Xanadu Stories Ch. 03

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea."

- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Xanadu may not be the 'Stately Pleasure Dome' of Kubla Khan's poetic decree but it is probably the best members-only sex club in the world. It is dedicated to the erotic pleasure of its clientele who are universally rich, often beautiful and who share a taste for the erotic and the sexually adventurous. This is what brings them through the discrete doors of a building in one of Central London's most up-market areas into the well appointed surroundings where the club has its home. The staff of the Xanadu, both male and female, are recruited for their combination of youth, good looks, discretion, customer service and sexual prowess. They are the best of the best. The club eschews the dangerous and the illegal but within those boundaries fosters the free expression of the sexual urge, in all its many and varied forms.

These are the stories from the Xanadu...

--------------------------------------------------

Author's Note

This is the third of three chapters that recount the same event from the perspective of each of the three main characters. In the first chapter -'Xanadu Stories CH. 01' - Kate tells her story. In the second ' Xanadu Stories Ch. 02' we hear Peter's take on events. In this chapter, Jamie gets his turn. The Author humbly suggests that her readers will enjoy this chapter all the more for reading chapters one and two first.

The author would very much welcome constructive feedback on this, and her other stories.

---------------------------------------------

Jamie's Story

Four of us went to the club for the Halloween bash that night. I recall it being quite cold outside and we were laughing at some remark about global warming as we came through the door. Chris and Rachel were arm-in-arm, clearly looking forward to having some fun. We'd had a couple of drinks before we left home so we were 'in the mood' alright. In fact we'd pretty much had to prise Chris and Rachel apart to get them to come at all. We were all regulars at the club. Sarah and I were not in any sort of permanent relationship but I liked her a lot. She's the sort of girl who just makes you feel good when she's around. We had a pact (still have, in fact) that we will not have sex with each other. I can't remember how it all came about but I found myself agreeing one night that our friendship was wonderful and would be better without the 'Complications of Sex', as she so eloquently put it; a stupid idea in retrospect. We were both a bit drunk and actually should have ended up screwing the living daylights out of each other. If I'm honest, when she looks like she did that night I'd be quite happy to sacrifice a little bit of our friendship for the opportunity to get my hands on her amazing body but, so far, no luck.

Anyway – we were absorbed in the joke and each other so at first I didn't notice the two coffins close to the entrance of the club, one on either side of the door. They were very similar in appearance, made out of mahogany or some other exotic timber and beautifully finished – polished to a brilliant shine. Both coffins were resting on black draped stands, about waist height off the floor. Peter Jarvis, one of the hosts from the club was standing by the right hand coffin and one of the hostesses – someone I didn't recognise - was talking to an elegant couple dressed as vampires – pointing out something by the left hand casket.

Peter has been at the club for about a year and, as I'm a regular, I know him reasonably well. He's a good bloke and seems pretty competent at his job. Occasionally I've seen him 'erving' a guest and there didn't seem to be any complaints. He was looking rather thoughtful but seemed to perk up a little when he saw us arriving.

"Good evening Ladies. Good Evening Gentlemen. How nice to see you, Welcome," was his initial greeting. After the usual exchange of pleasantries were over, Peter took my arm and said, softly

"I have an experience that you may enjoy Sir, if you are willing to try something. Can your friends manage without you for a few minutes?"

I was a little surprised at first. This was not the usual way that the evening started at the club. But I'm always up for a new experience so I told the others that I would meet them in the bar and they went off reasonably happily.

Peter led me over to his coffin and I noticed two things; a brass plate on the side which simply said 'Lady' and a long strip of some kind of black material running down the centre of the lid. Looking over I saw the word 'Gentleman' on the other coffin. The elegant couple were now bent over the coffin, absorbed in something and laughing but I couldn't quite make out what they were doing.

"What's this about then?" I asked Peter, puzzled. Peter explained. "Well Sir, lying in this coffin is someone who has volunteered for an experience in sensual touch and I think you may be just the person to make her evening v e r y special. I have watched you in the club on previous occasions and, if you don't mind me saying so, you seem to be someone who knows how to give a women great pleasure."

I was a little taken aback, not because it wasn't true but I was a bit shocked that my previous evenings in the club had been the subject of such close scrutiny. I was also a bit flattered – of course I was. I think I am an imaginative and unselfish lover. I enjoy giving pleasure and I have also, as it happens, studied massage. I had a girlfriend a few years ago who had been injured in a car crash and suffered a lot of back and neck pain – massage helped her a lot. Obviously my massage skills developed at home in areas that would have profoundly shocked my teacher but Geri seemed to enjoy it, and the pain in her back even improved!

I needed no more convincing, "OK Peter," I said, "What do you want me to do?"

