Fantasy Maker

This book was
written, produced and edited in the UK.

Some spelling,
grammar and word usage will vary from US English.

Copyright ©
Sabrina Kyle 2014

Smashwords
Edition

All characters
herein are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living
or dead, is purely coincidental.

The House
of Decadence looks just like any of the other Gentlemen’s Clubs on
St James’, London, but it’s not.

From the
outside it is a grand Georgian building, imposing in white stone,
with Doric columns, and is several stories high. It has a solid
black wooden door with brass fittings, and black and gold railings
surround the front.

It is a
members only club. But unlike the other Gentleman’s Clubs in the
area, it does not consist of waiters serving warm brandy, cracked
leather armchairs in front of log fires, and lots of men sitting
around enjoying the peace whilst reading the daily newspapers. Not
even close.

It is in
fact a very upmarket, exclusive club, for much more unusual
tastes.

We cater
to your secret fantasies.

Every
Friday night a party is thrown, each week with a different theme.
The parties are supposed to be the height of decadence; it would be
closer to the truth to say they are the height of
debauchery.

The owner
of the club is Jeremy Ferrini, he owns a chain of upmarket hotels
and one or two nightclubs. The other girls jokingly call him my pet
billionaire. It’s true that if there is anything I think the club
needs, he buys it for me.

I’m Stephanie Menage and I manage the place, and I’m also one
of the girls in The House of Decadence. Officially we are called
“The Fantasy Makers”, but the regulars call us
The Whores of Decadence.

As jobs
go it is extremely well paid. But it has to be; client’s demands
can be extremely bizarre and are often rather taxing.

I started out as a regular Call Girl. A high-class escort
through an agency. When I got the hang of the job I moved agencies.
This time to La Crème de la Crème, which catered only for very
exclusive and
very rich
clients.

When men
pay a great deal of money for something, they tend to want it to be
exactly to their specifications, and I began to notice some very
peculiar specifications.

I was comfortable with the generic BDSM. I had no problem
playing submissive or dominant. I didn’t mind being handcuffed or
blindfolded, or giving someone a good sting with a
cat o’nine tails
. But I
began to notice that the more exclusive and well paying the client,
the more they felt free to request their own personal
fantasies.

Some were
simple and easy, and some were, needless to say, kind of
kinky.

It
started when I was at the home of one of my regulars “on
call.”

Jeremy
Ferrini liked pretending to be a Roman Emperor.

Together
we would soak naked in his jacuzzi and I would feed him grapes and
wash him in the manner of a slave girl.

“So I
guess you think I’m a bit weird, liking this kind of thing?” He
asked me.

I smiled.
“This is actually pretty tame. You wouldn’t believe some of the
things myself and my colleagues get asked. You would think most men
just want a bit of spanking and some lesbians, but when you really
push their buttons there are all kinds of fantasies to tap into.” I
began to tick off on my fingers, “In just the last few months, I’ve
been a vampire, a dungeon keeper, a nanny, Catwoman, room service,
a rubber doll, and a table setting.”

“A table setting?
” Jerry looked at me
quizzically.

“Yes, talk about
catering
to fantasies.” I laughed. “A client was having a
dinner party and he had some very important guests over from the
Far East that he wanted to impress. Apparently when he visited them
they laid on some, um,
unusual
diversions for him, so he wanted to do something
for them. The brief he gave me was simply to be a centrepiece on
the buffet table. I lay down naked in the centre of this long
trestle table and his chef then artfully adorned my body with food
and piled the rest up around me.”

“That
sounds fantastic!” Jerry was practically licking his lips at the
thought. “Could you do that for me sometime?”

I rolled
my eyes at him. “If you like.”

He
grinned, “So did they enjoy it? Did you?”

It always
amuses me how often the clients want to be reassured that I’m
having a good time as well.

“Well…” I
said conspiratorially, “I actually expected it to be pretty boring.
As far as I was concerned, there would be no sex or anything; I
just had to lie quite still with my eyes closed for the duration of
dinner. My client was very firm that I should not to look at them
or interact.”

I paused
and stretched into a pose. “So, I’m lying there like this, naked
but covered in food, with my eyes tightly shut, and I hear the men
come into the room for dinner. There were probably six or so of
them. There was some initial touching, but I expected that. A
couple of breast squeezes, some nipple tweaks, and a hand across my
bare stomach. That kind of thing. But they seemed generally well
behaved and began to help themselves to the food around
me.”

At this
point I could see Jerry beginning to get his fifth hard-on of the
night, which for a man in his late forties was good going. I
wondered if he had taken Viagra. I knew the next part of my story
would get him revved up and mentally prepared myself for another
bout. After all, he paid me well enough for it; maybe I would use
these stories more often as a bonus for my favourite
clients.

He
caressed my breasts and I knew he was picturing the scene I was
describing.

