An adult stories – The Freyja Club Ch. 14 by Billspen,Billspen Authors Note: Every chapter in the Freyja Club saga is written to stand alone, and you can puruse them in any order, however if you want a good detective story along with the steamy sex, reading the chapters in order will reveal how I came to know what I know about this secretive organization that has successfully operated in anonymity for the last ninety years. Additional clues and insights are also found in the companion series titled “Other Voices.” Check them all out, and let me know your impressions.
I was pouring over, and trying to make sense of, some financial statements that I’d just received on a potential acquisition we were considering in Germany when my intercom buzzed and Meredith, my secretary, said that Tom was on the line and did I want to speak to him.
There were very few people outside of my company who could call me and only give their first name and expect to be put through, but Meridith was well aware of who Tom Quinn was and our relationship since she’d probably typed several reams of correspondence with his name in the address line.
Tom was perhaps the best Merger & Acquisition attorney in the United States, and possibly on the planet. I had retained his services on a dozen occasions and had also been on the opposite side of the table on a few as well. I will tell you that I much preferred the former to the latter.
At the moment, we had nothing going that would necessitate a call from him, so I was more than curious why he was trying to contact me. We actually were friends as well as business associates and we regularly updated each other on the subject of who was thinking about selling, who was buying, and the normal bullshit rumors that constituted the world of business acquisitions. However, we had recently spoken on that subject and I doubted that was the reason for this particular call.
I picked up the phone and punched the button for the correct line and said, “Hey Tom, where in the world are you today?”
“Actually at home today… unbelievable, I know. I don’t think I’ve had a home-cooked meal since…” I could hear Tom’s voice trail away as I heard him ask the question. “Oh yeah, Charlotte says it was a couple of weeks ago.” Charlotte was Tom’s second wife, and I knew both of them pretty well.
“I’m calling to see how the investigation is going.” Tom didn’t need to be more specific. I knew exactly to which “investigation” he was referring; my now almost year-long quest to understand the workings of the Freyja Club.
I knew that both Tom and Charlotte were members, and Tom was actually one of the four people who had nominated me for my own membership, which had occurred during a trip to Paris the previous year. After returning to the United States, I called and thanked him for his sponsorship, and we shared some of our experiences and he learned that I had embarked on a quest to unearth the answers to questions that I had about the club and its ability to operate for ninety years in almost total anonymity. Tom had observed this compulsion of mine in some of our work together in buying companies, so he hadn’t been surprised that I had a similar compulsion when it came to the Freyja Club.
Over the last several months, I was satisfied that I had a good handle on the financial situation, how many, and what type of people were required, how purchases were made, operations disguised, and a workable theory about how the staff of the various clubs were recruited, used, and controlled. In my field of work, a necessary skill for success is finding the places where money is stashed and sometimes ‘laundered.’ But, be it money, or visibility, the techniques for hiding it are similar, and I thought I now knew about some of those.
Until recently, I had three major unanswered questions, two of which had to do with the club’s demographics;
Membership in the club was highly restrictive, both in terms of personal qualities and financial abilities. The Freyja Club was obsessive about secrecy, and no one could be considered for membership without undergoing an extensive background check. The most significant aspects of this check were centered on the person’s character and ability to maintain confidentiality. Money alone couldn’t buy a membership, but some degree of wealth was necessary for those who did qualify. The initiation fee was a non-refundable $100,000 and there was a $2,000 per month membership fee. The result of these requirements was that potential members were usually older, generally over forty, and they were predominately male.
The Freyja Club was attractive to people who desired a hedonic lifestyle. While I suspect that just as many women as men would qualify, I thought that cultural restrictions would be more of a limitation for women, particularly given that, under club rules, the way that it treated men and women was asymmetric. All females were required to be naked while in the club itself, but there was no such requirement for men. No matter how I considered the possibilities, I couldn’t come up with an answer to the question, “How did the ratio of men to women become balanced?”
The second question was just the opposite. “With so many older men, how did the club ensure that it could provide sexual satisfaction opportunities for the older female members?” given that sexual stamina and desire in men diminish with age.
Two recent visits to the Washington club yielded some important insights into how the Freyja Club had chosen to deal with the demographic questions.
