The Girls of Club Aphrodite

I pondered Denisha's suggestion for a couple of days, then decided 'What the hell!' I sent an email to Club Aphrodite, asking if it were possible to organise a threesome with Denisha and Fatima. I got a response the same day. They said yes, promising to get back to me with a date and time after contacting the ladies. I went about my usual life feeling excited about this. After one week with no news, my excitement had waned. Was Fatima angry with me? Or was Denisha offended that I'd waited two days before emailing? But if either girl objected to the idea, wouldn't the club just tell me?

On Monday, ten days after their initial response, the club sent me an email. They confirmed the threesome and suggested an appointment that coming Friday. I was given a price for the hour and asked to make a deposit. 'Fair enough,' I thought and transferred the money via my banking app. Then, two days later, they sent another email, asking apologetically if I would mind changing the appointment to the following week, on a Thursday afternoon. 'For God's sake!' I thought. 'Get your bloody act together!' But as a self-employed person I could make my own hours, so I made the change and got back to work.

My irritation was short-lived. When I awoke on that fateful Thursday morning, I was as excited as I'd been on my wedding day. I had a very productive morning and an hour before the appointed time, I showered, brushed my teeth, and dressed in clean clothes. Later, as I pressed the doorbell of Club Aphrodite, I felt like I should have brought flowers.

The door opened and I was greeted by the hostess. This time, I was not shown into the private reception room. With a knowing smile, she took me straight upstairs and showed me into the tackiest room I've ever seen. The main wall was decorated with a mural of what I supposed was meant to be an ancient Greek landscape, with white temple pillars, blue skies and rolling hills dotted with cypress trees. It was painfully amateur, as though an art student had copied bits and pieces from Disney's

Hercules

. In the far corner set into the wall stood a three-foot tall statue of Aphrodite on a plinth. She was naked, of course, and she looked down onto a giant black bed littered with pink and blue cushions. On the ceiling above the giant bed was an equally huge oval mirror. In the other corner, a kidney-shaped jacuzzi tub was set into a kind of 'artistic' installation, with two fake Greek pillars, a couple of winged Cupids, and garlands of fake ivy.

'We thought we'd give you something special this time,' said the hostess, gesturing to the room with obvious pride.

'It's ... very special,' I said.

I paid the balance for the hour with two girls. The hostess wished me a good time, then she left me to wait alone. I stood and looked at the statues. They were all plaster, of course, and I thought it was typical that the club would put Roman Cupids into a Greek temple. But there was something about the Aphrodite I liked. She had the classic Renaissance figure, with small breasts and smooth torso, and her expression looked serene and amused. I was wondering why I found her so intriguing when I heard the door open behind me.

Denisha came in first, dressed in a silver bikini and silver heels, entering like a woman in a beauty contest. Her white-blond curls fell over her shoulders just so and her pink lipstick matched her finger and toenails. She strode towards me on spectacular legs, her blue eyes sparkling and her wide mouth grinning from ear to ear. She opened her arms like a diva and with a theatrical 'Darling!' gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Fatima, by contrast, simply came in and quietly closed the door behind her. She was smaller in presence as well as size, padding into the room barefoot, wearing her usual black lace underwear. Her long, dark hair, though well-cared for, looked natural and unassuming next to the other girl's peroxide locks. If Denisha's home was this temple, then Fatima's home was a simple hut on the beach. Yet my heart raced when I saw her, and I realised that I was hugely relieved when she seemed happy to see me. Our hug was awkward, partly due to our height difference, but I could feel the warmth of her greeting and see the warmth in her eyes.

'So, Englishman, what do you think of our Aphrodite Room?' said Denisha, her hands gesturing like a game show hostess. I was tempted to say something humorously mocking, but some instinct warned me not to.

'It's fun,' I said.

Both girls reacted positively, albeit in different ways. Denisha gave me a nod of approval, as though pleased I was entering into the spirit of things. Fatima, on the other hand, looked around as though making a reappraisal. My guess was she shared my opinion on the tackiness of the room, yet she nodded thoughtfully at what she saw.

'Yes, it is kind of fun,' she said, in her low, ironic voice. 'Although I think they should replace those Cupids with a proper Eros.'

'You can't replace the gods of Love!' said Denisha.

'Eros

is

the god of Love,' said Fatima. 'But he's the Greek god, while those Cupids are Roman, so he would fit better with the Aphrodite over there.'

