by Edward Lee
Torches, not electric bulbs, lit an expansive and ornately decor’d atrium which borrowed much from the greater Georgian period; clearly, this place must once have been an exorbitant hotel. Swirling dark mosaic tile-work could be seen in the gaps between Old World throw rugs; a marble fountain gushed crystalline water through the mouth of a horned cherub. Pilastered walls surrounded all; while great winding staircases rose upward from each end, to the first of three splendidly railed stair-halls which steeply overlooked the atrium below.
I allowed Erwin to take the lead; he and most of the others seemed nearly at home here, and all walked at once to a long, fringe-linened banquet table which sat heaped with fresh fruits and (much to my displeasure) ice-filled bins loaded with half-shelled oysters. It was to the latter that most of the men repaired, greedily slurping down the hideous, lumpen things one after another. As I most infrangibly detested all shellfish—most especially oysters, which made me think of grey phlegm—I made every attempt to appear at ease while sampling some tidbits of fruits and a glass of some superb vegetable juice. Eventually to Erwin I whispered, “So… where are the, uh—”
“The girls? Before you know it,” he promised with a guilty grin, “they’ll be all about.”
Only moments after he’d made this assurance, every face turned upward at the detection of svelte motion. Upon the fourth stair-hall my gaze held, on the stunning woman who’d just appeared: a raven-haired, Cleopatra-faced figure whose voluptuous curves and thrusting bosom were made even more pronounced by a diaphanous, black evening dress.
“That’s her,” Erwin sighed in awe. “Miss Aheb…”
Ensconced torches burned to either side as this shimmering vision of feminine beauty leaned over the carven rail and smiled.
“Welcome, gentlemen, all of you,” issued a lilting and vaguely accented voice. The words echoed. “Your presence is much appreciated and, as you will soon see, the very exclusive 1852 Club will do everything in its power to reward you for the privilege your esteemed presence…”
What an odd thing to announce… as denotations such as “esteemed” and “privileged” hardly described this lot of respectful yet otherwise brawny and likely not-well-educated working-classers. I struggled to identify the seductive woman’s sweetly flowing accent; yet I’ll admit that the mere sight of her compacted beauty filched my breath. There was something about her mien, her very deportment. Even at this precipitous distance, her physique’s details seemed to gleam via some supernal clarity, as though an incorporeal magnifier hung invisibly before her: the poreless white valley of her bosom, the relief of the papillae of her magnificent breasts, the diamond-like sparkle of perfect teeth within the titillant smile—all of these traits seemed amalgamated into a single focus which left every man below speechless and irretrievably enraptured.
Erwin elbowed me. “What did I tell you, huh?”
“I’ll confess,” I said, still staring up, “that I dismissed your description earlier as the stuff of exaggeration, but now… I stand corrected.”
Her voice swirled downward, a spiriferous aural wraith; and from the painfully seductrene lips, warm words flowed, “and, now, my good and vital men, may you go forth in the natural pursuit of your pleasure as is the gracious will of our benefactors…”
The room hushed in the lovely echo’s wake but I frowned. Even the clearly distracted Erwin seemed flummoxed by the words.
“What d’ya s’pose she means by that?” Erwin said in a wee voice.
Benefactors? I wondered. “You’ve got me. ‘Natural pursuit’ notwithstanding, I sorely doubt that her reference to ‘benefactors’ can be a spiritual reference, nor a reference to the popular Judeo-Christian God, no, not in a whorehouse.”
I paused to chuckle at my ever-guilt-ridden friend but when I re-glanced upward?
Miss Aheb was gone.
A modest murmuring of approval rose in the room—at once—as a procession of over a dozen women moved soft-footedly down the curved, plushly carpeted staircase. I’ve already intimated that my own natural impulses with regard to sexual attraction must be relatively inactive compared to most men; yet, the registration of this drove of encroaching sprites (all without a stitch on, mind you) caused an undeniable stirring, shall we say, southwardly of the belt. The well-brawned patronage was already dispersing as this bevy of long-legged, high-bosomed, and pertly nippled women came off the stairs.
Erwin, a smile so long it contorted his face, made to approach them but I clutched his sleeve in a sudden self-consciousness.
“Gads, Erwin! I’ve never been to a place like this before. What should I do?”
