The Club Ch. 07

Chapter 07 - The Cabal

Samael smirked at the reflected image in the full wall mirror. His body was immaculate, every muscle sculpted by an artist. His tanned skin glistened lightly with the sweat of exertion. His longish brown hair was swept back, revealing piercing, intelligent blue eyes. A close shave outlined his sharp aquiline features.

Lying on her back before him, Sylla was not in a comparable state. Exhaustion had stolen the taut firmness from her body. Sweat covered every inch of her skin, running in rivulets down her neck and sides. Her long, auburn hair was a disheveled mess and her hazel eyes, half-closed, lacked focus. Her lips were parted, but not in the sensual manner she so carefully cultivated. Samael grinned down at her as he slid his long, perfect cock in and out of her pussy.

With lazy casualness, he ran his thumb in small circles against her clit. Sylla moaned and closed her eyes. Her head shook from side to side, as though to refuse the orgasm he could feel building inside of her. He increased the pace of his thrusts. "Look at me, Sylla," he ordered. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto his with helpless obedience. "Good girl," he teased. "Now cum."

She fought it. Her breath hitched as she attempted to gain control of her passion. Clutching the sheets of the bed as though they could save her, she feebly attempted to meet his thrusts. Samael laughed down at her with undisguised disdain. Now she knew how lucky she had been to defeat him at their last meeting. Now she understood the futility of resistance.

When they first met, Samael had dominated every aspect of their sexual encounter until Sylla had managed to trick him with a cunning ploy. She had gained control over him and used that control to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Tonight, Samael had taken care to reconstruct every nuance of their previous battle. He fucked her in every position he had last time. He made her cum whenever called for by the script in his mind. This time, however, when they reached that crucial moment at which Sylla could hope to turn the tables, Samael had swatted aside her attempt with ease.

Her confidence thus shattered, Samael had his way with her. He took her in position after position, watching as her last reserves of energy and hope drained away. An air of desperation hung over Sylla as he plowed through the very last of her defenses. He could taste imminent victory in the sweat between her breasts.

He slammed his cock into her with brutal force. "I told you to cum!" he shouted. Sylla obliged, not only with cries of pleasure as her final orgasm shot through her, but with the abandonment of all thoughts of victory. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, unable to even beg him to stop as she climaxed endlessly.

Samael loosed a wordless bellow of triumph and pounded his hips against Sylla with renewed vigor. Sylla's body fell limp and she whimpered pathetically. The force of his thrusts caused her head to bang against the bed's headboard with each collision of their bodies. Knock knock knock.

He had done it. He had defeated Sylla. And she was only the first. He was so much stronger now. More sexually potent than ever before. With this victory, he gained access to the next tier in The Club. "Please," Sylla moaned. "Please. You win." Samael ignored her. His cock was harder than it had ever been before. He was not nearly done. He pumped his cock into her. Knock knock knock.

He wouldn't stop with Sylla. He was going to be the first of The Club's Angels to defeat every single Member. He would take his revenge against Nikki for her unspeakable torture and then he would take down Donna. The Club would be his and they would all serve him. And service him.

Knock knock knock.

Samael startled awake and stumbled awkwardly out of bed, swaying unsteadily. The fantasy was already fading.

Weeks had passed since his endless torture at the hands of Nikki. Well, at the hands and mouth of Nikki. Her legendary, incredible, terrible mouth. After losing a wager with Donna, the leader of The Club, he had spent hours chained to a wall with Nikki kneeling before him. The first orgasm she had brought him to had come in mere seconds. He had never felt a tongue like hers. She never even allowed him to go soft. His next climax followed less than a minute later. That was the last pleasure he took from the experience.

Each subsequent orgasm had taken longer to achieve and had been increasingly uncomfortable until discomfort gave way to pain. And then to panic. He had shouted and threatened. Begged and pleaded. Nikki had only taunted and teased him all the more ruthlessly as tears began to stream down his face.

By the fifth or sixth orgasm, he no longer actually ejaculated. Each orgasm was completely dry. But Nikki's mouth was hot and wet and she forced him to remain hard long after he was sure his body was no longer capable of sustaining an erection. Samael had stopped counting, had lost the ability to count, by the twelfth orgasm, but she had not stopped for many more hours and many more orgasms. Not until long after he had felt something snap in his mind like a dry stick.

