For The Weekend Ch 13

Eventually we all move to the living room to finish of the coffee and pastries Tim had brought in earlier. Ian and Andrea have dressed again, while Tim has his robe, but I remain nude, conscious of the fact that I am the only one in this state. Tim has me sit at the foot of his chair, his right hand resting casually at the base of my neck as he talks with his guests. While my lack of clothing does not bother me in itself, I am very aware that it confirms my submissive status to them.

Tim quickly reviews our weekend for Andrea, giving her the details what we have been up to since our visit to her office. I listen politely, still somewhat embarrassed by some of the details he is revealing to her, particularly the fact that her husband was witness to much of went on last night.

My curiosity is growing, however. Tim, Andrea and Ian have obviously done more than have breakfast together before this, and I wonder how this friendship came to this level of intimacy. I listen some more, growing more fascinated that Andrea seems so interested in all the details, then can stand it no longer. As Tim reaches the end of his story, I break in.

"May I ask you a question?" I ask Andrea.

"Sure," she replies, "shoot."

"Well, actually, I have a few, if that's alright." Without waiting for an answer, I begin rattling off all that is running through my mind.

"How did you and Ian meet Tim? Obviously, both you and Ian are have a history with him, just how did you all get to where you are now?"

Andrea laughs, then looks at me, a kindly smile on her face. "Well," she begins, "we all met at a club Ian and I belong to. Tim was a guest one night, and he ended up winning a massage at our home studio that Ian was auctioning off as part of a club fundraiser."

I look at Andrea expectantly. "Is Ian a massage therapist, too?"

She laughs again. "No, although he is very good for a hobbyist. No, he was raffling off my services, to put it nicely."

I need to know more. "What kind of club is this? I would love to win another massage from you!"

Andrea laughs again, and continues. "You're sweet! It's a club where people who enjoy each other's company get together for dinners and parties and vacations...part of enjoying each other's company sometimes includes physical pleasures."

The light begins to go on in my head. "It sounds like a swinger's club..." I say softly.

"I guess you can call it that," she replies slowly. "It's a group of people who enjoy each other's company, and sometimes that leads to physical pleasure. Most get-togethers are pot-luck dinners and conversation with an adult flair. Occasionally, we rent a hotel for a weekend and have a large party, with speakers and events and the like. People dress as they please and interact however they please. It's not unusual to see a nude man or woman on a leash talking to another person dressed in formal attire. Because everyone has different ideas as to what gives them pleasure, the club members do their best to give everyone the opportunity to experience their pleasure however they see fit—we're not at all judgemental, and jealousy really doesn't work well if you're a club member. Only couples can join. A certain number of guests are allowed at each club gathering, but a guest can only attend one event a year.

Tim was there as the guest of another couple. Ian won the attention of the woman Tim was a guest of, and when he saw that my talents were up for auction, he thought it would be OK to bid. Tim came over to our house the next weekend, I gave him a massage and satisfied him, and we all found we enjoyed each other's company. Even though Tim is not a member of our club—yet"--Andrea looks at him and winks—"we still see each other regularly for dinner and daytrips. When he confided to us what his plans for this weekend were, I volunteered to help you relieve some of the stress I know you were going to build up. That, and Tim loves the idea of a little girl-girl action." She looks at Tim and smiles, who returns smile back in return. "Ian wanted to be at my office to watch as well, but Tim and I thought it would be a better idea if you didn't meet him until last night—we thought it might have overwhelmed you otherwise. Tim knows my preferences, so I was happy to volunteer my services."

I still have questions, and speak up when Andrea reaches for her tea. "You said auctioned," I start, "is it like a slave auction?" My bad girl side hopes I am right--I want to know more!

"The auction...", she says after taking a sip from her cup. "The auction happens once or twice a year, and is usually done at one our hotel parties, so we have lots of bidders and room to run it. The people who set it up make quite a show of it! Normally there are some services being auctioned, like my massage, and some people offer themselves for a period of time, like the woman Tim was a guest of. The auction raises money for club functions and charities, and all of the services—and people—" she says with a grin—"are freely given up for bid. Some people volunteer to be auctioned off, as it is a turn-on to be given to another, don't you agree? Other times one club member will ask another member to go on the block, as they believe they have a particular skill or look that is desired. I've 'volunteered'—with Ian's help-- to be auctioned off several times; Ian has been asked to be an auction item twice."

