Club Fantasy

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Why deny it? She turned and gazed at his chiseled profile as he watched the video, diamond stud winking in his ear. Handsome? Not really. Sexy? You bet. And she wanted him. “Yes.”

  “Good,” Rock said. “We’ll play when this is done.”

  While Jenna watched, Rock used his finger to stroke Eleanor’s clit, bringing her to a screaming climax. She should stop this thing right now, she thought. He’s playing with me and he knows it. He’s teasing and tempting me to do things. Why am I so reluctant? she wondered. I’m supposed to be a professional at this yet I’m playing the ingénue. Why not just let nature take its course? Consider it a learning experience.

  On the screen, Rock kept thrusting and rubbing until Eleanor had come several times; she finally moved a limp hand and, panting, said, “Desist.” With Eleanor lying semiconscious on the bed, Jenna watched Rock get up and turn off the camera, still completely dressed. In the living room, Rock stopped the VCR.

  Jenna marveled at the way he wove an erotic web over himself in the same way that he put on his black clothing to enhance his macho image. Somehow both seemed to become part of him. Were they real? She had no idea what the real Rock was like but that didn’t change her feelings. She wanted him. It was lust, pure and simple. But was anything with Rock simple?

  Pulse pounding in her ears, she tried to lighten the mood. “You didn’t make love. You didn’t come,” she said, “or even fake something.”

  “It’s not what Eleanor wanted. I would have fucked her if it had been what she desired but the ending was just what she craved, all for her. And we did make love. Everything we did was making love. It just wasn’t fucking.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  “That scene really got to you, didn’t it?” Rock said, his mouth only an inch from her ear, his breath warm, tickling and teasing.

  “I’m being totally silly here and it’s not like me. I want to deny it, tell you it didn’t make me incredibly hungry, but it did.” She turned and gazed into his deep, almost black eyes, barely able to function for the wanting.

  “You’re right. You’re being silly. Let’s play together.”

  “I’ve never done anything like what you did on the film.”

  “All the better. I’ll teach you. I don’t mean to brag or anything but I’m damned good at what I do. Ladies, and men too I might add, pay big bucks for me to do what I’m going to do with you for nothing. Well, not for nothing. I’m going to do it for fun, and, Jenna, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this for fun and I’m looking forward to it tremendously.” He stood and reached out to her. “Shall we go upstairs?”

  She hesitated only a moment, then took his hand.

  After making her trembling legs climb the stairs, Jenna stood in the middle of the motel room, the same room in which Eleanor had been given so much pleasure just a few hours before. By someone so accomplished. That was the word she’d been groping for. Accomplished, like a virtuoso whose natural talent had been honed by years of training and practice. She found she was both hungry and nervous, jumpy as a cat, eager yet reticent. She was beginning to empathize with the nervous men she’d been with. Yes, it was a learning experience. She’d be so much better at understanding her clients now.

  Stop rationalizing! she told herself. You’re tremendously turned on and you crave what Rock’s offering. He’s obviously a very good lover and you want what he can give. Deep in her mind she wondered what she could give him. Later, she thought, or maybe some other time she’d be the one to give to him, and it would be explosive because she, too, had become good at what she did. She was a bit daunted at the prospect of pleasing him. He was so much better at the game than she was, but she was learning.

  “Have you ever watched yourself make love?” he asked, his voice thick with an elemental drawl.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Without a word, he left, then returned a little while later carrying the standing mirror she’d seen in the storage room. Mahogany trimmed, it stood about five feet tall and could be tilted so the viewer could see his or her entire reflection. “I rummaged—I hope you don’t mind—and put this in my room. I knew it would come in handy one day.” He stood the mirror on the floor at one side of the bed and returned to stand before Jenna. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, turning her to face the mirror across the expanse of the double bed.

  Standing behind her, he reached around and slowly removed her shirt. Sliding his hands over her shoulders, he purred, “Lovely. Look at yourself, your skin so soft and white with my heavy, dark hands against it. Watch my hands, Jenna. Watch what they do to you.”

