tagNovels and NovellasBromfield's Temptations Ch. 04

Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 04


Author's note: There is some confusion regarding the sequence of chapters in this book. Chapter 1 was titled "Making New Friends." Chapter 2 was "Ancient History." Chapter 3, in which Jim and Bette take up housekeeping, was titled Bromfield's Temptations. Henceforth, all the chapters will be identified only by chapter number.

Chapter 4 -- Bromfield's Temptations

The 10/40 Club

I missed Louise terribly, but life with Bette had its compensations. While she lacked the earthy good humor and sense of derring-do that had made Louise such a wonderful companion, she seemed more sensitive to my feelings and was much more willing to follow my lead. She was fun to be with and our sex life kept improving as she learned to trust me. She didn't seem bothered at all that Phil was gone, and by the end of the second month, I was beginning to wonder whether our living arrangement would become permanent.

Sandy and Jeff had quietly stepped aside after Louise left. I was still seeing Sandy, however, and it was on one of those dates that I discovered why Jeff had withdrawn.

She and I had spent the entire afternoon enjoying slow motion sex, the kind where you consciously slow things down so you can taste every morsel, savor every sensation. Sandy was sitting up in bed smoking her after sex cigarette, her fine little breasts still moist and flushed with the heat of her passion. I was about to step into the shower, when she stopped me.

"You know why Jeff wanted to stop swinging, don't you?" she asked, her classic features suddenly solemn.

"Not unless it was because of Louise," I said.

"It was because she left, not because of the way she left," Sandy said mysteriously.

She had my attention. "What do you mean?"

"Jeff is attracted to you," she said. "As long as Louise was in the picture, he felt he was safe from temptation."

I let that strange little idea roll around in my head before I asked, "Is that why you asked me if I had ever been with a man?"


"Is Jeff bisexual, or do you think he might be gay?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed. "Where the hell have you been?" I added, "Did you ever make it with Louise?"

"We fooled around a couple of times."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Sure. It felt good."

"Do you think you're a lesbian?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"As far as Jeff's being attracted to me goes, didn't you feel attracted to Louise?"

"Oh, sure. She's a lovely, sexy woman."

"I rest my case," I said.

She was quiet for a few minutes staring at the wall. I could almost see the ideas chasing each other around in her beautiful head. Then she said quietly, "It scares the hell out of him thinking he might be gay, but if you can show him that he's merely experiencing a bisexual urge, I'd be very grateful." Then she turned to me and grinned. "Besides, it would be a serious turn-on for me to see you two guys going at it. Are you up for a threesome?"

I thought for a moment. I wasn't sure how Bette would take it if I went to a party alone. Well, I'd think of something. "Sure," I said, "when?"

Sandy's brow wrinkled as she mentally reviewed her calendar. "How about a week from Saturday?"

I nodded. "I'll work something out."

Actually, Bette surprised me when I mentioned the possibility of a golf game with Jeff. She nodded enthusiastically, saying, "I didn't know you played golf, Jim, but I'm glad to see you getting some exercise!"

Bette must have read something else in my expression because she said, "From the look on your face, I thought you were going to suggest a swinging party."

I nodded slowly, as if considering the idea for the first time. Actually, as accustomed as I was to infinite sexual variety, the (nearly) monogamous life I had with Bette was beginning to pale. Aloud, I said, "Would you like to go to a swing club?"

She hesitated. "If you want to . . ." she began.

"No, no, baby," I said firmly, "if you go to a swing club, you go out of curiosity, or to get laid, or for the hell of it. You do not go because someone wants you to."

Bette's face turned solemn. She said slowly, "I may not have been around like you and Louise, but I am curious. I'd like to see what a swing club is like. Who knows? I'd probably like it."

The next day, Wednesday, I called the Ten/Thirty club across the river in Portland, and made dinner reservations. I told Bette what I had done that evening. Her initial response was, "What shall I wear?"

I explained that having dinner at the club was a highly stimulating sexual appetizer because the women in the dining room usually allowed their exhibitory instincts free rein. Almost invariably, they wore the most revealing and suggestive clothes they and their partners could devise.

