her bed and lay very still, searching desperately for the strength for that to which she was already committed.

'I must not damage Robert's prospects,' she reasoned, understanding perfectly well their future depended upon her course of action. They boarded, childless, in a most modest single-room dwelling at the back of a barbershop on the edge of town. They were broke; Robert's family had left him nothing, while her father, most pious, had left everything he owned to his church. All Robert and Sarah Higgins had was their faith and each other, pinching every penny to make ends meet.

She didn't know much about their finances, but she knew this: Robert needed the security of his position. She resigned herself to helping him keep it.

She whispered a prayer, a short request for strength and guidance, as she gathered herself and began the task of arranging her clothing for the evening.

Next she drew and boiled a pot water, preparing a pail of it for bathing. Cleanliness was next to Godliness, after all, and she saw no reason to be anything less than perfectly clean, irrespective of who she would be spending the evening with.

'I'm not spending the evening with Mr. Brown,' she chastised herself, as she stripped her clothing and undergarments. The only time in this world she would ever be naked was while bathing—and then only when the house was perfectly empty and all the locks securely fastened. 

Sarah took a seat by the steaming pail and, washrag in hand, began soaping and wiping her body clean. 'It's merely a social gathering, nothing more,' she told herself, having attended get-togethers after hours at least a dozen times at church. She fully expected to be returned to her home at a decent hour.

Surely, they would not be out past eight o'clock.

*

She paid no mind to the swell of her breasts, round and full, nor their darkly colored tips, as she bathed her flesh with a wet soapy washcloth, dipping it into the pail and wringing it out every so often. As she squeezed and scrubbed, over, around, and under her heavy breasts, water trickled down across her plump belly in rivulets, splashing her thighs. She was healthy, to be sure, a woman of substance, though clearly removed from being overly stout or slovenly. True enough she carried a few extra pounds, evidenced by twin hip hand holds—but she gave it no thought whatsoever, as it failed to interfere with her wifely duties.

Ah, wifely duties. 'Twice a month,' she thought, absently rinsing her calves. Every other Tuesday, her husband would claim marital rights—always in the dark, never more than two minutes in duration. 'Such a dear man, he doesn't seek to impose, even upon his wife,' she reasoned. Her role, during the bi-monthly trysts, was very simple: crawl between the sheets and pull her nightgown up about her hips, and then wait for his arrival. He would enter the room a discreet amount of time later and climb into bed dressed in his nightclothes. 

It was somewhat fuzzy what happened next; Sarah willed herself out of the room, instead closing her eyes and thinking of the wash, of what food she would prepare in the coming days, anything but what her husband was doing on top of her in the dark.  

After he was done, she would quickly pull her nightgown down, covering herself, get out of his bed and go to her own, smaller, twin-sized bed in the corner where she would immediately fall asleep for the night.

She and her husband never prayed before bed on these Tuesdays each month, instead preferring silence and solitude.

It was always so.

*

Very clean, undergarments (thick and cumbersome, as any woman's should be) in place, Sarah draped the silky white-laced dress over her body and grabbed the tiny two-inch by two-inch mirror (the only mirror she owned) from the back of the bottom drawer.

Satisfied that she was perfectly proper in every way—not even the slightest bit of her body could be seen under Mr. Brown's specially delivered dress—she sat by the window and waited nervously, randomly touching the knot of hair pulled high atop her head.




The Gentlemen's Club



Right on time, she saw and heard the carriage pull up. 

"You're sure it's back here?" a gruff voice said.

"Aye, that's what Brown told me, said she'd be most ready," another equally gruff, heavily accented voice replied.

"This place is a right dump."

Both men laughed at this, which caused Sarah to blush mildly.

Footsteps on the porch, followed by a loud "Rap-Rap-Rap!" told her it was time.

She opened the door.

"Greetin's, miss," a short, dark-haired, very ugly man said, bending slightly at the waist. It was almost-but-not-quite a bow.

"How do you do?" she replied.

"Mr. Brown sen' us."

"Very well," she said, stepping out and pulling her door to. She walked clumsily to the carriage, pulling the shawl snug, aware that the frilly dress threatened to catch on every nook, corner, and cranny she traipsed by.

The ugly man—ugly was too kind, his face looked very much like a hog beaten about viciously with a heavy wooden club—opened the carriage door and gestured Sarah in. She noted that the driver, sitting high astride the carriage with reins in hand, twisted around so he could watch the proceedings.

"Thank you," she whispered as she stepped up into the coach.

"Don' mention it," the man said as he none-so-subtly reached out with his hand and pushed on her derriere, squeezing her buttocks tightly in the process.

She jumped, startled, into the coach and fell onto the floor.

As the carriage door slammed shut, she heard both men laughing heartily at her expense. Her face and neck colored again—a common problem, surely attributable to her pale complexion. It seemed that any time a man spoke to her out of turn, or she heard the tiniest hint of impropriety in a conversation, she turned the deepest shades of red and felt a visceral heat build in her chest, neck and cheeks. 

Humiliating, certainly; no man should think he had such an effect on her! And yet, she couldn't help it and, even now, with the two questionable characters sitting atop the coach, laughing energetically, she felt the hot shame fill her body and knew not how to release it.

Eventually, it would disappear on its own.

Eventually.

*

It was a spacious coach; there were two leather-covered padded bench seats on either side, each capable of comfortably seating four. A small, unlit lamp was perched on the panel opposite the door. Sarah chose a side and slid over as far into the corner as she could. It still being light out, she pulled down the window shades, preferring instead the lowered lighting.

Besides, no one could see her if the shades were down.

With a lurch, the coach began its journey. 

A quarter hour later, the coach stopped again. This time, the voices outside were much more subdued, respect and deferment obvious in both tenor and volume.

"Yes, Mr. Brown, as you requested."

"Certainly, Mr. Brown."

"This way then, Mr. Brown."

The coach door opened and Douglas Brown stepped up.

"Sarah," he said, nodding towards her as he pulled the door shut. He sat on the opposite side.

"Mr. Brown," she responded, voice a bit high and somewhat strained.

"I see you received my package."

She said nothing.

Brown opened the shades, allowing a broad swath of waning light to fill the coach. Not yet half past six the sun, though it would not set for another hour, tracked low in the sky, swarming the coach with effusive yellow light. Sarah sat stone still, observing small dust particles suspended in the shimmering light.

The carriage began moving again.

"What, pray tell, are you wearing under that garment?"

His comment arrested her attention, drawing her eyes back to him.

"Pardon?"

Brown reached out a foot and lifted the hem of her dress, revealing a heavy opaque slip.

"You look like a white triangle, with a bit of gauzy lace thrown over."

Sarah felt her cheeks color again—'Why does that always happen?'—and immediately dropped her gaze.

"I'm afraid that just won't do. You're supposed to be my, ah, escort, tonight. Not my mother."

"Mr. Brown, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Brown, sitting beneath the coach driver, seized his cane and thrust up, slamming the capped end into the ceiling.

"Pop-pop-pop!"

A small window opened above Brown's head, revealing a screened outside view.

"Yes, Mr. Brown?"

"Turn around. We need to return my special lady friend to her residence."

"As you say, sir."

Sarah felt the carriage swing out slightly before beginning a long u-turn.

"Mr. Brown, I—"

"There's nothing to discuss, Sarah. You will honor my request or not, with all the ramifications that follow. If we just hurry, I can still meet my dinner obligations, although this may well leave me short of time."

The carriage jostled and banged across the rutted road as it spun around. Finally, wheels appropriately placed astraddle the deeply grooved road, they began rolling again in the direction from whence they had come.

Sarah looked across the coach, noted the way Mr. Brown avoided her eyes, instead gazing emptily out the window. He seemed almost bored, as if he had expected as much, had known in advance she would disappoint. The corners of his mouth frowned slightly.

"Mr. Brown."

He continued looking out the window.

She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Ahem, ah, Mr. Brown."

He said nothing, sitting comfortably, but did turn his eyes in her direction before slightly raising one eyebrow.

"Could you... that is, I... please, Mr. Brown." Her voice, smaller than usual, was virtually inaudible, drowned out by the sounds of the wheels clogging along the rutted road, the jingling harness, and the random whinny and snort of horses.

Brown again lifted his cane and rapped the ceiling viciously.

"POPOPOP!!" The sound was deafening.

"Mr. Brown, is everything alright?" a voice asked quickly. It was the ugly man, obviously concerned.

"Could you go any slower? I have a very important meeting and this will tragically delay my arrival!"

"Certainly sir. HAGH!" The sound of a whip cracking, followed by horse bray, filled the air. "HAGH! GO!"

The carriage sped up noticeably.

Sarah, troubled, breathed deeply and bit her lip in frustration. Stark, unbridled panic was building within and threatened to overtake her completely. With each passing second, she felt the impending loss of composure, the sense that she would quite literally beg for mercy. There was nothing she could do—well, not quite nothing, there was one thing. She could comply with his request...

Strangely, at that moment, she heard her father's voice in her ear: 'Cover thyself,' he whispered urgently. 'Cover thyself!' 

Certainty. She felt it, the knowledge that Mr. Brown would deliver on his threat and terminate her husband's employment.

She reached over and closed the shades. 

She knew what she must do. 

Sarah ponderously raised first one foot to remove a shoe, and then the other.

*

Brown watched it all with a forced sense of detachment. He nodded approval as she removed her shoes, before leaning forward in her seat. He soaked in her comely features, so clearly defined, the staggering blue eyes as she turned to face him.

"Mr. Brown, I—" she said, stopping herself. She quickly recovered. "Could you turn away, please?"

"Certainly," he answered immediately. "I am pleased that you comprehend your position tonight. However, we must fully understand each other before I have the coachmen turn around for a second time."

Sarah's arms stopped, frozen in place.

"Yes, Mr. Brown?"

"If this happens again, there shall be no second chance."

He didn't have to explain what 'this' was—he was speaking of her unquestioned obedience.

"Yes, Mr. Brown," she answered in a strangled voice.

"Very well, then. I shall do you the courtesy of leaving the coach, to afford some level of privacy." He paused a moment. "I am not an indecent man."

"No, sir, of course not," she answered, validating his statement. 

"Good."

He again banged on the ceiling. The screened window opened.

"Stop the carriage. I'm coming up top."

*

After sliding out of the dress, Sarah proceeded to remove the heavy slip, careful to position the long red shawl so as to keep her body covered, as the slip was the only undergarment she wore, aside from knee-length stockings, beneath the frilly silky dress. She had had no reason to believe she would need more underclothings, a heavy opaque slip being all that should be required.

