by JR King
And you know what?
It felt great.
The real difficulty hit me when, later that night, we discussed private clubs. She and I had just finished watching the movie Baise-moi. Although she’d mentioned she’d seen Irréversible and The Bandit Queen—movies that fictionalized rape and explored its sensationalism with insufficient semiotic meaning, I was skeptic.
Even as she quipped, Elena looked disconsolate. “It was interesting.”
“You okay, babe?” I tried, my worry perfectly disguised by nonchalance.
“Rape takes away a different thing depending on the person. Mine wasn’t terribly traumatic because it wasn’t violent.” She stopped pacing and looked out through the window. The evening vista made the city even gloomier, a late-evening drizzle falling on the Charles River. “So, for me it was the sheer shock of the physical act and the depersonalization. Feeling the flat muscles of his furred thighs against mine was nauseating.” She rotated and smiled determinedly at me, but I could detect a deep sadness in her eyes. “Does the topic make you uncomfortable? Does it bother you that I wanted to watch the movie to examine sex and the traumatic experiences people take from it?”
I greeted the bald-faced questions with a laconic smile. “It worries me that I might hurt you. I love hearing you giggle excitedly while watching a Marvel movie or beg me to fuck you while watching porn with me. This feels like inflicting mental pain.”
“From what I gather, you do enjoy inflicting physical pain a lot. Why?”
And a Merry Christmas to me!
I regarded her coldly. “This might surprise you; I enjoyed tying up girls and erotically spanking them as a teenager, sexual practices I was reading about at the time. When my mother…after her death, I was so angry at the world, I needed more to suffocate the voices in my head. I took to S&M like fat people take to fast-food.”
My answer satisfied her curiosity. The movie’s erotic content led to a discussion about TV nudity and sexually explicit scenes, censorship in the US, and the difference between stripping and burlesque performances. Within the yawning, uniform expanse of domesticity, who doesn’t dream of seeing Dita von Teese wearing nothing but an enticing little outfit on a burlesque stage? Who on earth could turn down nearly nude girls shaking it to an interesting combination of neo-burlesque moves and dancing to sensual numbers? What type of guy turns down plenty of toplessness?
Me, it appears.
I wasn’t being hypocritical. I was trying to be exemplary. Big difference.
“Do you usually go to the Venus Moon?”
“What?” I asked this with my best naively confused look.
“I said, do you usually go to the Venus Moon?”
Sited in the Theater District, Boston’s Venus Moon boasted a distinctive burlesque aesthetic, a temple of sublime femininity where classically trained dancers performed sensuous and creative choreographies.
I nodded, astonished. “You’ve heard of it. It’s quite secretive.”
“Everyone’s heard of it. Dita von Teese and Carmen Electra are regulars, and Madonna was there last month. They say the owner also owns an exclusive branch that caters to…kinky people. We should book a table.”
Book a table? Whereas simple mortal men did such things, I raised the bar considerably. I had a table waiting at any given time.
Trying to change the subject, I asked, “Why this interest in burlesque clubs?”
“Curious.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t change the topic.”
The boulder had been tipped from the edge of the precipice, teetering, unwilling to surrender to gravity, but accelerated by forces beyond anyone’s control, it careened downward. “Sasha Warren also owns Palazzo Flagrante.”
“Can we like,” she actually licked her lips, “go see it?”
Felt like a hypochondriac tendency was raising its ugly head. I cleared my throat and met her eyes. “Palazzo Flagrante is a sex club, Elena. I won’t vouch for you. Don’t count on it.”
I waited for her to yell hypocrite or megalomaniac bastard, but nothing hateful was said. She flipped the glow inside the elliptical hardback shade on her nightstand off and mumbled, “Good night, Alex.”
I switched the lamp back on, and yelled like a madman. “We’re not done here! Over my dead body!” Way to be calm, Alexander.
“I don’t just want to go to a sex club. I want to go with you, because it could be interesting to see. Because you make me feel good. It’s hard to explain. No biggie if you don’t want to take me. What an obscene idea.” She paused, sighed. “Can I sleep now?”
