Narration:CMNF Club

Chapter 1 by DMBFFF

They started their trip to the CMNF Club from Workton: much of it two-lane.

Despite the name, the people in Workton didn’t seem to be much more busy, nor as unhappy, as many in the other nearby towns. The eleven meet at a donut shop. They chatted and then got into their vehicles: two cars and two motorcycles. A few other women left a few hours earlier.

A good summer day was starting. Even in Workton, the air smelled nice and alive.

For almost all of the trip, one car generally followed the other by 300 meters or less.

In the first car, JJR was the man, but Mia drove. Sophia and Addy were in the back: a bit nervous even though they have been to the Club a few times. First visits to the Club tended to make a lot of women (and even a few men) nervous.

Because Sophia and Addy had already been to the Club, they had gotten past some of the initial apprehension, but things were going to be ratcheted up for them: though they’d also be getting a bit more money and the intensity would likely level off the next time or so they went.

JJR said to the two: “Don’t worry, ladies, you know the safe words and gestures, you’ve been to the Club, many of them know what you look like, you can quit anytime, and most of what we’ll be doing there we’ve done already at our [his and Mia’s] place.”

Added Mia, “500 bucks is bucks; 1500 for the three of us.”

“Bristol and Lucy are only getting 200 each, and their positions are even shakier.” He was referring to Teddy, Lucy, Bristol, Fatma, and Hillary, who were in the other car.

“Those three are even more newbies: first time going to the Club.”

“Less money because all they have to do is be there.”

“Marlene and Nisha are only getting 100 each.”

“Kinda understandable, given their uppity-ness.”

“I’m getting $50.” said JJR. He intended it as a sort of parody of a whine, but it came out more serious sounding than he wanted.

“Oh poor frikin’ baby.” said Mia, as JJR smiled.

“The guy’s a pervert!” came from the backseat.

“Who, JJR or Roark.”

“Both!” came the expected reply.

“and you’re catering to it,” said JJR to no one in particular.

“500 bucks is 500 bucks,” came from the backseat.

JJR was happy the two were getting some confidence even if it was a little at his expense.

“and JJR gets to play master.” said Mia.

In the second car was the other five.

Bristol and Lucy were the youngest of the eleven, probably not even 21 years old [Note: they were of legal age].

Fatma and Bristol sat in the back seat on either side of Teddy: Teddy and Bristol both stilted like statues; Fatma looking relaxed, mildly disinterested, often looking out the window. Her hair was short: like a boy during the first half of 20th Century or butchy lesbian. She wore a Lady Gaga T-shirt and jeans, her nails were short but painted a nice turquoise, and she chewed on a dentifrice stick that from another car could easily look like she was smoking a cigarillo.

Lucy drove. Hillary sat in the front passenger seat. She was the oldest by far: “I’m a sexy-genarian” she occasionally joked. She was also somewhat relaxed and the most comfortable. She had blond hair which poured over her shoulders a bit—longer than it’s been for a couple decades; and her accent was a mix of Southern and mid-Atlantic. She occasionally told Lucy to relax in her driving: that she was doing fine.

About 15 minutes from the CMNF Club, Hillary opened a small case and pulled out a flask of Jack Daniels, and poured a shot into a small flute: the first of two. While she could put back hard liquor with the rest of the guys—often surprising some men, she sipped most of the first shot, and then all of the second, of the distilled liquor smoothly.

“The Club generally frowns on anything harder than 25 proof or a bottle of wine per person per table per three hours.”

Lucy eyed her worriedly.

“Don’t worry hon, I had some legal training. If the police stop us, I’ll tell them you had no knowledge.”

Hillary wasn’t a lush, but she felt a cushioning was appropriate.

“Wanna shot?”

“No thanks.”

“Good for you, girl. We need more women to be sober.”

She then put the case away.

“You look like one of my husband’s girlfriends he had years ago. I used to get jealous of him, but actually, it relieves me of a lot of pressure. That man is so oversexed: I’m surprised he hasn’t gone to the Club, much less join it.”

[pause]

“Oh why do I have to go?” she asked no one in particular, but with barely a hint of complaint.

“Maybe Roark pays you because you’re so gorgeous.” nervously offered Teddy.

Hillary smiled, humoured, “Oh, you’re such a sweetie. Some girl’s going to fall in love with you!”

After travelling well into the country, Mia turned into a private roadway. Mia drove eighty or so meters, past the first security station: a little more than a wave to and from the staff; then a couple more hundred meters, registered with another security station. They were a little bit more meticulous, but still friendly; and then she drove into the parking lot.

