Club Fatale, Pt. 3

Club Fatale, Pt. 3

Chapter Four – The Commodore

The Commodore’s mansion was more like a stronghold then a palatial estate. I was reminded of circa-1600’s colonial forts, like those of Port Royal and St. Kitts. It had the same cliff-side positioning. To say that the mansion was well-appointed was an understatement. From the décor and artwork that I saw just walking in the front gate, I estimated a value in the vicinity of $20 million.

The terrace was not to be believed. It was flanked by statues of Greek gods all around, and looked down on harsh black rocks and frothing waves below.

But it was the female décor that inspired the most.

Two dozen white-collared women were scattered about in various states of undress. One and all, they were gorgeous: with the beauty of models and actresses. Some of them, I would say, even reached the level of supermodel. Not a single male was present. Even the servants that I saw were women. I counted a waitress, a bartender, a chef, a manicurist and a pair of masseuses on my first glance.

The rest of the girls were for decoration. Some were bound and chained, receiving whippings at their master’s pleasure. Others had been hung up by the ankles or by the long tresses of their hair. A young red-haired girl twisted in the wind, strangling slowly for the Commodore’s pleasure.

I did a double-take. It was Patricia, the tennis player I had met the previous day.

I shook my head in disbelief. I had arrived on Olympus.

“There’s the man of the hour!”

The loud, booming voice shook me out of my daze. And, with great reluctance, I tore my eyes away from the decadent feminine view.

The Commodore was a white-haired man in his early seventies, though he seemed hardy and hale beyond his years.

“Mr. Anderson, welcome!” He shook my hand in an iron grip. “I trust that you’re settled in?”

“Oh, yes, Commodore,” I replied. “I’ve been here nearly 20 hours, already. And jetlag has never seemed to affect me.”

“Did you happen to catch Bonfire Night, last night?”

“Yes, indeed,” I answered. “It was very intriguing. But I didn’t see you there. I’d have thought that such a spectacle would’ve drawn your presence.”

“Well, I like to provide the members with time of their own. I sometimes feel as if they treat me as more of a father or leader then a compatriot.”

“But you wish to be the commander,” I said. “Even your title expresses a kind of formal respect and dignity. I suspect that you enjoy your managing responsibilities far more then you let on, sir.”

“So I do, Mr. Anderson!” the Commodore said, smiling. “So I do. May I call you Evan?”

“Please do, sir.”

The Commodore and I passed Patricia, as we walked, and I was drawn to the desperate kicking of her long, slender legs. She seemed much taller now, stretching her neck on the gallows before me.

“You like?” the Commodore asked.

“Definitely,” I replied.

The lithe girl’s bosom shuttered at every breath. She gasped and wheezed, struggling for oxygen. Already her lips were turning blue.

The Commodore watched in silence; I in fascination.

Patricia’s eyes were on me: watching, pleading, and begging. It was altogether erotic to feel that weight, to know that I had the power to ease her suffering. Perhaps a few words to the Commodore and he would spare her for me. As it was in life, the greatest cruelty was often to do nothing. She took one last, shuttering breath and was still.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” the Commodore asked.

I nodded, eyes locked on her still lips. I had been fantasizing about facefucking her off and on since I had met her. Now I would never get the chance.

“I still never tire of watching one of them pass,” the older man said. “I had been wondering what young Patricia tasted like. I suppose that now I’ll be able to find out.”

And he winked at me. I looked sideways back at him.

“I would be glad to have Sonya prepare her for you, Evan. You can never have too much Femme-meat around. What do you say we split her, half and half? ”

“That’s very generous, Commodore!” I said. “Thank you.”

Though I would never receive that blowjob, I took solace in the fact that I would be able to experience Patricia more intimately than I had ever dreamed possible.

The Commodore led me to a table and we sat. Emmanuelle was there, standing passively.

“Well then, Evan. You have your beach house, with all the amenities. You have your two starter Femmes, the sisters: sweet Jana and sweeter Karina. Emma has provided you with your collars, yes?”

I nodded and asked: “I noticed the colors of the collars. I was wondering about their meanings.”

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” the Commodore asked, with a smile. “What do you think they mean?”

I was about to reply that I didn’t know. But then, suddenly it hit me.

“It’s ranking system,” I said, as I ordered it in my mind. “It starts at black: no color. Then you give the newest members violet, the darkest of colors. Jacob said that he’s been here for a couple of years and his girl wore blue; Dan Gates claimed that he was here from the beginning. His girls wore red. And you, your girls wear white: the most colorful. All colors combined into white light.”

“By the gods!” the Commodore thundered. “Twenty-five years I’ve been doing this and that is the first time that someone has figured it out without being told! You really didn’t know, did you? No, of course you didn’t. I could tell if you were lying. And no member would tell you, not after being in the dark himself for so long. Add to that the fact that Emma is smiling like a proud mother and I can see that you really did figure it out!”

I looked at Emmanuelle. I expected her to try to hide the smile, but she didn’t. It was a pretty smile of pride and she let it beam on me.

“Well, what should I do?” the Commodore mused and turned to Emmanuelle. “What do you think, dear? Advance him a rank or two?”

“Two, my darling,” she said. “Jacob is blue and he still doesn’t understand the significance of the colors.”

“She’s right!” the Commodore boomed.