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 Talk to me: Night.Bane@hotmail.com
   Sarah performs again at The Visum, only this time something unexpected
happens.
   THE GENTLEMAN'S CLUB PT.  2 ((M/F: Reluc: Coerced M/F oral)
   -- The Letter -
   "Dearest Sarah,
   I've just received the most astonishing news: I've been made Senior
Clerk.  This means my dream of home ownership is near at hand.  As well,
now that my means have increased, I can begin to pay proper respects to the
Ministry.
   Naturally, I am prepared to return and begin my new duties, at the firm
and under my roof.  Our separation forces me to endure and permits my full
understanding of our Father's plan for me.
   Until we are joined together again,
   Robert H.
   P.S.  I shall especially look forward to my return next Tuesday."
   Sarah, having finished reading the letter for the second time, excitedly
crumpled it between her fingers.
   'Senior Clerk,' she thought.  For the first time in nearly a week, she
felt a small rush of joy.  'Senior Clerk!' She could hardly believe it.
   At least her ordeal had not been in vain.  Mr.  Brown had more than kept
his word.
   *
   The next day Sarah sat, holding a pail.  She gargled, cleaning her mouth
vigorously with a potent hygienic tonic she had purchased for a penny from
the street barker days before.  She swirled the foul concoction around
thoroughly before spitting it into the pail.  No matter what she did, she
could still taste the remnants from five nights past, could still detect a
slightly bitter, salty substance trapped between her very teeth.  Surely
she imagined it; this far removed, all aspects of young Master Collins
ejaculate should be forever gone.  Still, she continued gargling and
rinsing, three times a day.
   There was a knock upon the door.  'Another letter from Robert?' she
asked herself excitedly.
   Placing the pail on the floor, she stood and rushed to the door, pulling
it open with a flourish.  She was extending a hand for the letter she was
sure to receive when a voice she knew very well said her name:
   "Sarah."
   Douglas Brown stood, hat in hand, at her threshold, leaning on his
walking cane.  Today he wore a slate colored suit with a double Windsor
deepest crimson tie.  As always, Mr.  Brown was immaculately dressed.
   Sarah flinched, ready to slam the door, but of course that would be most
rude.  She had refused three separate messages from Mr.  Brown in the last
three days; there was nothing at all untoward about that.  Slamming the
door in his face, however, was something altogether different.  Decorum
must be maintained.
   She realized how plainly she was dressed, in a flat brown cleaning dress
with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and began to close the door.  It
was her intention to leave it cracked a sliver; however, Mr.  Brown was
taking no chances as he thrust his cane between door and jamb.
   "Mr.  Brown," she said breathlessly.  "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
   Brown smiled.  "Charles was right, you are polite to a fault."
   Of course, she blushed mildly at his compliment--then, realizing her
small blush was genuine pushed her into a full-blown coloring of chest,
neck, and face.
   She recovered quickly.  "I really don't have time for this, Mr.  Brown.
If you would kindly remove your cane."
   "Then I shan't waste any more of your time.  I trust you've received
word from your husband?"
   "Yes."
   "Then you understand we've decided to reward certain, ah, behaviors."
   "Reward as a dog, mastering a difficult trick?  A horse's reward,
perhaps, for having run an especially grueling stakes race?  Or maybe it's
a child's reward, for having just learned a most impractical and
unfortunate life lesson?  Which reward is it, Mr.  Brown?" Sarah asked all
of her questions with just the slightest amount of bitterness; again, she
was treading the line between outright disrespect, so unbecoming for a
proper Southern lady, and genuine disdain for that which had been
perpetrated on her person.  It was a very thin line indeed.
   In that moment (and not for the first time), Brown failed utterly to
notice anything she said and was instead nearly lost in her light blue
eyes; having never stood this close to her, however--at least, in this much
light--this was the first time he become aware of the tiniest flecks of
dark blue that seemed to flutter around their very center.
   "Sarah, the reward is for your husband.  Robert Higgins is a valued
employee at the firm; it would be a terrible shame for him to lose so
quickly that which he has only just recently come into.  I assure you, life
station can be fleeting indeed."
   Sarah stood quietly.
   "That said, your part in this was well played.  Understanding your role
and fulfilling it is part of your duties as wife.  Every Southern wife, so
we are told, honors and obeys their husbands."
   "Obviously, Mr.  Brown."
   "Perhaps, then, you can understand my predicament.  Your appearance the
other night caused quite a stir about The Visum.  It would seem that I must
again prevail upon you for a night's accompaniment."
   Sarah looked down her nose upon him, searching for the sarcasm or scorn
she was sure must accompany such an outrageous request.  Instead, she saw
only Mr.  Brown, plain spoken and simply represented.
   "You said it would be just the one time, Mr.  Brown.  I assure you, I
have no intention of ever repeating that performance."
   "Of course, Sarah.  And yet, there are other forces at work here.  It
would seem that your husband--Robert seemed so very pleased with his
promotion, based on the message I received just this morning, he can hardly
wait to come back and demonstrate how deserving he is--is very excited
about gaining new accommodations.  This," he continued, rapping the
doorjamb with his knuckles, "is no place for a woman of your caliber, no
place at all.  What I bring to you is part offer and part reminder, plus a
dash of reassurance.
