The Freyja Club Ch. 17

The sting of the shower felt good after the almost six-mile run that I had just done with Libby around the Capitol Mall. It was nearly seven p.m. and I had impulsively left work early and driven to Washington where I was now. Usually, my life is fairly regimented and I try to keep the various and sundry aspects of it compartmentalized so that one part, such as my work doesn't unduly interfere with some other part, such as my love life. However, today it just wasn't working.

Last night, it had become apparent to me that most, if not all, of the erotic stories that I'd been writing needed to be revised and probably rewritten in light of my heightened appreciation of eroticism. Since my initiation into the Freyja Club almost a year ago, I had been introduced to a hedonic lifestyle that I didn't know existed and it was having a profound effect on me. This afternoon, that compartmentalization that I was so proud of had completely crumbled, and I ended up impulsively taking the rest of the day off and driving to Washington where I was now taking a shower in the Freyja Club Hotel.

When I arrived, I had gotten into a conversation with a hotel employee named Libby and in the course of that discussion learned that she was an exhibitionist. We had spent some time talking about her compulsion and it had resulted in some unplanned exposure to her wonderful female body and a heightened awareness on my part that I needed to explore her interesting fetish. I had asked permission to write about her journey to the Freyja Club, but I needed to know a lot more about her before embarking on that.

As I stepped out of the shower, I glimpsed my reflection in the full-length mirror that was attached to the back of the bathroom door, and I paused to consider the image that I saw there. At six-foot, one hundred and eighty pounds, I looked to be in good condition, a fact that I credited to my ritual morning run. I guess you could call it a runner's body but the developed shoulders and arms needed to be credited to the three times a week workouts. The hair on my head was still wavy and had just begun to show some gray, and I was still tanned from a lot of exposure to the sun over the last few months. All in all, I thought I made a favorable impression, but before I turned to get dressed my gaze was drawn to my semi-hard cock. I assumed that it was still stimulated by the image of Libby's nakedness, but it was a good omen as I prepared for an evening in the club.

I dressed in what I thought of as my uniform; Khaki slacks and a blue blazer over a polo shirt. The only variety was which color shirt I chose. Tonight it was a simple white. I slipped on my comfortable loafers without socks and splashed on some cologne before heading to the club. As I passed the front desk, I noticed a cute redhead who I assumed was Lynn. I waved her a greeting and she smiled back, but she seemed preoccupied, so I decided to wait for another time to make her acquaintance. Since the hotel entrance was separate from the club's, I had to exit to the parking garage, then re-enter the building through the club door.

As usual, once past security and through the Viking door I encountered Rachel, the lead hostess, who had been the subject of a conversation that I had with Libby just a couple of hours previously. She gave me a nice welcoming smile and greeted me by name without even a glance at her monitor to confirm my identity. Libby had told me that Rachel was aware of the erotic stories that I had written about two of the Washington club's staffers, so I thought I might play that card in an attempt to actually have a real conversation with her.

"I understand you read some of my humble prose," I said. Rachel's smile didn't exactly fade, but she seemed to adopt a more wary expression. "Uh... yes... I did read what you wrote about Travis and Michelle, and... I admit that you revealed some things in your stories of which I was... uh... unaware. Which of them told you, if I might ask?"

"Well, I guess I'm not at liberty to tell you how I know that both stories have pretty well made the rounds here, but perhaps you can tell me what you thought about what I wrote."

For the first time since I had been coming to the Washington club over the past year, I thought I saw a crack in the shell that Rachel seemed to have which had frustrated all of my previous attempts to get to know her as a person.

"Well, obviously you're a very good writer, and your descriptions are very... uh... very easy to visualize. I don't recall being quite so aroused by... just words." Rachel confessed with a nervous laugh followed by a bemused smile. I kept surreptitiously looking at Rachel's computer monitor, but it didn't reveal any people coming into the club that would interrupt our conversation, so for once, my timing had been good.