  He unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. “Look at your breasts. See how your nipples are already hard?” He rubbed the palms of his hands over her tight buds. “They tease my hands, making me itch to surround your flesh with my fingers.” He curved his hands over her full breasts, just brushing her skin. “I’m teasing both of us,” he whispered against her hair. When Jenna leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensations, he said, “Open your eyes. I want you to see everything.”

  She obeyed, then watched both his hands and the expression on his face. His look was one of almost rapture. He loved women, she realized with a start. He loved giving and experiencing. In that way they were kindred spirits. She loved men.

  Finally, her breasts aching with the need for him to embrace them, he dug his fingertips into her and kneaded her fullness, her swollen nipples searing his palms. He filled his hands with her, weighing, scratching, stroking, and all the time she watched. She thought these were the most erotic moments she’d ever spent.

  Finally his hands slipped down her belly to the waistband of her jeans, unsnapping and unzipping until the pants were at her feet and she stepped out of them. “Your body is wonderful,” Rock said. “Lovely but not so perfect that I’m afraid to touch it. So responsive.”

  Through his slacks Jenna felt the hard ridge of his erection against the crack between her buttocks, so she pressed backward, rubbing him. As she did, his hand slipped beneath the top of her bikini panties to comb through her hair. “Can you see my hand disappear beneath the silk?” he asked. “See where my fingers are? Feel them entering your most vital place? Ummm,” he purred against her cheek, the vibrations echoing in his chest and through her entire body. “You’re so wet, so hot.” He touched her clit. “So swollen. I love a woman who’s so hungry.”

  He pulled off her panties, then sat her on the side of the bed facing the mirror. “Spread your legs wide,” he said, and she did. “See your sweet pussy. See how open it is for me.” He climbed between her knees, keeping low so she could see herself and his fingers as they explored her every fold, every crease, slipping through the juices that now soaked her cunt. “If I rub right here,” he said, touching her clit, “I can give you climax right now, but I want to play. Can you wait?”

  He was right. One touch in the right place and she’d explode. When she nodded, he pressed her clit gently and the throbbing abated slightly. When she’d calmed a bit, he inserted one finger into her. “Have you ever watched a man make love to your beautiful pussy before?”

  “No,” she whispered, barely able to make a sound. She wanted to lay down, but she propped her hands on the bed behind her and remained upright, unable to take her eyes off herself and Rock’s hands.

  “Don’t look away,” he said, before leaving her for a moment, only to return with a large dildo. “Watch yourself being fucked.” He pressed the tip of the dildo against her opening. She watched it slowly disappear into her body, filling her. He left it there, quiet, motionless, as he turned to watch her in the mirror. She could see herself, his hand splayed on her belly, his eyes gazing at her pussy. They both watched him pull the dildo out slightly, then press it in as deep as it could go. Over and over he pulled and pushed.

  It was as though she was on a plateau just below climax, able to revel in the ecstasy of near-orgasm. He seemed to know whe
n she finally decided she could wait no longer and he pressed a small button on some kind of remote control and the dildo started to hum inside of her. He leaned over and, with a flick of his tongue over her clit, she came. Hard. Long. So long. The spasms felt as though they lasted for hours.

  Panting, then slowly descending, she was eventually able to sort her thoughts. It had been amazing, a perfect demonstration of sexual control and talent. But he hadn’t been really involved. He was teacher and she was student. “I want to do to you what you did to Eleanor,” she said without thinking.

  “If you like,” he said calmly, still appearing relatively uninvolved. He undressed and stretched out on the bed, while she found the restraints he’d used and fastened his ankles and wrists to the bed. He was beautiful, his skin smooth and deeply tanned, his chest hairless. He obviously still worked out and took pride in his physique. He should. He was a pleasure to look at.

  “It’s your turn to watch,” she said, adjusting the mirror so he could see his crotch, his cock now only semierect. Damn him for being so in control, she thought. He’d experience his own deep need if she had anything to do with it. From the bathroom she got a bottle of water-based massage oil and poured herself a palmful. She rubbed her hands together until it was warm. Then she started on his chest and upper arms. She knew that most men didn’t particularly enjoy long massages the way women did, so she tuned in to his excitement to find the parts that aroused him. Then she moved swiftly over his body, avoiding his groin.

