The Freyja Club

To say joining the Freyja Club was changing my life would be one of the bigger understatements in history. Three weeks ago, I had no idea that it even existed, and then after a mysterious invitation appeared on my Air France flight to Paris, I joined this 90-year-old club and entered a world of hedonic eroticism that was rocking my world.

At 48, I'd forged a successful business career in the field of business acquisitions and development and it had provided me with not only excellent compensation, but had opened the world and put me in direct contact with some of the movers and shakers in business and government.

I had never lacked female companionship, and while I didn't consider myself a "ladies' man," women seemed to enjoy my company, and a few had invited me to share their bodies as well. I had begun an affair with a lady named Karen, who like me, traveled extensively which we get-togethers difficult. We both understood the fact that life on the road often made the desire for companionship and connection almost impossible to ignore and our relationship had survived so far because we both acknowledged that reality.

I had just come from a three-hour meeting with my company's CEO, CFO, and General Counsel about the results of my recent trip to Paris with a stopover in New York on my way home. Several business issues remained, and it appeared that I might be making another trip to Europe shortly to hammer them out.

It was already after hours in France, so a phone call would have to wait for the next morning. As I sat at my desk, wondering what I should do next, my thoughts wandered to thinking about the Freyja Club, but I wasn't thinking about what woman might enter my life and satisfy my considerable sexual desires but I was processing what I'd learned about its operation.

For most of my adult life, I'd analyzed business operations and in that regard, the Freyja Club was stimulating my interest. How had it been able to survive for almost ninety years? How was it able to finance itself? And, infuriatingly, how had it been able to secure total anonymity for so long? I found some of the pieces of this puzzle in Paris. New York and recently in Washington. But much of what I wanted to know still lay in undiscovered territory.

As I had done a thousand times in my business career, I took out a piece of paper and started to write.

I had visited three of the twenty clubs so far. Still not a big sample, but enough that I could begin to make some rough estimates. In the clubs themselves, I counted about fifteen wait staff, so there had to be about that number behind the scenes, cooks, cleaners, supervisors, etc. So, that's thirty. But the rule of thumb is you need 50% more employees than that to account for vacations, sickness, etc. That totals forty-five. I knew there was an administrative function, but I didn't think it would be more than ten people, so a nice round number of employees got me to around 60.

I didn't have any information about the hotel, but Danielle had told me that guests paid the going rate and it didn't have an independent bar or restaurant, so I assumed the hotel was self-sustaining, so I could ignore it for the time being.

Jenna and Paula alluded that the pay was outrageous, and had indicated that it might be as much as three times the going rate for the same job elsewhere, plus I learned they had their medical care paid for, and the women received a health inspection every other week. That wasn't a surprise given the nature of their jobs. So, I assumed noncash benefits including provisions for pensions should equal about 25% of the payroll cost. I knew the average salary for the kinds of jobs in the club was probably in the $40,000 to $50,000 range. If I took the higher number the payroll cost of a club was;

$50,000 x 3 x 1.25 x 60 = $11.3 million per club.

I estimated non-payroll costs like utilities, taxes, maintenance and repairs, food and drink, etc. to be in the $3 to $4 million range. So, the annual cost of one club was, in nice round numbers...

$15 million.

$15 million x 20 clubs = $300 million to run the clubs.

Danielle had told me that every potential member and staff was vetted with background checks. I had a lot of experience paying for these, so I knew they cost upwards of $25,000 apiece. Danielle told me that the club initiates around 200 new members every year, but I knew they had to run background checks on roughly ten times that number to cull out the 200 who accepted. If my estimate of club personnel was correct, there were 1,200 employees worldwide and I bet there wasn't as high as a 25% turnover, but I used that number anyway. That meant that they had to hire 300 new people every year. Again, I assumed 10 times the number of checks for each hire. I doubted that staff checks were as intensive as for members, but they would have to be at least $5,000 each. If all of that was in the ballpark, that meant the Freyja Club was paying about $65 million for background checks per year.

