Tangled Passions Pt. 01 Ch. 07-09

The minute hand had reached the nine. Matt stood, drained his glass, put it on the bar and headed for the main lounge. His heart rate suddenly accelerated. He felt the sweat of anticipation spring into his pits as he reached the door of the room. Hesitating a moment, Matt took a deep breath before entering. A small crowd of people stood murmuring appreciatively around a divan in the middle of the room, watching while a naked figure was being lowered onto its leather surface. Stewart seemed to be directing the activity, and, on seeing Matt, called him over. "Ah, there you are my boy. Our dear lamb here is feeling a bit overwhelmed. You can help by holding this arm," he gestured to a limp arm, dangling off the side of the couch, "while we finish our ministrations." Matt recognized many faces in the gathered assembly as they turned to watch him approach, including Marco and Marg.

Matt took the limp hand as Stewart turned away. "Marg, you take that side please." Matt looked down at the naked, swooned body. The sculpted thighs trembled; the black bush, surrounding the pulsing pink venus flower, sparkled with dew. Still panting, the body's swarthy skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration. As Matt's eyes swept up the supine figure, a clamp began to tighten on his heart – alarms started jangling in his brain. She faced away from him, but her profile was unmistakable. It took a conscious counseling of self for Matt not to drop her wrist and speak to her. He asked himself why he was even slightly surprised that this was Dara. He should have expected it. Somewhere inside, he had. His reaction, he explained silently to himself, was just a start, not fright or shock or dismay. He just hoped that he hadn't betrayed any of that to the others. If they had been watching, however, they'd done so surreptitiously.

A fully dressed, grey-haired woman, whose name Matt hadn't got, knelt down on a thick mat at the end of the divan. Stewart gestured to Matt and the others to shift Dara down on the couch and, without a word, the woman, who was apparently old enough to be Dara's grandmother, dove face first into the exposed pubis. It took very little time at all before Dara was moaning and writhing against the restraining hands. Her agonized tossing became uncontrolled trembling and her moans breathy whimpers as she approached orgasm. The grey head between her legs was merciless, and the unceasing cunnilingus brought on climax after convulsive climax as Matt and the three others continued to hold Dara still. The spectators were spellbound; amazed at the continued violence of the orgasms. Finally the older woman pulled back. As she rose from her place she accepted a cloth from one of the spectators and returned to stand in the circle surrounding the 'sacrifice'.

The sweating, panting form of Dara still quivered and squirmed in the hands of her captors when Stewart doffed his jacket and opened the front of his trousers, leaving them hanging by his suspenders. Revealing a huge erection, he positioned himself at Dara's altar and drove in without warning. Dara went momentarily rigid, as the invasion forced a huge gasp out of her, then, once again, began to rock her hips rhythmically as Stewart pounded into her in deep quick thrusts. Her writhing whimpers signaled the onset of yet another orgasm just as Stewart grunted and pushed, jetting his load deep into her abdomen. As he withdrew and stepped aside, he was immediately replaced by another member – another rampant cock protruding from the open front of formal trousers. Matt watched in stupefaction, his own tool becoming hard with the visual stimulation of a ravaging of which he was a part.

Stewart swept around behind him and whispered in his ear, "Just another part of her – ah – initiation, as it were." Then he seized the arm Matt was holding and said to him, "Get yourself in line, my boy. Take your turn. Do your duty." Matt gave up his hold on Dara's arm and moved back from her tortured body. Sure enough, he noticed, at the foot of the couch a loose sort of queue had formed. Men and woman alike were offering cheers and encouragement to the fornicators as each took his turn. Matt found himself at the end of the line. He realized that he was the only one there who wasn't wearing some sort of evening wear or lounging clothes. He felt a little foolish in only his silk briefs and pyjama top, but his fears were allayed when, at the departure of the man before him, he heard someone say, "Oh. The new fellow. Good for you." Suddenly his erection was almost tearing the thin material of his bikini briefs. "Go ahead Matt, you can do it." He couldn't remember ever having such a desperate hard-on – such an urgent need to come. Grabbing Dara's waist, he threw himself into her and it took only five or six solid thrusts before he felt the molten essence of his release boil up out of his testicles and roar into Dara's hot and slimy vagina. Momentarily loosing all control, he bucked and bounced against Dara's insensible form, for she had apparently swooned with her final orgasm just as he got there.

Matt became aware of spontaneous applause that coincided with his ejaculation, the echoes of which still rattled through his psyche. As he withdrew, Dara, although barely conscious, was helped from the table, wrapped in a satin cape and led from the room by a younger couple that Matt hadn't noticed before. Before he had time to ponder that, Stewart took him by the arm and led him out of the lounge, down the corridor, and into the office in which he had originally been interviewed. "Well done, Matt. Well done." Stewart was effusive, showing Matt to a chair by the desk. Three other older members quietly joined them in the room and Stewart introduced them. “Matthew – Roland, David and Elizabeth, a few of our officers." Everyone was still glowing and slightly breathless as Stewart offered drinks all around. The office hushed. Matt felt all their eyes on him, and resisted the squirm he felt building inside. Then, in a soft voice, Stewart spoke. "We see a real potential in you, Matt."

"Potential for what?" he began to wonder before his thoughts were once again interrupted.

"We are prepared to...." And thus were the surreal circumstances under which they offered him a complimentary, probationary membership.

"Why complimentary?" Matt puzzled to himself, "and what are the regular dues?" he thought, before the old adage came to him, "If you have to ask the price you can't afford it."

"Would you like a few days to think about it?"

"No." Matt stammered, perhaps a little too loudly, before adding, "No need for that. I gratefully and respectfully accept your generous offer." Matt wondered what he had just got himself into as his mind reeled from all it had seen in the past many weeks. In a dazed stupor, he mechanically shook hands with them and was shown out of the office after a modicum of talk, which he only vaguely comprehended.

"Don't worry about Dara. We'll get her home," Stewart whispered conspiratorially as he patted Matt on the arm and closed the door behind him.

A funny little old-boys style fitness club was how he described it to Jenn. An acquaintance had told him about it in passing. He had looked into it and joined. Goodness knows he needed to do more than just run. If Jenn thought he was somewhat vague on the details, she didn't show it. And Matt simply kept rather circumspect in any mention of it.

He continued to make dates to meet Dara there or give her a lift, and certainly the time with her was extremely invigorating but his infatuation for her was being overwhelmed by the thrill of his new circumstances – the thrill of being at liberty in the confines of The Club. He soon found it easy to wander alone from room to room, watching or joining in this activity or that. He began to visit the exercise room fairly regularly and found a real pleasure in true ‘gymnastics’ – exercising in the nude. More and more, even if they arrived together, Matt and Dara quietly went their separate ways. Matt reveled in the freedom of being one of the members, in being able to do whatever he liked. There was suddenly a thread – no, more than a thread – a beam of excitement ripping through the mundaneness of life – an excitement that far exceeded the intrigue of extramarital affairs. It was an upheaval – the emergence of a new order.

Yes, these were significant changes. His activities at The Club had accelerated rapidly into the realm of his most private fantasies – or were they now becoming realized dreams – perhaps, in some ways, even nightmares. Erotic, multi-hued tableaux continually assaulted his senses. Was thisThe Claiming of Sleeping Beauty come to life? Lesley'sDays of Florville incarnate?