The Club

Carla and Troy set up a very different type of club.

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Author's notes:

1. This is a work of fiction. The activities and practices described in this story are not necessarily either condoned or recommended. If you choose to do anything described in real life with real people you do so at your own risk.

2. All characters are fictional and are 18 years or older; any likeness to any living person is purely coincidental. The story is purely imaginary and, to the author's knowledge, bears no relationship to any factual occurrence.

3. This story is self-contained but follows on from Summer Camp. To find out how Carla and Troy first met and fell in love, it is suggested that you read Summer Camp first.

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The last ten years have simply vanished. Looking back, it has been an interesting and, at times traumatic period in my life. Troy and I married a year after we met at summer school, at the end of our freshman year at college. Our marriage vows included the provision that we could introduce others into our relationship, neither of us wanting the ties of monogamy, which was fine when the average lifespan was 30-40 years, but we did not want to end up after 50 years of marriage hating each other. Variety, after all, is the spice of life and monogamy by compulsion or a feeling of duty can easily lead to resentment, which is hardly conducive to a loving, fulfilling relationship.

Our choices of study were interesting, Troy studying medicine while I studied psychology; without realizing it at the time, they seemed to tempt the Universe to throw the health book at us, and it did. First off, we decided to have a baby. I ditched the contraceptives and swore off extra-marital liaisons, increasing my nutrition and making love exclusively with Troy to ensure it would be his baby I would carry. After a year, nothing! I had some tests and the doctors found a problem; my eggs were not maturing before they were released. It was thought to be due to a hormone imbalance, was thought to be genetic and was thought to be incurable.

I went into a very dark place. Who was I if I could not achieve the very essence of womanhood, conceiving, carrying and giving birth to new life? I went through a phase of self-harm, fortunately cared for during this time by Troy who, with his medical knowledge, was able to prevent me actually killing myself. If my body couldn't bear children, then at least I could adorn it. I pierced everything; nipples, lips, ears, nose, eyebrows, naval, breasts, labia, clit hood and finally the clit itself, the most painful experience I have ever felt but one which, at the time, I felt I deserved. I refused anaesthetic; I was, after all, punishing myself, so why would I reduce the pain? I swore off sex; sex was for procreation and I couldn't procreate, therefore I would no longer have sex. Troy spent nights with me but relieved his sexual desires with other willing participants, much to their pleasure and envy of me despite my behavior, which to them was incomprehensible.

It took a year to come out of this phase, a year of frustration as my sexual desires remained unfulfilled, a year of total depression, a year of counselling, ironic since sexual psychology and counselling were my chosen specialist areas of study. On many occasions during that year I wondered bitterly who counsels the counsellors? Perhaps when we're choosing to work with others, we need to have experienced their situations first hand before we can completely connect with them and heal them. Perhaps these experiences were for my learning.

I don't know what changed; it was as though one Sunday morning I awoke and I was a different person. I looked at myself in the mirror and was appalled to see my emaciated, decorated body. What had I done to myself? I actually berated Troy for not protecting me from myself, but, as he rightly pointed out, he had tried and he had kept me alive, and it was a journey I needed to go through to arrive at the end; you cannot reach the goal without doing the journey. So, he saw his role as preventing me from doing myself permanent harm, which he did when I had insisted that I needed a full and complete hysterectomy including removal of my vagina and permanent sewing and joining of my labia, operations which he had adamantly refused to do or allow to be done.

With Troy's help, I removed most of the piercings, keeping my nipple piercings holding beautiful diamond encrusted rings that encircled my nipples and were held in place by vertical pins through my nipple piercings, and my clit and clit-hood piercings, these having been gained through too much pain for me to easily forego them. I decided to retain them to remind me of this time so that I knew I would never need to go here again. We then made sweet, slow, careful and very passionate love. I really enjoyed the feeling of his cock sliding inside my sex-starved vagina again as he brought me to many intense orgasms during our day-long lovemaking session. What had I been thinking to voluntarily give this up for a year? I sobbed from joy and regret for the past year as Troy brought me to orgasm after massive orgasm. To a large extent, I think our lovemaking that day was cathartic and assisted greatly in my rapid recovery.

I applied myself to my studies with a vengeance, catching up on the work I had missed due to my desultory efforts, graduating at the same time as Troy near the top of my class at the end of my fourth year. Troy's future path was clear as he simply followed the medical option, deciding to specialize in surgery, dealing in particular with issues relating to human sexuality. We had already discussed the possibility of setting up a clinic for those with sexual problems, having experienced first-hand the lack of any knowledgeable, comprehensive assistance in that area. Troy was also concerned at the number of cases of self-harm he heard about on his course, cases which never needed to happen if some advice and competent assistance had been available earlier. Therefore, I commenced a Masters course specializing in sexual psychology, while he studied the more physical aspects of the same topic. We had no idea how, where or when we would use these skills but we trusted that opportunities would present themselves when they would be invaluable. Meanwhile, spending all day hands-on with sexual dysfunctions, either physically or mentally and emotionally, meant we both returned home quite horny each evening, leading to many sessions resulting in joint sexual fulfilment. In addition, we joined a local group for those interested in polyamory and partner swapping, so we found sexual pleasures with others and brought additional people and couples into our bedroom. I guess it would not be an overstatement to say that for a few years we lived and breathed sex; we wouldn't have had it any other way.