Since that day, Samael had not had an orgasm. He was not even capable of gaining an erection without pharmaceutical assistance. He had tried everything. Entertained every fantasy. Nothing worked. He was broken. Destroyed. His life was over. Nikki had ruined him. On Donna's orders. But it was all Sylla's fault, really.

Knock knock knock.

Samael staggered slowly out of his bedroom and stumbled down the long hallway, bracing against the wall for support. He could not remember the last time he had eaten and was weak as a kitten from lack of nourishment. As he passed one of the many mirrors lining the hall, he caught a glimpse of himself and did not recognize the emaciated, unshaven man staring back at him with haunted eyes. All at once he became aware of the stench of his own body. He could not remember his last shower, either.

The murmur of voices startled him out of his reflection and he turned to stare dumbly at the front door of his home. Someone was out there. Knocking. But, who? And why?

He didn't care. The door was locked. They would go away and leave him alone with his misery.

A wave of lightheadedness washed over Samael and he leaned against a wall as his vision blurred. He heard a faint click and as his sight cleared, he stared open-mouthed at the door swinging open to reveal a swarm of beautiful women. The most exotically attractive of them stepped forward and Samael fell to his knees before her. "Mistress Claire!" he attempted, but all that emitted from his dry throat was a gravelly croak.

Claire, the leader of the Cabal, was ranked 11th in The Club, one step away from reaching the top most of the exclusive tiers. As she had climbed the ranks, she had busily recruited weaker Members to her cause. The witchcraft Claire wielded was rumored to enhance the sexual abilities of herself and her minions. And it was undeniable that each had been climbing steadily through the rankings since becoming her thrall.

Samael remained kneeling, transfixed by the raw power and beauty standing before him. The women behind her were all wearing normal clothing, but Claire was covered by a floor-length, unadorned black robe. The hood was pushed back and Claire's long, honey-colored hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Her skin had the healthy olive glow of noble Middle-Eastern families. Samael stared into her eyes which seemed to hide behind a smoky veil. Were they gray? Brown? A wave of nausea crashed over him and Samael collapsed to his hands and knees.

Without so much as a gesture from Claire, but following an unmistakably issued command, the rest of the Cabal filed silently into Samael's home.

First came Amber, ranked 12th, a former porn star who, at the height of her career, had given it all up to become a Member of the Club. Her blonde, California-girl innocent good looks belied a vicious ambition.

Jennifer followed, one of the Club's founding members. The stunningly gorgeous redhead had long been on a downward spiral as younger, hungrier women forced her down the rankings. She had been among the first to join Claire's Cabal, trading her soul for a chance to reclaim the glory of her youth. Already, she had avenged her previous two losses and regained the 17th rank.

Della came next. A tall, willowy professional model with brown hair and darkly tanned skin. It was rumored that Claire had forced Della into servitude against her will as a display of power to the other members of the Cabal. Whatever the truth, Della served with utter loyalty. She remained 20th, as Claire had not allowed her to challenge for a higher ranking since bringing her into the fold.

Kym entered pulling a bulging black suitcase behind her. She had been a practicing witch when she joined The Club and was immediately snatched up by Claire. She had rocketed through the rankings, and currently sat at the 22nd position. Her sassy reputation made her a favorite among the Angels, the men who served all The Club's Members.

On her heels came Linda, the bubbling blue-eyed beauty with curly blonde hair. Her joyful enthusiasm for sex had not helped her climb past the lowest tier until she had joined the Cabal. Less than a month after submitting to Claire's will, she had won her first challenge match in half a year and entered the next tier with a ranking of 24th.

Last of the Cabal, Amy entered. The Cabal's newest and most junior member, she was one of the least imposing Members of The Club. Standing only a hair over five feet and lacking the pin-up body shared by so many of the other Members, Amy's greatest weapon was her immense intellect. Sylla had foolishly challenged her and earned the contempt of Claire.

