Sophie & The Society

By Fidelis Blue

Sophie is young, beautiful and has a successful career in the City. Her passionate affair with Roberto, an Italian banker, soon progresses beyond conventional sexual attraction, as she discovers a deep longing for discipline and the pleasures of submission. In a series of sexual escapades of increasing daring, he tests the limits of Sophie's desires. Eventually Roberto's friend Alex invites them to become members of the Society, a secret and tightly regulated fraternity of men who hold their women in common. As a “Subject” of the Society, Sophie consents to an elaborate initiation ceremony, at which she vows to make herself available to any members who require her. Soon she is in demand, summoned at a moment's notice to the apartments and offices of the Society's members.

In London, Paris, and New York Sophie willingly subjects herself to the perverse desires of dozens of men, each time returning to Roberto to make a full confession. When Roberto leaves for a month, giving her Alex for that time, she undergoes a course of strict erotic training. But finally comes the ultimate test...just how far will Sophie go to prove her love for Roberto?

This story of lust, submission and daring choices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media LLC
• Release date: Nov 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781942331285

Book preview

Sophie & The Society

by Fidelis Blue

ISBN: 978-1-942331-28-5

A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

Copyright © 2015 Fidelis Blue

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

The man seated opposite on the tube train had been looking at her for some time now. At first the train had been crowded, and his sight of Sophie obscured, but once they passed Baker Street there were fewer passengers. He had stared at her openly, arrogantly even, his eyes moving from her face down over her body and back up again. It was a warm day and Sophie was lightly dressed in a white T-shirt, rather tight, accentuating her breasts, were supported by a natural-line bra which held them in position without unsightly seams showing through. Below she wore a flared skirt, very short, in a flimsy cotton printed with a bright flower-pattern. As she sat, the skirt rode up her thighs, but she was careful to keep her legs close together. On her feet were high-heeled white sandals. Her toenails, painted scarlet, showed through the opening of the shoes.

At Paddington most of the remainder of the passengers got off. At her end of the carriage there was only herself, the man and an elderly woman engrossed in a paperback. The man continued to stare at her. He was about fifty, suavely dressed in a dark suit with expensive shoes. His tie had some sort of badge on it, a club or a school she supposed. She didn’t want to look him in the eye, but as she was wondering who he might be, she saw him open the palm of one hand, and with the index finger of the other trace the outline of a letter S. In the pit of Sophie’s stomach she felt a tingling, as if some electric current were passing through her, a sensation caused in equal part by fear and desire. She knew she had no choice; that she must now go with this man and do his wishes. One part of her wanted to run, one part was held in thrall. Was this how the rabbit felt when cornered by the fox?

She knew she must respond. She held out her right hand, opened the palm, and with her finger wrote an answering S. She glanced around; no one was paying them any attention. Just then the train slowed and stopped, at Warwick Avenue. The man stood up and got off the train, not bothering to look behind to see if Sophie was following. He had seen her sign of acquiescence and was confident that she would come with him.

On the escalator she stood a couple of steps behind him. Once out in the street, the man set off at a brisk pace, Sophie trotting behind, her sandals clicking on the pavement. They arrived at a mansion block and the man entered. He strode across to the lift and held the gate open for her, without looking at her. When they got out of the lift he led the way down the corridor, finally stopping in front of a door and opening it with a key.

She stepped through and stood in the hall as he closed the door behind them.

Follow me, he said. His voice was emotionless. He walked down the hall and into a room with a large window at one end. He drew the curtains across it, and switched on a lamp standing on a small table next to a large leather armchair. The room was expensively furnished in traditional style, with a heavy mahogany dining table and matching chairs at one end, and a large plush sofa covered in deep red velvet.

He sat down in the leather armchair and pointed to the floor in front of him.

Stand there, he said.

Sophie did as she was told.

Lift up your skirt, he ordered.

She did so, raising it almost to the top of her thighs.

Right up to your waist, he said.

She pulled her skirt up high, revealing her knickers. They were white satin, very brief, the front little more than a triangular cache-sexe, the sides mere strips of elastic, though the back did cover her bottom. The knickers were decorated with tiny satin bows around the edge. He reached forward and pulled them down just far enough to give him sight of her pubic mound, and through the screen of hair the beginning of the cleft beneath, its framing labia showing pinkly through the dark thicket.

Turn around and bend over, he said.

She bent double, almost touching her toes. The man pushed her skirt up over her buttocks, then pulled her knickers further down, as far as her knees. She imagined him inspecting her, his eyes minutely focused on the tiny-pursed opening of her rear orifice. She thought he would touch her but he didn’t. She looked up and gazed around the room. All down one side was a large bookcase constructed of polished wood. It was filled with old volumes, some bound in leather. It was a very masculine decor, showing no evidence of a feminine touch. He must be unmarried.

Then she felt his hand touch her, his finger tips running lightly up the inside of her thigh, over her rump, till his hand cupped around one of her buttocks. He put his hand between her legs, and taking in his fingers the soft folds of flesh around her sex, he squeezed her hard. She caught her breath and, fearing she might overbalance, shifted her position slightly.