Several weeks ago, I had arrived at the Washington club early and was sitting at the bar drinking my usual Heineken and talking to Michelle, who was one of the female bartenders and also one of my best sources of information. I had observed that there were three males that I saw occasionally and Michelle corrected me and said there were four. Travis, Todd, and Victor were the three that I’d seen, but apparently, there was a Rick as well.
Early in the evening, I usually saw two or three of them, but later, hardly any. Also, I had observed that they gravitated to tables that were occupied by older women but I also noticed that Michelle or one of the other bartenders would go over to actually take the drink orders. Two and two were adding up to four for me and Michelle confirmed that the primary “job” of the male stewards was to ensure that the needs of female members were met. Michelle had used air quotes when she used the word “needs” so it was abundantly clear that the “stewards” were the club’s solution to the older male problem. Later that evening, I encountered Travis, who was coming down the stairs from the third floor where the activity suites were located. The naked woman on his arm was beaming and was looking at him as if he was a Greek God. I thought that might be a confirming clue.
An insight into the issue of his the club managed to balance the number of female and male members, had occurred during my last visit, when I had met with Hayley. Hayley was a single woman in her early forties who was a tenured Professor of English Literature at Georgetown University. She, like me, had an unsatisfied curiosity about the club so, in addition to being a wonderful sex partner, she was also somewhat of a co-conspirator in my Freyja Club puzzle quest.
I had mentioned to her that I didn’t understand how the club was able to attract enough women given the parameters that I understood were required for membership. I had been a member myself for less than a year but had encountered only three women, Susan, Danielle, and Jennifer, who I knew had been recruited on her own merits. By far, the majority of others had been wives, mistresses, or partners of male (or female) members and I knew of a couple who had originally been ‘guests’ who had been retained as members after their relationship with their sponsoring partner evaporated. In fact, Hayley herself was a question mark in my mind. While her hedonic cum-slut personality clearly qualified her, I didn’t think she had joined on some other member’s coattails, nor did I think she was independently wealthy, or able to afford membership on a university professor’s salary. So I asked.
It was in that wonderful period after sex when with desire sated, lovers luxuriate in a state of bliss and camaraderie. Hayley was tucked into my arm and we were sipping chilled Sangria when I voiced my question asking how she had become a member of the club. She just raised her eyes and said, “The Institute.” I had no idea what she was talking about and she repeated her answer, thinking that I hadn’t heard her the first time. When I confessed my ignorance, Hayley began to educate me about the “F.C Institute,” and a huge piece of the membership puzzle fell into place.
While she was studying for her doctorate at Cambridge, she had participated in a campus B&D club and that, plus some other slutty activities that she confessed, had apparently brought her to the attention of the Freyja Club who, without her knowledge, conducted a background check on her. Later, she had been approached by a man by the name of Fredrick Grimm, who revealed that she was being recruited for potential membership in the club and that, should she accept, her membership fees would be paid for life. I’ve recounted this meeting before, so I’ll not repeat it here. Suffice it to say, Hayley accepted the invitation, but to proceed to full membership, it was required that she spend two weeks at a site in the Waverly area of London where she got acquainted with the club’s history and objectives. At the time she was there, she stated that perhaps twenty-five other women were in residence from all over the world. It would be hard to generalize from Hayley’s limited information, but it seemed to me that the F.C. Institute produced two to three hundred female members a year, and if true, that alone would solve the balance problem that had me so puzzled.
The remaining big question that I hadn’t begun to answer was one of the most basic. “How were prospective members identified, and of those, who decided to proceed with the background checks that I considered the key to the club’s ability to remain anonymous? I had been led to believe that this shadowy activity was centralized in London, but with twenty clubs spread around the world, I thought it was unlikely that all of the activity could be done from a single location. During my probing, I discovered that some things I’d been told, turned out not to be the truth, so I suspected that the security/vetting activities might not be as centralized as I had been led to believe.
As I outlined my discoveries and theories to Tom, I received several “Mmmm’s” and “okays” that signaled that he was following my reasoning. As with Hayley, it was good to be able to articulate these thoughts as it helped me clarify my thinking. When I finished, Tom opined that the picture that I’d constructed made sense to him, but he had a suggestion, which, as it turned out, was the real reason for the call. Tom asked if I had time to come down for a short visit.