Samael blinked in confusion as the women spread throughout his home with efficient purpose. As he turned his attention back to Claire, she held a painted clay bottle before him. With shaking hands, he grasped it. She stared down at him and his stomach tightened into a knot. Drink it. The command echoed in his head. Had she spoken it aloud?

He raised the bottle to his lips and tilted it back. The smell hit him as the first drop of liquid touched his lips. Death, decay, worms, fear. He shuddered with revulsion and gagged, but his body would not obey the panic in his mind. More of the liquid flowed into his mouth. Terror, fire, rot, putrescence. Pain wracked Samael's body. His eyes watered, his tongue swelled, his stomach heaved.

Samael's fragile mind splintered with blinding pain. His sanity fled like rats from a sinking ship. He could not see, hear, or think. He could not even scream. A single thought coalesced in the ruin of his psyche: Mistress Claire.

His mouth was filled with honey. Golden, delicious ambrosia. He swallowed greedily, not allowing a single drop to escape his lips. He was assaulted by sensations. The smell of honeysuckle on a warm spring morning, old leather, freshly sliced oranges. The moans of lovers rang in his ears. He could feel smooth bare skin rubbing against his body.

The empty bottle fell from his fingers and shattered into a thousand fragments before him. He looked up reverently. "Mistress Claire," he whispered through cracked lips.

A hint of a smile touched Claire's mouth.

Cool hands slipped beneath Samael's arms and pulled him to his feet. "Go, Samael," Claire commanded. "Kym and Linda will prepare you for the ritual." She turned away, dismissing them, and Samael felt the loss like a stab wound in his gut.

He was dimly aware, as he was led through his house, of a flurry of activity all around him. Members of the Cabal were pushing furniture about, clearing the accumulation of unwashed dishes, and unpacking an assortment of strange items from their black suitcase.

He found, to his surprise, that he felt better than he had in days. More alive. Stronger. He noticed for the first time that he had two of the Club's Members, who had previously been far above his station, walking on either side of him, their amazing bodies brushing against his in the narrow hallway.

He was guided into the master bathroom, where the large walk-in shower was already filling the room with steam. Kym and Linda began to undress themselves with an uncanny mixture of sensuality and detached professionalism. Samael moved to undress himself before realizing that he was already fully naked. He had been nude the entire time.

Linda, smiling sweetly, pulled Samael by the hand into the shower and beneath the multiple jets of hot water. Kym followed moments later, carrying a razor and several bottles of soap and shampoo. Samael stood in a daze as two of the most powerful and attractive women he had ever encountered began to wash his body clean with soft sponges and scented soaps.

Kym was kneeling before him, rubbing a soapy sponge along the length of his thighs, when he felt the first stirrings deep within himself. Linda was standing behind him, her hands massaging his scalp with shampoo, her large breasts brushing lightly against his back. Samael drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Mistress Claire's potion had cured him!

Samael opened his eyes slowly and looked down. Kym was kneeling frozen before him, staring with lust-filled eyes at his swelling cock. Samael placed his hands on either side of her face and gently pulled her closer. Her lips opened as her eyes closed and she took him into her mouth. Water coursed down her lithe body as she began to suck his cock.

Linda's hands roamed over his smooth chest as she began to writhe her body against him, her nipples hard against his back. She left a trail of kisses from one muscled shoulder to the other. He reached backwards with one hand and gripped Linda's ass while guiding Kym's head with the other. The women moaned in unison.

Linda's body, slick with soap, slid easily against Samael with building tension. His fingers traced patterns along her ass and around her thigh, seeking her wet pussy. Linda gasped and moaned deep in her throat as he found her clit and began teasing it between two fingers. She arched up on her toes to kiss him, attacking his tongue with desperate hunger. Samael met her passion and doubled it, forcing Linda to break the kiss, panting for breath.

Kym, sensing a lack of attention, began to rapidly pump the shaft of Samael's cock with one hand while running the other over his flat stomach and muscular chest. She alternated between sucking his balls, running her tongue along the length of his shaft, and taking his large head into her mouth. She moaned in ecstasy as she increased her pace.