"Do you mean your massage got auctioned, or you?" I ask.

Andrea looks into her teacup, forming an answer. "My first time, it was just a massage. The last two times, my sale has been more 'complete.' My preferences are a little particular. I like to be sold to men for their use, but on the other hand, I like to have women under my control. The person being auctioned has the right to set limits on who they're being auctioned to, and for what purposes; I just specified that I could not be sold to another woman." She stops and seemed to be gauging my reaction before continuing on. "Ian, on the other hand," she laughs, "forgot to specify his limits the last time he was sold. He was really sweating when a male clubmember won the bid; luckily for him, he was a gift for the winner's wife." I look at Ian, and he seems to be confirming Andrea's statement with a deep blush.

Ian finally speaks. "We would love to see Tim get auctioned off, not that will ever happen. He's too much the macho stud to allow another person to tell him what to do. That, and he's gotta be a member. We keep trying to get him to join, but he's missing one piece..."

"I'm not getting married to get laid by other people!" Tim laughs. "I'm doing fine one my own!"

"The rules don't say married," Andrea says lightly. "You just need a steady partner."

Further attempts to convince Tim to join go nowhere, and we continue to talk of other things for a while more. My attempts to get more details on these parties, and in particular, the auctions, meet with limited success. Most of my questions are met with various versions of "maybe one day you'll see." Tim's hand creeps down my shoulder down to the top of my breast, and he is eventually turning small circles on the skin above my nipple.

"I think these kids need some privacy," Ian says as he stands. "Andrea, don't we have some errands to run?"

"We do," she says, rising off the couch next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Tim's only got this lovely thing for a little while longer, I'm sure he would like to take advantage."

Tim gets up behind me and I rise last, conscious that the other 3 tower above me, both in height as well as their position in this hierarchy. I am Tim's for a while longer, to do with has he wishes.

We walk Ian and Andrea to the door, both of them kissing me goodbye as they open it. Ian's kiss for me a quick peck on the cheek, Andrea's deeper and more prolonged, lip-to-lip as she wraps me in her arms. She breaks the clinch, and they step into the hallway.

"Karen, why don't you walk them to the elevator?"

I look at Tim in a panic—I know he's not going to allow me to cover myself—but I see he is just smiling back at me, looking to see if I dare. Ian and Andrea are waiting for me expectantly, and I swallow hard and step into the hall with them. We are the only ones in the corridor, and we set off towards the elevator at the end of the hall. My escorts seem to be taking their time, and I find myself listening intently for the sounds of footsteps, voices, or doors opening.

We reach the elevator, and while Ian presses the call button, Andrea gives me one more kiss, this time slipping her finger into my sex.

"You may look nervous, but your body is telling a different story," she says with a smirk. She takes my shoulder and spins me away from her, then lightly smacks me on the butt and says, "off you go." I hurry back to our room, my senses alert and my cheeks burning. Reaching the door, I realize Tim has closed it behind me! I knock softly but with a sense of urgency, hoping not to draw attention. Too late. A door opens down the hall and an older man in a suit and a tie steps into the hallway, closes his door behind him, then realizes with a start that there is a nude woman 30 feet away. He recovers and strolls towards me, smile on his face as I try to pull my own door open, jiggling the handle and knocking louder. The gentleman walks by me and I feel I have to give some sort of explanation.

"Got locked out after a shower," I say with an edge of panic in my voice, avoiding looking the man in the eye.

"I can let you into my room to finish," he says with a grin as he continues by, not averting his stare.

I don't answer, but instead knock again.

This time Tim opens the door and I scramble in, breathing hard from my nervous excitement.

He's grinning—and nude. His cock is at half-mast, evidence he enjoyed my little show. "Sorry, it must have accidentally shut when you went out."