   "The reminder is that your husband fails to own his position.  If he is
found unworthy or, worse, his religious views become too onerous, his
tenuous position can disappear overnight.  The reassurance is that neither
Collins nor his son shall be in attendance at The Visum; therefore, I
believe you will find your experience much more acceptable.  The offer is a
new domicile for you and your husband, a noble goal by any objective
measure.  Two nights at The Visum should secure building rights, which will
close immediately upon your husband's return.
   "All of this is predicated on loyalty to your husband, your willingness
to ensure his diligence is not in vain.  As before, only you can do this."
   Sarah was blown away by the magnitude of what was just spoken.  There
was entirely too much to digest, she needed time to think this through. 
One thing, however, was clear: she was being manipulated.
   Again.
   "Why don't you meet me at my office tomorrow morning?  We can hash out
any details or, should you refuse, make whatever amends may be required,"
he said, brushing a particle off of his shoulder.  "I'm sure we can reach
an agreement."
   When he spoke in his lawyer's voice, Douglas Brown could be very
persuasive.  Sarah agreed to meet the following morning.
   She had most certainly NOT agreed to any of his terms.
   Yet.
   *
   Sarah arrived at 9:47 AM, wearing one of her Sunday dresses.  A modest,
full length garment leaving everything to the imagination, the green and
gold dress was nevertheless more than presentable and seemed to have been
designed specifically to contrast the flowing red hair arranged delicately
about the wearer's collar, an inverted halo of sorts.
   At least, that was what Brown thought when he laid eyes upon her.  The
symbolism of the inverted halo did not escape him.
   "Sarah," he said, gesturing to the chair she had sat in exactly one week
before.
   Mr.  Brown did not sit.  He walked behind the desk and over to a large
paned window, staring out briefly at the hubbub that was Main Street before
pulling the curtains.  He walked around his desk and leaned back, resting
his weight on it as he peered down at Sarah.
   For her part Sarah might have been a picture-perfect copy of last week,
seated on the very edge of her seat, back straight, clutching her small
purse for dear life.
   "Have you considered my offer?"
   All the conflicting emotions again ran through Sarah's mind.
   Robert's new position potentially hung in the balance--would they truly
terminate him having only just promoted?  And a house of their very own! 
That thought alone sent her mind spinning wildly, images of children and
furniture, their own personal belongings, never again having to board,
borrow, or accept favors from any one.  A powerful vision, to be sure.
   And then another vision took shape: The Visum, a week before, buck naked
about her knees while a young man she had known, ages ago, thrust his
manhood crudely in and out of her mouth before expending a heavy load into
the back of her throat.  The memory of it lingered, a week on, a taste
daily gargling couldn't remedy.  But it wasn't just the hot cream that
seared her throat that stayed with her; Sarah also felt the itch on her
chin, today as then, as the man's hairy testicles swayed forward, striking
her each time he leaned forward.  The entirety of the event represented an
indignity at the hands of Master Collins that would never be forgotten.
   "Mr.  Brown, I have given this much thought indeed.  I must
regretfully--"
   She was interrupted by a knock on the door.  Brown appeared agitated.
   "Not supposed to be interrupted," he mumbled under his breath as he
stormed towards the door.  "This better be good."
   Swinging it open revealed none other than Charles Winthrop.  Winthrop
peered in at Sarah.
   "Morning, miss," he said quickly, as if he didn't know her, before
turning his attention to Brown.
   "Douglas, I had to give you this news personally.  I've just received
word.  He did it!  They've signed!"
   Agitation instantly forgotten, Brown broke open an ear-splitting smile.
Sarah, for the first time, realized that Mr.  Brown was not entirely
unattractive--and immediately blushed at the thought.
   "Very good.  That leaves only one, then.  I'll send word to the clerk,
have him go over and attempt to work his uncanny magic."
   Winthrop, beaming as well, extended his hand.  Brown accepted and the
two men shook enthusiastically before parting ways.
   Still smiling, Brown went behind his desk and took a seat.  He sat, lost
in his own thoughts, for nearly a quarter hour.  During that time, Sarah
again ran through all the scenarios in her mind, all the promises and
opportunities (and, perhaps, the not-quite-subtly veiled threats) on one
hand, with the deplorable experience on the other.
   Still, perhaps this time would be different.  Currency, even in a woman
so dutiful, can be a very powerful motivator.
   "Mr.  Brown," she said uncertainly, wringing her hands.
   "Yes, Sarah?"
   "My, ah...  that is..." She struggled with the words.  "I shall
accompany you," she said quickly, before she could change her mind.  "But I
shall maintain my Virtue."
   "Your virtue?" Brown asked, puzzled.  "Ah," he sighed, understanding,
"Sarah, I assure you, only one's husband can claim Marital Rights.  They
may request it at The Visum--certainly, some do--but that is the one
request you can deny."
   Relieved, Sarah exhaled rather forcefully.
   Not only continued service but also a promotion for her husband, higher
income, and a home of their own--she had earned all of this already,
without giving up that which only belonged to her husband.  Sarah; sweet,
pious, innocent Sarah, was prepared to do a little more in order to receive
a bigger piece of the pie.
   Only a little more.
   She had done so much already.
   *
   As before, the carriage arrived exactly on time.  Sarah, receiving no
other instructions, wore the same garment as before (this time without
undergarments), carefully arranging the shawl about her upper body such
that she was shielded from prying eyes.
