The Club - Ep. 06 - The Spark

Previously in The Club:

Heather and Claudia, two strangers drawn to a secret casting, arrived at a luxurious villa where pleasure is the currency--and the tests are anything but ordinary. Claudia has already been called into a private room, leaving Heather alone with her thoughts, her fantasies--and a growing sense of anticipation she can no longer quiet. Now, as she waits for her turn, she's invited to relax by the pool.

This story is part of an ongoing series. For earlier chapters and more, check my profile.

CHAPTER 6 -- THE SPARK

They moved down a narrow path between hedges and pale fabric. Heather's footsteps were silent on the warm stone. The air still hadn't cooled. As they stepped into the open, she felt the breeze move over her skin--and suddenly became aware of how little she was wearing. The bikini Elin had picked was still clinging like it belonged to someone bolder. The top lifted her breasts high and round, the bottoms framed her hips in clean, deliberate lines. She hadn't worn something like this before. Not like this. But as she moved, she felt it again: the quiet charge of being seen. And maybe... the echo of wanting it.

Then the space opened around her--broad and green and humming with low music. It felt almost familiar. Like the beginning of a garden party.

There was music, low and rhythmic. Bare feet, long shadows. The scent of fruit and something floral--jasmine, maybe. People leaned against cushions or each other, talked quietly in the shade, shared drinks, touched shoulders. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud.

But the calm didn't feel casual. It felt lived-in. Like this wasn't arranged for a special day--just a continuation of what always happened here. Like someone had simply left the doors open, and this was what the house looked like when no one was watching.

Invitation only.

Don't ask.

Don't post.

Heather felt it settle in her. A kind of tension, stretched between elegance and expectation.

The pool dominated the space.

Long, deep, almost too precise. This wasn't for decoration. It had been built to be used--measured, swum, trained. You could tell from the length, the lane markings, the angle of the steps.

Someone was still using it that way. A man, mid-thirties maybe, moved through the water in steady laps, each turn efficient, exact. His focus never broke.

But not everyone swam.

Near the shallower end, a couple floated together. The woman clung loosely to the man's shoulders, her legs drifting around his waist. They weren't kissing, not exactly--but their mouths were close. One of her hands was under the water, somewhere between his chest and stomach. Heather couldn't tell. She didn't need to.

At the edge, another woman leaned back against the tiles, her arms stretched behind her. A man stood in front of her, half-submerged, his hand slowly brushing the inside of her thigh as they spoke--heads tilted close, like people who were still deciding whether to cross a line or had already crossed it hours ago.

People were scattered across the space--lounging, standing, watching. Not frozen in poses, but relaxed in the kind of way that comes from knowing you're allowed to want.

One woman sat on a cushioned bench between two men. One handed her a glass, the other traced a line along her knee with the back of his hand. The woman didn't react, but she didn't move away either. Her eyes were closed.

Elin had started pointing out people. Names, little facts. Heather tried to listen, nodded once or twice, gave a few polite handshakes to those in their direct path. But the information slid right past her. Faces blurred. Details evaporated. Her body was reacting faster than her mind could process.

It wasn't just arousal. It was the way her skin registered heat. The way her eyes caught every drop of water. The way muscles moved beneath wet fabric.

A man walked by, shorts still damp, clinging to his hips. The curve of his lower back was exposed just long enough for her to imagine tracing it. Another sat near the edge, legs spread, arms resting behind him. His chest rose slowly, a thin line of hair vanishing into his waistband.

A long table stood in the shade, scattered with bowls of fruit, wine, and finger food. The fruit seemed especially popular--grapes, cherries, strawberries, all ripe and easy to share. Heather noticed a woman--tall, with freckled shoulders and a slow, feline grace--reclining on one elbow while a man leaned over her, holding a strawberry just above her lips. She smiled as she took it, biting gently, the juice touching the corner of her mouth. He brushed it away with his thumb. Their rhythm was unhurried. Private.

Heather's body was quiet on the outside. Inside, everything flickered.

She passed another man who had just pulled himself from the water. His muscles were slick, defined, moving with the precision of someone used to being watched. Her eyes caught the way the fabric clung to his body, tight across the front. She imagined the string at the hip--one small pull. What would fall, what would rise.

She pressed her thighs together slightly as she walked. Just for a moment.

The air around her felt charged. Not with tension--but with permission. She adjusted the shirt loosely hanging over her shoulders--still unbuttoned, still not quite hiding anything. She hadn't decided whether it made her feel braver or safer.

And then Elin slowed.

She didn't say anything. Just stopped.

Heather followed her gaze.

A man and a woman sat close together on a low, white sofa. They weren't touching. But the space between them was small. Unspoken. Focused.

They were too near now not to acknowledge. Too close for silence.

Heather stopped walking.

The woman looked up. No greeting. No smile. Just a subtle nod. Like she'd been watching Heather for a while already.

Heather returned it.

The man shifted slightly, made space with a soft motion of his hand, as if brushing warmth into the cushion beside him.

Elin's presence faded. No farewell, no words--just the soft sense that Heather was no longer being led.

She sat.

Not too close. But close enough.

The fabric was warm beneath her. The silence wasn't awkward. The woman tilted her head and asked, simply:

"First time here?"

Heather gave a slow nod. "Is it that obvious?"

"Relax," she said with a small smile."We don't bite."A beat."Unless you want us to."

Heather gave a soft laugh--nervous, but not uncomfortable.