The question flabbergasted him. “Do? Come on! You pick a dish and go with her, man!” and then he walked briskly to the feminine congregation and its sea of wanton grins. I remained, standing nervously and watching couples pair off. The girls seemed to swoop upon the men with a hearty enthusiasm; but, lo, none “swooped” toward me. Never much of a ladies’ man, I expected as much; these younger and much more masculine specimens easily overshadowed my thin-limbed form. I would always tell myself that what manly attributes nature had left me lacking in was more than made up for in my superior intellectual capacity, but what a facile consolation that was now! In a whorehouse, with no whore showing the least bit of interest in me! Erwin was latched onto and led summarily up the stairs by a doe-eyed, plushly curved girl with a head full of shining black tousles. Good for you, I thought with some bitterness. Within the merest of minutes, the men were arm in arm with each of these delectable women whose bare bottoms I was left to peer forlornly at as they each in turn took their partners up the steps. I felt akin to the perfect ass, but just as it seemed that all the denuded girls had found their match, my arm was snatched by a short, voracious thing with beaming green eyes and nary an ounce of excess fat on her splendid little body. “I’ve got you now!” she exclaimed and quickly hauled me toward the stairs. “My name’s Ammi, but don’t bother telling me yours. In a place like this?” and she laughed.
The sight of her, and the feel of her hot hand about my wrist, left my tongue sufficiently tied. Instead, my eyes drunk up the vision of her gleaming white nudity; the compact buttocks flexing with each step up; the seductively trim waist and adorable bellybutton. Already my groin was tightening…
“Don’t talk much, I see,” she commented and now we were on the first landing where a statue of, I believe, Tycho Brahe, telescope in hand, seemed to cast an approving eye my way. “But we’re not much about talk here at the club—” Her hand slid up my arm. “We’re all about doing.”
Finally, my powers of speech were re-afforded to me. “You’re, uh, quite a delight, Ammi. I, um—”
Her hand brazenly cradled my rump as we stepped up to the second landing. “Oh, don’t be so nervous. I’m going to show you a great time!”
Patrons ahead of us disappeared behind various doors. Ammi took me sprightly along the carpeted hall, almost bounding with each step. She approached a door and simultaneously slid her hand across my groin, whereupon I came close to lifting off my heels.
She paused at the door, turning to me with a scolding grin. “Shame on you, sir. There’s no reason to do that, you know. Not here!”
It was only then, receiving my first frontal look at her, that I became apprised of the extent of Ammi’s diversity. To call her a “colourful” girl would be a howling understatement: her hair was a long silken coppery red while obsidian-black eyebrows adorned her forehead. The abundant hair of her pubic area, however, shined blond as sunlit wheat. Breasts the circumference of tangerines sat erect on her chest. Only after fathoming this full glance at her did I recollect her odd remark.
“Pardon me, but I don’t know what you mean. There’s no reason to do what?”
Her hand found my groin again, and played there ever intently. “This package, sir, can’t all be you,” she giggled. “Oh, I know how men sometimes stuff socks and whatnot in their briefs to make themselves look bigger to the ladies but—really!—in a
brothel, sir, the truth is always out once the breeches are down.”
I stared in utter bewilderment. “Socks, did you say? Really, miss—I can’t imagine what—”
“Come on!” she exclaimed, opened the door, and pulled me in.
The door itself was a marvel: nine panels, and hung within a stunning embrasured frame that I knew at a glance to be pure Federal Period. The bed-chamber impressed me even more, as I’d always been one to revel in the designs of the past rather than those of tasteless modernity. “A genuine William and Mary poster bed!” I gasped. The black-oak bedstead was a work of carven art. A Chippendale half-table sat beside the splendid bed, while opposite stood a grand armoire that could only be a genuine Hepplewhite. My host’s delightful breasts bobbed as she closed the door, then strode toward me. She grabbed my hand and pulled, and said as if to a naughty toddler, “You’re a bad boy, sir. Ammi might have to punish you with a spanking for what you’ve done.”
She grabbed an exquisite steamed-wood chair about and plopped right down in it, positioning me to stand before her.
“I say, you’d be advised to treat that chair with care, miss,” I warned. “Unless I’m mistaken, it’s a genuine Adam. The canework alone is without peer.”
