Tangled Passions Pt. 01 Ch. 07-09

"Good," Stewart said without surprise. "Of course you'll need a medical first." He went on to explain that before even introductory acceptance can be considered in the very peculiar facility, he must take a wide-spectrum STD blood test. "And come up clean, of course. Upper class clientele notwithstanding, you can never be too sure."

"That should be no problem," Matt replied.

"I wouldn't think so," Stewart agreed, then with a smile he turned to Dara. "I think Matt would appreciate your talents right now, in anticipation of his joining our group, Dara. Don't you think?" When Matt turned look at Dara, he saw her hesitate, a briefly puzzled look passing over her face as she asked for clarification with only her big eyes. Matt followed her gaze only to meet Stewart's smile. He realized that he must have missed some explicit non-verbal message for, without any more delay, Dara dropped to her knees at Matt's side and reached into his lap. Not saying a word, without taking her eyes off her hands, she opened his trousers and struggled to release his stiffened rod. Forthwith, she set her lips to the task of relieving his growing need. Matt didn't move, staring wide-eyed, mouth agape at the back of her bobbing head as Dara proceeded to expertly suck him off. As familiar as it was, it was completely novel as well. Stewart watched her silently – appraisingly.

When she had finished – brought him to climax, cleaned him up and repackaged him – Stewart basically dismissed them both saying he looked forward to seeing Matt's clean bill of health. Matt and Dara walked back out to her car in silence. Dara was pensive as she kept her eyes downcast. Matt wasn't sure what to do to break the oppressive quiet that hung about them. In the car, she asked him, once again, to lie back and not look out the window. He closed his eyes, and was soon aware only of his contentment and the veering of the car as it turned this way and that. After about fifteen minutes Dara spoke. "You can sit up now if you like." A spark of something – life, maybe, self-assuredness – had return to her voice. Matt looked at her as he returned his seat back to upright position. She gave him a little smile, starting to look relaxed once more. He realized that they were somewhere in central Coquitlam, which gave him little clue as to where they had been.

"Wow," Matt gasped, thinking of nothing else to say. "So how... how long... when did you...? Oh, shit. Never mind. It's none of my business, anyway." He gave his head a shake.

Dara chuckled softly and began to tell him about her journey, as it were. Her voice was tranquil and low as she described, first meeting Stewart, then, being accepted into The Club. They drove about aimlessly for over an hour – Dara, with her eyes firmly on the road, recounting details of her experiences, Matt, watching her in profile, listening intently. What she related was surreal, incredible, literally fantastic, but, as implausible as it sounded, something assured Matt that it was absolutely true. The place – The Club – had an electricity in it that could surely realize the inconceivable.

Dara, it turned out was basically an apprentice and, in some ways, an acolyte for Stewart, who was one of the founding members. She had met him in the summer and come under his wing shortly after. "I hope hearing that doesn't hurt you," she said, giving him a glance. "I wasn't really... we weren't... well..."

"That's all right," Matt muttered, "I never really held any claim on you." He didn't know how it made him feel really. He couldn't tell if he felt jealousy, curiosity or voyeuristic arousal.

Stewart had asked her details about her previous experiences and she had told him all. She said she was surprised, "But pleased." when he encouraged her to continue her affair with Matt. He wanted to know every single detail. It was Stewart who had suggested inviting Matt to The Club, although he never told her why. Consequently, he had done the interview as Matt was sponsored, if indirectly, by him.

When Matt finally left Dara and drove himself home, late that afternoon, he was so confused that he could barely function. It took every gram of his self-control to act naturally in front of Jenn. He lied and told her he wasn't feeling well – although it was hardly a lie – and spent a very low-keyed evening, reading, watching the tube and engaging in meaningless small talk with his wife. She must have sensed his preoccupation, for she asked him nothing and soon left him alone.

The Club was an exclusive, safe, sexual adventure facility, catering to bondage and discipline, and, to a lesser degree, sado-masochism. It was a rather opulent installation that included, among its various offerings, a posh dining room and an exercise spa. Much like the island resort inExit to Eden, except on a much more modest – if that word can be used – scale, it was basically a cooperative fantasy factory. Domination and subjugation were the overlying themes in an environment of pure hedonism. The people who could afford membership belonged to a fellowship determined to help them realize all of their dreams of dominance and submission – pretty well anything short of physical mutilation and death. Humiliation was both dealt and received with relish.