Now naked, save the shawl and stockings, she couldn't stop her rapid shallow breathing. Very quickly she slipped her feet back into the dress and slithered it up her body, past her rounded hips and up her torso. She reached back, struggling to fasten the buttons needed to keep the dress in place. The process was made more difficult by her shaking hands—she was petrified at the prospects of wearing such a garment in public. 

*

Dressed, shawl wrapped tightly around her torso (and held firmly in place with both hands!), Sarah again reclined in her seat, leaning back and wedging herself comfortably into the corner. She had shoved her slip underneath the bench seats wooden plank, not wanting Mr. Brown—or anyone else, for that matter—to see such a personal article of clothing lying about.

It was then that the carriage slowed. They had been moving at terrific speed for what she supposed was half an hour. She peaked under the window shade and noted the rapidly fading light.

'Late,' she thought, 'past seven o'clock, certainly.'

Just then, the carriage stopped. Moments later Douglas Brown, accompanied by a man and woman, entered the carriage. Mr. Brown took a seat by Sarah, close to her person but not inappropriately so. The other couple sat on the bench opposite.

"Charles Winthrop, this is Sarah."

Charles nodded vaguely, glanced at Sarah briefly and then put his attention back squarely on Mr. Brown.

"Yes, Douglas, but you realize, we simply MUST get this deal done!"

"Profit, Charles, always you speak of profit!"

Mr. Winthrop turned to his female companion. "He speaks of profit as though it were a personal failing!" he exclaimed dubiously. His companion patted his arm in understanding.

"See, Douglas? SHE understands, don't you dear?"

"Of course," she said demurely, staring into his eyes with pure adoration.

"See, Douglas?" he said, never looking away. "My Jennifer has a full grasp on things!" Mr. Winthrop laughed heartily before none-so-subtly placing his hand on Jennifer's thigh and giving a hearty squeeze. "Very good, dear," he cooed, leaning in for a kiss. "Yes, very, very good."

Sarah sat back, shocked. This was outrageous behavior, OUTRAGEOUS! To handle a woman so, in public no less! 'Not exactly in public,' she chided herself, 'but certainly in the company of strangers.'

"Well then, Douglas, what DO you have in store for us tonight?" Mr. Winthrop said, sitting back and pulling his companion close.

"Charles, you always ask, and I always answer the same. We shall have a fine dinner at The Visum, in our usual corner. Afterwards, Collins will join us for a bit of heavy negotiation—"

"Collins? Impossible!"

"—after which we will do what gentlemen do."

"Do we need him, Douglas? That clerk of yours, what's-his-name, is really making himself useful, I hardly think we need the services of that uncouth Collins fellow at this late date!"

"We have not yet secured the last of the land deals to cement the railroad, Charles. There are a handful of properties yet to close in the southern counties. To be sure, we are close. Notwithstanding the efforts of my clerk, there is still a task only Mr. Collins can fulfill." As he finished this statement, Brown's voice became deep and somber, as if he regretted having to involve Collins at all.

Sarah, for her part, was hopelessly lost, having no idea of what they spoke. Instead, she couldn't help noticing Mr. Winthrop's hand, wrapped as it was around the thigh of the woman sitting next to him. Winthrop would squeeze, sometimes tightly, as he spoke, as if exaggerating his words with his handling. Jennifer sat quietly, back straight and chest up thrust, calmly accepting his course treatment.

"My word," Sarah breathed, for the first time noting the state of Jennifer's dress. It was exceedingly low cut, exposing nearly three-quarter moons above lace-edged cups. With each breath, the poor girl's heaving flesh expanded, threatening to spill over. Sarah looked up and caught Jennifer staring right back. She was smiling; not a kind smile that girls in similar circumstances might share, nor a beckoning smile that invited conversation; no, it was a calculating smile that failed to reach the eyes, a smile that suggested while she, Jennifer, certainly knew—and accepted—her place, this other girl, Sarah was it?, was hopelessly miscast and tragically ill-informed. 

The two men continued speaking for a short time before stopping, upon which Mr. Winthrop, without ceremony or preamble, turned and lowered his face to Jennifer's and opened his mouth.

"Darling," Jennifer whispered, kissing him open-mouthed.

Sarah, unable to hide her disgust, turned her face sideways. At the same time, Brown sidled over to her.

"Sarah," he whispered, his mouth inches from her ear. She felt his breath play across her ear lobe, accompanied by a vicious pounding beneath her breast.

"Yes, Mr. Brown?"

"I think we've arrived," he said, glancing out the window.

So they had.

CHAPTER 3 — The Gentlemen's Club

The sign outside the Gentlemen's Club had three words written in ornate script:

Dus Aliter Visum

From the Latin, "The gods decreed otherwise." The Visum, as they called it, was an establishment with very limited membership. It wasn't bloodline, occupation, or university that garnered membership to such an august institution; heavens no! Rather, the two requirements were very simple: Wealth, and Approval.

Wealth because one had to be in possession of such a worth personally and make a donation to the club coffers sufficient to convey unparalleled superiority to any non-member, and Approval because any potential member was obligated to secure a staggering 75% vote of the standing members to join. 

*

Winthrop was the first to exit the coach; he immediately stepped around the carriage and up to the Club door, ignoring completely the doorman. Jennifer, his companion, struggled to keep up, careful to keep her gaze fixed down on a mark ten feet apace. Brown was next; he afforded no assistance to Sarah as she exited the coach, but lingered just long enough so that she saw and followed him.

Having stepping through the Club doorway, Brown paused for Sarah.

"Sarah," he whispered.

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat impatiently.

"Sarah?" he repeated, a bit more forcefully.

She understood.

"Yes, Mr. Brown?" she replied, blinking rapidly.

"You will not eat unless I place food before you. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will look at a spot ten feet ahead, eyes cast down, the entire time you are about The Visum. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Brown," she answered quickly.

Without another word, Brown turned and strode away. Sarah followed in his wake, struggling to keep up.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw many tables, perhaps a dozen, half of which were occupied. The opulence and ostentation, even from her abbreviated view, could not be understated. At each table there was seating for six, although typically there were only four—and without exception, for every man there was a woman. At some tables, the women seemed to be actively engaged in conversation; at others, they were little more than decorations, sitting idly by as the men spoke of important things.

Without a specific sense of their eventual destination, Sarah focused on Mr. Brown's worked alligator-skin shoes, the way his slacks rose and fell against his calf, the pivot of his foot as he turned and changed direction. She followed him around one corner, down a long straightaway, past and around another table and then back down an adjacent straightaway. When they walked past Mr. Winthrop and Jennifer, sitting at a favored table deep in the far corner, Sarah faltered ever so briefly—wouldn't they be dining with them? Instead, Mr. Brown blew right past, walking in a purposeful way.

Sarah dutifully followed.

*

The scene was not lost on any of the Dus Aliter Visum crowd. After the second go around the dining room, most of the conversations had ceased and the attention of the room was candidly on Mr. Douglas Brown, parading around his evening's escort. One table chuckled softly before returning to their own conversations; at another, a larger man paid particular attention to the young female, quite taken by her fair complexion and fiery red hair. He saw glimpses of flesh through the vapory material of her white dress, the hint of her hind quarters as she rounded a corner, a sway of her chest, that told him everything he needed to know about what was beneath: a full-figured filly, a bit thick in the bottom, but primed for a hard ride. This particular gentleman grinned widely as he raised his glass bottoms-up.

*

By now, Sarah was beginning to catch on. They had passed Mr. Winthrop's table twice, and continued walking about, not terribly fast but certainly not leisurely, merely at a pace convenient for getting where one wanted in a reasonable period of time.

On their third pass, Brown did, indeed, slow and stop at the table. Amid no small amount of fanfare, Brown selected and pulled back a chair for Sarah; however, he failed utterly to even gaze in her direction, instead sliding the chair up underneath her as if he were seating an invisible guest.

"There now, Douglas, that was quite interesting," Winthrop said, obviously amused.

"Was it, Charles? I was merely... searching for the table. I was unable to locate you initially, but I had a sense that you were seated in this area. Perhaps I missed you the first time around?"

"Perhaps. Let's speak of more important things, shall we? This Collins business, for instance."

Brown gestured with his index finger; immediately, a platter appeared, replete with various delicacies and appetizers.

"I've already told you, Charles, Mr. Collins has yet a role to play."

"What of this clerk?" Winthrop said, waving his hand. "He's been nothing short of extraordinary! We've been able to, ah, use a bit of finesse, shall we say, in the areas he has personally visited!"

"I agree. I much prefer to pay the extra five percent, rather than have Collins and his goons shake things around over-much. Still, there are some who are simply unwilling to accommodate our requirements."

"Send the clerk again, then! Let him try! The fool has no sense of his value, he's still collecting a clerk's pay!"

Both men erupted in laughter, toasting their underlings and blissful ignorance.

Sarah, meanwhile, sat upright, shawl wrapped firmly about her chest and draped over her waist. The sight of her arms, clearly visible beneath the thin material, sent shivers down her spine. She was thankful for the shawl, the only thing permitting her any small amount of dignity, and clutched it tightly.

She hoped the low level of light from the various oil lamps wouldn't afford too close an observation of her body; at any rate, she sat, eyes glued to the table, allowing the conversation to pass unnoticed.

If she were quiet enough, perhaps she would be ignored...

*

After half an hour in which she neither ate nor spoke, Sarah suddenly felt hands about her shoulders. Someone was grabbing her shawl, trying to wrest it free!

She looked up—it was Jennifer, of all people, pulling swiftly and smoothly such that the ornate shawl simply slipped between Sarah's own fingers. It happened very quickly.




The Gentlemen's Club



"Goodness, Douglas," Winthrop said. Forgotten for the moment was his own escort, Jennifer; rather, his attention was wholly fixated on the thin material clinging to Sarah Higgins' chest, six inches beneath her exposed collarbone. Brown himself couldn't look away, either; there, sitting on the end of what appeared to be twin white honeydew melons, were two large strawberries. Brown licked his lips, for the first time this evening having seen something he did not expect.

For her part, Jennifer stood back, Sarah's heretofore shielding shawl now hung incongruently around her own neck and shoulders. She seemed very pleased with herself.

"Sarah," Brown said, turning his body in her direction.

She turned dark with shame, a deep crimson color even the low light couldn't obscure. She knew too well what these lecherous men were observing; hadn't she, for years, seen the obscene, strawberry-sized and cherry-colored tips about her own breasts? Hadn't she gone to great lengths to keep them covered, even from her own husband?

"Sarah," a voice said, penetrating her fog.

