Secret Society Audition

We stood in the opulent lobby, along a velvet rope, waiting in line perhaps a hundred other couples in suits and gowns. We were both nervous. Amy, my wife, smiled at me and her eyes twinkled, but I could see she was trembling with anticipation and curiosity.

The truth was, we didn't know what was about to happen, and neither did any of the couples around us.

We were about to begin our audition for the group only known as The Society.

The energy in the long hallway was tense and excited and palpably expectant. Every man seemed respectable, though that meant different things for each one. And every woman was beautiful, in a gown picked to emphasize that. Lowcut necklines, clinging material, and high leg slits abounded. Everyone was there in couples. We saw a few couples that were two women. One in a suit and one in a gown. No single people were in line.

After more than a year of secret communication, jumping through hoops, and clandestine interviews, we were finally here. About halfway down the line. All we knew was that a few hundred couples would begin their auditions to join, and an even dozen would be admitted. Every year a dozen couples, no more, no less. And there were hints that, from each dozen, a leader couple would be chosen to join some kind of secret society council. And of course we knew that like most secret societies, The Society ran on sex.

Suddenly with a CREAK the giant doors at the end of the hall opened and the line began to move. Amy took my hand and squeezed it as we began to walk slowly forward. The line was full of gorgeous women - we'd had to provide pictures and videos of ourselves at various points and I was sure now that they selected only the most attractive couples, or at least, the couples with the most attractive wives - but she seemed to me to be the most beautiful of them all. Maybe I was biased. But was tall, one of the tallest women there, and sturdily built, and I loved that. She had a small waist and wide hips, and the way her red dress stretched across her ass was hard for me to keep my eyes off. Just as distracting was the way her neckline plunged down between her big boobs. She wore a necklace with a pendant that sat in her cleavage just to draw people's eyes there. Her eyes were outlined in more striking makeup than she usually wore, and the effect made me bite my lip.

As we moved slowly forward, I saw people looking around at each other, sizing up the competition maybe. And I saw people's eyes do just that, linger down her body and rest on the swoop of her breasts. Jealously, or hungrily. And I realized no other feeling is like watching someone else look at your wife with lust. Imagining her out of that dress.

I caught one man's eyes and grinned at him. Maybe mocking him, but gently. I know, I was saying with my look. And you know I've been between those tits a thousand times.

He swallowed and turned around. Idly, I returned the favor and looked his wife up and down. We were right behind them in line. She was smaller than Amy, delicate almost, but the way her lacy dress curved around her hips was appealing. He glanced back at me and I grinned again.

It was all to try to ignore the nerves building as we got closer to the door.

Inside, a group of old and middle aged men sat on a balcony overlooking the couples as they came in one by one. They wore suits too. A man in coat tails, white gloves, and a small mask met each couple as they entered. He looked up at the older men each time, and they talked among themselves quietly and one of them gestured one direction or another. The man then guided the couple through a door in that direction.

The couple ahead of us stood on the threshold.

"Good luck," Amy whispered. The man frowned over his shoulder at her.

They went in, and we saw then guided to the right.

"Are they weeding out couples just by looking at them?" Amy asked.

I nodded. "That's what it looks like."

"Whatever happens," she said. "I love you."

We were motioned forward.

We stood, feeling exposed, while high above us the fancy-dressed men examined us. Or, I could tell their eyes weren't on me. Amy realized the same thing, and she flushed. From above, her low neckline must have looked tantalizing. After standing awkwardly for a moment, she gave them a little wave.

One of them chuckled. They talked, and then motioned us in the same direction as the previous couple.

Through the door, we found ourselves in a kind of parlor, or drawing room. Ornate old furniture, antique books on the shelves, sepia maps of the world on one wall. A cluster of the previous couples were at the other wall, and we went to see what they were looking at. We passed the couple ahead of us. The man still looked grumpy. The woman was hard to read.

"They don't look like they're having a good time," Amy whispered.

"Are you having a good time?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "Is it weird if I say yes?"

"Having a good time being ogled by a bunch of old rich men in velvet suits?"