   Soon enough they were under way, she scrunched into the far corner.
   Minutes later, they stopped for Brown, who entered the carriage quickly.
   "Very good, Sarah.  Your appearance is most exemplary."
   Sarah nodded, lost in thought.  She was having some difficulty, now that
she was actually in the carriage, reconciling her action tonight with what
had occurred the previous week.  How could she willingly put herself again
into this situation?  And yet...  and yet, Mr.  Brown had given
assurances--he was always giving assurances, not to put too fine a point on
it--that neither Collins would be there and that her Virtue was not in
question.  These two conditions were of paramount concern.
   There was, however, a larger question, one she couldn't stop rehashing:
could a woman who performed services, even so benign as companionship
(assuming that was all there was) to a man not her husband, consider
herself anything but a trollop if she accepted payment?  This, of course,
to say nothing of the week prior, whose services most assuredly went well
beyond mere companionship...  and yet, here she was, again, in a carriage,
as if her actions tonight carried no further consequences whatsoever.
   "You appear lost in thought," Brown said, interrupting her reverie.
   "I'm fine, Mr.  Brown," she said.
   "Douglas, please.  At least," he added hastily, "while we are outside of
The Visum.  There, decorum and respect command a certain conduct."
   "Of course, Mr.  Brown."
   "But we aren't yet there.  So tell me, Sarah Higgins, what is your
passion?"
   Sarah turned her head, searching his face for derision--or worse. 
Instead she found what appeared to be an honest question, to which she gave
an honest reply: "I should very much like to have children one day.  We've
tried for years now; I fear I may be barren." An awkward silence followed,
after which she continued.  "Still, we persevere.  Perhaps the Lord will
bless us, one day."
   "Perhaps.  As you know..."
   What followed was the most interesting half hour of conversation Sarah
could remember having in a very long time.
   *
   Having picked up Mr.  Winthrop and his escort, Jennifer, the four-some
continued on to The Visum.  The conversation changed abruptly when Sarah
and Mr.  Brown were joined; Sarah, having commanded Douglas' full
attention, failed even to register to Mr.  Brown, who was engaged in
wide-ranging appraisal of all matters firm-related with Mr.  Winthrop.
   The dramatic shift put her off-guard.  Which was the real man: the
thoughtful, eloquent, even charming bachelor who sympathized with her quest
for children?  Or the dispassionate, even-keeled Proprietor of the most
prestigious law firm in the southern half of the state?  Could they both be
the same man?
   She wondered.
   And then there was Jennifer.  Sarah gazed at her, Jennifer's blond hair
(almost as rare as her own) prominent tonight over a surprisingly
understated outfit that revealed very little of what lay beneath.  If Sarah
didn't know better, she would have thought Jennifer was out for a perfectly
normal social gathering.  As they realized each was appraising the other,
their eyes met.  Jennifer appeared almost jealous, no small amount of shock
mixed with anger evident on her face; Sarah, on the other hand, tried her
best to keep her features even, giving away nothing of what she felt
inside. Her intuition told her to withhold everything from this girl, that
Jennifer would spare no expense to make anything having to do with her as
unpleasant and regrettable as possible.
   Still, pleasantries must be observed.  Sarah smiled primly and nodded
her head before looking away.
   That should do.
   -- The Visum -
   This time Sarah knew exactly what to do and followed Mr.  Brown quickly
out of the carriage.  She stepped, ten paces behind, never taking her eyes
off the back of his shoes.  She noted that when he walked, Mr.  Brown's
feet flared slightly, the toes about two inches outside the heel, not
unlike a duck.  His shoes made very little sound as he walked this way,
nearly rolling over the floor's surface.  His walking cane--he didn't need
it, pretension kept it at hand, the crafted teak beautifully carved into an
instrument none could avert their eyes from--made the only sound, ticking
the floor every other step.  There was a certain--the thought made her
stomach flutter as if a thousand butterflies were attempting to take flight
at the same time--pride in following Mr.  Brown.  Yes, pride was the right
word.  His was the most extravagant attire, although she was sure Mr. 
Winthrop (if not all, for that matter) possessed more personal worth.  Mr.
Brown's gait, confident and sure, seemed without affectation.  Everywhere
he went, the path seemed to widen, competence and dignity emanating from
him in waves.
   There was no parading about this time; rather, they immediately went to
their table in the preferred corner.  Brown, as before, pulled back a chair
for Sarah, paused, and eased it in, all while looking as if he had
absolutely no interest in who or what might be sitting there.  After taking
his own seat, and noting Winthrop's having done the same, he gestured for
the meal to begin.
   "Douglas, this latest bit of news does raise a concern," Winthrop began.
   "Don't tell me--where do we go from here?"
   "Exactly."
   "Clearly, we have a significant workload representing interests in
Augusta.  The state's business, such as it is, can be used to our
advantage. Of course, that sort of representation isn't very lucrative."
   Winthrop's eyes crinkled as he smiled.  "I agree, Douglas.  State
government may offer a certain intrigue, but there's little profit in it."
   "Well said.  I've been speaking to an outfit from New York City
recently, interested in the red clay Georgia possesses in such abundance.
It seems they are prepared to develop a series of brick-building
operations, if appropriate options can be secured."
   "Ah, very good."
   "I knew you would approve, Charles.  Standard Oil is always in the
market, though I fear we have little to offer in our neck of the woods. 