Tragedy struck us again when Troy's parents were killed in a huge traffic pile up on the interstate which involved two massive trucks and several cars. The double closed-casket funeral was very moving and very sad, attended by a large number of people. Both Troy's parents had been very active in the community and, having made a fortune in industry, had supported many charities. After the funeral, we took several weeks away from our studies to tidy things up and attend a meeting with the attorney for the reading of the Wills. We were stunned. Troy was an only child and so was sole heir to what turned out to be, from our perspective, a vast fortune. As students, anything over a thousand dollars was a fortune, so an inheritance of over twenty million dollars in cash, assets and shares was incomprehensible to us. In addition to that was their house and a beautiful car. We were set for life, we thought, and did, for a moment, contemplate stopping our studies, investing the money and living off the income. But where is the fun in that, we asked; where was the challenge? So, we kept the investments, put the house on the market, paid off our student loans, and returned to study.

I graduated with a Master's degree in psychology, with sexuality being my major focus, and had written my thesis, not surprisingly, on the psychological effects of sterility in women. I then began study towards a Ph.D. in sexual deviancy, investigating the apparent need some people had for genital modification and, to their minds, enhancement, a subject with which I was all too familiar. Troy continued his learning and work as a surgeon in a clinic specializing in reconstructive surgery following traumatic injuries from accidents, self-harm, physical traumas and medical misadventures. He also carried out several sex-change operations, a type of surgery for which there appeared to be a growing demand.

Our trials during this ten-year period were not over yet. Shortly after my Master's graduation, my mother died of breast cancer, despite the best that doctors could do to treat her, and my father, who had increasingly severe dementia for several years and who had relied totally on my mother for support, was hospitalized in a private clinic, whose exorbitant charges we were fortunately able to afford. My father wasted away slowly but inevitably; we found the saddest part of dementia was that you simply do not know who your loved ones are any more. Each visit we spent the first ten minutes explaining who we were, receiving only looks of incomprehension in reply. I would hate that way of dying, so quite possibly, from his perspective, death was a blessing. As the sole heir, I inherited everything from my parents, so we sold the house, gave away most of his and Mom's possessions to charity shops and once again we were in the favorable position of inheriting considerable wealth.

My mother had one sister, an aunt whose husband had died many years ago and who had no children. Mom had told me that my aunt and her husband had tried to have children for many years without success and, after my unsuccessful attempts, my mother had believed it was something genetic and expressed her gratitude for having been able to have me. It is obviously a self-limiting gene, as are all forms of sterility. Therefore, when my aunt died two years later, also of breast cancer, a warning for me in case that gene also runs in my family, we found we had inherited a very large, vacant warehouse on an acre of land about ten miles out of town. Currently it was empty, just deteriorating away slowly, waiting for destruction or maybe for someone to love and renovate it and give it a new lease of life.

Troy and I discussed this, realizing that we had the capital to do almost whatever we liked with it, and wondering what we could do with such a structure. We had visualized a joint clinic together, working on the physical and psychological needs of clients in sexual areas, but this was far too large for just a clinic. After much discussion we came to the realization that the rural town that the bulk store had serviced had now become a city and the needs of the community had changed markedly to require more sophisticated and urban recreational pastimes. Gone were the days of cattle shows; the young adults in the community demanded more risqué entertainment than bull riding.

We decided that we could transform the building into a night club and adult entertainment center. However, the building was far too large for just that, so after legal and local authority consultation to find out what was permitted, we put together a whole package of night club, with bar, strippers, etc, adjoining a high class brothel, accommodation for long distance truckers and other travellers as well as for any live-in staff, a clinic where Troy and I could work during the day, a café at the front of the building beside the road, and a large car and truck park on the vacant land to cater for the clients and truckers, ensuring easy entrance and exit, with a luxury apartment at the rear for our personal use.

Part way through the modifications we realized that we would be establishing a small community and, as we were relatively far from other resources, we included a recreation area in our design comprising a private enclosure with two pools, an indoor one that was heated, and an unheated outdoor pool with space for sunbathing, a small bar, casual tables and chairs as well as gym equipment for fitness, and a recreation room with soft music, massage tables, and other facilities required for the release of acquired tension after several hours of working with clients. It was during this phase, when I was still working on my Ph.D. research into sexuality, which involved interviewing prostitutes, that the idea came to incorporate a brothel into the plan. Several of my interviewees were very enthusiastic about this so, after confirming that prostitution was legal in this area, we modified the plans yet again to include suitable facilities.

The plans were drawn, contracts let, we cashed up a lot of our investments and the project took shape. Over two years the building was gutted, reconstructed, upgraded and completely refurbished to create a modern, inviting and functional complex. We moved in a year ago and supervised the finishing touches while also setting up the clinic and recruiting suitable staff for the various areas of operation. The sex workers who I had interviewed to staff the brothel each had a small unit in which to live and entertain and, instead of taking a proportion from their income, we charged a low fixed rate for weekly rent, allowing them to operate when, how and for as long as they wished, with bookings being taken through the front desk receptionist. Many of the strippers from the night club were also sex workers at other times and lived on site; the others, mainly students who needed the cash, lived in town.

