Saffi

The bus home that night was as miserable as it usually was—bumpy, slow, overheated, and smelling of too many humans crammed into too small a space. When I squeezed out at my stop, I took a deep breath of the foggy evening to shake off the stink of a city commute.

“Hey, Dad. I’m home,” I hollered, once inside.

“In here, sweetie.”

Dropping my backpack, I headed for my dad’s office, a gorgeous, masculine room lined with books, leather furniture, and a giant desk. And the faint smell of scotch in the air.

“You have a good day?” he asked, his silver head turning. The slight wrinkles around his blue eyes sprang into action as he smiled. He might have been my dad, but I could say with confidence that he was damn handsome.

How much should I tell him about my project? Everything? Nothing? Or just a little?

“It was pretty good, Dad. How was yours?”

On second thought, he didn’t need to know anything.

He leaned back in his chair and a swell of love thumped in my chest. The man had raised me single-handedly after my mother had passed. No meeting at his busy law firm was ever more important than one of my softball games or dance recitals. To me, he was everything that was good about the world.

“Day was good,” he said, nodding. “Things are booming at the firm. Knock wood,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the desk. His firm was one of the largest in San Francisco, but he took nothing for granted. “How are things at the paper?”

I leaned forward, forearms on thighs, hands clasped. “Well, you know how I’ve been getting crappy little assignments?”

“Like that Garden Club thing?” he asked.

“Exactly. I have a plan to do more.”

His eyebrows rose.

“I got a lead on a club here in town. An exclusive club, one that not many people know about. I may go undercover and see what I can learn.”

Concern washed over his face. “What kind of club? Like a country club?”

Ugh. Time to lie.

I hated lying to my dad.

“Kind of like that. Kind of like an exclusive country club, but it’s in the city.”

Time to wrap up this conversation. I clapped my hands together and turned to go.

“Wait a minute.” His hand made a stop sign.

Shit. Of course he had more questions.

“Why do you have to go undercover? Is it unsafe?” His furrowed brow said it all.

I should have kept my big mouth shut.

“Of course it’s safe.” I laughed nervously. Wasn’t it? “It’s just that I can get a different story posing as a member. That’s all.”

“You know, Saffi, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Now I was the one frowning.

“Scrape by at the Post. They give you crappy work and pay you next to nothing. I’m happy to have you here in the house, but some day, you’ll want a place of your own. Hell, you probably want that now, but it’s out of the question. I could get you a job at the firm, starting as a paralegal, and you could attend law school at night.”

He was right. Partially. I could take the path of least resistance. Get a job at Dad’s firm. Live the easy life. But that’s not what I wanted. Mom, also a journalist, had never taken the easy route. ’Course, she’d married Dad back when San Francisco wasn’t as expensive as it had gotten. But I wasn’t giving up. At least not yet.

“Dad. I know you’re speaking out of concern. And I love you for that. But I’ve got to give this a go.”

He threw his hands in the air for effect, but a huge smile spread across his face. “I know you do. You’re just like your mother.”

All good. Time to escape before he asked more questions. “Thanks. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to take a bath and read for awhile.”

“Okay. And hey. I love you,” he said.

I walked over and planted a kiss on his cheek. A lump formed in my throat, and I scooted out of the room. Fast.

* * *

I closed the door to the room I’d had since childhood and leaned back against it. Now was the moment of truth. I dialed the number from the tattered business card.

It rang several times, followed by a long beep.

“Um, hello. This is Saff—I mean, this is Susan. I, um, wanted some info about the club.”

My statements were coming out like questions. I hated that. I cleared my throat.

“Yes, I’m wanting to come by the club. I’m considering joining. That is, if you’re taking new members. I’d appreciate your returning my call.”

My phone rang ten minutes later while I was in the tub, nearly asleep in the steamy water. I didn’t normally bring my phone when I was bathing, but who knew what a sex club’s office hours were?

“Hello?”

“Is this Susan?” an authoritative female voice asked.

Susan? Oh Susan.

I straightened up in the tub, splashing water onto the floor.

“Yes. Yes, this is she.” Remain calm, remain cool.

“We received a message from you.”

That was it? Okay. I could play that game.

“Is this my return call from the Club Silk?” I asked, with equal authority.

“Yes, Susan.”

“Super. I’d like to come check it out.”

“How did you hear about us, Susan?”

Shoulda known they’d ask that.

“A friend. A friend told me I might like it.”

“Who, may I ask?” The caller was polite and yet forceful. Good approach.

“I’m afraid I can’t share their name.” I pictured the tattered piece of paper blowing up to the bus stop.

“Very well. Are you free tomorrow night?”

Are you kidding?

“Why yes. I am.” Shit. What would I wear?

“Do you have a pen?”

I looked around the bathroom. Of course I didn’t have a pen. Who had a pen in the bathroom?

“No. Why?”

“You need to know how to get here.”

Right. Duh.

“Can you text me the address?”

There was silence on the line. Then a sigh. “Yes. I’ll text you the information.”

What a gal.

“Thank you.”

“What time will we see you?”

“Around nine p.m. okay?”

“Yes, see you then,” said the clipped voice.

“By the way, when I get there, who do I ask for—”

Click.

Okay, then. The woman was not going to win any awards for customer service.

I settled back into the tepid water. It was time to get out, before I turned into a prune, but thinking about the club had me excited again. My hand wandered down to my pussy, where I found my clit, hard and erect, for the second time that day.

Mmmm.

I reached farther down to my opening, which had not surprisingly become quite slippery in all the excitement. Another finger joined my first. Initially, I made slow circles around my clit, still sensitive from my session a few hours earlier. My nipples tightened and poked through the surface of the bath, and with my free hand, I pinched and pulled them.

What would the club be like? Dark and dreamy? Would people be fucking right out in the open? Going at it in every nook and cranny? I couldn’t wait to find out. Not participate, of course. Just observe. This was strictly work.

I pictured a beautiful woman, legs covered in thigh-high stockings. She bent forward, her ass in the air for all the world to see. A tall, dark stranger stood behind her, holding his giant erect cock just at the opening to her pussy. She raised her hips to open herself to him, and he slowly entered. Once he was halfway in, she bucked against him, begging for more. The man pulled her long hair, her back curving into what looked like an uncomfortable arch. But she didn’t seem to mind, and in fact bucked harder, releasing a scream that filled the club. All heads turned to see her, and several observers moved closer for a better view.

With his hand full of her hair, the man plunged his cock balls-deep inside her. Her mouth hung open, her body convulsing. Her hands pulled her ass cheeks open in case the man could drive his cock even deeper. He pumped faster and faster, and when he released her hair, her head bounced wildly. A series of guttural cries announced her explosion into in orgasm. Her lover was not far behind. Another pump, and he threw his head back, releasing a string of profanities…

I’d had been rubbing my clit in time to my imaginary friends, my own orgasm building to a crescendo. I gasped as my climax gripped me, leaving me shaking in the now-cold bath water.

This sex club stuff could be a fun and career-boosting experience.