Once he had medical clearance, Matt arranged with Dara for his first visit. Although the secretive lying back was perhaps no longer necessary, Matt reclined his seat and closed his eyes while Dara drove. Stewart welcomed him and congratulated him on his acceptance. "As you can imagine, this society is not for everyone – even some of those whose dreams it appears to answer sometimes find it overwhelming. Nonetheless, you appear to be an ideal candidate for nomination. We, at The Club, are willing to offer you an initiation period – a getting comfortable period of slightly limited access; following which, if we still feel that you fit our expectations and should you, of course, choose to accept, you will be offered a trial or probationary membership." Matt felt a frightening mixture of thrill and awe. He wondered if the whole thing might prove to be just too intense. He had the feeling, though, that he could and would handle it. "Look us over carefully." Stewart had been speaking exclusively to Matt, not just ignoring Dara, but seemingly disregarding her very existence, until he gave a slight nod in her direction when he stated, "Dara is available for your bidding. She will stay with you and answer any questions." With that, he shook Matt's hand. "Once again, welcome," and with a seemingly uncharacteristic wink, he added, "Have fun."

"Thanks," Matt muttered as they were shown out of the office. In the foyer, he turned to Dara. Her eyes were lowered demurely but he thought he could detect a glow on her cheeks. Excitement? Anticipation? Shame? "Now what?" he asked, blankly.

Dara quietly took his arm, pressing her warm shoulder into him. She began leading him through the building, allowing him to freely observe. Although it wasn't a busy place, there was activity of some sort in many of the rooms. No one questioned his presence. Some people bade him welcome, some greeted him with a nod, while others averted their eyes. In one room they came upon the final movement of an apparently well choreographed thrashing. Both Matt and Dara were completely ignored by the participants, both of whom were intently focused on that fine line between ecstasy and agony. Matt shivered at the muffled squeals escaping around the gag of the man strapped to the table. The leather-clad woman who brandished the whip was puffing and sweating and shaking as she delivered the final strokes. Matt bid Dara to leave at the denouement as the whipper laid down her lash and began to gently apply a balm to the welted backside of her partner.

Although he witnessed enough fucking and sucking and teasing, he realized that most of the action there was as much psychological as physical. He knew he had been allowed a privileged glimpse into the fantastic world of not just sex games, but sexual mind games. Not taking advantage of the opportunity to experience what The Club offered was, at that moment, inconceivable. Matt could feel a vibrating excitement starting in his chest. He was moving forward into some alien place and he didn't really know why. He just knew that he couldn't help himself. The possibilities seemed endless.

His role as spectator ended when, on entering an empty room on the upper floor, Dara, walked to the corner of the bed, picked up a leather cuff, and looked at him. "Please," was all she said.

Even as a novice, Matt took to the situation naturally. He pulled bits of what he had already seen together with his experiences in Dara’s apartment, interpolating them and insinuating them into his own scenario. "Take off all your clothing," he commanded, with quiet firmness, "and lie on the bed, face down." He stayed dressed while he watched her comply. "Now, fasten your own shins to the side tethers and put the bolster inside your knees so you can sit back on it.” As she acceded to his wishes, he found her docility arousing. "Okay. Reach your hands to the corners. Stretch!" Gleefully he fastened the soft cuffs around her wrists and attached them to the corners of the headboard.

