The Freyja Club

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a continuation of the series, THE FREYJA CLUB. While each chapter is intended to stand alone, there is much background that would be helpful to read in prior chapters of this series to understand the uniqueness of this club. In addition, the central character of this chapter is more completely developed in 'Other Voices - Michelle,' which is also recommended. Enjoy.

I got back from Japan on Thursday after almost a week away. The business crisis that I'd gone there to defuse had been settled amicably, and I was hoping for a return to normal. Halfway across the Pacific, I had finished writing my report and I saw no reason to go into the office on Friday since it was the beginning of the Labor Day Weekend, and I didn't expect to see the CEO until Tuesday, plus he was already aware of the outcome, so I began thinking about what I should do.

It was an hour and a half drive from Dulles to my house, but I couldn't get my recent experience at the Tokyo Freyja Club out of my mind and I was looking forward to telling Michelle about it. Plus, she and I also had some unfinished business to discuss. It was three p.m when I disembarked and found a pay phone in the airport.

I dialed the number of the Washington club and was surprised that the "Hello, F.C." that I heard was none other than Michelle herself. There was only one phone line in the club and the person who answered it was known internally as the 'Public Lead.' It was a position that rotated among several women and I had learned that they occupied the position when their menstrual cycle made it awkward to perform their regular club duties since those "duties" required them to be naked while in the club proper. I hadn't been keeping track, but apparently, it was Michelle's turn. Michelle recognized me immediately and asked how I'd been. She hadn't known about my quick trip to Japan but was thrilled to learn that I was planning to stay in the club's hotel and be around for a couple of days.

After she'd booked me into the hotel and given me the appropriate directions, she asked where I was. When I told her that I was at Dulles, there was a pause and her voice dropped to a whisper. She said that her shift ended at five, and she asked if it was possible for us to meet, perhaps for Dinner.

I was thrilled by her suggestion since I loved the prospect of spending time with the woman who had become my 'best friend' at the Freyja Club. However, I was also aware that, according to club rules, it was strictly forbidden for staff and members to have a relationship outside of the club itself, and I knew that Michelle was risking her job by suggesting that we meet.

She asked if I knew a restaurant called Filomena's, and I said I did. Filomena's was where a few months prior, Susan had met me before our tryst in the Freyja Club. We agreed to meet in the bar as soon as she finished her shift and I negotiated the rush hour traffic into the city.

When I arrived it was almost six p.m. I had parked in the garage attached to the club and had walked the three blocks to Filomena's. Michelle was sitting at the end of the bar and she'd ordered two cold Heineken's, bless her heart, but I almost didn't recognize her with clothes on. She squealed when she saw me and waved her hand. I weaved my way through the crowd and gave her a kiss when I finally got to her. There was no place to sit, but it didn't matter, since Michelle immediately said something to the bartender and led me through the restaurant to a small room set apart from the main dining room area. There was only one table in the room plus a booth, but neither was occupied. We sat down in the booth next to a window that looked out on the remains of the C&O Canal.

"Vince told me we could have this room to ourselves," Michelle then said, as if to answer my unspoken question, "I need to talk to you... you know.... about Tom." The 'Tom' she was referring to was her husband.

As I'd chronicled in a recent story that I'd written about Michelle's journey to the Freyja Club, she had met Tom while she was working as a bartender at a restaurant in Chicago. He was a brilliant computer programmer who was working for a firm nearby that was rewriting one of the most powerful computer languages, FORTRAN. Not long after they were married, Tom was offered a dream job with the Department of Defense and they relocated to Washington D.C.

According to Michelle, while Tom was painfully shy, he was an exceptional lover and husband and they were, and are, very much in love. So it came very much as a shock when Tom finally revealed that he had a cuckold fantasy and an intense desire to watch Michelle make love to other men while he watched. It took Tom almost six months to convince a reluctant Michelle to seriously entertain the prospect, but out of her love for him, she finally agreed.