Tom and Charlotte lived in a condo on Fisher Island which is an ultra-exclusive community just south of the city of Miami noted for its expensive real estate and top-notch amenities. It’s a neighborhood where people own large yachts, ride around in golf carts. No crowds, almost-zero tourists, world-class convenience, and no bridge to the mainland. I had been to Tom’s place a couple of times and I knew that only residents and visitors, hotel guests, club members, and card-carrying workers were allowed on the island. I personally thought it was more difficult to go to Fishers Island than most countries.
When I asked, “What’s the occasion?” Tom floored me with his answer. I had not seen Tom since my initiation into the Freyja Club, but since I was now a member, he and Charlotte wanted me to come down for a special event at the Miami Club. As Tom began to explain, I know my jaw dropped in amazement.
It was the middle of the United Way campaign and the members of the Freyja Club in Miami had decided to hold a fund-raising event for the charity. While the fact that they wanted to contribute funds wasn’t a surprise, their choice of fund-raising event certainly was. They were going to have a slave auction!
As Tom explained, both men and women would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, and both he and Charlotte had agreed to be ‘slaves’ for the event. I knew that Tom would be in high demand. I had seen him charm ladies into his bed on more than one occasion when we’d been together on business and his ruggedly handsome looks and 6’2″ frame had earned him a reputation as both a rogue and a cad, as some of those ladies had been someone’s wife.
Charlotte was Tom’s second wife and had married him with full knowledge of what kind of man he was. I didn’t know if they’d agreed to an ‘open marriage,’ but she was certainly tolerant of Tom’s roving eyes and the fact that she was also a Freyja Club member, strongly suggested that she also was no stranger to the hedonic lifestyle that the club promoted. I had only met her twice, and our relationship had been quite conventional, but with Tom’s disclosure, I was immediately fantasizing about the prospect of seeing Charlotte naked, when Tom finally got to the point.
Unbeknownst to me, Charlotte had told Tom that she was quite taken with me, and she had asked him to invite me to Miami. Tom chuckled, and said, “Bring money, she wants you to be the one who buys her.” The event was to be held on Saturday evening in two weeks, and I promised that I’d clear my calendar. Before he hung up, however, he said that Charlotte wanted to say something. When she got on the phone, she thanked me profusely for agreeing to come, but wanted me to know the ‘rest of the story.’
Apparently, there was another member of the club in Miami, “Carl,” who had been after Charlotte to play with him. She chose not to tell me the reason, but she was terrified that he might be the highest bidder at the auction. My job was to make sure that I, and not Carl, won her, and in return, she was prepared to be ‘more than grateful.’ My imagination went into overdrive considering what a ‘more than grateful’ Charlotte might be, and my cock firmed as well.
Truthfully though, I was having some misgivings about being invited to go down for the expressed purpose of fucking one of my best friend’s wife, but Charlotte was a seriously beautiful woman and both of them had invited me with open eyes and apparent sincerity. I just hoped that my bank account was bigger than Carl’s.
I caught a flight out of Dulles on Friday afternoon and was at the ferry terminal to Fishers Island before six. I had a letter of invitation from Tom which I had to present before they’d let me board, and I walked up to the top deck for the seven-minute ride to the island. Tom met me on the other side and we shook hands in a manly fashion and hugged each other before he grabbed my overnight bag and escorted me to his vehicle, which turned out to be a tricked-out golf cart that had a replica Rolls-Royce hood and a SIlver Ghost paint scheme.
Since Fisher Island is only a little over 200 acres in size, it was only a five-minute ride to his condo and he pulled into the attached garage and parked beside his Cadillac El Dorado. Tom and Charlotte’s condo was on the tenth floor overlooking the Miami ship channel, and when we entered Charlotte gave me a nice welcoming kiss and I discovered that I wasn’t the only guest. I was introduced to her friend Kelly.
Neither Charlotte nor Kelly stood much over 5’2″ and were a full head shorter than either me or Tom, but despite their small stature, both women had developed curves in all the right places and though Kelly was a strawberry blonde and Charlotte raven-haired, I thought they could be mistaken for sisters. This impression was enhanced when Kelly shook my hand and said that she was pleased to meet me. I knew that Charlotte had been born and raised in Savannah and had the long southern drawl of women from that part of Georgia, but Kelly spoke with the same accent, even though I learned that she was from South Carolina.
The ladies were sipping some kind of drink that could have been daiquiris and Tom asked if I wanted one. I replied that I was thirstier, and asked if he had a cold beer. Bless his heart, a minute later he passed me an ice-cold bottle of Heineken and I said, “You remembered.” Tom raised his own and we clicked the long necks in a silent toast to good memory.
