Masters of the Club Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Masters Of The Club

  by

  Lizbeth Dusseau

  ISBN 10: 0-9753909-1-0

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2005, All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  The fire in the hearth damaged everything. Creating a gray/brown cloud of ash and dust, a thin layer of soot covered the entire room by the time it settled. It would take days to clean. Gillian began with the furniture; the upholstered pieces would have to be professionally cleaned, but the wood seemed to shine all the more after it was polished. It was hot work even on a chilly mid-spring afternoon, so she stripped down to a pair of black bike shorts that fit snuggly about her ass and thighs, leaving her slender legs bare below. Her loose crop top barely covered her breasts, leaving the two luxuriant firm things bouncing about inside the soft knit shirt, the nipples driving right through the fabric. Her honey-blonde hair was a mess—piled on top of her head, loosely tucked inside a tortoise shell clamp and out of the way. She was usually put together with great care, but who would be watching her today? Gillian was alone.

  After the furniture, there was the bookcase, a damnable job. She might have thrown the whole thing out, if it had been hers, but she was living in a borrowed apartment; borrowing peace and quiet and the plush erotically appealing surroundings belonging to her friend, Kate McPherson. Now she was borrowing one hellish task. Of course, cleaning the place was the least she could do, even if this disaster was half Kate’s fault for not telling her there was a problem with the fireplace.

  Standing with hands on hips, rag in hand, she took a deep breath, her chest swelling softly as she did. There was already a layer of perspiration glowing on her tawny pink skin and a look of weariness in her hazel eyes. Her face was flushed, but sexily radiant from the activity. Standing five-feet ten in her bare feet, the graceful curvature of her body oozed sensual charm that was better put to use orchestrating a mob of corporate lawyers with the ease of a skilled maestro. Maestro or not, she had work to get done. And with one exhausted glare at the sooty bookcase, she dove into the mess, pulling one volume after another from the shelves until they were in a pile at her feet. There was just one book left, and that had been wedged tightly behind a bar at the back of the bookcase—either accidentally shoved into place by an impatient Kate trying to force another paperback where there were already too many, or purposely concealed from view in its clever hiding place. With some tugging and pulling it was finally free, and Gillian plopped down in a freshly polished chair to take a breather.

  After a long drink of water, she found her fingers running over the textured cover of the book in her hands. Opening it, the book’s spine cracked, and a funny shiver ran right up hers, tickling her at the base of her neck, sending a shiver back down, this one creeping stealthy into every nook and cranny of her body with a delicious arousal.

  “It’s her diary,” she whispered to no one, and from there Kate’s private words began to drop off the page like water quenching her thirst on a hot summer day. Each word incited a sexual riot in her body, and within minutes, Gillian was tugging the bike shorts off her hips to find the fastest way to her quickening cunt. With the black lycra in a gnarled tangle on the floor, she sat with her legs spread wide and began to toy with her clit as she continued to read. Between her lanky thighs was a snatch of blonde curls, clipped neatly into a triangle, the sides and labia below all the way to her anus cleanly shaved each day, so there was just smooth skin from her pubis to her rear door. Rubbing the sensitive fold at the side of her clit, a trace of her own sexual fragrance floated to her nostrils and she breathed deeply, smelling pleasure. For a time, she rubbed her female juices about the expanse of hairless skin. Some juice she combed through the pubic curls to make them glisten, and then there was a finger full she sucked from her hand.

  Reading on, with each sentence there was an internal spasm coming from deep inside her hips and thighs and female home. The nectar was sweet, the feel of her fingers arousing, the touch to her clit a perfectly formed masturbation that would end in climax. All technique aside, however, it was what was in her mind, inspired by this pilfered book that would make the ending exceptional. It had been some time since she’d thought these base things.

  Two fingers worked her clit, while a third worked the hole. Finally, as her mind took off into its own fantasy, she let the book drop to the floor and began to work herself with both hands. The end so close, she teased herself, letting it come and go. The fantasy took charge with some demanding voice in the back of her head ordering her to hold on and on and on, until she couldn’t hold on another second. There were three fingers in her hole when she came, and two others massaging her clit. Her voice purred melodically, and her breath was deep, and there was a shudder and grabbing as her body clenched and then let go. For an instant, she was gone, while her crotch moved nastily on her wet fingers and she could look down with delirious eyes to see her deep purple clit jerk as it spasmed.

  A page of Kate’s diary stuck to Gillian’s fingers as she closed it, and another kind of shudder replaced the sexual one. This diary had dangerous implications. With all its times and places and people’s names, it could be a time bomb in the hands of a cunning man, or, in the hands of a sexually desperate woman, a passport to her dreams.

