The Hillingdon Club

"And you're sure no one will know it's me?" she asked.

"My dear Ms Clark," the lawyer began, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose, "Let me assure you that members of the Hillingdon Club are extremely wealthy and influential and can therefore afford to pay to ensure their - and your - privacy. Although I myself am not, nor have ever been, a member, I have seen documents dating back more than two hundred years which list the great and the good of Cambridge University amongst its ranks: politicians, police offices, titans of business, Lords, poets, three members of the Royal family and at least one Archbishop of Canterbury." He replaced his glasses and looked at the woman sat opposite him.

"They work on the assumption that if they cannot identify you, you cannot identify them. You will not see their faces and likewise they will not see yours. Besides," he sighed, leaning back in his plush office chair, "Anonymity often precluded unfortunate requests for paternity if there was an... ah... unfortunate accident."

He paused again. "That, and the large sum of money of course."

It was this large sum of money which had bought Joanne to the offices of Mr Lipton. Days before, she had broken down in tears on her estate agent, frustrated by the fact that she could not afford to move into the area close to the secondary school she desperately wanted her eldest son to attend. She was already mortgaged to the hilt, her nurses wage and her husband's income from security work meant they were comfortable but not rich. Certainly not rich enough to move from her current house, which would probably mean her son either being bullied and beaten to a pulp or turning to life of drugs and crime to appease the peer pressure he would encounter at Scumbag High. The estate agent, a pretty blonde with red lips and blue eyes, had looked on uncomfortably for a few seconds as Joanne snivelled before writing an address and phone number on a scrap of paper and pushing it over the desk towards her.

"Go and see Mr Lipton," she had said. "He can help you make some money quickly just... just don't judge me, OK?"

So here she was.

Andrew Lipton studied the woman in front of him. She was not the usual "client" for this side of his business; he was used to dealing with young and naïve women who had found themselves in unfortunate circumstances. But Joanne was different, perched nervously on the chair with her hands clasped in her laps. Although undeniably pretty, she was middle aged and dowdy: a dark cardigan covered a nondescript flowery dress hung limply over her small breasts and clung to the paunch of her stomach, dark leggings stopped mid-calf to reveal thick ankles. She wore no make-up and her dark wavy hair was pulled back I a bun. He could see how she would have been an attractive 20-year-old who would have got a lot of attention in pubs and clubs, but that must have been a quarter of a century, 2 or 3 kids and before a lifetime of hard work and stress had taken their toll. When she had initially walked in his mind had registered things: wide hips, large bum, sallow skin. And now she was sitting biting her lip trying to decide whether to sell herself to a bunch of over-privileged teenagers.

He sighed. "I must tell you, Ms Clark, that what we are discussing is of dubious legality to say the least. I have also deduced, by the small numbers of women who return for a second booking, that it is not the most life affirming experience you will have."

Go home, he thought. Go back to your husband and kids and forget this nonsense. "To be frank, you will be used by others for their own sexual needs in a way that many will find degrading."

A pause.

"I'll do it," she said. "I need the money."

Mr Lipton sighed, and pushed the contract over the table. "You will need to sign this non-disclosure agreement before we continue. You will find that its terms and conditions are deliberately quite draconian in order to ensure you do not discuss the Clubs activities with anyone outside this room."

For the first time, Joanne made sustained eye contact with the lawyer sat opposite and smiled. "Do you know what? I don't think that will be a problem."

****

"I'm here to see Dr Hillingdon," Joanne announced to the Porter behind the desk.

It was 10 days since her meeting with Mr Lipton. Earlier that evening, she had kissed her children goodnight and left the house, telling her husband that she was off to spend the evening with one of her friends. She had driven into town and walked to Anne Summers to buy the sort of lingerie she had last worn as a broke student wanting to pull on a Saturday night: cheap, sheer black hold-up stockings, a lacy bra that pushed her small boobs together and a pair of lacy knickers. Could the Porter tell what she was wearing? Could he tell that, as she got changed in the Next changing rooms down the road (she couldn't bear the thought of changing in Anne Summers itself), she had felt aroused? Turned on by the act of rolling stockings up? That she hadn't felt this sexy in at least 7 years of marriage?