Keep still, he said curtly.

He took hold of her right labia between forefinger and thumb. Now he found what he was looking for, the little steel stud representing a snake curled in the form of an S which was the Society’s insignia and which all Subjects had inserted into the labia, just below the clitoris, upon initiation. He toyed with it for a while, twisting it, pulling it this way and that.

He took his hand away. Leaving Sophie bending, her skirt raised over her bottom, her knickers about her knees, he went to the far end of the room, where there was a round pouf in black leather, matching the armchair. He pulled it to the centre of the room.

Kneel on this, he said.

Sophie had to pull up her knickers to walk across the room. She knelt on the pouf. The leather felt cold on her knees and hands. The man went over to a chest of drawers and opened the top drawer. From it he took a long thin cane. It had a wooden handle with a silver knob on the end. The cane itself was made of some flexible kind of wood; he swished it a couple of times as if to check its efficacy for the task in hand. Then he pushed Sophie’s head down till it rested on the pouf. She was aware of her raised bottom, vulnerable now. He moved behind her, out of her line of vision, and pulled her skirt back up around her waist. He pulled her knickers down again, just below the curve of her buttocks. Something cold went between her legs, the handle of the cane. He pushed it against her sex, not attempting to penetrate her but just holding the handle, hard and cold, against the soft cleft between her legs, prodding her.

Don’t move. And don’t make a sound, he said.

Then she heard the swish of the cane and the smack as it landed on her rump. There was a sharp, searing pain. The cane came down again, this time a little harder, and in just the same spot. She gasped, and trembled slightly.

Keep still, I said, the man snapped.

The cane landed again. The pain was not quite unbearable, but it would become so if there were many more blows in store. She tried hard to think about why she was submitting to this ordeal. She wanted Roberto to be proud of her, she wanted him to say how well she had behaved, how much she pleased him. But right now she wished the man would stop.

She lost count of the number of blows. It must have been ten or a dozen, maybe more; it seemed to go on and on. But at last he was done. He put the cane back in the drawer. Sophie remained kneeling, her naked bottom burning with the aftermath of the beating. The man stood in front of her. In his hand he had a length of black silk. For one awful moment Sophie thought he was going to strangle her. Instead, he placed the material round her head so as to cover her eyes and tied it at the back, not too tightly. She was aware of him standing close in front of her, and she heard the sound of a zipper being unfastened. She knew what was coming. She could smell the unmistakable odour of a man’s erect organ just under her nose. Smell has the power to go straight into the brain, setting up powerful emotions. The scent of a man’s cock, no matter in what circumstances, always gave Sophie an urgent tug of excitement.

Open your mouth, he ordered.

She did so and he inserted his cock, pushing it right in to the back of her throat so that she almost gagged. Then he pulled it out almost completely, before pushing it back in, this time not quite so far. He held her head with both hands to keep her steady and began to fuck her in the mouth, in a slow but steady rhythm. She didn’t know if she was supposed to help by licking or sucking. He seemed to expect nothing of her except what he ordered, but instinctively she had closed her lips around him. She knelt there passively, letting him use her mouth, his cock pushing in and out. She could feel the rhythm gradually increase and he began to breathe heavily. He fucked on, pulling her head more towards him. Suddenly he grunted and she felt his sperm spurt into her mouth, hitting the roof of her palate. His cock continued to buck and kick in her mouth as the last of his cum, thick and hot, ejaculated. Then he withdrew. She heard him zip himself up again, then he pulled the blindfold off her. He handed it to her.

You needn’t swallow, he said. Spit it out in that.

She did so, the cum white against the black silk. With an oddly tender movement he took the cloth from her and carefully wiped her lips.

You may use the bathroom if you wish, before you leave. You should find a new toothbrush in there if you need it.

He spoke more kindly now that he’d finished with her. But he seemed to want her to leave quickly. In the bathroom she peed, washed her hands and brushed her teeth. Standing with her back to the mirror, she pulled down her knickers and twisted round to see what marks he had left. Across her buttocks were several parallel lines, red weals that would leave bruises.

When she came out he was standing in the hall.

What is your name? he asked.

Sophie.

Goodbye, Sophie, he replied. Perhaps we may meet again.

He opened the front door and closed it after her without any further word.

Chapter Two

When Sophie got to Roberto’s apartment he was sitting on the sofa waiting for her. As she came in the room he looked at his watch.

You’re late. I said seven, on the dot.

Yes, I know, she replied. But I encountered a Member on the way home. He wanted to use me.

A Member? Roberto sounded sceptical. Which Member? Where did you meet him?

On the tube. I know it doesn’t sound very likely, but he must have had some sixth sense about me, or maybe he just recognised me from the database.

There are three hundred women on that, Robert countered.

Don’t you believe me?

Turn around, he said. Now lift up your skirt.

He bent forward and pulled her knickers down to her knees. Delicately he traced the thin red weals across her buttocks.