“Oh, shut up, you,” she sputtered and at once fumbled with my belt. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. If it’s all you in here, I’ll be a monkey’s aunt…”
I remained mystified by her coy complaint. A sudden modesty overwhelmed me when she unfastened my trousers, then hastily slid them down along with my briefs.
Ammi stared with a dropped jaw, stared right at my bared groin. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“What?” I asked, but my feet shifted a bit, from the cringing embarrassment of being so closely and privately examined. All I could think to utter was, “I, uh, I suppose it’s not as large as you’re use to,” and I chuckled nervously “But there’s little I can do about that.”
She gaped up with jade-green irises burning beneath the blacker-than-onyx eyebrows. “Not as large? This is the biggest prick I’ve ever seen…”
Her remark befogged me, for in her tone I detected not a trace of prevarication. “You, uh, you mean to say that my… member is more sizable than the average you’re accustomed to?”
She snapped in a course delight. “It’s the biggest cock I’ve ever had hanging in my face, and I can tell you, there’ve been quite a few!” and with that she began to stroke the drooping shaft of flesh with a lithe finger.
I chuckled. “You flatter me, Ammi, but I’m sure you’re being over-lenient in your assessment of my privates.”
She giggled another “Shut up!” and without reservation sucked the entirety of my flaccid penis into her mouth. The adroitness of her oral skill sent shivers through my being. (This, for me, was a pleasure long forgotten; my ex-wife had a knack for it, I will say, but her preference for penetration always won out. Many was the night I’d gaze at the ceiling contemplating Poe, Machen, and Blackwood whilst she hopped ludicrously up and down on me, enfrenzied akin to a mare in heat.) But as for this highly spirited and deliciously naked Ammi, erecting my manhood seemed to be her most steadfast desire. It didn’t take long before its girth actually stretched her lips. She nearly gagged sliding it out. “Jesus Christ, mister! It’s so big I can’t even get it all in my mouth!”
“I—I… don’t know what to say…”
She checked my hands, examining them, evidently, for traces of a wedding band. “So you’re not married?”
“Oh, no, not anymore.”
“Well, it’s an awful shame that some happy woman isn’t getting this stuck in her every night!”
I felt foolish presuming to converse whilst my nearly erect privates wobbled up and down, and that was not to mention the preposterous entails of our discourse. “I was married once but I’m afraid the halls of academe proved far more my forte than the pastures of domesticity and wedlock.”
She glared at me. “Shut up!” and then she yanked me to the bed and nearly threw me down on it. “Now… I’ve just got to know!”
I peered toward where she now rummaged through a drawer in the spectacular armoire. “Know what, if I may ask?”
“Just how big this monster is!” she replied, returning with a tin ruler. Her frenzied hand pumped the penile shaft in utter awe, until full erection had been achieved, whereupon she aligned the rule to it…
“Holy shit!” she profaned.
My penis, now fully invigorated, slightly exceeded the rule’s maximum length.
It was a twelve-inch rule.
Ammi went all in a frenzy now, retrieving something else from the armoire and then returning to the bed to boldly straddle me with her bare hips. “No more fooling around,” she determined, opening a modest foil package. “For every minute that this gorgeous cock isn’t buried in my bush, that’s a minute of horrible waste!”
“What’s that… you’ve got there?” I asked, my eyes asquint.
“Don’t want to put a bun in little Ammi’s oven, do you?”
The frail, flavescent object in her hands was a barrier prophylactic, one of the newer Latex versions by its look. I could hardly object to its non-prescriptive and, hence, illegal utility here, as prostitution was no less illegal.
Ammi’s face turned flustered, and, again, she profaned, “Shit, your cock’s so big, I hope it doesn’t bust the goddamn thing!”
My frown was all-too quick. “Ammi, if I may? Profanity does your demeanour precious little justice.”
She squinted at me. “The fuck?” and then she carefully rolled the prophylactic all the way down my penile shaft.
“Now we’re talkin’,” she gasped with a smile after essentially sitting on my erection and licensing it full entry into her womanly channel. “God—yeah, oh, fuck that’s good… All the way in, yeah! All the way in!”
