The Belgravia Club
By Clarissa Fenton
Copyright Clarissa Fenton/Cavendish Velvet Publishing 2013. All rights reserved.
Cover image copyright Styf/Fotolia.com.
The characters and establishment in this story are fictional and no resemblance to any person or establishment is intended or should be inferred.
One
By quite early on in the evening I knew that James and I would end up in bed together. After a series of disastrous dates from internet dating sites I was about to give up and then found his profile purely by chance. 35, tall, slim build, dark hair; good looking in a suave sort of way; working like me in financial services (well, that covers a multitude of sins but after a few emails I realised he was genuine and not some spiv or chancer).
On our first date we clicked right away; since I broke up with my ex a few months ago, things have, not to put to fine a point on it, been getting pretty desperate. Inviting him back after the first date might have seemed a bit easy though, so I held off, but a week later, I knew there was no stopping us. Sure enough as he paid the bill at the Ivy, we both spoke at the same time:
‘I wondered if...’
We both laughed.
‘Sorry, go on’ he said.
‘No, I just wondered if you’d like to go on for another drink. At mine, if you like’.
There was no awkward hesitation, as I guessed there wouldn’t be.
‘Sure. I’ve been thinking about it all evening’.
Oh have you now? I thought. You can never quite tell with men. They’re supposed to jump at the chance of sex, though in my experience they can sometimes go a bit odd on you when it comes down to it. I know I’m no amazing beauty, but nobody could call me ugly.
I’m ash blonde, with what you could call a buxom figure, and no, that doesn’t mean I’m fat, though I used to think so until enough men convinced me otherwise. I’m only a size 12, but I’ve got good curves; and money helps make up for what nature might have neglected. I think some men just find me a bit intimidating; but that’s just the way I am.
James put a protective arm around me as he hailed a taxi, and once inside he kept it there. Our bodies touched and I felt a tingle of arousal. Our heads were close but maddeningly he didn’t kiss me; thankfully it was just a short trip back to South Ken. In the lift up to my flat he made his move; almost instantly his mouth was on mine and his tongue lightly probing my mouth; I eagerly responded with my own tongue and felt his hands lightly but firmly on the outside of my thighs, corrugating the grey Chanel suit I’d picked out carefully for the evening.
Once inside my flat, there were no preambles; James took my hand and led me to the sofa. I took off my jacket and his, and we started kissing deep and hard, his tongue now thrusting deep into my mouth and his hands stroking and squeezing my breasts, each thumb caressing the nipples through the thin fabric of my blouse. I’d worn my best Rigby and Peller bra and knickers set with holdups, just in case this had happened; men, of course, don’t seem to care much about this kind of thing and pretty soon we were both topless anyway.
James moved his head down to my chest, licking and sucking my nipples until I could almost squirm with pleasure. I moved my hand down to the growing bulk in his crotch and kneaded and stroked him through the material of his trousers as he gasped in pleasure. I smiled and stood up, keeping my back straight in the way I know makes my breasts look even bigger. Taking him by the hand again I led him to the bedroom and sat down on the bed while he stood over me.
I slid his trousers and we laughed as I had to stretch the waistband of his shorts almost to the point of tearing to get them down over his swollen cock. I tried one of the little tricks that men seem to like, especially if you’re busty like me; but don’t ask me what they like about it so much; I squeezed my breasts around his cock and firmly rubbed them up and down the shaft as he groaned with pleasure. Then I held his firm thighs and drew him closer, taking his cock in my mouth and working round the head with my tongue. After a while his breathing grew heavier and finally he pulled away.
‘Lie down on the bed now’. There was a note of command in his voice which I liked.
I smiled and lay back on the pillows as he kneeled in front of me and eased off my knickers. Fortunately he didn’t try any theatrical ripping of them – they were my most expensive pair – and after some light stroking with his fingers he started kissing the inside of my thighs, deliciously working his way up and down and inwards until finally, his tongue flicked across my clit and then started lapping at it, his hands firmly kneading my arse until I could bear it no longer.