Bette did not lack suggestive and revealing clothing. The day after Louise left, we had come back to the apartment to find a suitcase in the foyer packed with her things. Louise obviously had selected garments she knew would appeal to me.

Friday afternoon, I left the office early. When I let myself into the apartment, I saw immediately that Bette was taking this night out very seriously. The bathroom was still steamy when I stripped down and stepped under the shower. When I came out, Bette was standing in profile, leaning forward in front of the mirror over the dressing table, applying her make-up.

I paused, absorbing the sensual profile Bette unconscious ly presented. She wore only her garters and patterned dark hose, which accentuated the beautiful sweep down her back, around her tight little bottom, and down the backs of her slender thighs. I ad mired the shape of her bottom almost as much as I did the incredibly sweet curve of her young, upswept breasts.

I could almost see the moist mat of black hair covering the mysterious delta between her thighs. Despite myself, I felt my manhood twitch. What the hell am I doing taking her to a swing club, I asked myself. She saw my reflection in the mirror, and swung around.

She had shaved herself. "Do you like it?" she asked shyly.

I gawked like a school boy. I've seen more than my share of female genitalia, but her tiny slit looked almost obscene, framed as it was by her garter belt and stockings. I felt a sudden wave of desire, and I stepped toward her, but she laughed and held up her hands.

"I know what you're thinking, tiger. Save it for tonight. I think you're going to need everything you've got."

She was right. Reluctantly, I pulled on my shorts and went back into the bathroom to shave, but instead of facing the mirror, I turned so I could watch her dress.

First, she powdered and daubed a musky scent between her breasts, on her softly rounded belly, behind her ears, inside her elbows, and inside her thighs. Then she carefully pulled on a loose, gauzy black blouse that ordinarily would have been worn over a conservative black brassiere. Her pink nipples looked like stop signs under that thin, almost transparent material.

The last garment she selected was a leather miniskirt. The skirt was about 14 inches long and reached to mid thigh. Watching herself in the mirror, she leaned forward, backward, turned, raised her leg. Only when she bent deeply forward did the skirt pull above her stocking tops.

Then she sat in the boudoir chair and crossed her legs. A narrow strip of white skin peeked from beneath her skirt. She was a voyeur's dream. Satisfied, she stretched and turned to me, just before applying the last coat of lipstick, "What's taking you so long?"

Nothing, except the performance she had just put on. "I'll be right there, dear," I said, deliberately mimicking a henpecked husband. Minutes later we were in the car driving through the early evening traffic to the club.

The Ten/Thirty was housed in an old mansion at 1030 North Davis St. in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of Portland. You had to know about the place. Even after you rang the bell, and the doorman answered, there was no way you could have known this was a sex club. Everything a visitor could see from the foyer was as you would expect an old but well preserved home to be.

A certain gentile decorum was observed in the dining room. Under the soft hum of conversation and the occasional clink of tableware, gentlemen and their ladies sat, ostensibly enjoying a quiet repast. In reality, of course, each couple was surreptitiously eyeing the others, speculating about their sexual prowess. The women responded by attracting as many admirers during these preliminaries as possible. For instance, if you looked more closely at that blonde in the corner, you might notice that her off the shoulder blouse was unusually far off the shoulder, and in fact cradled a bare breast. At the next table, a very young woman with dark hair sat demurely eating her salad. She wore a man's shirt many sizes too large that was open to the waist. It sagged open, exposing her nipples every time she moved her arms. I couldn't see her partner clearly, but he also seemed young and was wearing what appeared to be an exquisitely cut sports jacket, which seemed incongruous compared to the casual, inexpensive way the girl was dressed.

I wasn't nearly as surprised seeing them as I was in the way Bette reacted. As she entered the room and saw the other women, she began to strut. She pushed her chest out, and began swaying her hips, almost as if she were walking to a silent stripper's beat. She immediately caught every male eye. We were shown to our table by a perky young waitress in a tight tee shirt and very short skirt.

When I was returning from the men's room, from clear across the room, I saw the way she squirmed in her seat, crossing and recrossing her lovely legs. She was giving a show as good as any of the others. I noticed especially a tantalizing little strip of white skin at the top of her stockings that was teasingly empha sized because of the color of her stockings and the dark leather of her skirt.

