Club Crème

by Primula Bond

  I put my own sunglasses on and realised why the lights were on so bright. It took a while to adjust to the weirdness of wearing dark lenses indoors.

  ‘Hello, again.’ The two blondes were on either side of me. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, casting about for something to tell them. Instinct told me not to reveal that I worked here. At least not yet. ‘I get around, you know.’

  It seemed the right answer. The two blondes pulled me out into the sitting room. I brushed past the matador’s cape and a sharp, pine scent stung my nostrils.

  ‘Who is that?’ I asked the girl on my left, pointing at him.

  ‘No idea,’ she said shrugging. ‘But Mikhail can throw a good party, can’t he?’

  The two girls giggled and pushed me down into a leather chair which looked as if it should be on the deck of the Titanic. They knelt on the floor on either side of me, fingering my dress, their fingers brushing my legs.

  ‘Mikhail is throwing this party?’ I asked, astonished. ‘Is there no end to his talents?’

  ‘Got your eye on him, then?’ they twittered. ‘He’s quite a catch.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said. I laughed and sipped my punch. The alcohol zoomed straight to my head. ‘He’s just a lifeguard, for goodness sake.’

  The two girls laughed again, and a few people, including the matador, turned to see what the commotion was.

  ‘He’s not a lifeguard,’ one girl shrieked, her Scandinavian accent noticeably slipping into Estuary English. ‘He’s a founder member of this club. And he owns the entire building! He’s the richest man we know, and the most powerful. You want to make friends with Mikhail, you know.’

  I was looking at Mikhail with new eyes, ashamed of what a snob I’d sounded.

  ‘I take it all back,’ I said. ‘He is pretty gorgeous, isn’t he, in a Mr Universe sort of way?’

  The two girls nudged each other, and one of them got up and went over to Mikhail and the matador. She started to whisper in Mikhail’s ear, while the matador’s head swivelled in my direction. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was looking at me or not, but I decided I was going to make him take notice. My brief was to keep an eye on things without looking obvious, so the logical tactic was to get busy chatting up one of the guests. I hadn’t seen him smile yet. I would put a smile on his face. Might even put an erection in his trousers . . .

  I straightened my back, relishing the cool leather of the chair caressing my spine. If I was to keep an eye on the proceedings without standing out like a sore thumb, I might as well join in. I uncrossed my legs and rose up on my high silver heels, ran my tongue across my teeth, took another glug of punch and held my hand out to the blonde girl. I meant for her to help me up from the low chair so I could sashay over to the matador, but before I could stop her she led me towards the dance floor, and the other girl joined us.

  The music was heavy and sexy, and the three of us started gyrating suggestively round the dance floor. The girls obviously knew how to dance. They were moving like lap dancers. We cranked up the rhythm and grinned at each other, aware of how good we looked shimmying up and down each other’s bodies, thrusting our pelvises forwards, beckoning to the other guests, who had crowded round to watch. The matador had sat down in my leather deckchair. He was holding my glass, his face like stone.

  Suddenly, Mikhail leapt in amongst us, his cape swirling. He started doing a Russian Cossack dance, keeping his arms folded in front of him, lowering himself right down to the floor, kicking his legs out, and springing upright again. We all clapped and stamped around him. Everyone’s faces were flushed and hectic, surreally grinning beneath the blind sunglasses. I felt alive and wild and, what was more, I was in the thick of the attention. It was something I was used to avoiding, but the new me relished it and, as a member of staff, surely it was my duty to take part.

  ‘He’s totally different when he’s not running his property empire. He’s so much fun,’ one of the girls shouted in my ear, and I reckoned that she wanted Mikhail. I decided to leave her to it. I would approach the matador and see if I could crack a smile out of him, but then the music suddenly dropped tempo. Now a tango started sliding through the air, and various couples stalked on to the dance floor and took up their positions. I started to back off the dance floor, but Mikhail grabbed me in his arms.

