Masters of the Club

Chapter One The fire in the hearth damaged everything. Creating a gray/brown cloud of ash and dust, a thin layer of soot covered the entire room by the time it settled. It would take days to clean. Gillian began with the furniture; the upholstered pieces would have to be professionally cleaned, but the wood seemed to shine all the more after it was polished. It was hot work even on a chilly mid-spring afternoon, so she stripped down to a pair of black bike shorts that fit snuggly about her ass and thighs, leaving her slender legs bare below. Her loose crop top barely covered her breasts, leaving the two luxuriant firm things bouncing about inside the soft knit shirt, the n*****s driving right through the fabric. Her honey-blonde hair was a mess—piled on top of her head, loosely tucked inside a tortoise shell clamp and out of the way. She was usually put together with great care, but who would be watching her today? Gillian was alone. After the furniture, there was the bookcase, a damnable job. She might have thrown the whole thing out, if it had been hers, but she was living in a borrowed apartment; borrowing peace and quiet and the plush erotically appealing surroundings belonging to her friend, Kate McPherson. Now she was borrowing one hellish task. Of course, cleaning the place was the least she could do, even if this disaster was half Kate’s fault for not telling her there was a problem with the fireplace. Standing with hands on hips, rag in hand, she took a deep breath, her chest swelling softly as she did. There was already a layer of perspiration glowing on her tawny pink skin and a look of weariness in her hazel eyes. Her face was flushed, but sexily radiant from the activity. Standing five-feet ten in her bare feet, the graceful curvature of her body oozed sensual charm that was better put to use orchestrating a mob of corporate lawyers with the ease of a skilled maestro. Maestro or not, she had work to get done. And with one exhausted glare at the sooty bookcase, she dove into the mess, pulling one volume after another from the shelves until they were in a pile at her feet. There was just one book left, and that had been wedged tightly behind a bar at the back of the bookcase—either accidentally shoved into place by an impatient Kate trying to force another paperback where there were already too many, or purposely concealed from view in its clever hiding place. With some tugging and pulling it was finally free, and Gillian plopped down in a freshly polished chair to take a breather. After a long drink of water, she found her fingers running over the textured cover of the book in her hands. Opening it, the book’s spine cracked, and a funny shiver ran right up hers, tickling her at the base of her neck, sending a shiver back down, this one creeping stealthy into every nook and cranny of her body with a delicious arousal. “It’s her diary,” she whispered to no one, and from there Kate’s private words began to drop off the page like water quenching her thirst on a hot summer day. Each word incited a s****l riot in her body, and within minutes, Gillian was tugging the bike shorts off her hips to find the fastest way to her quickening cunt. With the black lycra in a gnarled tangle on the floor, she sat with her legs spread wide and began to toy with her clit as she continued to read. Between her lanky thighs was a snatch of blonde curls, clipped neatly into a triangle, the sides and labia below all the way to her anus cleanly shaved each day, so there was just smooth skin from her pubis to her rear door. Rubbing the sensitive fold at the side of her clit, a trace of her own s****l fragrance floated to her nostrils and she breathed deeply, smelling pleasure. For a time, she rubbed her female juices about the expanse of hairless skin. Some juice she combed through the pubic curls to make them glisten, and then there was a finger full she sucked from her hand. Reading on, with each sentence there was an internal spasm coming from deep inside her hips and thighs and female home. The nectar was sweet, the feel of her fingers arousing, the touch to her clit a perfectly formed m**********n that would end in climax. All technique aside, however, it was what was in her mind, inspired by this pilfered book that would make the ending exceptional. It had been some time since she’d thought these base things. Two fingers worked her clit, while a third worked the hole. Finally, as her mind took off into its own fantasy, she let the book drop to the floor and began to work herself with both hands. The end so close, she teased herself, letting it come and go. The fantasy took charge with some demanding voice in the back of her head ordering her to hold on and on and on, until she couldn’t hold on another second. There were three fingers in her hole when she came, and two others massaging her clit. Her voice purred melodically, and her breath was deep, and there was a shudder and grabbing as her body clenched and then let go. For an instant, she was gone, while her crotch moved nastily on her wet fingers and she could look down with delirious eyes to see her deep purple clit jerk as it spasmed. A page of Kate’s diary stuck to Gillian’s fingers as she closed it, and another kind of shudder replaced the s****l one. This diary had dangerous implications. With all its times and places and people’s names, it could be a time bomb in the hands of a cunning man, or, in the hands of a sexually desperate woman, a passport to her dreams.