"I guess that is weird, huh?"

"If it's weird then I think I'm weird, too," I said.

"You like getting ogled?" she laughed. But she knew I meant I liked seeing her be looked at, and she smiled and blushed.

We got to the far wall and saw what everyone was looking at: paintings.

In a long line were paintings of couples. On one end, the paintings looked new. On the other, they were more faded and their frames were more antique. And when we got even closer, we saw that each frame had a year.

"I bet these are the Head couples from each year," we heard someone say.

And as we looked, we recognized a few of the men. They were the ones on the balcony, sorting the auditioning couples. Each of them was dressed in a dignified suit, sometimes with a watch chain, sometimes with a pipe, sometimes sitting in a thronelike chair. And each was accompanied by a woman.

And in each painting, the woman was naked.

Painting after painting of men in suits and women in nothing but the occasional string of pearls. Sometimes sitting on their husband's laps, sometimes leaning against his legs, sometimes with her head on his knee. Always looking straight at the painter. Sometimes bold, sometimes bashful, sometimes sultry.

"Oh my god," one woman said.

"Oh my god," a man said, in a very different tone of voice.

I glanced at Amy. She was looking back at me with a thoughtful, playful look.

"Those couples," she said. "They're the most powerful people in The Society."

"Yeah," I said.

"Let's join them," she said.

"Let's just get in," I said. "It's unlikely enough to even get to join The Society at all."

"Alright," she said. "Whatever you say."

But she looked back at the pictures, stately and somehow dignified even in the mismatched dress, and I could tell she wanted to be on that wall. I imagined it, sitting in a drawing room or in a birch glade, posing for a painter for hours in a silky suit while Amy draped her even silkier naked body across me. I had to take a deep breath and look away from the paintings.

I saw the man from earlier. He was still frowning. But I realized it wasn't just a grumpy frown. It was a gameface. He was here to win, too. I decided to make nice.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Steve."

"There'll be enough time to get to know each other if we're both in the twelve that get to stay," he said. "Otherwise it's a waste of time."

He turned abruptly and went back to his wife. She sighed as he took her hand and held it possessively.

I looked back and Amy and raised my eyebrows.

Another couple came in. They were both wide-eyed and grinning. The exact opposite of the couple that had been ahead of us. They were both short and a little bit round, but that didn't keep the woman from being stunning. She was dark and plump in the best way, with big soft boobs that spilled out of her tight dress. I could feel my eyebrows go up and Amy laughed at me.

"Sorry," I whispered.

"Hey," she said. "You know how you just found out you get turned on when other people look at me? I think I just found out I get turned on when you look at other people."

"Oh really," I said. I pulled her to me and she giggled. "Well I have a feeling we're both about to be very turned on very often for this whole ordeal."

At that moment, another door opened. Another man dressed as a fancy servant surveyed us. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Allow me to offer my congratulations. Out of the two hundred couples invited today, you are the fifty couples to whom is extended a further invitation. Please join our hosts for a dinner in your honor."

He turned on his heel and for a moment the hundred of us in that room were silent. Then we realized what he'd said. We'd made it to the next round. Amy jumped a little and took my hand again. She kissed my cheek. "Alright," she said. "Let's do this."

We filed into a cavernous dining room. The ceilings were high and crystal chandeliers hung above big round tables, like a banquet. The golden light twinkled on silver cutlery and porcelain plates. As the people ahead of us filed in, I saw them find their names on placecards at plates. Again, we were somehow behind the same couple. The grumpy man and the quiet, slender woman. I saw the couple who'd come in behind us as we waited to file into the room, and nodded to them.

"Hi," the husband said with a deep breath. "Hell of a place, huh?"

I nodded.

"It feels surreal. I'm Ramon, this is Tina, by the way," he said. "I guess we're supposed to be all cutthroat about this, but I figure why not make some friends?"

I grinned. "Good to meet you. I'm Dave."

"I'm Amy," my wife said. She was taller than both of them and I could see them take her in, elegant in her long plunging dress.