"Yes... yes, Mr. Brown."

"What do you think of our fine club?"

"I..." She had no idea how to respond.

"Do you find it so offensive?"

"No, of course not."

"Very good. I would hate to think we had somehow infringed on your own sensibilities."

"No, sir."

"So respectful," Winthrop said, taking a drink of searing Kentucky whiskey.

"Charles, I do believe it's time to eat."

Charles, eyes transfixed unabashedly about Sarah's substantial breasts, said nothing, merely nodded affirmative.

Brown gestured; trays of food instantly appeared, placed around their table in a dazzling presentation. Sarah, hunched slightly, stared at the empty plate sitting before her.

"Back straight," Brown said, cutting into a slice of prime beef. "Straight!"

Startled, Sarah bolted upright, accompanied by much swaying. Her overlarge nipples brushed against the thin dress and hardened. She felt it, an itchy tightening, and hoped they couldn't be seen. She felt a sudden compelling urge to drop to her knees and begin to pray.

She was only just able to resist.

*

As they ate their meal, the other gentlemen at the club—alone, in pairs, and even with their own escorts in tow—came by the preferred table to pay their respects to Misters Brown and Winthrop. Mr. Winthrop, in particular, was a man of high prestige, the one they most tried to impress with stories of recent acquisitions; Mr. Brown, on the other hand, seemed to be more of the leader, a man they deferred to in most conversations, whose words carried much weight. In all instances, each of the men hungrily drank in the sight of the new girl's remarkable assets. Full, impressive mammary glands of such a size, tipped with scarlet olives that strained at their thin covering, never failed to captivate.

"Lively one, there," was the only comment that came to Sarah's ears that she felt certain was specifically directed her way. She darted her eyes up quickly—it was the fat man, who stared at her chest the same way Mr. Winthrop had, sparing no glance at her eyes or face. He appeared to be sizing them up, wondering almost aloud how much nourishment he might withdraw from the succulent milk-producing glands, were the poor girl lactating. Just then, however, he did look up—eyes locked, he opened his mouth and smiled, exposing bad teeth to go along with his fat gut.

'This man must be wealthy, indeed,' she thought, immediately followed by more shame that to him she should be so exposed

Finally, all had eaten. Except for Sarah.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, Mr. Brown?"

"Would you like a bite to eat?"

She looked at Mr. Brown, paused, and shook her head.

"No, thank you," she whispered.

As the table was cleared, two men came in the front door. One was older, perhaps fifty, while the other appeared to be half his age. The older man was broad of shoulder with thick, railroad-tie arms and tree-trunk thighs. He was very impressive. The younger man seemed almost a carbon copy; perhaps a bit smaller about both the arms and legs, but with the same hefty shoulders, it would have been clear to even the most casual observer that the two men were related. As they approached the Winthrop-Brown party, it became even more clear, as they both shared thick heads of unruly blond hair, bulky noses and bushy eyebrows, and had a way of walking with their arms rocking sideways away from their bodies as if they expected a scuffle to break out at any time.

These two were father and son if ever there were such a thing.

"Brown," the older man said, not quite disrespectful, not quite contemptuous, but certainly far from deferential. It was a courtesy bound by financial considerations, and nothing more, which prompted his public behavior towards Brown and Winthrop. Winthrop, in particular, held a special place in the older man's studied condescension. It was an open secret that each tremendously disliked the other.

"Mr. Collins. How are you this evening?" Brown replied.

"I am well."

There would be no 'sirs,' little polite discourse, and no civic gestures.

"Excellent. We have a job for you."

"I'm sure," he said, still looking at Brown. He failed utterly to notice Winthrop or his escort, who he had seen before, and spared no glance for the other woman at the table.

"There is a property in Valdosta that we simply must move on with maximum possible haste. I trust you will have it taken care of in short order."

"Certainly."

"Our terms, such as they are, remain the same."

"Agreed."

"Very well."

Now, as they shook hands—nothing was ever put in writing, Brown and Collins understood their hand-struck deal was more binding than any contract—Collins finally cast a glance at the young woman sitting next to Brown.

His eyes opened rather more than usual, accompanied by a strange set of his jaw. He smiled—rare indeed—a small smile that appeared most out of place on his non-symmetrical face. He appeared to be in the deepest concentration, eyes burrowing holes throw Sarah Higgins. He forced himself to look away.

"Mr. Brown," he said, having never released the man's hand, "might I have a word?"

*

After stepping away for a brief conversation—during which the elder Collins and his son both exchanged words with Brown, and at one point which all three men turned in unison and looked back at Sarah—Brown returned to his seat, while Collins and his son walked towards the door and left.

"Dessert," Brown said, snapping his fingers. Winthrop, upon this announcement, seemed a bit livelier, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Sarah noticed that no food came to the table. Arms askance, she was painfully aware of her exposed breasts, felt the weight of them heavily in her own mind, dragging her down into depths of shame.

Brown stood and moved towards Sarah, grabbing her chair. "Up we go," he said, sliding it back.

Sarah, mortified, stood.

Brown began walking; his escort followed, eyes down, religiously tracing each of his steps.

*

"Look, he's doing it again," the fat man said hungrily.

"Yes, so he is," Winthrop replied with vigor.

The other four men laughed heartily.

"Put her through her paces, Douglas," one voice said.

"Yes, indeed, put her to a good lather."

More laughter followed. 

This was proving to be quite the show.

*

Brown, as before, started at a pace Sarah could only just keep up with; this time, however, he slowly increased his speed, weaving a path back and forth. As he walked he adjusted his tie, stopped briefly and scratched his temple, or searched his pockets, seemingly searching for something he had lost. Sarah, ever diligent, followed, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, on the swells of her breasts, the curve of her lower back, and all about her arms.

Brown stopped and turned around, mock searching. "There you are," he said.

"S—sir?"

"Chh, chh," he said, snapping his fingers at his side. He started walking. 

With barely a perceptible pause, Sarah followed, trying to resist the sense that she was a prize dame being led to show.

"That's it, Douglas, walk the bitch," the fat man said. His face was beet red, eyes abulge as he stared at the silky dress now clinging scandalously to Sarah's sweat-drenched body. Her chest was bared in nearly full detail, large and round with nipples clearly discernible in both size and shape; her rear end, soft and curvy, was equally clung to and exposed in the back. With each step her breasts trembled just so and rocked enticingly from side to side.

Having stopped one final time, as if to retrieve an imaginary object from one of the now-cleared tables, Brown gathered himself upright, straightened his tie ostentatiously and headed towards an unobtrusive brown door in the corner farthest from the main entrance. 

Sarah, naturally, followed, flashes of hot shame rushing through her body each time the slightest breeze played across any of her womanly parts.

As he approached the door, Brown ignored the engraving on the upper doorframe and instead walked right in. Sarah followed, eyes down. 

The other girls—escorts, to be more precise—immediately left their menfolk and themselves entered the room, Jennifer pulling up the rear. She looked up as she walked through the doorway and noted with no small satisfaction the engraving:

The Dessert Chamber.

Eyes alight with anticipation, Jennifer pulled the door shut behind.

*

As she entered the room, Sarah dared to take a quick peek around. It was a medium-sized chamber, twenty-feet by twenty-feet, with just the one door to come or go. There were no windows; rather, the walls were lined, every five-feet, with wrought iron candleholders holding long lit candles. The flickering candlelight shimmered, almost alive, casting minor dancing shadows in all directions. In the very center of the room was what appeared to be a chair.

As she got closer—for the single furnishing was their destination—she realized it wasn't a chair at all. Instead, it was a large padded leather footstool, of sorts, the largest she had ever seen; more accurate to call it a platform, perhaps. Six-feet to a side, the platform was elevated three feet off the floor and... she gulped, gasped: there were iron shackles at each of the four corners.

She hadn't heard the other girls come in behind, or the door close for that matter, so when Jennifer spoke in her ear she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Don' usually be needin' those," Jennifer said, shoving Sarah in the lower back. Sarah looked around for Mr. Brown, having lost him. He stood over to the side, his back to the door, watching with an unreadable expression. "Mos' girls be knowin' their place, by the time they get back 'ere!" Jennifer added, cackling at her little joke. 

Sarah pulled up short of the platform, hands clenched into tight little fists. Forgotten for the moment were her swollen breasts, so painfully uncovered by the thin clingy material of her white-laced dress plastered to her body; also forgotten was the cool breeze that played across her thighs. 

"Go 'head, climb up. Mos' of 'em be wantin' ya on your han's an' knees like," Jennifer said, oblivious to any fist-making or posturing on Sarah's part.

Unable to withstand another word, Sarah turned abruptly on her tormentor, eyes afire to match her hair. A small growl escaped her throat; as she opened her mouth to speak, Mr. Brown took a step forward and strode over towards the platform, a jaunty bounce in his step.

"Go on, then," he said, hands on hips. "Take your place, Sarah."

Sarah stared at him for a fraction of a second before closing her mouth. After another pause, this one more noticeable, she turned back to the platform, shoulders heavily slumped. 'No more chances,' he had said, back in the carriage. Sarah Higgins placed Douglas Brown as a man of his word. 

Hiking up her dress, Sarah put first one knee and then the other on the platform. When her weight was settled on her knees, she fell forward, dropping her hands to the platform and distributing her weight evenly between both hands and both knees. For a brief second, she felt her heavy breasts wobbling rudely back and forth. 

"Tha's right," Jennifer said, taking over again. "Very good! They'll be righ' pleased wi' you. Now, ease forwards a bit, center y'self on the platform." She shoved Sarah from behind. "Forward, tha's it. Better!" 

Sarah shuffled into position.

"Sarah?" Jennifer asked.

Sarah didn't answer.

"Woul' you like ta pray firs'?" Jennifer asked sarcastically. The other girls snickered. "I'm sure you migh' be in a more receivin' mood, given the circumstances!" Raucous laughter filled the room as the other girls piled on.

Just then the door opened, followed by a shuffle of feet as (Sarah assumed) members of The Visum entered the room. A heavy latch clicking ominously into place indicated the door was bolted shut.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Sarah's face, around to her nose and perched there momentarily before dripping down to the platform. She felt stale, the coolness of perspiration ever-present all about her body. She had a sneaking suspicion she might yet be doing a fair amount of sweating before this night was done.

Rather abruptly, Sarah felt hands unfastening her buttons before grasping the hem of her dress, gathered at her knees, where they began pulling, easing the soaked material up past her thighs. She immediately flushed, felt overwhelmed by the now-familiar hummingbird pitter-patter of her heart thumping impossibly fast within her chest. Surely she would faint soon; was there no end to this humiliation? 

