“What’s so heavy on your mind this afternoon, Quinn?” Jonathon asks, handing me a fresh Bourbon.
“I was wondering if you just let men into the Club, without their wives, and vice versa of course.”
“Are you considering joining us?”
I cough and choke a bit, “I might be.”
“The answer is no. A man or woman can start their training before their spouse, but we only accept partners. The only case we have is Bonnie. Remember her?”
I nod.
“Her husband passed away a few years ago, but she stayed with us. Do you not think your wife would join? I know you mentioned she’s quite religious.”
“I don’t think her religion bears the weight alone; she’s all hung up on ‘the way things should be done.’”
Jonathon laughs, “And who came up with the rules for all these things? I mean who decides what to banish? I’m guessing it isn’t her.”
With a nod, “Stuff her Momma told her, old Southern traditions, you name it. I’m not even really sure how we gather all the crap in our heads, but she got a double dose of guilt. I swear the woman feels guilty if a bug dies on the windshield.”
“Oooh, those are hard to break. Don’t get me wrong, we can get through it.
“Speaking of women, unless we want to get tied to a chair, we better get on with the meeting. Ellen will have our hides. I appreciate you talking with me about it though, and I am trying the idea of the Club on for size.”
“That reminds me, she told me to give you this.” He places a tiny memory card on the table between us. As for the other, let me know when you decide. We’d love to have you and your wife join us. It sounds like we can help. As a matter of fact, since you’re thinking it over, let me tell you about how my training started.”
And he does.
Elise
Jonathon heard the rap on the front door of his downtown condominium at exactly nine. Checking the clock on the mantel, he was aware that Hawthorne was exactly on time this evening. For the past two hours Jonathon had wrung his hands nervously, his palms were now red from the friction. He’d tried to eat but his throat was dry as a bone. Nothing would go down except the Irish whiskey his father had sent him this afternoon. Jonathon’s secretary brought it into his office complete with a crystal highball glass bearing the crest of The Sand Dunes Club. The kind woman had poured Jonathon’s glass and set it in front of his face, staring at him until she saw it drain down his throat. Possibly she knew of his plight today. She had worked in her father’s office for the past thirty years. It was entirely possible that she knew everything.
Jonathon sat his glass down and grabbed his jacket. Opening the door, he greeted Robbie Hawthorne who was unceremoniously dressed in a black suit, “Armani?” Jonathon posed as his initial greeting.
Hawthorne nodded plainly. Well you can’t blame a man for wanting to look good. Suddenly he felt drab and average. Maybe he’d head to Berlin’s tomorrow for some new duds? He had the urge to fix himself up a bit. He closed the door, locked it, and walked in stride behind Robbie down the hallway. The car was waiting in the drive in front of Jonathon’s high rise condominium building near the Charleston Market. The condo had been a concession for him. He’d preferred a small home West of the Ashley that his realtor had shown him, but his parents insisted that he reside downtown, close to them, close to the office. It’d ended up being too much of a negotiation of his time, so his parents finished it by buying the condo lock, stock and barrel as his graduation gift. Who wouldn’t take a free downtown condo? Come on, everyone would.
Hawthorne guided the black limousine through the narrow streets silently. Jonathon had thought of a million questions he would have liked to ask him, but Robbie had closed the glass window between them. Instead, he sat in the back seat and twiddled his thumbs anxiously for the short ride.
The car pulled to a stop in front of the home of Elise and Alan Reynolds. Hawthorne nodded, glancing in the rear view mirror as if to say, this is as far as I go. Now get out. Jonathon hadn’t gotten a warm fuzzy from Hawthorne since Ellen’s Garden Party the day of the funeral. He shrugged, maybe the ‘Samurai,’ which is what Robbie was nicknamed on the Wofford football team, had a crush on sweet Ellen too? It probably wasn’t proper to be considering Ellen moments before her sister tied him to a pole, but nonetheless she was always on his mind.
Alan Reynolds led Jonathon into his private study on the first floor of their palatial home on State Street, and handed him bourbon in a tall glass. The home didn’t seem large from the street, but once inside, one could see that it stretched the entire city block in one narrow shot. It made his condo seem like a closet and the décor was right on.