The awareness made my hard cock throb unrepentantly. “No, baby girl. It ain’t obscene. I can’t vouch for you because members only get to introduce one person. I’ve used that privilege.”
“Oh. Crowd control. Was she…an ex?” She scraped her fingernails along the length of my pulsing dick, as if preparing to squeeze the hunk of manflesh to death. That it was an all hands on deck situation is a vast understatement, I mean, I nearly wanted to scream in fright. But, as a dominant, I was too tough for that.
I swallowed. “Not a girl. Remember when Michael dragged you backstage?”
“He did that in exchange for this?” she snapped. Thankfully, she let go of the most cherished part of my body.
“That, plus he made me promise to make you happy. Gentleman’s agreement.”
“Fuck him. Fuck you. Fuck you both! I’m going to kill him!”
Hell, let Michael deal with the imminent tsunami, I’d do anything to be in her good graces. “I know Michael has already exercised his special right.” I started batting my eyelashes Tweety Bird-like at her. “Tony hasn’t, though.” I pressed my mouth to hers, invading it with my tongue. Soft and warm and moist. She tasted like honey. Gently breaking the kiss, one hand held the side of her neck while the other slid into her hair, holding her face firmly up to mine. “Want me to call in a favor, kitten?”
*
I sent for Elena the very moment Tony left my office. Over a take-out lunch consisting of pork wontons, lobster dumplings, Sichuan chicken lo mein and stir-fried shrimp with Chinese cabbage, I relaxed and broke the news to her. She listened carefully as I laid down the rules. The luxury of a large private bathroom allowed us to brush our teeth side by side. Elena seemed in no hurry to get back to work, so we ended up looking at his and hers masks online. All shopped out, I sat down behind my desk. Meredith dialed the IP address of the videoconference, relaying it to my screen.
Settling into my chair, I looked up and saw Elena was staring at me. “I won’t be long. I need to take this, little darling.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she offered, her voice sultry enough to prevent me from fully focusing on the job. “I’m just hunky-dory. I like watching you.” She licked her lips in an excruciatingly slow manner, her hands moving suggestively over them.
I deactivated the camera and muted the microphone. “I’ll cut it short. Extra short. Could you behave for fifteen minutes? Or is it too much to ask for you to do this?”
“Where would be the fun in behaving? I thought you liked punishing girls.”
“I also like conducting good business. Fifteen minutes. Work the Auction House. That’s an order.” Considering Meredith had planned for the meeting to take close to forty minutes, this was a nonnegotiable gift.
She hopped up on my desk, leaned back with her arms straight out behind her, and let her feet dangle. “I don’t want to play with gold. Can I play with your cock while you’re playing with money, sir?”
I drew my chair toward her so that she was sitting between my legs, and firmly gripped her waist. Her skin was fragrant, her ribcage so narrow that I could almost encircle her waist with my hands. Against my will, my dick hardened. Her fragileness turned me on almost as much as her beauty.
“Do something.” Her hands reached out to grab my neck, and her sharp nails dug into my skin.
“It’s a little early to do breath play, don’t you think?”
She flinched, released
my neck. As she stared at me with those thickly lashed eyes of hers, they were glued on me with dreaded anticipation. She feared what I was capable of. “Have you…like…strangled a girl?”
“Hmm, if I strangled her, she’d be dead, wouldn’t she?” She nodded. “I did it to you in the shower a few months ago, and you came.”
“I could still breathe!”
“I believe because I allowed it.”
On the computer screen, Japanese participants and American bean counters were—I hazarded a guess—actively discussing something business-related. Since they knew I was listening in and Meredith addressed the crowd in basic Japanese, I swiveled my chair and pointed my forefinger to the floor. “Get on your knees.” I went on to open my fly.
Lowering gracefully to her knees on the left side of my desk, she moved into place, her body shifting back until she was sitting on her heels like a tamed pet. I watched with heavy-lidded eyes as her tongue darted out and licked at the tip of my penis. She made a cute noise of pleasure and reached lower to cup my balls. I’d come to understand that she gave me head because she loved watching me unravel while she controlled me.