Still, some prospectors are making claims that must be investigated.  The
most exciting possibility is power and telegraph."
   "There's already a line between the coasts," Winthrop noted.
   "Yes, but not yet up and down the eastern seaboard."
   "I see."
   Brown looked around The Visum.  "There seems to be a packed house
tonight."
   Indeed, the dozen or so tables were almost all filled, fully forty-six
in attendance.  "Evans, of course," Brown said, gesturing to a fat man
three tables away, "I knew he would be here."
   "He hasn't stopped speaking to me of it, Douglas.  He's beside himself."
   "Indeed.  Sarah," he said, cocking his head sideways.
   "Er, yes, Mr.  Brown?" she replied, looking up.
   "Hand me your shawl."
   Sarah had been dreading this.  Thinking it best to simply be done, she
quickly pulled the shawl from her shoulders and handed it over, making no
attempt to cover her breasts, exposed as they were underneath the gauzy
material of her thin white dress.
   It was as if a switch had been flipped; suddenly The Visum was abuzz
with conversation, nearly all of it centered about Brown's table.
   The fat man almost immediately stood and ambled over, leaving everyone
at his table still seated.  He walked around the table and stood between
Sarah and Mr.  Brown.  There he crouched low, balancing himself with one
hand on the back of Sarah's chair.  "Mr.  Brown," he said; his words may
have been directed to Brown but his eyes were facing the opposite
direction, less than a foot away from Sarah's plump melons.  He leaned in,
absorbing in full detail the crinkled nipples at the tips of Sarah's
breasts.
   She felt his hot breath on them and realized coldly that they were
shriveling and hardening, becoming much more pronounced than normal.  They
resembled an especially juicy piece of fruit, ready to be plucked and
sampled.
   "Mr.  Evans," Brown replied.  He was amused that the fat man should be
so taken with Sarah but was sure to allow none of his fascination to enter
his voice.  "How are you this evening?"
   "Fine, Douglas, fine," Evans replied, never looking away from the
hardened tips.  He allowed his eyes to roam up the swell of her breasts,
discerned vague veins running web-like across the top of her chest. 
Further up, he took in her jaw line, perfectly placed, and smooth cheeks.
Eventually he reached her eyes, glacier blue, and was irritated that she
failed to return his gaze.  Her head was declined, facing slightly
down--but her eyes, Evans saw, looked straight ahead, bright and clear. 
She had an altogether different carriage than most of the strumpets brought
to The Visum; a regal bearing that only enhanced her indomitable physical
assets.
   He felt the first stirrings of a powerful erection brewing in his
trousers.  Perhaps it would be his night.
   *
   Various members came and went, speaking in hushed tones with both Brown
and Winthrop.  At one point, Charles Winthrop himself stood and walked over
to stand between Sarah and Douglas.  He remained standing, leaning slightly
forward and over such that he gazed directly down into Sarah's lap.
   "Relax, dear," he said, a hand easing her shoulder back.  Sarah
complied, leaning back against her chair.
   Winthrop licked his lips as he peered down into the depths of Sarah's
thighs, taking in every possible detail.  A V-shaped patch of red hid her
many feminine folds; still, the pearly white quivering inner thighs more
than captivated his attention.  Licking his lips again, he looked slightly
forward, closer to her person, almost alarmed at the robust half-moons he
observed hanging from her chest, tipped darkly with that which Mr.  Evans
had so recently admired.  Winthrop spared a view of her hair, cascading
around her shoulders and down her back--she wore it down this time, very
fetching--and felt a surge as he again stared blankly at the red triangle
that shielded everything beneath.
   Abruptly he turned and stooped, whispering quickly into Brown's ears.
   "I'm cashing in," he said softly.  "Tonight shall be my turn."
   Brown was surprised.  Winthrop was a man of discipline.  He guarded his
favors as well as his assets, sparing not even a penny for his dying mother
unless he stood to collect a nickel upon her death.  Still, it was a
request that must be granted.
   Tonight, his friend would collect.
   *
   Through it all, the staring and heavy breathing, not one of the men said
anything directly to Sarah, except for Mr.  Winthrop.  She sat and endured,
breasts aching that her nipples should remain unusually stiff and rigid for
such an extended period.  Each time she looked down she was shocked and
appalled at how much of her personage was on display, clean pale skin with
soft curves about her thighs, hips, chest, and shoulders.
   She carefully controlled her breathing and made every attempt to keep
her eyes focused on the far wall, ignoring completely each man (and
sometimes escort) as they approached to share a few words.
   Obviously, they were having a good look at her, measuring and
evaluating. She had the sense she was on one side of a set of scales, hands
holding the chains to balance herself, while each man that came up was
trying to best assess how much gold was required on the other side to
achieve balance.  For some, it was a very high price indeed, one they would
gladly pay; for others, as all men are different, the combination of
brilliant red hair and pale blue eyes was off-putting.
   When Mr.  Brown stood and announced, rather loudly, "Dessert,
gentlemen!" Sarah felt her courage drain.  This was it.  Unlike last week,
this time she fully understood what she was getting herself into.  She had
some idea of a few rules, at least.  Her sensibilities, so rigorously
enforced during her father's upbringing, excluded everything she had done
already this day and, certainly, everything she was to do.  Her father had
not anticipated she might have to work to keep her husband's job or, for
that matter, to put a roof over their heads.