Everyone was now frankly ogling everyone else. There was no longer any pretense. The demure young lass was flapping her shirt open and shut as if she were trying to cool her body. The girl with the off the shoulder look was now displaying both breasts. And Bette was signaling every man in the room that a hot, moist, eager female was there waiting to be taken.

I signed the check, earning a grateful smile from the waitress with my tip, and we went into the locker room. We had received our locker keys when we signed the guest book before dinner.

Each locker contained two large bath towels. I smiled encouraging at Bette. "The management won't hold you responsible for that towel," I said. "There are stacks of them piled in each room."

Two other couples were in the changing as we began taking our clothes off. I watched one couple in particular. He looked like a bookkeeper. He was about my age and build, a little heavier maybe, thinning dark hair, and he wore heavy horn rim glasses. A fellow who needed glasses that thick at a swing party was at a serious disadvantage. Methodically, he folded his clothes and stowed them in his locker. Naked, he wrapped the towel around his waist and waited for his wife to finish.

She was shy. Although she managed to disrobe under neath her concealing towel, I realized that she was a heavier, fleshier version of Louise. Her eyebrows nearly met over her strong nose. She had a dramatic streak of gray hair falling on the left side of her face. She looked as if she might be Greek. Even concealed by the towel, I saw an outline of pendulous breasts, a big bottom, and caught a glimpse of a heavy dimpled thigh. She wasn't built for speed, but when it came to heavy duty sex, I thought she might be right there with the best of them. She snuggled her towel around her breasts and very reluctantly, I thought, followed her man out into the main hall.

Instead of wrapping her towel around her breasts as the other women had, Bette wrapped her towel around her waist before we drifted into the social room where we were supposed to meet new friends. I was relieved that Bette seemed to be quite comfortable standing bare breasted in that room. She was quickly engaged in conversation with a young man about her age. They soon drifted off to the bar, and were lost to view.

I saw the young girl who had worn the man's shirt in the dining room. She was now topless, standing in the corner talking intently with a man old enough to be her grandfather. I didn't see anyone else I recognized, except the Greek looking woman I had seen earlier. She was standing quietly by herself against the wall. She was one of the more interesting looking women there, and I decided to introduce myself.

"Hi," I said, "how do you like the party so far?"

She looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then decided to reply. "How do I like the party?" she said thoughtfully, "I don't know. I just got here."

I thought that was an encouraging response. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure. Anything with alcohol."

Oh, oh. One of those. I guess I better just keep on going, I said to myself. The room was getting crowded. I squeezed between two groups of people, and wandered into the next room. This was one of the three mattress rooms. A couple were already bouncing on a far mattress. I joined the ring of voyeurs, two of whom were naked men slowly stroking themselves.

As I stared at the happy bouncing couple on the mattress, I realized that the one on the bottom was Bette! It hadn't taken her long to get her feet wet.

Strangely feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I went back into the social room and fixed myself a drink. I turned around, and the Greek lady said sharply, "It took you long enough, thank you very much," as she snatched the glass from my hand.

She tossed it back in a gulp and handed me the glass. "Put some booze in it next time," she said.

I went back to the bar. I made a drink for myself and filled her glass half full of bourbon, topping it off with a splash of water. I returned and handed it to her.

She tossed it down. "Thanks," she said, "that's better."

Something in her voice and her obvious modesty made me realized she was probably a newcomer. I could imagine that as so often happened, her husband had argued, pleaded and cajoled until, in desperation, she had said, "All right! If it's that important to you, let's go!"

"Is this your first time?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Well, yes and no," I replied. "Mostly a lucky guess. And the way you hang onto that towel, of course."

She smiled faintly and extending her hand, said, "My name is Grace."

I took it, noticing that her palm was wet. "It's nice to meet you, Grace. My name is Jim," I said. "Do you know how this place works?"

"Sure," she said bitterly, "just like any other meat shop. You find the piece you want and go after it."