She thought of her husband, Robert, and kept telling herself she was doing this for him. Mr. Brown had forced her hand—and loyalty obliged her to play it, even one so dreadful as this.

The dress, now hauled up so that it exposed her supple rounded haunches, was being dragged somewhat more vigorously over her torso. Cool air played over her naked skin, causing an eruption of goose bumps that spread like waves in a duck pond over the exposed flesh.

That was when the handling began.

One hand rested on her bottom, cupping the softly padded curve and pressing its fingers into her pliable flesh; another traced the back of her leg, running along the flexed tendons; still another ran up her back, forcing the dress around her neck.

"Now, now," a voice said: Mr. Brown. "No need to hurry, give the girls a moment to clear things out."

The hands withdrew, though not before the one on her backside slipped a finger along the length of her crevice, darting in quickly at the bottom.

Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin at the intrusion; her thighs bristled, flinching like a skittish mare. Her breathing was horse-like as well, panting loudly as she sucked in great lungful after lungful of air. Combined with the profuse lather—a result of nerves as much as physical exertion—she resembled nothing so much as a filly fresh from a long afternoon sojourn, still blowing hard, ready for a rub down and bit of rest.

The dress, such as it was, slipped free of her head and rested on the platform, where it was held in place by her arms, which were still within the sleeves of the crumpled gossamer material.

"Arm," a voice commanded severely. She lifted, first one arm and then the other, and watched the dress quickly disappear.

*

She was now buck naked, save a pair of white knee length stockings, on her hands and knees, displayed as a favored ornament or prized possession—or worse—in a room full of strange men and women. Every instinct in her brain told her to get up, now, and run as fast as her legs could carry.

But where would she go? She had no idea of her location, no sense whatsoever that she could even manage to escape should she try in the first place.

And then there was Mr. Brown; head hanging low, she could see nothing but the indistinct shape of legs, moving randomly in and out of focus. There was no way she could assign identity, except for one: the fat man, who wore plain black slacks, because of the way he waddled up in front, directly facing her. She was fairly certain she knew who he was, at any rate.

Just as she was certain she would do nothing but remain, hand and foot, on the platform, come what may.

*

"There, she's fully on display."

"So she is."

"Most satisfactory!"

A small outburst of lewd commentary began, on everything from padded fanny to heavy-hanging breasts to still pent-up hair.

"Release the hair, Jennifer," a voice encouraged. Jennifer was only too pleased to oblige.

Sarah felt fingers at the back of her head, roughly pulling at the bow she had used to efficiently tie up her long, thick hair.

Quickly it fell, obscuring her view on all sides. She only vaguely saw the man in front, fat thighs at the fore, alternately opening and clutching his fingers in anticipation. The fat man seemed anxious.

"So, a prime example, the best breeding," the voice resumed. It wasn't Mr. Brown or Mr. Winthrop, Sarah noticed. She clung to every word, absorbing the entirety of what was said. "Look at those flanks!"

Several voices murmured approval.

"Perhaps a bit heavy, but certainly not overly so. In the racing parlance, she's a bit above racing weight, but would be able to easily work it off."

She couldn't believe they were speaking of her so candidly, as if she weren't even there. And then the theoretical wall of separation came crumbling down: "Isn't that right, Sarah, wife of the junior clerk?"

Derisive laughter spewed forcefully at her expense.

"The clerk's wife? Really?"

"Goodness, our clerk really shouldn't leave this at home alone too long!"

"Thoroughbred material. I'd love to straddle this filly, ride her hard and put her away wet!"

"Here!"

"Here! Here!"

"Yeah!"

Sarah knelt, bereft of any self-respect. Was it possible she, a good Christian woman, was so exposed and so disrespected? She fully expected to wake, at any time, from this terrible dream.

She noted in a detached way that only the men spoke of her this way; Jennifer seemed to have fallen to the wayside. This was quite clearly the Sarah-wife-of-the-junior-clerk show.

Just then they heard a pounding about the door.

"Douglas?" It was Winthrop, plainly annoyed.

"Now Charles, this will save us a pretty penny indeed."

But it was far from clear that the rest shared Brown's sentiment; evidently with full knowledge of who stood on the other side of the door, there was much rumbling about not permitting the newcomer to lay claim.

"Bah! He's undeserving!"

"What about my chance!"

"And me!"

"For half," Brown said, louder than usual. The other voices immediately shushed.

Profit, above all, they understood.

A fifty-percent discount from Thaddeus Collins for future services was no small amount of currency.

*

There was another knock before Brown opened the door.

"Mr. Collins," he said, beckoning with his arm.

"Brown," the elder Collins said, immediately followed by his son.

There was no talking, not even a murmur, as the two new men came ambling into the room. After some dragging of feet, all the men in the room—nine, to be exact—surrounded the platform. There were three to each side, two to the rear, and one in front. The women, still in the room, were standing well back against the walls, completely silent.

Sarah, still unable to see anything due to her long draping mane, trembled softly under their critical gaze. She could see the man in front enough to determine that it was no longer the fat man; this one seemed taller and thinner.

"There, I think we all stand ready to sample the dessert," a voice said, the same one that had spoken prior to the new arrivals. "Have at it, gentlemen."




The Gentlemen's Club



I am putting on my lipstick when I hear Bill. "Honey, we should be going now." "Just a moment, dear. I need to blot my lips first." 

It's so nice to be going out. Bill is usually too busy to socialize, but lately he had changed. He used to be oblivious to my choices of clothing or hairstyle, but for the last couple of months he had been positively dictatorial about nearly every little detail. For tonight, he had bought me a new pair of Wolford stockings - thigh highs, really - and a matching La Perla thong and bra. And yesterday he bluntly told me that I should get my nails done and get my legs and my bikini line waxed. Being a man, he hadn't said anything about my hair or shoes or dress - issues a woman would have considered MUCH more critical than what colors my nails were. 

Still, it was nice to have Bill being more forceful, more domineering. For most of our marriage, he had been almost effeminate - well, not exactly effeminate, but not forceful, not dominant, not...masculine. That was harsh, maybe too harsh. But it was the best I could do. I knew Bill was liberated when we married, but I really didn't expect him to be so deferential. The last couple of months had been refreshingly different. He told me what restaurant we would go to, what movies we would watch, decisions he used to have me make. The first time he ordered for me at a restaurant was a little strange, but a pleasant change. And lingerie - he certainly bought it based on how it looked on me, not on how comfortable it was to wear. Still, it's refreshing to have someone making these little, tiresome decisions. And if he gets too tedious, I can always put him in his place.

I finish my lips and hurried downstairs. 

"You look nice, sweetie. I'll bring the car around."

"Thank you, dear. I'll be on the porch." Good. Time for one last glance in the mirror. I want to make a suitable impression.

Bill left through the kitchen to get the car. I checked my reflection. Not bad. Hair in place, make-up flattering but not obvious, no lipstick on my teeth, stocking seams straight...I look pretty good if I do say so myself. In my late thirties, most Caucasian men thought I was closer to 25 than 40. Which I rather enjoy, actually. All those hours in the gym do pay off. Yes, Japanese-American by birth, but a California girl by culture. I eat right, love biking, tennis, swimming, and religiously spend five hours a week in the gym, two with a personal trainer. And it shows. I'm toned and tight. Not exactly buxom, but my legs and butt are spectacular, if men's glances are any indication. I grab my coat and purse, step through the door, and pull it closed.

Bill pulls the car up to the front steps seconds later. Stepping in, I take pains not to wrinkle my skirt too badly. Pulling out of the drive, Bill puts his hand on my thigh and pushes my skirt up. "Bill, don't do that! I'll look a mess." 

"You'll look incredible, as always, Patricia." His hand massages my thigh gently. "Tonight's going to be very special. I've been ignoring you too long." 

"You've been busy, Bill. I don't mind." 

"Still, I'm going to make it up to you. You've been so supportive, you've given me so much." Bill's hand moves a little higher up my thigh. Although my skirt was short, shorter than I'd wear for work, it was an A-line and rather tight, not really designed to be pushed up like this. If I were standing, OK, but not seated. I probably should have worn a looser, slitted skirt, but Bill hadn't said anything about his plans. I really do like pleasing him, but I can't read his mind. The heat from his hand, the mere fact that he was touching me, and where he was touching me - my pussy was growing warm. A pleasant flush in my abdomen, a tingling in my tummy. "Bill, stop. My skirt. Wait until we get home."

"You're wearing the stockings I got. Very nice. And you're so smooth. God, so sexy. Maybe I should just pull the car into that dark lot and ravish you now. Touch my cock. Now."

"Bill. You're driving. What's gotten into you? Don't be silly!"

Taking my hand in his, he pulls it onto his crotch. "Bill! Stop it!" I protest. He's being too strange. The hard cock I felt was exciting, but even so! Did he expect me to give him a hand job? While driving? Or a blow job? Still, this is too much. If we were on vacation, in a strange place, maybe then. But in our own town, mere miles from home? This is too much.

I pat his pants, then withdraw my hand. "So where is this mystery place we're going, sweetie?"

"It's a private club, Ms. P." That's his pet name for me when he's annoyed. He's been using it often recently. "We've got to go to Belvedere." 

"Bill, this isn't a swing club, is it? We agreed, not close to home. I'm willing to play if we're away, but not close to home." Bill and I had made our first foray into swinging last summer, in Honolulu. Bill picked up a local girl and we did a threesome. It was a lot of fun, actually, and I enjoyed it. So much so that the girl and I got together twice more without Bill. But I told him in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't do anything like that close to home. 

"No, dear. It's a private gentleman's club. Fine dining, bar, golf course, and a bunch of rich old men talking business, with their wives talking about shopping, I suppose. This could lead to a lot of business for me."

"So I should make nice? Who should I blow first?" 

He laughed. "Yeah, like you'd do that, Ms. P." He was smiling. It was a joke between us, one which we made more often since Honolulu. Me trading sexual favors to benefit his business, me trading sexual favors to pay for an elaborate vacation, or, less commonly, Bill lending me to a business acquaintance. It's not exactly my favorite fantasy, but I do enjoy it enough to play along with him. And Bill always seems ready to play. "We're being hosted by William Robinson and his wife. If we impress them, I suppose we'll be put forward for membership."

We pull off the highway onto a county road, and minutes later, off the road onto a private drive. Minutes after that, we pull up to a fine, large, well-lit house, in that California lodge style. A little pretentious, but quite appropriate for the setting - a beautiful wooded lot, on a rise overlooking a lake. It reminds me of the Cartwright's house on Bonanza - except that it was bigger, more refined, and had a paved drive, electric lights, and valet parking. 