Finally, I knew there was a small senior staff that wasn't associated with any individual club. How much did they cost? I had no idea, but just for grins, I threw in another $50 million to capture that and anything else I hadn't thought of. So adding payroll, operating costs, and overhead I concluded that on an annual basis, the Freyja Club organization had to cover about...

$415 million.

I knew from Danielle that there was a fixed membership of 12,000 and each paid $24,000 per year membership. That added up to $288 million. She'd also said that 200 new members joined every year (although I was suspicious that the number had to be higher, given the reality that hedonic sexual pleasure has a finite shelf life). If each paid a $100,000 initiation fee, that was another $20 million. That brought the revenue total to $308 million. A shortfall of over $100 million. How did the Freyja Clubs make up the difference?

Obviously, from the initial initiation fees from all 12,000 members. In total, they'd paid $1.2 billion, and that was only the current 12,000 people. I was betting that the Freyja Trust (which I was calling it in my mind) had to be at least twice that amount. If so, and they had it invested giving, say a 7% return. how much income would they generate on $2.4 billion? I didn't even need a calculator to come up with the answer. $168 million. Take away 20% for taxes and you still had $135 million.

My rough guess then was the club generated $443 million in revenue to cover $415 million in costs. The $28 million difference was a fudge factor for anything I hadn't yet considered or discovered. It seemed to me that the Freyja Club was on very sound financial footing. In fact, given that I'd used the high estimate for everything up to that point, it was probable that the Trust contribution was significantly less than what I had assumed.

Over the years, I had been amazed that how often my scratches on the backs of envelopes had turned out to be uncannily close to actual results when we'd finally gotten financial statements. Satisfied that, at least in my mind, I'd answered the question of financial viability, my thoughts turned to the secrecy issue.

After giving it some consideration, I concluded that the way the club maintained secrecy was different for members than it was for staff. The $1 million penalty contained in the Non-disclosure agreement was a deterrent for anyone with assets, but for some people, $1 million would be a drop in the bucket. For staff, I suspected that most wouldn't have enough in the way of hard assets, and you can't take what someone doesn't have. For them, I thought the prospect of losing more than generous compensation and benefits was the primary deterrent, but no organization is immune from disgruntled employees. How the Freyja Club would handle them was still a mystery.

In the final analysis, I concluded that the real key to keeping the club anonymous was in the upfront vetting process. If you only admit or hire people that value the need for secrecy in the first place, and have the personal integrity to maintain it, chances are they'll honor their pledge even after they're gone. I wanted to find out more, but according to Danielle, the place I needed to go for those answers was at the site of the original club... London.

Who knew, maybe my tentative return trip to Europe might be manipulated to make a stop in the U.K. a possibility. We'd see.

In the immediate future, my thoughts turned to the upcoming weekend. To this point, I'd only had one opportunity to see what a casual visit to a club could offer since two of my three visits were pre-planned rendezvous, first with Jennifer and then with Susan. I decided to try to make an unscripted visit to the Washington club on Saturday and see if, in addition to meeting wonderfully naked women, I could get any closer to getting some of my questions answered.

Saturday found me driving around the Washington Beltway feeling a little strange. A week ago, I was accompanied by Susan and I spent the entire time with her. The only other person I had any conversation with was Michelle, a waitress in the bar, who had fielded my initial phone call and had set me up with Susan. I was wondering if Michelle was working and if the vibe that I got from her was worth a deeper exploration.

The club opened at 6 p.m. but I'd been told that most people started coming after eight. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I got there early with the idea of ordering a light dinner at the bar. I had the check the routine down pat, and the first person I encountered in the club was the hostess that I'd remembered from before. Rachel greeted me by name, but I couldn't believe it was because of her great memory. I was sure that as soon as I'd clicked in at security she knew who was going to come through her door.

