by JR King
“Good evening, my good man.” Tony bowed.
Elena’s full red lips curved into a diminutive smile under my scrutiny. “Good evening, sir.”
“I will escort you both to mistress Sasha’s chambers,” I prompted.
“Thank you,” Tony acknowledged, beguiling British craftsmanship giving him godlike airs. He seemed determined to enjoy the evening.
“You are too kind,” Elena murmured. “If I may be so bold, sir, you look mysteriously handsome.”
Good girl, I thought.
At the door, we were met by Mr. Ethan’s slight old English accent, something one would expect at this type of club. “Good evening, ma’am. Gentlemen.” He was a short, weedy Englishman who illustrated white tie at its finest, Henry Poole no less. “Welcome.” His gloved hands reached for the ornate gold handle, a pronounced click then it whirred, and the tall walnut doors parted on their own.
Greeted by a rush of cool air and a security guard’s smiling face, we stepped into a small lobby area, soft lighting filling the room. The guard—a crossbreed between a Hells Angels member and a WWE wrestler—led us down a short hall, never questioning Elena’s presence or asking for her name, even though he’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a membership ring. In civilian office attire, two beautiful blondes sat behind a semicircle reception counter, working on sleekishly-thin iMacs. Further down there were cozy round tables and boots on an open floor plan, and both members and visitors socialized just as they do in any chic lounge.
“Gentlemen,” one of them began, “is the girl enlisted?”
Tony nodded in greeting. “She is. E. Anderson.”
“Mr. Elliot. Welcome back,” she beamed at him. “We’ve received the wire transfer, a receipt has been sent to your inbox. Please note that you cannot make further introductions.” She moved on to Elena. “Please remember, Ms. Anderson. We do not use given names inside. Our personnel wear recognizable togs, in case you need any assistance.” As if to emphasize her point, a tall brunette with a corseted bustier and bikini shorts stepped up behind her. The receptionist looked at me—at my hands, so as to read the initials on my cufflinks. “Ah, Mr. Turner. A pleasure to have you tonight.”
“I’ll escort them,” I stated. The brunette smiled at me and turned around.
“According to the admission form you filled out online, you’ve opted for a personal safeword, thereby waiving your right to use the Yellow or Red designation, Ms. Anderson. Is that correct?” the second blonde enjoined.
“Yes, ma’am. It is,” Elena told her, oh so softly.
“All personnel have been made aware. Say the four-letter word, and you’ll be escorted to a private car. Counseling is available on demand.” She smiled and stood up. “Everything’s safe, sane, and consensual. Please relax and keep an open mind. Enjoy yourself.”
“Please follow me.” I waved at Elena. “Mistress Sasha resides on the top floor. We can leave at any time,” I reminded her. Despite the low lights, I saw a shiver pass through her. “If you don’t want to safeword, just tell me you want to leave, okay?”
“Okay…handsome.”
“There she is. My sweet little kitten.”
“Jesus, you two make me want to puke my guts out,” Tony sneered. “You’re making me regret using my right.”
Trailing behind us, Elena crooned lowly:
“Regrets, I’ve had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.”
We couldn’t help turning back to look at her.
“I planned each charted course,
Each careful step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.”
Said Tony, “I take back what I said. I like the cut of your jib.”
I picked up two glasses of champagne from a silver tray for Tony and Elena before grabbing one for myself. To make it an authentic guided tour, I narrated the mansion’s history as I led Elena. She discreetly assessed the décor, her hand a little clammy in mine. Late Victorian with a few modern twists here and there, oil paintings complimenting the molded ceilings and the red carpets on the polished oak floorboards. Velvet padded walls, and a lot of the trimmings were gold and red, giving the place a Versailles feel. Combined with the relative lack of lighting, it had a romantic air. Downstairs, the Grand Meeting Hall doubled as a dance floor, two exhibition rooms in the west wing served as affinity-seeking, flirting areas and showcased local artwork, the east wing hosted a dungeon-themed Grand Hall—adjacent private playrooms included, bars were strategically centered in the two exhibitionist lounges, and the gastronomic restaurant was out on the glass-covered patio. Upstairs, there were twenty private rooms. With the latest renovations, designer bathrooms were scattered throughout each level.
