Club Crème

by Primula Bond

  I fell back in my chair and leaned my elbow casually on the back of Johnny’s. I crossed my legs languorously, allowing the white dress to slide up my thighs. Despite the cold weather I had left off the stockings. Easier access, I thought, and giggled to myself as I swung my foot and absently stroked my thigh. A fluttering started up in my stomach. I made a mental note to stroke myself more often. As I watched my own hand, just letting the music rise and fall around me, infiltrating my senses, I realised how clever Sugar had been to make us wear white. In the theatrical gloom we both glimmered like phantoms.

  I glanced down and saw that Johnny’s hand was still resting in his groin. It wasn’t moving, but he was watching my hand as it moved up and down my leg. The other people in the box sat rigidly a few feet away from us, facing forwards. Miss Sugar appeared to be awaiting my first move. I couldn’t do anything too full-on or too obvious given the surroundings, but there was another way of warming the guy up . . .

  My hand paused on my leg, then I let it lift and land on his nearest thigh, where I continued the stroking motion. He shifted slightly in his seat and spread his legs apart, shoving his chair backwards across the floor. I was twisted awkwardly now as I stroked his leg. I slithered off my chair and knelt between his legs. I didn’t dare try to see what Miss Sugar thought of this tactic; nor Johnny, for that matter, in case they tried to stop me. I was on a mission.

  A soprano solo sang her tragic heart out on the stage, accompanied by a growing crescendo of strings. I unzipped young Johnny’s trousers. Still no resistance. I eased my hand inside his flies. The fluttering in my stomach grew stronger as I felt the warm nest of fur and then the long, thick shape nudging into the palm of my hand. I could feel heat pumping out of it as I could feel heat spreading in my own groin.

  How I’d changed in the last few weeks, I thought, as I wrapped my fingers around his sizable cock and felt it jump in my hand. I was greedy for this. The thought of a big hard dick at my disposal, ready to penetrate any part of me I chose or demanded, was like a drug as I pulled his flies wide open.

  Perhaps all this wanton behaviour really had become my speciality, as they were all suggesting. Certainly it knocked any other ideas out of the ring. What had I been thinking, considering leaving this world of opportunity, this parade of upper-class men just gagging for my favours? I realised I had almost come to expect a scenario like this to unfold. I had come to expect untrammelled, uninhibited sex to occur whenever I was within two feet of something red-blooded and wearing trousers.

  In a theatre full of people there was just me, him, Miss Sugar’s eyes watching, and the music providing its own sensuous backing track.

  I bent my head until it was buried between his legs. His hands, relieved of any effort, pulled my hair out of my face so as to clear the way. As always, the touch on my hair turned me on even more. I tried to see the extent of his tackle, but it was too dark. I would have to do all this by feel, but I was good at that. I could smell the manly sweat and the hint of spunk and now his penis was nudging into my face, prodding its blunt end into my cheekbone. I let it rest there, then tipped my face so that the plum end slipped stickily into my mouth.

  Johnny tensed backwards, perhaps with shock at how quickly I had taken control. Remember he’s young, I told myself. Had his wife’s thin lips ever clamped over him like this? If not, he had a lot to learn. I smirked to myself. What role was I playing, now? His schoolmistress?

  I followed the jerking backwards of his body with my mouth so as not to lose track of him. As far as this particular activity was concerned, no one had taught me. This was the first time I’d given head. And yet it, like everything else, was proving to be as natural to me as breathing. They should call me Madame Summers.

  His hands were tangled in my hair. I gripped the tops of his legs and kept the moist tip of his penis firmly in my mouth. I doubted he would want to pull out. His cock was too busy jumping over my tongue, rudely thrusting at the warm wetness. Sure enough he relaxed again. I congratulated myself, tipped myself forwards and opened my jaw wider so as to envelope him more fully. He was engorged now and huge. To stop the size of him gagging me I pushed the thick shaft back a little with my tongue. That closed my lips round his length and I automatically sucked it back into my mouth.

  His penis stiffened and swelled even more as I started to suck on it. Now I could taste, as well as smell, his clean skin mixed with the sweet salt of the droplets edging through the slit. He couldn’t help thrusting against the roof of my mouth. His hands started to guide my head slowly but firmly up and down, and that relieved the pressure of him in my throat. As my mouth slid up and down, I nipped the taut flesh, straining to avoid biting too hard. He pushed in more urgently, spreading his thighs further to get a better angle.

  Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands behind me, pushing my dress up. They wrinkled the flimsy material around my waist, paused, and then started stroking the inside of my thighs. The fluttering in my stomach had long since tightened into an expanding knot of lust.

  It was all I could do not to clamp my jaws down and bite Johnny as something warm and wet replaced the exploring fingers and started licking up the inside of my thigh, flicking from one leg to the other. I stopped tonguing Johnny’s prick for a moment, but he laced his fingers behind my neck to keep me there. My lips nibbled their way right down to the rigid base of his shaft. But the other invisible tongue was licking me again. The invisible mouth was lapping up my leg and, with an expert flick, Miss Sugar’s tongue made contact with the surface of my tender pussy lips.

  My head was spinning with the unexpected pleasure, and my instinct was to close my legs to the tickling touch, but Miss Sugar wouldn’t let me. Instead, she held me firmly in her cool fingers and spread my legs further apart, then brought one hand up to spread everything open. Then her tongue was back again.

  I strained myself greedily towards the mouth and fingers probing at my cunt. She was licking my clit now – right on the button. A woman was licking me out. This was another amazing first for me. Writhing with Mimi that first morning in her house, letting her finger me to climax, had been a sensational taster, but this went several steps further. And Miss Sugar struck me as an expert.

  I wondered vaguely, as the sensations attacked me from all sides and the music on the stage below our box seemed to gather in volume, several voices joining in a frantic chorus, whether Sugar shouldn’t be pleasuring Johnny in some way, rather than caressing and licking me. But then perhaps the sight of her tonguing me from behind would excite him, if he could see what was going on.

  I thought I must be drowning her tongue I was so wet. At the same time I ached to take Johnny’s big cock in there as well, engulf it in my moistness. Take them both in. Take everything in. I wanted to lie back and let Johnny fuck me, let Miss Sugar lick me to madness. As if reading my mind, the firm tip of her tongue twirled more definitely at my clitoris, flicked across it several times and started to encircle it. I started to jerk frantically. I couldn’t help nipping at Johnny’s penis so that he groaned out loud. She might as well have applied an electric probe when she tapped at that tiny bud. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Luckily Johnny withdrew, allowing the tip to play around my lips while he started to massage his balls.

  Meanwhile, Miss Sugar had closed her lips around my clit and was sucking mercilessly so that tiny ripples of fire followed her tongue. The flicking of her tongue was building up the pressure. I started to push myself against her face, trying to open my legs wider to get the full benefit of her wickedly clever mouth and teeth and tongue.

  The music had gone very quiet, the strings shivering as some new tragedy was awaited, or a new death enacted on the stage. I panicked for a moment. What if the lights went up? But perhaps that was Miss Sugar’s problem, not mine. Anyway, the shivering of the strings set the hairs on my neck on end.

  All three of us had paused, but now Miss Sugar dipped her head between my legs to savour my juices once more. Johnny rammed his fat cock back i
nside my mouth. I didn’t want to suck any more, I wanted to fuck, but at the same time I wanted to grind myself into Miss Sugar’s face and capture the mounting ecstasy. She had stopped circling my clit and her tongue was now pushing into my snatch, flicking from side to side.

  Surging towards the edge now, I licked and gobbled on Johnny’s dick. It quivered and strained against the roof of my mouth, and my tongue traced the ropey veins along its thick shaft.

  As I sucked, hot pleasure radiated outwards. Sugar was lapping hard now. One finger, then another, inserted themselves inside me. I was torn between the two conflicting demands: wanting to thrash wildly into her face and wanting to suck Johnny off to a climax he’d remember for weeks. My cunt was filled with her jabbing fingers and the relentless sliding of her tongue.

  It seemed that we were all working at the same pace because, as I was about to abandon Johnny’s pleasure for the sake of my own and started to tilt and buck my hips wildly at Miss Sugar, Johnny’s cock suddenly stiffened, extended for what felt like another couple of inches, and then pumped once, twice, straining and knocking my head back. My mouth slid violently up and down his shaft as he came and hot spunk shot into my throat.