   She was sure he would not have approved.
   'Cover thyself!' she heard him whisper plaintively in her ear.  She
ignored it, of course.
   Her father was whispering to her less and less these days.
   *
   Even as her eyes were cast down, Sarah immediately noticed one key
difference as she entered the Dessert Chamber: there were three platforms,
spaced more or less equally about the room.
   She was led to one where, without encouragement, she went to her hands
and knees.  Positioned in such a way that she could see the other two
platforms, she was surprised to see Jennifer mount a platform as well, in
exactly the same way, while a dark-haired girl she did not know crawled up
on the last.
   "What a bounty we have tonight!" Brown said, his voice booming.  "As you
can see, accommodations have been made.  Mr.  Winthrop has the honor here,"
he said, gesturing towards Sarah's platform, "Mr.  Evans here," pointing at
Jennifer, "and Mr.  Thompson in the back."
   The three men, being congratulated, walked to their respective
platforms.
   "Each man shall, in his own time, make such request as they see fit. 
Well then, let us have dessert!"
   A low rumble filled the room as men headed to various platforms. 
Sarah's was, by far, the most attended, with well over half surrounding her
platform.  After unceremoniously removing her dress, hands began groping,
testing, and teasing mercilessly.  Like last time, while all of her curves
were investigated to the tiniest detail, nary a finger went between her
legs to explore any of her myriad folds or lips.
   The other girls were treated the same, an almost casual perusal of their
wares, with a handful of men walking from platform to platform, comparing
certain anatomical features and seeking consensus on whose might be best.
   After a fair amount of this, during which Sarah knelt diligently, Mr. 
Winthrop began to speak.
   "It is time to claim my rights," he announced.  A small clearing formed
around his platform.  "It has been a long time indeed since I have
participated," he said, standing upright.  "I think I should very much like
to explore the flower."
   This was unusual.  Not a man in attendance had ever witnessed or heard
speak of such a thing.  Unsure what to expect, the mass of them shifted
about on their feet and opened a path to allow Winthrop an approach to the
platform.
   "There now," he said, patting Sarah on the rump.  "Lower your arms and
place your head on the platform."
   Utterly bewildered, Sarah obliged.  Red hair pooled around her head,
nearly hiding the fact that there was even a head at all, so thick and
voluminous was it.
   Winthrop grabbed one of Sarah's knees in each of his hands.  "Open up,"
he said encouragingly as he pulled them apart.  "Just a little more."
   When he was finished with her, Sarah had assumed a sort of three-point
stance on the platform.  Her head and upper chest rested against the cool
leather platform (warming under her direct contact), with each knee spread
over-wide such that they were farther apart than her hips.
   Several observers noted ironically that this was the perfect position
for (using a phrase that absolutely burned Sarah's ears) "doggy-style,"
evidently a practice wherein a man would mount a woman from behind, pulling
her hair and ravaging her not unlike a common dog on a street corner.  Sure
that there was no allegory between that particular practice and Mr. 
Winthrop's stated flower exploration, Sarah managed to control her rapidly
beating heart, but only just.
   "Now, if you open it just so," Winthrop said, placing his hands on the
delicate skin just outside her outer lips and easing them apart, "it
resembles a sort of flower, the Cunni Lingus, if you well; a variety with
petals of darkest red velvet carefully arrayed about a vibrant pink
center."
   When he touched her there, using his fingers to spread her apart, an
earth-shattering awareness of just how brazenly displayed she really was
hit Sarah squarely between the eyes-
   Or legs, as it were.
   *
   "Begging your pardon, Charles, but it looks more like an oyster to me!"
   There was a roar of laughter that failed utterly to reach Sarah's ears.
She was preoccupied by the actions of Mr.  Winthrop's hands, touching her
so delicately, and accompanying pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.
   "There now," Winthrop said, ignoring the spectators while holding her
vulva tenderly apart, "Take it easy.  Sshhhh," he said, blowing gently. 
"SShhhhhhhh."
   The cool puff of air totally disheartened her, causing Sarah to slump
heavily on her chest and arms.  Her genitals were on fire, having never
been touched in this way, not even when bathing.  Hot waves of shame washed
over her body, coupled with a strange tingling sensation she had never once
felt before.
   "Now, here, gentlemen, is a small berry, just above--rather, below the
petals.  I know what you are thinking," he said quickly, turning to give
them a look.  "Some berries are bad for you!  Isn't that right, Sarah?" he
asked, having turned back around.
   She didn't answer.
   "I'm afraid I must insist that you answer my question, Sarah.  I've been
nothing but polite to you this whole time."
   "Yes," she said, voice muffled.  "Yes, sir, some...  some berries are
bad for you."
   "Do you think your berry is bad for me?  Should I sample it?" he asked
curiously.
   Now the men were beginning to really pay attention.  This was something
they had never seen before.  Almost anything and everything had, at one
point or other, occurred at The Visum.  This, however, was entirely new and
unexpected.  More men, it seemed, cloistered around, swarming the platform
to hear Mr.  Winthrop's careful exploration of Sarah's blossom.
   "I don't...  I don't know," she answered hesitantly.
   "Well then, I certainly don't want to fall ill.  Mr.  Adams, would you
sample the berry, to ensure there are no impurities?"