The building complex in the distance looked modern. Not quite “brutalist” architecture, but neither Victorian, gothic, neo-classical, or whatever. Lots of glass, steel, and concrete; but also lots of trees, and many other plants, many growing wild as well as well-tended.

It was pretty big, however: over 30 000 square meters (over 300 000 square feet) of floor space. It was the Main CMNF Building. Behind it was an even bigger greenhouse: not much higher but several times the volume; which existed for inclement weather. Some parts of the greenhouse was so green one couldn’t tell that one was in a greenhouse at all but rather some tropical jungle.

JJR and “his” women, saw Teddy and “his” women, drive in. All nine got out. Greetings. Soon after, they saw the two Silencers—semi-custom-made motorcycles that could run on gas and/or alt fuels—notably ethanol and/or methanol, and even at full speed were quieter than most motorcycles, or for that matter, cars; often so inaudible as not to be noticed: the opposite of Harley-Davidsons and Japanese motorcycles. They rode like the wind—maybe even quieter.

The dykes on bikes had arrived, though, when they took their helmets off, their hair was nice and long.

Before JJR could do anything, Hillary, carrying a shoulder bag, said “JJR, dear, I’m going to go ahead and undress in the Outer Lobby. I’ll meet you there.”

“Sure thing, Missus C.”

While still in the parking lot, and outside their vehicles, JJR, an actual club member, spoke with some authority to the newbies and semi-newbies.

“First off, again, welcome, thanks for coming, and I hope you all enjoy yourselves. So here’s some extra rules for you five."

“We got a scene going and because we don’t want you to mar it by being asymmetrical in your relating to me, Mia, Sophia, and Addy, to an extent I want you to not be near us. I suggest no closer than thirty meters, preferably double that, maybe a third that if you’re not in the line of sight, nor audible—which shouldn’t be too difficult as while it’s not the loudest place you ever been to, there will be at times lots of people.

“Teddy, you can join me if, (a) we’re both alone, (b) you’re alone with me and my women, or (c) I’m alone with you and your women. Bristol, Lucy, or Fatma, if either, both, or combo of you want to join me and my women, you’ll have to play the scene my women are playing, and play it all the way. If you don’t, you’ll still get paid this time, and I’ll still sponsor you as a guest, at least for a month or two, but you’ll unlikely be hired again by Roark or me.

“Capische?”

“What will be your scene?”

“What we somewhat talked about.” Still facing Bristol, Lucy and Fatma, he continued, “You girls might be too scared to join us, but if you do, and you do it reasonably well, Roark might look at you more favourably—maybe you’ll get several hundred, maybe a thousand, plus Club guest status over the next several months; maybe other things, and of course, there’s the experience, or experiences, that some women, or at least a few of the women here, talk positively about, but if you don’t join now, you’ll still likely have a chance to do it next time, so don’t feel too pressured.

“Capishe?”

“Capishe.” said each of the girls while nodding a bit.

“Marlene and Nisha” [slight pause] “I guess it doesn’t matter if you drop by, but again, we’re playing a scene.”

“Yeah, we know you like to play your scenes, JJR” said Marlene, “What kinky BDSM are you going to inflict on these two poor little girls?”

[Note: again, the “girls” are of legal age—the Club is pretty strict and thorough about not letting in minors.]

“Don’t worry girls: JJR is rather mild as a kinkster.” said Nisha in a semi-sarcastic semi-whisper. “He’s not into bloodletting—at least not deliberately.”

Turning to JJR, “Hey JJR how hard do you intend to whip these poor little girls?”

Sophia and Addy got a little scared: even Lucy and Bristol were a bit apprehensive.

“Yeah yeah. Thank you Nisha.” loudly monotoned JJR in a somewhat exaggerated voice.

“At least I don’t have to whip my Beloved to get her or myself off.” continued Nisha as Marlene gave her a perpendicular hug. Both giggled and then kissed.

“Oh how frikin’ romantic, two little lesbo lovebirds.”

“Hey come with us girls. We can make sweet luv to you as no man can.” said Marlene slyly before she wagged her tongue at them—also somewhat using it to beckon them—in a way that’d impress even Gene Simmons.

Addy and Sophia laughed. While still a little scared, they were finding humour, and some reassurance, in the dialogue. Teddy was also humoured but he was also getting yet another flush of sexual arousal.

“Yeah yeah. Thank you Marlene!”

“Why do you girls want to have sex with Jian Ghomeshi, anyway?” Nisha asked the two.

“Hey, I’m not frikin’ Jian Ghomeshi. When a woman kneels in front of me, punching her is not the first thing that comes to my mind. Not even the tenth.”

