9 comments/ 90034 views/ 11 favorites The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 01 By: engagemind This is a new, and different type of story then my first series, with thanks to a reader who provided the general theme. As always positive feedback/comments are welcome, and I will continue the series if there is interest. As with my last series, there will likely be delays between chapters due to my schedule and associated limited time. Thus please be patient. * It all started rather "innocently", between a group of middle aged men, who gathered on a regular basis to play poker. The four of us, Ben 36, Mike 38, Tom 41 and myself Bill 42, would get together about once every two weeks to play while our wives would go "out on the town" for a "Ladies night out". We would rotate homes, usually started early Saturday evening, and would drink/play till the early morning hours, while our wives would spend the night at one of the other homes. This way if, we drank a bit too much, there would be no driving problems, for we all spent the night at host's home, but did not interfere with each others activities. This allowed our antics, and conversation to vary depending on the mood, and would sometimes include some porn and discussions about our sex lives (or lack there of) . After about a year of fairly normal evenings, Mike brought up a new event in his life to ask our opinion. It seams he and his wife have been helping to support her 20 year old niece through college, and allowed her to access there house, for breaks, food and use of the washer/dryer. She lived on campus, but was only about 20 minuets away and would drop in about once a week. While it seams Mike came home early from work a few days ago, while his wife was out of town, and stumbled on his niece Fran, not using drugs, but selling them out of his home. Mike has always been a very cool level headed guy, and did not blow up like most of us would have (after all he could lose his home if she were busted). He simply demanded the "buyers" leave, and then sat Fran down and proceeded to lecture her, not only about what she might have done to them but what she will likely lose, their support and access to their home. Fran broke down, explained that she needed a little extra cash to live and was set up by a male "friend" at school. She insisted she did not use drugs, had only been selling for a few weeks and pleaded not to tell anyone. She promised to stop, and would do anything to keep in college, had good grades, and would try to find another way to make some extra cash, but noted there were no jobs near the campus. Mike said he would hold off telling anyone and think about the options. Fran thanked Mike, gave him a big teary eyed hug, a slightly surprising quick kiss on the lips, and whispered that she really meant what she said about stopping dealing and doing anything if he would help her. Mike told us that when she hugged him and then kissed him on the lips he got an instant boner, and was sure Fran could feel it thru his pants, because she pressed her leg against his cock and rubbed a little as she stressed she would do anything. Our mouths fell open at the story, and our minds begin to wonder why Mike chose to share this with us, but realized we had become best friends, and had started to share our deeper thoughts, especially after several drinks. We all new Fran was a gorgeous young coed, about 5' 7" tall, short raven black hair, we guessed 34 B breasts, and a thin figure to die for. She was on the college dance team, which kept her in shape and very flexible. Well we did not play much poker that night, but more stories were reveled and wheels started to turn. It seams Ben had recently had a similar situation that he also wanted to share and was not sure how to handle. He had picked up a porn video for our poker night, only to recognize his 26 year old cousin Liz as one of the "stars". Considering her family was in a very upper class crowd, this could cause a great deal of embarrassment , and likely have Liz removed from the family inheritance. Of course the first thing on our twisted minds was to watch the video, for we all new Liz was a fox. She is 5' 4" tall, dark blond hair, with a slightly fuller body than Fran, but well sculptured, with we guessed 36 C breasts. After somewhat reluctantly offering the "Liz" porn video, we were all stunned at her beauty and wanton behavior, leaving us all with great deal of discomfort between our legs. After a night of further discussion (scheming) a plan was formulated.. We all agreed our sex lives were less then optimum, with a lot of self relief (but never together -- we were all too afraid of the "male" thing -- non of us being bi). We also reluctantly admitted to each other that night that we would always relive our raging hard-ons when we got home after watching our late night porn sessions (or sometimes in the bathroom of our host if we could not wait to get home). With that said we took a break, with each taking a "bathroom trip" which we all new included a "Liz" fantasy but were too macho to admit. Our plan was simple, but required delicate care to execute to make certain we would not get "busted". Let me take a moment to describe each of us. We are all in reasonable shape, with most of us either working out regularly at the gym and/or running. Most of us played sports in our college days, but have put on a few extra pounds. We are all financially secure, with good jobs, but none of us are considered "wealthy". Thus the plan that evolved consists of, convincing the two "ladies" to "entertain" our group once a month (one gal every two weeks) for "live" entertainment in place of the porn we usually watched after playing poker. In return their secrets would stay with us and they would be "compensated" for their efforts with each of us contributing to the "pot". We knew this could be very attractive for Fran, solving her "extra" spending money problem, but were not sure about Liz. It turns out, however that Liz had encountered a bit of a financial issue that she could not reveal to her wealthy parents, resulting in her "porno" stint. Thus both girls reluctantly agreed to the terms (without knowledge of each other), and our "Gentlemen's Club" ensued. We were all a bit nervous (and realized Fran, our first participant, must have been much more uncomfortable) with the arrival of our first "poker" (no pun intended) evening with live entertainment. Although no specific "rules" had been established, it was understood that the girls would not be expected to "perform" any unreasonable acts. As usual, we started early Saturday evening, and actually played some poker. We were all a little on edge, however, with excitement/anticipation, but also with some concern for the endeavor we were about to undertake. On time, a very nervous Fran rang the bell a little after 10:00 pm, and was let in by Mike (she was more comfortable meeting at his home for the first session). A very timid, shy Fran was led down to the basement entertainment room where we played, and was offered a drink. The offer, was intended to be a soft drink, but she requested a beer to calm her nerves. After a round of beers and some chit chat to ease the tension, Mike suggested she get more "comfortable", we had turned up the heat to take off any chill. Fran eyed each of us quickly, each of us looking her over, then with eyes cast down almost inaudible asked Mike what she should do. She was wearing rather conservative college attire, consisting of a blouse open enough to get a glimpse of her white bra, jeans, low cut heals, and we later found out white near thong panties. To ease her into the session, Mike suggested we play strip poker, with the winner of each hand picking a player to remove an article of clothing. This of course stacked the odds against Fran, but at least bought her some time and eased her gradually into the show. After a few hands Fran had actually won one but lost three, and was down to her bra and panties, with her eyes avoiding contact, but our eyes soaking in her young toned body. A small grin appeared as she noticed the constant "adjustments" of our growing bulges. She lost the next two rounds, and somewhat reluctantly removed her bra, and then her panties, covering her pubic area with her hands. Tom the clown broke the ice by letting out a low wolf whistle, and we all cracked up including Fran, who stuck out her tongue at Tom. Not to be outdone Tom retorted that we are the ones to be tonguing, causing Fran to blush a bright pink and look at the floor. Fran again looked to Mike for direction, who suggested that she give each of us a close up look, without any cover. She moved closer to Mike and at his direction cupped her breasts leaving the now hard nipples exposed, spread her legs and slowly spun around just a foot from his face. Mike subconsciously rubbed his rock hard cock thru his pants smelling the faint scent of her arousal. Her twat was trimmed with a thin landing strip, with a thin slit and only modest pussy lips. Her nipples were small but hard and extended out almost 3/4 of an inch, with all of us wanting to suck them. After making the rounds, giving each of us a very close view, she looked to Mike for guidance, hoping we were finished for the night. This all however had taken less then an hour, the night was young and our lust growing. We did not want to push her too hard this first time, but had agreed before she arrived that we should obtain more then a quick look. So Mike suggested that our reluctant guest take a seat on the pillows we placed in the middle of the floor, spread wide, and open her pussy while she also played with her nipples. Fran's eyes started to glisten on the verge of tears as she laid on the cushions closed her eyes and spread her pussy wide open as she tweaked her nipples. We could see the glistening of her inner pussy as her juices started to flow, and the distinct female aroma grow likely from a mixture of the stimulation and the humiliation. This was too much for us with our rock hard penises confined but dripping, we knew we all wanted to wank but were still uncomfortable doing it in front of each other. Mike whispered into Fran's ear to let go, and play with her pussy, let us watch her masturbate, then she could go home. She started to slowly rub her lips, insert a finger, and then rub her clit with her thumb, while still playing with her tits. She opened her glazed eyes, saw us rubbing our dicks in our pants memorized by her show and thru whimpers asked us to take them out and wank for her, let her see our cocks. Considering our current state of arousal, without a moments hesitation we all had our pants down, cocks in hand, cupping our heavy balls, stroking slowly so as not to blow too soon. We took positions around her, close but not so close that we encroached into her space, and stroked as she fingered herself, and intently watched our cocks. As she continued, her finger fucking speed increased, her back started to arch, her eyes closed tight and her other hand, circled her clit. Fran like us, but for different reasons, was overwhelmed by the situation. The raw almost forced exposure, the excitement and lust she created in four now naked men, all stroking their cocks lusting over her overwhelmed her senses. The quick onset and intensity of her orgasm therefore surprised and consumed her. She gushed fluid, something she had only rarely done, cried out and withered on the pillows. This raw blatant sexual scene, of course pushed all of us over the top, and within seconds, with Fran still softly moaning, we began to orgasm, groaning as our cum bathed the floor, a few squirts reaching Fran's lower legs. As we all began to relax, Fran now feeling more comfortable and somewhat in control, fingered the cum on her legs, then looking first at our limp penises then into our eyes, lewdly tasted the cum. She parted her pussy lips giving us a final look, then got up, dressed, gave us each a peck on the cheek, and left. We all stood, our penises still exposed and dangling, our minds a bit dazed. As we dressed, and chatted about the evening, our minds and chat begin to advance to the next "poker" party, and Liz. To be continued ....... if there is positive interest. The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 02 — The Letter — "Dearest Sarah, I've just received the most astonishing news: I've been made Senior Clerk. This means my dream of home ownership is near at hand. As well, now that my means have increased, I can begin to pay proper respects to the Ministry. Naturally, I am prepared to return and begin my new duties, at the firm and under my roof. Our separation forces me to endure and permits my full understanding of our Father's plan for me. Until we are joined together again, Robert H. P.S. I shall especially look forward to my return next Tuesday." Sarah, having finished reading the letter for the second time, excitedly crumpled it between her fingers. 'Senior Clerk,' she thought. For the first time in nearly a week, she felt a small rush of joy. 'Senior Clerk!' She could hardly believe it. At least her ordeal had not been in vain. Mr. Brown had more than kept his word. * The next day Sarah sat, holding a pail. She gargled, cleaning her mouth vigorously with a potent hygienic tonic she had purchased for a penny from the street barker days before. She swirled the foul concoction around thoroughly before spitting it into the pail. No matter what she did, she could still taste the remnants from five nights past, could still detect a slightly bitter, salty substance trapped between her very teeth. Surely she imagined it; this far removed, all aspects of young Master Collins ejaculate should be forever gone. Still, she continued gargling and rinsing, three times a day. There was a knock upon the door. 'Another letter from Robert?' she asked herself excitedly. Placing the pail on the floor, she stood and rushed to the door, pulling it open with a flourish. She was extending a hand for the letter she was sure to receive when a voice she knew very well said her name: "Sarah." Douglas Brown stood, hat in hand, at her threshold, leaning on his walking cane. Today he wore a slate colored suit with a double Windsor deepest crimson tie. As always, Mr. Brown was immaculately dressed. Sarah flinched, ready to slam the door, but of course that would be most rude. She had refused three separate messages from Mr. Brown in the last three days; there was nothing at all untoward about that. Slamming the door in his face, however, was something altogether different. Decorum must be maintained. She realized how plainly she was dressed, in a flat brown cleaning dress with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and began to close the door. It was her intention to leave it cracked a sliver; however, Mr. Brown was taking no chances as he thrust his cane between door and jamb. "Mr. Brown," she said breathlessly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Brown smiled. "Charles was right, you are polite to a fault." Of course, she blushed mildly at his compliment—then, realizing her small blush was genuine pushed her into a full-blown coloring of chest, neck, and face. She recovered quickly. "I really don't have time for this, Mr. Brown. If you would kindly remove your cane." "Then I shan't waste any more of your time. I trust you've received word from your husband?" "Yes." "Then you understand we've decided to reward certain, ah, behaviors." "Reward as a dog, mastering a difficult trick? A horse's reward, perhaps, for having run an especially grueling stakes race? Or maybe it's a child's reward, for having just learned a most impractical and unfortunate life lesson? Which reward is it, Mr. Brown?" Sarah asked all of her questions with just the slightest amount of bitterness; again, she was treading the line between outright disrespect, so unbecoming for a proper Southern lady, and genuine disdain for that which had been perpetrated on her person. It was a very thin line indeed. In that moment (and not for the first time), Brown failed utterly to notice anything she said and was instead nearly lost in her light blue eyes; having never stood this close to her, however—at least, in this much light—this was the first time he become aware of the tiniest flecks of dark blue that seemed to flutter around their very center. "Sarah, the reward is for your husband. Robert Higgins is a valued employee at the firm; it would be a terrible shame for him to lose so quickly that which he has only just recently come into. I assure you, life station can be fleeting indeed." Sarah stood quietly. "That said, your part in this was well played. Understanding your role and fulfilling it is part of your duties as wife. Every Southern wife, so we are told, honors and obeys their husbands." "Obviously, Mr. Brown." "Perhaps, then, you can understand my predicament. Your appearance the other night caused quite a stir about The Visum. It would seem that I must again prevail upon you for a night's accompaniment." Sarah looked down her nose upon him, searching for the sarcasm or scorn she was sure must accompany such an outrageous request. Instead, she saw only Mr. Brown, plain spoken and simply represented. "You said it would be just the one time, Mr. Brown. I assure you, I have no intention of ever repeating that performance." "Of