“Any questions?” Alan asked as he leaned casually against an Eighteenth century armoire.
“Well yeah, I do actually,” Jonathon began. “What do you think about me fucking your wife, because I don’t want any bad feelings?”
Alan choked on a throat full of bourbon and a visible flinch was apparent. He cleared his throat but remained casual, “Look man, my job as her husband is to provide for her and the children, to protect her from danger, and of course to love and respect her. The woman’s got talent I tell you; it’s a gift. This is the way I see it, if I had a million dollars and I only needed half. Wouldn’t it be cool to share that with my friends? Just fucking give it to them without another thought. That way we could all be rich.”
Jonathon sat in silence trying to rationalize the Democratic information, “So you see this as charity, thus justified?”
Alan slammed back the rest of his bourbon and shrugged, “I swear it’s cool with me man.”
Maybe Christina Devereux was a true visionary of her time. Talk about fucking magic! Find a way to make a man justify his wife cheating on him! Fucking magic.
Elise stepped quietly into the room; she was leaning against the door jamb listening to the conversation and now interrupted. “Boys, can we get this show on the road?”
Alan and Jonathon looked up in awe at the very sound of her voice. Alan scanned her from head to toe as if he was checking her appearance before she had sex another man. Fucking magic! At the moment she was discreet, only black fishnet stockings and black heels beneath her long white bathrobe belied her true intent this evening.
“Jonathon, if you will, please go with my gorgeous bride and do as she tells you.” Alan waved our dismissal like the Prince of Wales and headed refill his glass.
Elise led the way up three flights of stairs. Jonathon’s legs shook as he climbed behind her slender form. Exercise hadn’t been on his agenda lately and unused muscles were already screaming by the time they reached the fourth floor landing. Elise slipped a key into the single door and sound the click of the lock shattered his weak nerves. But this was no ordinary downtown attic; candles were burning in antique silver candelabra’s all over the room, the likes of which could make Liberace himself drool.
“Jonathon, my dear, would you please remove your clothing?”
Jonathon hesitated as her robe slipped to the floor. In all ways, her body was identical to Ellen’s; it was a supernatural occurrence and he wondered if the resemblance was lost to them. He’d seen twins that didn’t look that similar. The single difference between these women was their hair color and eye color. Other than that, they were mirror images. Instinct took over and his OCD tendencies went out the window as his clothes fell into a heap at his feet. Her black corset was leather, and he could smell the soft cowhide next to him. Her legs were covered in fishnet, and her breasts held her nipples high above the corset and gave her the distinct impression of a woman out to teach a lesson. She didn’t bother wearing a mask; he knew who she was. And her beautiful face only intensified his hardness. Jonathon gazed in awe at the spot between her legs; she was free of clothing there, with garters straining down her thighs on either side of shaven bareness. Jonathon had never seen a shaved woman before, and he couldn’t remove his eyes from her. As Elise stepped under his chin, tilt
ing her head upwards to look in his eyes, Jonathon Galloway knew he was a goner.
“Sit here on the table for a minute, Jonathon, I have to ask you a few questions.” She sidled between his thighs as he hopped backwards onto the table.
“Yes, yes, I do,” He burst.
Elise laughed, “What is it that you do, dear?”
Confused but without the available blood supply to blush, Jonathon peered into her eyes for an answer.
She shook her silken mane like a prancing filly and he didn’t fail to notice that the height of the table was set just so that her sweet place was rubbing against his inner thigh. In his experience, happy accidents didn’t happen. “No, I’d like to know what you’re intentions are with my sister?” she clarified.
Well, now that was direct and to the point. He was beginning to think that she and Ellen were cut from the same apple. Tightness in his throat almost made his voice choke, “I’d like to marry her.”
Her hand went to his throat angrily, “And what the hell makes you think you’re anywhere near good enough for my sister you prick?”
This wasn’t going anywhere, flight instinct consumed him and his eyes darted for the exit. “I’m not.”