Several weeks ago, Michelle and I had a fantastic sexual romp in one of the activity suites at the club, and in those delightful moments afterward, when 'pillow talk' sometimes reveals a lover's secrets, she had told me about three different men she'd fucked in front of Tom, and after she got her job at the Freyja Club, there were a couple of more that she had sexual relations with on-site. Tom hadn't witnessed those, but Michelle said that when she described what had happened, Tom got just as excited as if he'd been there. One of those men was me, and it was Tom's wish that I do an encore for his benefit in their home. I was positive that was what Michelle wanted to discuss.

"Tom has gone from asking to pleading that I have sex with a man so that he can watch, " Michelle said. " I can't explain this fetish, because he's a great lover and I know I sexually satisfy him, so it's something that seems beyond being able to explain." Michelle looked down in what appeared to be an embarrassment. I didn't know what to say and stayed silent, waiting for her to lay out the specifics of what she wanted me to do.

When she looked up, I could see tears in the corners of her eyes and she sniffled and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she surprised me with her next comment.

"Please forgive me, I'm so sorry. You must be exhausted. You've been on a plane for what? Twelve hours?"

"Fifteen, I replied."

It seemed that Michelle had suddenly realized my situation and it was obvious that she had been so absorbed in dealing with Tom's request that she had lost all perspective about my condition and how I might be feeling after a grueling ten-day emergency trip halfway around the world.

" Oh... I'm Sorry... I'm sorry... I wasn't thinking... please forgive me... this is so embarrassing... you must think that I'm such a crazy woman..."

I got up and slid in on her side of the booth and put my arm around her and pulled her close. Michelle buried her face against my neck and sobbed her eyes out. I could feel her body jerk as she cried out her selfishness and frustration. I was glad for the privacy of the small room as it allowed me to just hold and comfort her without a couple of dozen curious eyes wondering what the hell was going on.

When Michelle finally got a hold of herself, I used my free hand on her chin and guided her lips to mine. The kiss seemed to do what words probably couldn't, and I felt her body relax as she felt my embrace. After a minute, I gave her my napkin to wipe her face and she thanked me with her eyes while emitting a nervous laugh. Again she tried to apologize and I just pressed my fingers to her lips indicating that she had done enough of that.

When it appeared that she was back in command of her emotions, I suggested we look at a menu and decide what we wanted for dinner, so for a few minutes we were engaged in the practical activity of survival.

After we ordered, Michelle asked about my trip to Japan, so for the better part of the next hour I told her about the crisis that had sent me there, but most of the time was spent telling her about my experiences at the Tokyo Freyja Club.

While Michelle had originally been recruited to work in the Freyja Club in Chicago, she'd never actually gotten the opportunity because of Tom's job and their relocation to Washington, so her only experience with the Club was where she was now employed. Michelle was particularly interested in the fact that the Tokyo club had the equivalent of a Japanese sauna. "Oh! I wish we had those," she blurted as I described my dalliances with Lei and Patty. "I know some of the clubs have swimming pools, but I'd not heard about the baths."

Other than the waitress we had been alone in our private dining room and I assumed that the "Vince" that Michelle had mentioned was responsible. When we finished dinner, I ordered two Irish Coffee's and our discussion turned to the subject that was uppermost in Michelle's mind; the cuckolding of her husband.

Michelle and Tom lived in a duplex in Rosslyn which I knew was just across the Key Bridge in Virginia. It was close enough that Michelle sometimes walked to the club when she would be working during the day as the 'public lead,' but not when she was in her normal position as a bartender since her shift ended at 2 a.m.

It was apparent that I needed some rest and recuperation before I considered anything else. Since Michelle herself had made the arrangements, she knew that I'd booked myself into the hotel until Monday, so that provided a three-day window to cuckold Tom. After some discussion, we arrived at a plan that seemed to make the most sense.