When Elena took me in, “Jesus,” I hissed, my fingers curling about the armrests as her fingers dug into my trousered thighs. I watched her lush pink lips stretch around my thick shaft, seeing her eyes grow dark with desire. As painfully wonderful as it felt, what made it so damn hot was the knowledge that she loved pleasing me voluntarily. Through the delicious little sucking noises, I registered Meredith asking whether I was going to activate my feed.
Elena giggled, the vibration reverberating through me. Tilting her head, she ran her tongue down the pulsing length, following the lines of the thick veins before pulling back. “Someone’s in trouble. I would listen to her, Meredith scares the shit outta me.”
My hands fisted in her hair. “Suck me slowly. Make it last as long as possible. No low moans of pleasure, no wet suckling, no popping erotic sounds. Understood, my pet?”
She gave me a slow, tiny nod.
I straightened myself and my right hand rushed to unmute the microphone and turn on the cam. One second, and the creepy little green light popped on next to the camera on the monitor.
“Excuse the delay, everyone,” I answered curtly. “Meredith, thank you for implementing a model targeted at taking the team swiftly through different stages of client collaboration,” I began, my voice a little hoarse. “Apologies, I had to deal with something urgent waiting on my desk. Before we take a look at the revised deck, let me say it’ll be my pleasure to land in Tokyo for the finalization. I’d love nothing more than to come.”
Elena giggled again, noiselessly though.
Takahashi’s employees graciously smiled, and the team manager professed his gratitude for my friendly offer.
It was call-and-echo reflex, with the Japanese presenting a smart solution for their benefit, and Americans offering a suitable counterpart. I came up with clever answers, uttering them in place of encouragements. God, that’s good. Suck my dick like that. Ah…yes, hard and deep. Try this at least once, I promise it’s good fun. If you must know, I often worked on major business projects with a hard-on. Constant blood flow brought about awesome power and creativity, a fresh vision, strict project management, great organization, competitive behavior, and creative destruction. It was hardly the first time a girl had given me head during a videoconference, but it was certainly the longest and most memorable one. Whenever I had to voice my opinion, Elena swirled her tongue around my glans, lingeringly fluttering the tip beneath the crown.
Nearly thirty minutes later, my back arched, thighs trembling wildly. I deserved a fucking medal for holding myself in check. “I’m very, very excited about these global changes and aspirations,” I said, focusing on the flickering indicator light for the built-in camera. I explained that Meredith was going to close because I…who cares what excuse I gave them? I lied—full stop.
“How’s this, sir?” Gentle little fingertips massaged my balls, making my eyes roll into the back of my head. “They’re very heavy. So full.” Elena’s cheeks hollowed on the next pull, her mouth sucking in counter-tempo to her fist pumping at the base.
“No more,” I growled, pulling her hair to lift her head from my lap. I caught her wrists and urged her up. “I need your cunt. I want to spill every drop deep inside you.” Facing me, she settled astride my lap. She was unbelievably hot and soaking wet, all that just from sucking my cock. “Jesus…how long have you been this wet?”
Quite possibly, Elena could drive me to an early grave.
On a personal note, stop rooting for that to happen!
Alexander Turner
The Sex Club—Part One
Allow me to take you by the hand and walk you through the door that separates your mundane world and a ridiculously extraordinary universe. An evening out in a sophisticated sex club. Perhaps it’s one of those things you’ve scarcely tolerated yourself to dream of, no? A little info here, the east wing of the estate was dedicated to dungeon practices, and I suspect it’s nothing like you’ve ever expected. I’ll endeavor walking you tenderly through it, dear reader.
Palazzo Flagrante was a fancy dress club that opened its doors once a month. Before attendance, members were supposed to cast off their inhibitions within domestic environments. To appeal to our alter egos, we had to summon our dark side by using the prevailing tool of fashionable raiment. Tuxedos for men and evening gowns for women were an absolute requirement, and not the rented or price-reduced kind. If you couldn’t afford this outright, you couldn’t pay the admission and yearly fee either.