'Pah! Like any of our clients notice the difference!'

Fatima and I exchanged a glance. Her eyes seemed to say, 'I bet you notice the difference.' We both smiled when we realised we were thinking the same thing. Denisha coughed to get our attention. She gave Fatima a meaningful look.

'Yes, right,' said Fatima, suddenly awkward. She looked at me. 'Um ... Denisha wants to talk to you in private first. So...' She looked over at Denisha. 'So, I'll go wait in the lounge and you send me a text when you're ready?'

'Yes,' said Denisha. 'And remember...'

'Yes, I know.'

Fatima gave me a quick smile and left, closing the door quietly behind her. I turned to Denisha with a quizzical look. Denisha smiled and pointed a thumb towards the jacuzzi.

'We can talk while you shower,' she said.

'I took a shower at home.'

'I know, I could smell it. But I like watching a naked man wash himself.'

She winked and went over to the bedside table to check that all the safe sex paraphernalia was present and correct. Not wanting to argue with a hot blonde in a silver bikini, I took off my clothes and piled them on an imitation Roman chair which looked like something off the set of

Gladiator.

I got into the jacuzzi tub and started washing myself with the shower attachment.

'Actually, I need that chair,' said Denisha. 'Can I move your clothes onto the couch?'

'Of course,' I said.

I watched as Denisha gathered up my clothing and took it over to the black velvet couch. Then, with some difficulty, she moved the hefty

Gladiator

chair so that it faced the bed. She saw me watching and smiled.

'This is the punishment chair,' she said.

'Is that where I sit if I'm a bad boy?'

'Not you. Fatima.'

Denisha picked up a clean, folded towel from off a pile near the sink and came over to me.

'She's a little nervous about today,' she said. 'So we've agreed that I should be in charge. The rule is: If she refuses to do something, she has to sit in the punishment chair and watch us do it without her.'

'Wow,' I said. 'You've really planned this.'

'Oh, you have no idea.'

Denisha sat on the edge of the jacuzzi and crossed her gorgeous legs. I was kneeling in the empty tub showering off the last of the soap. My cock was already swollen with blood and, as I looked at Denisha, it began to rise. She smiled and handed me the towel.

'Fatima and I have given this a lot of thought,' she said. 'And we've come up with a Plan A and a Plan B.'

'Okay,' I said, standing up and drying myself with the towel.

'Plan A is what we call the Royal Threesome,' said Denisha. 'You are the king and we are your ladies-of-pleasure. Our job is to satisfy Your Majesty in every way we can. And we've both decided that -- within safe sex boundaries -- you can ask for whatever you want and there'll be no extra charge. If you want our kisses, or to lick our pussies, or to get in the tub and have a golden shower ... we'll do it. We want you to remember this hour for the rest of your life.'

I was speechless. I held the towel in front of me as I digested the information, aware of how my cock was poking out. I was turned on, of course, but I also felt moved by their generosity. This went way beyond simple sex-for-money. This was about making a man's ultimate fantasy come true, and these girls were too smart not to know that.

'You've gone quiet,' said Denisha.

'Well, I'm just ... overwhelmed,' I said.

'Really?' said Denisha. 'Then you'd better sit down before I tell you Plan B.'

She patted the edge of the jacuzzi next to her. I sat down facing the opposite way, my feet still in the tub. I held the towel bunched up on my lap, trying to cover my hard-on.

'So, what's Plan B?' I said.

'With Plan B, you're still the king,' said Denisha. 'But this time, I'm the queen and Fatima is our servant girl. And our job is to ensure that you make the servant girl pregnant with your child.'

'And how would that work in practice?'

'Well, first, you make love to Fatima without wearing a condom. And, second, we do this on a day when she's fertile.'

'And that's part of the fantasy?'

'No. According to Fatima, she's ovulating about now. That's why we got the club to change the appointment to today. Although they don't know that, of course.'

I stared at Denisha. She looked back with a calm, unapologetic gaze. Meanwhile, my cock, which had been at half-mast, was now fully erect, straining past the edge of the towel on my lap. Denisha glanced down. Without smiling, she reached for it and gently squeezed a drop of pre-cum onto her thumb. I was stunned, partly at her casual audacity, partly at how easily I had just let her do it. She regarded the droplet for a moment, then wiped her thumb on my towel.