course, Sarah. And yet, there are other forces at work here. It would seem that your husband—Robert seemed so very pleased with his promotion, based on the message I received just this morning, he can hardly wait to come back and demonstrate how deserving he is—is very excited about gaining new accommodations. This," he continued, rapping the doorjamb with his knuckles, "is no place for a woman of your caliber, no place at all. What I bring to you is part offer and part reminder, plus a dash of reassurance. "The reminder is that your husband fails to own his position. If he is found unworthy or, worse, his religious views become too onerous, his tenuous position can disappear overnight. The reassurance is that neither Collins nor his son shall be in attendance at The Visum; therefore, I believe you will find your experience much more acceptable. The offer is a new domicile for you and your husband, a noble goal by any objective measure. Two nights at The Visum should secure building rights, which will close immediately upon your husband's return. "All of this is predicated on loyalty to your husband, your willingness to ensure his diligence is not in vain. As before, only you can do this." Sarah was blown away by the magnitude of what was just spoken. There was entirely too much to digest, she needed time to think this through. One thing, however, was clear: she was being manipulated. Again. "Why don't you meet me at my office tomorrow morning? We can hash out any details or, should you refuse, make whatever amends may be required," he said, brushing a particle off of his shoulder. "I'm sure we can reach an agreement." When he spoke in his lawyer's voice, Douglas Brown could be very persuasive. Sarah agreed to meet the following morning. She had most certainly NOT agreed to any of his terms. Yet. * Sarah arrived at 9:47 AM, wearing one of her Sunday dresses. A modest, full length garment leaving everything to the imagination, the green and gold dress was nevertheless more than presentable and seemed to have been designed specifically to contrast the flowing red hair arranged delicately about the wearer's collar, an inverted halo of sorts. At least, that was what Brown thought when he laid eyes upon her. The symbolism of the inverted halo did not escape him. "Sarah," he said, gesturing to the chair she had sat in exactly one week before. Mr. Brown did not sit. He walked behind the desk and over to a large paned window, staring out briefly at the hubbub that was Main Street before pulling the curtains. He walked around his desk and leaned back, resting his weight on it as he peered down at Sarah. For her part Sarah might have been a picture-perfect copy of last week, seated on the very edge of her seat, back straight, clutching her small purse for dear life. "Have you considered my offer?" All the conflicting emotions again ran through Sarah's mind. Robert's new position potentially hung in the balance—would they truly terminate him having only just promoted? And a house of their very own! That thought alone sent her mind spinning wildly, images of children and furniture, their own personal belongings, never again having to board, borrow, or accept favors from any one. A powerful vision, to be sure. And then another vision took shape: The Visum, a week before, buck naked about her knees while a young man she had known, ages ago, thrust his manhood crudely in and out of her mouth before expending a heavy load into the back of her throat. The memory of it lingered, a week on, a taste daily gargling couldn't remedy. But it wasn't just the hot cream that seared her throat that stayed with her; Sarah also felt the itch on her chin, today as then, as the man's hairy testicles swayed forward, striking her each time he leaned forward. The entirety of the event represented an indignity at the hands of Master Collins that would never be forgotten. "Mr. Brown, I have given this much thought indeed. I must regretfully—" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Brown appeared agitated. "Not supposed to be interrupted," he mumbled under his breath as he stormed towards the door. "This better be good." Swinging it open revealed none other than Charles Winthrop. Winthrop peered in at Sarah. "Morning, miss," he said quickly, as if he didn't know her, before turning his attention to Brown. "Douglas, I had to give you this news personally. I've just received word. He did it! They've signed!" Agitation instantly forgotten, Brown broke open an ear-splitting smile. Sarah, for the first time, realized that Mr. Brown was not entirely unattractive—and immediately blushed at the thought. "Very good. That leaves only one, then. I'll send word to the clerk, have him go over and attempt to work his uncanny magic." Winthrop, beaming as well, extended his hand. Brown accepted and the two men shook enthusiastically before parting ways. Still smiling, Brown went behind his desk and took a seat. He sat, lost in his own thoughts, for nearly a quarter hour. During that time, Sarah again ran through all the scenarios in her mind, all the promises and opportunities (and, perhaps, the not-quite-subtly veiled threats) on one hand, with the deplorable experience on the other. Still, perhaps this time would be different. Currency, even in a woman so dutiful, can be a very powerful motivator. "Mr. Brown," she said uncertainly, wringing her hands. "Yes, Sarah?" "My, ah… that is…" She struggled with the words. "I shall accompany you," she said quickly, before she could change her mind. "But I shall maintain my Virtue." "Your virtue?" Brown asked, puzzled. "Ah," he sighed, understanding, "Sarah, I assure you, only one's husband can claim Marital Rights. They may request it at The Visum—certainly, some do—but that is the one request you can deny." Relieved, Sarah exhaled rather forcefully. Not only continued service but also a promotion for her husband, higher income, and a home of their own—she had earned all of this already, without giving up that which only belonged to her husband. Sarah; sweet, pious, innocent Sarah, was prepared to do a little more in order to receive a bigger piece of the pie. Only a little more. She had done so much already. * As before, the carriage arrived exactly on time. Sarah, receiving no other instructions, wore the same garment as before (this time without undergarments), carefully arranging the shawl about her upper body such that she was shielded from prying eyes. Soon enough they were under way, she scrunched into the far corner. Minutes later, they stopped for Brown, who entered the carriage quickly. "Very good, Sarah. Your appearance is most exemplary." Sarah nodded, lost in thought. She was having some difficulty, now that she was actually in the carriage, reconciling her action tonight with what had occurred the previous week. How could she willingly put herself again into this situation? And yet… and yet, Mr. Brown had given assurances—he was always giving assurances, not to put too fine a point on it—that neither Collins would be there and that her Virtue was not in question. These two conditions were of paramount concern. There was, however, a larger question, one she couldn't stop rehashing: could a woman who performed services, even so benign as companionship (assuming that was all there was) to a man not her husband, consider herself anything but a trollop if she accepted payment? This, of course, to say nothing of the week prior, whose services most assuredly went well beyond mere companionship… and yet, here she was, again, in a carriage, as if her actions tonight carried no further consequences whatsoever. "You appear lost in thought," Brown said, interrupting her reverie. "I'm fine, Mr. Brown," she said. "Douglas, please. At least," he added hastily, "while we are outside of The Visum. There, decorum and respect command a certain conduct." "Of course, Mr. Brown." "But we aren't yet there. So tell me, Sarah Higgins, what is your passion?" Sarah turned her head, searching his face for derision—or worse. Instead she found what appeared to be an honest question, to which she gave an honest reply: "I should very much like to have children one day. We've tried for years now; I fear I may be barren." An awkward silence followed, after which she continued. "Still, we persevere. Perhaps the Lord will bless us, one day." "Perhaps. As you know…" What followed was the most interesting half hour of conversation Sarah could remember having in a very long time. * Having picked up Mr. Winthrop and his escort, Jennifer, the four-some continued on to The Visum. The conversation changed abruptly when Sarah and Mr. Brown were joined; Sarah, having commanded Douglas' full attention, failed even to register to Mr. Brown, who was engaged in wide-ranging appraisal of all matters firm-related with Mr. Winthrop. The dramatic shift put her off-guard. Which was the real man: the thoughtful, eloquent, even charming bachelor who sympathized with her quest for children? Or the dispassionate, even-keeled Proprietor of the most prestigious law firm in the southern half of the state? Could they both be the same man? She wondered. And then there was Jennifer. Sarah gazed at her, Jennifer's blond hair (almost as rare as her own) prominent tonight over a surprisingly understated outfit that revealed very little of what lay beneath. If Sarah didn't know better, she would have thought Jennifer was out for a perfectly normal social gathering. As they realized each was appraising the other, their eyes met. Jennifer appeared almost jealous, no small amount of shock mixed with anger evident on her face; Sarah, on the other hand, tried her best to keep her features even, giving away nothing of what she felt inside. Her intuition told her to withhold everything from this girl, that Jennifer would spare no expense to make anything having to do with her as unpleasant and regrettable as possible. Still, pleasantries must be observed. Sarah smiled primly and nodded her head before looking away. That should do. — The Visum — This time Sarah knew exactly what to do and followed Mr. Brown quickly out of the carriage. She stepped, ten paces behind, never taking her eyes off the back of his shoes. She noted that when he walked, Mr. Brown's feet flared slightly, the toes about two inches outside the heel, not unlike a duck. His shoes made very little sound as he walked this way, nearly rolling over the floor's surface. His walking cane—he didn't need it, pretension kept it at hand, the crafted teak beautifully carved into an instrument none could avert their eyes from—made the only sound, ticking the floor every other step. There was a certain—the thought made her stomach flutter as if a thousand butterflies were attempting to take flight at the same time—pride in following Mr. Brown. Yes, pride was the right word. His was the most extravagant attire, although she was sure Mr. Winthrop (if not all, for that matter) possessed more personal worth. Mr. Brown's gait, confident and sure, seemed without affectation. Everywhere he went, the path seemed to widen, competence and dignity emanating from him in waves. There was no parading about this time; rather, they immediately went to their table in the preferred corner. Brown, as before, pulled back a chair for Sarah, paused, and eased it in, all while looking as if he had absolutely no interest in who or what might be sitting there. After taking his own seat, and noting Winthrop's having done the same, he gestured for the meal to begin. "Douglas, this latest bit of news does raise a concern," Winthrop began. "Don't tell me—where do we go from here?" "Exactly." "Clearly, we have a significant workload representing interests in Augusta. The state's business, such as it is, can be used to our advantage. Of course, that sort of representation isn't very lucrative." Winthrop's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I agree, Douglas. State government may offer a certain intrigue, but there's little profit in it." "Well said. I've been speaking to an outfit from New York City recently, interested in the red clay Georgia possesses in such abundance. It seems they are prepared to develop a series of brick-building operations, if appropriate options can be secured." "Ah, very good." "I knew you would approve, Charles. Standard Oil is always in the market, though I fear we have little to offer in our neck of the woods. Still, some prospectors are making claims that must be investigated. The most exciting possibility is power and telegraph." "There's already a line between the coasts," Winthrop noted. "Yes, but not yet up and down the eastern seaboard." "I see." Brown looked around The Visum. "There seems to be a packed house tonight." Indeed, the dozen or so tables were almost all filled, fully forty-six in attendance. "Evans, of course," Brown said, gesturing to a fat man three tables away, "I knew he would be here." "He hasn't stopped speaking to me of it, Douglas. He's beside himself." "Indeed. Sarah," he said, cocking his head sideways. "Er, yes, Mr. Brown?" she replied, looking up. "Hand me your shawl." Sarah had been dreading this. Thinking it best to simply be done, she quickly pulled the shawl from her shoulders and handed it over, making no attempt to cover her breasts, exposed as they were underneath the gauzy material of her thin white dress. It was as if a switch had been flipped; suddenly The Visum was abuzz with conversation, nearly all of it centered about Brown's table. The fat man almost immediately stood and ambled over, leaving everyone at his table still seated. He walked around the table and stood between Sarah and Mr. Brown. There he crouched low, balancing himself with one hand on the back of Sarah's chair. "Mr. Brown," he said; his words may have been directed to Brown but his eyes were facing the opposite direction, less than a foot away from Sarah's plump melons. He leaned in, absorbing in full detail the crinkled nipples at the tips of Sarah's breasts. She felt his hot breath on them and realized coldly that they were shriveling and hardening, becoming much more pronounced than normal. They resembled an especially juicy piece of fruit, ready to be plucked and sampled. "Mr. Evans," Brown replied. He was amused that the fat man should be so taken with Sarah but was sure to allow none of his fascination to enter his voice. "How are you this evening?" The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 02 Although this story can be entertained by itself, the background set in the first chapter would be helpful. As with all of my stories, there will likely be delays between chapters due to my schedule and associated limited time. Thus please be patient, and thanks for the positive comments and votes. * After Fran left, and our heads cleared, as usual, we stayed the night at Mike's continued to drink, discussed the evenings events, and started to plan the next "Poker Party" in two weeks with Liz as our "entertainment". Considering the circumstances relating to Liz, the fact that she had actually participated in a porn movie, we felt we could push her a little further then we had Fran, for her first session. We replayed the porn video deciding what we could hope to request, and all admitted that her hot scenes were causing arousal, even though it had been a relatively short time since we had obtained "relief" with Fran's help. We developed a general approach that we hoped Liz would agree to, and then turned in for the night. Although we did not always stay in regular contact between our poker nights, this time we did exchange regular e-mails, where we all admitted we were constantly thinking of and could not wait for the this next round. The agonizingly slow two weeks finally passed and we all agreed to get together a little earlier Saturday then normal. We started the evening, actually playing poker, mostly to relax and unwind, and not necessarily enjoying the game. Although we did drink we kept it light, wanting to be relaxed but reasonably sober when Liz arrived. A very nervous Liz arrived a little late, closer to 10:30, with most of us worried that she might have backed out. We all knew that we would never have really exposed her secret and thus hoped the modest remuneration that we pooled together would be enough incentive. Liz was invited in, introduced, and offered a drink as we had done with Fran. She accepted a beer, and we sat down to chat, hoping to make her feel more relaxed, for like Fran she appeared very uncomfortable. After a few beers and chat that slowly turned to her video she became silent and looked away at the floor. Tom came to the rescue, making a lewd but funny comment about the video making it apparent to Liz we had all watched and thus seen her "ability and body" but wanted her to "feel" that she was among "friends". The chat then progressed to her feelings about making the video. Looking away from us she noted that although she was uncomfortable with doing it, and did not want to do it again, admitted there was a certain thrill associated with exposing herself to strangers and both losing and yet in a strange way being in control. She then gathered her composure, looked at each one of us glancing to our crotches, noted the bulges and with a wry smile asked what we expected for tonight. Tom the witty spokesperson suggested we all get more "comfortable" by offering another round