  She discovered that he found his fingers erotic so she concentrated on them. As she massaged each as though it were a miniature cock, she watched his penis twitch. He might appear uninvolved, but his cock gave him away.

  Watching his penis harden, she separated his fingers and pushed her thumb between them, in essence fucking his hand. Oh, yes, she realized, he was involved. “You want me to think you’re neutral on all this. You want me to think you’re the giver of pleasures but are immune to them yourself. I guess it makes it easier to do what you do when everyone thinks you’re above it all. Well, you’re not. Look at your cock.”

  She again fucked his fingers and they both watched his cock twitch and swell. “Not fair,” he said, chuckling.

  “Very fair.” She refilled her palm and worked on his inner thighs, pressing deeply at the top, near, but not touching, his testicles. “Very fair.” More oil and she cupped his sac, weighing the heavy globes within as he had weighed her breasts. His cock was erect now but she wanted so much more for him. As she played with his balls she watched the arrogant look leave his face and pleasure glaze his eyes. “I’m also good at what I do,” she said. Her hands now found his long, thick shaft, both hands wrapping around it, squeezing, milking him. She listened to his rapid, raspy breathing and saw his fists clench and unclench as they hung impotently from the headboard.

  “Watch my hands as they play with you,” she said and saw his eyes open and stare at the mirror. “My white hands on your dark skin makes a beautiful contrast, doesn’t it?” she said, an imitation of the words he’d spoken to her.

  He merely smiled. She saw his glance flick to her breasts so she took more oil and rubbed it in her cleavage. Then she crouched over his cock and surrounded it with her hot flesh, sliding along his erection, pleasuring him between her breasts.

  When his cock was as hard as she thought it could get, she quickly unrolled a condom over it and straddled his hips. “Have you ever watched your cock disappear into a woman’s cunt before? You probably have, but not into mine.”

  Using her thigh muscles she slowly lowered herself onto the head of his shaft. When only an inch of his cock was inside her, she said, “”Maybe I’ll just stay here, keep you right where you are.”

  He bucked and grabbed her waist, ramming himself into her. “You need a few lessons in knot tying,” he said, banging into her hard and fast.

  “And you need some lessons in staying uninvolved.”

  “Not with you doing what you do, witch,” he said, laughing as he thrust over and over until he bellowed and emptied himself into her.

  In their joy they laughed loudly for a long time, then settled against each other, sweat cooling on their bodies. “Lady,” Rock said, “you’re the best, almost as good as I am.”

  “Let’s agree that you’re an expert on ladies and I’m pretty damn good with men.”

  “Agreed.”

  Chapter 11

  The following afternoon Jenna was on a plane to Syracuse on her way home for the long holiday weekend. Thanksgiving. Boy, did she have things to be thankful for. The sad part was they were things she couldn’t discuss with her sister. The previous evening had been a revelation on two fronts. She’d learned a lot about herself and she’d given Rock something to think about.

  After their post-coital collapse, Rock had kissed her good night lightly on the lips, then moved to his own room. Jenna had decided to sleep in the motel room, then dash to her temporary apartment in the morning to pack and grab a cab to the airport. She’d wanted to gauge Rock’s reaction to the previous evening’s fun and games, but when she had gotten up in the morning, he’d already left the brownstone.

  What was he thinking? she wondered. Was the kind of explosion he’d experienced normal for him or was she, as she’d said so herself, pretty damn good at what she did? Had it been more than merely a lesson for him as it had been for her?

  During the night she had accepted the fact that this wasn’t anything serious. He wasn’t the man for her in the long run. The evening had been just a wonderful sharing of intense pleasures. She’d have to wait until she came back to the city Sunday, or after, to find out how he felt. For the long run she still thought about Glen. Too bad it couldn’t work out.

