Chapter One

 

For the first time in months, Joanna and I went for drinks after work. We found our way to a cozy table in the back of Sam's bar, ordered margaritas and nachos, and settled back to enjoy a long awaited evening together.

"God this tastes great!" I said, letting the hot spices from a gooey cheese-covered tortilla linger in my mouth. I looked into Joanna's enormous hazel eyes. "You've been so busy lately, what's been happening?"

"Not much, just work," she replied. "I'm glad you invited me, Kate, I've missed our naughty conversations." She smiled seductively. I seemed to melt into her aura every time I was with her. Her hair was golden brown, cascading to her shoulders in beautiful curls. With the svelte body of a fashion model, she moved with such incredible ease that I was always in awe.

"I've missed those conversations, too, sometimes they're the most exciting thing in my life." I recalled the evenings with a little wine and a lot of fantasy about men and sex. She liked the unusual as much as I did, and we could talk candidly about even our most sacred sexual secrets.

"I can't believe your sex life is that mundane," she replied to me as she looked at me suspiciously down her pert nose.

"No, I mean it. It's been practically non-existent since that horrible relationship with Chris ended a couple of months ago."

"That doesn't sound like you," she laughed pleasantly. "There's always something brewing in your hot little head."

I settled into my second margarita, feeling much more relaxed than I'd been as we'd hurried from the office. The soft glowing light of the bar, along with the fragrant smells of wine and beer, and the more exotic perfume of liqueurs, relaxed us into its welcoming atmosphere. Even the cigarette smoke rising from countless tables like some sexual specter seduced us to a moment of candid revelation. Sam's Bar was like home, a favorite spot for the hour after work when I needed a place to get away-a little reparations before I was ready for the rest of my evening.

"You'd probably laugh if I told you what I've been thinking," I said feeling a little blush start to rise on my cheeks.

"You've told me everything else without my laughing." She looked at me, her eyebrows raised in anticipation, waiting for me to spill my guts-as I usually did.

I sighed heavily, and sank back into the comfort of the brocade wing-backed chair. "The club," I whispered, "I've been thinking about the club."

She looked momentarily startled. "You mean the sex club that everyone was talking about a few months ago?"

"Exactly."

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward, interested. "Has something happened?"

"Oh no!"

"It's just a fantasy?"

"Of course. We decided it was just a rumor, a delicious rumor, but still a rumor." I remembered those few weeks of office gossip about the club, the very private club that catered to the sexual whims of men and the fantasies of women. It had been a stirring several weeks; the women in the office whispered endlessly. There was lots of talk, suggesting a number of the most alluring men in our building were creating unusual rendezvous with women they thought would be interested in "out of the ordinary" sex. But the rumors died away and so did the whispers; it was a little too outrageous for anyone to consider real.

Joanna and I had buzzed with nasty speculations, fascinated by the thought that such a secret society might exist, although neither of us had taken it seriously.

"So, now you're obsessed again?" she guessed correctly.

I was always obsessive about anything that attracted my sexual attentions. She knew that as much as I did.

"Completely," I admitted, feeling my cheeks burn hot again.

She laughed, a warm comforting laugh. "I think you'd better be careful," she said.

"Why?"

"It's a terrific turn on, but it sounds dangerous to me. If there were a club, do you think you could really be part of it?" She eyed me seriously. "I mean we talked about some rather submissive things. What you fantasized could put you in some very risky situations."

"I don't know," I mused, as I downed another gooey chip. "I think any danger would be taken care of. If such a club existed, it would be a safe place to play with sex, don't you think?" All this seemed perfectly plausible even if it were just fantasy.

"I suppose if you trusted the members," she reasoned. There was something strange in her eyes, perhaps her own thoughts of the club stirring again, too.

She looked at her watch and gasped. "Gotta run, I'm late."

"Late?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. I got a call just before we left; I have business to take care of, and it's got to be done before eight."

Her brusque departure seemed strange. I couldn't imagine what she was talking about; but obviously it was important and I didn't think it my place to pry.

Throwing a few bills on the table, she rose, hastily putting on her coat as if she were going to a fire. "Listen, why don't you find some wholesome man and train him the way you want him?" she said with a silly twinkle in her eye.

"Sure," I replied sarcastically, that seemed as unlikely as the club. Leaning down she gave me a peck on the cheek, a tender gesture I adored.

I watched Joanna as she walked through the crowd of men on her way to the door. We knew most of them, or at least had seen them before. There was a time when she would have put on blinders like most women I know, warding off unwanted advances from horny men. But Joanna had changed in the past year. Her small round bottom swished seductively as she moved away, brushing by the men in the bar, breasts making contact, eyes connecting flirtatiously. Her sensuous laughter joined with theirs. I could easily see my friend in bed enjoying the attention of a half dozen men at once. What a compelling power she had over them! I loved what I saw in her and I wanted that kind of confidence for myself.

