Rakes & Light O’ Loves — Return to the Hellfire Club

The 300-year-old secret society makes a scintillating return…

An envelope launched into the room from beneath the door, fluttering across the university office’s polished cedar planks. The Dean’s footsteps were light and quick. A hand reached for the embroidered paper snatching it up. Turning it over, Dean Wharton ran a finger over the raised logo.

Michelle Wharton, Dean of Stratton University, returned to her desk, setting the envelope to the side. But even as focused as she was on reviewing the annual budget, the emblem taunted her.

“No.” she said aloud for no one to hear.

But her mind wandered to what she would enjoy later that evening. And despite her famous self-control, Michelle felt her freshly waxed pussy was already tingling.

She mused over what was stirring her so.

Was it the outfit already laid out on her bed at home, the luxurious silken robe so thin it was practically sheer?

Or was it the thrill of secrecy and the taboo? Of doing something unthinkable by her friends and colleagues right under their noses.

Or was it the power she would hold? Of being able to choose who was worthy and casting aside those who weren’t.

The secret gathering of a club three hundred years old, founded by her distant relative, Philip the Duke of Wharton, in 1719, would have its inaugural assembly tonight, and her lineage placed her at the top of the power pyramid.

Control, Michelle. Restraint. You are not Aphrodite yet. Michelle reminded herself.

Michelle returned to her work, studiously examining each page, line by line, while her pussy ached for the clock to pass midnight.

The old port town of Stratton had a rich history, but it was below the streets where the real secrets lay. Through the town’s generations of growth, the tunnels below were fortified into a network of secret passages.

First used primarily for smuggling during the opium trade, then given a more noble purpose of moving runaway slaves from the south to safer havens. Finally, they returned to criminal activities by bootleggers moving booze through the prohibition; its veins went in all directions to places long forgotten.

Many rumors existed of the tunnels, from nefarious cult activities to pagan burial grounds and lost treasure caches. There were several incidents of eager explorers becoming lost, never to be seen again.

Entry points were sealed off long ago to stop curious citizens from venturing into the tunnels, and all municipal bodies unilaterally denied their very existence.

But a few doors remained and tonight, they would open those deep beneath the town library to members of the Hellfire Club.

A small door, hidden behind bookshelves, lay on the basement floor at the far back corner, and one by one, the members descended the narrow stairs into a small subbasement room.

At first glance, it could be seen as a root or wine cellar, hardly a place to hold clandestine meetings for more than a half dozen bodies.

A lone candle burned with a flickering flame but even illuminated; one could easily miss seeing the mouth of the tunnel. Carved out of raw earth and stone, then laid in an arch of brickwork, the blackness beckoned.

The glow from the candle disappeared within the first two steps; it was pure darkness inside. How long the tunnel would go and where it went required faith, trust, and courage, each step stamping an oath of secrecy. Not a whisper of what transpires in the Hellfire Club would ever see the light of day.

The punishment for breaking that pledge would be severe, swift, and merciless. Handed out by the Erinyes, a legion of watchers and the descendants of the Greek deities of vengeance, they would relentlessly hunt down and destroy those who betrayed the laws of the Hellfire Club.

As the members walked through the blackness, they bumped into the Erinyes, who stood silent against the walls. Shrieks and apologies went unacknowledged, and more than a few attendees gasped as their blindly reaching hands found the stoic guards naked in the darkness. The giggles and sighs that escaped when fingers and hands rubbed the guard’s exposed genitalia went ignored.

Then, as they rounded a corner, a crescent of light shone through a door, guiding the members to the end of the passage and the beginning of their night in the Hellfire Club.

“Welcome Rakes and Good Evening, Light O’ Loves!” announced Harvey Feldman to the gathering of men and women mingling and milling about in the Great Room. “Rejoice in the resurrection of the Hellfire Club!” he called out, raising his goblet high above him.

Cheers, hoots, whistles, and hollers filled the chamber; an enormous void carved out of the limestone. The ruling members supervised its transformation from a simple, barren cave to a cavern of opulence.

Floor-to-ceiling carpets covered every trace of stone; luxurious couches, enormous pillows, and oversized, upholstered chairs had been spread across the room.

Tables stocked with a lavish spread of food sat in the center of the ample space lit with medieval-looking torches burning in a rainbow of colors from the modern lights within.

On the far wall, members could fill goblets and chalices straight from tapped casks. Next to those, the planners had set up a proper bar with row upon row of every liquor one could desire.

The excess bordered on grotesque, but the attendees reveled in it with wretched glee.

The key to keeping the secrets of the Hellfire club lay not in anonymity but transparency. No one wore masks; everyone was equally exposed, threatened, and protected.

Harvey Feldman was the backer of the Hellfire Club. It was his undrainable basins of money that paid for everything, from the construction and polish of the chambers down to the last bottle of liquor. He spared no expense and had men working steadfastly below ground to complete this den of iniquity as he had those above ground, recruiting members to fill it.

In the “above world,” Harvey Feldman was a business titan, a pillar of the community, chairman of the board of directors for the diocese, and the founder of numerous charities. He and his wife, Laura, were Stratton University’s most significant financial donors.