“Yeah, your cock’s needs supersede the kinkier-part-of-your-brain’s needs. That’s what I like about you, JJR”

“Yeah yeah.”

Said Fatma, “Many Amriken, Canadian, and Turkish men like to look at pretty girls. A few even like to tie them up, spahnk, and wheep them.” It makes them hard.

JRR, pretended the last statement wasn’t made.

[Pause.]

“Okay, now the rules about not joining us don’t really apply until we get passed the end of the Outside Corridor.”

JJR then addressed all eight women.

“Now, do you want to undress outside or inside?”

“Might as well here. Put the clothes into the car.” said Mia.

“I think Bristol and Lucy should strip in the Inside Lobby.”; then turning his head to Teddy, “We’ll meet you there.” Turning to his three women, “you three might as well here; and yeah, put the clothes into the car.”

All seven women meet the club’s age, BMI, and other moderate health and beauty requirements to qualify for the male-to-female ratios (though even without meeting such, a woman was otherwise allowed in). All rated at level 2: perhaps the top 2% of attractiveness of women in general; even Mia, who was at least 8 years older than any of the other six women. “It’s my healthy lifestyle,” she occasionally half-joked in the past.

Mia thoughtfully nodded in agreement. Then she, Sophia, and Addy, as well as Marlene and Nisha, and Fatma, began to undress in the parking lot, while Teddy, Lucy, and Bristol stood and waited. Teddy looked away a bit coyly, while Lucy and Bristol looked in continued apprehension, particularly as Sophia and Addy, while undressing, seemed a bit apprehensive as well. There was talk that the two and Mia were going to be tied up a bit.

Addressing the three newbies JJR said “Teddy, you don’t have to turn your head away while the women strip. After all, you’ll be seeing such in the Lobby, and hundreds of naked women in the Main CMNF Area. Enjoy it Teddy. It’s great watching attractive women get even more attractive.”;

then turning to Lucy and Bristol “and men will be watching you two too.”

He smiled, knowing it got Lucy and Bristol a little more nervous. It was bad enough watching the other women undress. They know soon they will have to do the same.

“Don’t worry young ladies, I’m sure they’ll find you quite attractive.” said JJR deliberately ominously.

Their nervousness increased.

“Don’t worry young ladies, I’m sure JJR finds you quite attractive.” sarcastically and skillfully mimicked Marlene.

Nisha perpendicularly hugged Marlene as they both laughed, Marlene’s bare shoulder lightly pressed and rubbed—inadvertently—maybe—Nisha’s bare breast.

The four younger women smiled again, even Fatma was smirking a little.

Before long, the six women were undressed.

Except for a few necklaces; arm wallets, each having two small but easily visible braids of red and yellow; rings, including platinum wedding rings; bracelets; chromium belly chains; and anklets; Marlene and Nisha were naked.

Mia, Sophia, and Addy were completely naked, even taking off their jewelry and other adornments and offering such to JRR who put them in a small cloth bag.

Marlene and Nisha held each other at arms’ lengths, looking at each other’s faces and bodies.

“You’re so radiant in your naked beauty, my beloved.” said Marlene to Nisha, in Valley girl talk.

“I neh-yoh [I know], my beloved,” Nisha replied in the same accent, “but your naked beauty is as radiant.”

JJR did a bit of an eye-roll.

JJR was nonetheless again impressed by the beauty of the five women, and circled them, gazing at their beautiful naked forms.

“Frikin’ beautiful.”

By the way JJR looked at Sophia and Addy, they wandered if he was going to rough fuck them right then and there: the guy seemed capable of it.

Marlene and Nisha thought “whatever.”

Despite the names, complexion-wise, Marlene is about 5% (maybe 10%) the darker/Nisha is about 5% (maybe 10%) the lighter, of the two.

JRR told Bristol and Lucy to gather Mia’s, Sophia’s, and Addy’s clothes and minor possessions, put them in the trunk of his car, and to get the canvas bag of restraints, his switch, and his whip.

Bristol fearfully carried the bag to him. When she handed it to him, he suddenly gripped her hand, and she recoiled in fear, dropping the bag. He almost as quickly let her go, laughing a little.

“You look terrified.” he somewhat smiled.

Then turning his head almost as suddenly, he ordered Lucy: “I want to hear the trunk closed!”

Lucy closed it.

“That’s good.” Turning to Mia, Sophia, and Addy. “Now you three women can’t access to your clothes until I allow it.”

He looked back at Bristol, who was still frightened.

“Please don’t scare me.” she pleaded softly.

“Okay.” He turned his head, with neither sympathy, humour, nor annoyance.

