The Belgravia Club

One

By quite early on in the evening I
knew that James and I would end up in bed together. After a series of
disastrous dates from internet dating sites I was about to give up and then
found his profile purely by chance. 35, tall, slim build, dark hair; good
looking in a suave sort of way; working like me in financial services (well,
that covers a multitude of sins but after a few emails I realised he was
genuine and not some spiv or
chancer
).

On our first date we clicked right
away; since I broke up with my ex a few months ago, things have, not to put
to
fine a point on it, been getting pretty desperate.
Inviting him back after the first date might have seemed a bit easy though, so
I held off, but a week later, I knew there
was
no
stopping us. Sure enough as he paid the bill at the Ivy, we both spoke at the
same time:

‘I wondered if...’

We both laughed.

‘Sorry, go on’ he said.

‘No, I just wondered if you’d like
to go on for another drink.
At mine, if you like’.

There was no awkward hesitation, as
I guessed there wouldn’t be.

‘Sure. I’ve been thinking about it
all evening’.

Oh have you now? I thought. You can
never quite tell with men. They’re supposed to jump at the chance of sex,
though in my experience they can sometimes go a bit odd on you when it comes
down to it. I know I’m no amazing beauty, but nobody could call me ugly.

I’m ash blonde, with what you could
call a buxom figure, and no, that doesn’t mean I’m fat, though I used to think
so until enough men convinced me otherwise. I’m only a size 12,
  but
I’ve got good curves; and money helps make up for
what nature might have neglected. I think some men just find me a bit
intimidating; but that’s just the way I am.

James put a protective arm around
me as he hailed a taxi, and once inside he kept it there. Our bodies touched
and I felt a tingle of arousal. Our heads were close but maddeningly he didn’t
kiss me; thankfully it was just a short trip back to South Ken. In the lift up
to my flat he made his move; almost instantly his mouth was on mine and his
tongue lightly probing my mouth; I eagerly responded with my own tongue and
felt his hands lightly but firmly on the outside of my thighs, corrugating the
grey Chanel suit I’d picked out carefully for the evening.

Once inside my flat, there were no
preambles; James took my hand and led me to the sofa. I took off my jacket and
his, and we started kissing deep and hard, his tongue now thrusting deep into
my mouth and his hands stroking and squeezing my breasts, each thumb caressing
the nipples through the thin fabric of my blouse. I’d worn my best Rigby and
Peller
bra and knickers set with holdups, just in case this
had happened; men, of course, don’t seem to care much about this kind of thing
and pretty soon we were both topless anyway.

James moved his head down to my
chest, licking and sucking my nipples until I could almost squirm with
pleasure. I moved my hand down to the growing bulk in his crotch and kneaded
and stroked him through the material of his trousers as he gasped in pleasure.
I smiled and stood
up,
keeping my back straight in the
way I know makes my breasts look even bigger. Taking him by the hand again I
led him to the bedroom and sat down on the bed while he stood over me.

I slid his trousers and we laughed
as I had to stretch the waistband of his shorts almost to the point of tearing
to get them down over his swollen cock. I tried one of the little tricks that
men seem to like, especially if you’re busty like me; but don’t ask me what
they like about it so much; I squeezed my breasts around his cock and firmly
rubbed them up and down the shaft as he groaned with pleasure. Then I held his
firm thighs and drew him closer, taking his cock in my mouth and working round
the head with my tongue. After a while his breathing grew heavier and finally
he pulled away.

‘Lie down on the bed now’. There
was a note of command in his voice which I liked.

I smiled and lay back on the
pillows as he kneeled in front of me and eased off my knickers. Fortunately he
didn’t try any theatrical ripping of them – they were my most expensive pair –
and after some light stroking with his fingers he started kissing the inside of
my thighs, deliciously working his way up and down and inwards until finally,
his tongue flicked across my clit and then started lapping at it, his hands
firmly kneading my arse until I could bear it no longer.

He seemed to sense the right
moment, and rolled me onto my side, swiftly and deftly easing his cock into me
from behind and immediately started up a hard, rhythmic pumping. I sighed with
the sheer force of it; somehow I thought he would be
more
gentle
but in a way I liked his firmness. I was aching to come anyway;
I’ve never been much of one for long, slow lovemaking and I guessed he wasn’t
either. He was pounding me now; his thighs slapping against my arse and his
hands caressing my breasts as they bounced up and down.

The tingling feeling between my
legs, which seemed to have been increasing for hours, rapidly got stronger
until I knew I was going to come; I was desperate for him to keep up the pace
and so I built up momentum by grinding my hips against him (all those riding
lessons as a girl finally had some use...). My fingers were a blur over my clit
as I worked myself up to fever pitch; finally the tingle grew to explosive
force and the familiar, but always delightful, surge of electricity shot
through my thighs making me go rigid and cry out.

It wasn’t the biggest orgasm I’ve
had, but a good one considering it was our first time. As it died down James
gasped ‘I’m going to come’. Wanting to impress him I tried another of my
tricks; I purred ‘wait a minute’ and eased away from him. ‘Stand up on the bed’
I demanded; he looked puzzled but quickly complied; I kneeled before him,
arching my back so that my breasts looked as big as possible; I took his cock
in both hands and started
wanking
it as hard as I
could, then gorged on it, working the shaft up and down with one hand while I
stroked his hard balls with the other. ‘Fuck...’ he breathed and I felt him
stiffen.

