The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series (6 page)

MacCaulay
spent the darkest hours of night in torment, swollen
with desire, which no self-fornication could ease.
 
He finally succumbed to sleep, but awoke
soon after, feeling great mental discomfort and a penetrating ache in his loins.
 

Such was his frustration and wretchedness
over the following days that nothing could divert him. The hours stretched out,
banal and meaningless
;
beyond that, the mundane weeks
and months. It was intolerable. By night, his dreams left him exhausted and unfulfilled.
By day, his misery plunged him into a chasm of despair.

He sought understanding of his
feelings. Was this pure lust: a desire to possess and conquer: to bring this
woman beneath his heel? In part, this was true: he yearned to take her as the
African had done. He must claim her body and consume it, until her flesh fused
with his and nothing else remained. He would take her at every orifice, so that
his body became part of hers, blending in a fiery explosion of heat and light.
The thought left him reeling. Her power over him was like a diabolic contagion.

Yet, there was something
else. He felt her uncompromising exhibition of her basest animal impulses as a
revelation: a miracle of honesty, against which the rest of his life stood in
counterfeit. It was as if she had been sent to awaken him to his true self and
to lead him on some unsung path.

He knew that his infatuation
was inspired not just by a physical ache
but
by a
deeper need. He hungered for her body, in all its sensual perfection, but also
thirsted for the essence of her very marrow.

It could not be love: a condition
he held in contempt. He knew it could only be described as obsession.

Nevertheless, he could not
escape from his conviction that, with her, his life would be glorious: an
exploration of uncharted waters. Without, he would desiccate to dust.

Chapter Eight

Divine Couplings

Five days and nights passed:
the longest
MacCaulay
had endured. He knew not what
action to take - whether to pack his bags and remove himself from all
temptation, or to fling himself at the seductress’ feet. He knew now why men
joined monasteries perched on remote mountain outcrops, or the French Foreign
Legion, to sweat away their vitality in the harsh desert climate of North
Africa. They sought oblivion.

Heart heavy, he finally
shaved the stubble from his weary face and allowed his feet to take him where
they would: to the crimson salon.

It appeared that every member
had gathered; chairs had been brought from the dining room and placed about the
circumference, nestled in niches and tucked right up to the tapestries about
the walls, the seating arranged in a full circle around the space of a central
stage.

There, a bed had been placed
upon a raised dais, scattered with rich fabrics and plush cushions, but open on
all sides, so that no view was restricted.

A bell rang to silence the
hubbub of chatter, calling all to attention, so that the theatre could begin.
MacCaulay’s
heart beat rapidly, wondering when ‘she’ would
appear.

Two women entered, identical
in stature and physique, being athletic of build, with well-proportioned hips
and buttocks, full of breast and slender of waist. Besides their masks, of pure
white lace, they wore simple dresses, Grecian in style, from the lightest diaphanous
muslin, so that their form was apparent. The pair held hands, fingers clasped
in friendship, leading one another. The skin of one was the
colour
of coffee when milk has been added, and her hair was dark, hanging straight and
lustrous down the length of her back.
 
The other’s was palest alabaster, her hair a luxuriant copper, falling
in long, loose curls about her shoulders.

Both women were beautiful but
MacCaulay’s
disappointment was palpable. Where was
she?

It was only when one of the
women spoke that
MacCaulay’s
consciousness was jolted.
There, before him, stood the woman who haunted his days and nights. It was the
first time that he had seen her in the salon without the formality of her
evening gown and with her hair liberated from the confines of a multitude of
pins. He recognized now its rich threads of auburn and gold.

Her voice boasted its
customary silken seductiveness.

“Tonight, my gentle sirs, I
am Thetis, the sea nymph of ancient Greek mythology, and this is
Semele
, the exotic Theban princess. Once lovers of mighty
Zeus, we stand before you as distilled vials of feminine sensuality. We were
born to love: to give and receive pleasure. We shall prepare each other’s
bodies and then welcome the king of all gods. He shall come to us not as the
Zeus of later days, replete with having fathered so many offspring by mortal
women, but as his young self, barely matured, new to feelings of passion. We
shall initiate him in the ways of love.”

The two then turned to one
another and kissed: a caress sweet in its gentleness, lingering and true, as if
they were alone and unwatched.

Semele
took a pitcher from beside the bed, while Thetis drew
back her hair and leaned away. Her breasts jutted upwards as her back arched. The
Theban poured water across her partner’s gown so that the fabric became translucent
and clinging, revealing the raspberry areola of her nipples, pushed tight
against the muslin, and the dark triangle below her belly.
 
Semele
bent her
head to Thetis’ bared neck, kissing upwards from her collarbone, while letting
her hand travel down.

MacCaulay
wetted his lips, a flame kindling within him.

Thetis shrugged the dress
from her shoulders, so that it fell to the floor, and the beauty of her form
was fully displayed, droplets of water adorning her curves. She kept her noble
head raised and her hair shimmered down her back. Her skin appeared exquisite,
with no obvious sign of bruising from
MacCaulay’s
crop.

Semele
raised the pitcher again, so that rivulets of water
cascaded over Thetis’ porcelain landscape: across her abundant hills and downwards,
to the mysterious valley between her legs. They kissed once more, Thetis
pressing her damp body against that of
Semele
, still
clad. The Theban princess then permitted her robe to be pushed from her
shoulders, so that she stood before Thetis as a dark mirror: breast to breast,
belly to belly.

