Fantasy Maker

  This book was written, produced and edited in the UK.

  Some spelling, grammar and word usage will vary from US English.

  Copyright © Sabrina Kyle 2014

  Smashwords Edition

  All characters herein are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Fantasy Maker

  A BDSM Erotica Short

  The House of Decadence Series, Book One

  The House of Decadence looks just like any of the other Gentlemen’s Clubs on St James’, London, but it’s not.

  From the outside it is a grand Georgian building, imposing in white stone, with Doric columns, and is several stories high. It has a solid black wooden door with brass fittings, and black and gold railings surround the front.

  It is a members only club. But unlike the other Gentleman’s Clubs in the area, it does not consist of waiters serving warm brandy, cracked leather armchairs in front of log fires, and lots of men sitting around enjoying the peace whilst reading the daily newspapers. Not even close.

  It is in fact a very upmarket, exclusive club, for much more unusual tastes.

  We cater to your secret fantasies.

  Every Friday night a party is thrown, each week with a different theme. The parties are supposed to be the height of decadence; it would be closer to the truth to say they are the height of debauchery.

  The owner of the club is Jeremy Ferrini, he owns a chain of upmarket hotels and one or two nightclubs. The other girls jokingly call him my pet billionaire. It’s true that if there is anything I think the club needs, he buys it for me.

  I’m Stephanie Menage and I manage the place, and I’m also one of the girls in The House of Decadence. Officially we are called “The Fantasy Makers”, but the regulars call us The Whores of Decadence.

  As jobs go it is extremely well paid. But it has to be; client’s demands can be extremely bizarre and are often rather taxing.

  I started out as a regular Call Girl. A high-class escort through an agency. When I got the hang of the job I moved agencies. This time to La Crème de la Crème, which catered only for very exclusive and very rich clients.

  When men pay a great deal of money for something, they tend to want it to be exactly to their specifications, and I began to notice some very peculiar specifications.

  I was comfortable with the generic BDSM. I had no problem playing submissive or dominant. I didn’t mind being handcuffed or blindfolded, or giving someone a good sting with a cat o’nine tails. But I began to notice that the more exclusive and well paying the client, the more they felt free to request their own personal fantasies.

  Some were simple and easy, and some were, needless to say, kind of kinky.

  It started when I was at the home of one of my regulars “on call.”

  Jeremy Ferrini liked pretending to be a Roman Emperor.

  Together we would soak naked in his jacuzzi and I would feed him grapes and wash him in the manner of a slave girl.

  “So I guess you think I’m a bit weird, liking this kind of thing?” He asked me.

  I smiled. “This is actually pretty tame. You wouldn’t believe some of the things myself and my colleagues get asked. You would think most men just want a bit of spanking and some lesbians, but when you really push their buttons there are all kinds of fantasies to tap into.” I began to tick off on my fingers, “In just the last few months, I’ve been a vampire, a dungeon keeper, a nanny, Catwoman, room service, a rubber doll, and a table setting.”

  “A table setting?” Jerry looked at me quizzically.

  “Yes, talk about catering to fantasies.” I laughed. “A client was having a dinner party and he had some very important guests over from the Far East that he wanted to impress. Apparently when he visited them they laid on some, um, unusual diversions for him, so he wanted to do something for them. The brief he gave me was simply to be a centrepiece on the buffet table. I lay down naked in the centre of this long trestle table and his chef then artfully adorned my body with food and piled the rest up around me.”

  “That sounds fantastic!” Jerry was practically licking his lips at the thought. “Could you do that for me sometime?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “If you like.”

  He grinned, “So did they enjoy it? Did you?”

  It always amuses me how often the clients want to be reassured that I’m having a good time as well.

  “Well…” I said conspiratorially, “I actually expected it to be pretty boring. As far as I was concerned, there would be no sex or anything; I just had to lie quite still with my eyes closed for the duration of dinner. My client was very firm that I should not to look at them or interact.”

  I paused and stretched into a pose. “So, I’m lying there like this, naked but covered in food, with my eyes tightly shut, and I hear the men come into the room for dinner. There were probably six or so of them. There was some initial touching, but I expected that. A couple of breast squeezes, some nipple tweaks, and a hand across my bare stomach. That kind of thing. But they seemed generally well behaved and began to help themselves to the food around me.”

  At this point I could see Jerry beginning to get his fifth hard-on of the night, which for a man in his late forties was good going. I wondered if he had taken Viagra. I knew the next part of my story would get him revved up and mentally prepared myself for another bout. After all, he paid me well enough for it; maybe I would use these stories more often as a bonus for my favourite clients.

  He caressed my breasts and I knew he was picturing the scene I was describing.