Tom led us out onto the deck which I noticed girded the building with partitions that separated the condos and offered some privacy. Directly in front of us across the ship channel was the South Beach District and beyond that the seemingly endless rows of condominiums of Miami Beach stretching north to the horizon. It was a pleasant day in the mid-eighties and a cool breeze was blowing in off the Atlantic. We sat down in comfortably padded chairs arranged around a rock fire pit which burst to life when Tom flicked a switch on the side.
Once comfortable we relaxed into the typical ‘getting to know you’ conversation, which of course was mostly Tom telling Kelly about me, and Charlotte telling me about Kelly. It turned out that the two ladies actually were sisters of a sort. Sorority sisters. Charlotte had been Kelly’s big sister when both had been students at Rollins College and that had led to a lifelong friendship. According to Charlotte, those had been some wild times, and although it was more innuendo than anything, I got the distinct impression that both women had sampled much of the fruit that grew on the tree of sexual delights including with each other.
I hadn’t asked why Kelly happened to be present, but the explanation wasn’t long in coming. Charlotte explained that not long after she and Tom had been admitted to the Freyja Club, Kelly’s marriage had come apart, and Charlotte had decided to sponsor her for membership. I thought it was a novel way to manage a ‘rebound,’ and Kelly smiled when I made that comment. In any event, Kelly had been accepted and she was planning to be the successful bidder for Tom at tomorrow’s slave auction. I glanced in Charlotte’s direction, but only saw a calm and complete acceptance on her part of Kelly’s pronouncement. I commented that there seemed to be an awful lot of ‘rigging’ going on around the auction, and everyone raised their glasses in agreement.
Somehow the conversation turned to the Freyja Club in general, and my specific attempt to discover its secrets. I ended up giving the ladies much the same information that I’d shared with Tom and they were particularly interested when I described the ‘job’ of the club’s stewards and I wondered about the meaning of the look I saw pass between them. If I was the suspicious sort, which of course I’m not, I might have thought that perhaps I may have illuminated a fact that might have had a bearing on some recent experience.
The sun was setting behind the towers of the city of Miami across Biscayne Bay to the west and Tom announced that it was dinner time. He had made a reservation for us at Garwood’s which was an exclusive restaurant in the original Vanderbilt Mansion which was located in the center of the island. We all piled into Tom’s golf cart and a few minutes later the ladies, both dressed in sleeveless A-line dresses and Tom and I dressed in slacks, polo shirts, and blazers entered what could only be described as an old-time gentleman’s club. Rich rosewood paneling and decorative cut-glass and potted plants exemplified the decor and we were seated next to a window that looked out onto a lighted garden. The menu selections were what one would expect in an exclusive restaurant and, of course, bore no prices. None of us asked about that since we already knew the answer would be the classic, “If you have to ask, you don’t belong here.”
Tom ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio without asking, and it was delicious both before and during dinner. My coq au vin was outstanding even though some people would have criticized the combination of Pinot Grigio and Burgundy at the same meal, I didn’t give it a thought.
After dinner, we adjourned to the lounge where a true artist was playing the piano. It was obvious that the gentleman was playing by ear and effortlessly handled every request that was made. Tom and Charlotte ordered Gran Mariners while Kelly and I opted for Irish Coffee, and I was pleased that Garwood’s served the Kalua version of that drink.
Between the before-dinner drinks, the Pinot, the coq au vin, and now the Irish Coffee I had developed quite a buzz and as I looked at my dining companions I could see that I was not alone. Tom had gotten up to dance with Charlotte and Kelly seemed pleased when I asked her. I don’t remember the song, but it was a romantic melody and Kelly’s body just molded itself to mine and I was struck by how good she felt in my arms. In addition, I could now catch the aroma of her perfume which I hadn’t noticed earlier, but I knew immediately it was Elizabeth Taylor’s ‘White Diamonds.’ When I mentioned the fact, I got a smile from Kelly that indicated to me that she liked men who knew their perfume.
Kelly snuggled her face into my neck and I pulled her even closer with the effect that she suddenly became aware of the bulge of my cock pressing against her. She was much too short for the point of contact to be on her mound, but nevertheless, I felt her push herself forward and she mewed a satisfied “Mmmm,” in response. When she raised her eyes, I knew that look. I had seen it numerous times with other women. It was a gaze of pure lust. Sometimes the art of seduction is filled with innuendos and pleadings, and sometimes, like now, it proceeds wordlessly. By the time the song ended, we both knew we would be in bed together.