Marlene and Nisha put their clothes into the saddlebags of their motorcycles and started their stroll to the entrance of the main building, each having an arm around the waist of the other, somewhat nonchalant about their nudity: two naked women in luv.

JJR, of course, kept his clothes on: semi-formal; as would Teddy his: a somewhat-nerdy three piece suit. Good thing he had a good shower this morning (they all did): polyester can get quite hot and uncomfortable on a day like this. Not only was it T-shirt weather, but for many of the women here, it was as if even such could be too uncomfortably concealing, confining, and hot. It was very much so for many of the men: were their attentions not so taken by such women.

Good thing too the building has a small special cool area—complete with a vestibule that serves as a sort of airlock, or more aptly, hot/cold air lock—for men, for when they get too hot and sweaty due to weather, clothes, and naked women all around them. Generally the temperatures in the building and greenhouse were set for naked women, particularly the petite ones, not for generally big well-dressed men. At the time, the temperature was around 29ºC (84.2ºF). Inside the main building, it was cooler, but not much: the air conditioner was set only to 25ºC (77ºF).

“Playtime starts!” said JJR.

'''C. Roark appeared. People looked his way. He was the celebrity to many there. A few yelled their hellos, even strangers, though most left him alone, respecting his space. If they wanted, they’d eventually get their chance to talk with him.'''

He was the essential founder of the CMNF Club, the owner of the land rented to the CMNF Club, the owner of the CMNF Hotel and other properties near Workton, and properties such as MT Consortium (renting apartments at twice or thrice the rents of nearby buildings, but with hefty indirect subsidies for female tenants who go around naked, money for such subsidies provided by voluntary, mostly male, contributors—a niche market for sure)—the consortium having over 10 000 units total, of which he owns about 27% of.

He also owns companies or good-sized fractions of companies that are diverse: some barely making a profit and some operating at net losses, but are buttressed partially by those that make lots of profit. He invested in a few companies of questionable ethics—such as tobacco—while at the same time giving at times over half the dividends or capital gains of such on anti-smoking initiatives (ranging from promoting dentifrice sticks, selling his own brand: CANCER cigarettes—complete with poison symbols all over, including on the cigarettes themselves; and paying people not to smoke as proof that habits can be broken).

Like many rich people, he not only makes associates of friends as well as friends of associates, but the former is increasingly happening, such as members to his mostly (de facto) polygynous family: a few of his many (i.e. 10s) of children and trusted elder "wives."

He's a hectomillionaire-possible-billionaire (or hard-hectomillionaire/soft-billionaire): the latter is hard to tell as like a few Wall Street blowhards or those in “Silly Valley,” most of his assets aren’t terribly liquid. His investment corporation, Maple Leaf Holdings, bought 1% of Facebook for $200 million (check the Wikipedia article if you're unsure), less than 10 years later became over $2 billion. Now it's slowly divesting that stock.

He's not only eccentric sexually, but also a bit by appearance and presence; nor did he look typical insofar that he didn’t have a three-piece-suit; and he tends to speak with more candour than many of those of his economic status, often being self-effacing: a man who rarely drinks the Kool-Aid, nor expects you to; a man comfortable with stare fights, long silences, failed negotiations, admitting to losing the odd moral argument, and more-often-than-not winning in the end.''

[size=+1]Then there is the hair. His hair is longer than over 75% of the women in the Club: longer than, say, 90% of the women in North America and Europe, certainly longer than over 95%, of those women his age minus ten years, or older. [b]Rock-star hair, metal-head hair, hair-band hair. Think Ian Asbury in the 80s, Fabio, Michael Bolton, Diamond Dave/David Lee Roth, Kim Thayer, and [the guy in DOA]—though perhaps longer and fuller than at least two or three of the aforementioned[/b].

His hair is black with a few gray streaks, particularly a large one that was somewhat reminiscent of a skunk, somewhat held back with a few light bands made of coarse plant fibers and a hollow ring-frame made of platinum, somewhat secure: part holding the hair, part decoration, and part possible protection (at least it’d make slashing the temples a little harder if someone wanted to try it). It gave him a bit of a Tolkienesque or Elfquest appearance.

His facial hair consists of long side-burns, almost "mutton chops" though straightened, "to give it a feral look," somewhere between a Kenny Rogers, Elvis during 1968—as per likely a few velvet paintings, Michael Nesmith—maybe, and Wolverine, but again more so. The sideburns began slightly higher up the cheekbones and aside from no mustache or soul patch, a shorter strip of beard joined the sideburns below the chin.