Rachel was a seriously beautiful woman and I thought at around forty, she was at her peak. I'm sure she'd always been beautiful with her brunette hair and flawless skin, but as I have described before, her breasts were nothing short of spectacular. Few women who are only 5'-7" and around 130 pounds can carry a pair of 36DDs as gracefully as Rachel, and her well-muscled legs and womanly hips, which framed her hair-covered mound, were designed by a loving God, to drive red-blooded men totally insane.

A Freyja Club is a wonderful laboratory to pursue the science of breast philogyny. With a quick casual glance around the club, I could see a dozen or so naked women. Their breasts varied greatly in terms of size, shape, the degree of sag from their chests, and of course the color and size of the areola that surrounded their nipples. Darker areola, I had been led to believe, was an indication of childbearing. If that was so, the profusion of pink that I saw would indicate that the ladies that I saw had not chosen that road.

As with everything about her tits, Rachel's pink nipples were perfect. They extended about a quarter inch and were surrounded by silver dollar-sized areolas. As we talked, I was fascinated by the rise and fall of her breasts just from her breathing and I recalled some of the times that I had seen her walk across the room with her flesh in wonderful motion. I remembered a conversation that I had with Jennifer one time when I asked her how she felt when her breasts jiggled and swayed, and I still recalled what she told me.

"Well, I suppose it's just like your cock. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'm completely unaware of them. They're just part of me, sort of just there. Then there's the other one percent of the time when I'm very conscious of my tits and the arousal that they can cause for men, and me too. I do become aware of their weight and movement, and, of course, they're an important part of what makes me a woman. I love to be fondled. When a hand cups a mound and a thumb flicks across my nipple, I always feel a nice sensation that ripples down to my pussy, and when you draw my nipple out with your fingers or suck on it, I feel a warm glow just spread over my entire body." I recalled that Jen then chucked and added, "Well, that's the whole purpose, isn't it? To be sucked."

Back in the present, I would have given a lot to taste one of Rachel's marvelous buds, but just then she turned to greet two men who had just entered the club and I was treated to a profile view of the subject of our conversation. From the side, the extent to which a woman's breasts protrude can be seen and the exquisite biological engineering is appreciated. Rachel had a bit of 'sag,' but I thought it actually enhanced her attractiveness. As with all things though, from how much salt to add to your steak, to how much 'sag' was appealing, it was a matter of degree. Across the room, a statuesque brunette's tits lay flat against her chest and, to my mind, had 'sagged' a bit too much.

The two men that Rachel had greeted, passed by and took seats in the sofa nook by the Swan door exit and I assumed awaited the emergence of their female companions. I briefly glanced in their direction, and as I often did, wondered about their journey to this secretive club and about the women whom they were waiting for; wives, mistresses, 'significant others,?' Not for the first time, I realized that just within the still limited view of the people in the club, there were a thousand stories just waiting to be told.

Just then, Rachel turned back to me and said, "Ned tells me that you've been asking a lot of questions about the club?" She let her open-ended comment hang in the air in a manner that allowed me a variety of responses, which, of course, I thought was her intention. I had previously had a long conversation with Ned Murray, the club's Executive Manager about my 'curiosity,' and I assumed that was what Rachel was referring to when she said that "Ned tells me..."

Since my initiation into the Freyja Club at the end of an amazing sequence of events on a trip to Paris earlier in the year, I had decided that, in addition to just enjoying the hedonistic pleasures that the club offered, I would also try to discover the secret of how this ninety-year-old institution had survived and continued to operate in virtual anonymity while expanding and spreading to twenty locations around the world. As I had explained to Ned during our conversation, I had no ulterior motive, but for over twenty years I had led the merger and acquisition efforts of my company. Understanding what made commercial enterprises tick was what I do, and the process was now so ingrained into my psyche that finding out things was as natural to me as breathing.

After I recounted my conversation with Ned, Rachel just nodded her head but didn't follow up with another question, so I assumed it was my turn. "I think your job here is a lot more than just standing at this podium every night just greeting people isn't it?" If there's one question that's sure to be a conversational ice-breaker, it's asking someone about what they do in life. In my experience, most people take a lot of pride in their careers and often appreciate someone who exhibits more than a superficial interest. I hoped that was the case with Rachel.

