NOTE: Chapter 9 of Beast should be done next week, but I had just enough time over the weekend to do a quick edit and post this old piece. This and the next three chapters have been sitting around in digital limbo for a while, and I don't know when I'll have a chance to work on them, so don't get addicted. Read responsibly! --Stefanie
FAIR WARNING: Samantha is more than a teeny bit blasphemous-- if you're an easily-offended Christian, please put your fingers in your ears and hum now.
--o----O----o--
I swear to God I almost quit the club after that first night. I mean, what could live up to my sex with a stranger scene? It absolutely flawless; I figured it was either the best intro I could have, or the worst, one that would leave everything after it looking like a near-miss.
Randi tried to talk me out of quitting, of course, but I refused to commit. While I'd given her a fairly comprehensive, condensed description of my first hookup, I hadn't told Randi all my fantasies, just as I didn't expect she'd told me all of hers. In the end, it wasn't lunchtime story-telling that kept me in the Club, of course: my original motivation for joining was as compelling as ever. That first fantasy had been an amazing experience, but I'd signed up to fulfill two big wishes I wouldn't attempt without the safety net of the Bill's Club: those I mentioned way back at the beginning-- being with two men at once and being forced.
Well, I wasn't ready for either, but I did have another fantasy too kinky to share over Chablis and chef's salad, which involved stirrups, but no horses.
It was another scenario which required precise scheduling-- a factor which, for me, was clearly in its favor. I wasn't yet prepared to open the door admitting daydreams to my daily life-- another reason to put off my two big, bucket-list items.
So, after my exhilarating night downtown, I set up another pre-scheduling interview with Julie, my usual BC Admin. Most members, I'm told, complain about the number of interviews the Bill's Club requires per scenario, but I'm not one off them.
Of course, back then, I didn't realize my experience with the BC office was atypical.
The usual process is that new members are immediately assigned a permanent team of two "FFA"s -- Fantasy Flight Attendants. And yes-- it's a stupid name. The most important goals, Julie tells me, are for the member not to feel uncomfortable during interviews and, more importantly, for the Club to have at least one employee available with intimate knowledge of whatever is going on at the moment with each individual member. So, if Randi or I called in a panic after a fantasy date dumped one of us in Bora Bora, no one would be scrambling for a file, trying to catch up. The two-person team allows for sick time, vacations, etcetera, not to mention having someone available to do the millions of pre-scene, post-scene, pan-scene, para-scen, ob-scene interviews that the Bill's Club requires for every single "date" it arranges.
What makes my membership different is that I didn't get my two FFAs when I signed up: there was a scheduling snafu and all the FFAs on duty were already meeting with other clients when I arrived for my initial intake interview. Since the club makes a huge deal of everything running smoothly for their members, and the intake interview is possibly the most important interview a member will ever have, they did NOT want to screw it up.
Julie, who started her career in the club as an FFA, was already a BCA by then-- an administrator-- and BCAs don't normally deal directly with members. I didn't know any of this, so I thought my intake interview went exactly as planned. To avoid confusion, Julie handled my membership for a couple of months before they assigned me a team. Then there were a few-- also atypical-- bumps with an FFA's maternity leave, and by that point, Jules was it. Even when I finally had a permanent team, Julie transitioned me slowly, and kept them under supervision. From that time until I left the club, my team took care of most of my needs, but Julie filled in if things were busy or she was bored. We had become friends.
Julie's intelligence and quirky sense of humor weren't the only reasons I didn't mind the interviews. From my very first experience, I'd seen the benefits of scrupulously detailed planning. It might not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but the non-prescription glasses my stranger wore in the bar-- a wish-list item I'd mentioned in passing and barely remembered-- had tipped his everyday demeanor into nerdiness, significantly upping his sexy-to-Samantha quotient. For me, it was the sum total of all those details which nudged "satisfaction" into blissful satiety.
So, after my exhilarating night downtown, I met with Julie to discuss my next fantasy.
A week later, the main number for Bill's Club showed up on an incoming call, but when I checked my voicemail later, it was a very professional-sounding female voice telling my that my gynecologist, Dr. White, had a cancellation for tomorrow evening. If I'd like to come in for my appointment then, I should leave a message with his service to confirm. I grinned and dialed immediately, my pussy already lubricating itself for the coming event.
--o--
At precisely 7PM the following evening, I presented myself at a sprawling, two-story building in the suburbs of the city where I lived. Judging by the sign at the west entrance, the building must have housed at least sixty medical offices. Most were closed by that hour, but I passed a busy urgent-care clinic near the main entrance, and there was an optometrist's office with glass walls and half-a-dozen clients in a waiting room near the elevator. I'm sure there were other offices open, too, so the parking lot was far from empty, but the second-floor-hallway where I disembarked was dim and empty.
It was more than a little bit eerie, and for the first time I was hesitant about what I was doing. My feet, however, were being controlled by my pussy at that point, so down the hall I went, to Suite 211, an honest-to-goodness OB-GYN practice. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't what I found: a well-lit waiting area with a pretty young receptionist behind the desk and a sitcom playing on the overhead TV. No one else was in the waiting area, but the receptionist was on the phone, discussing the transfer of patient records to a nearby hospital. She gave me a quick smile and held up her index finger, indicating I should wait.
The receptionist hung up, apologized, took my name, and asked me to have a seat. As I removed my coat, I began to worry that I'd accidentally made myself a real GYN appointment, in which case me and my pussy were going to be horribly disappointed. I'd barely started flipping through a tabloid when the receptionist stood and began packing up her things, though, giving me a flicker of hope. She closed the frosted window between us and a moment later I heard a muffled call. "Dr. White, your last appointment's here." There was a pause and a door opened into the waiting area, through which the receptionist emerged, calling back over her shoulder. "Alright! See you in the morning!"
She shot a polite, hurried smile at me as she headed for the door. "He'll be right with you. 'Night."
I nodded and went back to my magazine, turning the pages with damp, nervous fingers, seeing nothing, hearing only the sounds of my own harsh, quick breathing.
When the door opened again, a man in a white coat appeared, clipboard in hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. White, I hope you haven't been waiting too long."
I smiled and collected my things. "Not long at all, thank you."
He was tall and broad shouldered, his light-brown hair tousled, graying at the temples, and streaked with blond. He looked slightly incongruous in this setting, like a surfer stolen from the oceanside.
As I followed him down the hall, I glanced through the open doors of regular exam rooms on either side, wondering how the Bill's Club had gained access to a real medical practice after hours. We turned left into one of the last doors and "Dr. White" closed it behind us, going to lean against a counter-top in the built-in alcove near the exam table. He opened my "chart" and gestured at the table.
"Make yourself comfortable while we go over a few things, Miss Martin, " he said, using the false name from my BC planning session-- my real surname is Moreau.
I draped my coat and handbag over the back of a plastic chair and climbed up on the end of the table. Five minutes later, I was back to wondering if I was in the wrong place, because Dr. White was either a real gynecologist, or doing a damn good impersonation of one. He interviewed me exactly as though I were a patient who'd switched physicians, quizzing me about my medical history and current concerns, the whole nine yards. I was so surprised that I gave honest answers to most of the questions, including marital status and whether I was sexually active. Thank god the guy already had my fake name, birth date, and mailing address on the form, or I might have spit those out, too. I wouldn't have cared right then, but it was one of those things that would have made me crazy-paranoid the following morning, when the hormones wore off and I came back to my senses.
"Alright, Miss Martin." He straightened, indicated the pale blue gown on the table behind me. "If you'd like to change, I'll be right with you."