Taking his cock out of my mouth I
arched my back again, and leaned my head back and closed my eyes, then pumped
his shaft until I felt the hot drops of his cum shoot onto my face and body.
Opening my eyes and leaning forward, I closed my breasts round his cock again
and massaged it as his jerking body finally slowed, and we both collapsed back
on the bed. ‘Thank you for coming,’ I said with a sly grin. ‘Thank you for having
me’ he answered with a smile. It was corny, but I didn’t care. I was dimly
aware of James leaving sometime in the night; I awoke as the door clicked shut
but fell back into a deep sleep. After giving him a performance like that, I
was sure I would see him again. 

Two

As usual, it didn’t work out. I
didn’t hear from James for a couple of days; then I got a chirpy email saying
saying
‘Hi Sara, thanks for the great night...I really like
your company, and I think you’re amazing (in bed as well as out...;-) but I
have to say things are very complicated for me at the moment, so I don’t think
it would be good for us to meet again. Take care.
Jxx
.

Bastard.
What does ‘things are very complicated’ mean? Has a girlfriend, probably, or
married. Fuck him. Actually, I would love to do just that; and I even touched
myself thinking about it a couple of times, but no, seriously I thought, screw
him and all of them. I need a break from this. Fortunately as a hedge fund
manager, I don’t have much time to waste on men.

A few days later I was a having a
drink with my friend Claire at the Naval and Military club; she’s part of the
country set and likes these stuffy places. Actually I don’t mind them, though I
wouldn’t want to be a member; they have stupid rules about not using your
mobile and the men are mostly red faced lechers. I told her about my night with
James.

‘He sounds fantastic...’ she
purred. ‘Can I have his email? Only joking darling, I wouldn’t want to steal
your new man’.

‘He’s not my new man. He dumped me
in three lines by email’.

‘Oh dear.
He sounds disgusting. Now I really will have to get his email from you’ she
laughed, slurping her wine.

Claire is what I’d call predatory.
I like men, but her appetite is voracious and she will go for
literally  anything
in trousers. She’s slim and pretty
rather than beautiful, but with an infectious laugh and smile which seems to
drive men wild. She once told me that the reason she became a currency trader
was so that she could work from home and touch herself while looking at online
porn whenever she felt the urge. She was probably joking but you can never tell
with Claire. I know she swings both ways though; we used to work together and
she once tried it on with me at a conference. That’s never really been my cup
of tea, and she was really nice about it and didn’t push it.

‘I know just what you need, Sara.
Do you know the Belgravia Club?’

‘No’ I replied, thinking it sounded
like some kind of high class gambling
joint
.

‘Ever heard of Lady Jane
Underwood?’

‘I don’t think so....’ I didn’t
have quite the same connections as Claire.

 ‘We were at school together.
Her husband’s Johnny Underwood, he’s not an MP though, he’s a peer.’ 

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘I’m just coming to that. Jane’s
got the run of their London house, Johnny never comes to London except when
there’s an important vote and then he’s usually so pissed he ends up sleeping
at his club. They’re practically separated really.’

‘What did she see in him?’

‘Oh dear, you really are a naive
little suburban girl, aren’t you Sara? What does anyone marry for?
Money and children, of course.
Except in
Johnny’s case the money’s all tied up in land and their little country place.
Anyway, while the cat’s away, so to speak, Jane runs these rather fun London
parties.
A sort of girls’ club.’

‘I see...’
Although
I didn’t really.

‘I don’t mean a boring club like
this one’. She lowered her tone as a portly gentleman nearby harrumphed at this
remark.  ‘I mean somewhere where
us
working girls
can let their hair down.
All very select, invitation only
sort of thing.
Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you to come along. I
think you’ll like it’.

I had a funny feeling she was
trying to set me up with someone. She’s always doing that; ‘accidentally’
bumping into some boring farmer up in London who she thinks is gorgeous.

‘Hmm, well it sounds like it might
be ok. It’s just girls?’

Claire gave an enigmatic smile.

‘Just come along and see – I think
you’ll like it’.

Three

A few days later I was stepping out
of a taxi and up the white stuccoed steps of one of the biggest Belgravia
houses I’d ever seen. I’ve got plenty of money, but there’s no way I could ever
afford a place like this. I’d dressed in a smart but casual way, jeans, Prada
kitten heels and an old but serviceable Stella McCartney jacket. I was quite
looking forward to a ‘girl’s night in’, some wine, gossip and to forget about
men for a while.

Some hope! The glossy black door
opened to reveal one of the handsomest men I’d ever seen. He flashed a smile at
me and took my coat, leading me through a vast hallway into a drawing room
filled with the hubbub of conversation and the clink of glasses. I wasn’t quite
sure whether he was a guest or a servant.

‘Sara, darling!’
It was Claire. We exchanged the usual air kisses, though this time there was a
little more pressure and, if I wasn’t mistaken, sexiness in the way she hugged
me.

‘Come and sit down, have some
champagne. So glad you could come’. I was ushered into a deep leather armchair
and the man who opened the door was instantly at my side, deftly pouring a
glass of Moet from a bucket on a side table. I took in the room around me;
incredibly expensively decorated and furnished, but tastefully; lots of antique
furniture and as far as I could tell, a genuine Canaletto over the
chimneypiece.