  ‘Did you know this was designed as a human mating dance?’ he cried, spreading his hand just above my buttocks and tipping my groin into his. ‘It was invented in the brothels of South America. I believe the punters used to dance with each other while they were waiting for a whore.’

  ‘That must be why it’s such a rigid dance. Why you hold each other so far apart. But I daresay it turned them on,’ I replied, and he grinned.

  ‘Men on men. Not my thing. Now, redhead on redhead, that would be more like it.’

  His other hand took mine, and held it stiffly out to the side. He knew what he was doing and it was magical. I had tried the tango long ago, when I was in Brazil. I tripped after him for a few steps, then started to follow his lead, flowing round the floor, our heads turned haughtily sideways on our necks. When we changed direction, snapping our heads the other way, I noticed that a lot of the watching guests had melted away to the sides of the room, leaving us to take the floor.

  A thickset man dressed in a silver spacesuit had joined the two girls and started dancing oddly between them, his arms and legs sticking out, straight and stiff like a robot.

  Before I could get a good look at who was dancing with the blondes, the music slowed and the lights went very dim. With the sunglasses on, it was virtually impossible to see anything at all. Mikhail still held me, but now he dropped my arm so that both his hands were cupped round my buttocks, pulling me tightly in against him. The music was totally seductive. I held on to his shoulders loosely, my head spinning.

  He tipped me backwards over his leg, and slid one hand right up the deep slit cut into my dress. At first it was part of the dance, but then his fingers reached my sensitive parts before I even considered stopping him. For once in my life, I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I owned nothing that would fit under this clinging dress. He paused, then brought his other hand up so that all his fingers were fanned out over the tight curls of my pubes.

  ‘What a bonus!’ he shouted. ‘No knickers!’

  I had to grip his shoulders more tightly to avoid falling backwards, so I couldn’t slap his hands away even if I’d wanted to. His breath was hot in my ear.

  ‘This would have been very unprofessional if I’d tried it on downstairs wouldn’t it?’ he chuckled. ‘But up here in Club Crème I can do what I like.’

  ‘They told me you were flamboyant,’ I shot back. ‘So what do you like?’

  My legs were shaking with the effort of staying upright. Barely aware of what I was doing, I slid my feet apart so that my legs opened and some of his fingers slipped automatically round to the tender tops of my thighs. We moved slowly in one more circle, his fingers gripping me there, and then he backed me off the dance floor. I couldn’t see where I was going. I raised the sunglasses off my nose and had time to see that the matador was still there. I was pleased. If I couldn’t get to talk to him, I wanted him to watch me. I just had time to see the two girls with their arms round each other’s waists, bearing down on him. He turned his face to speak to them, and then my hand was smartly slapped and the sunglasses clunked back over my eyes.

  ‘I warned you not to take the glasses off,’ growled Mikhail. ‘Now you suffer the penalty.’

  I started to laugh, but Mikhail wasn’t joking. He spun me round several times, making me dizzy, and I stumbled on my high heels and then toppled onto something soft – a sofa or some cushions – at the side of the enormous room. It was even darker over here. He must have kept the lights low. I had no hope of seeing anyone or anything. All I could do was feel, and I thought I was feeling Mikhail, but he had somehow got to the sofa first. I put my hands out as I landed. He was lying there already a
nd he was half naked. I groped about to suss him out. At least, he had taken his trousers off. He still had his top on. I expected to feel a stiff-fronted shirt, with studs not buttons, like a dinner shirt. But this shirt felt almost as if it was made of plastic. Like body armour, rather than clothing. I moved my hand up to the neck, to feel for the bow tie, but there was a kind of solid collar there instead.

  Someone was changing the music. It was faster again, more heavy rock, but when I struggled to get up off the sofa to see if the lights had been turned up again, I was toppled from behind. Now I was totally confused. I couldn’t tell how many people were on this sofa with me. The man beneath me couldn’t possibly have pushed me from behind. And now there were definitely two pairs of hands. One pair heaved me into position so that I was straddling the hips of the man beneath me, and it must have been the man underneath who was wrinkling my dress up towards my waist, fingers crawling over my bare skin. The other hands were still on my back, keeping me where I was.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Mikhail’s voice tickled my ear as he fought the loud music. ‘Now me and my friend here are going to put you right in your place.’