Thetis anointed
Semele
now with oil of orange blossom, warming it in her
hands, so that the sweet scent began to fill the room. She kneaded thighs and belly,
and then satin spheres, oil glistening. Here she lingered, taking delight in
the ample curve beneath her palm, squeezing and stroking, and teasing the
nipple between thumb and forefinger. Thetis reached down to the precipice of
Semele’s
secret garden, cupping its warmth. The maiden
parted her legs, rocking against the pressure of Thetis’ touch.

The sea nymph moved her other
hand to
Semele’s
buttocks, massaging and caressing,
reaching every crevice, leaving her hand between the cleft while she stole
another kiss. The amour of the embrace inspired the dusky princess to wrap her
leg about Thetis, exposing the velvet flesh of her under thigh to butterfly
touches.

The pair drank deeply of one
another, until they fell upon the waiting bed, their legs entwined. They
wrapped their fingers in each other’s hair and
Semele’s
kisses travelled at last to the rosy grotto of pleasure between the pale thighs
of Thetis.

MacCaulay’s
lips parted, seeing Mademoiselle’s legs open,
revealing her
centre
, plump and pink, like that of a
fig, awaiting exploration.
Semele’s
tongue probed
Thetis’ fruit, licked and sucked, until the sea nymph tossed upon a sea of
passion, the waves mounting within her.

Her head cast back, auburn
locks all-tumbled, her face showed only delicious delight. A rush of tenderness
came upon
MacCaulay
, watching Mademoiselle’s mouth
open in ecstasy, thinking of how he would love to place his lips upon hers.

Writhing now, her pearly
teeth biting against her lip in concentration, her flower exploded within her,
bringing forth sweet nectar.
Semele’s
luscious kisses
had taken Thetis to the heart of Paradise.

As the two lay resplendent, the
drapes parted to reveal Zeus: a young man
MacCaulay
recognized at once as their newest member. Aged just 20, he rowed for Oxford,
giving him a physique more muscular than was usual for his years. His angelic
face framed with curls of blonde, he presented himself as suitably god-like.

The two beauties upon the bed
welcomed him with arms open, drawing him to them, opening their thighs so that
he might lie easily between them. In turn they received his kisses, upon
breasts and belly, and gave kisses in return. His skin tingled at their touch: their
elegant hands stroking his strong limbs, and the hardness of his buttocks and
mighty staff.

Zeus’ caresses became more
urgent, his hands grasping the plump and shapely bottom of
Semele
,
so that he might impale her with his divine spear.
 
She met his long strokes with her own
dance of joy, her hips rising to meet each thrust, until the Theban princess
cried out in delight, her legs clinging about his and her back stretching in
pleasure. Zeus’ seed travelled deep, sent on its way with each throbbing pulse,
his sword buried to its hilt.

Thetis was now hungry for her
turn with the king of the gods, kissing his member back to life, so that Zeus
might mount her with the same
ardour
. Placing her
astride his lap, the divinity suckled like a babe at her ample breasts. Firm
and pert, with nipples
upcast
, he took his fill of
them, so that Thetis’ shrine ached to feel his thunderbolt within her. Clasping
her slender waist, he guided her upon him, exulting in the delight with which
she shared her flesh.

Her belly undulated as she encircled
him, wishing to bring him to the place of elation she was fast approaching.
Zeus bit down upon her breast as his juices sprung forth, his crescendo watering
the fertile soil of the sea nymph, and inspiring her own song of jubilation.

They fell now, entwined, with
Semele
joining them in their slumber, her dainty legs
about those of golden Zeus, and her breasts pressed lovingly at his back. Like a
painting by Titian come to life, the three curved their bodies one about the
other, so that it was hard to tell where one ended and another began.

So ended the tableau and the
gathered assembly gave its applause with enthusiasm, some standing to offer
their ovation. The play had been presented with utmost delicacy, so that each
kiss appeared to fly on wings from Heaven and each thrust was delivered with
ease, such as truly bestowed by a god.

MacCaulay
had watched enraptured, gratified to see the serenity
with which the object of his affections had conducted
herself
.
Each movement was lithe, performed with the grace of a ballerina. From the tilt
of her head to the pointing of her toes, her body was a thing of beauty: a ship
in full mast gliding across an ocean of pleasure. How relaxed she was, and how
ready to
lay
bare her inner self -showing her soul in
its utmost state of bliss.
 

As the gentlemen began to
drum the tables, shouting for an encore, the three young players rose from
their slumber to bow in thanks,
honoured
to receive
such approbation. The approval and admiration of the crowd brought a new flush
to the performers’ cheeks and they exited the stage with lightness in their step.

Chapter Nine

The Bath

The Gentlemen drifted from
the salon into the adjoining room: the assembly hall in which they might act
out their own tableaux, with the ready participation of the harem there waiting.
The scene inspired a great use of perfumed oil that night and the stripping of
clothes, so that limbs might glisten: all the better for the massaging of
tender flesh and the slip-sliding of bodies one against the other.
 

MacCaulay
remained in the salon until quite alone, ordering his
customary whisky and waiting, in expectation that Thetis might reappear. An
hour passed in solitude, so that he had all but given up hope, until the Master
of Ceremonies entered, to inform him that Mademoiselle Noire awaited his
pleasure. He led
MacCaulay
through the salon drapes
to a corridor beyond. There were several doors here, but from behind one could
be heard feminine laughter and the splashing of water.