"There is a young lady in this coffin, Sir. She can't see out or hear very much. The coffin is a very comfortable and sensual place. That black area on the lid provides access to her. The black material is elasticated so that you can get your hands through. I can raise or lower the whole coffin so that it is at the most comfortable height for you to reach her. You can do anything, touch her anywhere, please her in any way you like. She will not know anything about you other than through your touch. She has agreed that both men and women can have access to her so she may not even know that you are a man. You are not the first person tonight to come to her and she has been teased rather more than I would have hoped. I would not normally suggest this Sir, but the lady concerned has been in the coffin for almost 40 minutes now and I think she is ready for a more," he paused, "fulfilling experience."

He looked at me steadily as he said this and I understood immediately what he meant. Even thinking about it had me excited and my erection was all too obvious.

"Wow! Well I'm your man." I was pleased and rather honoured. In about two seconds I'd taken off my jacket, dumped it on the chair and stepped over to the end of the coffin.

"Which end is this?" I asked Peter.

"I have said enough," he smiled. "You will discover for yourself I'm sure."

He looked at me briefly, as if gauging my height against the coffin. "Wait a moment," he said and, reaching under the black draped table, somehow caused the coffin stand to lower itself by three or hour inches so that the height was perfect for me to reach through the mysterious black band on the lid.

"I'll start at this end then" I told Peter and pushed my right hand through the black band. It offered little resistance, but closed around my arm, hiding the contents of the coffin from my curious gaze. Inside the coffin it was cool, a slight airflow tickled the hairs on the back of my hand as I reached for the place where it seemed likely that a head or feet would lie.

It suddenly struck me that I knew nothing of what to expect. I knew only that there was a girl in the coffin, How old was she? What did she look like? What was she wearing? God! What a thrill. Peter had taken a step back, watching carefully but not crowding me.

My hand found the bottom of the casket. The lining was soft and smooth but I found neither head nor feet, I brought my hand towards the side of the coffin and felt the warmth of her before I touched one of her feet; quite close to the side of the coffin. "Ok," I thought - at least I now knew which end was which. I took hold of the foot quite firmly – there is nothing worse than having your feet tickled – a real passion killer. The foot was bare. I moved my hand to her toes. Her foot was smooth with long, slender toes and short well cut nails. I massaged the toes, one at a time, not too firmly but careful not to tickle. She responded by wriggling her toes, slightly gripping my fingers. I moved down to the sole of her foot, kneading it between thumb and fingers.

Suddenly I knew what I was going to do. I was going to give this woman a full blown erotic massage and she was going to have the orgasm of her life. I began to wonder what she was like, what she was wearing and how to deal with it. I knew her feet were bare but I had no idea what clothing she might be wearing. Whatever it was, I certainly intended to find out.

I needed both hands. Standing at he end of the coffin now, in went my left hand, searching for the other foot. I found it against the far side of the coffin. "Interesting," I thought, if I were a woman I would have kept my legs together until I was a bit more sure that I liked what the person outside was doing, but not this girl. I massaged both feet now, toes to ankle, firmly but gently on the soles and heels. Her feet felt shapely and obviously well kept, her skin soft and supple.

As I started to work my way from her feet upwards towards her calves I discovered the reason her legs were apart; they were bound to the sides of the coffin, held by a cuff of padded material just above her ankle. The small exclamation that escaped by lips was a mixture of surprise, pleasure and anticipation. I looked at Peter, my silent question surely written on my face. He watched and smiled but gave nothing away. I closed my eyes, trying to visualise the occupant of the coffin. She was obviously restrained in some way. Her feet were bound, were her hands also? I hoped so. The thought of her lying there, at the mercy of my touch, only fuelled my desire.

Walking round to the side of the coffin, being careful not to stop the regular movement of my hands against her skin, I shifted my focus first to her calves and then to the backs of her knees; using my nails, fingers, palms and knuckles to stimulate the sensitive places. I lingered there for a while, varying the pressure of my touch, feeling her legs moving against her bonds, pressing against my hands, willing me on. The muscles of her calves, and thighs were toned, and well defined as my hands moved up her legs. Just above her knees I encountered a further pair of cuffs. Her thighs were held apart so that I would have free access to her pussy. But, that would come later; a lot later. I was going to make her wait. I spent a long time from knee to hip; caressing the outside her thighs, sliding my nails slowly up her inner thigh, feeling the warmth of her pussy on the back of my hand as I approached her pleasure centre. I was careful to get as close as possible without actually touching her pussy. That would come, but she must wait.

I had not encountered anything at all in the way of clothing so far and by now I was pretty sure she was completely naked and that her hands were restrained; she could and surely would have reached out to me if not.

I tried to imagine the contours of the woman's body as my hands continued to explore the silken skin of her inner thighs, gradually moving upwards, rounding her hips and moving to her belly. She had a slim waist and flat, firm stomach which I massaged gently, probing her belly button with a finger, feeling her skin flutter under my hands as I spread my fingertips and drew circles on her skin. My searching fingers found the soft mound of her pubic hair and I teased it gently. As I played there, she suddenly lifted her buttocks thrusting her pelvis forward as though trying to force my fingers down into the warm cleft below. "Ah, so you want me then" was my thought but I moved my hand away. Plenty of time for that later, it will be all the better for waiting.

