At the club's entrance hall reception desk, all I said to the tattooed and pierced young woman was, "I hear there is someone new. Her name is J. I want her, and I want P to be a part of it." With this particular employee, it was best to keep it simple.
The club was in an out of the way villa, old and run down, at least from the outside. Inside it was a very private club for gentlemen of certain tastes and sufficient wealth. P was a very dear favourite of mine. She was one of my first. She was the only one I occasionally smiled at. At first she misunderstood the smiles. It had nothing to do with any true affection. Later she understood. It was only about how far we had both come over the past two years we had been at the club, I, as a paying member, and she as a paid employee. We both kept silent about where we came from, and where we went, after our time at the villa. Time, where I as a man was privileged to indulge in whatever I wanted to indulge and she as a woman paid to indulge me, or whoever else fancied her. The club had few if any rules about what could be indulged. But there were rules. Only gentlemen were members, but they were free to bring a guest or two, gender optional, after said guests were carefully apprised of the few rules. Breaking of the rules was seldom an issue.
The receptionist didn't have to say much, just "When?" All the other details were on record. "Not tonight. Tomorrow night. I'll be here at one or two in the morning." The receptionist allowed a feint smile. "Don't let her sleep?" "Yes, don't let her sleep, starting now."
I walked out. I had enjoyed a brief but intense session with one of the kitchen staff, but I had things to attend to. That night I slept alone.
Arriving at the club the next evening, I walked past the reception desk and entered the lounge. The lounge attendant, who as usual was in a very revealing outfit, reached for my bottle of Oban and poured a measured two ounces into my personal whisky glass. It was Edinburgh crystal, a gift from my grandmother. I smiled my usual smile and sipped the single malt. I had heard that J was new, that she was here under a common story. Young, she wanted to make a place for herself among the rich and famous but had neither the birth nor the wherewithal that would allow her to succeed on her own. She had chosen a tradition route, offering up her body and her pretence at affection in exchange for being kept and occasionally being let into a society she would otherwise never know. She was here because her chosen benefactor was unhappy with her resistance to understanding her true place and what was expected of her, the true coast of being kept. A mistress is of no value if she doesn't accept her place. A week's residence, here at the club, in exchange for her opportunity to continue to be mistress to her benefactor, was the usual arrangement that was offered in these circumstances. She accepted. Of course she was not fully informed of the true intent of her stay, but was given to understand that once she entered, she left in a week. Not sooner. I didn't ask who her benefactor was. It wasn't me. Nothing else mattered. I was allowed to be part of her education, her instruction, perhaps. But only once. An extra fee, on my part was not necessary. It was one of the rules. Her benefactor would collect in his appreciation of her new attitude.
After a few pleasant moments alone with my thoughts, the whisky and the music of Mozart, P entered the lounge from the ante way. For P, she was dressed conservatively. Brilliant white silk blouse, a tailored woman's suit, Jacquard was my guess, skirt just below her knees, silk scarf, simple black stockings and black heels. Her hair was up on her head, a very light touch of makeup and some pearls. She looked like an extremely attractive, well to do lawyer. Perfect. I didn't know what was underneath, and I didn't really care. J was my interest tonight, my reason for being here, my pleasure toy, my fuck toy, and my very own living feminine sex doll. P understood. She always did. I gave her a few simple instructions and she walked out. J had been a resident at the club for three or four days. I was interested in finding out if she was beginning to understand her place.
I handed the glass to the attendant. A second wee dram while P prepared J. I took a long and studied look at the lounge attendant. She was a picture out of a book of erotic photography. She had on a leather cat suit, with carefully cut out holes for her breasts and crotch and a somewhat silly cat mask with small pointed ears. She was new. Her choice of apparel was not very original and not really all that appropriate for the lounge but the leather looked like it had been painted on her body. It fit her tall and buff frame perfectly. Custom tailored obviously and very expensive work, paid for by the club, which was to say, partly by me. I was allowed to gaze and reflect. She was not just there to serve drinks. She was part of the furniture. A furniture girl, nothing more, unless I wanted her to be something more. At this time I didn't. Perhaps another time, when I might be in a different mood. I started to feel warm, but only on the outside.
Mozart. The Marriage of Figaro. I smiled again, sat in a lounge chair, studied the furniture girl and sipped.
I didn't have to do much to prepare for J. I simply walked into the room that I had asked P to place her in. I paused to see that all was well. It was. P was sitting in a well upholstered chair, smoking a cigarette. After all her services to me I allowed her that much. The room contained a few of the usual features, a bed with a frame, a cage, a restraint cross against the wall, and various types of interesting accessories to make the room functional. It also had what I wanted. A simple horse, rounded, padded only slightly and over it was J. She was dressed only in a dirty threadbare shift, which if she was standing would barely cover her modesty. Stretched over the horse, her feet apart and restrained to the floor, her body bent over and down at the waist, her wrists also restrained to the floor, the shift only covered the top of her backside. Her femininity was open to me, exposed and waiting. I had never seen her before and never would again. She was blindfolded as per custom in these situations. She was never to know who her violators were. I took a moment to drink in the image. P lit another cigarette. There was a glass of cognac in her hand. I allowed her that.