  “However,” I continued, “somewhere down the table near my knees were a selection of crudités and some dips. And some bright spark decided it would be a good idea to add another ‘dip’ into the mix. I felt my knees being gently pushed apart and I opened my legs, I thought maybe they wanted them like that for the view, but no. The next thing I could feel was carrot sticks, celery and cucumber; all being dipped inside me one at a time! How bizarre is that? I can only assume they ate them. Personally I would rather have a hummus dip, but there’s no accounting for taste, though I wouldn’t imagine the actual taste was really that delicious. However, one of them must have really liked it, because he began to lick me right there on the table. He spread my legs wide and treated me like a real part of the buffet.”

  Jerry slid his way down my body and flicked his tongue against my clit. “Like this?” He asked.

  I moaned appreciatively, “Yes, just like that.”

  “And they used you as a dip like this?” He spread my lower lips and slid a finger slowly in and out of me.

  “Mmmm, yes, exactly like that.” I answered.

  “Christ, Steph, that’s so horny.” His cock was buried deep inside me a moment later and he only lasted a few seconds.

  I smiled and made a mental note to use that particular scenario again if I wanted a quick response.

  When he was once more resting contentedly beside me, he began to tell me about a his idea for a party. He wanted to hold a fancy-dress toga party, but he wanted all the female guests to actually be ‘working girls’ so that an apparently genuine Roman orgy could ensue.

  I agreed to help him host his party. I had a lot of ideas. Jerry knew what he might like, but his imagination didn’t encompass what his guests might also enjoy.

  Together we planned a series of rooms for his guests to experience, culminating in the orgy.

  We talked about converting his entrance hall into a room decorated by real naked or half dressed women, in a series of classical poses. Some holding vases, some on plinths, that kind of thing. This was to be a tantalising promise for the eyes. In this room initial drinks would be served as the male guests admired the ‘artwork’.

  Per
haps they would then be ushered to the steam room. This would be a men only sanctuary, where they could sit around and discuss whatever men usually talk about in steam rooms. Leading off the steam-room would be massage rooms and showers.

  Each massage room would be staffed by a buxom half naked masseuse, who would firstly give them the Roman treatment of being lightly whipped with birch twigs, and then salted and oiled, before offering any ‘extras’ they might enjoy.

  After that, the freshly bathed and massaged Romans would be handed togas to wear and invited into the dining room. Here, once again, would be a collection of alive statues, but this time in much more provocative poses. A groaning buffet table would be laid, and slaves in skimpy outfits would walk around with amphoras of excellent wine. In the centre of the room would be a small swimming pool where women would be frolicking invitingly.

  The men would then be encouraged to recline on chaise lounges, and dancing girls would be brought on to provide some visual entertainment whilst they ate.

  The statues, the slaves, and the dancing girls, would all be amenable to being fondled and touched, and would eventually be available for other intimate acts. There could be curtained alcoves for those who wanted privacy, but they would be encouraged by the girls to indulge themselves openly on large piles of cushions or in the pool.

  Jerry was wild about my ideas and had to avail himself of my body several times during the discussions as they got him so excited.

  It was only after the fourth time he collapsed on top of me, that he became aware of the obvious problem.

  “I love these idea’s Stephanie,” he said to me, “but my house isn’t set up to do all the different rooms we want. I suppose I could make some alterations, but it isn’t very practical. Maybe I could convert one of the nightclubs, but it would be expensive for just one night!”

  That’s when I pitched him a business idea. He’d often discussed his various businesses with me and had always treated my opinions with respect. He was the perfect backer for an idea I had.

  “How about setting up a brothel?” I smiled, as he blinked in surprise. “Not the usual kind, but a club that caters to fantasies.”

  I stuck a cigarette in my mouth, lit it and passed it over to him. He leaned back on his bed and inhaled thoughtfully. “Go on,” he said at last.

  “It wouldn’t be exactly legal,” I warned him before I started, “But I already have a list of clients that I know would join the club, and who could be counted on to be discrete. Plus you have confidentiality clauses in the sign up. After that, membership would be on a referral basis only. It would be expensive and exclusive, no advertising except word of mouth. All new members would be vetted.”

  He nodded, “You could find enough members to get it off the ground could you?”

  “Yes, I could also find the right kind of girls. That will be the greatest challenge. They will need to be attractive, educated, and willing to commit completely to the various roles they would have to play. We would only be able to run fantasy nights at most once a week. The girls would need special training for each one, but you could still offer the usual one-to-one services, including private fantasy stuff, during the week. I can come up with themed parties that would be popular and I can organise the girls. I could also sort out costumes for both the girls and the guests, and I can order any props that would be needed for the night.” I paused, gageing his reaction. He looked genuinely interested so I continued, “But it needs an owner, someone with a few spare millions who could buy a venue and pay to convert it for the business. It would need to be in an upmarket part of town, Mayfair perhaps, and it would need a front dummy company. Just think Jerry, we could have a whole Roman suite of rooms, just like we planned for your party, that were a permanent fixture?”

  It was as simple as that. Jerry came up with the idea of hiding it in plain sight by putting it side by side with the traditional Gentlemen’s Clubs of St James’, and we called it The Colosseum Club on the outside. But known only to the members it was actually The House of Decadence.