As I toyed with the remainder of my drink, I brooded over Joanna and sex and men, wishing I'd had more time with my best friend. Between our summer vacations and a string of hurried meetings, I'd hardly spent any time with her in three months. I didn't know what was happening in her life. I suspected there was a man; but it would be like pulling teeth to get her to admit that. She must have some juicy secrets to tell, and we'd have to have another chat soon.

I gathered my purse, paid the bill and walked through the bar. The smoke had finally played havoc with my nostrils and I wanted some fresh air. It had been a beautiful fall day with the sparkling rusty leaves fluttering in the autumn air. At six-thirty, long shadows cast an uncommon light on the evening and the sensuous allure unexpectedly reached inside me in a way I'd not experienced before. Something was opening in me, a desire inside hungering for something new. I could feel stirring in the pit of my stomach a deep ache for that unknown "whatever" to come into my life.

I wondered if the idea of the club was having a magical effect on me; it certainly aroused my body. And what would it mean, what would I want? Was the idea too outrageous to seriously consider?

Walking to my car, I watched the men pass by and wondered about them.

What would excite me? In my fantasies I'm an exhibitionist in revealing clothes; in public places my behavior is indecent. I loved the thought of secret rendezvous and nasty lingerie underneath my proper clothes. Beyond my prim exterior, I have the most submissive thoughts. I imagine myself under the spell of mystery, under the grip of men I hardly know. Were there a club to join like the one we whispered about so naughtily, it would take my deepest dreams and make them real. The only question was how far I'd really go. Did I have the nerve to do the things I imagined? Or was I only kidding myself?

By the time I reached home, my body was alive. I had thoughts so decadent, I was ashamed of myself for thinking such scandalous things.

I undressed before a full-length mirror so I could see myself from head to toe. My long brown hair, wildly framed my face, descending past my shoulders in kinky curls. This was my one statement of nastiness to the rather stuffy business world where I worked.

I removed my blouse and gazed at myself, liking the way the darkness of my hair accented my pale creamy skin. Full hips, generous bust, firm belly and small waist-I recalled one lover telling me I was his voluptuous dream. He liked women with flesh he could fondle and maul-whose bodies are ripe for squeezing.

I felt my breasts, cupping them in my hands, watching the way they looked when I pushed them together. They were large enough to consider a curse at one time in my life, but I was beginning to find them a real treasure the way they made such a charming cleavage, and spilled out of my bra when I set them free-the way they moved with a sexy jiggle when I didn't wear any bra at all. As I massaged them, I practiced seductive looks, my eyes turning smoky and obscure.

My nipples had grown hard, protruding a full inch from the softer flesh, turning a deeper shade of purple the more I pinched the little things between my fingers. I pushed one breast to my face, leaned in and kissed it, licked the surface and ran my tongue along the skin seeking the hard nipple so I could caress it with my wet mouth.

My body burned hot as I stripped my clothes away, and viewed the firm flesh beneath-my long legs, and the sweet sex mound underneath a pair of tiny pink bikinis.

My right hand found its way inside my panties where it roamed along my belly to the wetness of my cunt. As a finger slipped inside the delicate folds of flesh, the other hand pushed down the panties so I could see clearly what I was doing. Kicking the clothes away, I stood naked in front of the mirror. My head was spinning from the liquor, my body insisting on its release, while my mind engaged in a drama inside itself. Some delicious sex-charged man would be standing in front of me, pleasured by every move I made. Perhaps there would be two, or three, or a whole audience of men to perform for.

Fully naked, my hands wandered over my hips and down to the creamy softness of my belly; I was an ardent lover. I could almost feel body heat reflecting back on me. Grazing a palm over my pubic mound, I twirled a finger through the fine dark curls and aimed for the sweet pink bud at the tip of my clitoris. Rubbing it gently, I pressed two fingers to the side of the engorged sliver of skin and began rubbing vigorously, sending sudden shock waves of intense desirous heat though every part of me.

The waves of pleasure rose and fell, so I could hardly stay on my feet. But I was forced to remain where I was, believing that my cum was a theater for the imaginary guests who used my satiation for their own. They demanded I perform, so I rubbed the hot bud harder, pausing occasionally to let the sensations free. I played the sensuous places, feeling a peak of satisfaction begin to build, and then a wonderful rush of energy as I exploded against my fingers, washing my hand in the nectar.

The orgasm swept me silly, my body jerking, clenching, cumming hard and wild. A moaning cry escaped my lips, and then receded as I slowly stroked the spent bud and the sensations died off gently. With each new breath I felt the pleasure, a perfect pleasure, remade every time I masturbated-even though it was never once the same.

Collapsing on my bed, I let the covers caress my skin and the languid moment last as long as the little fires inside still burst their tiny bursts of fire. It didn't surprise me that it was not my last orgasm of the evening.