The next day was Friday, and it would be the last day of her stint as 'public lead' so she'd be working the 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. shift. We agreed that Michelle would have Tom drive her to work in the morning and I'd pick her up when she finished. She suggested that we meet Tom at a little restaurant not far from their house for dinner and then go back to their place afterward. That all sounded good to me, and I tried to conceal my apprehension about having another man in the room as I was sexually engaged with his wife. Since both of our cars were parked at the club, we walked the three blocks and Michelle gave me a nice kiss, full of promise, and waved as she drove away. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

I had never stayed in the Freyja Club Hotel in Washington, so I followed Michelle's directions to a different door of the car park and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The doors opened onto a small reception area and I was happy to see that Libby was behind the counter. Even though I'd never been in the hotel itself, I had met Libby, since several weeks previously she had come down into the club proper to man the 'board' for Paula who I was talking to one of the activity suites for some intense fucking.

Even though Libby was now fully clothed, I distinctly remembered her nude body and I was aware that beneath the silky white blouse and blue skirt, she was now wearing a nice full pair of alabaster tits and a beautifully trimmed pussy. Despite my considerable fatigue, my cock gave a little jerk and I wondered where it found the energy. When she saw me, Libby smiled in recognition and said, "Well now, I have a name to match the face." It was true, I'm not sure we were ever introduced and I'm sure that until then, I was just the "guy with Paula."

As much as I would have liked to tarry and talk with Libby, my body was more desirous of a hot shower and a ton of sleep, so I shifted my sex drive to neutral and took the key that Libby offered, smiled, and rolled my suitcase down the hall to the room.

As I had been led to believe, the room was a typical upscale hotel room that was dominated by a king-sized bed. The windows looked out on 'P Street' and over some buildings I could see the lighted top half of the Washington Monument, looking even more like a phallic symbol than usual. I idly wondered if it was an omen for the Labor Day Weekend, I certainly hoped so.

The sun was well above the horizon when I awoke the next morning. A glance at the clock affirmed that ten hours had elapsed and I hadn't even awakened to relieve my bladder in the middle of the night, so I knew I'd been tired. I did some stretching and rummaged around in my suitcase and found my running gear. Almost every morning since I was sixteen, I usually ran about five miles. The trip to Japan had deprived me of that for several days and my body was protesting.

Fifteen minutes later, after jogging six blocks down 31st Street, I found the walking path along the Potomac River and headed south towards the Lincoln Memorial about a mile away. It was a beautiful summer day and it didn't take long to break a sweat and fall into that psychological state that's known as the 'runners high.' As I peeled off the miles at a nice pace, I was aware of the beauty of the river and the trees as well as the scullers and the other walkers and joggers doing their thing. At the Lincoln Memorial, I knew it was two and a half miles to the Capitol, so I set out down the mall in that direction. By the time I was back in my room an hour later, I'd done over seven miles and felt better than I had for days.

I guessed that the hotel only had about ten rooms, but I hadn't encountered any other guests. However, that wasn't unusual, because there were no public spaces other than the small reception room. Since the hotel was an adjunct to the club, there wasn't any need for redundant dining or lounge facilities. But until the club opened at six p.m. things like breakfast and lunch were room service only.

After a hot shower, I unpacked the rest of my suitcase and found a pair of shorts and my old Army tee. There was a nice little cafe at Washington Harbor, so I grabbed my half-read Clive Cussler novel and headed there for lunch. It was busy, but as a single, I just grabbed a seat at the bar and watched two analysts on the TV debate the Redskins outlook for the upcoming season. The team had won the 1982 Super Bowl and was looking for a repeat (They didn't get it).

By the time I got a table, the lunch crowd began to thin, and the waitress said that she didn't mind if I just wanted to drink lemonade and read my book, which I did. I was so appreciative that I gave her a $25 tip when I left two hours later. I finished the book and, as usual, and to no surprise, Dirk Pitt had once again saved the world. As I walked back to the hotel, my mind was very much wondering about what was about to transpire later in the evening.

I redressed in a pair of charcoal dockers and a white polo and was waiting for Michelle in the car park when she emerged a little after five. When she saw my car, she cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "What kind of car is that?" she asked as I opened the door and offered her a seat.