The sensations were admittedly quite pleasing but I’m afraid Ammi’s vandalism of the English language and her crude, splayed-legged pelvic locomotions left much to be desired. At one point she reached behind herself and cosseted my scrotal sack, only to further profane, “For fuck’s sake, mister. Even your balls are huge! They feel like something in the goddamned hen house!”
Indeed.
Her copulative motions accelerated, hands on knees as she continued to pound her loins upon my phallus. As she tended to the act, I, instead, surveyed more of the room’s splendid features. The elaborate wainscoting was absolutely fabulous (more of the Georgian Period) while the wall-coverings couldn’t have pleased me more: herringbone patterns of gold and vermillion. When I craned my neck to examine a considerable oil landscape on the wall, I had to request, “Pardon me, Ammi, but would you know if that formidable painting there is an original Turner? It seems to be.”
Her lust-pinkened face smoldered. “Shut up! We’re doing this now! This! Shit on the goddamn painting!” Sweat beaded on her face and misted her bosom. “With my luck you’ll be one of these guys who gets off in a minute…”
Hmmm, I considered.
In not one but twenty minutes’ time, Ammi was balloon-cheeked and shrieking in an undisputable ecstatic bliss. The purse of her womanhood spasmed desperately about the stiff meat of my sexual organ; I dare say, it seemed to squirm in time with her rising shrieks. When she’d had her protracted moment, her head wobbled on her neck, and she sidled over on the priceless bed, tongue hanging. Fast-breath’d, she grinned lazily. “That was the best fuck of my life…,” and after a few more moments of recapturing her wind, she manipulated herself around, to look flabbergasted at my still-stiff-as-a-baker’s-pin penis.
“Did you come?”
I elevated a brow. “If by that you mean did I experience an ejaculatory release and sequent orgasm? No.”
“Wait right there!” she exclaimed and abruptly roused. She stalked, if a bit painfully, toward the ornate door but stopped to point absurdly at my erected member. “And don’t let that go away!”
Oh, for goodness sake! Where did
she expect my penis to go? After she’d made her exit, I felt ridiculous lying there with my trousers down and a rubber-sheathed erection throbbing. Where could she be off to?
And I mustn’t forget to show her Selina’s photo…
Ammi’s return brought four more women into the room: two svelte blondes, a lissome brunette, and a fox-eyed coif-headed waif with raving auburn hair and a monumental mammarian endowment.
“Good God!” one croaked, eyeing me.
“She wasn’t lying!” excited another.
The auburn-head seemed locked in a rigor. “Is that… real?”
It was one of the blondes that lunged before the others and asserted, “This guy may be able to out-fuck Ammi, but he ain’t gonna out-fuck me, and that’s just as sure as pigs can shit!”
The language absolutely appalled me.
It was a rather monotonous foray which ensued; four more giddy naked women clucking over my genitals like great-grandams over knickknacks. One by one they punctured themselves on my stiffened-to-numbness erection, shrilly giggling in betwixt moans, gasps, and outright shrieks of lascivious liberation. Musky aromas swam about the chamber, accompanied by a rapid, wet clicking; sweating bellies sucked inward and out; eyes rolled up in sockets and tongues jutted; crystalline sweat dripped off tumid nipples. They rode me like some brute beast of sexual burden (which reminded me, quite regrettably, of my ex-wife). It was that second blonde, ostensibly the dominant of the five, who banged my penis to the proverbial hilt in a screaming, staccato madness fit for some carnal chasm in Dore’s Inferno, and after achieving a head-whipping crisis, she leeringly lifted her pelvis off my member and without abatement, then, inserted said member into what I can only think to describe as a more netherly orifice.
“Right up my butt now, Mr. Big Dick,” she guttered. “Just the way I like it!”
It unnerved me, needless to say, to know that I had been hoodwinked into performing the forbidden and historically blasphemous act so named for the ancient city of iniquity, Sodom. The sluttish woman’s squat strained wider, affording me an all-too-precise view; and the ease with which she was able to admit the full depth and width of my member into this alternate and most uncomely cavity left me to conjecture that she was hardly a stranger to the act. She chuckled at my gape, then pressed two fingers to either side of her clitoral bulb, to isolate the mysterious nerve cluster. I visibly gulped, noting its size: nearly that of an avocado pit!