   Adams, a short man with enormous ears, eagerly stepped forward.
   "Glad to, Charles, glad to." He leaned in, flicking his tongue across
her delicate pink bud quickly before pulling back.  " I say, Charles, I
believe her berry's as good as any I've ever tasted!"
   *
   Another long burst of laughter broke out, so much so that the men at the
other tables looked up from their ministrations to see what the fuss was
about.  For instance, Mr.  Evans was pumping Jennifer, lying on her back,
most vigorously.  He was so fat his stomach fairly crushed her beneath his
unmatched girth, forcing her to time her breathing with his crude lunges.
As the men about Sarah began laughing, Evans paused, resting his full
weight on Jennifer's body.  Jennifer, nearly unable to breathe, threw her
head back, desperate herself to know what was causing this most unfortunate
circumstance to befall her.
   Sarah.
   Again.
   This new girl was becoming a bit of a problem.
   Jennifer, anxious to breathe, reached up and grabbed Mr.  Evans flabby
arms.  "Come on," she purred encouragingly, "Give it to me."
   Evans looked down, sweating profusely, and grunted.  He began moving
again, rhythmically driving into the woman beneath him-
   But all the while he was looking across the room, wondering what it
would be like to do exactly this to the stark redhead owning such
voluptuous curves.
   Perhaps his day would come.
   *
   "There, so we covered the flower here," Winthrop continued, holding her
femininity apart with one hand while tracing her outer labial lips with the
index finger on his other.  "Further inside, you can see the delicate folds
are more detailed, crinkled so as to better display the juicy center.  Most
shocking is their warmth, thin petals that are as tiny ovens capable of
generating tremendous heat." He placed his finger lengthwise between her
folds and smiled.  "Very warm indeed.  Mercy.  So, being a flower lover, in
particular fruit-bearing flowers, I think I shall sample this myself."
   Winthrop leaned in, touching her burning button with the tip of his
tongue.
   Sarah felt immediately as if she had been struck powerfully on the side
of the head.  Though her eyes were squeezed shut, stars exploded into her
vision, shimmering red and blue.  An intense tingling sensation began,
exactly where Mr.  Winthrop's-
   No, she couldn't think it.  Certainly he wasn't...  that is, he couldn't
be...  not with his...  no, it wasn't possible!
   Winthrop, unconcerned, continued, paying close attention to every single
detail as he ran his tongue about her.  He was proceeding leisurely; a
detail-oriented man performing a task he enjoyed, thoroughly exhausting
every possibility as though his very existence depended on it.
   Sarah began breathing unevenly.  Waves of--she had to admit it to
herself--carnal pleasure rippled through her lower body, causing her thighs
to quake.  The shame that followed this admission filled her with the
deepest dread, a sense that no amount of praying for forgiveness would ever
make up for this night.
   She felt dirty, wondered if this was how...  how it was supposed to
feel...
   All conscious thought left her as another powerful wave rocked her body
and left her gasping for breath.
   Winthrop pulled away.
   "On your back, then," he said, grabbing her hindquarters between his
hands and guiding her down and over.  When she lay on her back, Winthrop
seized her thighs and pulled her over towards him, until her rear end hung
just on the platform's edge.
   "Grab your ankles, now," he instructed.
   Sarah failed to respond; instead, both her hands were covering her face.
   "Sarah seems indisposed.  Mr.  Adams?  Mr.  Rosedale?  Help a man, would
you?"
   Each man closed their hands around an ankle and took a position to
either side of the prone Sarah, pulling back such that her most private of
places was irrevocably exposed.
   "The flower is much more formidable in this position, assuming a more
circular shape.  Do you see the tiny pink center, how engorged it is? 
That's fairly typical.  Now, I don't know about you gentlemen, but I for
one think the only way to properly evaluate flower is by smell." Winthrop
leaned in and puckered his nose as he sniffed.
   Sarah was mortified, lower than low.  She went to great lengths indeed
to ensure that she 'smelled' like a woman.  Having a certain 'aroma' was
not even a consideration.  Of course, she had never expected...  this...
   "Very acceptable.  Now for the last lesson."
   He went to his knees and put his arms on the platform on either side of
Sarah's torso, taking hold of her waist between both hands.
   "When the bees come, they tend to roll around all about the petals,
gathering nectar.  Let us just see if Sarah's flower has any nectar
within."
   With that, Winthrop leaned his face in and, very gently, began
methodically kissing her outer lips, working his way in a circle about the
hooded pulsating clitoris trembling in anticipation.
   *
   Sarah felt that she veered in and out of consciousness; there was
talking, certainly, many things going on all around her, but she had no
concept of anything except the building pressure threatening existence
itself.  When first put on her back, she had opened her eyes once--and saw,
to her dismay, the greedy eyes of more men than she could count staring
down upon her.  Two of the men held her legs back, bawdily displaying that
which only her husband should see--if even him.
   She clasped her hands over her eyes, trying to block out all that was
happening, to escape the pervasive humiliation she felt knowing that these
men were getting a wicked thrill from seeing her so crudely displayed and
frankly discussed.  Their exploration of her body was devoid of passion, it
seemed; a task performed for no purpose other than their amusement.