“However,” I continued, “somewhere down the table near my
knees were a selection of crudités and some dips. And some bright
spark decided it would be a good idea to add another ‘dip’ into the
mix. I felt my knees being gently pushed apart and I opened my
legs, I thought maybe they wanted them like that for the view, but
no. The next thing I could feel was carrot sticks, celery and
cucumber; all being dipped inside me one at a time! How bizarre is
that? I can only assume they ate them. Personally I would rather
have a hummus dip, but there’s no accounting for taste, though I
wouldn’t imagine the actual taste was really that delicious.
However, one of them must have really liked it, because he began to
lick me right there on the table. He spread my legs wide and
treated me like a real part of the buffet.”

Jerry
slid his way down my body and flicked his tongue against my clit.
“Like this?” He asked.

I moaned
appreciatively, “Yes, just like that.”

“And they
used you as a dip like this?” He spread my lower lips and slid a
finger slowly in and out of me.

“Mmmm,
yes, exactly like that.” I answered.

“Christ,
Steph, that’s so horny.” His cock was buried deep inside me a
moment later and he only lasted a few seconds.

I smiled
and made a mental note to use that particular scenario again if I
wanted a quick response.

When he was once more resting contentedly beside me, he began
to tell me about a his idea for a party. He wanted to hold a
fancy-dress toga party, but he wanted all the female guests to
actually be ‘working girls’ so that an apparently genuine
Roman orgy
could
ensue.

I agreed
to help him host his party. I had a lot of ideas. Jerry knew what
he might like, but his imagination didn’t encompass what his guests
might also enjoy.

Together
we planned a series of rooms for his guests to experience,
culminating in the orgy.

We talked
about converting his entrance hall into a room decorated by real
naked or half dressed women, in a series of classical poses. Some
holding vases, some on plinths, that kind of thing. This was to be
a tantalising promise for the eyes. In this room initial drinks
would be served as the male guests admired the
‘artwork’.

Perhaps
they would then be ushered to the steam room. This would be a men
only sanctuary, where they could sit around and discuss whatever
men usually talk about in steam rooms. Leading off the steam-room
would be massage rooms and showers.

Each
massage room would be staffed by a buxom half naked masseuse, who
would firstly give them the Roman treatment of being lightly
whipped with birch twigs, and then salted and oiled, before
offering any ‘extras’ they might enjoy.

After
that, the freshly bathed and massaged Romans would be handed togas
to wear and invited into the dining room. Here, once again, would
be a collection of alive statues, but this time in much more
provocative poses. A groaning buffet table would be laid, and
slaves in skimpy outfits would walk around with amphoras of
excellent wine. In the centre of the room would be a small swimming
pool where women would be frolicking invitingly.

The men would then be encouraged to recline on
chaise lounges,
and
dancing girls would be brought on to provide some visual
entertainment whilst they ate.

The
statues, the slaves, and the dancing girls, would all be amenable
to being fondled and touched, and would eventually be available for
other intimate acts. There could be curtained alcoves for those who
wanted privacy, but they would be encouraged by the girls to
indulge themselves openly on large piles of cushions or in the
pool.

Jerry was
wild about my ideas and had to avail himself of my body several
times during the discussions as they got him so excited.

It was
only after the fourth time he collapsed on top of me, that he
became aware of the obvious problem.

“I love
these idea’s Stephanie,” he said to me, “but my house isn’t set up
to do all the different rooms we want. I suppose I could make some
alterations, but it isn’t very practical. Maybe I could convert one
of the nightclubs, but it would be expensive for just one
night!”

That’s
when I pitched him a business idea. He’d often discussed his
various businesses with me and had always treated my opinions with
respect. He was the perfect backer for an idea I had.

“How
about setting up a brothel?” I smiled, as he blinked in surprise.
“Not the usual kind, but a club that caters to
fantasies.”

I stuck a
cigarette in my mouth, lit it and passed it over to him. He leaned
back on his bed and inhaled thoughtfully. “Go on,” he said at
last.

“It
wouldn’t be exactly legal,” I warned him before I started, “But I
already have a list of clients that I know would join the club, and
who could be counted on to be discrete. Plus you have
confidentiality clauses in the sign up. After that, membership
would be on a referral basis only. It would be expensive and
exclusive, no advertising except word of mouth. All new members
would be vetted.”

He
nodded, “You could find enough members to get it off the ground
could you?”

“Yes, I
could also find the right kind of girls. That will be the greatest
challenge. They will need to be attractive, educated, and willing
to commit completely to the various roles they would have to play.
We would only be able to run fantasy nights at most once a week.
The girls would need special training for each one, but you could
still offer the usual one-to-one services, including private
fantasy stuff, during the week. I can come up with themed parties
that would be popular and I can organise the girls. I could also
sort out costumes for both the girls and the guests, and I can
order any props that would be needed for the night.” I paused,
gageing his reaction. He looked genuinely interested so I
continued, “But it needs an owner, someone with a few spare
millions who could buy a venue and pay to convert it for the
business. It would need to be in an upmarket part of town, Mayfair
perhaps, and it would need a front dummy company. Just think Jerry,
we could have a whole Roman suite of rooms, just like we planned
for your party, that were a permanent fixture?”