He seemed to sense the right moment, and rolled me onto my side, swiftly and deftly easing his cock into me from behind and immediately started up a hard, rhythmic pumping. I sighed with the sheer force of it; somehow I thought he would be more gentle but in a way I liked his firmness. I was aching to come anyway; I’ve never been much of one for long, slow lovemaking and I guessed he wasn’t either. He was pounding me now; his thighs slapping against my arse and his hands caressing my breasts as they bounced up and down.
The tingling feeling between my legs, which seemed to have been increasing for hours, rapidly got stronger until I knew I was going to come; I was desperate for him to keep up the pace and so I built up momentum by grinding my hips against him (all those riding lessons as a girl finally had some use...). My fingers were a blur over my clit as I worked myself up to fever pitch; finally the tingle grew to explosive force and the familiar, but always delightful, surge of electricity shot through my thighs making me go rigid and cry out.
It wasn’t the biggest orgasm I’ve had, but a good one considering it was our first time. As it died down James gasped ‘I’m going to come’. Wanting to impress him I tried another of my tricks; I purred ‘wait a minute’ and eased away from him. ‘Stand up on the bed’ I demanded; he looked puzzled but quickly complied; I kneeled before him, arching my back so that my breasts looked as big as possible; I took his cock in both hands and started wanking it as hard as I could, then gorged on it, working the shaft up and down with one hand while I stroked his hard balls with the other. ‘Fuck...’ he breathed and I felt him stiffen.
Taking his cock out of my mouth I arched my back again, and leaned my head back and closed my eyes, then pumped his shaft until I felt the hot drops of his cum shoot onto my face and body. Opening my eyes and leaning forward, I closed my breasts round his cock again and massaged it as his jerking body finally slowed, and we both collapsed back on the bed. ‘Thank you for coming,’ I said with a sly grin. ‘Thank you for having me’ he answered with a smile. It was corny, but I didn’t care. I was dimly aware of James leaving sometime in the night; I awoke as the door clicked shut but fell back into a deep sleep. After giving him a performance like that, I was sure I would see him again.
Two
As usual, it didn’t work out. I didn’t hear from James for a couple of days; then I got a chirpy email saying saying ‘Hi Sara, thanks for the great night...I really like your company, and I think you’re amazing (in bed as well as out...;-) but I have to say things are very complicated for me at the moment, so I don’t think it would be good for us to meet again. Take care. Jxx.
Bastard. What does ‘things are very complicated’ mean? Has a girlfriend, probably, or married. Fuck him. Actually, I would love to do just that; and I even touched myself thinking about it a couple of times, but no, seriously I thought, screw him and all of them. I need a break from this. Fortunately as a hedge fund manager, I don’t have much time to waste on men.
A few days later I was a having a drink with my friend Claire at the Naval and Military club; she’s part of the country set and likes these stuffy places. Actually I don’t mind them,
though I wouldn’t want to be a member; they have stupid rules about not using your mobile and the men are mostly red faced lechers. I told her about my night with James.
‘He sounds fantastic...’ she purred. ‘Can I have his email? Only joking darling, I wouldn’t want to steal your new man’.
‘He’s not my new man. He dumped me in three lines by email’.
‘Oh dear. He sounds disgusting. Now I really will have to get his email from you’ she laughed, slurping her wine.
Claire is what I’d call predatory. I like men, but her appetite is voracious and she will go for literally anything in trousers. She’s slim and pretty rather than beautiful, but with an infectious laugh and smile which seems to drive men wild. She once told me that the reason she became a currency trader was so that she could work from home and touch herself while looking at online porn whenever she felt the urge. She was probably joking but you can never tell with Claire. I know she swings both ways though; we used to work together and she once tried it on with me at a conference. That’s never really been my cup of tea, and she was really nice about it and didn’t push it.