“This is impressive, but can I ask you something?”
“Certainly. You needn’t ask if you may ask, though.”
Tony chuckled. “Is she reading Gorean novels or some such shit?”
Friendly laughter ensued. Elena’s eyes never left mine. “I’m wondering, where are all the whips and chains and scary stuff?”
Remembering her reaction to my playroom, I assured her, “Shackles and St. Andrew’s crosses aren’t the primary attraction here. The club caters to a very high-end voyeuristic crowd; people who enjoy watching others have sex. There’s a swinging clique as well, but what attracts people most are the stunning burlesque dancers who are intimate in beautifully choreographed ways. The lounges have partitions where, through windows or mirrors, you can watch the acts you like while getting serviced.”
“What about you two?”
“Voyeurism, swapping, sadomasochism, we like all these things,” Tony interjected.
“Fantastic, could you be anymore subtle?” I hissed, discarding our empty glasses on an end table.
“I like that. Straight to the point, truthful.” She flung herself into his outstretched arms, rested her head against his shoulder. “Truthful,” she reiterated. “Thank you, sir.”
“Is this how it’s going to be?” I willed myself to calm down. Spanking Elena against her would get us blacklisted.
A cat-like smile of contentment grazed Tony’s lips. “He’s a landlubber, hon. Nervous? Scared?”
“I’m happy-nervous,” she told him. “Like happy-tears. I’m not scared, though.”
I pulled her arm so that she turned to me. “Come here. Excited yet?”
On tiptoe, she stretched herself up and slid her lips across mine, nipping and licking at me. Her blue eyes looked like liquid cobalt. “Very much. I’m so excited I almost feel tipsy.”
Not wanting to taste her copiously and lose it right there, I gave her a quick kiss then resumed walking briskly toward a huge, wide staircase that looked like the one in Gone With the Wind. On the top floor, we walked down a fairly long hallway. At its end, Tony buzzed the intercom beside a set of double doors.
“Enter,” crackled a firm female voice.
I turned the door handle and it whirred after a click, once again opening of its own accord. “Ladies first.”
I was the last one to step inside the cavernous studio. Mistress Sasha was a slim, petite woman with olive skin and red hair cascading about her shoulders, strong facial features shimmering in the lights of the room. She was decked out in a full-length dress that showed off her curves nicely. “Let’s have a drink, boys.” It wasn’t a request.
Tony and I walked over to the wet bar to make gimlets while she inspected Elena’s appearance. “Thirsty, pet? A drink?”
“I’d love one, ma’am. Thank you.”
She encircled Elena like a vulture. “Having fun in my playpen?”
“A ball. Don’t you think I have the best escorts tonight, mistress?” Elena demanded brazenly.
“Go-getter, this one. Spunky. Do you think you can survive out there?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?”
Failing to co
ntain a silly laugh, mistress Sasha covered her mouth. “Good addition to my collection. Let’s get you squared away.”
She beckoned me to come closer so we could speak privately. Gave a spiel about once you join her sex club, you never go back. Elena remained adamant. There wasn’t much time to draw out the pleasantries, Elena was sworn to absolute confidentiality and received her welcome present: a membership ring.
There was ominous tension in the air by the time we went back downstairs. It was nothing too stressful or unpleasant, but the gaping vortex was there all the same. Its presence was—undoubtedly—generated by our shared knowledge of what was about to happen. The Grand Meeting Hall was warm, the raggedy vintage burlap lamp shades were left low, the music soft and sensual, underlying the erotic mood perfectly. Orange-bluish flames crackled in several hearths, the shadows cast by the flames dancing back and forth along the gold trim cream walls and reflecting off the sensual Commedia dell’arte paintings. Members sipped at their strong drinks, banishing lingering reserves of uncertainty there might be, while admiring the protected, anonymous ambiance that ensured their desires could flow unhindered. With a solitaire diamond ring glittering on Elena’s right hand, however temporarily, a man with a Falcon mask watched us patiently from the sidelines, silent, perhaps waiting for invitations to our revelry. The thought of him watching me fuck Elena was enough to make me notice my dick was getting hard. I smiled easily at returning, recognizable members, but my mind was locked on images of hardcore fucking.