Opening the night stand drawer, Matt felt like a child in a candy store. Just as he suspected, it was filled with all manner of vibrator and dildo. He selected a long latex 'palm trunk with a monkey at the base'. Moving behind Dara, he ran his hand over her pubis and found it to be adequately, and naturally, lubricated. He was just about to lick the vibrator before inserting it when he thought of an even better idea. He presented it to Dara's lips. Her eyes had been closed and the latex tip of the phallus surprised her. "Suck it in, my dear. Get it good and wet." Matt detected a sort of mocking tone in his own voice, although he didn't know why. He felt like a caricature in someone else’s story. Dara engulfed the device with relish, but Matt pulled it out suddenly, and, returning to her backside, inserted it just as abruptly into her vagina. She gave an involuntary gasp as he fitted the monkey against her clitoris and turned the machine on. It not only vibrated against her and inside her, it swirled in a spiral sort of twisting motion. "Hold it there until I get back," Matt ordered, then, after a long appraising look he left the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Out in the hall, he didn't quite know what to do. He wandered downstairs into the main lounge. There was a man in the corner, speaking to the slave kneeling at his feet – Matt realized that that was the first time he actually thought 'slave', but there really was no denying it. Voluntary slavery perhaps, but slavery nevertheless. Other than that, except for the barkeep, the place was empty. Matt mounted a stool at the bar and asked for a scotch, neat. The barkeeper simply gave him a drink, with no mention of paying or signing. "I'll have to find out just how this works," Matt thought to himself; then, as he sipped thoughtfully, he pictured Dara waiting for him. His cock, which, up to that time had only reached a semi-engorged state all day, suddenly sprang to life. Squirming on the stool, to relieve its uncomfortable position, Matt finished his drink – his wonderful single malt scotch – in a toss. Then he stood, straightened his shoulders and headed back upstairs.

Stopping at the door of the room, and cracking it open silently, Matt could hear the quiet whir of the vibrator, punctuated with soft staccato gasps from Dara. Without a sound, he unfastened his pants and climbed onto the bed behind her. He simultaneously snatched out the buzzing machine and plunged his own rock hard tool into its place. Without a pause he began pounding himself against her buttocks, pulling her hips in to meet his every thrust. As he felt the explosion rising from his balls, Dara began to buck and scream – not the shrieking scream of distress but the whimpering scream of overwhelming release. Jetting his load into her quivering cunt, Matt collapsed on her back while her still convulsing muscles alternately squeezed and released his pulsing tool, milking every last drop of come from him before he gradually deflated and slipped from her pouch.

Shortly afterwards, at the car, Dara asked Matt to drive and settled quietly into the right seat. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "That was great. Just great."

"Yeah." Matt's nerves were still just returning to normal as they left the driveway and entered the realm of reality once again. Dara's simple directions quickly got them back to familiar territory.

"You know, I never ever thought it could be that great." With her head back and her eyes still closed, Dara began to reveal something of herself. "I was looking for that extra something for years. I mean, I started sex early and I've always loved it, but no matter what role I took, it always seemed to fall just short of perfection, just short of a potential that I sensed was – what? – achievable, I guess. I played the innocent; I played the nympho; I played the princess; the slut; the aloof; the dominant. Patsy's wedding was at the end of my bitch period." Matt saw, from the corner of his eye, a smile pause on her lips. He was very tempted to ask her if and how the boyfriend actually got it that night but he realized that it was, by now, absolutely irrelevant. "And they were all fun," she said, continuing her reminiscence. "More than that they were all wonderful incarnations of my sexuality. Still, none of them was completely fulfilling. It wasn't until just before I met you that I thought I'd try yet another flavour – submission. I acquired all the trappings, but I'll tell you," she snickered wryly, "I scared off more than one little boy. They just couldn't take it. Shortly after our own great – and successful experiment I met Stewart. I let him buy me a drink and, in a very roundabout way, he told me about The Club. And, well, the rest is history."

She seemed to recede into her own thoughts for a while. Matt waited, saying nothing. Eventually, she continued. "You know, it's funny. As much as I loved sex – sexual adventures – I just knew there was more to it – something more intense – a still higher reward. In submission, I think I've found the ultimate – the ultimate high. I can't really explain how it makes me feel; only that it makes me feel better than anything else ever has. You know, even when Stewart treats me like I don't exist, I know why he's doing it, and that knowledge is unbelievably exciting. When you left me plugged in on the bed just now, I almost exploded, not only in anticipation, but, somehow, in how your leaving me exposed made me feel – objectified me or something. Oh, I can't explain. It's just wonderful." Her eyes were still closed as she rubbed her hands over herself and purred. "There's something about completely giving up all control – giving it over to someone else's will. I don't know, but I love it." She paused before adding philosophically, "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that in complete submission one sort of assumes control." She opened her eyes at last and turned to look at Matt. "D'you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, maybe, a bit. I remember reading something like that before. The submissives run the scene because it can only go as far as they let it – providing, of course, all participation remains voluntary."

"True," Dara nodded pensively, "That's what I like about The Club – no force, no pressure, no coercion."

IX.