  Down on the stage the principals and chorus held their final notes, and the orchestra worked itself up to its finale, cymbals clashing and every instrument singing as loudly as the conductor would allow.

  I held Johnny tightly inside my mouth until he had shot his load, then wriggled frantically against Miss Sugar’s face as her tongue and her fingers worked me to my final frenzy and my body shook at last with an exquisite, drawn-out climax. As I shuddered to calmness, Miss Sugar licked the cream from me as if she were a cat, and then she patted me on the bottom to tell me to get up, quick, off the floor.

  The audience rustled its approval, and then the applause started. I fell into my seat, gasping for breath as I pulled my virginal dress down over my knees. Johnny zipped up his flies, puffing his boyish fringe out of his eyes and trying to look cool. I reckoned Miss Sugar and I had taken him on to a whole other plane of experience.

  On the other side of Johnny, Miss Sugar was touching the ends of her hair back into place, her white dress and her white features already rearranged into perfect, almost steely composure. The lights went up, but the applause continued, and all three of us raised our heads to rejoin the real world.

  ‘Bravo, Suki,’ said Miss Sugar.

  The row of people in the front of our box was leaning against the balustrade, backs turned to the stage and the auditorium, not even pretending any more. They stared with open admiration and astonishment from one of us to the other, the two women with huge, yearning eyes, fanning themselves with their programmes, the two men clapping our performance with glittering, lustful eyes and frankly drooling mouths.

  ‘As for you, Miss Sugar,’ I said, actually batting my eyelashes. ‘Talk about dark horses.’

  Outside in the chilly street Miss Sugar and I stood close together as the well-dressed crowd surged round us. Our box companions turned out to be wealthy American business associates of Johnny’s. They followed us down the stairs, pressing business cards and mobile phone numbers on to us, even begging us to go with them then and there to their rooms at the Ritz. I was tempted. I was on a roll.

  But Miss Sugar had other plans. She invited our new friends to try out the club tomorrow. Then she wound her arm round my waist and said pointedly, not looking at them but deep into my eyes, ‘Because we’re keeping things intimate tonight, I think.’

  They waved their hands about and nodded, the men clapping Johnny on the back as if he was some kind of hero. Miss Sugar and I stood as still as statues, wrapped around each other, the vestal virgins.

  ‘Whatever we do, I need to do it soon, Sugar,’ I told her under the hubbub. ‘I’m dripping for more. For God’s sake, I haven’t come yet. I’d like to take him home. I’m horny as hell. He’s so young, Sugar. So ripe . . .’

  Once again her filthy laugh was surprising coming out of that fragile face. She pulled me closer, her lips brushing my cheek. ‘You don’t need to convince me what we need to do, Summers. It’s all planned. That was only a taster of things to come.’

  Johnny saw the Americans into their limousine and came back to us. He squared his shoulders slightly nervously and said, ‘So where do I sign?’

  17

  Johnny left Miss Sugar’s attic bedroom, speechless with exhaustion, as dawn broke. We had sucked and seduced every last drop out of him, and out of each other. Miss Sugar and I barely said goodbye to him, we were still so engrossed, but much later we had fallen asleep, tangled in the sweaty sheets on her enormous mattress.

  I drifted off into that wonderful post-orgasmic high, imagining his cock thrusting into me, the scene running past my eyes again and again as if it was on film, his energetic, boyish hips jerking their rhythm for hours, in no hurry to come a second time, delaying his pleasure so that he could keep fucking me while Miss Sugar writhed over my face just in front of him.

  The knocking on the door awoke me. I twisted and turned on the bed, totally confused. Miss Sugar had gone, as had my silvery sandals and my white dress. There was a long white envelope on the pillow next to my head. There was more knocking. Sugar must have forgotten her key. Or this envelope. I grabbed it and stumbled off the mattress, totally naked. I flung the door open, expecting, hoping, it was Sugar, come back for more.

  ‘Good morning, Suki. I’m so glad you’re still here. I’m getting a little tired of your disappearing acts.’