The weight of the quietness was becoming crushing. “Little one?”
“Holy crap, this is Eyes Wide Shut.” She rubbed her hands together with great slowness and laughed lowly but devilishly. “Nom nom.”
“Aren’t you nervous?”
“No one’s flirting. Not even tonguing to hone skills. Nothing to be nervous about, sir.”
“Specifics aren’t set in stone. This experience is about releasing apprehension and opening up.”
“But people might find out your identity if you get too intimate. Masks slip. More easily during sex, that’s for sure.”
“A handful of us know each other. Know the names and careers. The masks are prerequisite, that’s all. Members remove them in the private rooms upstairs.”
“What about anonymity? Good grief…they might suspect I’m the girl in the picture…yikes.”
“There are famous people all over the place. That man in the corner is running for Senator, that one over there is a hockey player, and that woman right there? Do you recognize her tattoos?”
Her eyes widened slightly as she recognized the award-winning actress. “She’s a Golden Globe and Oscar…she’s—,” Tony pressed a finger to her lips.
“No names, or you’ll be sent off to the gulag,” he reminded her before freeing her lips.
To guarantee utter and complete anonymity the first time we’d set foot in here, Tony and I wore different variations of the Larva mask, an unembellished style that covered the face entirely, depicting only basic features such as the lips and the nose. Within an hour we’d learned that it was pointless to hide. Voices, stances and hand gestures were sickeningly telling.
I smiled, kissed Elena’s forehead. “Nothing leaves this room, babe. No one cares about sensationalism, no one will judge you for being here with me. And more importantly, everyone knows you don’t fuck with mistress Sasha’s confidentiality agreement. Very little gets by her. She has dirt on everyone here, or will find it and make use of it before flogging the skin off your back and feeding you to a passel of starved hogs.”
“A woman of her word. It ain’t pretty. That woman is as much sadomasochistic as she’s a politicized judge. Don’t expect getting your face plastered all over TMZ or Perez Hilton or other malicious, fecal stains.”
“Don’t crap where you eat. Got it. So who’s the hockey player? Bruins?”
“Will you look at that,” Tony chuckled. “We have a puck babe in the house.”
“Bruins, maybe.”
“Is it…is it,” Tony lifted his forefinger at her, “no names, no names, sir. Is it AF or PB?”
“Yarr,” Tony and I muttered almost in tandem.
“It’s neither. I know who it is. I know who it is! Is he considering having sex in this room?” she rambled on, grinning. “Will he or won’t he? What’s the modus operandi? What’s the game?”
Tony shook his head. “Sorry to crush your fantasy, but that won’t happen. Sexual contact outside private rooms and exhibitionist lounges isn’t allowed.”
“What about kissing?”
“You can kiss on the mouth and make out. Men need to keep it in their pants and women need to keep their skirts tucked,” he answered.
“Nip-slips?”
“It isn’t frowned upon,” I replied.
“Excuse me one sec. Need to say hello to a friend.” Tony walked off.
I took Elena to the library upstairs to initiate her wild side. Thick panic surged up from my guts to my throat. Bad move—very bad move, we ended up discussing exes and diapers. Awkward is what it was, and it turned me off. God forbid that Elena should find out about Claudia Edwards. That sensational bit was dangerous like anthrax, better to sweep it under the rug. Whether she’d noticed my excitement deflate considerably or not, I couldn’t say.
Tony’s arrival and Elena’s, “Time to see the dungeon thingy,” saved the day. Claudia was a sensitive topic, an ex-girlfriend I never wanted to discuss with Elena. If she found out…let’s just say she might never marry me.