Rachel's demeanor brightened considerably and she answered, "Oh my, yes. My job is to make sure every guest's visit is a pleasant experience." I saw Rachel's eyebrows scrunch together as she thought about how to continue. "Most of what we can control comes down to the people we recruit and hire. Ned finds them, but I decide who actually gets the job working with the guests. They have to have a special "something" to fit in. I like to think of working here as not so much a job as a calling." I immediately recognized that Rachel was using a term that was usually reserved for humanitarian or religious commitments and I thought it significant that she viewed the work here in the same way.

"Ned isn't here all of the time, but even when he is, I'm responsible for everything that goes on in the club itself. I don't get too involved with the kitchen or security, but if it happens inside that door..." Rachel nodded in the direction of the Viking-themed entrance, "I'm charged with making it happen."

I chose that moment to chime in with my observation, "I had noticed that the staff exhibits an uncommon 'camaraderie' and I have yet to meet one who isn't always pleasant and helpful." At that, Rachel almost beamed. "They damn well better not," was her quick response and we both laughed at her mildly profane reaction.

"Travis told me that you also work in the office," I mentioned.

"Yeah, before the club opens for a couple of hours, and occasionally on a Monday or Tuesday." Those were the two days of the week that the club was closed and I knew from multiple sources that there was a lot of 'behind the scenes' activity on those days. Both Michelle and Travis had described being initially interviewed on those days and I knew that most of the deliveries of food and drinks, and I assumed most other supplies and maintenance, were scheduled for those too. Rachel continued, "There's all the normal paperwork and I help with some of it, but I'm totally responsible for the payroll part, plus scheduling, vacation and sick coverage, that sort of thing."

I wanted to find out more about Rachel as a person, but unfortunately, people began to stream into the club at a steady pace, and I knew that it was time to let Rachel just do her job. so I thanked her for her time and got a nice smile in response. I glanced in the direction of the Swan door and watched two women emerge and observed that while the brunette walked confidently and purposefully exhibiting her nakedness, the shorter blonde was tiptoeing timidly and it was obvious that she was decidedly less comfortable. For about the hundredth time, I wondered how I would feel as a woman faced with walking through that door for the first time, knowing that I would instantly become the focus of attention. Would I embrace the moment as the brunette appeared to, or succumb to my own self-consciousness as it seemed the blonde had?

My thoughts also returned to Libby, the hotel clerk, who only a couple of hours previously had confessed her obsession with exhibitionism, a fetish that I had her demonstrate for our mutual enjoyment. Libby had admitted that she had taken the job in the Freyja Club hotel as a stepping stone to what she really desired, to work in the club itself when an opening became available. I had to agree with her decision. What better job for someone deep into exhibitionism than a job that required you to be naked in a safe environment and paid you a bunch of money to boot.

For a Thursday, I thought the club was getting pretty full. I usually came only on weekends for obvious reasons, but I didn't see much difference in attendance. From prior conversations, I knew that for most clubs, approximately sixty percent of what they called the 'click-ins' were from members within a hundred-mile radius, and the other forty percent were from 'visitors'. Technically, no one was assigned a 'home club,' but as a practical matter if, like me, you were close to one, you visited it more frequently. Most of the twenty clubs were located in cities best described as financial centers. Washington was an exception. It wasn't a financial center, but as the seat of the richest and most successful country on the planet, its stock in trade was 'power,' hence, a lot of visitors.

The walk from the entrance to the bar transverses a two-story high foyer.

In the center of the room, there is a circular fountain with a gold statue of Freyja, similar to what I'd seen in New York and Paris, but unlike those, there was a pretty extensive explanation of the Freyja Myth and why the club had come to be named after her. Most of it I already knew, but I thought it was a nice touch.

The whole back of the room was divided into four arching doorways, behind which I could see a long bar and a number of tables. A long painting ran the length of the back bar depicting a scene from antiquity where most of the people were nude, and in several cases, fornicating. The bar and the restaurant could be thought of as occupying the same open room, but there were enough panels and plants scattered around to create a clear line of demarcation, and the entrance to the restaurant was through a white trellis and past a podium where a hostess, usually Leslie, greeted and sat the diners.

