by Violet Blue
“I’m glad you stopped in, Katie. I’m Alex.”
He extended his hand and she shook it. His flesh was warm, pleasantly dry.
“Do let me know if I can be of service to you,” he continued. “Many of the professors in town come to me with special requests. By the way, may I give you a welcome gift?” He turned to the tray of pens and selected one—a fairly thick specimen embossed with a sinuous floral design. “I’ve noticed history professors especially appreciate the sensual experience of using a classic fountain pen.”
Again his eyes flickered, as if he knew what she’d been thinking moments before. Had he purposely added some opiate to the air to move his customers to lascivious thoughts?
No lady would accept such a gift from a stranger, yet despite the polite refusal forming on her lips, Katie’s hand reached out and closed around the silver shaft.
In the hours to come she would indeed use the pen to pleasure herself, as if at his unspoken command. In the days to come she would do things with Alex she’d never done with another man, most of which he explicitly ordered her to do. No doubt there were countless junctures where a weakness of moral fiber led to her “degradation,” but, in her memory, the chill of the metal on her fingertips marked the first and irrevocable moment of her fall.
Two weeks later, Katie was back in the shop. Or rather in the sloped-ceiling attic bedroom above the shop, straddling Alex’s face. His tongue, as clever with cunts as with buttering up customers, was working such magic on her naked body that her lower half seemed to melt, filling his mouth to overflowing with her juices.
“Alex…I’m close,” she panted. Her thighs were starting to tremble, and she gripped the brass railing of the headboard to keep her balance.
He grunted, but then merely picked up the pace, lashing her clit like a jockey flogging his mount to the finish line.
Perhaps he hadn’t heard? It was their first time to go beyond a lingering kiss, and she assumed he’d want to move on to more mutual pleasures. She pulled herself up and rocked back onto his chest.
“I’m ready,” she said shyly. Even now, after several impromptu breakfasts at the local café and two official dinner dates, she felt a certain Victorian reserve around him.
“I know,” Alex replied. “So climb back on and let me finish.”
“Don’t you want to…?” Katie faltered. Usually she swore like a sailor and yet, in here with him, she couldn’t make herself utter the word fuck.
“It’s not your place to argue. Get back in the saddle. And hold on to the headboard again like a good girl. Don’t let go until you come.” His voice was clipped and humorless, like a schoolmaster’s.
Katie flinched. This was hardly what she was used to from a new lover, but she obediently scooted forward and closed her hands closed around the railing again. Her palms were slippery with sweat.
“That’s a good girl. A good girl always does as she’s told,” he cooed, taking a breast in each hand and worrying her nipples with his thumbs.
Katie let out a moan. The praise made her feel naughtier, because she knew she wasn’t good—not by the measure of yesteryear, which seemed to filter up through the floorboards from the shop below. For years she’d let men know her body without the sacrament of marriage. Far from renouncing her ways, this very night she was allowing a man she hardly knew to “gamahuche” her privates. All evidence suggested that she was very, very bad indeed.
Slut. Whore. Trollop.
The words echoed in her head; where they came from she didn’t know.
As if on cue, Alex’s hand glided around to her buttocks. After a brief, appreciative kneading of the soft flesh, he began to spank her—slowly, just enough to warm the skin and urge his filly on to victory.
Still clutching the metal railing, Katie felt her body shudder and twist with each blow, hot shame knotted with prickling desire. She was bad. He knew it and he was punishing her, as she deserved. The moan became a long, low groan as her orgasm gathered in her belly. A few more flicks of his tongue on her swollen clit and she was gone, her hands knocking the headboard rhythmically against the wall to the beat of her contractions.
Afterward he held her, stroking her hair.
“Can I do something for you?” She cupped his erection poking up through his khakis. He was still fully dressed.
“Don’t feel any obligation.”
“I’d like to,” she pressed.
“I’m fine. I enjoyed it very much.” Indeed, his voice was lazy, content.
“You’re making me feel guilty, as if I’ve eaten up all the dessert.” She meant to sound teasing, but her tone had a touch of desperation. Didn’t he want her?
Alex smiled and pulled her closer. “Think of it this way—haven’t there been times when a man’s taken his pleasure and left you high and dry? Consider this my way of making it even.”
She had to laugh. Historically speaking, she was indeed a few orgasms in the red, but she couldn’t quite believe his reluctance was pure generosity. Obviously he could get it up—the tent pole in his trousers lingered on—but there might be other complications. She remembered his frown the moment he walked out of that locked room with another man, as if he’d shown her a glimpse of something she was never meant to see.
She wanted to see it all now.
“By the way,” she said sweetly, snuggling into him, “I’ve been wondering for a while…what do you keep in that back room downstairs?”
His body stiffened. At last, it seemed, she’d touched him. “It’s just a collection of things for special customers I think best not to display in the store.”
His fastidious answer made her bolder. “Does it have to do with sex?”
His laugh was almost a snicker.
So it was a ridiculously obvious question—her next move was obvious, too. “Well, when do I get to see it?”