  LaGuardia Airport had been a zoo and the airport in Syracuse was even more chaotic. It seemed that every person in New York state was flying somewhere, but suddenly, as she walked toward baggage claim, there she was. Marcy. Although they talked several times a week they hadn’t seen each other in almost three months, the longest time they’d ever been apart. She opened her arms and Marcy’s tears mingled with hers as the twins hugged. “I’m so glad you’re home,” Marcy said.

  Home? Manhattan was home now, wasn’t it? This was just a visit with her sister and some friends. Then she’d return to the city and play with her new toy. Rock. She couldn’t wait to work on the dungeon. It would open an entire new realm for Club Fantasy, although with the business they had now they didn’t really need new customers. What if they took on some of Erika’s staff on a more permanent basis? Maybe she’d talk to Erika about that when she got back. She snapped back to her sister. “I’m so glad to be here.”

  Although Marcy was wearing a heavy, black peacoat and her usually oversized black jeans, Jenna thought she felt a bit thinner. “Have you lost weight, Sis?”

  “I wish. Actually, I’ve gained a few pounds.” Jenna quickly let the subject drop. Weaving their way through the milling crowd, Marcy asked, “Did you check any bags?”

  “Nope. I’m making do with what I’ve got on my shoulder,” she said, patting her small overnight case, “and what’s in my dresser drawers in my bedroom. It is still my bedroom, isn’t it?”

  Marcy smiled through her tears. “It’ll always be here for you, Sis.” Arm in arm they made their way to Marcy’s car, the same blue Toyota that she’d been driving for four years, with the same dent in the passenger side door where an errant shopping cart had crashed in the Shop Rite parking lot several months before she’d left. Jenna climbed in, moving Marcy’s bag of Jelly Belly’s to the back seat.

  On the trip to Seneca Falls, the two women couldn’t stop talking, often interrupting each other and talking simultaneously. The fall colors were gone and Jenna felt a loss when she realized that she’d missed them. In years past she’d crunched over fallen leaves on long walks, admiring nature’s brilliance for hours, alone and with friends and family. In Manhattan she had seen the leaves turn in Central Park as she commuted between the
brownstone in the East Fifties and her apartment in the West Eighties, but somehow she’d never walked in them. The colors had slipped passed her. It just wasn’t the same.

  They arrived at the small split-level and Marcy pulled the car into the driveway. Home. Jenna climbed out of the car and stood, gazing at the house. It hadn’t snowed yet, but the leaves were all gone from the big oak in the front yard. Strange. Except for the change from short sleeves to jackets and coats, seasons in Manhattan passed pretty much unnoticed. Of course there were big fall rainstorms with weather forecasters’ warnings to drivers about freezing conditions on the roads. It got dark earlier and earlier too, and she and Chloe had had to give up sitting in the backyard.

  Here, winter felt closer. Trees without leaves and piles of brown crispy ones underfoot. Puddles had turned to ice that melted only late in the afternoon, only to freeze again at night. It wouldn’t be long before snow covered the ground, heavy and white. “Have you gotten in touch with Phil, yet, to have him plow the driveway?”

  “Hey, I’m the organized one,” Marcy said. “I had that done by the end of September.”

  As Jenna stood beside the car, a school bus lumbered by and stopped at the corner. Several middle-schoolers got out, yelling to each other, celebrating the beginning of a four-day weekend. Jenna took in a deep breath of cold air. It smelled cleaner, fresher than the air in Manhattan. Life was different here. Better? Worse? Maybe just different. All at once she was unsure of where she belonged. Club Fantasy and bright lights were back in the big city. Marcy and comfort were here.

  Jenna grabbed her shoulder bag from the back seat and, arm in arm, she and her twin walked up the front walk.

  Back in the house that they’d shared for most of their lives, Jenna sipped freshly brewed coffee while Marcy munched jelly beans. Marcy and her jelly beans. It felt so familiar watching her work around the black ones. She could never actually take them out. By the time she got to the bottom of the bag, only black ones were left. Then she’d put the bag in the closet until they were all stale before she could finally throw them out.