‘I know just what you need, Sara. Do you know the Belgravia Club?’
‘No’ I replied, thinking it sounded like some kind of high class gambling joint.
‘Ever heard of Lady Jane Underwood?’
‘I don’t think so....’ I didn’t have quite the same connections as Claire.
‘We were at school together. Her husband’s Johnny Underwood, he’s not an MP though, he’s a peer.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘I’m just coming to that. Jane’s got the run of their London house, Johnny never comes to London except when there’s an important vote and then he’s usually so pissed he ends up sleeping at his club. They’re practically separated really.’
‘What did she see in him?’
‘Oh dear, you really are a naive little suburban girl, aren’t you Sara? What does anyone marry for? Money and children, of course. Except in Johnny’s case the money’s all tied up in land and their little country place. Anyway, while the cat’s away, so to speak, Jane runs these rather fun London parties. A sort of girls’ club.’
‘I see...’ Although I didn’t really.
‘I don’t mean a boring club like this one’. She lowered her tone as a portly gentleman nearby harrumphed at this remark. ‘I mean somewhere where us working girls can let their hair down. All very select, invitation only sort of thing. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you to come along. I think you’ll like it’.
I had a funny feeling she was trying to set me up with someone. She’s always doing that; ‘accidentally’ bumping into some boring farmer up in London who she thinks is gorgeous.
‘Hmm, well it sounds like it might be ok. It’s just girls?’
Claire gave an enigmatic smile.
‘Just come along and see – I think you’ll like it’.
Three
A few days later I was stepping out of a taxi and up the white stuccoed steps of one of the biggest Belgravia houses I’d ever seen. I’ve got plenty of money, but there’s no way I could ever afford a place like this. I’d dressed in a smart but casual way, jeans, Prada kitten heels and an old but serviceable Stella McCartney jacket. I was quite looking forward to a ‘girl’s night in’, some wine, gossip and to forget about men for a while.
Some hope! The glossy black door opened to reveal one of the handsomest men I’d ever seen. He flashed a smile at me and took my coat, leading me through a vast hallway into a drawing room filled with the hubbub of conversation and the clink of glasses. I wasn’t quite sure whether he was a guest or a servant.
‘Sara, darling!’ It was Claire. We exchanged the usual air kisses, though this time there was a little more pressure and, if I wasn’t mistaken, sexiness in the way she hugged me.
‘Come and sit down, have some champagne. So glad you could come’. I was ushered into a deep leather armchair and the man who opened the door was instantly at my side, deftly pouring a glass of Moet from a bucket on a side table. I took in the room around me; incredibly expensively decorated and furnished, but tastefully; lots of antique furniture and as far as I could tell, a genuine Canaletto over the chimneypiece.
The room was filled with about ten or so women, ranging from late twenties to late forties, all well groomed and well dressed. It wasn’t just women though – about a dozen men were in the room and I had to blink to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. They were all exquisitely handsome, attentively listening to single women or in small groups.
They seemed to represent every different kind of man you could hope to meet; one or two were classically handsome English public school types; another couple looked like they could be Greek or Italian; two Chinese, and a smooth skinned black man in a blazer and open necked white shirt in dazzling contrast to his skin stood talking with an icily pretty Russian girl I recognised from one of the private banks in Berkeley Square. He was twirling her hair in his fingers as she gazed up at him, her usual cold expression seeming a little warmer.
I started to wonder what exactly what was going on.
Claire introduced me to the two men she was talking to. Paul, one of the public school types, who said he was in the army, and David, a Hong Kong Chinese in investment banking. They were both handsome, but Paul in particular caught my eye; well built but not in a rugby playing way, just right; he didn’t have the usual braying voice either, but spoke in a level, polite tone, not trying to turn on the charm or impress me.
I whispered to Claire ‘I thought you said this was a girl’s night in? Where did all these gorgeous men come from?’
Claire looked enigmatic.