We made it into the dining hall and walked slowly among the tables looking for our names. Even cut down to a quarter of the original invitations, one hundred people is a lot of people, and the tables seemed to be set for even more than that.

We finally found our names and sat. A prim looking couple sat across from us, and on either side were empty plates.

"Hi," Amy said, always the outgoing one.

They nodded to her, but looked too nervous or preoccupied to do more.

When everyone was seated, a door opened in the side of the room and a handsome middle aged man in an immaculate suit walked out onto a low stage. We all turned to face him. After a moment I recognized him from the balcony...and from a painting on the wall. He'd been painted standing on a bearskin rug while a woman - presumably his wife - sat on her heels beside him, one arm around the inside of his suit-clad leg, arching her back with one of her ample breasts pressed against his thigh.

"Hello," he said. "And congratulations on being here. You've made it through a lot of secrecy and mystery to get to this point. Obviously, that's necessary. And let's be honest. It's also part of the fun. The aura is important. But for a moment, let me talk plainly about what we're doing here. We're selecting the next induction class of a society that has privileges most people can't imagine. You were all selected as candidates based on your social standing, quality of personality, and willingness to navigate the complicated process to get here. From here on, the process gets a bit more...intimate. Because our rituals are intimate. So that's what the audition requires. But you're probably wondering: this is specifically a society for married couples. So why is this man standing out here by himself? Why have we only seen men so far? That's a great question. So please welcome my co-leader of the 50th induction group, my wife Mary!"

He stood, proudly I thought, back and looked at the door along with us, and led us in applauding when a woman walked out. She was dark and striking, with gray streaks in her short dark hair. She walked with the same kind of confidence that her husband had. She was beautiful in an regal kind of way.

And besides heels, garters, and a pearl necklace, she was wearing only small, delicate lingerie. A murmur when through the crowd. She was gorgeous, with wide hips and breasts that hung perfectly in the lightweight bra. She and her husband were both probably ten years older than most of us, and if we looked that good in ten years I knew we would be thrilled. The painting of her had been almost unbearably sexy, and still somehow hadn't done her justice. I imagined being the painter looking at those boobs, but fully naked, for hours while painting.

She took the mic from her husband. "Thanks Bill." He stood behind her, and she looked over her shoulder at him. "See something you like back there?"

Bill smacked her mostly-bare ass and she let out a playful yip. I glanced at Amy and she glanced back at me.

"Alright," she said. "I should explain. I can see some of you have some questions. Why am I wearing lingerie? Well, to be honest, when we induct a new group we have to wear more clothes than usual, to kind of ease them in."

She stopped to let that sink in.

"You might have noticed that I'm close to naked, and my husband is in a three piece suit. That's how things are generally going to go here. You might have picked up on that already. If you accidentally got the wrong secret society, I'm sure there's others where the roles are reversed, and I hope you enjoy them. And seriously, it's not too late to decide this isn't for you. Everybody is here because they want to be. This is the most selective society in the world, it would be a shame to take a seat from someone if you weren't into it."

She looked out over the crowd. At the other end, we saw a couple stand up and leave.

"Alright," she said. "Forty-nine couples. In the end it will be twelve. And one of those twelve will be standing where Bill and I are standing someday. Just a stud in a suit and his hot-ass wife with her jugs in lace."

A few people laughed. The couple across from us had turned pale. But they stayed.

"Now here's the thing. Men tend to call the shots here. That's not a moral thing, it's just what we think is hot. Not always, after all I'm standing up here right now, but mostly. But these men, as lovely as they are..." she reached back and ran a hand down Bill's chest. "As lovely as they are, it's mostly about the women now. Men, you're here because of your wives, and if you stay, it'll mostly be because of your wives. Their sparkling conversation and their confidence. Because all this CMNF submissive stuff with a meek quiet little girl, I guess that could be fun, but I'm a hell of a woman, and I know it, and that makes it soooo much hotter. Doesn't it?"

Bill actually blushed. "It does," he said.

"Oh really," she said, teasing, "then what do you want me to do?"

"Turn around," he said. "Wiggle that ass real slow."