of beers, and then play strip poker (because it had broken the ice last time with Fran). Liz welcomed the approach, allowing her to "slide" into the intended evening events with some dignity intact. We followed the same rules we used with Fran (without Liz knowing we had already had a somewhat wild night two weeks ago). Once we started playing Liz became more comfortable then Fran, probably because she was a little older, and had made a porn video that she knew we had all seen. As with Fran she of course won only a few hands compared to the four of us and was down to her racy thong and matching bra. Unlike Fran with a bit more self assurance she "teased" us as she removed each piece of clothing. When she was about to lose her bra, she looking at our laps with a wry smile licked her lips and suggested we "relive our stressed members" by releasing the obvious bulges. Then looking from our laps to our eyes then back to our laps slowly lowered her bra exposing a magnificent set of breasts with large hard nips. With her continued encouragement we almost as one unzipped and undid our pants pulling them and our undies down exposing our hard penises. Liz then after looking over each of our exposed members, with a wink sexily sat back down to play the next hand, which of course she lost. Again, unlike Fran, without any hesitation Liz got up, moved to a location where we could all see, turned her back, and very slowly teased us as she lowered her thong. When it reached the floor rather then step out she bent over, her exquisite ass fully exposed, she pulled the thong off, grabbed her knees and slowly spread her legs till she was looking at us thru her legs. Her ass and pussy exposed from behind. She even grabbed her ass cheeks and spread them showing her little puckered hole. This chick knew how to tease and the power she had over men. If we were younger some of might have blown our load just looking at her. Then taking control she instructed us to line up our chairs in a row in front of the pillows, which she must have assumed were for her. With the four of us lined up with our chairs in a semicircle around the pillows, she sat on the pillows close to us, spread wide, licked her lips. Then in a slow sexy whisper she taunted us stating she bet she know what we all wanted. Then she started to play with her breasts, tweaking and pulling her nipples, letting out soft whimpers, then slid one hand slowly down her body toying with her navel the other hand still playing with her breasts. Her eyes were glazed but kept contact with each of us, with constant glances at our dripping cocks. Her hand continued down circling her now glistening pussy then slid up down the outside of her slit with a soft moan emanating from her lips . She then put pillows under her back/head, leaned back still looking at us she spread her legs wide, knees bent, opened her pussy letting us see it in all its glory, then very slowly started to insert a finger, fucking herself as her breathing got deeper, and her whimpers louder. Still alternating looks between our eyes and dripping cocks, she started to alternate between playing with her clit and fucking herself with two fingers. Tom reached for his cock and, in full control now, she stopped and scolded him to wait. Liz, now obviously very turned on, enjoying the exhibition, and control, got up sauntered over to Tom, and while still standing, straddled his legs, his raging hard on a foot from her cunt. She looked into his eyes, slid two fingers deep into her pussy, rotated them around, then pulled them out with a slurping sound. She first placed them under his nose giving him a teasing whiff, then placed them in his mouth, which he hungrily accepted and licked clean, with a shit eating grin on his face. Liz then moved on to each of us repeating the process, giving us a smell/taste of her exquisite female aroma and flavor. Most of us later admitted that in our youth we probably would have blown our loads with this brazen sexy act. She then returned to Tom, turned around her soft feminine legs touching his legs bent over spread her legs wide giving him a very close look at her gapping dripping pussy and a peak at her puckered anus, took his hand and placed it on her pussy. Tom started to softly stroke her outer lips, then inserted two fingers into her as she whimpered. After about a minuet she slowly got up and again repeated this lewd act with each of us, but was obviously having some difficulty maintaining control by the time she almost reluctantly left Ben. To regain her composure, Liz turned her attention to our raging dripping cocks. She again started with Tom, by spreading his legs wide she knelt between and looking into his eyes, placed his cock, between her large soft breasts, and slowly stroked up down. Tom admitted latter he almost lost it after the third stroke, but somehow held on, almost relieved when she stopped after only a few more strokes, almost as if she new he was about to cum and still wanted to "play" with us. She again repeated this very sexy contact with each of us , with Ben actually stopping her before she pushed him over the top. With a wicked smile on her face and a wink to Ben she went back to the pillows, and announced she needed to cum and told us to wank slowly for her but not to cum yet. Liz took up her spread eagle position on the pillows, and with lust filled glazed eyes watched us slowly jack off, as we in turn watched her shove two fingers deep in her cunt, while pinching and rubbing her clit with her other hand. In only a few minuets she was rocking, bucking and whimpering her eyes closed tight she froze, let out a long moan, her eyes opened wide but were looking into space as she obviously went into a powerful orgasm. She continued to "hump" her hand for many more seconds, then went limp on the pillows, with all of us trying to hold on. After a few minutes Liz opened her eyes regained some composure, slowly pulled herself up, walked over to Tom, stood beside him and with a sly smile in a little girl voice asked if he would help clean her up. After a brief hesitation he dove into her pussy licking, sucking, eating till she started to whimper again. She pulled away, and said each of us would get a turn in the weeks to come, realizing and admitting this would continue. She then announced it was our turn, and in inverse order started with Ben. Liz sat on Bens lap, moved up till her very wet pussy was touching the bottom underside of his cock which was pointed up to his chest. She slid up his organ getting him wet with her juices, slid back down, took the tip into her hand and humped into him as she stroked him off. Ben lasted about 30 seconds and exploded onto his stomach/chest, groaning, and panting. Liz kept slowly milking him maximizing his pleasure, she was a very talented woman. She then moved over to Mike sat in his lap and again slid over his trapped penis, but poor Mike lost it when she took his cock into her hands before she started to hump into him. He groaned and shot a big load onto his stomach/chest. I was next and to try to last and take my mind off her administrations, as she slid up/down the underside of my cock getting it wet I begin to suck on one of her nipples. This caused her to whimper, arch into me and stop moving for a few seconds letting me regain my composure. Then with me continuing to suck on her magnificent tits she started to hump the bottom of my cock/balls as she jacked me off. I lasted a little longer then Ben or Mike but soon I also lost it and shot my load. After an almost caring loving gentle slow massage milking the last pleasure out of me Liz moved to Tom. Like Mike Tom was far to gone to maintain any control. He shot his wad after only a few strokes/humps. As with all of us Liz took her time to let him enjoy the closeness. Liz then got up went down the line giving each penis a quick kiss, put her bra and thong in her bag, put on her shorts and top over her beautiful sexy nude body, gave us a wink, noted she was tired and left. We were exhausted and crashed, agreeing we would need to plan the next poker party. We all were hoping to go a little further with Fran the next time, but knew Liz was always going to be more open/advanced than her. To be continued... The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 02 "Fine, Douglas, fine," Evans replied, never looking away from the hardened tips. He allowed his eyes to roam up the swell of her breasts, discerned vague veins running web-like across the top of her chest. Further up, he took in her jaw line, perfectly placed, and smooth cheeks. Eventually he reached her eyes, glacier blue, and was irritated that she failed to return his gaze. Her head was declined, facing slightly down—but her eyes, Evans saw, looked straight ahead, bright and clear. She had an altogether different carriage than most of the strumpets brought to The Visum; a regal bearing that only enhanced her indomitable physical assets. He felt the first stirrings of a powerful erection brewing in his trousers. Perhaps it would be his night. * Various members came and went, speaking in hushed tones with both Brown and Winthrop. At one point, Charles Winthrop himself stood and walked over to stand between Sarah and Douglas. He remained standing, leaning slightly forward and over such that he gazed directly down into Sarah's lap. "Relax, dear," he said, a hand easing her shoulder back. Sarah complied, leaning back against her chair. Winthrop licked his lips as he peered down into the depths of Sarah's thighs, taking in every possible detail. A V-shaped patch of red hid her many feminine folds; still, the pearly white quivering inner thighs more than captivated his attention. Licking his lips again, he looked slightly forward, closer to her person, almost alarmed at the robust half-moons he observed hanging from her chest, tipped darkly with that which Mr. Evans had so recently admired. Winthrop spared a view of her hair, cascading around her shoulders and down her back—she wore it down this time, very fetching—and felt a surge as he again stared blankly at the red triangle that shielded everything beneath. Abruptly he turned and stooped, whispering quickly into Brown's ears. "I'm cashing in," he said softly. "Tonight shall be my turn." Brown was surprised. Winthrop was a man of discipline. He guarded his favors as well as his assets, sparing not even a penny for his dying mother unless he stood to collect a nickel upon her death. Still, it was a request that must be granted. Tonight, his friend would collect. * Through it all, the staring and heavy breathing, not one of the men said anything directly to Sarah, except for Mr. Winthrop. She sat and endured, breasts aching that her nipples should remain unusually stiff and rigid for such an extended period. Each time she looked down she was shocked and appalled at how much of her personage was on display, clean pale skin with soft curves about her thighs, hips, chest, and shoulders. She carefully controlled her breathing and made every attempt to keep her eyes focused on the far wall, ignoring completely each man (and sometimes escort) as they approached to share a few words. Obviously, they were having a good look at her, measuring and evaluating. She had the sense she was on one side of a set of scales, hands holding the chains to balance herself, while each man that came up was trying to best assess how much gold was required on the other side to achieve balance. For some, it was a very high price indeed, one they would gladly pay; for others, as all men are different, the combination of brilliant red hair and pale blue eyes was off-putting. When Mr. Brown stood and announced, rather loudly, "Dessert, gentlemen!" Sarah felt her courage drain. This was it. Unlike last week, this time she fully understood what she was getting herself into. She had some idea of a few rules, at least. Her sensibilities, so rigorously enforced during her father's upbringing, excluded everything she had done already this day and, certainly, everything she was to do. Her father had not anticipated she might have to work to keep her husband's job or, for that matter, to put a roof over their heads. She was sure he would not have approved. 'Cover thyself!' she heard him whisper plaintively in her ear. She ignored it, of course. Her father was whispering to her less and less these days. * Even as her eyes were cast down, Sarah immediately noticed one key difference as she entered the Dessert Chamber: there were three platforms, spaced more or less equally about the room. She was led to one where, without encouragement, she went to her hands and knees. Positioned in such a way that she could see the other two platforms, she was surprised to see Jennifer mount a platform as well, in exactly the same way, while a dark-haired girl she did not know crawled up on the last. "What a bounty we have tonight!" Brown said, his voice booming. "As you can see, accommodations have been made. Mr. Winthrop has the honor here," he said, gesturing towards Sarah's platform, "Mr. Evans here," pointing at Jennifer, "and Mr. Thompson in the back." The three men, being congratulated, walked to their respective platforms. "Each man shall, in his own time, make such request as they see fit. Well then, let us have dessert!" A low rumble filled the room as men headed to various platforms. Sarah's was, by far, the most attended, with well over half surrounding her platform. After unceremoniously removing her dress, hands began groping, testing, and teasing mercilessly. Like last time, while all of her curves were investigated to the tiniest detail, nary a finger went between her legs to explore any of her myriad folds or lips. The other girls were treated the same, an almost casual perusal of their wares, with a handful of men walking from platform to platform, comparing certain anatomical features and seeking consensus on whose might be best. After a fair amount of this, during which Sarah knelt diligently, Mr. Winthrop began to speak. "It is time to claim my rights," he announced. A small clearing formed around his platform. "It has been a long time indeed since I have participated," he said, standing upright. "I think I should very much like to explore the flower." This was unusual. Not a man in attendance had ever witnessed or heard speak of such a thing. Unsure what to expect, the mass of them shifted about on their feet and opened a path to allow Winthrop an approach to the platform. "There now," he said, patting Sarah on the rump. "Lower your arms and place your head on the platform." Utterly bewildered, Sarah obliged. Red hair pooled around her head, nearly hiding the fact that there was even a head at all, so thick and voluminous was it. Winthrop grabbed one of Sarah's knees in each of his hands. "Open up," he said encouragingly as he pulled them apart. "Just a little more." When he was finished with her, Sarah had assumed a sort of three-point stance on the platform. Her head and upper chest rested against the cool leather platform (warming under her direct contact), with each knee spread over-wide such that they were farther apart than her hips. Several observers noted ironically that this was the perfect position for (using a phrase that absolutely burned Sarah's ears) "doggy-style," evidently a practice wherein a man would mount a woman from behind, pulling her hair and ravaging her not unlike a common dog on a street corner. Sure that there was no allegory between that particular practice and Mr. Winthrop's stated flower exploration, Sarah managed to control her rapidly beating heart, but only just. "Now, if you open it just so," Winthrop said, placing his hands on the delicate skin just outside her outer lips and easing them apart, "it resembles a sort of flower, the Cunni Lingus, if you well; a variety with petals of darkest red velvet carefully arrayed about a vibrant pink center." When he touched her there, using his fingers to spread her apart, an earth-shattering awareness of just how brazenly displayed she really was hit Sarah squarely between the eyes— Or legs, as it were. * "Begging your pardon, Charles, but it looks more like an oyster to me!" There was a roar of laughter that failed utterly to reach Sarah's ears. She was preoccupied by the actions of Mr. Winthrop's hands, touching her so delicately, and accompanying pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. "There now," Winthrop said, ignoring the spectators while holding her vulva tenderly apart, "Take it easy. Sshhhh," he said, blowing gently. "SShhhhhhhh." The cool puff of air totally disheartened her, causing Sarah to slump heavily on her chest and arms. Her genitals were on fire, having never been touched in this way, not even when bathing. Hot waves of shame washed over her body, coupled with a strange tingling sensation she had never once felt before. "Now, here, gentlemen, is a small berry, just above—rather, below the petals. I know what you are thinking," he said quickly, turning to give them a look. "Some berries are bad for you! Isn't that right, Sarah?" he asked, having turned back around. She didn't answer. "I'm afraid I must insist that you answer my question, Sarah. I've been nothing but polite to you this whole time." "Yes," she said, voice muffled. "Yes, sir, some… some berries are bad for you." "Do you think your berry is bad for me? Should