'''Was it natural, was it genetic, or implants? Far from male pattern baldness, his hairline was lower on the forehead than most men. His arms were also hairy, even his knuckles. Was he Neanderthal or part-Neanderthal? "My forehead, chin, and supraorbital ridges are more Cro-Magnon," he once quipped.'''

Rumour has it that he had his scalp hair and possibly his facial hair lengthened: having long hairs—possibly animal or artificial—glued to ends of his own: hair-follicle-by-hair follicle. Such was also the case of some of the women at the Club, including a few of his wives. If so, it would have taken tens, maybe a few hundred, hours to do so, even with a team of estheticians, but the results of such would be indistinguishable to real hair, save that it'd be generally longer (than biology allows most men, and even some women), stronger, and more resistant to chemicals and UV rays (and maybe that each follicle had a bulge a few millimeters long, and about 120 microns thick, where the last few millimeters of the short natural follicle adheres to the few millimeters of the bottom end of the long artificial one), and like natural hair, it’d be good for months, and to an extent, years.[/size][/quote]

He wore a long sleeve white shirt. He often did: the thickness being between that of a typical shirt and jean jacket.

Over this was article like a shirt but shape more like a white overcoat or lab-coat, with large pockets, again of plant fibers, but was far dressier.

At other times, he wore a tweed jacket: tailor-made to also allow greater freedom of movement than the typical.

His pants were light smoky blue jeans, though tailor-made with more metal studs. In addition to regular pockets, they also had a few extra small pockets. They had three pelvic zippers: one typical-looking; two others that were generally concealed, their purpose was to easily facilitate CMNF sex. Ditto the briefs he wore; and ditto—between the jeans and briefs, unseen—the satin chaps-of-sorts he wore that further enabled his jeans freer movement.

As a businessman, he owned a small specialty business selling such clothes, some of which are purchased by Club members. They cost a few times more, but as they generally weren’t made to order, but rather made in some bulk, they were thus cheaper-per-unit than otherwise, with a good returns and financing policy.

His belt was vegetable and mineral: hemp, some bark, some chrome.

It was in his several pockets where he had dry ice (for body cooling).

He wore boots that looked a bit like army boots, with dark green (lincoln green) laces; though much of the boots were under the pant cuffs. He had several such pairs of boots often polished and shined, with laces removed, by one of his wives.

He rarely wore jewelry, save brass-knuckle-like big plain but shiny chrome rings he had in his pocket that he often wore over evening gloves: the primary reason was how the shininess of the metal contrasted well with the somewhat matte cloth.[/quote]

He waved to the many.

Four [again naked] women were with him: three who were his wives, the fourth being a unique guest.

All wore bracelets or anklets: each had a blue colour signal and a red-and-yellow signal.

The first three were not restrained. They had (other) jewelry and adornments, one had a shell necklace, another a (generally non-BDSM) collar-of-sorts, another a (generally non-BDSM) pink collar with stones (non-precious), and necklaces with varying pendants—including some which indicated their unique marital status re: C. Roark.

One wore an old but new-looking mechanical watch on her ankle, though more for show.

The fourth woman was "alt-right" media reporter/activist Lauren Levant. She's pretty with long blond hair, brown eyes, and proportionate body. She was born in Toronto a few US presidents earlier; raised and generally residing in BC.

https://rationalwiki.org/wiki/Lauren_Southern

(for source and bigger pic) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lauren_Southern_2.jpg



She had a thick black fetish collar with 4 rings—with locked leash, a ball gag in her mouth—and she was drooling a bit, and because she seem to adore Donald Trump—she certainly advocated for him, she was made to wear a "Make America Great" red baseball cap.

C. Roark lead her on a leash and used an extendable switch to guide her.

Her breasts were bound somewhat shibari style. Her hands were cuffed behind her back with rope made of materials that made it not too tight nor uncomfortable, but was nonetheless strong and unyielding.

Her back and buttocks had a few welts, but nothing intense, much less permanent.

Like the others, she had a brazilian: C. Roark not only insisted on it, but watched, often joking when she yelled in pain.

"You know, some of the ladies have means that’d greatly ameliorate that pain for you."

When someone commented on her hairless genitalia, C. Roark gave it a squeeze.

"Eat your heart out, Donald Trump. This cute pussy is beyond your reach: at least currently." Then looking to her, he asked, "Would you like Donald Trump to grab your pussy?"

She eye-rolled, indignant. "It wouldn’t be worse than being manhandled by a creep like you!" she angrily thought.

He gave her a hard but affectionate slap on her bare buttocks, as if he read her mind. "That’s the spirit, my pretty. You might turn out to be a rebel gal after all."