While Samael guided Kym according to his desires with one hand atop her head, he curled the fingers of his other hand around the back of Linda's neck and pulled her into anther deep kiss. His tongue penetrated her lips and she shuddered against him, whimpering softly. When she could take no more and broke off the kiss, Samael forced her downward, and she trailed kisses along his chest and side as she dropped to her knees beside Kym.

Samael grabbed a handful of dripping wet hair in each hand and forced them to look up at him. "Ok, ladies," he said, a grin spreading on his face. "Here's the game. Whoever sucks my cock the best, gets fucked. The loser will have to watch."

They attacked his cock with the ferocity of starving lions. Their hands clutching his ass, pumping his shaft, raking nails down his muscled stomach. Their mouths and tongues battled for ownership of the head of his cock. Kym won, after drawing Linda into a passionate kiss that left the blonde girl breathless. Kym went to work, her tongue flicking with perfection against the sensitive skin beneath the head. She looked up into his eyes and attempted to take him fully into her throat. Samael flexed the head of his cock and Kym disengaged, coughing.

Linda eagerly took her place, drawing Samael into her hot, wet mouth. She clutched her own large breasts in her hands, teasing the nipples and massaging, as she pistoned her head against Samael's cock. Kym recovered quickly and began sucking and licking Samael's balls.

Back and forth they went, each trying to gain Samael's favor with their unsurpassed abilities. Linda was capable of taking Samael deeper into her throat than Kym, but Kym's fiery passion won her points. Often, when Linda was in control, Kym would attack her, fingering, pinching, and biting until Linda was temporarily incapacitated, allowing Kym to take over.

When no clear victor emerged, Samael declared their battle a draw and forced them both to bend over before him. He shoved his cock first into Kym, who cried out in pleasure. He drove two fingers into Linda's pussy, eliciting a matching exclamation.

He fucked them both, bent over in his shower, until their legs were shaking from the power of their orgasms. They clutched each other for support, their eyes willing Samael to focus on the other so that they might have time to recover. He was close to finishing them both, he knew. Had any man ever defeated two of The Club's Members at once? Surely not.

A pinprick of pain, like a bee sting on the back of his neck, woke him from his reverie.

Samael blinked in confusion. Kym stepped out from behind him, already dried and wearing a black robe. He was standing alone in the shower. Linda, also wearing the black robe of the Cabal, was looking at him expectantly. He looked down. His penis remained flaccid. It had only been a dream. He was still broken.

With a sigh of resignation, he stepped slowly out of the shower. Kym and Linda quickly toweled him dry. His body had been shaved clean. Even his long hair had been trimmed. The women went about their work with clinical indifference, never meeting his eyes. They refused to allow him deodorant, cologne, or clothing, but did insist that he thoroughly brush his teeth.

When he had finished to their satisfaction, they led him out of the bathroom and into a transformed world hardly recognizable as his house.

Every light had been extinguished. Candles lined the long hallway casting shadows that leapt and danced to a dark song. As he watched, mesmerized, he found he could almost hear the music. The shadows beckoned Samael to give himself over to their madness.

Cool hands pushed him down the hallway and he obeyed, stumbling forward on unsteady legs. His head swam and he reached out to brace himself for support. His hand sunk into the wall and he pulled back in revulsion. The walls began to breath in an alien rhythm. He was inside of some awful creature. It had swallowed him whole. He looked around wildly for an escape, but the hallway stretched onwards for miles. He collapsed, screaming in horror.

Warm hands pulled him off the floor where he had curled into a fetal ball and shoved him down the hallway, deeper into the belly of the beast. The terror was paralyzing, but he lacked the strength of will to resist.

After an eternity of torment, they turned the corner and he faced what once had been his living room.

A large circle dominated the room, easily 15 feet across. The circle was constructed of a variety of strange materials. The base appeared to be a thick band of fine white sand. Slivers of gleaming metal showed through the sand in places: silver, copper, and gold. Spaced evenly around the circle stood tall black candles, filling the room with flickering shadows, dancing upon the walls.

Claire stood in the center of the circle, her eyes closed and hands held out in a gesture of supplication. Her lips moved, as though in prayer, but no sound came forth.