I sample it?" he asked curiously. Now the men were beginning to really pay attention. This was something they had never seen before. Almost anything and everything had, at one point or other, occurred at The Visum. This, however, was entirely new and unexpected. More men, it seemed, cloistered around, swarming the platform to hear Mr. Winthrop's careful exploration of Sarah's blossom. "I don't… I don't know," she answered hesitantly. "Well then, I certainly don't want to fall ill. Mr. Adams, would you sample the berry, to ensure there are no impurities?" Adams, a short man with enormous ears, eagerly stepped forward. "Glad to, Charles, glad to." He leaned in, flicking his tongue across her delicate pink bud quickly before pulling back. " I say, Charles, I believe her berry's as good as any I've ever tasted!" * Another long burst of laughter broke out, so much so that the men at the other tables looked up from their ministrations to see what the fuss was about. For instance, Mr. Evans was pumping Jennifer, lying on her back, most vigorously. He was so fat his stomach fairly crushed her beneath his unmatched girth, forcing her to time her breathing with his crude lunges. As the men about Sarah began laughing, Evans paused, resting his full weight on Jennifer's body. Jennifer, nearly unable to breathe, threw her head back, desperate herself to know what was causing this most unfortunate circumstance to befall her. Sarah. Again. This new girl was becoming a bit of a problem. Jennifer, anxious to breathe, reached up and grabbed Mr. Evans flabby arms. "Come on," she purred encouragingly, "Give it to me." Evans looked down, sweating profusely, and grunted. He began moving again, rhythmically driving into the woman beneath him— But all the while he was looking across the room, wondering what it would be like to do exactly this to the stark redhead owning such voluptuous curves. Perhaps his day would come. * "There, so we covered the flower here," Winthrop continued, holding her femininity apart with one hand while tracing her outer labial lips with the index finger on his other. "Further inside, you can see the delicate folds are more detailed, crinkled so as to better display the juicy center. Most shocking is their warmth, thin petals that are as tiny ovens capable of generating tremendous heat." He placed his finger lengthwise between her folds and smiled. "Very warm indeed. Mercy. So, being a flower lover, in particular fruit-bearing flowers, I think I shall sample this myself." Winthrop leaned in, touching her burning button with the tip of his tongue. Sarah felt immediately as if she had been struck powerfully on the side of the head. Though her eyes were squeezed shut, stars exploded into her vision, shimmering red and blue. An intense tingling sensation began, exactly where Mr. Winthrop's— No, she couldn't think it. Certainly he wasn't… that is, he couldn't be… not with his… no, it wasn't possible! Winthrop, unconcerned, continued, paying close attention to every single detail as he ran his tongue about her. He was proceeding leisurely; a detail-oriented man performing a task he enjoyed, thoroughly exhausting every possibility as though his very existence depended on it. Sarah began breathing unevenly. Waves of—she had to admit it to herself—carnal pleasure rippled through her lower body, causing her thighs to quake. The shame that followed this admission filled her with the deepest dread, a sense that no amount of praying for forgiveness would ever make up for this night. She felt dirty, wondered if this was how… how it was supposed to feel… All conscious thought left her as another powerful wave rocked her body and left her gasping for breath. Winthrop pulled away. "On your back, then," he said, grabbing her hindquarters between his hands and guiding her down and over. When she lay on her back, Winthrop seized her thighs and pulled her over towards him, until her rear end hung just on the platform's edge. "Grab your ankles, now," he instructed. Sarah failed to respond; instead, both her hands were covering her face. "Sarah seems indisposed. Mr. Adams? Mr. Rosedale? Help a man, would you?" Each man closed their hands around an ankle and took a position to either side of the prone Sarah, pulling back such that her most private of places was irrevocably exposed. "The flower is much more formidable in this position, assuming a more circular shape. Do you see the tiny pink center, how engorged it is? That's fairly typical. Now, I don't know about you gentlemen, but I for one think the only way to properly evaluate flower is by smell." Winthrop leaned in and puckered his nose as he sniffed. Sarah was mortified, lower than low. She went to great lengths indeed to ensure that she 'smelled' like a woman. Having a certain 'aroma' was not even a consideration. Of course, she had never expected… this… "Very acceptable. Now for the last lesson." He went to his knees and put his arms on the platform on either side of Sarah's torso, taking hold of her waist between both hands. "When the bees come, they tend to roll around all about the petals, gathering nectar. Let us just see if Sarah's flower has any nectar within." With that, Winthrop leaned his face in and, very gently, began methodically kissing her outer lips, working his way in a circle about the hooded pulsating clitoris trembling in anticipation. * Sarah felt that she veered in and out of consciousness; there was talking, certainly, many things going on all around her, but she had no concept of anything except the building pressure threatening existence itself. When first put on her back, she had opened her eyes once—and saw, to her dismay, the greedy eyes of more men than she could count staring down upon her. Two of the men held her legs back, bawdily displaying that which only her husband should see—if even him. She clasped her hands over her eyes, trying to block out all that was happening, to escape the pervasive humiliation she felt knowing that these men were getting a wicked thrill from seeing her so crudely displayed and frankly discussed. Their exploration of her body was devoid of passion, it seemed; a task performed for no purpose other than their amusement. And yet, Mr. Winthrop was gentle. Now, the way he kissed her down there was eliciting a response she would never have believed possible. Far removed from any thoughts of her father, her husband, or any of her daily responsibilities, the only thing in the world that mattered at this moment was Mr. Winthrop, who was circling a part of her body without ever touching it that gave her the most guttural feelings of pleasure she had ever experienced in her life. She was breathing unevenly, mouth open, and felt something inside her alternately contracting and releasing, outside her control. Indeed, it seemed Mr. Winthrop was firmly in control. When he licked a bit more urgently, she felt this muscle clench so powerfully it threatened all reason; when he slowed and instead kissed her gently about the thighs, this muscle released, allowing her to breath a moment before the next. Each time he was just a bit more aggressive, working his way just a little closer, going just a little faster. Sarah feared what might happen if he continued— But, in absolute disgust, wanted more than anything for him not to stop. Not until it was done. * "She's panting about like a dog," Adams said, amused. It was true. Now she breathed rapidly, slack-jawed, sweat pouring across her body. A small squishy sound of careful licking could be heard, the tongue being placed rapidly here and there. Rosedale reached down, unable to control himself any longer, and seized her strawberry-tipped breast, squeezing and twirling the nipple between his fingers. Adams, on the other side, placed his fingers around the base of her breast and gripped, forcing the nipple to rise and stretch on what appeared to be an expanding balloon. * Sarah felt the hands on her chest—at the same time, the insistent licking reached a crescendo as Winthrop took her engorged clitoris between his lips and flicked very rapidly with his tongue, just grazing the hooded tip and pressing in on both sides, all seemingly at exactly the same time. For one brief instant time stopped: her arms thrown to either side, grasping the leather platform sides tightly between her fingers, face twisted in harsh denial, one nipple being pulled up while the other whole breast was being squeezed all at once, and her back arched almost painfully into a reverse C. Then a low, guttural moan escaped her lips, stretching so that it lasted five full seconds. Her legs quaked, shaking. "No," she whispered, before repeating it again more forcefully: "Nnooooooo…" It seemed she had erupted into flames, dramatic intense pleasure coursing powerfully through her veins, a sense that in this single moment, nothing else in the world mattered. The sight of her, straining against the powerful orgasm running roughshod over her consciousness, as if she could somehow reject it, left more than one observer adjusting himself uncomfortably. It was all well and good to see her exposed and explored, but something altogether different to see her in the throes of reckless passion, as if she had never before experienced anything like it. "Well, Charles, it looks like you've made a new friend." * Sarah, still, lay on her back, hands again firmly covering her face. She willed herself into the platform, as if she could shrink away from the prying eyes and rough commentary. It wasn't the men, their gaze, their words, not even her journey here tonight, that was foremost in her mind, however. That point was reserved solely for the still smoldering fire between her legs, the cataclysmic orgasm that had so recently obscured all sense of time or reason. This must be what her husband felt, those nights when he climbed above her. It seemed so, for he panted and wheezed before bellowing and then, almost as quickly, pulling away from her. No matter how wrong it was for her to be lying here—she feared no penance would be enough to make up for what she had done tonight, she had enjoyed it as a common whore—she could not escape the feeling that, for the last eight years, she had been left out of what should have been something truly awe-inspiring. It was beginning to make a weird kind of sense: if God wanted man and woman to join, together, shouldn't that joining be equally pleasurable to both? The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 02 That thought sent her into new depths of shame, depths that seemed deeper by the minute. Her breathing was just returning to normal. She heard the men shuffling around but was unable to focus on anything except the buzzing between her legs, concentrated around the tiny nub she had, for as long as she could remember, so diligently ignored when bathing. Each time she bathed, she ran the wash cloth through her cleft shallowly and quickly—without causing any undue distraction. After tonight, it was very much unclear if that could or would continue. She had a lot of thinking to do. * The shouted words, "Dus Aliter Visum!" shocked her out of this thought and brought her crashing back to reality. Someone had at least tossed her dress across her body, mostly covering it. As the men filed out of the room, she slid off the platform and crouched beside it, quickly slipping back into the garment. A pair of shoes entered sight, standing in front of her. In a posture she was becoming increasingly familiar with, she rolled her eyes up and found Mr. Brown staring back down. "Ready, Sarah?" he asked evenly, as if they were headed out for a casual dinner or to grab something at the General Store. Without answering, Sarah stood. "Very well, then." Brown, Sarah in tow, headed out of The Dessert Room and through The Visum back to his waiting carriage. It was a long, silent trip back to her tiny one room residence. All the while, she tried not to think about how wicked her acts tonight had been, how very common all those men must have thought her— —or how undeniably, wickedly, sinfully good Mr. Winthrop had made her feel. No wonder her father had railed so strongly against the trappings of the flesh. It must be a sin to feel so much pleasure, in particular without her husband! * As Brown was leaving the coach, he turned and spoke for the first time since leaving The Visum: "I shall expect you tomorrow night. Dress as you see fit, for tomorrow there will be no demands or requests placed upon you." Biting her lip, she nodded without answering. Tomorrow, indeed. — Home — Home at a most indecent hour, Sarah went to great lengths to clean herself, scrubbing every inch of her body. Interestingly, her mouth felt clean, there being now no compulsion to rinse or gargle. Still, there was more than enough filth to rid herself of. More than enough, oh yes. Clean, she knelt by her bed, hands together in preparation for her nightly prayer. As always happened now, when she assumed this position and closed her eyes, her mind went immediately back and she was again knelt before Master Collins, his hand atop her head, easing her face down his raging manhood. She felt her lips pried apart, the bulbous pulsating head twitching against her tongue and the thick substance leaking from its tip. Before, this vision had given her nothing but outrage, followed immediately by the horror that perhaps this would always be so, that for the remainder of her days she should remember, as she knelt in prayer, her face bobbing single-mindedly up and down. Tonight, however, there was the hint of something else, the realization that what she had done, kneeling and suckling his monstrosity, had in fact brought him immense pleasure. Was his pleasure similar to her own, what she had felt this very night? It was a different question, one she hadn't considered before. 'I was a victim,' she thought, realizing that she while she knelt by her bed she still had not begun praying. 'And he… he… ' 'Forced you?' another voice said in her mind. It seemed she was arguing—with herself. 'Yes, of course he did!' 'You did it on your own, he even removed his hand.' 'Yes, but… well, that is, he… ' 'I'm so disappointed,' the voice replied, only now it was beginning to sound a bit deeper. 'I know. I sh— I should have… ' 'On your knees, you took him in your mouth!' 'I did,' she thought, hot flashes filling her body. 'I took him in my mouth and… and sucked his… his… organ… ' There was no escaping what she was feeling now; a different sensation, to be sure, but one she had felt only hours before, a soft tingling between between her thighs. 'He told me… I was good… He gave me instruction… ' As these thoughts ran through her mind, Sarah lowered her hands slowly. No longer together, they rested on her thighs. 'Said I was… I was…' One hand caressed her soft inner thigh, tracing small circles that moved gradually into the V between her legs. She parted them slightly, allowing a single finger to rub between the curly hairs over her mound. "I dare say you pray very well indeed, Sarah Crutchfield." An urgent shudder followed by a soft sigh was the only outward sign that anything had happened. Inside, however, Sarah knew: she had just given herself that which Mr. Winthrop had, a couple hours before. It was much smaller, much less impressive. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely even an orgasm, amounting to only so much as a millisecond of pleasure. Strangely, she couldn't decide which was worse: Mr. Winthrop licking her like a lollipop in front of a large group of strange men, or touching herself and causing the same (albeit much smaller) reaction. She very much feared it was the latter. And she couldn't bring herself to pray. * Sarah had no explanation for what happened the next evening. Mr. Brown, dressed very plainly (though not inexpensively), came to her door personally. After escorting her to the coach (a much smaller one than usual) they rode together for full-on two hours with the windows pulled back, discussing all of the day's important issues. It seemed she had come very far from their first meeting, when she was petrified at the thought of discussing any matter of importance with her husband, much less her husband's employer. At a small coastal restaurant, the two of them enjoyed a tidy meal of varied seafood, everything from crab to scallops to oysters to, of course, fish. Through it all the conversation continued, flowing naturally from topic to topic. This was Douglas, the gentlemen who cared very much what she thought. She had to admit she was having a grand time. The meal finished and sun set, they went back to the carriage for the long ride home, again reveling in the delights of word play. The stars were out in abundance, a thick cluster spread magnificently across the sky. There were no words to speak on this, just a mutual appreciation that in this crazy world, with all the trappings and modern conveniences, something as simple as a starlit sky could fill the heart with such wonder, and the mind with so many questions. Having arrived, Sarah departed the carriage and walked to her door, where Douglas saw her across the threshold. "Thank you, Douglas." "Your very welcome, Sarah. I would like to say that my tastes do not run as most of those at The Visum do. I regret taking you there, to be brutally honest. Although," he added quickly, "your husband does blather on rather obnoxiously, if you must know." "A man of Faith," Sarah replied knowingly. "We should all be so fortunate." "He is certainly fortunate," Douglas said, eyes twinkling. "Well then." "Well then. Sarah," he said, bowing, "I hope you have a very good night's sleep. I can assure there will be no further demands or requests for you. I shall see to it personally." "Thank you," she murmured. Of course, she had heard such assurances before, but this time she had reason to believe it was true. At any rate, she certainly hoped it was. Her husband was due home in a few days, and she had some big plans to unfurl for him. And, perhaps, just the tiniest little request. She couldn't help the quick pitter-patter within her breast that accompanied this thought. That same pitter-patter sent her scurrying to bed… The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 03 NOTE: This is the final chapter of The Gentlemen's Club. * ROBERT'S RETURN Robert Higgins had a very deliberate way of doing things and required his home be kept in similar fashion; any object out of place, no matter how small, was cause for severe recrimination. On this, the day of his return, Sarah had gone to lengths to ensure that everything was just so. She ran her eyes thoroughly about the single-room dwelling one final time, searching for anything that was in even the smallest way removed from its rightful place. She brushed away non-existent dust, arranged for the hundredth time her husband's bed stand, and ensured yet again that his bed coverings were perfectly laid. The sound of harness, followed by a single horse bray, signaled to her that the time had come. Robert was home! She ran to the door, smoothing her pearl-colored dress while fluffing her petticoats, and running her fingers along her brilliant red hairline one last time to tuck any stray strands behind her ears. The door opened and in stepped her husband, Robert Higgins. Sarah, as was the custom, stood waiting just inside the doorway. Having entered, Robert would drop his saddlebag and inspect everything, leaving no drawer unopened and no cupboard door shut. Some fifteen minutes later Robert finished his inspection and, finding nothing wanting, turned his attention to Sarah. "Sarah," he said, raising his arms for an embrace. "Robert," she replied, stepping forward. He patted her twice on the upper back before pulling away; it was awkward, the kind of forced embrace one man might give his brother's wife (if such an embrace were given at all), a perfunctory show of emotion Robert felt his wife needed far more than he himself. "You've been well?" he asked. "Yes," she answered slowly, averting her gaze. She really didn't want to talk much about her goings on during his absence; rather, she was far more interested in what he had done and what the future might hold. This was just as well, as Robert Higgins was not a man terribly interested in what his wife had to say. "Very good, then. I must say, I'm very pleased with how things have gone the last two weeks. It certainly appears that my hard work has paid off!" "Yes, it does." "Well then, shall we eat?" Sarah's heart raced at the thought. Would they actually be going out, to celebrate— "I should very much like some biscuits and gravy. The paltry offerings available while traveling are hardly fit for a criminal! I'll be reviewing my papers," he said, brushing Sarah off with the back of his hand, literally shooing her away. "Tell me when it's done." "Yes, of course," she answered, bowing her head slightly and going to the small kitchen, frowning. Biscuits alone would take over an hour to prepare… * "Ah, delicious, very good indeed." Sarah never prepared such a meal for herself, it taking so dreadfully long; she appreciated that her husband enjoyed it, of course, even if he never once said thank you. He was a man slow to appreciate, and slower still to compliment. While they spoke off and on during the meal (Robert mostly talking, Sarah mostly listening), one thought kept nagging at the back of Sarah's mind: Robert never really says anything to ME. He spoke at length of the hardships of traveling, of the dickering with various clients, of the seeming impossibility of attaining a quality meal in most back wood locales (though he had tried, evidently, as he never ran out of feeding troughs to disparage). He spared no criticism of his firm's handling of various affairs, everything from how cheap they were to their deployment of a 'special negotiator' to the especially unruly and uncooperative sellers. It seemed that some men were so attached to their property that they were simply unwilling to sell, no matter the price; after a visit by the 'special negotiator,' they seemed to find religion and often settled for a price lower than the highest number Robert himself had offered. It was very confusing, that, impossible to fathom how a man would sell later for a price lower than he was initially offered. "Their loss, of course. Ah, the hour grows late," he said, gazing at his pocket watch expectantly. He turned to Sarah: "After you've cleaned up a bit, perhaps we should retire for the evening?" The dishes would take another hour, plus cleaning herself afterwards ('after you've cleaned up a bit' being the operative phrase) would take at least half an hour more. She was in for a late night. Perhaps, under the covers, she could chase with her husband that which she had been capturing alone the last few nights. This idea brought a curious little smile, a twisting of her lips at the corner that would have piqued the interest of any normal, red-blooded man. Robert seemed more intent on reviewing his papers… * Sarah was exhausted. She'd spent all day cleaning, arranging, and preparing for her husband's arrival. Once he had arrived, she had actually worked harder, preparing his meal, cleaning up afterwards, putting away his personal effects, and washing herself in preparation for bed. She almost felt she'd rather just go to sleep even though it now meant, after her husband's return, moving to her own much smaller cot situated at the foot of her husband's bed. Clean, she crawled up into his bed, wearing only a shift—the thinnest, smallest one she owned. It was not at all like the nightgowns she usually wore to bed, thick and cumbersome garments that she wrestled up and bunched uncomfortably about her waist whilst performing her wifely duties. This smaller, thinner garment permitted a view of her body, something she had never before offered to her husband. This was but the first of a great many things she intended to do for him that she had never done before. Lying beneath the covers, Sarah nearly shivered with anticipation. For several nights now she had (shamefully, but not so much that it prevented her) masturbated before going to sleep. The very first night she hadn't even made it to bed but instead used the tip of her finger and, with just the slightest touch, had a miniscule orgasm while kneeling against her bed frame, visions of Master Collins and his approval filling her mind. The second night she had slid between the sheets and covered herself completely; beneath the covers, pitch black, she had thought of Mr. Winthrop's tongue, dancing around so delicately, and achieved a much more robust release, one she was sure had lasted at least two or three seconds. The next day—the last before her husband returned—all she could think about was the coming night, the sure knowledge that she, Sarah, would be experiencing a certain self-induced pleasure, wriggling purposely beneath the sheets. That night she thought, not of Master Collins, or of Mr. Winthrop, but her own passion as she manipulated herself, a concentration focused on her finger and the feeling that if she just barely brushed the side and rubbed down, in a very particular way, she might reveal the most outrageous feelings she had ever known. She did, it was, and she most certainly had. Of course, this self manipulation did not come without consequence. Thinking back, she could never remember being specifically told that it was wrong to touch herself, she had just known. And yet, was it wrong to give herself such pleasure? Surely she provided this for her husband! If it was not wrong for him, why should it be so for her? Wasn't she allowed to enjoy the physical act? Even alone? She felt that, certainly, she was! And she had decided that she WOULD! Still, in her prayers (which she no longer delivered kneeling beside the bed) she failed to mention these personal, ah, indiscretions, feeling that eventually the time would come. It didn't matter that He knew all—she preferred very much not to think of Him looking down upon her as she furtively moved her fingers around underneath the covers. * A shuffling about indicated that her husband was coming to bed. Sarah was very nervous; for the first time, she was actually looking forward to performing her wifely duties. She hoped that he would be pleased with her choice of garments. She felt the bed shift as he sat on the edge and watched his back as he blew out the candle. The room was very dark. He lifted the edge of the covers and slid beneath, lying precisely beside her lengthwise, the same as always. She knew what came next—he would slink around and down, placing himself between her thighs. That was the point, the parting of her legs that usually saw her disconnect and concentrate instead on many other things than that which her husband was preparing to do. Tonight she accommodated him, spreading her knees and parting her thighs. Instead of closing her eyes or looking away she searched for him. Even though it was dark, her eyes were becoming accustomed enough so that she could see a dark shape hovering, a slight twinkle of starlight reflected from his eyes. He paused a moment, weight on his knees, with a hand on either side of her waist supporting his upper body. It had never occurred to her to even question what he did as a husband, she having had no reference point for comparison. Now, twisted though her experience was, she knew that men touched women (sometimes cruelly), caressing, stroking, twisting and, occasionally, squeezing almost uncomfortably in all the places that women were round and soft and full. She had spent so many years hiding her body, even from her husband, that she failed to notice his failure to notice, an observation she was wholly unable to comprehend. She heard him muttering under his breath, words she couldn't understand, and felt him shuffling around. He's lowering his drawers, she realized. As always she merely laid there, arms at her sides, waiting for him to do what he would—only this time with the tiniest flicker of desire deep within her breast. Seconds later the bed began shaking, rocking quickly back and forth. Sarah herself remained untouched. He's… he's touching… himself, she realized with shock. He's touching himself! She reached back in her mind, searching those dark moments she had tried so desperately to ignore, trying to remember a time when he… no, it couldn't be! A dawning realization struck home: He's never touched me before! Meanwhile Robert continued, the bed rocking more frantically now. It had been less than a minute since he began when he paused and grunted, muttering again incoherently. Sarah noted dully that a warm wet sticky substance splashed onto her thighs. Her husband grunted twice more, followed by the discharge of more ejaculate, before he sighed, quickly shucked his drawers up and rolled over to the side. He none too subtly reached back and pushed her shoulder—Sarah immediately understood it as a dismissal, that it was over, and she moved down to her cot at the foot of his bed. Seconds later Robert Higgins snores filled the room. * Sarah wiped herself with a rag before nestling deep into her cot. As she pulled a quilt up to her chin, many thoughts at once crowded into her mind: Was it always so? Had he never, in all their years of marriage, touched her? Was this… The most difficult thought of all: Was this why they had no children? Have we never consummated our marriage? Sarah wasn't able to sleep for a very long time. * The next day Robert was at the firm long hours, not returning home until well past seven in the evening. Sarah, ever dutiful, had dinner prepared, and they ate it in virtual silence. Robert again spoke of the firm, boring her with many esoteric legal details that held no interest for her. The few times she tried to speak he brushed her off or ignored her, as if she were simply another piece of furniture or, worse, a mere boarder whose job it was to take care of his many needs. Yes, a boarder, that described their relationship almost perfectly, Sarah realized. Tonight, she would take drastic measures. Tonight, she would get his undivided attention. * Robert was sleeping, snoring loudly as always, when Sarah (again wearing the very thin shift) climbed up into his bed and slid underneath the sheets. This was the scariest part, pressing her advantage. She was sure there was no shortage of men—based on her experience at The Visum—who would welcome, even crave, this sort of attention. She hoped her husband would be receptive. She was prepared to become his Wife. Safely in bed without waking him, Sarah began by slowly stroking his side, dragging her fingertips up and down his flank. Soon enough she placed her hand beneath his nightshirt and began rubbing his back, pressing her thumbs into tight muscles. He groaned softly—evidently what she was doing was working—and rolled over onto his back. "What… what are you… doing?" he asked groggily. Sarah didn't answer, instead transferred her attentions to his stomach, running her fingers through thick curly hair and up to his chest. Her husband would never be confused with a workman; his muscles were ill-defined, more suited for walking and riding than for any sort of heavy lifting. Still, she gave them all her complete attention, treating him as if he were the hardiest of labor men who, sore from a long days work, required extensive rehabilitation before doing it all again the following day. As she moved down Sarah gently tugged his night trousers down over the hips and past his knees, an act that took more courage than she had imagined. She carefully avoided looking up, not wanting to be distracted and not wanting to provide him a point to complain or resist. Finally it was done—her husband lay on his back, trouser-less, and she knelt between his legs, a position neither of them had experienced in their lives. From her kneeling position she looked up and saw, for the first time, her husband's penis. It was neither disappointing nor impressive; rather, it appeared the same as Master Collins, albeit noticeably smaller. In her mind the size didn't register—surely, like anything else, they came in all shapes and sizes? It was rock-hard, a thick veiny appendage that seemed to hover, the tip not touching his body as it wavered back and forth. It twitched randomly, a jerk that seemed almost involuntary. The tip glistened, as if a single drop of fluid had leaked from within. She took the shaft of it in her hand and squeezed tentatively, exploring the feel and function in a way she knew would not have been possible only weeks before. A full moon, arcing across the sky, moved into the window corner and flooded the room with soft white light. Sarah, rigid penis in hand, looked up and saw her husband staring back at her, an unreadable look on his face. He said and did nothing, merely lay there. Having taken matters into her own hands to this point, Sarah saw no reason to stop and moved her face and mouth towards her husband's engorged member. As the tip of it pressed against her lips, Robert Higgins looked straight up and closed his eyes. * Sarah took it all into her mouth, a task much easier than it had been with Master Collins. Her husband's member had a way of shivering, as if it were a volcano threatening to erupt at any time. The familiar trickle of seminal fluid, not unpleasant, leaked into her mouth, a slick substance that aided lubrication as she alternately raised and lowered her lips wrapped snugly around his throbbing manhood. After an especially copious burst, followed by a single pelvic thrust, she felt, for the first time, her husband's hands on the side of her head, lifting her away from the task she had set herself about. "What is this?" he asked. "What are you doing?" His words were harsh; she might have been a petty thief, caught in the act red-handed. "I… that is… I'm…" "You've never done this before. Where did you learn it?" An accusation. Sarah didn't respond. A full minute of silence, during which neither of them spoke or moved, followed. Robert broke it. "Is this what you want?" he asked, grabbing her shift and yanking sideways, tossing her on her back. "Is it?" he repeated, jerking down viciously and ripping the thin garment lengthwise. He gazed upon her naked breasts, large and full, quivering palely in the moonlight. "How about this, then?" he asked hoarsely, closing his fingers around one enlarged nipple and twisting uncomfortably. "No," she whispered. "I…" "I see," he said, now grasping the entire breast and squeezing as if wringing out a soaked washcloth. He manipulated her hefty breast with his hand, pinching and squeezing, exploring for the first time his wife's momentous bounty. It wasn't the gentle, loving moment Sarah had imagined it would or should