'Well,' she said. 'It seems you already know what you want.'

'Are you serious about this?' I said.

'Of course. I told you she liked you, didn't I?'

'Yes, but ... isn't this going a bit far?'

'Fine. So let's go with Plan A.'

Denisha got to her feet, went over to the bedside table and picked up her smartphone.

'Wait!' I said.

I dried my feet and climbed out of the jacuzzi. Denisha waited, phone in hand, as I came over.

'Is Fatima sure about this?' I said.

'Of course not,' said Denisha. 'She's completely torn. Her body wants to have a child; her mind is screaming at her not to. That's why I set up the chair, so she always has a way out.'

'But how did this come up in the first place?'

'It was something you said.'

'Something

I

said?'

'Yes. During one of your epic talks together, you told her your ex-wife was happy that your son inherited your IQ. Well, that idea stuck in Fatima's head and it won't go away. It's almost an obsession with her. You know how much she respects brainy people, and she admires your intelligence more than you can imagine. She's not in love with you, but she's totally crazy about the idea of having a child as smart as you. I mean, your own son is at college, right?'

'University.'

'Well, there you go. According to Fatima, you're the best genetic option she's had for the last ten years. Not very romantic, I know, but ... well, she tells me you don't believe in Romance anyway, right?'

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Denisha and I continued to talk and, throughout that entire conversation, my erection stayed hard and unwavering, not letting up for a second. Every cell in my body wanted to do this, regardless of the debate raging in my head. I could feel it. Denisha felt it too. She knew exactly what was going on. Finally, I made my decision and Denisha sent Fatima a text: 'Come on up. We're ready.'

I sat naked on the bed with my back against the wall. Denisha sat at the foot of the bed, barefoot now, but still wearing her silver bikini. We were both silent, our eyes on the door. She glanced over at me. I returned her gaze.

'You okay?' she said quietly.

I gave a nod.

She smiled back and returned her gaze to the door. My own heart was racing.

The door opened.

It was Fatima. She closed the door behind her and came barefoot into the room. I couldn't take my eyes off her -- her smooth light-brown skin, her slender figure, even the black lace underwear she always wore. She had her phone in her hand as she came straight over to the bed, her eyes fixed on Denisha. Brushing her long hair back with her arm, trying not to appear nervous, Fatima sat at the foot of the bed facing the taller woman. She waggled her phone.

'Got the message,' she said.

'Yes,' said Denisha.

'So, what's it to be?'

Fatima's voice was level, but her chest betrayed her rapid breathing. Denisha regarded her in silence. Finally, she said:

'Plan B.'

Fatima let out something between a gasp and a laugh. Her hands flew to her face, covering nose and mouth, and she stared down at the edge of the bed. This was the moment -- yes or no. I felt like my whole life was being held balanced in her hand.

Fatima's hands came down from her face and she turned her head to look at me. It was weird, but it felt like she was looking at me for the first time. She looked at my face, my body, my still erect cock. She held out her phone, Denisha took it, then Fatima rose from the bed and walked over to me. She climbed back on, straddling my lap, took my face in her small hands and kissed me on the mouth.

I knew I wanted to kiss this girl, but I'd had no idea how much until it happened. My God, but I loved the feel of those soft, dry lips, the way they moved, their teasing pressure against mine. My hands found her body as we kissed, and my heart wanted to burst into song when her mouth opened, and I felt her tongue for the first time.

It was wonderful to kiss Fatima. To feel the smooth flesh of her body under my hands, to be surrounded by the smell of her shampooed hair, to feel her hands move around my face and onto my head and neck. She kissed with slow deliberation, her mouth and tongue exploring mine as mine explored hers. Gently, she moved her mouth away, resting her forehead against mine, looking me in the eyes. Our faces were so close that I could feel her eyelashes brush mine as she blinked. She spoke in a soft voice.

'Would you like to make a baby with me?'

'I'd love to,' I said.