“I’m not sure it would interest you. It’s not part of the shop. It’s more of a club. For gentlemen.”
“No lady can be a member? Do I have to bring a lawsuit for gender discrimination?” She wrinkled up her nose to show him it was—mostly—a joke.
“I’m doing nothing illegal, by the way.” His voice was calm, but she felt him draw away, an almost imperceptible shift of his body on the bed. “But my collection represents the sensibility of an earlier time. Modern women tend to find much of it offensive.”
“I probably know the nineteenth century better than you do, and I’m pretty open-minded about sex. I have quite a collection of erotica. Vanilla, lesbian, gay, it all turns me on.” She propped herself up on one elbow and smiled down at him. If he and the gray-beard did more than wrap packages in that room, it was probably best to coax it from him now.
“I’ve acquired some material involving homosexuality, but my main focus is filles de joie.” He seemed to be making a special effort to look her straight in the eye. “My side specialty is discipline. It’s not for everyone and I want to protect both my customers who enjoy such things and those who don’t.”
Now his stiffness was starting to annoy her. “Alex, I just sat on your face while you spanked me and bossed me around like a young master toying with the novice parlor maid. And I liked it. A lot. Don’t you think I seem like a promising candidate for your club?”
He admitted her point with a smile. “There’s an initiation. To establish that…you’re one of us.”
“Do I have to pee standing up? I can probably manage it with practice.”
Alex smiled. The saucy, spirited approach seemed to be working. “Well, it will have to be different from the usual gentleman’s agreement. I’ll try to come up with something appropriate. But then you’ll have to see if you’re up for the challenge.”
The way he said “appropriate,” soft and slow, made her cunt muscles clench.
And the “challenge”? He’d learn soon enough she’d do whatever it took to get what she wanted. Now more than ever, she wanted to get inside that secret room. Not so much as a member but as a phantom sp
y, to watch men of consequence as they sipped port, fondled cigars, and studied the latest portraits of coupling nudes from Paris. Gentlemen all, they would ignore any restless shifting of the weight on the leather couch, any instinctive moistening of mustachioed lips, certainly any sign of tumescence beneath a custom-tailored dinner jacket. But Katie would see and, unable to restrain herself, she would reach out to coax their poles from their trousers and stroke the tender, pink satin caps with her ghostly fingers until they erupted in Vesuvian fountains of spunk.
She realized with a start that Alex was studying her face intently.
Katie blushed. From the beginning, he seemed to see right into her most secret thoughts. Yet to her he remained closed, locked, like a heavy oak door.
Katie had hoped Alex would open the room to her the next day, but he put her off indefinitely while he devised her initiation. The test must be just right, he insisted, and her patience would show her sincerity.
At last, one full week later, she found herself knocking on the door of the darkened shop at ten in the evening. She was wearing the prescribed outfit: a light-colored blouse and dark skirt. No panties, no panty hose. Alex had allowed that a pair of thigh-highs would do to keep her shoes from chafing her feet, but he insisted her hair be pulled back in a braid and tied with a “girlish” ribbon.
This was, officially, the second phase of the initiation. For the first, Alex had asked her to find a passage in a book, from something published before 1940, that she found especially arousing. Katie tackled her assignment with the seriousness she brought to her first week of classes—and indeed, she cared more about pleasing Alex than any of her real professors. She had a few volumes of Anaïs Nin, of course, but she rejected that choice as too predictable. Fortunately, while unpacking her books that had recently arrived from the shipping company, she happened upon Colette’s Claudine in Paris, and remembered a scene where the feisty heroine discovers her old school friend, Luce, is being kept by a rich, old relative. Gradually Claudine forces her friend to confess that the old lecher makes her act out his sexual fantasies in return for jewels and as many petit fours as she can eat.
The passage was more sly insinuation than explicit porn, but filling in the blanks with her own fevered imagination made Katie hot enough to pleasure herself afterward. With visions of the tantalizing secret room fueling her, she quickly copied out the pages in neat cursive on cream-colored stationery and sent it to him with a dab of sealing wax on the envelope, just as Alex had instructed.
Two days later, he called to inform her that her application had been accepted and she would be granted a personal interview the next evening.
He was waiting at the door in waistcoat and jacket when she arrived.
“Please step over there,” he said, like a butler, his eyes sweeping over her outfit. He gestured to the reading alcove, which was now blocked from the view of the street with an Oriental folding screen. A single lamp glowed golden through the rice paper.
Obediently slipping behind the screen, Katie discovered Alex had replaced the comfortable armchairs with a nicked wooden desk and a small chair more suitable for a child. Laid out on the desk were a ruled notebook and a fountain pen.
“Sit down,” he said.
Katie sat.
“As you know, the Vintage Pleasures Gentleman’s Club is making a special exception in considering your application for membership. In order to protect the confidence of our members, we require written evidence of your like-minded-ness. To be blunt, we require a document that can be used against you in public should you decide to break our rules of utmost secrecy. In other words, the damage to your reputation must equal the damage to ours.”