‘I don’t think I said it was girls’ night in. I said it was a sort of girls’ club. That doesn’t mean we don’t allow men in...of the right sort’. She grinned up at David as he massaged her shoulders from behind.
‘Listen darling. Jane will explain it all to you, but she’s...occupied at the moment. I’m just going up to see her, so why don’t you pop upstairs in ten minutes and she’ll make sure you’re filled in. First door on the right at the top of the stairs’. She gave a throaty laugh and turned away, leading David by the arm out of the door into the hallway.
I was starting to get a bit suspicious. Had she just pulled that guy? It was pretty obvious they weren’t going outside for a breath of fresh air. I turned to Paul and felt my heart beat a little quicker as my eyes met his over our champagne glasses. Something in the atmosphere of the room was making me light headed, or perhaps it was just the champagne. I noticed that while we were talking some of the other women and men had left the room also.
Anyway, I felt I ought to introduce myself to the hostess, and find out if Claire needed rescuing, though I doubted it.
Fifteen minutes later I excused myself from Paul and climbed the large marble staircase in the hall, whose deep red carpet led a trail up to the first floor and several black double doors. I knocked tentatively at the first door on the right. There was silence at first, then I heard giggling and an unfamiliar voice trilling.
‘Enter! In every sense of the word!’
I pushed open the door, starting to get a bit annoyed with this enigmatic set up. I walked into a huge, plushly carpeted bedroom with low level lighting and an enormous four poster bed. I started in shock as I saw what was going on. Claire was facing me on the bed, naked, with her buttocks thrust in the air, with her chin in her hands, supporting herself with both elbows, a smile on her face as David gently, almost imperceptibly, ground himself into her from behind and stroked her hair.
‘Oh...I’m sorry...’ I turned to go, feeling a deep flush rising up into my face.
‘Darling, just as things were getting interesting!’ she purred, and both she and David laughed. He increased the pace of his thrusts and Claire closed her eyes, smiled, and began to groan with pleasure.
Typical Claire, I thought, no shame. Well, I wasn’t going to be a wallflower. I
turned and left the room, closing the door behind me. Although it had felt embarrassing, I couldn’t help thinking there was something...well...arousing about seeing them like that. I’ve been with a fair few men, but I’ve never been in a situation like that.
Something about the whole house affected me. The exquisite decor, the handsome men in the drawing room, it was like...what was it they called porn for women? Erotica, that was it. It was like some sort of erotic film. I noticed that my hands were trembling slightly and I had butterflies in my stomach. And was that the first, tiny tingling in my thighs...? A sudden urge to speak to Paul came over me and I crossed to the stairs. I smiled as I saw Paul come out of one of the other doors on the landing and walk towards me.
‘I was just looking for you’ I said, coquettishly.
‘I was just looking for you too’ he grinned. ‘Lady Jane asks if you would wait for her in here’.
He opened a door and stepped aside to allow me in.
There was no awkwardness as he put his arm round my waist and led me inside. It seemed perfectly natural to be going into a bedroom with a perfect stranger. I’d normally put up some sort of token resistance but I didn’t feel the need for any such silly games. The room we entered was similar to the last in size; an incredibly well furnished bedroom only without the four poster bed and a more feminine, floral decor; William Morris wallpaper and some bright post-Impressionist paintings.
I heard the sigh of a champagne cork and saw Paul pouring more Moet from an ice bucket by the bed.
‘How civilised’ I said.
‘Oh yes’ he replied. Lady Jane pays great attention to detail – nothing’s too good for the members here.’
‘Are you a member of this...club...then?’ I asked as we clinked our glasses together.
‘Me?’ He laughed. ‘Oh not exactly. I just help out Lady Jane from time to time. It’s always good fun’.
‘Where is Lady Jane?’
‘Oh, somewhere around. She likes the members to just get on with things, it’s that sort of place. She’ll probably come into say hello in a minute’.
The Belgravia Club Page 1