be; rather it was a nearly mechanical exercise, one in which he now used both hands, and he squeezed so hard he seemed determined to feel every single fiber contained within her substantial mammary glands. She knew that these should feed her children one day—but tonight her husband was selfishly handling them in a way she found very unsettling. She squirmed uncomfortably, flinched as he took both nipples between his thumb and forefingers and began pulling them simultaneously. It seemed not to please him but, instead, to trigger some other, darker motivation. "I think you should finish what you started," he said darkly, an edge to his voice. Releasing her tortured nipples he laid back down on his back. The air was thick with expectation. Sarah, still on her own back, slowly sat up. "Robert, you don't understand—" "Suddenly shy?" he asked. She didn't answer; instead, she leaned over his torso, taking his length in one hand while gazing down upon it with an entirely different perspective than she had moments before. She hesitated—this was not what she had wanted. Not at all. "Go ahead then. Your wickedness knows no bounds! Are you to act a whore's part without finishing?" "No," she whispered, lowering her head slowly. "Let's be about it then," he replied, a new and wholly unexpected tone entering his voice. Sarah turned her head quickly, searching his eyes. Robert Higgins position on all of this was clear: his face held a mixture of disgust and contempt—a look he reserved for the lowest of the low, but now squared directly at his wife. Sarah turned her face away and lowered it. As her lips closed over the broad engorged phallic tip, she felt almost exactly the same as she had, weeks before, while kneeling before Master Collins. That this should be her husband, that she had initiated the act herself, and that she felt the irresistible pressure to finish it only exaggerated her shame. * "That's it," her husband whispered, lying perfectly still. "I only ever treated you with honor and respect! But this," he said, careful not to move or assist in any way his wife's depraved debauchery, "is this what you wanted? Is it?" he repeated as he felt Sarah's teeth graze his shaft. Single-minded, she didn't respond. Eager to finish, she moved a bit more quickly, bobbing her head up and down smoothly. Her husband's words, painful though they were, failed to interrupt her task. Robert couldn't believe his wife was taking him in her mouth, sucking hungrily as if she were very thirsty. "You'll drink," he whispered. "Suck," he commanded, "Suck!" Seconds later, it was over. Without warning Sarah felt a surge of hot semen flood her mouth; it was very tart, causing her to gag a bit. "Drink it! Quench your thirst!" Robert said, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 03 Although this story can be entertained by itself, the background set in the first chapter and expansion in the second chapter may be helpful. As with all of my stories all participants are over 18, the story is fiction and if you are under age please leave. Unfortunately as always there will likely be delays between chapters due to my schedule and associated limited time. Thus please be patient, and thanks for the positive comments and votes. This story should not be re posted without permission. The Gentlemen's Club Chapter 3 Liz gave us all plenty to think about or "use" during the next two weeks as we waited for the next encounter with Fran. We again exchanged e-mails and phone calls discussing our hopes and plans for the next "poker" party with Fran as our "entertainment". After a agonizingly slow two weeks we again met early Saturday evening, drank lightly, planed, talked and played a little poker to calm our nerves. Right on time a slightly more composed Fran rang the bell, then walked in, before Mike (the host this session) could reach the door. Because she seamed a bit more comfortable, we determined that less "care" was required this time to ease into the "entertainment" offered Fran a drink, and then sat down to chat. Tom, our natural spokesperson soon turned the conversation to how the evening might progress. It seams that this time Fran had also been thinking over the possibilities, and although still showing low confidence, wanted to try and exert some control over the situation. Before any of us had a chance to offer an approach, Fran suggested we move into the "card" room and stat playing strip poker again. We all smiled and the games began. As with the previous sessions, being outnumbered four to one, Fran of course lost clothes faster then the rest of us and was soon removing her black lacy bra and exposing her luscious breasts to our hungry eyes. She however this time expressed more confidence and control, and "paused" the game walking to each of us placing our hands on her tits giving each of us a generous "feel" while she sat in our laps and "ground" on our hardening penises buried in our pants. The game then resumed, with Fran soon losing her black thong. This time again showing more confidence and control she walked around to each of us straddled our legs and while standing only a foot away from our face spread her pussy lips giving us a very close view. As she moved off Tom (her first victim) she stroked his hard cock through his pants, then moved to me. Tom later admitted he almost lost it with the combined pressure on his confined cock and the sight and rich aroma of Fran's pussy in his face. She proceeded to give each of us an up and personal show of her young tight pussy, then a short slow but very effective massage to our rock hard confined cocks. Fran then moved our group to the cushions on the floor with our chairs in a circle around her. Remembering how reluctant we were to "expose" ourselves the first time, she moved to each of us, one at a time and with us standing by our chair, undid our belts, unzipped our pants then pulled them and our boxers/briefs off exposing our dripping hard cocks. With Ben the first to "lose" his pants, before moving on to the next one, Fran knelt before Ben and looking up into his eyes she opened her mouth and with her hands held the tip of his cock near the opening but did not actually touch him with her lips or tongue. She then slowly stroked him several times, with poor Ben almost losing it before the night had started. After repeating this very sexy treatment to each of us, she told us to sit and watch but not to touch ourselves yet. Fran had clearly thought about the previous session and planned her "show" well. She then laid on the cushions, spread her legs wide and started to circle her clit and gently rub her outer lips with one hand while pinching/pulling her nipples with the other hand. Although we all could see, she slowly rotated her position so that each of had a "head on" view. She was definitely getting into her show, and enjoying the effect she was having on us, our cocks dripping precum onto the floor. Fran started to whimper and undulate with her pussy dripping, clearly enjoying her self ministrations. It was obvious she was very turned on and possibly getting close to an orgasm, when she finished her rotation and was again in front of Ben. She then rose up to her knees, plunged two fingers into her now sopping wet pussy, pulled them out very slowly and seductively, and looking Ben in the eyes, scooted over to him, spread his legs wide and moving in between within inches of his dripping cock inserted her wet fingers into his mouth. Ben's eyes glazed over his cock jumped as he sucked her fingers clean. Fran then crawled over to me, and repeated her actions, spreading my legs, plunging her fingers into her pussy, and inches from my pulsing dripping cock offered her wet fingers to my waiting open mouth to taste her juices. After repeating this for Tom and Mike, Fran said "show time" and told us to stand over her as she laid back on the cushions, but again instructed not to touch ourselves yet, she did not want us to cum.. She started to plunge two fingers into herself while rubbing her clit with the other hand, somewhat like she had done the first night, but with more abandon and less inhibition. As she started to "hump" her hands, in between whimpers she told us she now wanted to see us stroke for her but still not cum yet. Without any further encouragement we all started slowly stroking as we watched Fran's glazed eyes switching between our penises hovering over her. She continued to "fuck" her hole now with three fingers making wet slurping sounds as she switched between pulling her nipples and rubbing her clit with her other hand. As her speed increased, her whimpers got louder, her back arched, and eyes closed as she began to orgasm. Her orgasm was, although for different reasons, never the less intense, as she gushed and withered on the cushions below us. This time the intensity was due to the effect she knew she was having on us, exposing her body and sharing her most private experience with four naked stroking men. She continued to twitch and play with her pussy for a minuet then slowly opened her eyes as she went limp radiating an afterglow. Fran just lay glowing for several minuets, watching us slowly stroke our cocks. As she finally started to regain her composure she sat up, flashed a weak smile licked her lips, and told us to sit. Fran then scooted over to Ben, spread his legs wide, instructed him to "play" with her boobs, while she "played" with his cock. She placed his hands on her tits, then looking into his eyes, his cock inches from her breasts, placed one hand under his balls and gently took hold of the base of his cock. Although he tried to prolong the session, after only a minuet of slow soft sensuous strokes with Fran encouraging Ben by saying "cum for me, let me see your cock spray its cum all over my tits", he exploded, on her chest between her breasts. Fran continued to look into his eyes, and slowly stroke till it became almost too sensitive. She then wiped her hands on her thong, moved over to between my legs, and looking into my eyes cooed in a little girl voice, "you going to shoot your gooey spunk all over my boobs too?" Then as with Ben, she placed my hands on her firm young breasts, cupped my balls and began to slowly stroke my raging hard dripping penis inches from her chest between her tits as I "felt her up". As with Ben she seductively encouraged me to cum for/on her by saying "let me be your cum slut, let me see your cock soot its cum all over my body, cum for me" as she looked into my eyes with lust. As hard as I tried I only lasted a little longer then Ben exploding between her breasts after only a few minuets. Fran again took her time slowly milking all the cum out of me including pressing under my balls with her other hand, until she sensed my penis was becoming too sensitive. After again wiping her hands on her thong, she moved between Tom's legs, cupping his balls with one hand and cock with her other hand, placing his hands on her breasts. Although Fran had coaxed all of us she was even more vocal with Tom, possible sensing he was more prepared and going to last longer. Looking into his eyes she pleaded in a little girl voice "your not going to hold out on me are you, please - please cum for me let me see you cock shoot your load all over my young tight schoolgirl body, cover me in your come, pretend this big cock is sliding into my tight wet cunt". That did it and Tom grunted and shot his sperm between her breasts covering her now very wet chest. Fran again almost lovingly slowly milked him dry well rubbing behind his balls, till he pulled back slightly. She then winked wiped her hands on her wet thong and slithered over to Mike. Mike told us latter, he was going to try to last longer, but Fran had other ideas as she moved between his legs, and as with the rest of us placed his hands on her breasts, taking his cock in one hand, and balls in the other hand. We guess to assure that Mike would not hold out, she changed her routine, by looking into his eyes and saying "does this big cock want to shoot its goo on my body like the other cocks did, orrrr" and she looked down and placed the tip of his penis inches from her open mouth stroked him fast and blew hot breath on his cock continuing with "in my slutty little mouth?" Then with open mouth Fran stuck out her tongue just under his rod. Mike lost it after only a few more strokes, but as he started to erupt she quickly looked up into his eyes placing his penis in the same place we all shot our load, on her chest between her breasts. As with the rest of us, she slowly milked all the cum out, before wiping her hands and moving back to and laying down on the cushions. Fran then lazily played with her pussy again rotating around giving each of us a head on show for a few more minuets, then got up put her pants on (minus her very wet thong) top and sandals, put her thong and bra in her bag winked and left with out another word. We were again "wasted" just sitting there for several minuets, our semi hard cocks dangling, before Tom got up and stated he had to pee. We all laughed and agreed that was a great idea. After taking our turns and dressing in the bathroom, we sat and begin to chat about how much Fran had surprised us, and wondering what Liz might bring to the next "poker party". Hopefully to be continued... The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 03 Sarah stopped moving and held her head perfectly still. Finished, penis deflated and empty of seed, her husband roughly pushed her away by the shoulders before pulling his blankets up and wrapping himself thoroughly. He flailed his feet towards her, forcing her to move. To leave. Tired, depressed, and disappointed beyond measure, Sarah returned to her cot and, having wiped her mouth with a rag, fell into fitful sleep. All night, a man's organ ravaged her mouth, plunging relentlessly back and forth—sometimes it was Master Collins, and sometimes it was her husband. No matter—the shame was always the same. * The next day, Robert acted as if nothing had happened, conducting himself cordially. He went to work, came home, ate, and prepared for bed as he always did. However, after all the days chores were finally done, after she crawled into her cot, she heard him shuffle around and slip from his bed. She assumed he was going to relieve himself in the aft chamber pot until she heard his bare feet plodding in her direction. Looking up, she saw him standing over, his penis dangling from the hole in his night pants. "I think we've established you know what to do with this," he said onerously, hands on hips. "This wickedness must be emptied from your personage. Perhaps after tonight it won't be necessary again." Dumbstruck Sarah didn't move, only stared as his penis began to lengthen and list to the side, rising on its own in preparation. Within seconds it stood straight up, a small fierce red-tipped baton. "On your knees, then," he said in a voice full of judgment and condemnation. "You know what to do." As Sarah went to her knees, she wondered just what she had gotten herself into. * As she sucked, Sarah knew that Robert was speaking but she was able to successfully tune most of it out. A few words—disappointment, despair, trollop—reached her ears, words that would have given her pause if she didn't see, hanging at his sides, her husbands tightly curled fists. His fingers flexed in time with her motion. When she held him firmly in her gullet his hands clenched very tightly; when only the tip rested between her lips, his fingers relaxed and hung open. They repeated this dance, flex, relax, flex, and relax, until quite suddenly his hands boxed her ears. "Drink it! Thirsty whore, drink! DRINK!" he growled. This time the semen was almost hot, a blazing sensation of blasted throat as it pumped nearly straight down into her stomach. Sarah, dutiful, stop moving her head and swallowed. Two days ago, this had been the furthest thing from her mind. She had envisioned a mutual exploration of their matrimonial bonds, a path to eventual childrearing. This… this was something altogether different. At least, she told herself, head hung as he pulled his night pants over himself, he's going out of town in the morning. * Her husband left first thing the next morning; of course, she had arisen and ensured all preparations for his departure were attended to. After a perfunctory parting, where he failed even to embrace her—"Goodbye, Sarah," he'd said, vague finality in his words—he unceremoniously stepped through the door, pulling it to without a look back. Mind agape with thought, Sarah took the rest of the day to ponder her circumstance. She had a lot to think about. I know why I have no children was her first thought, followed almost immediately by I am not a wife! Could a woman married so long without consummation consider herself married? Had not the Lord said, "Go forth and multiply"? She wasn't sure who was to blame—her husband, who had so fully abandoned and ignored his Biblical command, or herself for lacking the knowledge to realize the slight in the first place? Was such a statement, "Go forth and multiply," even one so contained in the Holiest of Documents, tantamount to "Fuck off!"