He entered from behind the drapes, clad only in a leather hood, taking his place beside her. Entirely naked, his muscular body showed every sinew straining beneath taut, well-oiled skin. His upper arms were the width of most men’s thighs and his torso and abdomen were well-defined. His member, greater in girth than any woman’s hand could encompass, hung heavily between his thighs.
Mademoiselle Noire let her eyes wander over this godlike creature. She flicked her crop lightly, a small smile playing on her lips. It caught him full along the length of the shaft but he stood firm, unmoving. His truncheon began to engorge. The crop struck again and, this time, brought the beast between his legs to full maturity.
Mademoiselle Noire now bade him turn so that his tight buttocks were displayed – each sculpted to perfection. She commanded him to bend over and part his legs, so that she might grasp his globes gently in her silk-gloved hand, caressing them, kneading them like the dough of bread rolls ready for the oven. The mighty creature let forth a low groan: one of undoubted pleasure. The men about the room shifted a little in their seats.
She squeezed: gently at first, then harder. Her eyes scanned the faces about the room, seeking out their eyes, ensuring that she had their full attention before she proceeded. Lord MacCaulay lit a cigar, reclined within his armchair and inhaled deeply, returning her stare, which had settled upon him. He doubted not that she was admiring the strong plane of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders and his thick, dark hair. He was used to the admiring gaze of women, drinking him in, flirting. Resolutely, her eyes remained on his, as she squeezed the treasures within her palm harder – until the effort showed in the small sliver of flesh at the top of her glove.
The recipient’s moan grew more audible. She kept her hand clenched for what seemed an eternity, every gentleman in the room now squirming. At last, she let those ripe and heavy plums swing free. Her eyes still on MacCaulay, Mademoiselle Noire flicked her crop gently against the man’s inner thighs, so that he might open his legs still further, leaving his most tender parts vulnerable to her ministrations. Another sharp crack of exquisite torture conjured a collective intake of breath, before she raised the crop high, and delivered the most vigorous blow. The giant’s knees bent but then resumed their stance.
Lord MacCaulay swallowed uncomfortably, although his interest was piqued. Mademoiselle Noire laughed, the sound twisting and curving lightly about the room. She clicked her fingers, and the hulk of a man stood upright, assuming a position to one side, where he waited.
An extract from 'The Gentlemen's Club' - by Emmanuelle de Maupassant
available from Amazon
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gentlemens-Club-One-Noire-ebook/dp/B00ND6R1QE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1410418394&sr=8-1&keywords=emmanuelle+de+maupassant