Katie’s eyes widened. She was hoping the initiation would involve sex, even mild humiliation, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to endanger her professional “reputation.” And yet, the thought made her breath come faster.
“With that in mind, the next step in the application process is for you to write an essay in your own hand describing an erotic scene involving young Luce and her guardian. You will then write a pledge that this is your original work and sign it. Is this amenable to you?”
Katie exhaled quietly. His challenge wasn’t as bad as she feared. And yet, she wouldn’t want such a document to get into the wrong hands. It was a clever choice to secure her silence.
She nodded, then added, “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. You have half an hour. If the essay is not sufficiently explicit or imaginative, your application will be denied.” He placed a pocket watch on the table, then turned and disappeared behind the screen.
Katie stared at the watch, her pulse outpacing the steady ticking of the old timepiece. She had plenty of material gathered from years of turgid fantasy to write a dirty story. But the schoolroom setting brought back another lesson—the teacher’s favorite topic always brought a better grade. Alex had set the stage. All she had to do was dramatize the scene where the frog-faced uncle-in-law forced Luce to write a theme, dressed in a pinafore, before he presented her with her latest trinket. In Katie’s private version, pretty Luce had one more task to perform before she received her final reward: she must let her guardian give her one smack on the buttocks with his riding crop for each mistake, after which she must utter not a word of protest while he mauled her breasts with blue-veined hands and forced his preternaturally vigorous erection into her tender folds.
To Katie’s surprise, the words flowed easily, so easily she blotched the paper with ink several times and had to cross out a few clauses that seemed too trite. Still, she had four pages of pure smut ready when Alex reappeared, his eyebrows lifted in expectation.
He took the theme book, perched himself on the desk, and proceeded to correct it with a red pencil. She thought he seemed to take rather too much pleasure in making marks all over the pages, but when he looked up, he was smiling. “This is excellent work.”
“Do I get to see the naughty room now, Schoolmaster?” she said, giving him a mischievous smile.
“All in good time,” he replied, his reserve unruffled. “First, as you yourself suggest in your essay, it is important that young scholars be held accountable for their mistakes. I’ve counted twelve instances of sloppiness and improper grammar. That’s twelve smacks on your naked buttocks—I don’t have a crop, so I hope a palm will do—after which we will conclude with the final requirement.”
“There’s another one after this?” Katie’s voice came out in a small squeak. The sudden tingling in her ass made it difficult to speak.
“I’ll need several photographs of you for our records. Nude or partially nude—that part doesn’t matter. But it must be clear that you are masturbating.”
Katie brought her hand to her chest, rather like a Victorian miss with overly tightened stays. Erotic writing was one thing, but making her pose for amateur porn might just test her limit. Shocked, she blurted out, “Is that what you make the men do?”
“That information is available only to members, I’m afraid. Of course, if that’s too much for you, we can terminate the proceedings right now.”
Is that what he wanted all along? She met his stern, steady gaze. He would not relax the requirements, she could tell that much, but she also saw a glimmer of warmth in his eyes that heartened her.
He wanted her to pass the test.
And she did, too.
She stood and began to unbutton her blouse. “Would you like me to bend over the desk for my ‘corrections’?”
He couldn’t restrain a smile. “That will do nicely.”
Draping her shirt and bra over the chair, Katie shimmied out of her skirt. She leaned over and rested her elbows on the table. The cool air teased her bare skin; the cuffs of the thigh-highs seemed tighter, like bonds. She tilted up her ass to show she was ready.
Alex cleared his throat. “Count them out together with me.”
His palm met her flesh.
“One.”
Their voices echoed in unison.
&
nbsp; Katie noticed her chest was already mottled with arousal.
“Two.”
As before, his blows were not particularly hard. They seemed rather to remind her of her submission, her depravity, her willingness to strip and offer her flesh to any sensation her master might deal her.
“Three.”
“Alex?”
“Is this too much?” His voice was suddenly soft with concern.
“No. But I…I wonder if you could spank me right on my asshole. I…I like that.”
He made a strange sound in his throat. “Yes, that would make the punishment more effective. Spread your legs wider.”
Four, five, six.
She whimpered.
“Your back is all flushed.” He paused to run his hand along her flank.
She wiggled her ass, puppylike, impatient for more.
The second six fell quickly, a series of sharp slaps on her anus that left her so aroused she could barely babble the numbers.
“Sit on the desk now,” he ordered hoarsely.
She turned and wiggled up onto to the table, her ass smarting deliciously.
He moved in between her legs and kissed her, hard.
“Take the pictures now, please,” she begged, her breath ragged. “I’m so turned on, I’ll masturbate here, on the desk, like a naughty schoolgirl.”
“Fuck the pictures, I want you now.”
“Here? Do you have a condom?”
“I’ve got some in the room,” he said, grabbing her elbow and pulling her down the hall.
The door was half-open. A single green-shaded lamp gave the room a twilight glow.
The first thing she saw was a wide leather sofa. He pushed her back onto it and arranged her legs, one bent against the back, the other splayed over the cushion.