? That thought, incorporating a term so crass, sent her into depths of deepest shame, causing a searing blush that gave her heat such that she might fill a bucket with perspiration. I married Robert in the church, she reasoned. Of COURSE he's my husband! And proudly so! Even as she thought it, the nebulous nature of their marriage failed to crystallize. Is something wrong with me? she wondered, not for the first time since realizing she was still possessing of her Virtue. How else to explain his neglect? As she lay on her husband's bed, whiling away the hours lost in transitive thought, her mind raced from scenario to scenario, concocting elaborate explanations for why she was in such a marriage, for why her husband had neglected her so, for why she had no children. For why, at this rate, she would never bear ANY children! Sarah couldn't help the tears that came. It seemed she was at a crossroads of sorts; upon realizing she had never been made a proper wife, had she not deigned to take matters in hand, as it were? To make things right? Did I not try hard enough? she asked, eyes cast to the ceiling. What else must I do? A sudden pounding on the door interrupted her private, unspoken conversation. "BANG! BANG! BANG!" Sarah stood, flattened her plain brown ankle-length work dress and walked towards the door warily. The last thing she expected was a visitor; the last thing she wanted was a solicitor; the last thing she needed was bad news. The last person she expected to see through her cracked doorway was Jennifer, Mr. Winthrop's, ah, companion. "Sarah?" Jennifer asked, shifting back and forth nervously. "Mr. Brown, 'e's askin' for ya. At the Visum. Said you'd wanna come." At mention of Mr. Brown, Sarah couldn't the skip of her heart, the near instant pounding beneath her breast. Douglas Brown, in her whole life the only man who had spoken to her (however briefly) as an equal. The only man who had ever apologized for wronging her. Douglas Brown wanted to see her. "Said urgent like," Jennifer added, hands clasped behind her back. "Sure, alright then. Just let me change—" "Now," Jennifer breathed, looking around quickly, "we need to go now." Sarah nodded, retrieved her small hand purse, and followed Jenny to the carriage, noting with irritation the presence of the very coarse men who had come for her the first time she traveled to The Visum. If she had paid any closer attention, she would have realized how keenly the carriage men stared upon her, as if they could see beneath her heavy clothing. If she had noticed, perhaps she would have paused to consider getting into the carriage. Perhaps. Nevertheless she entered the horse drawn carriage, welcoming this respite from the day's tortured evaluation of her troubled marriage. She quite looked forward to conversing with Mr. Brown, an adult conversation about any manner of things devoid of kneeling or squatting or spreading. In her mind Sarah was sure of Mr. Brown's motivations—or, perhaps more accurately, his lack thereof. Sarah settled in for an hour and a half's rickety journey. THE VISUM The journey passed without exchange of a single word between the two women. The drivers made good time, taking just over an hour before they rolled up outside the gentlemen's club. Jennifer, having quickly exited the coach, nearly ran to The Visum entrance and disappeared through the doors, the doorman waving her through expansively. Sarah, on the other hand, approached much more cautiously, mind ablaze with possibilities. For the moment, all thought of her husband and the state of her marriage were shoved aside as she pondered (not without a small pang of guilt, it should be noted) what exactly Mr. Brown had in store tonight. She certainly believed him to be a man of his word, at this point; he had made it abundantly clear that no other demands would be made of her. The doorman stood at attention just outside The Visum's entrance as Sarah warily approached. She was aware that certain protocols were to be followed whilst at The Visum; still, in this particular situation, unescorted, it was altogether unclear exactly what was expected. At any rate, this was not a circumstance where Sarah was a typical "guest" (whatever that was) and she felt no obligation whatsoever to follow anyone around, to be put through her paces. She was meeting up with Mr. Brown for what, she was sure, would soon be a deep conversation about her husband's increased responsibility (and concordant pay), an apology for past transgressions, that sort of thing. Sarah was no lapdog tonight— —never again. She walked through the door, pulling her nondescript dress up slightly as she crossed the threshold. This time she was determined to have a good look around, to see exactly what kind of place Dus Aliter Visum was. Sarah realized immediately the unparalleled opulence with which she was surrounded—worked cherry tables, inlaid chairs lined with silver, elaborate trim running at both floor and ceiling levels—opulence that starkly contrasted how very plain she must look, wearing what amounted to nothing more than a mere servant's dress with dirty, worn shoes and hair pulled aside with a pin. The Dining Room's extravagant décor was exaggerated tonight by how very deserted it was, with only a single occupied table in the far corner—in Mr. Brown's corner—though the lighting was subdued such that the man sat back away from the table, nondescript. Sarah gazed around the walls, absorbing the various paintings, portraits and landscapes, before stepping across the room towards Mr. Brown's table. "You like them?" a deep, rumbling voice called from the table. Startled, Sarah jumped slightly and paused. That's not Mr. Brown, she thought, a bolt of pure terror running down her spine. It was as if her body were suddenly void of any volition, a rag doll standing lifeless, waiting for its owner to determine what her arms and legs should do. "I do believe I asked you a question," the voice added, its owner leaning forward into the flickering candlelight. Sarah was too shocked to respond. "Personally, I could care less what hangs on the walls here," Thaddeus Collins said, "although I fully expect an answer to my question." Sarah nodded quickly. "Yes," she said, mind reeling, "I like them." What is he doing here? WHERE IS MR. BROWN? "Sarah," Collins said, chuckling softly, "the pleasantries must be observed. You haven't forgotten so quickly, have you, how to conduct yourself?" "No… no, sir," she answered, a familiar, uncomfortable knot forming in the pit of her stomach. This couldn't be happening… "Sit," he said, remaining seated. Sarah looked around quickly before slowly stepping forward. She did not immediately sit down but instead stood behind the chair opposite Collins, holding the back. She noted that the table was empty save a single glass of water, half empty (or half full, as it were) at Mr. Collins' hand. She observed his fingers, thick as sausages, close around the glass and lift so that he took a big swig, spilling water from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. He lowered the glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand in the process. His hands were simply enormous. Sarah stood stock-still. She couldn't figure out why she was here, where Mr. Brown was, or why he had permitted her to be alone with this… this MAN. Her brow furrowed, small lines of doubt crossing her forehead as she concentrated on trying to figure this out— —on trying, the hardest she had ever tried anything, to avoid thinking about what exactly Mr. Collins' intentions were. She was somewhat less than successful. "You have a question?" he observed. "Ask it." Sarah took a deep breath, permission to speak given. (That she should require as much from Thaddeus Collins was a separate matter, one best left to consider another day.) "Mr. Collins, I was given to understand that Mr. Brown requested my presence." She said it very quickly, afraid she would wither into silence under his steady gaze. The way she said it, the words ran almost unintelligibly together. Collins scratched his head, exaggerating his movements as an actor in a play. He looked around in mock surprise. "I don't see him around. How fortunate for me." Sarah felt her gaze drawn to him, as if he were a giant masculine magnet she was powerless to resist. As her brilliant, light blue eyes went to Collins face, she found the same hard, unyielding gray eyes as the son staring back at her. She remembered all too well staring into those nearly same eyes, one on each side of the son's rampant manhood as it slowly entered her mouth weeks before. All color drained from her already pale face, a kind of paralyzing pall falling over. Collins, whose face was up to now expressionless, smiled ever so slightly, clearly amused at the change of demeanor that overtook the poor girl standing before him. "Remove your hairpin. I'm sure I prefer it down." "What—what?" she responded. "Are you deaf?" "No—no, s-s-sir." "Well, then." Sarah's shaking hand went to her head and removed the pin, freeing her thick red hair to fall about her shoulders. Collins stood and walked over behind Sarah, where he placed his hands on her shoulders. Sarah tensed her arms, clutching the chair back tightly between whitened knuckles. "Mr. Collins," she asked, voice unusually high, "where is Mr. Brown?" "No more questions." His hands squeezed her shoulders and began massaging in a way Sarah, despite conscious revolt, found her body responding to. He ran his thumbs in tight circles around her shoulder blades, to the outside of her arms, and in the high ridge of Sarah's upper back just below her neck. He rubbed her neck as well, long side to side applications of pressure that released tightened muscle pressure—but in no way relieved the anguish that threatened, any second, to send Sarah into unrestrained hysterics. Collins leaned in and began whispering in her ear, hands holding her shoulders firmly in place. "That clerk husband of yours has cost me money—a lot of money." His words, rough-edged and menacing, sent her heart racing as a freight train screaming perilously out of control. "You've cost me a small fortune as well. That son of mine, once seen, had to have you. Still," he added, leaning in even closer and inhaling her essence, "he has very good taste." They stood silent a moment, he breathing slow and evenly, she rather anxiously. She stood, ram rod straight, waiting. She had done this her whole life, waited for someone to tell her what to do, what to feel—when to do it, and when not to feel. "Sarah?" "Yes, Mr. Collins?" she replied automatically. "Before this night is through," he said, enormous satisfaction dripping from every syllable, "I shall very much enjoy fucking you." * Sarah jumped and tried to run away, but he merely seized one forearm and pulled her to, squeezing mightily and wrenching her to his side. There was no escape. From there, it was easy enough for him to practically tuck her under one arm and carry her as nothing more than an especially juicy, succulent ham back to the Dessert Room where he nearly tossed her through the door. As she scrambled off the floor he stepped through, closing and latching the door. One word, "Platform," spoken flatly, was beyond negotiation. By now Sarah knew there was no meeting Mr. Brown tonight—no fancy dinner, comfortable carriage ride, or hours of pleasant conversation beneath a starry sky. Tonight there was only the Dessert Room, a room that had seemed ever so much bigger the first time she'd been. Now it was a claustrophobic prison, an ever-tightening cell with only a single platform situated in the very center. "Platform," he repeated, faintly impatient. She slowly walked towards it, stopping when her knees pressed against the side. Collins followed immediately behind and closed a hand momentarily around her neck before sliding it down to the neckline of her dress. "Are you, or should it?" he asked, pulling uncomfortably down. The message couldn't be clearer—are you going to take this off or should I remove it forcibly? Not like this, Sarah thought, shaking her head. Please, not like this. Having only just come into the realization, the last few days, that her Virtue remained, that her husband had never actually completed… completed his… husbandly duties, that her marriage was not consummated, she was not now prepared to give up such a prize to the brute standing behind her. Collins misread the shaking of her head. "Fine," he muttered, raising his elbow while securing the neckline between his fingers. "We shall do it my way." "RRIIIIPPPPPP!" The buttoned collar bit into her neck as Collins yanked viciously down. The worn fabric gave after a slight pause, tearing with a terrific rip and popping off button after button, sending them bouncing across the hard wooden floor. Freed of her shoulders, the dress was shoved down her back and over her shapely hindquarters where it subsequently fell to her feet, leaving her covered in only an immodest shift. He stepped in closely, pressing his chest into her back. "Arms up," he commanded. Stricken, Sarah failed to comply. "Arms up!" he repeated, helping by pressing her elbows upwards until she held her own arms overhead. "Now then," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her torso and cupping her very full breasts, one in each hand, "let us just see what we have here." MR. BROWN Douglas Brown knocked on the door again, much louder than before. It was dark; an indecent hour to be calling upon a married woman, but there was nothing for it. He had to see her. He vividly remembered the first night, taking her to The Visum, when he realized how very unlike her husband Sarah Higgins was. A woman of substance, with striking features and a fierce loyalty that drove her to depths no woman he had yet met could match. Certainly, she had been taken advantage of. The Collins boy had seen to that. Still, it hadn't seemed right, seeing her knelt before him, worshipping in such a unique and profane manner. He had felt a pang of embarrassment for the poor girl that night. The following week, visiting her at home, he had almost backed out on the follow-up request. The uproar at The Visum was unprecedented; many members had heard about the performance and approached him, enquiring as to the plump redhead's next appearance. "Are her teats really so large, Douglas?" and "Did she really suck him dry?" were the most common questions. He'd felt obligated to arrange two more visits, so intense was the pressure. Still, complete impertinence and an utter breach of trust was what those questions were. In hindsight, it was easy to make such a determination. "What happens at The Visum stays at The Visum." A mantra long in the making, it seemed some had forgotten and were speaking out of turn; especially grievous was the young woman they were speaking about, a lass he knew to be honorable and, it was true, more than fetching. The strangest thing had happened: in the midst of being polite to her, of asking a seemingly innocent question, he had quite by accident discovered how very… sweet—yes, sweet was the word—the poor girl was. A genuine young woman possessing of such a regal bearing, who wanted nothing in the world more than to have children and a home to raise them in, should not be subjected to such indignities—no matter how ridiculous or undeserving her husband. It was one thing for Charles Winthrop to bring his housekeeper; that Jennifer girl had lain with more men than General Sherman marched to Savannah, truth be told. A common whore really, no better than any other of the opportunistic strumpets who made occasional appearances at The Visum. Most of the young women who performed there—Jennifer included—were compensated handsomely for their services. The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 03 And then, in a pinch and having no other option—and holding a particular grudge against the righteous clerk who, truth be told, was very good at his job if unbearable in the process of doing it—he decided to target two birds with one stone, the young woman he had seen a handful of times and her self-important husband. This would give him an advantage over both; although not a particularly vindictive man, Brown knew how to obtain and use leverage. He had assumed the woman to be cast in the same mold as the husband, opinionated, headstrong, and boring beyond belief. The bigger question was what the clerk would do when he discovered his worth. For now he failed completely to understand his value—but that would not last. When he realized what he could command, he would need to be brought to heel, which was where the wife came in. At this critical juncture, with telegraphing contracts coming down the pipe, a field clerk capable of closing deals—cheaply and efficiently, while avoiding invoking the services of the Collins' clan—was a commodity of highest value. True enough he carried on over-much about his religious leanings, but Brown was sure it was exactly that which led to his exactitude in securing land deeds and property easements with such alacrity. Through it all, taking the long view, he never expected to feel anything for the girl. Certainly, he would not have dreamed he would find himself knocking on her door at such an indecent hour. After pounding again without an answer, it was clear she wasn't home. Her husband left just this morning—what would have her out at this hour, on the day of his departure? As Brown walked to his carriage, studying the ground carefully to be sure of his footing, he saw a pair of deeply rutted tracks. Fresh. "No," he whispered, a sudden thought storming broadside into his foremost attention. He remembered the meeting, a few hours before, the obvious disappointment as the blond giant of a man took a payment substantially less than he was accustomed to. 