Bill takes my arm and leads me into a beautiful foyer, where we're greeted by the maitre d'. He guides us to the coat room, then to a private dining room off the main room. As I walk through the main dining area, I couldn't help but notice that the assembled parties are well healed, clearly accustomed to being treated well. I also notice that many of the men were watching me carefully. With few exceptions, the women took little notice.

We are shown to a much smaller room, with a fireplace, and a table with a formal setting for four. I haven't seen so many forks since my college etiquette workshop. 

Bill and I sit facing one another, assuming that would be the appropriate arrangement. That way, each of us is adjacent to two people of the other couple, rather than paired each other. "I wonder if there's a problem. William told me he'd be hear ahead of us, in time to meet us." Bill looks around somewhat nervously. He seems edgier than usual. William must be an important contact.

"Don't want to be alone with the old ball-and-chain? Do I bore you that much?" I tease him.

"Who's boring?" A large, muscular black man enters the room. He looks like he's in his late forties, and very good-looking, like a somewhat heavier Denzel Washington. And tall. Bill, who's six feet, rises to greet him and is easily two or three inches shorter. "Hello. I didn't mean to easedrop. I'm William Robinson. You must be Patricia. Even lovelier than Bill described." He takes my hand and raises it to his lips. His kiss is much warmer than I expected.

"I have to offer my apologies. My wife isn't feeling well. I hope you don't mind but Bill and I have some business we really need to discuss and Kandy isn't terribly ill, so I came alone. You'll just have to put up with us. I have some very nice wine and a superb cognac to help minimize your boredom."

I mutter something about it being too bad about his wife. Bill says, "Would you rather postpone this?"

"No, we can't really afford to delay. Otherwise, I would have called and canceled. Let's eat and talk business. If Patricia doesn't object, perhaps we can finish our business and the meal quickly so you can turn your attention to that beautiful wife."

The food is fantastic. Oysters, followed by some sort of cream soup, salmon, some sort of zucchini cassarole, duck with apple sauce, fresh garden peas, boiled new potatoes, and brandied peaches. So many courses. Each accompanied by a glass of wine. I am quite buzzed when the dishes are cleared.

William takes my arm as he say, "Let's adjourn to one of the small lounges for cognac. Patricia can relax on the couch while you and I finish this up." He's so strong, powerful. I'm more than a little tipsy, but he steadies me. It is very comfortable to lean against him as we walk down a corridor into a lovely little room with two easy chairs, a sofa, and another fireplace, this one with a fire ablaze. One wall is covered with bookshelves, which are, in turn, filled with books.

William pours me a glass of cognac, deep golden liquid filling a lovely snifter. The aroma is rich, sensual, almost sexual. No, wait. Most of that aroma is William's cologne. A very spicy, musky scent. I have to remember to ask him. Maybe Bill would like it. I certainly did. 

The cognac tastes so good. A stronger drink than I usually like but just so smooth and rich and completely perfect for the situation. It is so warm going down. I can feel the heat spreading in my belly, almost like sexual arousal. Another deep sip. Ummmm. The men are now talking and I just drift. William refills my glass, reminding me that Bill will be driving. They go back to their conversation. I sip slowly, not wishing to be too drunk, but to have just enough to give the world a beautiful haziness. Maybe I would give Bill his blow job on the way home. Right now, that sounds very, very nice. Another sip - did I really finish the glass already? Two is enough, I'll just enjoy my buzz and

William pauses in his conversation, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm being a negligent host. Here, let me..." and he reaches to fill my glass.

I should say no, but why not? "Thank you. I don't normally drink so much but I feel so relaxed after that lovely meal, and you and Bill are so engaged...I feel so warm and comfortable."

He smiles and sets the cognac on the table with my drink, leaning close as he does. His aroma is dark, musky, spicy. Very sexy. My head is spinning a little from the cognac. 

William sits on the coach beside me, close, facing me, making our own intimate little area. Every breath I take is heavy with his scent. I realize I'm starting to breathe faster, and I wet my lips. 

"Patricia, you're a very beautiful woman. Possibly the most beautiful woman to grace our little club in a very long time. I would like very much to touch you. Let me touch you."

It isn't really a request but it isn't really an order. Bill is not more than twenty feet away and surely heard William. 

"I'd like that. Very much." I do. I want him to touch me. I want him to touch me. I can hardly breathe. My heart is pounding so hard. I want him to touch me. I know Bill is watching. I like that he is watching. I want Bill to watch William touch me. I want William to touch me.

He lays his hand on my thigh, almost exactly as Bill had done mere hours earlier. I inhale sharply. Fire. So hot. I know I'm already wet. Nothing else in the room but that beautiful black face, those smiling dark eyes, the big sensual lips coming towards me. I tip my head and lean to meet him.

Our kiss is almost more than I can take. I part my lips to take his large, firm tongue, to give him full access to my mouth. He slides his hand up my thigh, pushing the skirt up, resting his fingers on my crotch, and he gently strokes me through my thong. Through the pounding in my ears, I hear myself moan. My legs spread themselves and he expertly hooks his hand under my panties and pulls them down. I cooperate fully, raising my hips so the thong is free. He pulls it first to my knees, then pushes it about my ankles. 

I grab his hand and pull it firmly onto my hairless, wet and now bare pussy. He smiles and slips two fingers inside me, instantly bringing me to a very strong orgasm. "Ahhhhhh! Oh, god, so good! Oh please fuck me! Oh, please!" His fingers rub my clit and I am very close to a second orgasm, even as the waves of the first are subsiding. I am humping his hand, desperate to have him in me.

"Ah, Ms. P. It is working very well." I see his smiling face so close and stretch up to kiss him. The orgasm takes me, so powerful that I don't hear what he says next.

"...so you see, Patricia, we're doing you a favor. The nanobots are altering your neural pathways, making you the perfect little playmate you are now becoming. After your transformation, they'll deactivate. When not activated, you'll be yourself, except that your skin will remain as flawlessly perfect and youthful as when you were twenty-one, your bones will stay strong, your muscles toned, no more cavities, no skin cancer, no breast cancer, no ovarian cancer, no lung cancer, no type II diabetes, no degenerative illnesses ever. Of course, we're making a few modifications. You'll never need to shave again. And no more need for birth control..."

I don't understand what he's saying. Why is he wasting time when we could be fucking. I pull him close. I love his cologne. Must get Bill to use it. He laughs as I fumble with his belt. I know Bill is there, but I don't care. I can fuck Bill later; first I want William inside me. I want his little black babies in me. I am so close to another orgasm. Freed from his pants, his erect cock is beautiful - large and so dark it looks black. And hard. Much bigger than Bill's. I am so lucky. I pull it firmly to my hungry pussy, rocking my hips to get it inside me. William laughs a little and then violently thrusts himself into me. I cry out and tears flow freely down my cheeks. It is so huge and so perfect. 

"Like that, slut?" He laughs. "Another benefit of the nanobots - you'll lubricate more easily, you'll stretch more easily, and you'll tighten more quickly. Twenty-four hours, and you're as tight as a virgin again." 

I don't care what he's saying. I just want to fuck him. My hips are rocking in time to his thrusts. I tip my head down so I can see that beautiful black cock, now glistening with my juices, thrusting into my golden body. "Oh god I love you. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck meeeeeee." Another powerful orgasm racks my body. I squirt, a first for me during intercourse. I open my eyes. Bill is standing over me, smiling. 

"Patricia, I'm very proud of you. I'm going to leave now. I'll be back when you're ready. Take very good care of my friends."

Mmmmmm. I have William's finger in my mouth, sucking my juices off so my good-bye is unintelligible. Bill trusts me to please his friends. Thinking that, another wave of pleasure takes me and I let it. 

Freed from my mouth, William's fingers start probing my butt. Suddenly I want that beautiful cock in my ass. I want to feel him squirting hot cum in my ass. I want him to fill me. I want him every way possible. I push my ass against his hand, giving his fingers full access. He rolls me over, rubs some cool lubricant on my tiny opening, and brings his penis to the tight little hole. 

This time, no violent thrust. William lubes his finger and slides it in again, withdraws, then guides his cock in, gently pushing. It feels so enormous. "Relax" he barks. Suddenly, the head pops in and a wave of pleasure/pain overwhelms me. I hear strange animalistic noises - and realize I am making them. William is being very gentle, easing his cock ever deeper into me, then pulling firmly out. I love this man! His hands are now playing with my rock-hard nipples. I am incapable of speech, lost in sensation. 

He takes my hips and pulls me onto him. He is so deep. "Cum in me...I want your cum...please cum in me..." I try to squeeze my ass, to make myself tighter for him, to make him cum. 

"Ungh...yes! Yes! Mmmmm. Good." The feeling of his cock twitching inside me, of his hot cum splashing in my bowels, brings yet another orgasm. I have never had this many. I love this man and his wonderful, pleasure-giving cock.

William's cock has softened, but he holds himself in me. He leans over my ass, and squeezes my breasts with his mighty hand. My nipples harden, tiny towers on my little hills. He pinches and pulls on them, and leans onto my back, weighting me down. He nibbles my neck. The rich, sexy cologne fills my nostrils again. "Oh god I love how you fuck. Your cock is so wonderful. I...I...I don't want you to stop. I want you to enjoy me, I want to make you feel good." I am careful not to squeeze him out. Even though not stiff, his cock is as firm as Bill's is when erect. It feels so perfect as it is.

I feel his finger on the small of my back. "You need a tramp stamp, girl. Something for your lovers to watch while they're fucking this fine ass of yours."

"Yes, sir." Tattoos had never appealed to me before, but now I realize I need one. 

"You like that idea, don't you, girl?" His cock is swelling again, making me smile.

"Yes, sir. What would you like me to get?" 

"Something sexy...like you. And a little black queen of spades right here." He was stroking my mons, setting me on fire again. I was panting, a bitch in heat. This isn't me...but it IS me. It was too much work to think. I just wanted to fuck that lovely, lovely cock.

"I'd like that, sir." His cock is hard now and he starts moving rhythmically. I realize there is a mirror in front of me. My butt is in the air, my chest is on the rug. William is a mighty black bull, loaming over me, pushing and pulling. I smile - my bull. 

This time, William builds his rhythm slowly. He slaps my ass as he thrusts in. Again. Again. With every penetration. My ass is on fire. "Oh god yes! Deeper! Oh please! Fuck me!" The intensity, I've never felt so complete. This is what I've wanted. I see the reflection of my sweet bull's face. So stern, almost angry. His smacks grow harder, pushing me to another orgasm. "Mmmmmmmm. Ohhhhhh. Yessssss." More smacks. I hear myself crying loudly, "OH GOD YESSSSS! FUCK ME! PLEASE FUCK ME!"

