Read The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series for Free Online Page A

he finally
shaved the stubble from his weary face and allowed his feet to take him where
they would: to the crimson salon.

 
    It appeared that every member
had gathered; chairs had been brought from the dining room and placed about the
circumference, nestled in niches and tucked right up to the tapestries about
the walls, the seating arranged in a full circle around the space of a central
stage.

 
    There, a bed had been placed
upon a raised dais, scattered with rich fabrics and plush cushions, but open on
all sides, so that no view was restricted.

 
    A bell rang to silence the
hubbub of chatter, calling all to attention, so that the theatre could begin. MacCaulay’s heart beat rapidly, wondering when ‘she’ would
appear.

 
    Two women entered, identical
in stature and physique, being athletic of build, with well-proportioned hips
and buttocks, full of breast and slender of waist. Besides their masks, of pure
white lace, they wore simple dresses, Grecian in style, from the lightest diaphanous
muslin, so that their form was apparent. The pair held hands, fingers clasped
in friendship, leading one another. The skin of one was the colour of coffee when milk has been added, and her hair was dark, hanging straight and
lustrous down the length of her back.   The other’s was palest alabaster, her hair a luxuriant copper, falling
in long, loose curls about her shoulders.

 
    Both women were beautiful but MacCaulay’s disappointment was palpable. Where was
she?

 
    It was only when one of the
women spoke that MacCaulay’s consciousness was jolted.
There, before him, stood the woman who haunted his days and nights. It was the
first time that he had seen her in the salon without the formality of her
evening gown and with her hair liberated from the confines of a multitude of
pins. He recognized now its rich threads of auburn and gold.

 
    Her voice boasted its
customary silken seductiveness.

 
    “Tonight, my gentle sirs, I
am Thetis, the sea nymph of ancient Greek mythology, and this is Semele , the exotic Theban princess. Once lovers of mighty
Zeus, we stand before you as distilled vials of feminine sensuality. We were
born to love: to give and receive pleasure. We shall prepare each other’s
bodies and then welcome the king of all gods. He shall come to us not as the
Zeus of later days, replete with having fathered so many offspring by mortal
women, but as his young self, barely matured, new to feelings of passion. We
shall initiate him in the ways of love.”

 
    The two then turned to one
another and kissed: a caress sweet in its gentleness, lingering and true, as if
they were alone and unwatched.

 
    Semele took a pitcher from beside the bed, while Thetis drew
back her hair and leaned away. Her breasts jutted upwards as her back arched. The
Theban poured water across her partner’s gown so that the fabric became translucent
and clinging, revealing the raspberry areola of her nipples, pushed tight
against the muslin, and the dark triangle below her belly.   Semele bent her
head to Thetis’ bared neck, kissing upwards from her collarbone, while letting
her hand travel down.

 
    MacCaulay wetted his lips, a flame kindling within him.

 
    Thetis shrugged the dress
from her shoulders, so that it fell to the floor, and the beauty of her form
was fully displayed, droplets of water adorning her curves. She kept her noble
head raised and her hair shimmered down her back. Her skin appeared exquisite,
with no obvious sign of bruising from MacCaulay’s crop.

 
    Semele raised the pitcher again, so that rivulets of water
cascaded over Thetis’ porcelain landscape: across her abundant hills and downwards,
to the mysterious valley between her legs. They kissed once more, Thetis
pressing her damp body against that of Semele , still
clad. The Theban princess then permitted her robe to be pushed from her
shoulders, so that she stood before Thetis as a dark mirror: breast to breast,
belly to belly.