The Freyja Club Ch. 08

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It was 2 a.m. when I pulled the page out of the typewriter. It was the final draft of my take on Michelle’s journey from high school valedictorian in Iowa to her job as a naked bartender at the Freyja Club in Washington D.C. Over the last year, since I was admitted as a member to this unique and secretive club, I had been teasing bits and pieces from Michelle about how she had ended up being the one to draw a cold beer for me every visit.

Some years ago, I had begun writing erotica as a pleasant diversion during long flights and lonely evenings in hotels around the world. But my initiation to the Freyja Club had supercharged my imagination in this regard, and I had begun to chronicle some of my experiences with a little bit of literary license thrown in. I was facínated how the various people that I met had come to be here, but I was especially interested in the staff. This was the place they came to work five days a week and I was curious about them. I chose Michelle to be my first subject for the simple reason that, having already taken her to bed, I knew the most about her.

The Washington Freyja Club wasn’t something that I just popped into whenever I wanted. It was a good hour and a half away and it took some degree of planning for each visit. I often went on a Friday or Saturday for obvious reasons and a visit was on my schedule for tomorrow evening. I was too tired to do another proof reading of my story about Michelle, so I postponed that until morning and went to bed. My dreams that night were of the erotic variety as usual, but the women in them were usually abstractions or composite personalities. That night they clearly were about Michelle.

A little after 8 p.m. the next day I clicked my way through what I thought of as ‘The Viking Door,’ because of the ship motif carved into its rich wood panel, and was as usual greeted by Rachel. She was the club’s Chief Hostess, and would probably have won the contest for most beautiful breasts, had there been such a thing. They were perfect 36D’s topped by wonderful pink nipples that always appeared to be in an advanced stage of arousal. As I’ve previously chronicled, Rachel was one member of the staff whom I knew almost nothing about because we could never seem to have an uninterrupted conversation. As people continued to stream into the club, I realized that this time would be no different, so with a sigh, I headed toward the sofa’s near the Swan Door and spent ten minutes just gawking at the stream of naked women who emerged. It was blatant voyeurism on my part, but I was hardly alone, hungry male stares was something that the ladies seemed to expect, and a few seemed to relish.

After a few minutes, I found myself aroused and I idly wondered at the effect that watching these women was having on me. I had attended a strip show or two in my day, and some of the women in those places had been even more beautiful than those that I’d just ogled, however they didn’t have the effect on me that the casual parade of female members I’d just witnessed had. It seemed counterintuitive that casual, everyday women were more arousing than beautiful girls pushing their naked breasts and cunts in your face. It was a corundum that I needed to think about.

When I turned and headed towards the bar, Michelle was exactly where I expected her to be. Usually I would just take a seat and she had learned that a cold Heineken was always my first order. However, this time I motioned for her to follow me to the end of the bar. When she stepped out from behind it, I raised the brown folio that had the draft manuscript of my story and when Michelle saw it, she gave a little squeal of recognition and suddenly I was holding a very warm and naked woman. She kissed me passionately and I more than returned her ardor.

“You need to read this and correct anything I got wrong,” I said, breaking our kiss. “I’ve taken some literary license with the dialogue, but this is only partially a bio, it’s supposed to flow, so keep that in mind if you want to change any of that.” Michelle took the folio and held it against her chest, which I thought was cute, but it had the downside of obscuring her beautiful tits. Then she leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “There’s something I need to ask you.” I cocked my head waiting for her question, but she motioned me through the door that led to the storage room in back of the bar.

Michelle took a deep breath, and looked around to make sure that we were alone. Then she looked into my eyes and whispered, “Tom wants to watch us together.” I immediately knew what she was asking, but I waited to see if there was more. When it appeared there wasn’t, I said, “It can’t be here can it?” Michelle shook her head. Her husband Tom wasn’t a member, so if I was to acquiesce to her request it would probably be in their apartment. Among the Freyja Club’s rules was a strict prohibition against staff having a relationship with members outside of the club, so I recognized that Michelle was putting not only her job, but my membership, Anadolu Yakası Escort in jeopardy by making the request. When I nodded my agreement, she smiled and gave a little jump of joy. “I can’t wait to tell Tom.” Then she gave me another kiss and we returned to the bar area.