But here, below ground, in the Hellfire Club, Harvey became Cronus, the Titan God of Harvest, and standing next to him was his wife, Laura. She also wore a new identity, as Rhea, the Titan Goddess of Fertility and Generation and spoken of as “the one that flows.” Indeed, rumors of her astonishing orgasms made the rounds.

Michelle stepped out from the crowd and stood between Cronus and Rhea as Aphrodite, the Olympic Goddess of Beauty and Passion, and she looked the part.

Her blonde hair, fastened up in intricate braids, highlighted her slender nose and high cheekbones with make-up glittered with gold and silver. Her eyelids, painted in azure blue, were accentuated by thick, black eyeliner making her eyes stand out like the light of Venus in the night sky. Wearing that thinnest silk robe hid nothing but invited everyone’s eyes to linger on her figure.

“Rakes and Light O’ Loves,” she called out. “It’s time to select your rooms. Our roguish Rakes may now enter either the Beggar’s Bennison or proceed to the Friar’s Room and join in numbers as the Friars of St. Francis.”

The men separated from the company of their wives, girlfriends, or mistresses and moved off into designated rooms.

Aphrodite smiled at the women, “My stunning beauties, my gorgeous Light O’ Loves,” she sang out, “You may now select your rooms. Those of you wishing to be wooed will go to Merryland and wait for your consorts to win your hand.

Then, those of you who are bolder, may enter the Beggar’s Bennison, where it will be you who chooses the man, or the cock, you want.” At Aphrodite’s emphasis on “cock”, many of the Light O’ Loves blushed, giggled or gave a purr.

“And others of you, who feel truly brazen or need to have your sins and demons cast out from your salacious souls, will choose the Friar’s room — where you will have no choice at all.”

The Light O’ Loves began to move toward their chosen destination with excited laughter and bright smiles. But Aphrodite interrupted their elated chatter.

“But, for those who may be having second thoughts and thinking you witnessed nothing and have caused no harm — well, by all means, try your luck entering the tunnel.”

With her words spoken, Aphrodite raised her arms and clapped her hands together loudly, “Erinyes!” she yelled, “Show yourselves!”

The chamber door for the tunnel, the only way in or out, slid open. Then, from the darkness came six large, muscular, intimidating, and fully naked men with coal-black skin, who lined up, shoulder to shoulder. Gasps filled the room as the Light O’ Loves stared at the very large and very thick black cocks dangling between the legs of the Erinyes. Even flaccid, these guards of the Hellfire club displayed penises larger than most of the Rakes, fully erect.

Some of the Light O’ Loves murmured, wondering if perhaps breaking the rules would deliver an endurable punishment.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” Aphrodite asked, knowing what the women were thinking. “But I promise you it won’t be pleasant, quick, or limited to a singular occurrence. I advise against breaking your oath.”

Entering Merryland, Aphrodite scanned the room for the nymph she’d been eyeing for weeks, Daphne, that sweet little redheaded bank teller with the great tits….

Ever since this club moved from idle chat in the small circle of swingers to becoming a reality, Michelle, now transformed into the Goddess of Beauty and Passion, Aphrodite, had ached to sink her teeth and tongue into the mousy girl with the hourglass figure. And when the application arrived on her desk with Daphne’s name, the university Dean said a silent prayer the innocent-looking bank teller wouldn’t fail the background check.

When Michelle flipped through the application and saw the required fully nude pictures for all applicants, her hand automatically fell between her thighs. A moan escaped her lips as she stared at her infatuation.

Three pictures were mandated; a full frontal with arms raised and hands held together, one seated with hands on knees, legs open, and barefoot. The applicant chose the final image, displaying themselves in their favorite sexual position.

After staring at Daphne’s first two pictures, Michelle’s pussy was hot and damp, but when she looked at the third, Aphrodite appeared to overtake the stoic Dean. Her fingers slipped inside her pulsing sex while she looked at Daphne on all fours. Her spectacular breasts hung down with long, firm nipples. Her red hair hung like a sash over a shoulder while her pretty face looked back over the other. Her ass, a perfect peach, showcased her treasure; bare and glistening, her lovely labia looking like a butterfly.

At that point, the Dean rose from her chair, walked to her office door, and locked it. Then she sat back down, spread her legs, and masturbated, fantasizing about the night she’d have her chance to have Daphne.

Now she stood in Merryland, the secret alcove of these women sinners, and when Aphrodite found her redheaded angel, she was going to kneel and worship at the altar of her sex.

A flash of red caught Aphrodite’s eye, and there near the end of the lavish oak and chestnut bar, she saw Daphne. She was moving away from the group of women lounging at the bar, huddled in excited chatter.

Aphrodite moved in the fashion of the goddess whose name she bore, floating with an elegance and poise that spoke of her power and allure. Most women gave beckoning looks and flirtatious smiles and moved out of her path in deference. Aphrodite ignored them all; she locked her eyes on Daphne.