  Chapter Two

  Gillian’s suit was a blue/green summer tweed, the skirt short, tight and ass hugging, the jacket cut with a “V” neckline that plunged to mid-breast. She wore nothing else but a lacy pale green bra, thigh high stockings, and a triple strand pearl necklace at her throat. With her hair softly combed around her shoulders, the gentle cascade softened what could be an uncompromising appearance, poised, haughty and demanding. She moved quickly, if not a bit anxiously, through the marbled-columned entrance and lobby toward the elevators, up three flights to the office of Thaddeus Chamberlain. On time for her appointment, she was ushered into the richly paneled office without waiting. Making a brisk appraisal of the room, she noted the Renaissance decor with a bit of surprise. Comfortable fabric couches, no leather, but ivory on ivory upholstery and drapes, and though the desk was a masculine piece, it was so richly carved, the surfaces looking vibrant and so soft, she was tempted to run her hands along them as she might the muscles of a man’s chest. The scene took her by surprise.

  “You look startled?” the man behind the desk asked her, seeing the striking blonde pause an instant too long, revealing a moment’s discomfort.

  She regained her aplomb instantly, and strode toward his desk, offering her hand as he stood to greet her.

  Thaddeus Chamberlain’s bearing was highlighted by a dash of European charm that wavered somewhere between classically formal and alluringly casual, with enough ease to soften her once apparent jitters and enough forbidding handsomeness to keep her clearly at arm’s length. He had a smooth, clean-shaven complexion, wavy chestnut hair he combed back at his forehead and a pair of bronze eyes that held the young lawyer clearly in their grasp—if only for a second before she spoke.

  “Mr. Chamberlain, Gillian Brahms.” He did not let go her hand until these firs
t words of introduction were uttered.

  “I am familiar with you, Ms. Brahms,” he returned. “Having gone up against you twice in court.”

  “I don’t think I remember,” she was forced to wonder aloud, while her mind worked franticly to recall any previous meetings. One would think an attractive woman sparring with such an attractive man, the event would have been memorable. “Did I win?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She looked honestly sheepish. What command of the meeting she might have had was summarily destroyed.

  “Are you here about a case?” he asked.

  “No, no, not at all,” she almost stammered. But then, Thaddeus motioned her to sit and that seemed to soothe her.

  Taking a deep breath, she began. “While my apartment building is being renovated, I’ve been living in Katherine McPherson’s apartment. Your firm sent her to Milan last fall?”

  “I do recall that, yes,” he replied.

  “So, I’ve been fortunate to have her delightfully styled home to relax in.”

  “How nice for you.” He was pleasant, but growing impatient with Gillian’s unhurried explanation for her visit.

  “I stumbled on something several days ago which I think might interest you,” she continued, as she drew the black linen-bound book from her purse. “I’m sure I was not supposed to see this, but I had a bit of an accident with a rusty fireplace flue which has required a thorough cleaning—and I’m afraid a paint job—of Kate’s apartment. While I was tearing apart the bookcase to dust off the soot, I found this wedged behind a shelf of paperbacks.”

  Thaddeus reached across his desk for the slim volume Gillian placed in front of him.

  “It’s her diary,” she informed him as he cracked the spine, giving her the same erotic jolt she had the first time she opened it. “To make a long story short, Mr. Chamberlain, I thought it best to deliver this into the hands of someone that will appreciate its value. There are some incredible things recorded inside—that given the names and places she mentions, I suspect speak the truth. It would make terrific fiction, but it makes even better fact—especially since she confirms that this sex club does indeed exist. It has been rumored about for years. She goes into a very believable chronicle, amazing as it is, of her initiation rites, the secret insignia and a variety of mysteries that paint a fascinating picture of female sexual surrender.”

  “Oh?” Thaddeus remained impeccably cool.

  “Don’t play cagey with me,” Gillian went on. “You know exactly what that book says.”

  “And what is your purpose with it?”

  “I wouldn’t have come here if I wanted to expose the club—though this could make for quite a splash in the newspapers, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure it would.” He leafed through the volume, studying a few significant pages, and then closed it as though he was honestly unconcerned. And yet, he scrutinized the woman quite carefully. “Why, then, are you here, Ms. Brahms?” he finally asked.

  She shook just a bit, like she had when she first arrived, but then spoke quite directly. “The truth is, Mr. Chamberlain, I would like to become a member of the club.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” She stared him directly in the eye.

  He cleared his throat while looking condescendingly amused. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t work quite that easily,” he said.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Assuming the story in the diary is true, and I was part of that story, I could assure you that members of the club would be chosen; handpicked, if you will. Membership would not be something you could request.”

  “Not even if my knowledge of your secret society came upon me innocently, and so moved me to come to you?”

  “I doubt if the club would act on your request, Ms. Brahms. Your appearance here almost has a ring of blackmail.”

  “No, sir, not at all,” she immediately retorted with a degree of force she commonly used only inside the courtroom when she wanted to make her point clear.