Michelle poured a beer and I ordered a Maryland crab cake sandwich and fries and looked around while she went off to enter it. There was one couple nearby and we struck up a quick conversation. They introduced themselves as Derek and Kate. Those may have been real names, but perhaps not. Aliases were not an unknown phenomenon among the members, but it didn’t make a difference to me. It turned out that they were on vacation and flown in from Denver. Derek told me that the closest club to them was a thousand mile commute, so they took their vacations where Freyja Club’s were. They’d come, stay in the attached hotel, sightsee during the day and partake in the Club’s ‘activities’ in the evening. I had to admit that there was a certain logic to that. They’d just arrived and we’re having a drink before moving on to said ‘activities.’ I explained that I was still relatively new, but I’d tell them what I knew about this club.

Kate stayed silent, letting Derek handle our conversation, but I noted that she was finishing what I thought was her second ‘shooter.’ When I mentioned it, Derek laughed, “and she’ll probably have one or two more before we go upstairs… we’re looking to do a threesome, but we haven’t agreed on the gender of the third person. I was thinking of a woman, but if you’re interested, I’ll ask her.” I laughingly declined without telling Derek of my reticence of getting involved in something that got too close to a man to man situation. I’d never participated in a threesome or moresome, but an MMF wasn’t on my A-list. Once Kate looked in my direction and smiled, but that constituted the entirety of my interaction, and truthfully, I was feeling a little sorry for her. She had a nice fuckable body in an everyday0 housewife sort of way, but I couldn’t help but think that her presence was due more to Derek than her own desires.

I was looking for a way to politely disengage from Derek when Michelle returned and, bless her heart, gave me one. “I just went to the ladies room and read what you gave me,” she whispered. I lifted an eyebrow and took the opportunity to excuse myself from the conversation and Michelle and I moved further down the bar. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. I don’t know how you took my ramblings and made it sound so… uh, … coherent? I can’t wait to show it to Tom.” Based on what she’d told me about him, I suspected that he might become aroused by my description of the first time Michelle agreed to cuck him. If so, It might end up being an evening of delight for both of them.

“I’ll read it more carefully when I get home tonight, but it reminded me of something else. There’s a woman here this evening that I think you would enjoy meeting.” For the second time, I raised an eyebrow with a silent question. I had discovered that Michelle could be full of surprises, and her comment sounded like another one.

She continued. “Her name is Hayley I think. She told me that she’s a professor or something and she seems to be really interested in Victorian Erotica just like you. Interesting isn’t it?” It certainly was. I remembered telling Michelle that my early exposure to books like “My Secret Life,” had fueled my interest in the genre as well as more than one episode of youthful self abuse. “You say she’s here?” I asked.

Michelle nodded and said, “Let me check?” She took a couple of steps and picked up a telephone from somewhere under the bar and spoke briefly with someone. When she hung up, she walked back to me and laughed, “Right now she’s in the orgy room with some woman sitting on her face, but I told Jeff to give her a message when she’s… uh, finished.” That got me chuckling too.

Michelle was called to serve some other folks and I took the opportunity to just look around. A Freyja Club is a wonderful place to kill time. Without turning my head very much there were six very naked ladies in my line of sight. All except one, were seated either with a man or in a small group. There was a couple walking toward the elevator lobby and the blonde woman’s body was totally exposed to my gaze. I appreciated the bounce of her fulsom tits and the view of her trimmed pussy that appeared and disappeared between her nicely muscled legs as she walked. The fanciful image of those beautiful legs wrapped around me as I penetrated her cunt gave my cock a nice pulse.

Another brunette sitting at one of the tables had leaned forward and was holding her drink with both hands while she supported her arms by placing her elbows on the table. From where I sat, I could see her nice pear shaped breasts sag from her chest in profile. For some reason, I have always appreciated this side view of women, which more than any other, demonstrates the weightiness of their Kurtköy Escort endowment.