  I think he hid it behind several dummy companies that were based in remote parts of the world, and he employed me as a Manager, so that I wasn’t strictly doing anything against the law.

  On the top floor we had luxurious rooms for any girls that wanted to live in. On the next floor down we had a series of fifteen themed bedrooms for club members to use, either to stay the night when in town, or to make use of for an hour or two visiting the club. The floor below that was an enormous ballroom that could hold two hundred guests or be partitioned into smaller rooms for more intimate parties, and on the ground floor we had a bar, a dining room, and our Roman Spa Suite.

  For opening night we threw the Toga Party that Jerry had been hankering after. He invited a few select male friends, but he was careful not to tell them that he actually owned the place or what it really was. Instead it just appeared that he had hired the venue, which just happened to be set up to accommodate his theme. We also invited a few of the new members, those that would enjoy the fantasy and could be trusted not to openly discuss the real nature of the club to Jerry’s friends.

  Whilst Jerry was having the building redone and decorated; I worked to organise suitable girls to be Fantasy Makers in The House of Decadence.

  I had started as a call-girl when I was just eighteen to fund my way through University, and I was now twenty five, so I had seven years experience under my belt. It also meant that I had met a lot of other girls over the years and I knew several that would be perfect for what we planned.

  I knew full well that working in a club like this would appeal to some girls. It was a safe environment, with a carefully vetted client list and we were offering exceptional rates of pay. For big party nights we would have to get in extra help, and I called in a favour from my old agency to send me the extra girls I needed for the Roman Orgy night.

  I spent the week before the party training them all. Allocating roles based on experience and talking them through what they could expect.

  Unfortunately the nature of the Roman Orgy theme meant that we could expect it to get quite extreme! It probably wouldn’t be a simple one-on-one procedure. We had to be prepared for some real debauchery.

  When the night came around I was thrilled with the results that Jerry had achieved with the venue, and I was sure it would be a huge success.

  I hadn’t planned on actually working the floor myself, I thought I would oversee the operation and make sure it all went smoothly, but as usual with these things, nothing ever goes exactly to plan. One of the girls got food poisoning and had to pull out, and I ended up taking her place.

  I was ready to pose as The Birth of Venus, stood a giant sea shell, nude apart from some wispy materials draped over me that fluttered revealingly in a warm breeze created by a hidden fan beneath me.

  Then the doorknocker sounded and we all took our places, ready for the opening night fantasy.

  We had a male butler who opened the door from the street and let the gentlemen into the dim porch, where they pushed through heavy velvet curtains and then into The Atrium.

  Jerry came quickly downstairs and stood in The Atrium giving the appearance of having just arrived himself. In fact, he had an office on the top floor, just as I did, but his part in the business would remain a well-guarded secret.

  Jerry took in the scene with approval, nodding and smiling at the girls. I could tell he was turned on already. Then he caught sight of me and a slight frown went across his face.

  “What?” I asked with concern.

  “I thought you were just managing this?” He whispered.

  “I was, but Phoebe called in sick, so I had to take her place.”

  There was some noise from the doorway and Jerry moved quickly away from me.

  One by one the guests entered, mostly wearing suits. They walked in confidently enough, but each one of them seemed slightly stunned when they took in the scene that greeted them. They began to smile and look a bit like kids in
a sweetshop.

  I was delighted with the effect we were all having on them. I had eight other girls stationed around the room on raised plinths creating real life artwork.

  A girl in a long but completely transparent toga came out bearing a tray of champagne and another in a similar dress came and took their coats.

  There was some slight embarrassment at first, but gradually they became bolder and more relaxed.

  The men began to wander around the room, discussing the ‘statues’. The girl dressed as Minerva, who was nearest the door, had her bottom pinched a couple of times, and then two men stopped in front me.

  One of them slowly ran his hand up the back of my calf, and smiled at me. I continued to look over his head as if he didn’t exist. He gave a tug on the end of the piece of material that hung across my breasts and I felt it begin to slide away. Slowly I allowed it to fall until one breast was bared. My nipple instantly hardened as the cooler air hit it.

  “Michael!” A sharp voice cut across the room, and I saw Jerry stride over. He put a rather fake looking smile on his face and said, “Hello, old chap, I thought I saw you arrive. Have you got a drink yet? Oh good, good, then do come and have a look at Diana, she’s the goddess of the moon, and quite an attractive work of art.”

  All three men moved away to admire ‘Diana’.

  I held my pose for another ten minutes or so, all the time with one breast out, which drew several second looks as none of the other girls were actually bare-chested, though all were close to it. Then the men moved on to the changing rooms for the steam session.

  This created a break the first set of girls.

  There were eleven men now, including Jerry, which meant they had all arrived. There were also eleven girls laid on to do the massages, so that the nine of us in the entrance hall could get ready for the next stage.