The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series (12 page)

She had written:

‘We must see how you endure.
If you have the head and stomach for egalitarianism, we may find a path. If
not, we shall meet no more.’

***

The hours crept slowly until
the time came for him to return to the Club. He had not entered the Mirrored
Room on any previous occasion, necessitating his being guided by one of the
footmen from the dining hall.
 

It was most disorienting,
each of its eight walls covered in reflective tiles, as was the domed ceiling
and, even, the floor.
 
Its intent was
obvious: to reflect back at the occupants all
manner
of their activities, and from every conceivable angle.

MacCaulay
seated himself upon the one piece of furniture
– a comfortable divan upholstered in dark leather, at the
centre
of the octagon.

A few minutes passed before a
segment of the wall hinged inwards, revealing
itself
to be a door, and his own Mademoiselle entered. Her attire was such as he could
only approve. In her hair, upbraided, she wore a long black ostrich plume. She
wore her mask of dark guipure lace, although clearly only for effect, since her
identity was now known to him. Her body was magnificently bare, except for
silken pastilles covering her nipples. About her waist she had wrapped a satin
sash, looping it then through her legs, so that it framed her pubis most
attractively, as if she were a gift, for him to unwrap.
 

Upon her feet, she wore shoes
decorated with diamantes and feathers and with a tall, thin heel, which clicked
as she walked towards
MacCaulay
. She stopped then, standing
before him with legs tantalizingly apart, so that the reflection from below was
most engaging.

“Lord
MacCaulay
,”
she purred, barely above a whisper. “Why is it that I am ready for you, yet you
are fully clothed?”

Her request was soon
fulfilled, so that he stood before her naked. Her eyes appraised his firm
torso, legs and arms, and her handiwork from some nights previously: his groin
remained bare.

She removed the feather from
her hair, touching the tip against his chest, and then dropping it to brush his
legs. She slowly encircled him, letting the feather stroke his back and
buttocks, before standing once more in front. The mirrors afforded him a
breathtaking view of her body as she navigated around him, so that he admired
the curve of her breasts, and the glorious roundness of her bottom, from every
angle.

Facing him, she dropped the
feather to his phallus, so that it’s light touch teased him.

“One day, as Shakespeare
reminds us, we shall lie with worms as our chambermaids. Until then, should our
bodies not experience all pleasures?”

She continued, “This room
heightens the experience of watching, does it not, Lord
MacCaulay
?
Every act within these walls is magnified and reflected back at the
protagonists.”

As if in demonstration, she
bent forward at the waist, keeping her long legs straight and parted, so that her
buttocks rose and the cheeks parted naturally; looking in the mirror behind
her,
MacCaulay
was able to fully appreciate the view.
She whipped the feather through her legs, so that it stroked her cheeks, and
momentarily concealed her delta.

She remained in this
attitude, clearly inviting him to touch her.

Taking a position of
advantage, he rested his right hand on her buttock. He considered a moment then
raised his arm and brought his palm upon her, delivering a sharp spank.
 
He felt the acuteness of it on his own
skin. He gave
her another
, watching his hand in the
mirror opposite, as it made contact. The slap caused her to flinch, but her
heard her sigh also: the timbre of which was now familiar to him.
 
He paused, allowing the sensation of the
sting to sink in before giving her more. She remained folded over for him,
eager for more of his burning smacks upon her flesh. The peach of her cheeks
rippled each time under the impact of his blows.

He felt his veined majesty
rising, until his ruby head was more than ready to menace her lewdly presented
crevice.
 
He maneuvered the tip of
his phallus and she held still, freely inviting him to mount her. He did so,
easing his shaft slowly within, desiring to appear nonchalant. The inner lips
of her cunt stretched to accommodate him, then closed about his shaft,
embedding him in her velvet passage.

He became aware of a heavy ache
in his balls: a desire to ride her mercilessly, to show her that he could
wholly satisfy any urge she cared to inspire in him. Grasping her firmly about
the hips, he pushed further into her than he had before, since her folded
stance offered more access than on the other occasions. Her groan of pain and
pleasure spiked his desire, so that he knew he would only endure briefly before
having to succumb.
 

Watching himself in the
mirrors on every side, he withdrew his sword, pleased with the sight of it, so
engorged and powerful. At the last moment, as his contact with her would be
lost, he thrust forward hard, driving into her depths with the full length of
his shaft. She groaned again, but pushed herself back upon him, eager to enjoy
the exquisite torment. He repeated the action twice more, plunging himself to
the hilt after withdrawing slowly.

He then lifted her buttocks
high upon his groin and rotated his pelvis into the heart of her, grinding
relentlessly against her cunny, taking her arousal along with his. He bent his
knees to facilitate the angle of entry, on a shared journey of lust. Too soon,
he knew he could tolerate no more. The sight of their coupling, his thrusts
reflected back and forth, entering her willing flesh, his penis penetrating
again and again, drove him to the brink.

Forsaking all other thoughts,
he rutted into her, in a fashion more animal than human. His eruption he held fast
within, so that she squirmed against the sensation before accepting her own
fall into oblivion, her walls pulsing to an echoing rhythm.

When they had gathered their
breath, she stood upright and turned to face him once more. She tilted her
head,
lips raised and parted, as if to allow him to kiss
her, but placed the feather between them at the last moment, laughing gently.