The length of the introductory period at The Club was variable, depending on how well an initiate fitted in. The first several weeks passed in a blur. Matt, with Dara always close at his side, managed to visit The Club two or three times a week. Mainly playing the part of inconspicuous spectator, he occasionally took an incidental but active role. Sometimes it was to help hold a 'victim'; sometimes to tend to an active participant; sometimes it was as 'gopher'; and once he was asked to be one more perpetrator in a staged 'gang-bang'. Usually, he and Dara would find a room or a nook, and bring one another to climax at least once during a visit.

In less than two months, although still excited about the prospect of belonging, Matt realized that he no longer found the whole scenario bizarre or odd or strange or frightening, just wonderfully titillating and attractively satisfying. Although he had never been conscious of it, his entire experience there had been under observation. And it had been noted by the administration that Matt had fit in very well – incredibly well for one with so little related experience. In fact, he was eventually offered full-privilege membership on a probationary basis.

Earlier that visit, Stewart had taken Matt by the arm and whispered to him, "I'll need Dara for a bit, this afternoon. But you can manage by yourself for a while, eh?"

"Uh, sure," Matt replied guardedly. Something about Stewart's tone made him think there was some hidden agendum, if not an entire agenda, in the question.

"Dara," Stewart sounded like he was speaking to an errant child, "come with me." He turned to head down the hall. Dara followed briskly, her downcast eyes avoiding Matt's altogether. And he knew, intuitively, that saying good-bye, indeed, saying anything to Dara as she left would be inappropriate. He watched her only a moment before turning away; he deliberately displaced the confusion with a considered decision as to what to do next. Where they were going and what they would do was none of his business – none of his concern.

"Oh, Matt," Stewart called back to him, just before disappearing into a stairwell; Dara stood passively aside. "See if you can make it down to the main lounge right around..." he pulled a pocket watch out to check, "ah, let's say, about quarter or ten to three. Okay?"

"Main lounge; quarter to three; right."

"Good. See you then," Stewart smiled and was gone, Dara at his heels.

The nude and semi-nude figures that constantly spirited about no longer even warranted a second thought for Matt. A beautiful body was still a beautiful body and goodness knows there were quite a few of them around, but he had finally trained himself to stop wondering where they were going or what they were involved in. Wandering through the corridors in only his silk briefs, a short silk Japanese happi jacket and slippers, Matt was now seen as one of the group; just as he now recognized many of the regulars as they flitted by or engaged in whatever took there fancy.

By himself, he realized, for the first time, Matt quietly watched a naked young man laying over the lap of and being spanked by a formally dressed middle-aged woman. When, in the middle of the punishment, the fellow came all over his chastiser's dress, the woman became irate, heaping verbal abuse on her victim and doubling the severity of the spanking. Matt quietly left the scene. "It's just a game," Matt reminded himself. Still, it made him feel a little strange. He puzzled over his own reaction. In some way, he thought he felt some sort of admiration or even awe for the woman in the gown. And certainly he didn't feel sorry for the guy, in fact, he sensed just a bit of, perhaps, envy in himself. What would it be like to be in that position – the helpless, naughty child?

He found that he didn't particularly like being alone in the rambling facility so he made his way to a parlour and, rather self-consciously, stopped at the door. Marco and Marg, a couple of the older members were sitting side by side in easy chairs, dressed in lounging outfits. Marco was leafing through aParis Match. Marg was sipping a drink, leafing through a newspaper on her lap. "Ah," she looked up to see Matt at the door, "Matt," she gave a small wave of welcome indicating the third chair in the grouping, "fix yourself a drink; join us." A little apprehensive at first, Matt walked to the bar and poured himself a generous Johnny Walker. He settled into the soft leather chair next to them with some trepidation but soon found himself comfortably joining their conversation, which, other than casually asking him how he was liking the place, stayed entirely separate from The Club and sex. It was only Matt's rather skimpy attire that even hinted of anything libertine. They sat and talked like nothing more than the members of a rather exclusive and proper private club that they were. At two-thirty both Marco and Marg excused themselves, leaving Matt alone in the quiet parlour, nursing his second scotch. He watched the hands on the wall clock move glacially. He thought about meeting Stewart; he thought of the spanking upstairs; he thought about screwing Dara; and he thought about his continued deception of Jenn. He really did still love her, so he should tell her. He knew that she would understand. But...