Sometime after midnight, Tom drove us back to his condo and he and Charlotte waved us each to a guest room and without much conversation, they retired to their bedroom. I looked at Kelly and she looked at me. She had already chosen one of the rooms, while my bag still rested on the floor where I’d originally dropped it. I went to retrieve it and when I looked up, Kelly was holding open the door to her room. If ever there was a blatant invitation, this was it.
Once inside, I’d barely unburdened myself of my bag when I felt Kelly’s arms encircling my body. When I turned around her hands were in my hair and she was standing on her tiptoes. Our first kiss was neither soft and inviting, nor savage and passionate, but somewhere in between. It was a kiss filled with yearning and promise.
The lamp by the bed was a bi-segmented porcelain version that I’d seen before. I flicked the switch and extinguished the top light. With the room now only subtly illuminated by the dimmer bottom half we began to slowly undress each other. It was to be a sensuous experience. Kelly pushed my jacket off and I untied the straps that held her dress around her neck. We kissed and she felt my muscles through my shirt. I caressed her naked arms and squeezed her narrow shoulders. When I pulled her to me, her head fell back and I kissed every inch of her exposed neck. We both kicked off our shoes and Kelly pulled my polo shirt over my head.
For a forty-eight-year-old man, I considered myself to be in excellent shape. My six-times-a-week morning run and my three-times-a-week workout had allowed me to pretty much keep the body that I had in my twenties, and when Kelly saw the result, she cooed her pleasure and spent some time exploring my torso with both her hands and her lips. When a woman looks you in the eyes and says, “God, you look and feel soooo good,” it makes those miles and reps seem totally worth it.
With the neck-straps undone, all that was necessary to relieve Kelly of her dress was to push the shoulder straps and it fell to the floor in a puddle around her feet. When she stepped out of it, she was left only in her panties and bra, but before I could reach those, she had already begun unbuckling my belt. She finished that as well as unzipping my fly and then she dropped to one knee to pull my slacks down my legs. When she saw the bulge in my briefs she uttered a little “oooh,” and pressed her mouth against it as her hands wrapped around my butt. It looked like she was inhaling my masculine aroma at the same time as it felt like she chewed on my still-encased shaft.
Impatient to expose me, I felt her fingers slip inside my waistband and she pulled. She got my briefs halfway down, but my now ramrod-stiff cock prevented her from completing that in one smooth movement. Instead, she had to reach in and grasp my shaft to work the briefs off. As I’ve previously stated, my endowment is only average, but women have told me that I have a beautiful cock. I admit that I’m still a bit puzzled by the comment, but I’ve been told that it has to do with the proportion of length to girth, and being circumcised is considered a plus. In any event, Kelly seemed pleased, and for several moments she just held me in her hand and looked lovingly at my penis. The words “cock worship” come to mind as descriptive of what I saw Kelly doing, but in any event, I don’t believe there is a man alive that doesn’t want every woman he’s with to look at him that way.
Kelly looked up and then took a long deep breath before she leaned forward and slipped my cock deep into her mouth. Perhaps, slipped isn’t the correct word because she sort of opened wide and engulfed me whole. Then she closed not only her lips, but her entire mouth around my shaft and just used what I can best describe as a “swallowing motion” to seat me firmly. She kept taking a deep breath followed by sucking, then another breath and more sucking in an alternating pattern. For a while she kept her eyes closed and it was eerily similar to the way wine tasters look as they try to gauge every flavor nuance in a fine wine, but in her case, it was every molecule of masculine pheromones, pre-cum, and skin taste she could.
I had been on the receiving end of numerous blowjobs, but I couldn’t remember any woman who wished to extract every last iota of sensory input from the hard male penis she so lovingly held in her mouth as Kelly was doing.
It had been a long day for me. Dulles was a two-and-a-half hour drive, an hour and a half flight, and a thirty-minute cab ride, dinner, drinks, and dancing were beginning to take their toll on my forty-eight-year-old body, and as much as I was enjoying what Kelly was doing, I wanted to see and sample her body as well. So, with some misgivings, I pulled her to her feet and kissed her on the mouth that mere seconds before had held my cock in its embrace. If Kelly was surprised, she gave no indication, as she mewed with pleasure as our lips met. Despite being male, I can occasionally do two things at the same time, so while we kissed, I used one hand to deftly unhook her bra.