  I thought I could see shadows flitting around us, some of them bending as if to see what was going on, then flitting off again. The virtual darkness and the heavy music filled my head and, as the fingers inched higher up my dress, circled my waist and came back down again, I tried feebly to knock them away, but they were simply joined by the other fingers probing from behind.

  ‘Just do as Mikhail says,’ a girl’s voice shouted in my ear. I reckoned it was one of the blondes. ‘Everyone else does.’

  I decided to stop the struggle and give in to what I really wanted. Because I wanted the fingers to go on feeling me. Without any real use of my eyes and with my ears deafened, I was in a surreal world now where all my other senses were on red alert.

  And the most alert sense was my sense of touch. Except I didn’t have to do anything. I was the one being touched, and I started to relish the experience. But who was I sitting on top of, if it wasn’t Mikhail? They hadn’t totally removed my dress, and it felt like a second skin as I shifted on the hips of the man beneath me. I thought the sequins would scratch him. He obviously took my shifting about as a sign that I was ready for something because his hands gripped my hips and lifted me right off him.

  ‘Who is it this time?’ I yelled, leaning my head right down towards his face. ‘Perhaps it really is you, Ricky the barman?’

  He must have been incredibly strong because, without answering, I was hoisted up and away. For a moment I was hovering in the blackened air, my weight supported only by his hands, my own fingertips scrabbling for support on his bare torso. Then I felt something jabbing at me. I’d lost count of the number of fingers that were exploring me, probing inside me, over my buttocks, inside my buttocks, separating my pussy lips, exploring some more, but this wasn’t a finger. A little scream bunched up in my throat, but it was a scream of excitement, not fear or surprise. Why was I screaming? I was being groped by two determined men, in the pitch dark and, so far, I hadn’t offered one jot of resistance.

  It wasn’t a finger. It was an incredibly thick, rock-hard penis. I must have been sitting on it or perhaps its owner had brought it to life on his own. I was enjoying the silent permission just to sit here and be slowly and surely touched up and then fucked and, as the filthy thoughts flashed up in neon across the inside of my eyelids, I laughed at myself. My laughter must have made my whole body shake because the hands steadied me for a moment, then started to ease me downwards, forcing my sex lips open to engulf the waiting penis. I tilted forwards a little and the penis slid rapidly inside. I could feel the tiny muscles up and down working to hold it in place.

  ‘Call this a penalty?’ I shrieked triumphantly as I was slowly impaled. ‘I’d love to know what you think is a reward!’

  But it was impossible to hear any reply against the music. I decided to relax, let Mikhail and his henchman do the dirty work. He started to push his penis in further, his movements getting rougher, and that tilted me forwards even further over him so that my hands balanced me on either side of his shoulders. Now my butt was raised higher in the air. My body automatically started its own sensual rhythm, trying to slide up and down the cock, but he didn’t move, and I stopped moving, just feeling the cock standing still and erect inside me. Exercising this kind of control was exhilarating, but I couldn’t stop my body instinctively gripping and nor, it seemed, could he stop his cock jolting every time I squeezed.

  I was holding my breath and, just as I wondered if we were going to sit like this forever, my buttock cheeks were eased apart, tipping me forwards yet again, and the warmth of another torso pressed up against my back. The music was suddenly turned down.

  ‘You don’t mind two men going at you like this, do you?’ It was Mikhail again, his voice difficult to pin down. I recognised the macho scent of his cigar and his ridiculous politeness. ‘You are my guest, after all. You have only to say.’

  ‘Far too late for that,’ I croaked. ‘I broke the rule of the party, didn’t I? And remember, you are actually my guest. You’re all my guests, here at the club.’

  ‘In that case,’ he purred into my ear, his deep voice vibrating through the music, ‘turn the volume up, and let the game really begin.’

