“And the result is…?”
“When I made an application for you, it was to get you inside. Once there, I intended to push you in certain directions to attract attention on you and get you invited to the members’ party. Like I did last year.”
“Yes. You told me about that. You managed to get your hands on two bisexual sluts who readily followed you in one of the side-rooms reserved for sex.”
“Yes. I didn’t know it then but we were in a pink room where others can come in and watch you perform. I got both of them to come three times before I spunk my first load. That pushed a half-naked beauty to come and whisper in my ear whether I wanted to attend the private party. Which I did of course.”
“And that earned you your invitation for tonight.”
“Yes, directly to the private party, but not the banquet. That is reserved for the members. With the bonus that I could get one friend invited to the main party if I wished, which is what I did for you.”
“So, I take it I’ve been accepted to the main party thanks to the Bachelor party. And now I have to earn my way to the private party.”
“Better than that. Your performance at Amir’s earned you access directly to the private party. As I said, we need to go the main party for dinner. After dinner there’s a great party where all mingle. This is when some from the main party may get picked up by members to participate in their libertine activities.”
“And we are sure to be invited?”
“Yes, because we will be wearing these.”
Jean Paul took silver decorations from an envelope, pinning one on Kevin’s lapel and one on his own. Kevin examined the ornament; it was a stylised representation of the male symbol, the O with an arrow pointing upwards, his key to high-level debauchery. His only apprehension was if news of this reached his peers, his university administration or his parents. He did not think his parents would reject him for that but the effect it might have on their professional and social life was daunting. But he had heard that the Club had very elaborate systems to protect their members’ and their guests’ identities. In fact, apart from Jean Paul, he knew no-one belonging or linked to the club. And Jean Paul had always remained very discreet on that matter despite his persistent questions.
The doorbell rang.
“That will be our car,” Jean Paul said. “Remember, we are expected at the afterparty; you may indulge in some philandering in the main party if you are so inclined but my advice is to keep all your stamina for afterwards.” Then, brushing away some invisible speck on Kevin’s lapel and straightening his bowtie, he added: “I think we’re ready. Two Counts Draculas ready to administer the kiss of lust to any willing damsel. Once we are in there with the masks they will provide, we will hardly be discernible one from the other. You might think I am you.”
— — — — — — —
The Thompson’s Mansion, 5.45 p.m.
Miranda was seated at her dressing table. The mirror gave her the image of a regal feminine figure, with her two-row, diamond-studded crown on her head, her two necklaces, a one-inch-wide choker and a longer two-strand diamond necklace. The latter’s first row stopped just before the swell of the breasts, the second plunged in between the two mounds to rest on the band of her gem-studded bra that pushed up her slightly falling orbs, showcasing her dark brown nipples. Both rows had a pendent, the upper one a stylised silver penis, the lower one a stylised platinum cunt, symbolising her openness to both sexes with a preference for males. She could see behind her, her husband Wesley verifying his bowtie in the wardrobe mirror.