I admit that I was sort of lost in the moment. The woman’s nipples were hard and their extension was obvious when viewed in profile, so I wasn’t aware of Michelle until I felt her tap on my shoulder. “Down boy.” I heard her say, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

When I turned around, I saw that Michelle was accompanied by another woman whom I assumed was Hayley. Michelle made the introductions and then looking up the bar saw some people taking seats and apologized that she was needed elsewhere. I shook Hayley’s hand and motioned for her to take the seat next to me. She gave me a nice smile and I returned it as her naked butt slid into the bar stool.

Hayley appeared to be about 40 and very near to my own age. She was slim with nice feminine arms and legs. Her tits were well proportioned to her frame and her smaller than average aerolia had the effect of emphasizing her pencil eraser nipples which were prominent and hard. Further south, she had a delicious cleft visible through the sparse brown pubic hair that adorned her pussy. I don’t know why but catching sight of that feature rocketed my memory back thirty years to the time I received my first lessons in female anatomy.

Her name was Wendy and we’d agreed that if I showed her mine, she’d show me her’s. I’ll not describe her reaction since it’s not germane to the point, but when she pulled her panties down, I saw her baby smooth mound and a slit that peeked out from between her legs. I was more than facínated by that little cleft, but I had no idea why. In any event, it was a few years after that incident that I learned about the rest of human female anatomy and observed that a woman’s “slit” was essentially her labia, and inside were her clitoris and vagina. However, in my mind, it was still that first revelation of Wendy’s that cemented in my mind that a “slit” was just that first visible sign of femaleness, and as I gazed between Hayley’s legs, that’s what I saw.

All of what I just described took place in the blink of an eye, but like any woman, Hayley was more than aware that it was her body that first captured my gaze, and I suspect this knowledge was why I heard her chuckle and I’ll bet she was thinking something along the lines of, “men are such simple and predictable creatures.” If so, she hit the nail on the head.

When my eyes found her face, Hayley looked exactly like a professor that Michelle had suggested she thought she was. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and her choice of glasses was straight out of Miss Prim. The knowledge that not so long ago, she was upstairs on her back tonguing the pussy of a woman sitting on her face was quite a dichotomy.

It was Hayley who broke the silence. “Michelle tells me you’re a writer.” I jerked a little in surprise, but I hoped not so much that she noticed. I let out a chuckle and said, “I think Michelle is under the impression that anyone who can write is a writer.” I went on to explain what I did for a living without going into too much detail. Then I described generally how I had started writing erotic stories. While I talked, Hayley seemed to listen attentively.

When it was her turn, she told me that indeed she was a tenured Professor of English Literature at Georgetown University. She was considered an expert in the field of Victorian Period literature, and while not usually known, she herself had been drawn to the underground world of erotica during that socially repressive age.

While we ended up in decidedly different fields, it was interesting that we had developed, what we now knew was a shared interest, for erotica in much the same way. I was a military brat living in France and she was the daughter of a contractor living in the Netherlands. Both counties were much more progressive sexually than the United States in the early 1960’s and I had found copies of Victoria erotica in small French bookstores, Hayley had found them under father’s bed. We both shyly admitted that the stories had a profound effect on our teenage libedo’s but in some surprisingly different ways.

For me, they were simply sexually charged images which provided arousing stimulation for late night masterbation sessions. For Hayley they did much the same, but in addition she said that the sexual freedom demonstrated by the various ‘fallen women’ in the tales ignited in her a desire to be able to experience that herself, unconstrained by the strictures of society. If that meant she was a slut, then a slut was what she wanted to be. However, just like the heroines in the novels, her erotic nature had to be hidden from view, but under the right circumstances could be summoned forth for her hedonic pleasure plus anyone else with whom she chose to share.

She told me that she had earned a scholarship to Yale where she earned a B.S. in English, but then on to Cambridge for advanced studies. It was there that her chosen profession and her teenage fantasies Pendik Escort came together, and why a couple of decades later, she was sitting naked on a bar stool in the Freyja Club telling me her story. What she told me then, and added to later in the evening, were some surprising revelations about the London Club, its founding ninety years previously, and a peek into its senior governance; none of which I’d ever heard before.