On opening night, there were, of course free entry and drinks, with busty strippers, scantily clad in The Club uniforms of tight, red, very brief, elasticized bikinis, with the club logo emblazoned across the left breast and right buttock in white, guiding visitors through the complex to show what would be on offer once we had opened. The patrons were guided in small groups through the café and into the main club lounge, where they would be entertained later, then through the lounge dressing rooms to the ground floor level of the staff accommodation and work space, avoiding the staff business and living quarters on the first-floor level. From there, they followed a corridor with a brief look into the dungeon, a more recent addition to the plans comprising an area with a large range of equipment for enabling people to undertake bdsm activities, then through the medical and counselling facilities comprising small rooms for individual activities, including massage, counselling and consulting rooms. The administrative offices, our own apartment and the staff recreational area were off limits to visitors. They then returned to the club lounge for complimentary drinks with their hostess before the first live show commenced at 9pm.

Since then, business has boomed, I completed and submitted my thesis and we employed an assistant doctor intern to work in the clinic. Troy and I have worked with our own clients in the clinic and have established an excellent reputation.

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"How does it feel now that all our dreams have been realized?" I asked Troy and we cuddled in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Mmmm, honey, we've achieved far more than either of us could have on our own. We're not just good together in bed." He kissed me deeply and lovingly; I was frequently amazed that, after being together for ten years, knowing each other as intimately as we did, that our passion had not diminished; if anything, it grew stronger with the passage of time. "It's not as though we didn't have our challenges either," he continued, "I thought I'd lost you when you were sick and frequently wanted to simply end it all or to try to knock some sense into you, my anger driven by the frustration of not being able to fix you. But in the end, in your own good time, you came right and we loved our way to the joy and success that we have today and I learnt that really neither of us can fix anybody, all we can do is assist others to heal. That was a very valuable lesson for us both, I think."

"Yes, and I'm sorry, honey. I know I've said it before and will say it again, but we came through it and it is trials like that which strengthen and confirm our love for each other. Any couple can stay together during good times; it's during the hard times that lovers find out whether they can really stick together. We weathered the hard times." We kissed tenderly and passionately and I felt his ever-ready cock stir against my thigh. "You want to go again?" I asked needlessly.

"Always," he replied, sitting up and rolling off me. He sat back on his haunches, looking at me lying there. He fondled my breasts, moving my nipple rings beneath the bars holding them in place, stretching the bars upwards to elongate my nipples. He then progressed to my clit hood ring and clit bar, pulling the bar upwards and feeding it through my hood ring so it stretched my clit up a little, exposing it and making it far more sensitive. He bent down and licked it slowly with his tongue, sending tingles of sensation through my body.

Then he rolled me onto my stomach, pulling my hips back until I was on all fours, with my head low. I spread my knees wide apart, as I know he likes it, my pussy still dripping his cum from our earlier session onto the sheets. Looking down my body I could see my prominent clit stretched downwards, aching to be stimulated. I felt his hands on my hips as he steadied me for his plunge into my slippery cunt. He lunged forwards, piercing me, impaling me on his hard rod as his hips pressed against my ass cheeks. I had lengthened inside so he was no longer able to press hard against my cervix, just a touch when he was really long was all that I received, unless he used his cock extension. He moved out, his skin sliding against my slick sheath, feeling every ridge, every blood-filled vein as he slowly withdrew, only to thump back in again, his ball sac swinging forward to just touch my clit, sending a surge of stimulation through my whole body.

We fucked together for a while, enjoying each other, arousing each other, our arousal being measured by our increasingly rapid breathing. Then he leant forward and wrapped his arms around me, gripping my breasts with his powerful hands, pulling the nipple rings downwards, which stretched my nipples, elongating the holes. My thoughts went to them briefly, reminding myself that I needed to replace the bars with larger ones to stretch the holes further still, then I refocused as the painful stimulation sent further waves of arousal through me, through my brain, pussy, clit, cunt. I felt myself climbing mount orgasm once again and heard my moan of pleasure and arousal.

Troy had learned to tune me like the finest musical instrument. He heard my moan and very slightly he reduced his movements, decreased the tension on my nipples. I was close, so very close, but he held me there, withholding the final thrusts that would push me to the peak. I wriggled my ass, trying to make him lose control, wanting his hot cum flooding my hungry cunt, but he was in total control; the more I sought greater stimulation, the less I received. I knew, from years of experience, that he would let me cum when he was ready to let me cum, and not before. Then the phone rang.

I hoped he would simply ignore it; I would. But no, he reached out and pressed speaker!! Omigod, that meant whoever was on the line could hear us, as well as we hear them. He answered, it was Marilyn from reception asking about something to do with an appointment for one of my clients this afternoon.

"Hang on, I'll just get Carla to talk with you," Troy told her.