The woman was in her early to mid-forties, Heather guessed--with a confidence that didn't need to prove itself. Her shirt hung open--thin, white, borrowed from a man or made to look like it. One side fell lower than the other, revealing the soft underside of one breast whenever she leaned forward. Her breasts weren't high or firm like a girl's--but full, beautifully shaped, with a natural weight that shifted with her movements, casually framed by the drape of her shirt. Her skin was evenly tanned, no sharp lines or marks--like she hadn't worn much more than this in weeks. One curved freckle sat beneath her collarbone. Her hair was dark beneath the color, sun-lightened at the surface, loosely pinned with a few strands curling at her temples.

There was something unpolished about her, but not careless. Like her body had nothing left to hide--and no reason to.

"I'm Ava," she said simply, then glanced down at Heather's bikini. "Did you bring that yourself, or was it one of Elin's picks?"

"Elin chose it," Heather said.

Ava smiled knowingly. "Yeah. That's her thing."

Heather wasn't sure if that meant Ava admired Elin's taste--or didn't care for clothes at all. Maybe she just preferred being naked most of the time.

The man beside her hadn't said a word yet. He had broad shoulders, dark hair still damp, a calm, steady gaze. He looked younger than Ava. He looked younger than Ava. Not by much. But enough to make Heather wonder how long they'd been a pair. Not striking in a model-perfect way, but attractive in a way that settled in slowly. Like someone you'd notice twice.

He wore dark swim trunks, nothing tight, nothing flashy. But the fabric pulled a little where his thigh met his hip, and Heather's eyes caught the slight curve beneath. Not enough to stare at--just enough to register. To wonder.

She looked away quickly. But the image stayed.

He turned slightly toward her then, his voice low and easy. "I'm Jonas."

There was a pause--pleasant, not awkward--before he added, "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

"By the way, I'm Heather," she said.

It felt like a normal exchange, but she wasn't sure what kind of conversation this was supposed to be. Her mind was already circling. Did people here just... chat? Or were they already past that? These two looked like the kind of people who didn't need small talk. Who probably met on sex parties and never stopped.

Heather was terrible at small talk in settings like this--especially when her brain was busy overanalyzing every glance, every silence.

Luckily, Ava stepped in. She began talking lightly about her time at university, something about how the people in philosophy always had the best drugs, and how she'd once gone topless to a seminar by accident. It was funny, maybe even charming--but it also gave Heather something to hang on to. A rhythm. A story.

When Ava paused, Heather asked, "How did you two meet?"

Ava gave her a small grin. "Oh, at a party," she said. "Jonas could do something no one else had managed before."

She didn't elaborate.

Heather pictured it before she could stop herself. And instantly wished she hadn't. Or had a better view.

Jonas didn't say much after that. But his hand rested near hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth of it. Not touching--just... there. Ava kept talking, one story leading into another, and Heather found herself relaxing into the rhythm. The conversation wasn't flirtatious. Not quite. But it circled around things. Touched on moments. Ava's eyes moved between them in a way that felt deliberate. Like she was watching for something.

At one point, Heather said something--she didn't even remember what--and Jonas laughed softly. It wasn't loud or sudden. It just happened close to her, and his fingers brushed her arm in a way that didn't feel planned.

Heather didn't move.

The moment held. Ava saw it.

For a second, Heather wasn't sure what she was allowed to do. Or who was waiting for what.

Then she turned. Just slightly. Her face closer to his than before.

And kissed him.

Softly. Just once.

But it changed everything.

Jonas didn't rush. His hand moved slowly, settling at her thigh, then higher. Heather's breath caught--but she didn't pull away. His fingers skimmed the edge of her bikini, then pressed lightly through the fabric. Once. Then again.

A spark.

Then a surge.

She came fast. Too fast. Her body arched slightly, a tremor running through her. She couldn't stop it. Couldn't hold it in. Not even the sound that escaped her lips. Not even the trembling in her legs. Jonas was still holding her, his hand steady at her waist, surprised but calm. Her fingers found his wrist--gripping, then tightening--like she needed him to anchor her, or push him away. She wasn't sure which.

It was over in seconds. But it didn't feel small.

She blinked. Her breath hitched--once, twice. Her vision blurred. Something inside her shifted. A breath. A sob.

Ava's voice came gently, like from a distance. "Wow," she said, soft and amused. "He never did that with me."

Heather touched her cheek. Maybe a tear. Maybe not. Her breath was still shaky, but she wasn't falling apart. Not really.

Jonas hadn't moved. His hand still rested lightly against her waist, steady and warm. He didn't speak. Didn't ask. Just waited.

Ava sat quietly. Not watching, not turning away. Her presence felt easy. Grounded. One of her fingers brushed against Heather's wrist--barely a touch, more a reminder: You're not alone.

Jonas broke the long silence with a small smile. "You just got out of a convent, huh?"

Heather let out a breath--half laugh, half relief. "It's quite an arousing place here."

A breeze moved through the garden again, softer this time. And when Heather looked up, she saw Claudia. She was walking toward them barefoot, hair damp from a shower, a light summer dress clinging to her hips. She moved casually, but with a purpose--like she knew exactly where to find her.

Heather stood. She turned to Ava and Jonas. "Excuse me," she said quietly.

Then she walked toward Claudia. They met halfway. Claudia didn't speak. She just opened her arms. Heather stepped in. Let herself be held. The scent of Claudia's shampoo reached her--warm, herbal, familiar. It calmed her. For a long moment, nothing moved. No explanation. No apology. Just breath against breath.

Then Claudia asked softly, "You okay?" Heather nodded.

A pause.

"How was it?"

Heather hesitated. Then, quietly: "I had sex. With a man. And a woman."

Claudia tilted her head. "Me too."

Heather gave a breath of a laugh. Claudia smiled into her neck. "Thought so."

That was all. And it was enough. Claudia pulled back just a little. "Come on. Let's get dressed."