“So you think you’re here to win my graces and ask to marry my sister?” Her long red fingernails pierced his throat.
Call it testosterone or stupidity, but he met her eyes, “I’d like to think I can persuade you.”
She laughed boisterously, but her hands ran into his hair and scalp, “My darling, there is absolutely nothing you could possibly do to impress me. Trust me on that. But I’m not the one here that needs to be impressed, now am I?” Her words sounded like jumbled garble in his ears, until the spike of her heel lifted to the table and made contact with tiny hairs on his balls. She’d barely missed castrating him altogether and he lost his breath.
Jonathon gasped, clearly reprimanded. She moved close to his ear wickedly, sending shivers up his spine. He shook his head before the foot slipped another millimeter.
“Jonathon, do you consent?” she whispered, he felt her perfumed breath on every inch of his body; her scent, gardenia, encapsulated him.
He stuttered, “Yyyes.”
Her tone was sharp, “Yes what?”
Confused, Jonathon didn’t know how to answer her. He tried, “Yes ma’am?”
She smiled and pushed him backwards; the pain of the cold steel against his skin was almost too much to bear. When he tried to lay back as slow as possible onto the freezing metal table, she rammed his chest with a strong arm, forcing him to take the cold sensation. His mind raced back to his college fraternity initiation where he had jumped into the Boston Harbor in mid January in order to prove his worth. He absorbed the pain of the cold now, knowing he’d been in worse.
With the speed of lightening, Elise had secured his hands, police fashion, above his head to the metal table. She bent over his face allowing her generous fuchsia nipples to touch his cheek. Veins in his penis flooded with blood. He could feel each vein rippling as it filled. Even the hairs on his chest stood at attention. He imagined them growing instantly, Rapunzel like, grabbing her on their own, pulling her into him.
Moving towards his feet, Elise attached each ankle to the stirrups. Fear told him that he was completely under her control. His cock told him that he wanted whatever she had to dish out.
“STOP moving!” Elise slapped his bouncing cock with the force of her palm. “If you move so much as an inch, I will chain your waist to the table. Do I make myself clear, Jonathon?” Her voice was stern, like his third grade teacher who’d excited him when she’d threatened to paddle him.
“Yes ma’am.” Jonathon’s voice was shaking, his lips chattered as if he’d spent the day in the swimming pool. He felt like a child in the care of an adult who wasn’t particularly fond of him. His cock stung from her slap.
“Jonathon, I want you to remain firmly glued to this table. If you move you will be further constrained. If you say anything at all you will be silenced with a gag. You need to learn to control your urges. If you can’t, I will control them for you. Am I clear?” He didn’t doubt that the impending punishment would be severe.
He nodded his understanding; he couldn’t have spoken a clear sentence anyway. Elise turned her attention to his balls, blowing warm air on them to keep them supple. Standing above him she moved to his waist. She reached into a drawer hidden under the eaves of the table and removed several small items. His eyes struggled against the candlelight to see what was in her hands, though his rational mind was racing for possibilities.
Elise attached sharp clamps of some kind to his earlobes. He couldn’t see them, but was already sure they could cause some real irritation. Her nipples again brushed his face, far too close to his lips this time; his tongue sprang to life without permission.
The slap came without warning against his cheek, branding his face with a sudden fire. “Shit!” he yelled. Ironically, he’d received a slap much like that from his mother once, when he’d stuck his tongue out at Ellen in church one Sunday. It occurred to him meekly that maybe it was time he watched his behavior, especially in the presence of the Devereux ladies.
Elise looked at him in disgust. She reached back into the drawer and removed a gag. It was a nylon piece of pantyhose with a rubber ball in its midst. She shoved it in his mouth and wrapped the pantyhose length around his head. “Hold your head up!”
Jonathon lifted his head from the table and allowed her to tie the hose behind his head. The knot yanked small hairs as she tied and his eyes watered slightly. With the knot on the back of his head, he realized that there was no way to lay his head flat on the table; it was as though another ball was on the back of his head. He struggled to turn his head sideways to lessen the discomfort. Now he was face to face with Elise’s pink pussy. He was instantly grateful for the gag. Inhaling, he could smell her sweetness and once again melted into her whims.