When we compared notes, I learned that Hayley had a much deeper and broader understanding of the genre of Victorian Erotica than I, which of course shouldn’t have been surprising given that it was her life’s work, but just a casual interest of mine. What I found particularly fascinating however, was that she was attempting to identify the real author’s of some of the more famous Victorian Erotic Novels, all of which had been published either anonymously or under pseudonyms, and her work was leading her to some very prominent names, Thomas Hardy and Jane Austin among them.

It had been awhile since I had such a riveting and interesting conversation and when I looked up, an hour and a half had sped by. I was hungry and I assumed that Hayley was too, so I suggested we continue over dinner. She smiled and nodded, so I rose and gave her my arm and we headed toward the Restaurant. Leslie was in her usual spot as Hostess and escorted us to a small table off to the side. When she walked away, I noted her boyish looking butt, and still marveled that someone that looked so young could be twenty-eight and married.

At the bar, I had learned a fair amount about Hayley’s professional life, but not much about her personal one. So as we waited for a waitress to appear I asked. The most salient point was that she was currently single and had no significant others. Up to this point in my Freyja Club tenure I hadn’t met that many members and only one, Nancy, was a single unattached female.

What she told me over dinner was as salacious as any erotic novel I’d ever read, Victorian or otherwise. Starting at Yale, but blossoming at Cambridge, she described her own ‘secret life.’ During the day, and outwardly, a seemingly shy and modest bibliophile, who’s conservative dress and manner would draw little interest, but at night, a cock hungry slut that craved and pursued the entire pantheon of sexual debauchery.

I was mesmerized by the story of her carnal journey, particularly as it came from her innocent looking lips. She was available to both men and women, and if they were total strangers, so much the better. Indeed, to maintain her two persona’s, anonymity was preferred. Oh, there were some people in her life that were aware of her dual personalities, but they were the facilitator’s of her debauchery.

As I listened, I could feel myself becoming seriously aroused. The images that she sparked in my imagination as she described, in intimate and flowing detail, of how she would travel to nearby cities to seek sexual pleasure in whatever way it presented itself, created exactly the same feelings in me as reading those ribald stories so many years ago.

I suspected that most people who were members of the Freyja Club were, like Hayley, outwardly, respected members of the community, but here, free to pursue hedonic pleasure without fear of condemnation. From what I was learning about her, Hayley and the Freyja Club were a perfect fit.

The waitress who served us wasn’t Loren, who I knew, but Ann, who I thought had just been hired. I immediately noticed the similarity of her body type and we’ll muscled legs to Loren’s statuesque build and I wondered if she was also one of the “Rockettes.” I had been told by Susan during a previous dinner that there were at least three waitresses at the club that were members of that storied troop. From her appearance, I guessed that Ann might be one of those.

Personally, It seemed that Hayley and I were hitting it off pretty well. I gave her some gold stars when she laughed at my jokes and I hoped that I was scoring some too. As we ate, I was finding that I was becoming seriously attracted to her and I started noticing things that hadn’t originally registered. For one thing, her slim hands and long fingers which she used to emphasize her words. Not in the wild gestures common to the French or Italians, but in a subtle, very feminine manner, such as rolling her hand as if caressing the expression that had just left her lips.

Uppermost on my list was the question of exactly how she came to be a member of the club, and whether her sexual appetite, which obviously included women, continued to encompass relations with men. I did attempt to slyly tease an answer, but she caught on immediately, and when she did, I think she gave me the same look that she reserved for her students if they asked a particularly stupid question.

“Are you asking me if I still fuck men in general, or are you asking if you can fuck me in particular?”

Her retort caught me between bites, so it took a second for me to respond. “Well, I guess if you’re willing to go to bed with me, then, as far as I’m concerned, the answer to the first part of my question is academic.” Hayley cocked her head and then smiled. “Yes, I guess it is, and if you’re also asking if I’d like to get laid, the answer is also yes.”

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