“Love,” for the first time this evening I saw Tony’s patience wavering, “it isn’t meant to be seen. Either you can relate to it, but if you wanna judge—,”
“She wouldn’t do that, loser. There’s no condemnation in her, just a patent need to satisfy her curiosity.”
“You sure, champ?” He glared at Elena. “I love this guy here. He’s crazy about you like you wouldn’t know. Can’t see straight around you. If you end up breaking his heart over this evening—,”
“Stop.” She shook her head. “Piss or get off the pot, boys. When you two manage to grow a pair, come find me. Buh bye.”
Tony’s hand locked around her wrist. He and I regarded each other in silence for a few seconds. No smiling, no expressions, just a measured acceptance of what we had to do.
“Before we go to the notorious east wing to watch some erotic flogging, pet,” he began, “let’s watch people fuck, shall we? Let’s go to the room that reeks of aroused cock and wet cunts.”
Elena gave an honest-to-God gasp of horror.
“Not so brave anymore, aren’t we?” I rasped. “Don’t you ever tell grown men to grow a pair. Rather know your fucking place.”
“Good call,” Tony laughed, pulling her along. “And here I thought you had totally lost your mojo, champ.”
I glommed on to Elena’s uneasiness, remaining unconvinced about her courage. Good thing that Hamilton was on standby.
Alexander Turner
The Sex Club—Part Two
Ever wonder how it would be to watch live couples have sex? You have, haven’t you? Naughty, naughty! Here’s your entry into the world of voyeurism, unrestricted ingress and all.
My mind reeled as we entered the exhibitionist lounge. Basically a bar and dance floor with a twist, this was the intimate area the regulars frequented the most. Simple décor: Tiffany lamps littered the expanse like flotsam and jetsam; tables for two and up until five were arranged in the middle; and sofas, armchairs, ottomans, and chaises were advantageously positioned alongside the walls. Heavy red velvet curtains draped from the ceiling, and the walls had red and gold silk coverings. On my every visit, most of the night I’d stayed in this room, biding my time at the bar.
I wish I could name names…
The atmosphere crackled with excitement and possibility. I glanced at Elena and wondered how, beneath the mask, this sweet girl was coping with it all. Her nervousness barely perceptible, she was trying not to look at two women making love on
a low table.
“It smells so warm and flowery in here,” she observed, wrapping both hands around my upper arm as we walked toward the bar.
“Enhanced air is being pumped into the ventilation system to boost sexual appetite,” I divulged. “But if I remember correctly, within two hours or so the smell of fucking will overpower it.”
It was early, a few patrons sat at the bar, speaking in small voices while watching a woman and a man strip in the center of the room. He pulled her bra over her head and used it to trap her arms so people could salivate at the sight of glinting jewels in her nipple rings. Elena watched the pair and then looked away with darting, rodent-like eyes when I caught her staring. Her nervous gesture, where she feigned tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, was a rare one. I could imagine her blushing behind the mask.
“It’s okay to stare in here, pet,” I reminded her, my voice low, “that’s what they desire, they get off on it. Whenever things get really interesting, you’ll see that no one will be able to look away. Some will even masturbate to it.”
“Interesting how?”
“Hardcore fucking. When he starts pounding her ass or invites a willing spectator to bring about double penetration.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That’s…insane.”
“That’s delicious,” Tony murmured against her ear, “very delicious.” Elena stayed tight-lipped, and gave him a headshake dipped in a playful shade of self-revulsion. Ever so faintly, she continued turning her head from side to side. He gripped her face, framed it between his palms, and moved her head left and right, shaking it for her with enthusiasm instead of revulsion. “Our pet does protest too much.”
She jolted to worm out from his grip. “How would you know about penetration? Do you happen to have an excavation-proof vagina?”
“Don’t be such a killjoy. I vouched for you, haven’t I?”
“So? Don’t expect me to kiss your smelly feet, Tony. Or the itchy, red, bad-smelling muscle between your legs.”