  I let myself fall, or rather be pulled, first forwards, and then towards Mikhail, who had his erection wedged up between my cheeks. He was sliding it up and down the warm crack, sliding right under me to reach the tender spot where the other man’s dick was splicing me open, parting my sex lips still further so that as well as having a big dick stuck inside me, Mikhail’s dick was rubbing my clitoris. Someone turned the volume up. I started to rock, wanting to dance in time to the throbbing bass, up and down the pole inside me. The knot of desire which had been tightening behind my navel started to loosen. I wanted to dance, to fling myself wildly about between my two seducers, exercise my new loss of inhibition.

  But both men took hold of me and made me stop dead still. Stopping was as titillating as moving, both mentally and physically, because the rest of me still quivered rebelliously and I knew that the men wouldn’t be able to hold back for long. The man beneath me took my arms and kept me suspended above him and I flung my head back, willing the hovering orgasm to recede. Then Mikhail brought his stiff cock up to my butt and, instead of sweeping it down through the crack, he started to push it towards my buttonhole. I could feel the virginal, never-touched hole tightening like a clam against the impending intrusion but, at the same time, there was an insistent pulse beating just the other side of the delicate barrier separating the two orifices.

  The man beneath me must have felt the new pulsating because his fingers dug into my legs and he started to move his hips. My insides were melting. The other little hole loosened to let Mikhail in. His thick knob pushed in a fraction. I felt myself trying to push him out again. Then the tight muscles slackened to accommodate him, not only to accommodate him but to welcome the alien length of male hardness, so that inch by inch it slid up my backside. I had two thick cocks wedged inside me, impaling me. I was a machine to milk them for all the hot spunky pleasure they had to offer.

  I was the Smithson sandwich. The image was as stark as if it had been projected on to the wall in front of me. I could see my mate Chrissie, wedged up against the brick wall, buffeted between the enormous Smithson brothers.

  Mikhail was deep inside me now. To think I’d thought he was a trifle camp when he was massaging me in the health suite now seemed ridiculous. His thighs propped me up from behind, and he started to rock back and forth, his breath hot on my neck, one big hand fanned out over my stomach to support us both in that position. I let the rocking move me, carefully at first, amazed at how the complicated design of my body could accommodate two cocks at once. I relaxed and it was like I had two entirely new bodies, front and back, both with conflicting zones of exquisite pleasure, heightened by the novelty of this undiscovere
d ability and by not being able to see who was doing this to me.

  I fell first forwards on to the rigid cock inside my cunt, then back on to the one inside my arse and, as I moved off one, the other penetrated me, so that the storm of orgasm gathered at both places, sluicing up both orifices. My mouth was open and I must have been groaning out loud, though nobody could hear me through the deafening music. We were all three rocking frantically, both men ramming their cocks up so that I was burning down on to them at the same time until the man beneath me could hold his spunk back no longer and the tide came spurting out of him, met by my own convulsive orgasm, and then Mikhail, bringing up the rear literally as his spunk rocketed up inside. I heard him yell out loud with his final thrust just as someone turned the music off.

  ‘Bravo, again!’ someone called out, and a leisurely handclap started up all around the room.

  I toppled sideways, still gripping one man inside and still with Mikhail wedged up my backside. We lay in a muddled heap for a moment and the clapping got louder and faster. This time I didn’t care about disobeying instructions. I flung my sunglasses off, blinking against the blinding glare of light.

  The other party guests had gathered round for a good look. Not one of them had sunglasses on. What kind of sucker was I, obeying the rules? This wasn’t like the scene in the club bar where the old guys had buggered off to feed their appetites leaving the four of us, and Rick the silent barman, to discover our own devices. Tonight’s sex session had been a deliberate, planned, public display. I stared round wildly, unable at first to recognise anybody, but standing inches away from where we had all been writhing about, icy eyes wide with her version of delight and wearing the same white trouser suit, was Avril.

  And stretched out beneath me in his spaceman’s top, his thick cock subsiding and beginning to slip out of me, was her burly brother: Mr Hall.