I'm angry at being exposed like that, but also turned on, knowing the man in the hall found me attractive enough to abandon his sense of politeness and openly take in my nudity. Tim gathers me in his arms and kisses my forehead while his hands run up and down my back. The thrill of being in a strange man's arms continues to make my excitement build, and I find myself trying to give him access to the areas below my asscheeks. He stops caressing though, and turns away after releasing me from his grip.

"Let's get dressed," he says. "Nice day for a walk."

He dresses first, choosing a pair of jeans and a golf shirt, then rummages through my bag and pulls out a sleeveless cream-colored dress and tosses it to me along with my waistchain. I know there won't be any underwear coming out of the bag and so slip the garment over my head, finger-combing my hair in the mirror. The dress is one I've had for years and know that the thigh-high garment is split halfway up each side and is somewhat transparent when I'm silhouetted by the sun. I've never worn this without a bra and full-backed panties; this should be interesting.

Tim has retrieved my sandals in the meantime, and I slip them on. He turns me once to evaluate his choice, nods, and moves to the door. I follow behind, my first thought to grab my purse, but realize I have not needed it all weekend.

We reach the elevator without incident and ride in silence, Tim lifting the back of my dress enough to place his right hand firmly on my right cheek. We reach the lobby and he does not remove his hand until we are well into the public area. I blush a bit and smooth my dress self-consciously as it settles back on to my ass, certain the desk clerk saw where Tim's hand had been when we got off the elevator. James is in the lobby and smiles broadly at us as we walk by. Tim returns the smile and a nod, but I look at the floor to avoid eye contact, my cheeks flushing hotly.

The sliding glass doors slide open before us and we step onto the sidewalk. Tim turns left and walks slowly, seemingly to allow me to keep up. I hurry along and am very conscious of the wind whipping around and through the city buildings. A weekend ago I would have been nervous about showing passerbys the color of my underwear as the breeze played with my hemline. Now I am worried about showing them much more. I hurry along after Tim, my left arm pressed against my waist to keep my dress down. I move beside him and slip my right arm through his left, and we walk on.

We walk for a couple of blocks, then turn left and walk a few blocks more. Tim seems to have a destination in mind...

We reach a small jewelry store set into the lobby of a large office building, and Tim opens the door for me. I step in and see the typical jewelry store setup, glass cases filled with many sparkling, pretty things. Tim follows me in, then steps up to a stooped old man behind one of the counters. The clerk looks up at and smiles from behind his jeweler's loup. "Timothy!" he cries as his eyebrow releases the black plastic to swing from a lanyard. "How good to see you again!"

"Good to se you as well, Theodore, how are you feeling?"

"Very well, very well indeed! The standard aches and pains for a seventy-year old man, but nothing major. And you, is this pretty young lady with you?"

"She is. Theodore, I'd like you to meet Karen. Karen, this is Theodore. He's been a friend of the family for years." The jeweler offers his hand and I take it gingerly, afraid to apply too much pressure to the old man's bones. His grip is surprisingly strong, however, and he follows with a gallant kiss to the back of my hand.

"Hello, my dear, very pleased to make the acquaintance of one so beautiful."

Tim laughs. "You old charmer, always after the ladies! She's with me this weekend!"

Theodore smiles again and releases my hand. "What brings you here today, Timothy?"

"I'm looking for something special for my friend here. Do you still offer that special line of crystal...?"

Theodore breaks into an even bigger smile. "I would not have guessed such a thing for this fine lady, but since you ask, it would be my pleasure—" he puts emphasis on the word and looks at me slyly—"to show you what I have." The old man turns to a pretty young girl at the other counter. She is tiny, no more than 5 feet tall, and probably just out of high school.

"Jeannie, can you keep an eye on things while I take these two out back?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Epstein."

Theodore opens the gate between two of the counters and invites us through. Once on the other side, he turns the knob on the door behind him and holds it open while we step through. We are in a combination office and work area, papers and jewelers tools scattered about a large oak desk, a bright lamp illuminating the clutter. The old man takes a low backed chair and sets it to one side of the desk, curiously enough with the seat facing away from the desk. A folded towel is placed over the top of the back. He in turn sits on a low stool in front of the work area and opens the bottom right drawer of the desk, removing a sheaf of papers before slowly withdrawing a metal box. He sets it carefully on the sheaf of papers he had just removed and opens it, raising the lid to reveal a purple felt cloth covering the contents. He pulls back the fabric to reveal various pieces of crystal, ornate stones and metal that appear to be wine or perfume bottle stoppers. "Did you have anything in mind, Timothy?"