And Daphne moved to present herself to Aphrodite as a goddess deserved — nude and supplicating. Daphne began undressing the moment she watched the goddess turn toward her, and with Aphrodite’s final steps, Daphne shed the last of her garments and knelt.

“Daphne, do you know you are named after the Naiad nymph whom Apollo pursued across the lands?” asked Aphrodite, standing over her with her toes touching the girl’s knees.

“Yes, my Queen,” Daphne answered, her head bowed to the floor.

“Tell me, Daphne. Will you turn yourself into a laurel tree if I seek to claim you for myself?”

“No, my Queen; I am yours to use as you wish,” answered the stunning beauty, her red hair shimmering like a stream caught under the light of a blood moon.

“Show me,” Aphrodite commanded.

At once, Daphne raised her head slightly and kissed Aphrodite’s feet, then let her lips follow her calves and thighs before pausing and looking up at her Queen. Aphrodite raised her foot off the floor, sliding it up Daphne’s thigh, then the Queen of the Hellfire Club pressed her toes against Daphne’s pussy, her toes teasing the velvety folds of her entrancing labia.

“Stand,” Aphrodite commanded again, and the girl rose from her knees instantly. “What do you want to experience here, Daphne?” her Queen asked while her fingers traced the shape of Daphne’s phenomenal tits and strummed her spectacular nipples.

“Everything,” Daphne answered, her cheeks flushed in the shade matching her hair.

“What are your limits?” Aphrodite asked her prize plaything as she passed her hand over the angelic body of the ginger-haired minx.

“Only those you give me, my Queen,” Daphne answered, sighing in pleasure as Aphrodite entered her soaking pussy with a finger, teasing her opening with slow, gentle strokes.

But it was Aphrodite that moaned at the sweetness she tasted in Daphne’s breath as they kissed. Her lips were soft like rose petals, and the tip of her tongue carried the lightning loosed from Eros’ bow.

Removing her touch from Daphne’s perfect treasure box, Aphrodite brought her pussy-glazed finger to the nymph’s mouth, using her nectar to gloss her lips.

The kiss that followed nearly collapsed them both.

With her body lit with desire, Aphrodite pushed Daphne to the wall, her gorgeous breasts bouncing and jiggling with every move. A momentary look of surprise on Daphne’s face turned to a lip-biting grin as she watched her goddess shed her sheer, silken robe.

Tall and slender with a lovely bosom and perfectly groomed from her French-tipped nails to her invitingly trimmed pussy, Aphrodite exuded a woman’s confidence in her sexual power.

“On the table, nymph, pose for me as you did for your picture.”

“Yes, my Queen.” A moment later, Daphne was on top of the wide table, dipping low, her hard nipples touching the chill surface of the ancient cedar-topped table.

She spread her knees as wide as her shoulders and arched her hips up; Daphne felt a trickle of nectar spill over her protruding labia. The coolness of the air touched her exposed asshole and throbbing pussy like a kiss.

Aphrodite leaned down, bringing her mouth against Daphne’s ear. “Have you ever been with a woman before?”

“No, my Queen. You are the first.” Daphne’s answered. A small crowd of Rakes and Light O’ Loves gathered to watch this first seduction, and Daphne’s body trembled with anticipation and desire. “Ohhh — ,” she sighed as she felt Aphrodite’s tongue stroke along her pussy. “Ohhh God!” she moaned as the goddess circled the tip of her tongue over her asshole.

Her hands gripped the table’s edge as Aphrodite worked her pussy and ass toward her first orgasm of the evening; she teetered on the edge of losing control.

Then suddenly — everything stopped.

Aphrodite pulled back from Daphne, leaving her pussy quivering and desperate to climax.

“What made you decide to give yourself to me, Daphne?” asked Aphrodite while she combed her fingers up and down the young vixen’s back, then sliding under and clutching her perfect bosom.

“I — I want to be like you, my Queen,” she stammered. “And every master should have an eager and dedicated apprentice. I want it to be me.”

“You will need to pass several rigorous trials, my nymph. Are you prepared to follow every instruction?”

“I am.” answered Daphne.

“Good. Now get off the table and come with me.” Aphrodite commanded.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Daphne as she slipped herself to the floor to stand alongside her goddess.

“The Friar’s Room. Awaiting us are several members in the order of St. Francis.” Aphrodite answered. Then turning to face her worshipper, said, “In your application, you stated that the more you fuck, the more you cum, the more desperate your need becomes, and feel nothing but lust and pleasure. Is that true?”

Goosebumps flared across Daphne’s breasts; her nipples hardened to even stiffer points. “Yes, it is. After a third orgasm, I want only to be a slut and do my best to free my authentic whore.”

Aphrodite leaned down and kissed the girl.

“You’re going have more than three orgasms from more than three hard cocks, and your eyes will be on me each time you cum.”

Unable to speak, Daphne only nodded her consent.

Then Aphrodite took her pupils trembling hand, exited Merryland, strode across the room, and entered another opulent den; the Friar’s Room.

She smiled at the many waiting Friars of St. Francis and the lovely selection of marvelous cocks.

It was time to begin.

The rituals, debauchery and secrets continue in the upcoming chapter…

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