'The clerk,' the blond man asked, more statement than query. 'Yes, the clerk closed the deal,' Brown had answered. Thaddeus Collins had left in a flash, offering neither his hand nor a departing salutation as he stormed out of the office with a very determined set to his jaw. I should have known, Brown thought as he ran and jumped into his carriage. He cracked the whip quickly. "Hagh! Hagh!" he called, urging his pair of horses. He could make it to The Visum in just under an hour, if his horses could bear the pace. He only hoped it would be fast enough. THADDEUS COLLINS Sarah knelt unsteadily on the solitary platform, buck-naked. She jerked her head back and forth, searching for Mr. Collins. "Shall I put blinkers on you, little mare?" he asked. A silly giggle issued from behind. "She don' know her place, Mr. Collins," Jennifer's shrill voice called out. "'ave to teach her, eh?" "Yes, I believe some instruction is in order." Sarah was aghast at her predicament: she was on her hands and knees, centered on the platform, thick straps fastened about her ankles and wrists. Testing slightly, there was no way she could pull either her hands or feet any closer than they already were. She closed her thighs—that she could do—but at the cost of exaggerating how far apart her ankles and feet were. Her head slumped; great shocks of fiery red hair fell on either side of her face. She wouldn't cry—no, she most certainly wouldn't—but neither could she offer more than token resistance. Together, Mr. Collins and that damned Jennifer had joined together to position and restrain her so. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her discomfiture. "First, I think you should demonstrate for me exactly what you did for my boy. What was it he called it? Praying?" Jennifer snorted a derisive laugh empty of mirth. "Yeah, she be needin' some prayin' tonigh'!" Sarah took a deep breath and exhaled before opening her eyes. Collins stood before her. "Oh my…" she said involuntarily. He grinned. "Bigger than you're used to, I take it?" Sarah said nothing, staring intently at the Billy club dangling between Collins thighs. Although it was not erect it was long and resembled nothing so much as a fire hose, tapered so that it was thicker at the base than the tip. "There now, you seem predisposed. I suppose I can afford some assistance," Collins said, stepping in beside the platform. Taking his phallus in hand, he brought the tip to Sarah's mouth, touching it to her lips. For her part, Sarah did nothing but stare, unable to comprehend an object so long. Of course her experience was extremely limited—EXTREMELY—but even a horse's member wasn't that much bigger than what was presented to her now. As she watched, the tip colored, a dark brown tinged with crimson that seemed to extend down the shaft. As it did, she detected a plumping of the shaft, not so far removed from stuffing sausage into a sleeve. She gulped, blinked away a tear. This couldn't be happening. "Open," he said, a small word with only four letters that carried the weight of the world. Sarah parted her lips at the same time that Mr. Collins eased forward, placing the flared head between her lips. He stopped there and it was quite a sight: Sarah knelt on her hands and knees, a prodigious semi-erect penis poised to ram down her gullet while Collins stood, cradling himself with one hand. Collins released himself; Sarah felt the weight of it threatening to fall from her mouth and, no other course of action evident, sucked hard enough to keep the head firmly between her lips. "That's it," Collins said, his voice for the first time expressing an emotion: Satisfaction. "Now Sarah, I'm not altogether sure what you call this," he said, pulling on his hardening manhood enough to demonstrate what he was speaking of. "In the backwoods, we call it a cock." Sarah gasped a harsh intake of breath around her invaded lips. "Don't you like my cock?" he asked, obvious enjoyment in his voice. Jennifer laughed came from behind Sarah. "Why don't you pay tribute, as you once did here?" Sarah remained motionless. "Well then, I shall merely help a little. Personally, I don't like to call it paying tribute," he said, placing one hand around the nape of her neck, securing it so that she could not back away. "I rather prefer to call it what it is: sucking cock." He slid in, a motion that imbedded a few inches into Sarah's mouth. He stared down intently. "Yes, time to suck some cock, indeed." Collins arched back before sliding forward again, this time burying almost half a foot in Sarah's throat. He gazed down, concentration evident in the hard set of his gray eyes as he observed Sarah's effort. Satisfied, he pulled back and gave a bit more, careful to hold her head firmly in place. This would be quite the job, embedding his full length between her lips—but he was a very patient man. He had nothing but time. * Sarah had never experienced anything like this before—the insistent pressure on her neck, the overwhelming presence between her lips, the overpowering musk that emanated from Thaddeus Collins. When he entered her mouth she could barely breathe, she resorted to flaring her nostrils and exhaling forcefully before doing the same to draw in breath. Collins seemed to like that; he would pause, his 'cock' imbedded in her throat and watch her forceful breathing. Sarah, for her part, held her eyes tightly shut. She tried to firm her lips as much as possible, to prevent entry, but it was a failing proposition. His manhood bent only slightly before plopping between her lips and entering the back of her mouth. It felt an eternity, the slow motion back and forth, but really was less than ten minutes before a new, different thought entered Sarah's mind. If he finishes, maybe I can save my Virtue… She didn't have to fully flesh out the idea—the subtext was clear. If she could get him to finish now, he might not be predisposed to do more later. With that in mind, on the next intake of meat Sarah opened her mouth a little more and flicked his lower shaft with her tongue. Anything to finish, she thought. Anything to finish… * "Well, well," Collins commented. "I do believe she's eager at last. Let us see how strong her work ethic is," he continued, releasing her neck. "I shall stand here and, as soon as you complete this—that is, as soon as I fill your throat—we'll all be off. How is that for motivation?" With only the head between her lips, Sarah looked up between her disheveled hair, searching Mr. Collins eyes for the truth. If this man could even speak it. She had no way of knowing, but she knew it was her only chance. After a brief hesitation, Sarah arched her back and slid forward, encapsulating Mr. Collins now fully erect manhood between her lips. She felt her lips stretching as she approached the base, a stretching that was increasingly uncomfortable. More disconcerting was the presence, deep in the back of her throat, of his pulsing head, a hot iron that tickled her gag reflex each time she neared the base of his penis. She would back off quickly, breathe, and then slide back down again. It became almost a challenge—could she take it all? Truly, his length was such that she was sure it should have been impossible but, eager to finish, eager to avoid that which she had been sure would be her eventual outcome, she gave more than a fair try. "That's it," he whispered, and the sound of his voice made clear that he was enjoying Sarah's ministrations. "Suck that cock. Take it. Take it!" he hissed, wavering slightly in counter time to Sarah's motions. Finally, inevitably, unbelievably, Sarah did it. She took it all. She quickly pulled back, sure she would vomit everything she had ever consumed, took a breath— —and did it again. And again. She might have been attacking it, so forceful was her downward thrust. The next down time she paused, forehead pressed against his stomach; her mouth flooded with pre-seminal fluid, the rampant cock clenching fiercely, swelling even more between her lips. "Almost," he whispered. "Almost…" Sarah felt it, the cataclysmic orgasm that she had worked so hard for, the sure knowledge that she had achieved her objective, when suddenly Collins stepped back and gripped the base of his penis with one hand. "You very nearly got me," he said, face contorted. What was he doing? Almost immediately Jennifer was beside him, replacing his hand with her own, squeezing very tightly. "Gotta save it for her," she said, giggling. "Can' let her off easy like, can we?" "Yes. This proud bitch," he said, stepping away from Jennifer with his manhood dangling between his thighs, "is about to get royally fucked." Almost inexplicably, Jennifer began laughing uproariously. * Douglas Brown passed by the last grove of pine trees on the left, which meant he was less than fifteen minutes from The Visum. His horses, lathered though they were, would have to make do for a little more. He hoped there was a footman working tonight; though, if his worst fears were confirmed, he was sure the place would be locked tight and his work only just begun. "Hagh!" he called with a quick whistle. A flick of his wrist and the whip lashed out, urging his steeds to more speed. "Hagh! HAGH!!" * Sarah was exhausted. She knelt, hindquarters up, shoulders resting on the platform. She was acutely aware how obscene this position was—and powerless to do anything about it. Her large breasts rested against the cold leather, nipples shriveled tightly. Her jaw was sore, having opened and closed so many times the last days, and a bitter saltiness rested stubbornly on her tongue, refusing to dissipate. She heard them behind her, moving around, but could see nothing. Who knew what they were doing? As if on cue… "There now, it's time to extract final payment. To be clear," he added, resting his hands on Sarah's haunches, "this is more of a down payment. Your husband has amassed quite a debt, and the matter of payment for my son's services is not forgotten." A deep foreboding fell over Sarah—down payment? Quite a debt? Young Master Collins? It was too much. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. Louder: "No!" "I don't think you are negotiating from a position of strength, Sarah. I told you," he continued, raising his member and rubbing the head against Sarah's many folds, "that tonight I shall enjoy this very much." "You… you can't," she blurted. "I'm…" "—about to afford to another man that which you have no doubt provided numerous times to your husband. I must say, the good clerk has chosen well," he added, patting her rounded buttocks familiarly. "You are rather built for this. How many children do you have?" he asked, as if it were a completely casual conversation. He positioned his raging erection and leaned in, creating a small space where he would soon be doing quite a bit more. "Snug," he said, almost irritated. He reached one hand down Sarah's back and pulled her bottom towards him, eager to plant himself. "A fine filly, they got that right," he said. Sarah knew time was short—he would be taking that which she had (unknown to her until two days ago yet completely beside the point) so far protected for her entire life. "I am… a Virtuous woman!" she blurted. Collins paused. "Virtuous?" Deepest shame came over Sarah at the admission. Her body colored in response, a crimson so deep, so ingrained, it appeared she might well explode. "Well," Collins said, seeming to consider his words carefully, "it seems I should have the great privilege of not only fucking you this night—" he placed his hands on either side of her rear end, squeezing the pliable flesh firmly between his fingers, having nestled the head of his engorged cock between Sarah's outer lips "—but having fucked you for all future men." Collins thrust, a harsh, brutal imposition of his undeniable desire between the deepest, darkest depths of Sarah's untainted womanhood. "There," he whispered, thrusting again, struggling to gain purchase, "I will have you." He thrust yet again but, as before, Sarah's body seemed determined to resist. It was the classic argument—irresistible force versus immovable object. Surely one would give; it was only a matter of time. And temperament. * Sarah clenched herself as tightly as she could. Perhaps he would eventually capture that which she would not give freely—perhaps—but she would in no way be a co-conspirator in his efforts. It was a token resistance, all that she could muster. "This is like a little honey hole," Collins said, fierce concentration evident in the set of his voice, the pressure of his hands, the impending force of his entry. "But like all honey holes," he added, thrusting and, for the first time, feeling a noticeable (albeit small) amount of movement inwards, "they always get explored in the end. Perhaps," he added, shoving his lower body with renewed vigor, "exploited is the correct term." "Ungh. UNGH!" Sarah grunted as, not once but twice she felt it, the terrible pressure, and an impending sense of doom. "Yes," Collins said triumphantly. "YES." * It was done. Never in her life had Sarah imagined a feeling like this, a fullness that threatened to overwhelm her senses and reduce her to nothing more than a shivering, quaking mess of wracked emotion. The finality of it—that this man, in this moment, should take her so, was inescapable. Collins eased out before plunging in again, this time nearly burying his entire length. "Oh yes," he hissed, "just a down payment…" Out and then in, fully sheathed inside the impossibly tight, irresistibly warm fuckhole that was Sarah Higgins. "I think I shall require payment," he said, slowly withdrawing, "daily!" As he parted her lips with his length again, burrowing his prodigious length into Sarah's deepest, darkest caverns, her mind raced back to that moment, after she had pleasured the son, when the father had stood over her and stared down, a look of stone cold certainty contained within it. He had known. He had always known. "Up!" he commanded, pulling back on her hips. "Lift yourself, woman. I want to see those udders of yours dangling. They may be built for childrearing," he continued, leaning over and reaching down, taking the heft of them in his hands with his cock fully inside, "but tonight they shall be my entertainment." He pinched and clutched in time with rhythmic hip motions, squeezing imaginary milk from the bounty of her robust breasts. "Yes, I shall provide the milk," he hissed, beginning to thrust a bit more forcefully. Combined with her precarious position, Sarah couldn't escape the image of a small female dog, indelicately 'stuck' and being dragged around by a much larger male. "Nothing more than a bitch in heat, that's what you are," he hissed into her ear as if privy to her thoughts. "Take it. Take it, bitch!" he continued, emphasizing his words with enthusiastic drives of his lower body. Thaddeus Collins pulled back, hands clamped firmly over her breasts, capturing the nipples between his fingers as he sighed, quite softly, before descending on her with one final, bone-jarring drive * It's inside me, Sarah thought, the sensation of abrupt warmth filling her inner confines. It's inside me and it's going to… to… She couldn't bear to finish the thought—that, as a consequence of this act, she could find herself with child. She imagined she could feel it, the untold tiny sperm, all swimming up towards their final destination with the same determination of Mr. Collins, a resilient, undeniable force bent on a singular purpose. Of course it was in her head; of course she couldn't really feel them, moving around, swimming up, racing towards her egg so that they could implant themselves in it. Of course she was imagining it, all of it. Of course she was. * Collins slumped heavily, resting all of his weight on Sarah's back. His member, still enraged, remained inside her. Sarah buckled and held a moment before succumbing to his massive weight. She lowered her upper body until it rested on the platform, mashing the girth of her breasts against his restraining hands. She felt Collins rapid steamy breath on her back, his hairy legs pushed against her own, the insistence of his body pressed resolutely against everything she considered her own. His fingers finally let go their grip about her nipples, releasing the distended tips of her breasts so as to withdraw his hands. As he removed his weight from her back, beads of sweat fell from his chest onto the small of her lower back, splashing softly before running down the center towards her neck. Collins stood back and gazed down, noting the creamy substance slowly draining down Sarah's inner thigh. "There now, it would seem you are, finally, a proper woman." Aghast, Sarah fought back the sob that threatened to spill over, sure that tears and sorrow would disastrously follow. This was not a time for weakness—what was done was done and now was the time for clarity of thought and iron-like resolve. "Or perhaps that should be, finally, a properly fucked woman." Just then, an earth shattering crash shattered the quiet Georgia night. Sarah jerked her head towards the door, unable to believe what she had just heard.