"Well, not exactly," I said. "What you do is look for someone you think you might want to know better. Not necessari ly to have sex with, just to know better. There are lots of bright people here. Then you strike up a conversation. Maybe one of you will suggest a dip in the Jacuzzi. Or maybe a trip to the sauna . ." "Let's go to the Jacuzzi," she said.

"OK." I led the way through the crowd, through the mattress room, where I noticed that Bette had attracted a crowd; she now had three men keeping her occupied, one between her legs, one in her mouth -- I was a little shocked to see that since she had adamantly refused to do that for me -- and one she was holding in her little hand.

Grace noticed my interest. "Is there something else you'd rather be doing?" she asked pointedly.

"No, I was just checking on my wife to make sure she was having a good time," I said.

"One of those men is my husband," she said. "I hope he doesn't lose his glasses." I smiled at her wifely concern.

The Jacuzzi was in the next room. It was sunken in the middle of a small room, probably once a dressing room. Another couple was already in residence, but they were facing each other, and ignored us.

I tossed my towel aside, sat on the edge of the pool, and dangled my feet in the water. It was hot. Grace modestly kept her towel wrapped around her torso, and sat next to me. "The water is hot, isn't it?"

I nodded and slid into the water. Grace said, "Give me your hand, and don't look."

I looked away and held up my hand. She used it to steady herself as she dropped her towel and slid into the water. The bath was crowded, but the lovebirds paid no attention, and continued to pet and caress each other.

I looked at Grace. Her breasts were floating up on the water, which gave her a surrealistic, but at the same time, a very human appearance. "I feel embarrassed," she said.

"You mean because of them?" I asked nodding toward the lovers.

"Partly," she agreed, "but mostly because except for my husband and doctor, you're the first man in 20 years who has seen me naked. I wouldn't mind if I had a figure like your wife's, but I know I'm not much to look at."

While I was trying to think of a suitable response, her thigh accidentally brushed against mine. Whether it was the hot water, or the couple sharing the Jacuzzi with us, or the pervasive sexual ambience of the club, or the warm human female next to me, I don't know, but suddenly I had an raging erection.

Grace hadn't seen it. "Grace," I said, "I'm going to show you the effect you have on me. Give me your hand."

She had no idea what I had in mind. She offered her hand as if we were going to shake hands. I took her wrist and brought her hand down to my rampant manhood.

Her eyes flared in shock and surprise. For a moment, I thought I had made a mistake, but her eyes quickly softened and she smiled as she closed her fist around my throbbing member.

"This is the nicest, most sincere compliment anyone has ever paid me," she said. "Let's go find some place where we can use it before I lose my nerve."

We hurriedly scrambled out of the pool and toweled each other off. "Don't fall and break that thing," she said, as she led the way into the mattress room. I glanced over my shoulder at the love birds. Now I saw why they hadn't scrambled for the mattress room. They had been screwing all the time we were in the pool with them.

Grace plunked herself down on the nearest mattress. "Hurry up," she said, "before I change my mind." She spread her legs invitingly.

I had to stick my cock somewhere before it burst. There was no foreplay at all. I dropped between her legs, and she expertly guided me straight into her warm, wet, clutching tunnel. She gripped me between her knees and bucked her torso up to meet my thrusts so aggressively that I was afraid something inside me might break. She was also noisy. She started screaming after third or fourth thrust, and we began attracting a crowd. She was bouncing me so violently that I was forced to concentrate on staying in the saddle, although now that I think back on it, I don't think there's any way in God's world I could have gotten loose before she was finished with me.

Her screams got louder and her motions wilder until her eyes rolled back and a deep flush flooded across her chest and that part of her breasts that had not fallen into her arm pits.

Inspired by her heroic climax, I began to spurt my seed deep into her belly. I relaxed for a moment, and wondered if this was the part where the female eats the male, when simul taneously, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder, and Grace push at me from underneath. It seems I was impeding traffic. I rolled off Earth Mother, and she welcomed another foolish male into her nest.

I rested for a moment, then wandered out into the social hall for refreshment. Bette was standing on the edge of the crowd, most of whom had shed or lost their towels by this time. She was talking to a nice looking young man who was as naked as she. I fixed a drink and was debating whether to join them, when she waved me over.

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