   And yet, Mr.  Winthrop was gentle.  Now, the way he kissed her down
there was eliciting a response she would never have believed possible.  Far
removed from any thoughts of her father, her husband, or any of her daily
responsibilities, the only thing in the world that mattered at this moment
was Mr.  Winthrop, who was circling a part of her body without ever
touching it that gave her the most guttural feelings of pleasure she had
ever experienced in her life.
   She was breathing unevenly, mouth open, and felt something inside her
alternately contracting and releasing, outside her control.  Indeed, it
seemed Mr.  Winthrop was firmly in control.  When he licked a bit more
urgently, she felt this muscle clench so powerfully it threatened all
reason; when he slowed and instead kissed her gently about the thighs, this
muscle released, allowing her to breath a moment before the next.  Each
time he was just a bit more aggressive, working his way just a little
closer, going just a little faster.
   Sarah feared what might happen if he continued-
   But, in absolute disgust, wanted more than anything for him not to stop.
   Not until it was done.
   *
   "She's panting about like a dog," Adams said, amused.
   It was true.  Now she breathed rapidly, slack-jawed, sweat pouring
across her body.  A small squishy sound of careful licking could be heard,
the tongue being placed rapidly here and there.
   Rosedale reached down, unable to control himself any longer, and seized
her strawberry-tipped breast, squeezing and twirling the nipple between his
fingers.  Adams, on the other side, placed his fingers around the base of
her breast and gripped, forcing the nipple to rise and stretch on what
appeared to be an expanding balloon.
   *
   Sarah felt the hands on her chest--at the same time, the insistent
licking reached a crescendo as Winthrop took her engorged clitoris between
his lips and flicked very rapidly with his tongue, just grazing the hooded
tip and pressing in on both sides, all seemingly at exactly the same time.
   For one brief instant time stopped: her arms thrown to either side,
grasping the leather platform sides tightly between her fingers, face
twisted in harsh denial, one nipple being pulled up while the other whole
breast was being squeezed all at once, and her back arched almost painfully
into a reverse C.
   Then a low, guttural moan escaped her lips, stretching so that it lasted
five full seconds.  Her legs quaked, shaking.
   "No," she whispered, before repeating it again more forcefully:
"Nnooooooo..."
   It seemed she had erupted into flames, dramatic intense pleasure
coursing powerfully through her veins, a sense that in this single moment,
nothing else in the world mattered.
   The sight of her, straining against the powerful orgasm running
roughshod over her consciousness, as if she could somehow reject it, left
more than one observer adjusting himself uncomfortably.  It was all well
and good to see her exposed and explored, but something altogether
different to see her in the throes of reckless passion, as if she had never
before experienced anything like it.
   "Well, Charles, it looks like you've made a new friend."
   *
   Sarah, still, lay on her back, hands again firmly covering her face. 
She willed herself into the platform, as if she could shrink away from the
prying eyes and rough commentary.  It wasn't the men, their gaze, their
words, not even her journey here tonight, that was foremost in her mind,
however.
   That point was reserved solely for the still smoldering fire between her
legs, the cataclysmic orgasm that had so recently obscured all sense of
time or reason.  This must be what her husband felt, those nights when he
climbed above her.  It seemed so, for he panted and wheezed before
bellowing and then, almost as quickly, pulling away from her.
   No matter how wrong it was for her to be lying here--she feared no
penance would be enough to make up for what she had done tonight, she had
enjoyed it as a common whore--she could not escape the feeling that, for
the last eight years, she had been left out of what should have been
something truly awe-inspiring.  It was beginning to make a weird kind of
sense: if God wanted man and woman to join, together, shouldn't that
joining be equally pleasurable to both?
That thought sent her into new depths of shame, depths that seemed
deeper by the minute.
   Her breathing was just returning to normal.  She heard the men shuffling
around but was unable to focus on anything except the buzzing between her
legs, concentrated around the tiny nub she had, for as long as she could
remember, so diligently ignored when bathing.  Each time she bathed, she
ran the wash cloth through her cleft shallowly and quickly--without causing
any undue distraction.
   After tonight, it was very much unclear if that could or would continue.
   She had a lot of thinking to do.
   *
   The shouted words, "Dus Aliter Visum!" shocked her out of this thought
and brought her crashing back to reality.
   Someone had at least tossed her dress across her body, mostly covering
it.  As the men filed out of the room, she slid off the platform and
crouched beside it, quickly slipping back into the garment.
   A pair of shoes entered sight, standing in front of her.  In a posture
she was becoming increasingly familiar with, she rolled her eyes up and
found Mr.  Brown staring back down.
   "Ready, Sarah?" he asked evenly, as if they were headed out for a casual
dinner or to grab something at the General Store.
   Without answering, Sarah stood.
   "Very well, then."
   Brown, Sarah in tow, headed out of The Dessert Room and through The
Visum back to his waiting carriage.
   It was a long, silent trip back to her tiny one room residence.  All the
while, she tried not to think about how wicked her acts tonight had been,
how very common all those men must have thought her-
   --or how undeniably, wickedly, sinfully good Mr.  Winthrop had made her
feel.
   No wonder her father had railed so strongly against the trappings of the
flesh.
   It must be a sin to feel so much pleasure, in particular without her
husband!
   *
   As Brown was leaving the coach, he turned and spoke for the first time
since leaving The Visum: "I shall expect you tomorrow night.  Dress as you
see fit, for tomorrow there will be no demands or requests placed upon
you."