"Miss Clark?" A voice interrupted her reverie. She turned to be greeted by a smiling woman, roughly her own age but skinnier and with long dark hair in a ponytail. "Welcome to St Cedd's! If you'd like to follow me..." she said, before briskly turning on her heel and leading out into the college's Great Court. She led the way through a rabbit warren of corridors and courtyards giving a tour guide along the way ("Coleridge had rooms here when he was studying...) before ascending a flight of stairs. At the top were an innocuous looking pair of double wooden doors which opened onto a large room.

Joanne looked around. To all intents and purposes, it looked like a luxurious library or a swanky gentleman's club: plush leathers sofas were dominated the centre of the room whilst bookshelves crammed with leather bound volumes covered large sections of the wall. Her eyes, however, were drawn to the wall directly opposite: cut into the flock wallpaper were four holes at waist height, two large ones with strips of black velvet hanging over the front and what looked like cuffs hanging either side, two smaller ones the size of a small plate. The wall itself protruded a good two meters into the room and was flanked either side by large, floor to ceiling windows.

The room was empty apart from three women sat on the sofas. On one was a small grungy looking red-haired girl with a nose ring, black leggings and large Dr Marten boots who sat picking nervously at her fingernails. Next to her was a very large brunette, at least 16 stone but with a pretty face, red lips and an infectious smile. Finally, a tall muscular black woman with a shaved head glared intimidatingly at everyone in the room but seemed to have a special sneer reserved for Joanne as she walked in. " What the fuck?" she asked aggressively, looking Joanne up and down.

"Now we're finally all here," the woman with the ponytail began, "Let's make a start. Miss Jones and Quince, "- the black girl and the large brunette both looked up - "You will be in booths one and four, the smaller of the holes. There are cushions to kneel on. Miss Clark and Miss Hannigan, you will be in booths two and three. If you would like to disrobe in the booth and lay down, I will complete the formalities."

As the ponytail strode off towards the windows, Joanne looked at the redhead and tried to offer a friendly, comradely smile but was met with a surly, eye rolling look in response.

Beside the window on the left, was a small non-descript door opened onto a long thin corridor running along the back of the room. Whereas the room they had walked through was plush and ornate, this had obviously been made cheaply out of plywood and untreated 4x4 to partition it away from the main room. To the right were four cheap wooden doors with house numbers glued haphazardly to them. Joanne was pleased to see the black girl disappear down the far end of the corridor towards booth 4, whilst she opened door number 2. Inside was a room barely wider than a single bed. To one side, in front of one of the larger holes, was a small mattress, barely the size of a child's bunk bed, covered in a clean sheet which she was clearly expected to lie on.

Putting her bag down, Joanne began to slowly remove her clothes until she stood in the lingerie she had bought earlier; she sat and waited until a sharp rap on the wall above the hole drew her attention.

"If you would mind putting your legs through the hole, Miss Clark." Joanne lay down and shuffled her body slowly down towards the opening until her bottom was resting on the very edge of the mattress and the black velvet curtains pooled on her stomach. Hands grasped her ankles firmly and began to spread them. "I'm afraid you will have to remove your panties," came the same voice, "So that you are presentable for the gentlemen..." Joanne moved back, pulled her knees up to her chest and took off the lacy black triangle and dropped them onto the floor beside her. Again, her ankles were grasped and lifted high above her before she felt them being bound, held in place with a leather strap.

Secured in position, unable to hide her modesty, she waited.

After what could only have been a few minutes, but which felt interminably long, she heard the doors to the room open and a crowd of voices entered. She blushed, aware that the first thing most would see on entry into the room would be her spread legs, a pubic bush, her wet open vagina. More sounds and smells as she waited on her back- the clink of glasses, whiskey and brandy being poured, matches being struck and cigars lit. Approaching footsteps.

"Which do you want? The ginger pussy or the hairy beaver?"

A finger slid gently up her slit from bottom to top, making her shudder with anticipation and embarrassment, clenching the muscles in her legs and buttocks. It slid in again, spreading her labia before plunging into her and making her gasp. After a small amount of probing, the finger was withdrawn, then joined by another spreading her pussy lips apart. She felt hot breath on the inside of her thighs moments before a tongue entered her pussy and made its way up towards her clitoris. The hands let go of her labia and grabbed her thighs instead, trying to pull her pussy into his mouth. As the tongue reached its destination of her clitoris, she let out a low moan and arched her back. A squeal next to her through the wood and the commencement of a rhythmic pounding told her that Miss Hannigan was being fucked by the other person.