Around the bar were ten high tables with stools and three separate conversation nooks which consisted of three comfortable red loveseats in a U-shaped pattern around a low table. All of the loveseats were occupied mostly by mixed couples, but since I was alone, I headed to my usual seat at the bar. I saw that Michelle was busy at the far end, so Corey came over to take my drink order, which to her surprise was for a Bourbon & Ginger instead of my usual cold Heineken. Corey and I had probably more than a nodding acquaintance, but nowhere near the relationships had with Michelle.

Corey's bronze skin and slightly kinky black hair spoke to her obvious mixed ethnicity, but I'd never taken the opportunity to ask her about that. I knew that she and Michelle were close and shared a lot of personal information and Corey had sometimes been in my thoughts as someone whose journey to the Freyja Club that I'd like to chronicle. From the looks of things though, all the bartenders looked harried, so I didn't think it was a good time to get into a prolonged conversation.

With a quick glance at a couple of fornicating figures in the painting, I swiveled my bar stool around and surveyed the crowd. I was hoping that I might discover Nancy, Hayley, or even Susan in the throng, but it didn't appear that any of those ladies were in the bar area. However, there was one woman who was looking in my direction with a steady and curious gaze. I felt a sense of familiarity with that look, but its relevance took a minute for me to recall. When I did, I muttered under my breath, "Aw shit. It can't be."

But it was!

I picked up my drink and walked towards the woman who was sitting by herself on one of the loveseats. When I got there, the woman was looking at me like she'd just seen a ghost. "Hi Fionia, Fancy meeting you here," I said while raising my glass in a sort of greeting gesture.

"My God!" Fionia exclaimed with her midlands accent, "You're the man from Paris."

I was sure that she didn't recall my name, so I nodded and reintroduced myself. In my experiences in the Freyja Club, Fionia occupied two relatively distinctive places. I had met her the very first night I had ever been inside a club. Danielle, the Executive Manager of the Paris Club, and her husband Phillipe had taken me to dinner. I had been invited but had not yet decided to join when I had become aware of Fionia's gaze from an adjacent table. That evening we had played the gazing power game and I had succeeded in forcing her to drop her eyes first.

Later, after Danielle and Phillipe had excused themselves for the evening, I wandered around and eventually got into a conversation with a lady named Ming, who managed the 'Board' in Paris and who had explained its operation. I had casually removed one of the cards. At the top was the name Fionia, and below were the words, "F/M cun+" Ming explained that the card was from a Woman who was seeking a man or a woman to eat her pussy and maybe more.

Ar the time, I had drained all of my reserves into Danielle's beautiful body only a couple of hours before and I doubted that at my age that I would be able to satisfy any woman with my cock, but I had been told that I had a well developed 'oral' talent that I thought might be useful. I had Ming help me find this 'Fionia' and was surprised when she turned out to be the self-same woman with whom I had played the 'power game' over dinner.

So, as it turned out, Fionia was not only the first person I independently chose to have sexual relations within a Freyja Club, but was also the first, and so far only, hook-up I'd made using the 'Board.'

I discovered that Fionia was an employee of the British Embassy in Paris, and I assumed, and she later confirmed, that that was the reason I now discovered her in Washington. "So pleased to see you again," she gushed. "I thought that we were a one-and-done," I admitted that I thought so too, and tried to convey that I was pleased to see her as well. I didn't know if she was with the other people sitting in the adjacent love seats, but she explained that she was alone and had just taken the empty seat. When she slid to one side, I sat down next to her. She didn't seem to have a drink, so I motioned and Michelle came over.

I introduced Michelle to Fionia and she stayed long enough for me to relate a very condensed version of how Fionia and I came to know one another. Michelle just shook her head and nodded in my direction. She told Fionia to watch herself, that I could be full of surprises. Then she took my glass for a refill and Fionia's order for a Vodka Tonic.