Rachel was a pretty short-haired blonde with black-rimmed glasses and black high heels. Other than the silver tiara with her name inscribed and a gold necklace, she was, like every other female in the club, naked. I tried to be coy about looking at her very substantial tits capped by pink nipples and her natural pussy, but I doubt that my body scan went unnoticed. I thought that every woman in the club assumed they were the center of attention. I was still gathering data about their feelings about the one-sided nudity practiced by the club, but before I could engage Rachel about her feelings on the subject, more people started coming through the door, so I headed toward the bar.

The bar itself was irregularly shaped which resulted in there being more than the normal two corners. I saw a forty-something lady sitting alone, so I went up and asked if the other corner seat was taken. She smiled and indicated with her hand that I was welcome to sit.

I introduced myself and the pretty brunette said her name was Phyllis. She said that it was her first time in Washington and she had come to the club alone. I asked her where she was from and she said, New Orleans. I told her that I'd just recently joined and it was only my second time in the club, but if she needed a rookie tour guide, I'd make myself available. She had a nice tinkling laugh, so it seemed that was a good start.

Phyllis was about 5' 5" and weighed maybe 130 lbs. Nice pear-shaped tits that had the natural sag that I found appealing. Her legs were crossed, obscuring a clear look at her pussy, but just a hint of brown pubic hair was visible. Slender shoulders and slim arms and hands completed the picture. Like many of the members in the room, she had a semi-transparent wrap that wasn't hiding anything. The bar waitress asked what I wanted to drink, and I looked up, but it wasn't Michelle. The cute Asian woman's name was Cory and she had a nice body but only A-cup breasts. I thought Phyllis was drinking a martini, so I ordered a rum & coke.

I asked Phyllis what her plans were, and she looked at me and gave me a wry smile. "Why I plan to be fucked." She told me that she'd filled out a card and posted it on the board a few minutes before I had sat down. "It's been over two weeks and I need to get laid," she said, as casually as if we'd just been discussing what she'd had for lunch. "I'm looking for a hunk with eight inches who knows how to use it," Phyllis said, picking up her drink, then looking over the rim of her glass, she continued, "You?" I laughed and said that was above my weight class, but I was sure that she'd find someone before long.

I'd finished my drink and had determined that dear Phyllis wasn't quite my type, so I thanked her for the chat and got up to check out the "board." In the Washington club, it was located in an alcove at the end of the bar, just before entering the restaurant. The Board Monitor was Paula who I had met the last time I was in the club. Her shaved pussy looked especially delicious as I walked up to her and her soft blonde hair was pulled back and secured with a big hair clip. I don't think that she initially remembered me, but when I introduced myself again, she said, "Oh... you were the guy with Susan...how was it?" Then she looked embarrassed and wasn't sure what to say. I sensed that she thought she'd just committed a faux pas because Susan was well-known in the club to be a lesbian. I said it had been great and told her to relax. No harm, no foul.

I glanced at the board and noted seven cards. Phyllis's card was still there, so I read, "F4M, 8"+, will S&S, Aok" in my head I translated what she'd written; A woman seeking a man with at least an 8" cock, she would be willing to suck him to completion and swallow his load, and if he wanted to fuck her in the ass it was OK. I chuckled to myself thinking that the slender woman at the bar had to be every man's wet dream.

The other cards were a mixture of desires. There were two seeking a gay encounter. Not my cup of tea, but I idly wondered why there were two. Didn't the second guy see the first one's post? Maybe there was some history there. Just another one of life's mysteries. One that caught my eye was a woman named Ivania who was looking for an M/F to just watch her masturbate. I was intrigued. It wasn't a commitment for the entire evening and it was something I enjoyed, even if it wasn't mutual. I took the card and handed it to Paula and told her if she found Ivania, I'd be in the bar.

I had drunk about half the beer I'd ordered when I saw Paula heading my way with another blonde in tow. I assumed it was the woman who'd posted the card.

When they got to my table. Paula made the introductions and then smiled in my direction and excused herself to get back to her duties at the board. I invited Ivania to sit and asked her if she wanted a drink. She declined that offer but did sit down. There was a pregnant pause where we just looked at each other. I knew that I liked what I saw and I hoped the feeling was mutual.