So, for a hundred fully clothed people, she did. As we watched her smooth dark ass move in that high-dollar lingerie, I felt Amy slide a hand between my legs. Just for a minute. But I was already hard as a rock.

She turned around. "So here's what it comes down to. Men, your fate mostly lies in the hands of your wives now. Or, let's not leave out our same sex couples - there's a few pairs of ladies here for the first time this year!"

A few people cheered.

"But the women, the femme straight or bisexual women here, we're about to see how well you shine under the spotlight. Because let's be honest. You and your partners are here because some high ranking secret society men want to see you dressed a little more like this." She gestured at her lingerie. "Or, you know, more like those paintings you saw on the way in."

A few people cheered again.

Suddenly, to my surprise and startling the couple at our table, Amy cheered. She looked at me. "You're blushing," she said.

"I can't believe you're into this."

"Can't believe in a good way?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think so."

"We're going to be on a painting," she said.

"Let's just survive this dinner without getting sent home," I said.

"Alright," Bill said, taking back the mic. "This is our welcome dinner. Each of you will be seated with couples who are already members of the society, so they can get to know you. A few orders of business. We're going to arrange the seating old-fashioned style. Men and women seated together, but not with their partners. So as to provide a chance to make new acquaintances. So ladies, you will move into the vacant seat to your right. The other order of business is: from this point on, a Society Formal dress code is to be observed. My wife and I are an example of Society Formal."

Another murmur went through the crowd.

"Ladies!" Mary said. "Your gowns are beautiful and trust me, they have been appreciated. But it's time for us to appreciate you in a bit more of your glory. So, if all ladies will please retire with me out the north door, we have an extensive wardrobe of high society lingerie to pick from.

Fifty women began standing up. Amy gave me a heart-fluttering this is it! look and stood. The woman across from us took a deep breath and did the same. As she stood I noticed her bare back in her dress and realized that despite her nervousness - or maybe because of it - I was excited to see more. But my eyes quickly went back to Amy as she crossed the room. I'd seen her in underwear a thousand times, and it never got old, but this was a different feeling. A hundred men were about to see her in barely-there lace, and I didn't think I could control my erection much longer.

A different door opened, and fifty more couples came in. Some of them were barely older than us, some were completely gray, but they were all stately, dignified people. The men were all wearing suits. The women all in lace or silk, black, white, or gray to match the colors of the suits.

Two couples made it to our table. The first one was a pair of blonds, both slim and athletic. His skinny tie was the same silver color as the nearly-sheer fabric of her bra and panties. I didn't think they'd been part of the society for vary long, partly because they weren't very old, but mostly because she seemed self-conscious about our eyes on her. She was red-faced and didn't make eye contact. She sat down quickly, beside the nervous man. He turned redder than she did. Her husband sat in one of the empty seats.

The other couple was probably fifty. A bearded man in tweed who looked like a professor, and his wife in simple white lace. She sat beside me, completely comfortable, and gave me a smile. She had heavy, matronly breasts and when she sat and the chair spread her ass wide there was a touch of celulite, but it somehow only served to make her more nonchalantly sexual. I wanted to rub my swollen cock on her suddenly in a powerful way.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Helen."

I gulped.

"Not used to this many beautiful women in their hardly-theres, are you?" she had a british accent. "Tell me," she said, "Is your wife ready for this?"

"I think so," I said. "She seems...eager."

"The eager ones do well," she said. "Is she good looking?"

I nodded.

"But you're biased," she said.

Bill spoke into the mic. "The couple you and your wives are seated with will be your sponsor, if they choose to be. To guide you and provide you with hospitality. And if they choose to be, congratulations, you're moving on. No pressure."

And then we heard the door open again and our wives were coming back. All in slightly different lingerie, but all in white, black, or gray. It was almost overwhelming how many perfect bodies there were. But then I saw Amy's. She slide into the seat beside Helen's husband, so much bare skin on the chair, so much of her boob real estate on display. She had big nipples, and they were clear through the white fabric. She leaned toward him as she talked, barely looking at me, and I could see him staring intently at her breasts, not even trying to hide it.