"Yeah, slut. You like that, don't you? You're going to be a perfect slut for me, aren't you, slut? You want my cock in you, don't you, slut? You love fucking me, don't you, slut?" It is so hot hearing him talk to me. I just want to please him. "I love you fucking me. I want to be your perfect slut."

Hearing this, his cock explodes again. He pulls my ass even deeper onto his cock. His twitching brings me to yet another and even more powerful climax. I gush again, and fall, drained.

William pulls himself out with a soft plop. I lean close to him, full of his scent, and whisper, "Oh god yes so good. I love you. I love you. Oh it was so good." Even as his cum is trickling out of me, I'm eager to have him in me again. He's a god. I want to serve him.

He kisses me hard on the lips, then takes my head between his hands and guides me to his crotch. "Clean me, slut."

Although limp, his cock is still much larger than Bill's erection. Fortunately, my oral skills are good. His cock is bitter, slippery with a mix of his cum, my pussy juices, and my shit. I want to please him and take in that beautiful cock as much as I can. Sucking and licking, I feel a stirring, a returning engorgement. "Lick it all. Clean me good, bitch." I redouble my efforts, determined to make Bill proud and to satisfy William completely. 




The Gentlemen's Club



"Yes, sir." Mumbled while working on his stiffening member. I'm covering it with kisses and little licks. The bitter slime is gone, replaced with my saliva. I am curled on the couch beside him, my head in his lap. His cologne is weaker here, I can smell my own rich scent. He is caressing my hair. "That's very nice, Patricia. Yes, suck gently. My cock is very sensitive right now. I like fucking you, Patricia."

My heart races at this, my breath quickens again. 

"I want you to go clean yourself. Paxton will show you where. I want you to do as he tells you."

The maitre'd had appeared. I stood, naked. My makeup and hair were a mess, my pussy was swollen and pink, and semen was still oozing from my ass. It was completely obvious what I'd been doing. "Yes, sir." Without hesitation, I follow Paxton through the main dining room. Although it must be after midnight, there are more people now than when we arrived. Again, many of the men watch me. This time, several of the women smile, acknowledging my presence. I feel a little badly about the semen that drips onto that lovely carpet, but oddly my nakedness doesn't register. I need to clean myself for William. Why shouldn't I follow Paxton through here?

We arrived at what was apparently a bedroom. There was a bathroom, equipped with a shower, bidet, washstand, and toilet. Thick towels were in plentiful abundance, as were bottles of various personal care products.

"Shower and clean yourself thoroughly. Starting tomorrow, you're to give yourself an enema before supper, so if someone wants your ass, they won't foul themselves." He steps closer, and strokes my left breast. He's wearing the same intoxicating cologne as William. My pulse races. "Now suck me."

I drop to my knees and quickly unzip him. His cock is about the size of Bill's. I start by cupping his balls in my hand and lick the tip of his rapidly growing cock, then gently sucking it into my mouth. His hands grasp my hair, giving him control of the rhythm.

"Yeah, slut. Suck gently. Take it all. I want to shoot down your throat. Oh, yeah. God you're the best yet. Should have know the slant bitch would be so expert. Oh slower...I don't want to cum ye...oh god, oh yes! Suck it down, bitch! Don't spill any!"

I am close to orgasm, excited by his praise and by how easily I can get him off. It's like I don't have a gag reflex anymore. I had his cock fully in my mouth, the head seemed to be in my throat. I'm sure I felt it in my throat. My knees are weak. I am on fire. I need to cum!. "Please fuck me? I need you to fuck me. Please?" 

I've never begged a man like this before. Paxton is average-looking, if that, and I'm begging him to fuck him. Am I that drunk?

Paxton laughs cruelly. "I can't fuck you, but I'll get you off, bitch. Because you gave me such a great bj." He slips his hand into my crotch and roughly manipulates my clit. My eyes roll back and my mouth makes an "oh" as the orgasm takes me. "The bugs are still working on you, aren't they? Damn, girl, you're the most sensitive yet. You're going to be one very popular cunt."

It takes too much energy to even try to make sense of this, so I just ride the orgasm. Paxton has pulled his hand away, and goes to wash it. I fall on the bed, near exhaustion. 

"Don't fall asleep until you've showered and cleaned yourself, bitch." His voice is ugly.

I do as Paxton ordered, and fall asleep naked on the bed. A deep, dreamless sleep.

I don't know how long I slept. I awaken calm and happy, in spite of the muscular aches caused by the previous evening's excesses. My ass is quite sore. Not only was William larger than Bill, I rarely allowed Bill to fuck my ass. That, of course, was going to change. I smile. William was such an incredible lover! I wish Bill would have stayed and seen just how many times William had made me cum. Even Paxton made me cum. I wish Bill would have fucked me too. Calm, happy, and very horny. Very, very horny.

I am getting wet thinking about those lovely cocks. My hands have started teasing my nipples, without my active awareness. I enjoy the sensation...so pleasant. I want a cock in me. I want to be filled. I want to see a man making his "o" face as he cums in my pussy. Or my ass. Or my mouth. Or three men. By now, I'm writhing on the bed, a feline in heat. My fingers, better than nothing, are not good enough.

I see it on the floor...an open box with a large black dildo partly hidden under the packaging. I slip it in my mouth and hear myself moan with satisfaction. The dildo smells like William! Trembling with anticipation, I plunge it into my now-wet, swollen pussy, orgasming on the first stroke. "Ohhhh!" The sensations are so intense that the room sways around me. I lay on the bed shuddering, the dildo still deep inside. Each little tremble brings an almost painfully intense wave of pleasure. I know if I pull it out, I'm going to pass out. This is beyond anything I've ever experienced. What is happening to me?

Without warning, Paxton walks in. "Good. You're awake. Here, wear this." He tosses a tangle of leather straps and rubber rods at me. No, it's some sort of belt. With two dildos on it. I realize one is supposed to go in my ass and one in my pussy. How can I possibly walk wearing this? Absorbed by the mysteries of the belt, I only now become aware that Paxton has tightened a stiff leather collar about my neck. It feels comfortable. Good. 

"Here, let me help you." Paxton leans close, wrapping the dildo-belt around me. He pulls the black dildo out, noticing my shuddering with a nasty chuckle. "This strap goes here," putting one strap between my legs, "and then we just shove this home" as he forced the dildo into my still open and wet pussy. It slid in easily, the sensations causing my legs to buckle. I fall forward, wrapping my arms around Paxton's shoulders. My face is inches from his. The smell of that intoxicating cologne fills my nostrils. I lean further forward and kiss him passionately. "Oh please fuck me," I whisper into his ear. "I'll do everything you want. Please fuck me. Please." He laughs briefly, a cruel, cold laugh. "Here." He pushes the second dildo into my ass. "Oh god I love you." I am dry-humping him, the two dildos of my harness driving me towards another orgasm. "Please let me cum!" I am desperately rubbing my bare chest against his shirt, kissing him, licking him. "Please. Make me cum. Like last night. You're so good."

Again the laugh. One hand crushes my right breast, twisting hard. Pleasure/pain. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with that sexy spicy smell. My eyes roll back. Then, unexpected, a hard slap on my buttock. Another. My butt is on fire. My pussy, my ass, my whole body is on fire. He grabs my hair, pulling my head back. "Suck my cock, bitch. Suck me good."

My excitement makes me fumble and I can barely manage his zipper. The fact that he hasn't washed since last night doesn't deter me. It might even be inciting me further. "Yeah, slut. That's it. You like that, don't you, slut?" I'm deep-throating him, swallowing his cock to the root. I hear myself moaning in agreement. I love it. I can feel his cock twitching, ready to explode. I am nearing another orgasm. Making him cum is going to make me cum! What beautiful symmetry!

He pulls my head back violently. "Slow down, bitch! I want to enjoy this. You lazy slut, making me cum fast so you don't have to work. Bitch. I don't want to cum ... oh, shit." This last as he came in my mouth. Even in the throes of my own orgasm, I was careful not to spill any of Paxton's semen. I remembered that he liked it when I swallowed it all, so I made a show of it...as much as possible, under the circumstances. I licked his rapidly softening cock gently. "Oh that's so nice. You have such a good cock. I love your cock." More licking. 

"You bitch! I told you to slow down." He pulled my head roughly; our faces were inches apart. "Still, you're a damned good slut. Best blow jobs I've ever had." I inhaled and felt myself getting wet again. "Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to fuck you yet." I realize I am making a disappointed, pout-y face. I really want Paxton to fuck me. Very much. Again, that cruel laugh, then he rises.

"Come on, slut. Mr. Robinson wants to talk with you, and you probably aren't ready to walk alone yet."

He was right about that. Because of the belt, each step is a tiny orgasm. I want to stand and catch my breath. No, I want to stand and masturbate. I don't want to walk anywhere; I just want to wiggle my hips and cum and cum and cum. 

But Paxton guides/carries me to the lounge room. This time, no one is in the main hall. I realize, except for the collar, the belt and a pair of sandals, I'm naked. Normally, I'm a little conservative about how I dress, but this morning, being nude in public feels perfectly natural. In fact, I'm rather enjoying the way that Paxton keeps watching me. 

The lounge is empty when we arrive. At each step, the dildos inflame my horniness. The air in the room is heavy with his cologne, William's cologne. Even before Paxton closes the door, I drop to my knees at work on his zipper. His cock flops out and I gobble him down in an instant. "No, girl, not here. I'm not supposed to use you yet. I...I...ai, oh. Nice. You're so good." His protests fade as his cock swells. My head is bobbing back and forth on his swollen rod, and I unbuckle his pants, then push them down about his knees. Licking the head of his cock, I slip my hands up the legs of his boxers and knead his buttocks. He isn't saying anything, his eyes are almost shut. I go back to sucking while one finger probes his anus, then forces itself inside. His cock stiffens at this intrusion. I lick his balls. "Mmmmmm. I love cock. So nice. Want you in me. Please, please, please? I need it so bad." The prostate massage has caused a copious flow of pre-cum, making his shaft very slick. 

"Paxton! What are you doing?" William calls from the doorway. Paxton and I had been too absorbed to even notice his entrance.

Poor Paxton...so close to orgasm, but still-his master's voice, demanding a response. He pulls up his pants, a feat made more difficult by the obstinate erection. "Er, I'm sorry, sir. I ... she's just so hot! I couldn't resist! I'll never do it again!" 