When Kelly felt the clasp give way, she used one hand to hold the cups in place as she pulled away and simultaneously pushed me into a sitting position on the bed. It seemed that she intended to tease and torture me before revealing the soft curves of her body. Despite the absence of music, Kelly swayed to some rhythm in her head, and with her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open she appeared to be in a trance. She allowed the cups to slip enough to expose most of her pale breasts, but not yet the nipples. This was obviously not Kelly’s first rodeo and she was aware of what her sensuous striptease was doing to my libido. When I saw her eyelids part enough to gauge my reaction, they happened to drop and I knew that the stiffness of my cock would be evidence enough that I was excited by her little show.
Earlier, Kelly had seemed to be worshiping my manhood and now it was clear that she wanted a little worshiping in return. In the dim light, her skin displayed a golden texture that would have been lost otherwise, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation of what she was going to do next. Her aroma filled the air and it seemed to be a combination of the ‘white diamond’ perfume, but also the unmistakable smell of female sexual arousal. I wondered if she was actually waiting for me to beg, but just as that thought crossed my mind, Kelly smiled and her hands allowed the bra to drop and hang from her fingers.
I suspected that it was her intention, but I didn’t miss the fact that in the process of removing her bra that she pressed her breasts down so that when they were released, they gave a little jiggle before standing proudly on her chest. I know it’s a mystery to most women and it is to me too, why jiggling, bouncing, and hanging tits elicit such a strong sexual response from men, but they undeniably do and while she might not have understood it, Kelly was aware of the effect. She gave me a come hither look and lifted her tits as if to present them to me and then rolled her nipples between fingers and thumbs. The pink nubs firmed under her touch and I bent forward to see if she would feed one into my mouth. Instead, Kelly took a step backward and turned around. When she bent from the waist her round womanly butt was presented, and Kelly looked seductively over her shoulder as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slowly inched them down.
When they were at knee level, she let them go and they slid to the floor in a puddle by her feet. Then she stepped out of them and turned back to face me. She was now completely naked and the delta formed at the apex of her legs was covered in the same strawberry blonde hair she sported on her head. The lips of her sex were partially, but not completely obscured by her pubic hair and her little pooch of a tummy accentuated the curve of her pussy as the flesh tucked in between her legs.
It had been most pleasant, but as far as I was concerned, the time for teasing was over. Kelly was close enough that I was able to reach for her hands and pull her towards me. Since my face was about level with her pussy, I then wrapped my hands behind her ass cheeks and buried my mouth and nose into the soft silky nest of hair between her legs where I was immediately overwhelmed by the aroma of her arousal. I sawed my tongue into her groove and in response, she gasped and pushed her mound against my lips.
It was a mutually satisfying activity. Kelly squirmed as my tongue probed her slit and I was equally aroused by the taste and proximity to the most female aspect of her. In one sense, every woman that I’ve pleasured with my mouth has a similar tanginess, but no two are exactly the same. It’s difficult to describe the difference exactly, but I would bet that you could blindfold me and I could discern individuals just by the flavor of their pussies.
I was prepared to continue just mouthing her cunt as long as she desired, but at one point she pulled away to gauge my level of arousal. When she saw my penis solidly and visibly erect between my legs, it seemed she paused as if to consider her options. For a second, it appeared that she might drop to her knees and resume her oral magic from earlier, but instead, she pulled me to my feet and we ended up in an embrace and a passionate open-mouthed kiss. My stiff cock was pressed between our bodies and Kelly squirmed to rub my hardness against her tummy. When she broke our kiss, her mouth found one of my ears and she lightly nipped on the lobe before whispering, “I want you inside me.”
Kelly swiftly pushed the covers of her bed down and fluffed a pillow before climbing in to lay on her back. I watched the grace of her movements as she settled in with her knees raised and legs together. so I quickly followed her lead and kneeled on the mattress in front of her, placing a hand on each of her upraised knees and waited to see what Kelly might have in mind.