"Well, Karen's favorite stone is emerald, do you have anything that might fit the bill?"

Theodore carefully moves several pieces and to reach a finely-cut mass of crystal about 3 inches long, a large blunt end inlaid with the green stone and a band of steel around its circumference, tapering to a delicately rounded end. The piece appears to multifaceted and catches the light of the worklamp on the table, throwing sparks of color around the room. He hands the piece to Tim, who takes it from him and turns it several times to examine the workmanship.

"The finest lead crystal, Timothy," the jeweler says with pride. "Coated and sealed to prevent the leaching of the lead. The shaft is cut with 18 facets to facilitate grip, yet keep it comfortably smooth. A single emerald inlaid into the head, and wrapped with a sterling silver band. I made that several years ago, have never found the right buyer. Perhaps I have today?"

Tim smiles, then shows it to me. "What do you think, Karen? Do you like it?"

I take it from him and examine it just as he did, then hand it back. "It's beautiful," I say truthfully. Is there a bottle that goes with it?"

Tim smiles and Theodore chuckles. "Not exactly," Tim tells me. He hands the piece back to the jeweler and tells him, "Would you like to fit it for her?"

"My pleasure," the old man coos, and reaches into the drawer again for a plastic bottle. "Young lady, would you bend over that chair for me, please?"

I look at Tim, my confusion surely registering, but he just smiles and waves his hand towards the chair. I face the seat and bend over the back, looking at the old jeweler, but he just laughs and says, "no dear, as beautiful as your face is, I'll need to see the other end." I think I finally understand what this piece of crystal is. I look at Tim as I move around to the other side of the chair and bend over the back, but he just continues to smile at me. My midsection is folded over the top of the chair, my feet on one side and spread a bit for stability while my elbows rest on the seat cushion. I hear the stool roll up behind me, and without ceremony, my dress is flipped up over my back.

"Oh, she is absolutely lovely, Timothy! Exquisite!" A strong, gnarled finger runs up my pussy from clit to asshole, then retreats a bit and burrows into my cleft. I start a bit, but say nothing. His finger continues pushing and finds my vaginal opening, sliding in. "Ohh, that wasn't hard at all. If I was a few years younger, I might have something besides my finger to put in there. Has she been a naughty girl, Timothy?"

"As a matter of fact, she has. Want me to tell you about it?"

Theodore chuckles. "No, I'm not sure I'd like to know what my finger is sliding through right now. Maybe later." He plays with my cunt a moment more, then withdraws his finger. I hear a bottle cap being flipped open, the sound of squeezing, and then the feel of cold gel on my asshole. "Sorry dear," he says. "No microwave to warm that." He liberally coats my bud, then slides his finger in, further lubricating my back passage. Out comes the finger, and then...nothing. A moment or so passes, and I look up at Tim questioningly, but he just keeps looking back at me, smiling all the time.

I am just about to look over my shoulder when I feel a warm hardness against my anus. I quickly realize it is the crystal, and the old man is pushing it into me slowly, my channel expanding as the tip of the crystal widens. It continues to push me open until with a sudden pop, the indentation below the head enters me and my ring closes around it. I can feel the bulbous jeweled end against my now filled hole. The old man pulls it out slightly then allows my anus to pull it back into place several times, as if he is testing the fit.

"If I do say so myself, this tush is the perfect match for this piece! It catches the light beautifully!"

"The plug, or the tush?" Tim asks teasingly.

Tim moves behind me and takes a look for himself. The jeweler reaches between my legs and tickles my clit, causing my anus to constrict involuntarily with the sensation.

"I have to agree—I love how it sparkles when she moves. I think we'll take it."

The jeweler runs his hand over my ass, then asks, "shall I box it for her, Timothy?"

"No, I'll think she'll wear it. Can you put it on my tab?"

Theodore gently lowers my dress back over my thighs and turns back to his desk, wiping the lube—both the bottle's as well as mine—from his hands.