Next I moved my hands to her sides and arms – finding what I now expected, the third pair of cuffs holding her hands down by her hips, slightly away from her sides, so that I could reach her inner arms and round to her back. My God, I was enjoying this.

I began the long erotic strokes that used to drive Geri wild – up the inner arms from the wrist to the shoulder than down the sides to the waist. On the down-stroke I was careful to make sure that my hands ran over the sides of her breasts, not at this stage touching the nipples but working gradually inwards on each stroke so that my fingers moved slowly closer and closer to the sensitive areola and nipple area. The position of her hands, bound to the base of the coffin, stretched the skin taut over her breasts for maximum sensitivity. Her breasts were not over-large but rounded and firm. As the arc of my massage moved towards the centre of her body my fingers began to brush against her nipples. They were rock hard and each time I touched them I felt her body arch in response to my caress.

Now my focus shifted. I finally moved from her hands, arms and sides across her torso to cup her breasts in my hands and run my fingers around and over her nipples. She continued to arch her back, pressing her body against my hands. I felt, rather than heard the moans of pleasure. Judging by the movements of her body, as I repeatedly traced my finger tips around and over her nipples, her breasts were a particular source of pleasure to her.

I would have loved to have looked at her now, so close to ecstasy. It was easy to imagine her lying there, open to my touch, responding to every caress of my hands but I could not resolve the detail. I moved to explore her neck and face, blind but without the skills of a blind man to construct the mental picture of the woman beneath my hands. She took my exploring fingers into her mouth, sucking and licking them, I let them linger there, feeling the pleasure myself from the movement of her teeth and tongue and allowing them to become slick with spittle.

The moment had come, it was time for the teasing to end. Tracing the line of her breasts with my, now wet, fingers, toying with her nipples one more time and moving down over her belly, this time over the soft mound of pubic hair and down between her legs. She thrust her pelvis forward to meet me and this time I responded. Her pussy was soaking wet, the wonderful warmth and softness of her took my breath away as her pussy opened easily under the gentle pressure of my fingers. Spreading her lips like the petals of a flower I sought the tender nub of her clitoris, teasing it out from beneath its soft fold of skin. Gently I began to massage it with small circular movements, feeling it expand beneath my fingertips. With the other hand I continued to massage her breasts and nipples, their firmness in stark contrast to the softness below.

As I continued, slowly increasing the speed and pressure of my movements the woman began to move her body in rhythm, first gently and then, as her pleasure mounted, with increasing force. I responded with changes to the pressure and movement on her clitoris and nipples but even now I was controlling the build of her climax. As I felt her movements became more frantic I would lift the pressure or slow the movement of my fingers, playing her body like a musical instrument. I wanted this to last. Finally though, I decided to take pity on her. Leaving her breasts, I switched hands. While the fingers of my left hand continued the stimulation of her clitoris I carefully slid two fingers of my right hand into her pussy and started to massage her G spot. This was too much, within seconds her body began to writhe against the bonds and her pelvis thrust against my hand, driving my fingers deep into her. Now I did not draw back, but matched her movements increasing the pressure of my fingers, keeping time with her rhythm. Her writhing movement became a regular thrusting against my hand with its fingers deep inside her pussy. Now she could have it, suddenly I switched the circular movement of my fingers on her clitoris and began to gently but rapidly flick it backwards and forwards with the tip of my finger. It was as if she had exploded. I heard the scream of ecstacy even from outside the coffin and felt the first spasm of her climax as the muscles of her vagina clenched around my fingers. I continued to use my fingers, matching my movements to the rhythm of her orgasm, coaxing her into paroxysms of pleasure, hearing her cries even through the thickly padded walls of the coffin. I had made her wait for an unbearably long time but I hoped it was worth it. Eventually the frequency of her climax slowed and I matched my movements as her orgasm waned, slowing and then gradually coming to a stop. I withdrew my fingers from her pussy and rested both hands between her legs, giving her time to calm down and wanting to communicate my gratitude. The strange mixture of great affection for the unknown woman and unbelievable lust made me feel rather dizzy for a moment.

After a few minutes I withdrew my hands, as I did so the sweet smell of her woman's juices reached my nostrils and I gave a sigh of pleasure. I had completely lost track of time and place so I was slightly taken aback when I realised that Peter was holding me by the arm and asking me to leave to join the rest of the party. I could now see a small light flashing and hear a small buzzer sounding beneath the coffin.

"It is time for me to free your anonymous lady from her bonds now. Please join your friends, your recollection of tonight will be all the more memorable if you do not know to whom you gave such obvious pleasure and if she does not know who her pleasure-giver was. Who knows, you may meet one day and discover each other. "At least," Peter looked at my hand which was still wet with her juices, "you will have the most evocative sense of all." And, raising my hand to my nose with a deep inhalation of pure pleasure, I could only nod as I picked up my jacket and he closed the curtains behind me.