  “Perhaps you found Ms. McPherson’s exploits interesting, even highly arousing reading. She seems to be quite a wordsmith. Perhaps you’ve even laid back on your bed at night with your hand at your crotch reading this journal, and playing with your naked pussy until you came, imagining yourself in Ms. McPherson’s place.” His startling words mesmerized her—having the power to woo her beyond the desire already aroused by the journal. “Perhaps all that’s true,” he went on, “but I’m certain you’ve missed the tenor of this fantasy organization and what would have allowed it to function so smoothly over a number of years. You’re a powerful woman in this town. Few women like yourself would be suited for membership. The club would make powerful women of timid ones, but rarely would they find your finest assets are assets to club membership.”

  “I heartily disagree, Mr. Chamberlain. You can’t even presume to know what resides in my sexual fantasies; what beats so strongly in my loins.”

  “Perhaps not. But a secret society like this wouldn’t take chances, would it? Their way of life could be compromised by rebellious women who erroneously claim to be submissive. That is why its members would be carefully picked, and membership would not be recruited like that of your local country club. In the event that such a club actually exists, and I was privy to their secrets, or had some way with those who oversee it, you’d still remain an unlikely candidate.”

  “I think you’re mistaking a practiced public persona for the private one,” Gillian replied. “But just so you understand, I in no way plan to undermine your organization. Keep the diary. I suppose that might upset Kate, but as you see, I have my motives. I could have kept the thing and enjoyed its contents privately as long as I’m staying in her home. But I still have my desires, and I would welcome a change in your evaluation of me.”

  “I’m afraid that everything you say only confirms that evaluation, Ms. Brahms. We cannot change what is inherently in our hearts. And you, my dear Gillian, are not a submissive woman.”

  She breathed out discontentedly, but remained poised.

  “Thank you for the diary,” he added. “I’m sure I’ll find it is as interesting reading as you did, though I’m inclined to look on it more as fantasy that fact.”

  “You can remain shrewd and obtuse, Thaddeus Chamberlain, but you will also lose in the end.”

  “Now you’re sounding like the lawyer you are, Ms. Brahms. I’d suggest you get back in court where you function so well.”

  She smiled, even warmly, and left the office.

  The video camera taping the appointment of Gillian Brahms and Thaddeus Chamberlain did not capture her retreat, but that was not necessary. As the lights in the conference room went on, the grainy colored pictures of Thad’s office disappeared from the TV screen in front of the four watching men.

  “Well, there you have it. Our first solicitation. What do you think?”

  “Seems to me you gave away a good deal you didn’t have to.”

  “Unfortunately, when you read the diary, you’ll understand that there was little way to cloud the truth. Kate’s personal confessions were both graphic and very frank. I think we’d better address her request seriously.”

  “She’s a ballsy broad,” John Redford immediately replied.

  “I watched her work a courtroom with the finesse of an attorney twice her age and experience,” Vince Calleoni interjected. “Couldn’t be much more than thirty, I’d say.”

  “Prime membership age,” Thaddeus noted.

  “You’d actually consider her?” Redford exclaimed. “Good God, she’d wind our nuts in a rope and coat them with tar and feathers before she’s done.”

  “You have any idea who this woman knows in this city?” Vince continued. “I’m worried she’s scanned that diary and has copies ready to use any time she needs it. There’s no telling how her knowledge could affect hundreds of court cases and business deals in the next twenty years.”

  “I think you’re inflating her power,” the lon
e silent member of the quartet interrupted the spirited clash. To that point, Mike Bellamy had sat on the sidelines thoughtfully observing.

  “Inflated or not, we have reason to be concerned,” Redford said.

  “Why not give her what she wants,” Bellamy rejoined.

  “Are you crazy?” Vince shot back at him.

  “I don’t think so, gentlemen.” Mike casually rose from his chair, his well-built compact body rising just shy of six feet, though he had the stature of a man much taller. His thick sandy hair was slightly disheveled and behind bushy brows the gleam in his amber eyes was unmistakable. There was often a whimsical expression on his face that added to his boyish appeal. And though a chiseled square jaw suggested a firm character, there was nothing but charm in his handsome face. Looking as though he’d just climbed off a horse after riding the range, his appearance contradicted the truth about him. He might look like a casual cowboy dressed in slick city clothes, but at heart, he was inarguably ruthless, one of the clubs most pitiless masters. “I saw a nervous woman in that video tape. I saw quivering thighs and a jaw clenched too tightly, and vulnerability and acquiescence befitting our most docile submissive lambs.”

  “You’ve gone daft,” Vince exploded. “You could hardly see her expression in that tape.”

  “But I know it was there, just by hearing the sound of her voice.”

  “You’d risk this club, Bellamy, to match your wits with her?” Redford queried.

  “What’s the risk? Better to have her inside the club than out. Better to have Gillian Brahms caught on video tape in a dozen salacious acts of sexual exposure, as have her hold the contents of a dangerous diary in her grasp, while we wonder when she’s going to pull it out in court, or over some conference table when one of us has a few million on the line.”