"You've been warned about this. This is your last chance, Paxton. We give you perks. Don't abuse us." William paused, inhaling intensely. "You're using the trigger, too, aren't you, Paxton. Damn it, man! She's not your toy! Get out! I don't want to see you any more today. Stay out of my sight."

Still pulling his pants into place, Paxton left, giving William a wide berth.

"That idiot has soiled you! I can smell him on you! Don't touch me until you've cleaned yourself." I had moved close to kiss him, but he prevented it. He looked at me, as if debating what to do with me. He wasn't wearing his cologne today, or at least not enough to detect over the heavy scent lingering after Paxton. My hands were again, unbidden, caressing my breasts and I rocked back and forth on the floor, pushing myself toward an orgasm. 

"Come with me. You need a clear head." William lifted me by the arm and half drug me out into the hall. "Breath deeply. Clear your lungs." I recovered some control. How odd - horny enough to fuck anything one second, almost rational, the next. And here I was, nearly naked in front of man-a friend of my husband's-completely comfortable parading around showing him everything. And last night! What could have possibly caused last night to happen?

William strokes my cheek with one hand. I press against his palm, as if to get more of him touching me. "Feeling a little more in control, Patricia?"

"Mmmmm. I love having you touch me, sir." Another oddity-I couldn't call him 'William.' Even though he'd fucked each of my holes only yesterday. "Oh, that feels good. Please don't stop." Surreptitiously, I watch his crotch, hopeful that I will have an effect and make him want to use me. 

"You're still pretty deeply affected. That means you're an exceptionally good subject, but right now, it's inconvenient." William looks about, then moves me towards the main dining area. Once there, we sit at a large table and he calls out for coffee. Apparently there are servants about, because moments later, a very pretty girl brings out a tray with coffee, sugar, cream, and some pastries.

He pours a cup of coffee, and takes a sip. "I want you to sit here and relax. Don't leave this room. I'll return shortly." With that he leaves the room, his coffee sitting on the table. The smell of the coffee seems to counter-act William's cologne. With each breath, my head seems clearer. The dildos start to feel uncomfortable. I try not to move my hips, to minimize the sensations they cause. I am aware of my nakedness-why didn't I dress? And where is Bill? Why did he leave me here? Memories of last night seem like a dream. Not unpleasant, just unreal. 

Realizing I'm hungry, I eat a scone and take a few sips of William's coffee. It helps reduce the taste of Paxton's cock in my mouth. Did I really do that? With him? I know I did, but it feels like another person, not me. I remember everything clearly, but don't really remember ME doing it. I wonder, should I explore a little? Or maybe I should go back to my room and shower. William did want me to clean up. But he said to stay here. I don't want to disappoint him. But why? This makes no sense. 

William steps back into the room. "Feeling better?" He sits close. My head buzzes, not with the overwhelming desire for sex I had come to expect, something else. Calm. Obedience. I forget about the dildos, my nakedness, the collar. Everything is perfect. He is here, smiling at me. I lose myself in his eyes, those beautiful, powerful, all-knowing dark pools. I move to kneel at his feet. 

"Very good, Patricia. You look exquisite." My heart flutters, hearing that I please him. "I want you to understand what we're doing, what's happening to you. Please listen carefully. You weren't really capable of understanding last night."

"Your husband told me of your desire to experience greater sensuality in your lives, to move past the traditional boundaries of an intimate relationship. Oh, he didn't say in those terms, but that's what he was getting at. So I decided to invite you two to join our rather exclusive club. Last night was your initiation."

"Last night, the brandy you drank contained something special. Tiny little machines, nanobots. They were programmed to reshape some of your neural pathways, to alter some of your chemistry, and a few other tasks. For example, your behavior last night was a consequence of their programming."

"Bill and I have talked extensively about you, Patricia. He's told me so much that I feel as if I know you." A laugh, rich and warm. "Not just carnally, but truly intimately. I really think you're perfect for my program, that you'll love the results. I admit that the initiation process is a bit heavy-handed. But it's an approach that I evolved over time. Originally, I'd learn of a candidate and I would explain what I were offering. Very, very few women would agree to participate. So I started offering a taste first. Now almost all women agree. I think it was fear of the unknown which held them back."

"Here's what's happening. The nanobots you ingested have made some irreversible changes in you. Your skin really will continue to become more youthful over the next few weeks, and then it will stay that way. Your body hair has already disappeared-no more shaving. The elasticity of your vagina is enhanced, as is your tendency to lubricate-you will be tighter and wetter than ever before. The sensations you experience during sex-whether vaginal, oral or anal-will be enhanced. These are all irreversible changes, our gift to you, an apology for doing it without first asking."

"Another irreversible feature: whether you join us or not, you'll find that you can't talk to anyone about this, except for people who know how to deactivate certain defenses we've built in. Again, I'm sorry to be so heavy-handed about it, but I feel this is necessary to ensure our privacy."

"There are some easily reversible changes as well. Birth control is now unnecessary. Under certain conditions - the trigger scent - your inhibitions will be eliminated, or at least significantly lowered. Both these can be reversed easily." 

"Do you understand what I've told you so far?" I'm curious about the goal of all this, but I think I understand enough to continue. I nod.

"If you continue, I'll inject you with more nanobots. These are much more sophisticated. They must be injected as they can't survive a trip through the stomach. These have more profound effects on the neural pathways associated with your sexual responses, your inhibitions, the factors shaping your preferences, even your sensory system. For example, remember your gag reflex? It was not your imagination that it had been repressed to the point of elimination. With the new nanobots, your body will subconsciously perform isometrics almost constantly-effectively, you'll improve and maintain your body tone. The intensity of your sexual responses will be magnified beyond anything you've experienced. Your metabolism will boost significantly, allowing you to indulge in food and drink without the weight-gain. More importantly, you'll be much more resistant to infections in general, and STDs in particular. Not a single woman who's joined us has contracted herpes, HPV, gonorrhea, syphilis, or even HIV since joining. Given the level of activity of some of these women, it speaks volumes about the effectiveness of this approach. The nanobots will help you maintain your youthful appearance and health well into your advanced years. I can't be sure yet, but my best estimate is that you'll function at about the physical age of 25 until you're in your seventies, then you'll age about one year every two. You'll live until you're nearly two hundred, Patricia."

"In return for these benefits, if you join us, you will be trained to be the ultimate-well, we don't really have a word for it in English. Geisha comes close, or perhaps concubine. An escort, if you will. A highly skilled escort who derives very great pleasure from her duties. Our own private whore." 

"No, we don't whore you out. Unless you want to experience that. First, you will participate in my training program. It isn't onerous - most of the learning is facilitated by nanobots. Still, I want to watch you and test you, so it's easiest to keep you here during that period. Following training, you'll participate as an escort/playmate, on a rotation basis. Sometimes, you'll accompany a member to an important event, serving primarily as eye-candy. Sometimes, a member may want an intimate evening alone with you. Most frequently, you'll participate in events here at the club, one of a gathering. On occasion, you'll be the only woman entertaining several, or even many, men. Or it may be a mix of men and women. We've even had gatherings of women."

"Bill will be invited to events as well, as are all our male members. I'm sure he will enjoy watching you. He can participate to whatever extent he wishes."

"This organization offers you and Bill an opportunity to have a greater intensity and variety of sexual experiences than would otherwise be possible. I'm offering you in particular the opportunity to be healthier, younger looking, sexier, more alive for longer than you can imagine. And to experience greater pleasure than you thought possible. You remember how good it felt to be fucked last night? It will be even better." I feel my checks and chest flush at the memory of how intense my orgasms had been, and at what a little slut I'd been. Begging to be fucked by William. By Paxton!

William goes on. "And I can tailor the nanobots if there's something special you want. One woman wanted to have a breast reduction, which wasn't too difficult to provide. Another wanted her vision corrected and to have her eyes made green. The first part was easy, but getting that color change was a real challenge. Want to tan perfectly uniformly, even without the sun? I can do that. Want to be perfectly pale? I can do that. Have a permanent blonde streak in your hair? Thicker eyelashes? Eliminate moles? Scars? Birthmarks? No problem."




The Gentlemen's Club



"This is a lot to assimilate. And I won't ask you to decide while you're not thinking straight. So let's take that belt off and get you showered. It will be lunchtime. You can relax this afternoon and think about what you want to do. Bill will join us this evening, if you wish to discuss it with him."

William comes to me and kneels, unbuckling the belt. I stand, and he pulls the dildo from my anus. Unexpectedly, there is an intense burst of pleasure. I gasp. He looks at me, concern showing in his intense stare. "No one has ever shown such profound reaction to the first round of nanobots. I think I need to monitor you closely if you elect to join us." My heart races as William talks about monitoring me closely. This could be fun...really, really fun. Joining sounds better and better. "Spread your legs." I obey and William takes the remaining dildo and pushes it a bit deeper. That unexpected action brings another intense sensation, more powerful than the first. My knees buckle a bit and William moves to steady me. "This is quite amazing, Patricia." He withdraws it entirely and I orgasm, falling forward to grab him. I didn't really need to, but I like feeling how strong William is. 

We walk slowly back to my little room, where I shower and lie down on the bed, intending to relax and think about what to do. Instead, all I can think about is last night with William. I remember that beautiful, big cock sliding into me. I'm already wet. Really, really wet. Where's that dildo? Ah, it slides in easily. I start masturbating myself with slow, firm strokes, imagining William fucking me. The strokes get faster as my orgasm approaches. My legs are spread wide and I'm rocking my hips in a contrapuntal rhythm to the strokes. William can fuck me better this way. This thought brings a powerful climax. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-h-h-h-ng-so good. Oh god so gooooood." 

I lie on the bed, caressing the dildo between my breasts, my own juices wetting them. My eyes are closed and my breathing is deep and hard. A nap, I think. I'm so drained. Then to work. I don't think I want to tell William about this. 

Sleep must have come quickly because the next thing I realize is that it's nearly 6:00 and I'm sticky and smelly. I decide I'd better get that shower. The warm water feels so good. I dally in the shower, toying with the idea of not joining William's club. Would I still get to fuck him? Doubtful. And another 100 years of youth is pretty damned attractive. My hands are sliding over my soapy body. I'd feel this good until everyone who knows me right now would be dead. Bill would be disappointed if I decide not to join. But then again, Bill will be dead in, what, 30-40 years? If I join, I'll outlive him by the better part of a century. That doesn't sound good. But I'd probably outlive him whether I join their organization or not. And Bill must want us to join. And these orgasms! My hands slipped between my legs, stroking myself gently. I certainly did enjoy that part of the deal - and they were supposed to get more powerful! My knees are so weak that it's getting hard to stand in the shower. Joining is the only reasonable choice. 