Joanne continued to listen to the gasps and moans as her own pussy was expertly licked, moving from clit to vagina and back again, inserting first one finger into her as he concentrated on her bud, then two. Despite herself, she could feel her orgasm beginning to build, feel her pussy getting wetter as she got turned on. Tentatively, she reached down and began to tease her sensitive nipples, something she adored men to do during sex but which she knew was not going to happen today. As she rubbed and pinched them through the thin material of her bra, the fingers inside her began to rotate and probe more forcefully. The mouth and the vagina parted company and the fingers were removed before being forced inside again with a third. She moaned and thrust back onto the hand as it filled her pussy. The tongue returned briefly to her clitoris making her legs shudder before a fourth finger was pushed into her.

"Shit!" Joanne breathed out. How much more of this could she take? Her cunt was being expanded with every thrust of the hand, more and more of it entering her, rotating in her, rubbing the inside of her. The fingers were slightly withdrawn again, and she thought she might be spared - but then she felt them returning with the tip of a thumb joining them. The tip of a thumb, half a thumb, a little more with each rotating thrust which spread her and expanded her until she felt stretched beyond belief and the entire hand slipped inside her, her cunt closing around the wrist.

Joanne was no shy retiring flower: in her twenties she had had a string of lovers and fucked some big cocks. But never had she felt so full as she did at that moment, with a stranger's entire hand inside her. She groaned loudly as it slid further into her before stretching her open once again as it was withdrawn past the palm so only the fingers were inside her. Then in again, twisting and gaping and making her back arch. Joanne could feel her orgasm building as she was slowly fisted. What sent her over the edge was the shout from the other side of the wall: "Fuck me! Come and look at this! Jenkins is fisting the bitch!" The knowledge that not only was she taking part in possibly the kinkiest, most depraved sex act of her life, but that people were watching her do made her cum loudly, clenching her pussy muscles around the fist inside her

After a few seconds, her orgasm subsided enough for her to relax, and the hand was slowly removed to a ripple of applause. Again, Joanne became aware that she was tied up, legs spread and gaping pussy exposed to an unknown number of total strangers. Again, she became aware of the noises around her: the regular moans of sex from her left; a loud male groan from her right followed by the gagging and coughing sounds of someone whose mouth had just been unexpectedly filled with spunk. She breathed heavily and waited.

Only 30 seconds or so had passed before her cunt was spread again, this time by what was unmistakably a large, hard cock being rubbed up and down her slit before being plunged inside her. Hands grasped her waist and held her still as the fucking began. There was nothing erotic about it, no attempt to pleasure her, just a pure animal fucking. The cock slammed into her before being withdrawn halfway and slamming into her at a frantic pace, making her gasp sharply every time. It was no surprise to Joanne that he did not last long: one final thrust and grunt and she could feel the condom he wore being filled with spunk inside her. As soon as that first wilting cock was withdrawn, it was replaced by another which pounded her in an equally frenzied way and finished equally quickly. A minute, maybe two passed, before she felt the head of another hard cock pushing into her, longer than the previous two. This time she was fucked slowly at first, almost being teased as it was withdrawn so that only the head was inside her and then slowly re-inserted. Gradually, the speed increased and, despite herself, Joanne could feel another orgasm building. She desperately reached down and began to rub her clitoris, quicker and quicker. The cock inside her pulled out and seconds later she felt hot cum spurting over her fingers, into her thick pubic hair, onto her clit and onto the open lips of her cunt. She continued rubbing hard and came again, her back arching as she let out a loud moan.

With that, Joanne began to lose herself: she lost count of the number of cocks that she had inside her, lost track of how long she lay on her back with her legs spread, lost count of whether the men came inside her or on her, whether they wore condoms or not. Another orgasm wracked her body and left her sweating and gasping for breath.

She was barely aware of being pulled out of the hole slightly, and act which meant that her feet were closer to her head and he bottom raised slightly. The shock of something cold being poured onto her anus bought her back to herself and made her open her eyes wide. Surely not, she thought. The lube was rubbed into her asshole, and then she felt a hard dick being pushed slowly against her puckered arse.