Poor Sophie, he whispered. He kissed her behind tenderly, then pulled her knickers back up. She turned around to face him. She could see that he was aroused, as always when he found that another Member had used her. He put his hand between her legs and squeezed her softly through the thin satin as he asked her more questions. She was wet already, and she knew that he could feel it. What had she been beaten with? Had she been penetrated? In which orifice? She became increasingly excited as he continued to manipulate her while questioning her. She wanted him to punish her for her lateness or because she’d let herself be used, and then she wanted him to take her, as he usually did at such times. But somehow there was a different mood on him this evening, whether he had been genuinely irritated by her lateness, or whether there was some other reason, she couldn’t be sure. He didn’t offer to beat her, nor did he lay her back on the sofa to fuck her, or bend her across one of its arms to penetrate her from the rear, as he often did. Instead, he made her kneel beside him and required her to satisfy him with her mouth. This she was not at all reluctant to do, on the contrary, but when she had finished he stood up, adjusted his clothing and left the room. There was apparently to be no complementary relief of her own pent-up desires.

He came back a moment later. I’m going to take a shower and dress for dinner, he said. You remember we’re going out. I said we’d be there at 8.30. You must hurry.

While he showered she went into the bedroom and chose her clothes from a selection she kept in the apartment. They were meeting two of Roberto’s business acquaintances at a new restaurant in Knightsbridge. It would be quite smart. She laid out a black velvet cocktail dress she had bought only two weeks ago. It was cut tight across the bust and the hips, with a low neckline. From her underwear drawer she selected a basque in black satin. It was boned to give firm support to her breasts while squeezing in her waist. It came with a little matching pair of black knickers, a thong which would leave no visible panty line.

She went into the bathroom. Roberto stood naked, dripping water onto the bath mat. She gazed at him openly. It still gave her such pleasure to see his body, firm and smooth except for the few curls of dark hair between his nipples and the thick triangle around his cock. He pretended he didn’t notice her looking, though she knew he did. When he was dry he went back into the bedroom to dress and Sophie stepped into the shower. She let the warm water cascade over her body. She rubbed her nipples, feeling them grow hard under her touch. She put her fingers between her legs and felt how slippery desire had made her. She wanted to spread the lubrication upwards and over her clitoris, to stroke it gently as it swelled. But there wasn’t time. Quickly she rinsed herself clean. By the time she was toweling herself Roberto was already back in the bathroom, shaving in front of the mirror. As he did so, she could see his eyes flicker back and forth as he watched her, and she deliberately stretched her arms upwards, slowly patting herself dry under her arms, then under her breasts.

She knew the power of her body. At the age of thirteen her bosom had begun to swell; by fifteen she had breasts that were the envy of her schoolfellows, and a fixation for the boys in her class. Now, in her mid-twenties, they had lost none of their shape and firmness. Her nipples were dark brown, almost black. When erect they stuck out nearly an inch long, hard as hazelnuts. Her belly was taut and flat, and below was a growth of jet-black pubic hair, so luxuriant that before she met Roberto she had to trim it weekly to preserve the sharply defined delta she preferred. But Roberto did not like it trimmed; had forbidden her to curtail it in any way, so that now it was a thick unruly bush. Her legs were long and perfectly tapered, and the extremely short skirts currently in fashion allowed her to show them to advantage. Her bottom was well-proportioned in a womanly way, not the tight little boy’s bum of the models, but, as Roberto put it, a real woman’s ass, round and ripe and juicy, though sleek and firm with no hint of fat on it. She had naturally glossy black hair, which when young, she had worn as a long mane down her back, but which now was cut in a simple but sophisticated bob. Her face, she knew, was not that of the conventional beauty. Probably her mouth was too wide and her nose too long. But her eyes were huge and dark, and men stared at her in the street. She knew they longed to kiss her lips, so full and red and succulent. Even after three years, Roberto couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Nor his hands.

Back in the bedroom she dressed quickly. She put on a new pair of sheer black stockings; then she drew on the basque, taking a deep breath as she fastened its little metal catches up the back. It was tight, almost too tight, but it gave her a wonderful feeling, combining a masochistic sensation of being constricted, regulated, and the pleasure of exhibitionism. The garment thrust her breasts upwards and outwards while accentuating the contrast between her waist and her hips. The little thong covered her pubic triangle, but little else. The dress slipped on over the underwear, a perfect fit. She stepped into strappy black patent-leather heels and went into the bathroom to fix her make-up.

Roberto’s dinner guests were, like most of his social acquaintances, business associates. Bruce was an investment banker from New Zealand. His companion was a blonde called Sharon. She giggled a lot, especially when Bruce made remarks about her bosom, which it had to be admitted, was spectacular, and generously exposed above a clinging low-cut gown. Sophie had thought her own dress a bit on the daring side, but she was demureness itself compared to Sharon. Clearly she was not Bruce’s wife, and Sophie assumed she was an escort Bruce had hired for the occasion.

The other guest was Anthony, a young analyst with an American stockbrokers. He had no companion. Over dinner the conversation was chiefly of money matters, a subject in which Sophie could more than hold her own. Anthony listened intently