"It's a 1966 Datsun 3000," I said. "Back then, it was the Japanese answer to the MGB." As we pulled out of the car park, I explained that the little fire-engine red sports car was the first new car I ever bought. It predated my stint in the army and my deployment to Vietnam. I had recently had it repainted and reupholstered and I thought it was almost as good as new. Michelle felt the throaty rumble of the engine through the seat and smiled in my direction. "This feels very masculine." I smiled back and offered that I hoped it wasn't the last masculine feeling she'd have. Michelle laughed at my double entendre and assured me that she knew it wouldn't be.

When we got to the block where Michelle's house was located, she directed me down an alley in the back and I parked next to her white Pontiac. As I helped her out of her seat, she invited me in while she changed clothes. The plan was for us to meet Tom at a restaurant called the Rosslyn Cafe. He would be coming from the direction of the Pentagon where he worked and Michelle said he'd be a half hour or so behind us.

When Michelle came down, she was dressed in a dark blue mini-skirt and a silky white blouse that gave every piece of evidence that her beautiful full breasts were unencumbered by a bra. She watched my expression as she descended the stairs and I could see the obvious sway of her wonderful tits beneath the thin fabric. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she came close and pressed her cheek against my own. "Down boy, you've seen my naked boobs plenty of times." I kissed her before answering. "Yes, but never presented in a way that offered so much promise." She laughed and said, "rightly so. Ready?" I nodded and we walked hand in hand the two blocks to the cafe.

After two cold Heineken's were placed in front of us, Michelle leaned forward and in hushed tones said that there was something she needed to tell me before Tom arrived.

She started hesitantly, "Later, when we're... uh... together..." Michelle dropped her gaze in apparent embarrassment, then she continued. "When we're together, you'll hear me talking to Tom and I may say some things that... uh... may sound out of character to the Michelle you know." She took a couple of deep breaths before she looked deeply into my eyes.

"Uh... part of Tom's fetish is... uh... how can I put this? Tom not only desires to see you fuck me, but he... uh... needs to feel the humiliation of... uh... being told how much better you are. So we're going to play a little game and I... uh... don't want you to be surprised. Nothing I'm going to say is how I feel about him. Please tell me you understand."

I didn't, but I nodded anyway. I had learned over the years that the human psyche is a complex and puzzling object. Michelle was trying her best to reveal something that existed at the very deepest level of their relationship and was pleading with me to withhold judgment about how they expressed that intimacy. That was something to which I could easily agree without needing to understand what impulses drove Tom's need.

Michelle had hardly finished when she looked up and said that Tom was coming through the door. When he got to the table, we both arose and Michelle gave Tom a nice kiss on his mouth and then turned and made introductions. We shook hands and I was pleased when I felt Tom's strong grip, not at all like the limp fish that I was dreading.

Tom was a computer nerd, but he looked anything but. He was a big man, easily 6'2" and around 220 pounds. He was two inches taller and 25 pounds heavier than me, and I didn't see any fat on his very masculine body. Michelle had told me that he was painfully shy when she had first met him but if so, he had come out of his shell. I found him to be an easy conversationalist and as we sat and talked, I knew that we could become friends. I was facínated by his story of how he'd taught himself computer programming and had ended up as one of the major contributors to the relaunch of the FORTRAN programming language. Likewise, he appeared interested in what I did for a living and was particularly amazed when I told him the bizarre story of how I had received an invitation to join the Freyja Club.

Michelle seemed content to slip into the background as Tom and I became acquainted, and there was no mention or acknowledgment by any of us of the real reason we were together until dinner was practically over, when Tom leaned forward and said, "I need to explain something."

For the next ten minutes, Michelle and I listened while Tom bared his soul. I can't begin to convey the angst and embarrassment that Tom displayed as he outlined for me his fetish and obsession, but in a nutshell, this is what I took away from the conversation; In his mind, Michelle was the most wonderful person in the world and his love for her ran deep in his soul, but he explained that he viewed her as a treasure not to be hoarded, but shared. Why this impulse to "share her" manifested itself sexually was a mystery to him, but when he watched, it filled him with such a sense of satisfaction that it bordered on a religious experience. While Tom was talking, I glanced in Michelle's direction and observed her looking only at Tom with what appeared to be an expression of both deep abiding love with a hint of sadness.