To break the ice, I asked about her name. As I suspected she was half Russian and half German, although Ivania had never met her father who was a member of the Wehrmacht, the regular German army. Whoever he was, he'd raped Ivana's mother during the German invasion of Russia in 1942. After the war, Ivania and her mother emigrated to the United States. Her mother had died several years ago and Ivania had married a stockbroker who had also recently passed away. She told me that she and her former husband had been members of the club for about fifteen years and they had been admitted as a pair.

I asked about her specific request and she explained to me that she'd developed a condition that now made intercourse painful, but she still enjoyed sex and had considerable sexual desire, but masturbation was her primary go-to way of getting off and if someone was watching, so much the better.

I did ask that if she'd been coming to the Freyja Club for fifteen years, didn't she have a stable of hungry males or even females that she could ask to watch? She looked at me sheepishly and admitted that, for her, a new pair of eyes had always resulted in a more powerful orgasm, so yes, she knew several people who'd agree to watch. Then, she looked into my eyes, and said, "but tonight, I'd like it to be you."

Paula was waiting for us with a key to one of the suites, and I picked it up without stopping to talk. Truthfully, I was a little unsure of how to proceed. It was obvious that Ivania wasn't going to be seduced by me or any other male, so I was asking myself if we should kiss, fondle or do anything other than comply with her simple request.

Perhaps Ivania was aware of my quandary, because once in the elevator, she snuggled against me and lifted her face for a kiss. "Thank you," she said. "I'll let you play with me for a little while before we start, would you like that? I smiled and nodded, but before I could do anything, we'd arrived at our floor. I took a quick detour to pick up a bottle of wine from the small bar, but soon we were in the room.

The wine could wait a bit because all of a sudden I had my arms full of a passionate naked woman. Ivania was an excellent kisser and I enjoyed her lips and weighty breasts that somehow found themselves in my hands. I knew that this wasn't going to be a precursor to a happy ending for me, but I hoped that it would serve to preheat Ivana's oven.

We kissed for, perhaps, five minutes and I could feel her breathing become husky. When we broke, I poured two glasses and watched as Ivania turned and folded the covers back on the bed and stacked two pillows against the headboard. I enjoyed the view of her cute butt and nice legs as she did so. When she climbed in and scrunched up so that she was in a sitting position supported by the two pillows, I handed a glass to her and watched as she took a long sip.

I pulled up one of the two lounge chairs about six feet away, took a drink myself, and waited for the show to begin.

Ivania placed her glass on the bed stand and looked in my direction and licked her lips. I was wondering where she'd begin when I heard the music. Confused as to where it was coming from, I noticed that Ivania had dropped her hand into the gap between the bed and the bed stand. A closer look revealed a button located on the side that Ivania had just pushed. The suites were wired for sound, an aspect that either Susan hadn't known about or had chosen not to use when we'd been in one of these suites the previous week. Now that the strains of Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline,' were filling the air, Ivania looked once more in my direction before closing her eyes and beginning.

How appropriate, I thought as Ivana's hands began to caress her neck and shoulders just as Neil's voice started singing the song's refrain, "Hands... touching hands ....touching me ....touching you." I noticed that Ivania caressed with both her fingers and the back of her hands, a distinctly feminine gesture that as a male, I'd never consider. From neck, collarbones, and shoulders, Ivania stroked down her body. avoiding her breasts directly, but her movement pushed them slightly together and when her hands passed, her flesh settled back with an interesting jiggle.

Ivania had pushed her head back against the pillows that exposed more of her neck and throat. Having extended her hands as far as they would go, she returned them to that area and began to repeat the process down her body.

When she'd gotten into bed, Ivania had raised her knees and placed her feet flat. Because of that, I didn't have a view between her legs, but I could see that as Ivana's hands were caressing her torso, her thighs seemed to tremble in tiny spasms that I interpreted as waves of pleasure. I had observed a few women masturbate before, so I was aware that they approached it in a much more serious manner than a male would. Had I ever caressed my body and avoided touching my penis? I doubted it very much.