Her eyes widened in anticipation and her entire face displayed a sexual hunger as she looked up at me. I noticed that her arms lay limply on the bed in what appeared to be a posture of surrender. For some reason, I found this pushed my libido well up into the Defcon 5 range and I pressed on her knees. Kelly provided just enough resistance that the act of spreading her legs was akin to a sensuous unveiling of her womanhood, and I was soon gazing at her very wet and very open labia. A quick glance at Kelly’s face revealed that she was immensely enjoying the act of displaying herself this way and when she saw that she had my attention, she smiled and mouthed the words, “fuck me.”
Most of the time, the coupling process requires that both the man’s penis and the woman’s vagina be well lubricated. I usually achieve this by rubbing the head of my cock along the folds of the woman’s slit, but if she’s already very wet, as Kelly seemed to be, then it’s possible to penetrate her “hands-free.” I walked on my knees until I was at the right distance and by leaning forward I positioned myself at the right angle. I pushed one arm under her neck and raised her head enough that our lips met at the same instant that I pushed with my hips.
The folds of Kelly’s vagina easily parted to accept my ramrod-stiff cock and I felt excruciating pleasure as my penis slid against the oily walls inside her opening. When she felt my thrust, Kelly raised her hips and moaned a long “ohhhhh,” into my mouth. Initial penetration has always been portrayed as either the most painful or the most pleasurable part of sexual intercourse from a woman’s perspective, but based on the moans and sighs Kelly was making, it seemed that she was experiencing the latter. I had not quite driven completely inside her, but it was enough that I felt surrounded by her female warmth and, I assumed, she felt nicely filled. We both squirmed a bit to find the ideal position, but it didn’t take long until I began to withdraw and commence the rhythmic thrusting of my hard cock into her soft and yielding hole.
I had raised my body and was supporting myself on my elbows and Kelly’s hands were soon caressing the taut muscles of my biceps as she looked into my eyes. At the bottom of every stroke she gave a little satisfied “umm,” and I felt her hips slightly rise to meet my thrust. It wasn’t the most passionate coupling that I ever experienced, rather it almost seemed that we were lazily climbing the arousal levels one slow step at a time. It was only when I felt my sensitivity start to increase that Kelly decided to become more demanding. “Fuck me… oh God, that feels sooooo fucking good… ram that hard cock into my pussy… treat me like the cum slut I am.. oh shit… fuck me… fuck me… fuck meeee! ” The last came out like a scream and I felt her attempt to mash our pelvic bones together.
In an instant, the lazy tempo changed, and we rutted together like wild animals. Kelly was using her legs, which were clasped around my butt to force me deeper into her spasming cunt. My inflamed cock hardened to the maximum extent possible and a few seconds later I groaned as my release erupted and filled the void between Kelly’s legs. I had seven distinct pulsations that emptied my balls and filled my brain with exploding fireworks. I was conscious of each because I grunted with each delicious spasm. Beneath me, Kelly’s body was jerking with each thrust into her vagina, and she had thrown her head back with a moaning “yessssss,” so I assumed that she was deriving as much pleasure as me, but truthfully, her pleasure was the farthest thing from my mind as my climax washed over me.
When I finished, I pulled my deflating cock from her hole and just rolled off onto my side, gasping for air and feeling as if I had just run a marathon. Kelly was struggling to breathe as well, but when she felt the weight of my body disappear, she quickly rolled as well, so that we ended up face to face, and I felt her hand on my cheek. “That was… incredible,” a far-off voice seemed to be saying, and it took me a moment to realize that it was coming from the woman next to me. “You’re pretty incredible yourself,” seemed to be an appropriate response, and indeed that was exactly my feeling in those early post-cotis moments. It’s been said that eyes are “The window to the soul,” and I have every reason to believe that is the case, because with our eyes locked, feelings of pleasure, togetherness, gratitude, and a host of other thoughts and emotions washed over me, and I struggled, but failed, to say something coherent.
Fortunately, loving caresses, gentle squeezes, and soulful kisses are better at communicating the depth of these feelings than words, so for long minutes that was exactly what we did, until Kelly reached over and extinguished the light. We snuggled together but Kelly did not attempt to clean herself, so with my semen locked inside her vagina, we slowly drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. Later, I was dimly aware of her getting up and going to the bathroom, but when we were awakened by sunlight streaming through the blinds, we still were locked in a naked embrace.
Perhaps it wasn’t just an idle thought, but it did occur to me that joining the Freyja Club had led me down some pretty interesting pathways, and I wondered about this one.