Joanne had never enjoyed anal. Most of the men she had slept with had tried to persuade her to take it up the ass, few had succeeded. The first time she had allowed someone in there he had been inexperienced and not used enough lube, resulting in a rough, painful ass fuck which had been mercifully short as he had prematurely cum inside her. Another time she had been drunk and taken a well-hung American serviceman from the nearby air base back to her flat and been reduced to tears as his large black cock stretched her beyond comfort and left in pain for the next three days. She had never liked the feeling over the following days of cum slowly leaking out of her and making her feel like she was soiling herself. Every time she had succumbed, however, there had been one constant: she had been face down and legs spread with her lover easing in from behind, the easiest position for her to be in.

And now she was on her back with a cock nudging at her arse.

"No!" she cried, desperately trying to wiggle her ass out of the way until she felt a pair of hands grasp her ass cheeks and pull them apart. Another push and the head of the cock slipped inside her. "Fuuck!" she moaned as it penetrated her and began to inch deeper inside her. There was a pause before it was withdrawn slightly and then forced back in even further.

"Fuck, your tight!" the man on the other side of the wall said, and Joanne realised that it was the first time anyone had talked to her all night. He continued to inch into her, stretching her and filling her. Slowly, the pace began to increase until he was properly fucking her. She cried out with every thrust, screwing up her eyes in discomfort. The hands that were spreading her were released and she felt the cold shock of more lube was applied to her anus and the cock inside it, the a hand was placed on her stomach above her pubic hair, pushing down firmly, and the fucking continued. He seemed to go on for ever; at one point he pulled out completely and she thought he had finished, but seconds later he plunged back into her with a force that made eyes water. She became aware of someone sobbing nearby, and it took a few seconds for her to be sure the sound was coming from someone else and were not her own. She felt the cock inside her harden twitch and, with one final thrust and groan, cum inside her. Spurt after spurt filled her arsehole with spunk; it felt as if he had not cum not come in days. As he pulled out, Joanne felt her arse gaping and the copious amounts of cum begin to leak out of her and drip onto the floor.

A bell rang. A male voice called "Time, gentlemen, please!" and the sound of voices gradually grew less until all she could hear were the sounds of her own breathing and a muffled sobbing from the cubicle to her left.

After a few minutes, she became aware of high-heeled footsteps approaching and again blushed with embarrassment knowing that pony-tale could see her used holes leaking spunk. She felt the straps around her ankles being undone and pulled herself completely into her cabin, curling up into the foetal position for a few minutes and controlling her breathing. Eventually, she began the hard task of making herself presentable. Squatting on the floor, she tried to force as much cum out of her arse as possible and spread her pussy lips to let the spunk drip out of her before taking a packet of baby wipes form her bag and wiping herself. The sperm in her pubic hair was already crusting, but she wiped it anyway. She took off the stockings, now laddered and stained, and dropped them into a carrier bag along with the lacy bra and knickers she had bought earlier - they would be disposed of in a bin on her walk home.

Dressed in her usual mumsy outfit with a grey over washed but supportive bra and big knickers, Joanne opened the door to her cubicle and walked out into the room she had passed through earlier. She glanced behind her at the holes in the wall and saw she spunk that had been leaking from her staining the flock wallpaper below where she had been restrained. On one of the sofa's sat the red-haired with the large brunette next to her, stroking her hair and soothingly telling her that everything was going to be alright. The skinny redhead was clutching a cigarette which she dragged on hard; it was clear from the way she perched on the edge of the seat and tried to make her body take up as little space as possible, and from her red eyes, that she had not had a good time. Joanne glanced again at her brunette friend - the lipstick and eyeshadow were gone, and the front of her t-shirt was stained by a mixture of saliva and cum, some of which Joanne thought she could see in her hair. Miss Ponytail was stood by the door, holding three large brown envelopes in her arms - obviously the aggressive black girl had already taken her money and left, much to Joanne's relief. As she approached the door, the pony-tale smiled the most insincere smile Joanne had ever seen and held out one of the envelopes. "Thank you for your help this evening, Miss Clark," she smiled.