  Mimi stood there, elegant and cool in a chocolate-brown leather miniskirt, high spiky knee boots and a soft cream cashmere jumper. Her skin was warm and brown, her eyes flashing fire as she glanced at my naked form. I wondered if she could tell how bruised my whole body was after the rough sex of last night, delivered by her prim assistant. Mimi’s mouth tilted at the corner as she put a hand on to my bare shoulder and steered me back into the flat.

  ‘Mimi. I thought you were Miss Sugar come back for . . . I mean, I thought you were still at Symes Hall,’ I said as I cast about for something to cover myself. The only thing between my bare skin and the outside world was the envelope, but Mimi wasn’t looking at me. She was peering around the room as if looking for something.

  ‘Which is where you were supposed to be,’ she said. ‘But I think you’ve become a little too comfortable in your new vocation, or perhaps we’ve given you your head a little too much. Not only do you come back to London before we’ve given the word, but you borrow my velvet coat, as well, and nearly cause a disaster.’

  She glanced down at the rumpled bed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said sheepishly. Mimi had a knack of making you feel like a million dollars one minute and no better than a worm the next. ‘I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t risk Chrissie finding out the truth about why I was there. It would be the end of our friendship. Sir Simeon knew I was leaving. But I should have told you and I’m sorry. And about the coat . . . I grabbed the first thing I could find in the office because I needed it for the theatre last night, so I’m sorry for that, too. But we were working, Mimi. After a fashion.’

  I was jibbering. Stop it, I told myself. Anyone would think you were still a novice.

  ‘So I understand. I’m still your boss, Summers, even if I haven’t been around much. In fact, I was in two minds about keeping you on after you did a runner. But then again, I do appreciate why you had to leave that particular party and, luckily for you, I’ve already read Miss Sugar’s report on your performance last night. You’ve earned yourself several gold stars for your . . . assignation with young Johnny Symes. Not bad, considering you planned that to be your last evening as the club’s housekeeper.’

  Mimi came towards me and nodded at the envelope. I looked at it, and saw that my name was typed on it, no doubt by Miss Sugar’s careful fingers. It was full of fifty pound notes. I really was rolling in money now.

  ‘Johnny Symes?’ I croaked, as if he’d jumped out of the envelope. ‘Tha
t big, blond chap was a Symes?’

  ‘A cousin. They come in all shapes and sizes, that family,’ Mimi said airily. ‘Merlin takes after his mother, as you’ll have seen from the portrait at Symes Hall. Little Johnny is from Sir Simeon’s side.’ She shrugged. ‘I must say I didn’t know he existed until this morning. Little chancer. Thought he’d suss out his uncle’s club by using the tradesmen’s entrance, as it were. He pulled the wool over everybody’s eyes, didn’t he?’

  ‘You mean it was all a trick? He’s not got a frigid wife? He’s not married?’

  ‘None of the above. He’s still wet behind the ears. Only just started his first City job this autumn.’

  ‘What did Sir Simeon say?’ I asked, blushing furiously.

  ‘He made some comment about you working your way through his entire family tree, but if Johnny can rope in some of his wealthy clients and colleagues to join the club, so much the better.’

  ‘I didn’t set out to work my way through them. Oh, I’d better get dressed,’ I mumbled hopelessly, casting about for my clothing. But I had gone straight to the theatre from the office last night, leaving everything there. I had nothing, not a stitch, to put on. I sat down. My body and head were pounding and I knew I looked like shit.

  ‘It’s a shame to cover that delectable, bankable body, but yes. You should get dressed. Here. I brought you these,’ Mimi said briskly, handing me yet another shopping bag. ‘I guess you’ll need something to wear out in the street when you go back to that dreadful bed and breakfast, won’t you? That’s if you won’t let us keep you captive here, naked and beautiful, forever?’

  ‘I need to speak to you, Mimi. You said I meant last night to be my last night as your housekeeper. So you’ve obviously heard that I’ve decided to leave.’

  ‘So I understand. But luckily I’ve made a decision of my own which will alter your decision, I’m sure of it. But first things first.’

  She swiped the envelope out of my hand and walked over to a cabinet by the window. I glanced up at her long legs and generous hips walking about in the huge airy bedroom which a few hours earlier had seen me and Miss Sugar climbing all over young Johnny, vying with each other as to who could surprise him the most, shocking him as we took turns in pinning him to the bed and sitting on his swollen prick.