She smiled as though I had passed a test, then resumed the kissing. But this time, her tongue went deeper, further. As my mouth matched hers, our lips now wet with our mixed saliva, her hands vanished from my head and I felt her fiddling with something. My hands, with had been running over her bra strap, now found her entire back smooth and whole, the straps now loose about her shoulders. Our mouths still on each other, we moved to remove the unwanted garment and Fatima let out a beautiful 'Mmmmmm' when my hand found one of her perfect breasts. Because she knelt as I sat, those breasts were in easy reach and I moved my head down to press my mouth against one of them. Fatima's hands dug into my scalp as I explored her breast, my tongue running over and around her firm, round nipple, and my mouth gently sucking as much of it as I could. I moved to the other breast and repeated the process, my tongue intent on creating an entire memory map of this woman's gorgeous body. Meanwhile, my hands ran down the sides of her torso, coming to rest on those black lace panties. My fingers found their way under the elasticated waistband and pushed them downwards, over Fatima's bottom and hips.

Fatima broke away and stood up on the bed. I was suddenly eye-to-eye with her tan Venus mound, still half hidden by the stretched black fabric. I pulled those panties all the way down and Fatima stepped out of them. I tossed them off the bed and leaned forwards to bury my nose in the gap where her legs met her pussy, but Fatima had other ideas. She knelt back down and kissed me fiercely on the mouth, holding my head and forcing herself onto me. I matched her fierceness, our heads turning as our tongues fought each other.

My hand slid over her buttocks, heading between them. Because she was short and my arm was long, my hand was able to make its way underneath. Fatima leaned forward against me, lifted one of her legs and placed her foot on the bed. My hand could now reach through the space between her buttocks to the soft flesh of her labia. The moment I felt it, my middle finger began to search for the opening. As I circled gently, the lips parted and my finger was enveloped by wetness.

Fatima groaned. My mouth still on hers, I held her tight as my fingers explored her delicious wetness. Suddenly, it wasn't enough. I removed my fingers, and with one hand firm between her legs and the other on her back, I lifted Fatima up as I raised myself onto my knees. With a heavier woman, I couldn't have done it, but Fatima was petite and just light enough for it to work. She held on tight and I heard her laugh as she was picked up like a giant doll and placed with rough tenderness onto her back. I knelt over her, almost overwhelmed by the sight of her beauty -- the smiling face framed by her wild hair, the tan body against the black bedsheet. And when I pushed open her knees to feast my eyes on her pussy, I was hit by an avalanche of pure lust. My mouth was diving toward it before my brain even registered the idea.

I pressed my mouth against the soft, slightly prickly flesh of her shaved labia. My tongue pushed forward, opening her up, and now the flesh I explored was smooth and viscous, coating my mouth and chin with juice. Fatima groaned, tried to pull away, and I grabbed her hips and continued burying my face in her pussy. She tried again to pull away, but I held firm and stayed. Even as I ate her out, I guessed why she resisted and I wanted her to know I didn't care.

Fatima had a strong scent. It was a natural scent; not a lack-of-hygiene smell. But most women are sensitive about this, especially those unlucky enough to have had past boyfriends make unkind remarks. But, to me, this was

her

smell, this was Fatima-smell, and because of that I wanted to revel in it. I wanted to bathe in it. I wanted to walk down the street and have everyone know that this wonderful, beautiful girl had smeared her cunt all over my face.

I felt a small hand grab the hair on top of my head. It pulled, slow but hard, and I heard Fatima growl, 'Stop torturing me. You know what I want.'

I lifted my head. Across the light-brown landscape of her stomach and breasts, I saw Fatima look down at me, her gaze intense, her mouth open. I moved up and over her body like a giant serpent and kissed her. She kissed back, licking the outside of my mouth as though cleaning me up, then I felt her reach down for my cock. I grabbed her wrist and brought it back up.

'No,' I said.

Pinning her wrists to the bed, I looked down at her, my weight resting on my elbows. My hips were between her open thighs. Without breaking eye contact, I carefully moved them downwards, the shaft of my cock tracing a line down her pubic bone. Fatima was looking right at me, her breathing getting faster as she felt my cock move into position. I pushed down to get under her Venus mound, but my erection was so strong that my cock curved upwards above it.

Hands pinned, Fatima moved her feet and planted them flat upon the bed. Looking me in the eye, I felt her hips rise up and we began a subtle dance, her opening seeking the head of my cock as my own hips sought to meet her. Twice I gently pushed and twice I felt the head of my cock press into the flesh of her labia, only to brush over it. But on the third try, she lifted her hips a shade higher, and I felt my penis-head push against something firmer. I pressed lightly and suddenly she opened and I was in.