   Biting her lip, she nodded without answering.
   Tomorrow, indeed.
   -- Home -
   Home at a most indecent hour, Sarah went to great lengths to clean
herself, scrubbing every inch of her body.  Interestingly, her mouth felt
clean, there being now no compulsion to rinse or gargle.  Still, there was
more than enough filth to rid herself of.
   More than enough, oh yes.
   Clean, she knelt by her bed, hands together in preparation for her
nightly prayer.  As always happened now, when she assumed this position and
closed her eyes, her mind went immediately back and she was again knelt
before Master Collins, his hand atop her head, easing her face down his
raging manhood.  She felt her lips pried apart, the bulbous pulsating head
twitching against her tongue and the thick substance leaking from its tip.
Before, this vision had given her nothing but outrage, followed immediately
by the horror that perhaps this would always be so, that for the remainder
of her days she should remember, as she knelt in prayer, her face bobbing
single-mindedly up and down.  Tonight, however, there was the hint of
something else, the realization that what she had done, kneeling and
suckling his monstrosity, had in fact brought him immense pleasure.  Was
his pleasure similar to her own, what she had felt this very night?  It was
a different question, one she hadn't considered before.
   'I was a victim,' she thought, realizing that she while she knelt by her
bed she still had not begun praying.  'And he...  he...  '
   'Forced you?' another voice said in her mind.  It seemed she was
arguing--with herself.
   'Yes, of course he did!'
   'You did it on your own, he even removed his hand.'
   'Yes, but...  well, that is, he...  '
   'I'm so disappointed,' the voice replied, only now it was beginning to
sound a bit deeper.
   'I know.  I sh-- I should have...  '
   'On your knees, you took him in your mouth!'
   'I did,' she thought, hot flashes filling her body.  'I took him in my
mouth and...  and sucked his...  his...  organ...  '
   There was no escaping what she was feeling now; a different sensation,
to be sure, but one she had felt only hours before, a soft tingling between
between her thighs.
   'He told me...  I was good...  He gave me instruction...  '
   As these thoughts ran through her mind, Sarah lowered her hands slowly.
No longer together, they rested on her thighs.
   'Said I was...  I was...'
   One hand caressed her soft inner thigh, tracing small circles that moved
gradually into the V between her legs.  She parted them slightly, allowing
a single finger to rub between the curly hairs over her mound.
   "I dare say you pray very well indeed, Sarah Crutchfield."
   An urgent shudder followed by a soft sigh was the only outward sign that
anything had happened.  Inside, however, Sarah knew: she had just given
herself that which Mr.  Winthrop had, a couple hours before.  It was much
smaller, much less impressive.  In the grand scheme of things, it was
barely even an orgasm, amounting to only so much as a millisecond of
pleasure.
   Strangely, she couldn't decide which was worse: Mr.  Winthrop licking
her like a lollipop in front of a large group of strange men, or touching
herself and causing the same (albeit much smaller) reaction.
   She very much feared it was the latter.
   And she couldn't bring herself to pray.
   *
   Sarah had no explanation for what happened the next evening.  Mr. 
Brown, dressed very plainly (though not inexpensively), came to her door
personally.  After escorting her to the coach (a much smaller one than
usual) they rode together for full-on two hours with the windows pulled
back, discussing all of the day's important issues.
   It seemed she had come very far from their first meeting, when she was
petrified at the thought of discussing any matter of importance with her
husband, much less her husband's employer.
   At a small coastal restaurant, the two of them enjoyed a tidy meal of
varied seafood, everything from crab to scallops to oysters to, of course,
fish.  Through it all the conversation continued, flowing naturally from
topic to topic.
   This was Douglas, the gentlemen who cared very much what she thought.
   She had to admit she was having a grand time.
   The meal finished and sun set, they went back to the carriage for the
long ride home, again reveling in the delights of word play.  The stars
were out in abundance, a thick cluster spread magnificently across the sky.
There were no words to speak on this, just a mutual appreciation that in
this crazy world, with all the trappings and modern conveniences, something
as simple as a starlit sky could fill the heart with such wonder, and the
mind with so many questions.
   Having arrived, Sarah departed the carriage and walked to her door,
where Douglas saw her across the threshold.
   "Thank you, Douglas."
   "Your very welcome, Sarah.  I would like to say that my tastes do not
run as most of those at The Visum do.  I regret taking you there, to be
brutally honest.  Although," he added quickly, "your husband does blather
on rather obnoxiously, if you must know."
   "A man of Faith," Sarah replied knowingly.  "We should all be so
fortunate."
   "He is certainly fortunate," Douglas said, eyes twinkling.
   "Well then."
   "Well then.  Sarah," he said, bowing, "I hope you have a very good
night's sleep.  I can assure there will be no further demands or requests
for you.  I shall see to it personally."
   "Thank you," she murmured.  Of course, she had heard such assurances
before, but this time she had reason to believe it was true.  At any rate,
she certainly hoped it was.
   Her husband was due home in a few days, and she had some big plans to
unfurl for him.  And, perhaps, just the tiniest little request.
   She couldn't help the quick pitter-patter within her breast that
accompanied this thought.
   That same pitter-patter sent her scurrying to bed...
REMEMBER: It's just fantasy!
   Talk to me: Night.Bane@hotmail.com
  
2 The Gentleman's Club, Pt. 2