“Truly, your prowess cannot
be questioned my Lord,” she conceded. “However, if you wish still to enter into
our contract, I must be convinced that you can
honour
your part, allowing me to invite others into our bed.”

At this, she returned to the
mirrored door and opened it wide, to allow two others to join them: the huge
African and the young Zeus.

Both naked, one ebony dark
and the other golden, they exhibited strength and beauty such as no man could
deny.
 
As ever, his heart quickened
on being faced with his black rival. The young stallion he recalled from the
ethereal performance with Thetis and
Semele
. He felt
no fear: only anxiety.

Mademoiselle Noire strutted
between and around them, taking such strides as to ensure that her figure was
placed to best advantage: stomach gently rounded, thighs firm and breasts
glorious, legs luscious. Every part of her was magnificent.

Knowing he was watching her,
she flicked her ostrich feather over her new lovers’ bodies as she promenaded,
her eyes and touch roving to their tight buttocks, their biceps, and their toned
abdomen muscles – leading down to fat pythons between their thighs.

Letting her feather linger
below, her voice taunted them, in its usual manner.

“Goodly Gentlemen, I hope
your instruments can provide adequate sport for me.”

She led them to the leather
divan, kneeling upon it, with one at each side, her back to
MacCaulay
,
whom she left where he was.

Mademoiselle wrapped her
fingers around their members, stroking them simultaneously, one upon her left
and one upon her right. Her languorous caresses soon roused them to full
erectness.
MacCaulay
was obliged to watch, feeling
envy and jealousy, yet also pleasurably inflamed. Mademoiselle caught his eye
in the mirror before her, ensuring that he observed her smile, taunting.

She took then the tip of the
African’s mighty phallus in her mouth, moving her lips over its bulbous head,
and her tongue along its purple, veined length. Her other hand continued its
ministrations, until she altered her attentions, turning her face to offer
kisses to Zeus’ generous organ.

So it was that
MacCaulay
was compelled to watch those lips he would kiss
and call his own placed upon the penises of other men; the dainty tongue, which
had probed his in a tender caress, lick the shaft of another’s cock. Moreover,
there was no doubt in his mind that his Mademoiselle had the greatest
satisfaction in the task: an enjoyment only heightened by the knowledge of his
watchfulness. Each stroke of her velvet mouth brought forth a grunt of
appreciation from he before her, which served to increase her
fervour
.
MacCaulay
knew her well
enough to see that she had every intention of enjoying those engorged members to
the full, not just against her tongue, but deep within her most private of
orifices.

Sure enough, only a few
moments passed before his Queen altered her stance once more, pushing the
African onto his back upon the divan, so that she might spread her legs to sit
across his lap. Her eyes on those of
MacCaulay
, she mounted
the dark giant with care, allowing herself time to accommodate his great girth.

Lord
MacCaulay
was mesmerized by the sight of her, breasts jutting upwards, and ivory thighs
parted, taking the African’s dark cock inside: hips making a gentle forward
caress as she reached the ultimate point of fulfillment, and tilting back as
she rose, the phallus reappearing. The curve of her spine and the slenderness
of her limbs were in marked contrast to the sheer bulk of her ebony lover,
whose hands could have spanned her waist without effort. Moreover, the
luminosity of her pale skin was the perfect foil to the glossy black of he
below.

As her motion upon her steed
gained in ease and speed, she whispered something to her golden Zeus, who had waited
patiently. Mademoiselle lay down upon the giant’s torso, so that her white breasts
brushed his dark chest, and then opened her legs wide, keeping the African’s
phallus firmly within her cunny, but exposing her delectable bottom. She angled
her buttocks so that the delicate rosette of her anus was exposed.

Zeus reached below the leather
divan and brought up a bottle of the now familiar oil, which he set about
rubbing liberally onto his organ. Then, without further ado, he massaged the pink
bud of her tightest passage with the slippery substance. He took his time with
his caresses, ringing the rim with his finger until she was quite in a fury for
him to enter her. He bothered not with further foreplay, setting about taking the
puckered bloom so beautifully presented to him. As his rotund head pushed
forward, she uttered small cries of anguish. However, within the shortest of
time, her golden lover’s shaft had entered some inches, allowing freer
movement. He lay partially atop her, making slow strokes to her most intimate
of places, as she enjoyed the dark sword of the other. Sandwiched in this way,
her frame appearing most fragile against their strength and size, she enjoyed
the sensation of this double penetration. Zeus’ strokes had been shallow at
first, but became deeper now, as her pretty hole expanded to accommodate him.

MacCaulay’s
view was unhindered and magnified many-fold: the
clenching buttocks of Zeus plunged repeatedly at the rounded bottom of his most
beloved, driving forward with relentless hunger, grinding his weapon deep
within her constricted passage. Meanwhile,
MacCaulay’s
true love, she who haunted him in wakefulness and sleep, pushed greedily upon
the African’s groin, eager to satisfy the longing within her.
 

Their shared rhythm was
evidently much to Mademoiselle’s taste, as her cries were now such as could
only be interpreted as signs of impending ecstasy. Her thrusts became more demanding
and faster paced. Zeus was first to shudder in delight, surging into her,
uttering a great groan of satisfaction.

The music of his orgasm
inspired that of the African below, who shot forth his juices with a moan long
and low.
MacCaulay
saw his own sweet love’s hips writhe
with the great fulfillment of desire. Her body then froze, held rigid, before a
shudder passed through her and a flood of passion erupted, as if she were
exhaling her soul.