His raging hardness didn’t escape her attention. “You like that, slave?” She asked him.
Jonathon was muffled by the ball gag in his mouth, but he managed a, “hmm, hmm.”
“Or maybe, you just like having your mouth full. Is that it?” Not waiting for answer, Elise sharply slapped his cock. “Answer me!” she demanded.
He squirmed.
“I think you misunderstand me. We are not here for your pleasure. You are here to serve me! And right now, I want to see you squirm.”
Elise was leaning over him again as she spoke, attaching clamps to his nipples like the ones still on his earlobes. Now he could see what they were: silver clothespins. The ridiculousness of them caused him to smile despite the ball in his mouth. Silver clothespins, who ever heard of such a thing? Seriousness took quick control as she opened them above his nipples, but let them snap into place. The sting caused streams of water to flow from the corners of his eyes.
She laughed when she saw the stream running down his cheek, “Are you crying? Let me tell you little boy, you are going to have to grow some balls if you plan on marrying my sister!”
And if one believes in the power of genetics, then clearly he was.
Removing a candle from its sterling holder she carried it towards him, Jonathon’s eyes flashed with terror. What was she planning now, to set him on fire?
The hot wax hit his stomach like Crisco in a hot frying pan. Drip after drip hit his skin with scalding heat. Jonathon remained still; he did not flinch under the pain, and he did not move a single hair. He did not allow a single muscle to strain beneath the flame. She’d said not to move, and you can bet your last penny that Jonathon Galloway wasn’t moving an inch.
He could see the satisfaction on her face; he’d pleased her. In turn she lowered her pink mouth to his raging manhood. She tasted it tenderly much like a cat tastes a bowl of milk, and then she launched onto it. The warmth of her mouth enveloped him, and suddenly without warning, his cock swelled and throbbed, each pulse mimicked his rapid heartbeat. But Jonathon Galloway lay as s
till as a mouse.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew he shouldn’t be here with his cock in her mouth. It was her sister he loved, and somehow all this just didn’t seem right. As long as she was filling those recesses with the warm, soft strokes of her lips, nothing else seemed crucial and his guilt dissipated. He exhaled a deep breath, not wanting to move an inch. If he did, he was sure there’d be repercussions.
At the final moment, she lifted from his lap and glanced at him quizzically, “Everything okie dokie up there, Jonathon?”
Not daring to move, he rolled his eyes to indicate that he was in Heaven. He was rewarded with a broad smile.
“Good! You have no idea how many of these guys I have to give oxygen to!” And she stood up next to him.
What? Is she finished? He’d been seconds away from orgasm!
“Now darling, I’m going to release one of your hands. I want you to finish this for me. I’ll be over there on the couch, and you are welcome to watch.” With that she unlocked his right hand and walked to the couch and sat down.
He didn’t miss a single step as she moved away from him. So he isn’t getting fucked. Great, leave it to me to join a sex club where I can’t even get laid. Still, his eyes never left her as his hand wandered down to his crotch. She was holding up a thin glass penis; it sparkled in the candlelight and the effect apparently amused her because she smiled as she moved it between her milky thighs. Jonathon had to admit that the sight of her pushing it inside her as it glittered beneath the romantic lighting had him spellbound. He was fully entranced with her every movement, so much so that his come burst from him with diminutive notice at exactly the same time as her lush blond head flung backwards over the armrest. She groaned with sheer pleasure as his cock shivered with release.
Nowhere in the entire catalog of things that turn him on was there a listing for bondage and hot wax. And realization shocked him into submission. During the pain his mind had drifted from the overwhelming stress that’d consumed him since the day his father had announced that he would be taking over the company. The worries that Ellen would discover what her sister already knew - that he wasn’t good enough for her - rolled from his mind. All things he’d been consumed by in his twenty years were suddenly erased. Now that he knew what it felt like to be free of those engulfing stresses, his mind was cleared to overcome them. Fucking magic!
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