I draw this orgasm out, coming oh-so-close and slowing down, over and over. But then I think about William's beautiful cock and let myself cum hard, fully. Squatting in the shower, panting, water flowing over me, I catch my breath. Calmer, I rinse off, step out, and dry myself. There is a soft kaftan to wrap myself.

I lie on the bed again, calmer, much more relaxed. I've made my decision. 

William knocks on the door, asking, "How do you feel? You seemed quite tired."

"Yes, I was. I actually napped a bit while I was deciding what I wanted to do. I've already decided. I want to join."

"Well, alright then. Why don't we get started? I can give you your first treatment before dinner, and Bill can see the new you blossoming. Does that sound good?"

The idea of starting so quickly was a bit intimidating. On the other hand, the sooner I started, the sooner it was over and I could just enjoy the benefits. "Alright. Let's do it."

William stepped out, while I stretched and looked about. No clothes. No closet. What to wear? Well, I'll ask William when he...oh, back already.

"William, sir, I don't seem to have any clothes. I need something to wear."

William smiled. "Let's do this first." He held a small syringe filled with a clear fluid.

"OK, where do I get it? Arm? Thigh? What?"

"It's probably best to use your butt cheek, frankly. They really need a nice home in fatty tissue to do well. You don't have much fatty tissue, sweetheart."

"Are you sure you're not just using that as an excuse to squeeze my ass again?" I smiled. The decision was made, I was on the way. Where to, I wasn't exactly sure, but I was on the way. I laid on the bed, rolling onto my belly. "All set, doctor."

Cold wetness. He must be wiping the area. I feel his hands pinching some skin to firm it, then a sharp sting. The injection. I shivered, but not from cold. No going back now.

"Now, how about something to wear?" I sit up. "Unless you want me to walk around bare-assed everywhere? I don't think Bill's ready for that yet." It must be my imagination, but I feel pleasantly warm. I'm comfortable naked. I really should wear something but I'm not sure why. 

"You need some heels, to make your legs sexier. And I can arrange for your tattoos. You still want a nice tramp stamp, don't you? And a queen of spades?"

"Mmmm. Yes. I want to look good for you. 'Tramp stamp' - how suitable!" I laugh. Tattoos sound exactly right. I should look the part. And I need to put on my make up, I want to look good for my men. Another laugh. All my men. I can feel my horniness growing. My nipples are erect. They look so cute-tiny brown buttons on my brownish areola. My hands rub my abs and caress my breasts. So nice. 

"Actually, sweetheart, the nanobots are going to give you tattoos. They're starting to show even now. It'll take a few days for the colors to form completely, but the black areas will be visible by dinner." 

I look in amazement at my mons. Sure enough, there's a Queen of Spades becoming visible. It's about two inches high; no one will ever miss it, but it's small enough to cover with a thong. But maybe not with a small G-string. Although I can't imagine why I'd want to cover it. I wish I could see my back. Maybe I should get my entire body covered, like those Japanese yakuza girls. William would probably like fucking a piece of art like that. I smile at the idea of being a piece and a piece of art. I am wet, thinking about William fucking me. 

"Ah, your shoes. And cosmetics. Now you can get ready for dinner. Your husband will be here soon."

"Yes, sir. It'll only take a few minutes to get my face on." I'd forgotten that Bill was coming too. Oh, god, I'm so horny! The shoes are beautiful-4' high strappy sandals, very sexy. I'll look so hot in them! Men always like heels. And I like to be whatever men like. The cosmetics are high quality, but the colors are not my usual choices. These are more flashy, more evening-oriented. But that's probably good. I want to look especially sexy tonight. I don't want them to be able to keep their hands off me. I smile, and squirm a little on the bed. I've made a little wet spot. I grin at this.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Take your time getting ready." William caresses my ass as he leaves, and kisses me. I can hardly keep from throwing my arms around him and begging him to fuck me. I love his beautiful black cock. I want him inside me. "Yes, sir." Being empty almost hurts.

William leaves and I masturbate, my finger easily sliding into my wet pussy. Relief is quick, but incomplete. I need to be fucked, I need a cock pumping in and out. I want to feel a man's weight on me, his groin forcing my hips apart, his cock sliding in and out. Damn! Where are those damned men when you need them? William, Bill, even Paxton. Somebody with a cock, damn it! 

I finger myself to another orgasm, and then wash and put on make up. Mr. Robinson said he'd come back, so I wait. I can't remember his first name, but I'm not supposed to be so familiar anyway. I'm so excited.

"Bill, how good to see you again." William Robinson himself greets me at the door. "Patricia is nearly ready. She's absolutely amazing. I'm so happy you decided to bring her."

I feel a little burst of pride. And guilt. I don't know if Patricia would have agreed if she knew, but we had talked about swinging, and William promised that this introduction was the best way. According to him, nearly every woman who introduced this way agreed to join the club. 

"Let's wait in a private room. She should be joining us shortly. Do you like cigars? I have some true Cubans. This calls for a celebration! I couldn't be happier with her. Thank you, thank you, thank you." William's enthusiasm was infectious. I smiled. My Patricia eliciting such enthusiasm! 

We walk into an unfamiliar part of the building, into a rather large lounge with several leather sofas, a huge ottoman, and a number of matching chairs. William leads me to a pair of chairs suitable for conversation, with a small table within easy reach. There are several bookcases and a fireplace completing the décor. Except for ourselves, the room is unoccupied. 

A servant appears with two cigars, glasses, ice, and a bottle. William pours each of us a generous glass of an excellent single malt. He snips his cigar, and lights it. I follow suit, not really a big fan, but not wanting to spoil the mode. We sit silently for a bit, sipping the smoothest Scotch I've ever had, and occasionally puffing on the cigar. I relax and start enjoying myself. If Patricia agrees, it will be perfect. These men are powerful and rich. Influential. I won't pester - but the networking opportunities can't be denied. And the idea of having a safe environment for sexual adventures is incredibly attractive.

William refills my drink. "I wonder what's keeping Patricia? Let me go fetch her and tell the staff to get the evening started." He steps into the hall and disappears. I think a little about what a swing party might be like at the Club. Several of the women we saw when I first brought Patricia were quite striking. Patricia was the most beautiful woman in the room, true, but still...variety is the spice of life. Patricia deserves variety.

William returns, holding Patricia close. My heart skips several beats. She is gorgeous. Nude except for sexy high heels, wearing more make-up than I can recall seeing on her - expertly applied, but a little...I can't think of the right word. She is literally hanging all over William, practically groping him in front of me. They approach and he turns to her. She throws her arms around his neck and gives him a deep and passionate kiss, pressing her body tight to him. With her back to me, I see a black tattoo on her lower back - intertwined snakes, no, Asian dragons, long and snake-like. Patricia didn't like tattoos. Something strange was going on. 

A naked black man, nearly as tall as William but thin, approaches them from the hallway. Looking that direction, I realize there are perhaps eight or ten men grouped just outside the door, all black, all in the twenty to thirty age range. How odd. 

I hear William tell Patricia to satisfy his friends. Her face lights with an absolutely joyous smile and turns to the thin young man, giving him as passionate a kiss as she had just given William. I feel my pulse quicken. My wife is swinging. Eagerly. Returning the kiss, the man grabs her breast and squeezes, then pinches her nipple hard. I hear Patricia squeal, then moan. The thin man picks her up and carries her to the bed-sized ottoman. The other men enter from the hall. I realize they are all naked, most already sporting erections.

They're going to gangbang my Patricia! She is already on her back, her ass at the edge of the ottoman, accepting her first lover's sizable cock. I hear her saying how good it feels, how much she loves his cock, how much she loves fucking him, how big he is... I've never seen her look more beautiful; his black cock sliding in and out of her tight cunt, glistening with her juices. She's so wet! She never got that wet with me. I'm so glad I did this. Patricia deserves bigger cocks. She deserves better lovers. My own puny little penis is hard.

"So, Bill, doesn't Patricia look beautiful?"

"Oh, god, yes, Mr. Robinson. I love watching her fuck. She never got so aroused with me. I've never seen her look so sexy, so beautiful." Even as I speak, I watch my beautiful wife taking this big black cock. I recognize her orgasm, even though it's more powerful than ever before. She's actively humping her lover, thrusting her hips at hip aggressively. His face and body tightens. "Oh god bitch so good. Ummmmm. Amazing cunt! Next."

As his cock withdraws and he steps back, copious amounts of semen begin to ooze from her rapidly contracting pussy. Did Patricia actually sigh in longing? Or did I imagine it...Maybe not, because she quickly draws the next man into her and begins grinding herself against him. "Oh fuck this bitch loves cock! I could fuck this all night. This slant loves to fuck!" 

I hear the group cheering and smile. Patricia's finally going to get enough cock. 

"I want to keep Patricia with me, Bill. You don't mind, do you." It really wasn't a question. 

"Oh, no, Mr. Robinson. She's much happier here." 

"Gentlemen! Hold up! Bill's going to say good-bye to his wife." Mr. Robinson called out to the gang in front of us. Her second lover made one last, deep thrust and grunted as he came. I am certain I saw her belly button moving with the force of his thrust. 

"Kiss her, Bill. Thank her for being such a good slut for us."

I walk over to the ottoman. Patricia's makeup was a bit smeared, she glistened from sweat, and she had an incredibly wanton expression on her face. She has never looked more beautiful. Already, fluids are flowing freely from her cunt, hers and theirs. I bend over and whisper, "I love you. I'm so proud you're a perfect slut."

She replies, "I love you for letting me fuck these wonderful cocks..."

I drop to my knees between her legs, and make some gentle, tentative licks. Rich, heavy with the smell and taste of Patricia, but with a foreign, almost acrid taste as well. She moans. I lick again, more firmly. "Oh, yessss." I lick her pussy, cleaning every bit my tongue can reach. She grasps the back of my head between her hands and pushes her hips into my jaw. "oh...oh...oh..." She's thrusting so hard my jaw aches. The gang around us cheers loudly. "Yeah, lick that pussy. Clean her up for us." 

After maybe ten minutes and at least two orgasms, Patricia pushes my head away. "I need cock inside now" I back away, leaving her to her gang.

"That was very good, Bill. You're making an excellent cuckold."

"Thank you, Mr. Robinson."

"Now, Bill, finish your cognac. You can watch until they're done. Patricia will need another cleaning then. Don't masturbate, though."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Robinson. Whatever you wish."