Tony had already picked up Elena to go over the rules and fill in the admission form. Clad in a Richard Anderson dinner jacket, I arrived with a few minutes to spare. I stood out the front of the renovated colonial mansion, looking up at the façade of the three-story building. Its matte white paint made it standout largely among the nearby trees. Across the courtyard was a huge architectural garden with two-way lanes for quiet walks. Outside the gate, various maple trees lined the street level on either side. To keep up with the Tory Row charm, renovated buildings in close vicinity were now being used as residences. In other words, it was a typical residential city street.
Originally, the building was a residence, inherited by the founder, mistress Cordelia, when her father died. Widowed and bankrupt, after living penuriously on the premises a few years, she found a couple of powerful backers. A full renovation and improvement work began in the 1960s and were carried out in two years. Completed, freshly decorated and contemporized, a year later she opened her doors to entertain a selective crowd. Guests were in for an effervescent treat; mistress Cordelia had been training burlesque dancers, and immortalized the dazzling gala evening. One thing led to another, guests wanted to come back for another Gatsbyesque party, going as far as wanting to pay her.
Mistress Cordelia dedicated the next soirée to the Carnival of Venice. Symbolic, with the practical function of allowing guests to mingle and flirt without fear of recognition or retribution. The Arlecchino, Brighella, Capitano, Farfallina, Nasone, Pantalone, Pulcinella, Scaramuccia, Gnaga, Civetta, Ruffiana, Moretta, Pierrot, Gatto, Burattino, Satiro, and Trifaccia designs worn that evening were praiseworthy enough to earn a permanent hanging spot in the main hallway.
Desire and daring entered the scene, and slowly it became an essential element for the city’s powerful crowd, resulting in what we have today. Don’t forget that sex sells big. About ten years ago, the prodigal daughter—mistress Sasha—took over the reins of the establishment, catering to clients of the highest caliber. More than fifty years after its creation, the club continued to reinvent itself on the inexhaustible subject of erotic desires and fetishes.
Tony’s stretch pulled up at 9 PM. Here, of all places, Venetian masks were de rigueur every time. To maintain a certain ambiance, camouflage masks modeled on Technicolor comic strip characters and all that jazz weren’t allowed. Phantom mock-ups, styled on Venetian
masks but also influenced by The Phantom of the Opera were allowed, as were Sun and Moon masks. The latter was a great selection for couples that wanted a coordinated disguise instead of wearing single masks. The Tragicomica combination, Comedy and Tragedy was another great selection.
You wanna laugh, go ahead; Elena and I had decided to forgo singolo-style masks. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Lovesick puppies, whatever you wish to call us. The Columbine mask was a half-face, very embellished with intricate details and gems and feathers. It wasn’t gender specific, it could either be masculine or feminine in decoration and use. This style had been derived from the Commedia dell’arte, more specifically, the romance between Harlequin and Columbine.
Elena wore the Colombina version and, I, the Colombino. Tony wore the same as me. Wearing this style came natural to us for it facilitated consumption without having to make extra maneuvers. As you know, he hosted an annual Masquerade Ball, but by and large, we had a favorite style because we regularly paid Palazzo Flagrante a visit. Just to run into famous friends we knew, talk shop, flirt with emotionally intelligent women, and spend obscene amounts of money at the bar.
From within a whirlpool of dread and flaming excitement, I watched Tony upbraid Elena for her silliness. His chest expanding notably beneath his Kilgour dinner jacket, I could see he was trying to be gentle. Exceptional manners in place, they approached.
Are we really going to do this?
My stomach felt like it was getting squashed by a herd of elephants. I buried my hands deep into my pockets so their visible trembling wouldn’t betray me. Romantically falling for another girl wasn’t the problem here, Elena and I were destined to love, fated to prevail. I regret telling you this, or rather, I regret implying this, but physically desiring another girl was easily curable. What wasn’t curable is my desire to break a guy’s neck if he dared touching Elena. I had no problem with men looking at her. A real man is proud of his girl no matter what, and enjoys showing her off. Let ‘em look and lust, that’s where the love story ends for them.
