February rain, sluicing over gritty black snow rainbowed with road grease in the headlights; speckled tiny ice shards crackled, melted then snaked down the soaked windshield before the next sweep of the wipers. February in Pittsburgh. Caroline Hibbert shivered even against the blasting heater. She glanced at the dashboard clock. Four in the morning, no time to be making important decisions but it seemed most of the important decisions got made for her just because she never thought it was good time to make them.

She idly scratched at the rawness under her soft sweater, ignoring the memory of what had created the red little tingles on her flesh along her ribs, down her back … at her wrists. No time to make a decision but this one, she wanted to make.

She and Dave had been together three years; first friends, then friends with benefits, then something a little tighter. They still didn’t live together but at thirty, she didn’t figure she really wanted a man in her house full time, in her face, controlling her TV remote … even though Carrie didn’t watch much television. It was fine. Dave was hot when she needed heat, then one day things got a lot more fired up. A bonfire blasted and she jumped into it right beside him.

Two years earlier a friend told a friend who told a brother of Dave’s second cousin about something called the Magnolia Men’s Club. Carrie’d never heard of it and she’d lived in Pittsburgh her entire life. Dave, a technical consultant, was a new transplant, moving to the city for a good job and an even better cost of living. Pittsburgh had the Steelers and it had the Penguins. A parking violation cost only five bucks if one paid in the little yellow boxes right away, and a beer was never more than two bucks even after happy hour. A new resident of the ‘Burgh could forgive the city the Pittsburgh Pirates for all those other benefits. Skiing was less than a hour away, there were three rivers for boating and summer fun … and the rent for his Mount Washington apartment with a spectacular view was less than half the monthly expense to live in that shack back in Los Angeles. Dave was pretty happy. He seemed happy with Carrie and especially happy that she’d explore the Magnolia Men’s Club with him.

She shifted behind the wheel, stopped at a red light on Allegheny Avenue and sighed. She ached. She always hurt a bit after a night at the Club. Recalling a few of the positions her body had been twisted into and the strangeness that always permeated memories of her participation, images and scents wafted over her. Roses. Oil. Burning wax. Cuban cigar smoke. Fine brandy. The way the satin ropes were tied just a little tighter than usual at her ankles and wrists. Hot moisture seeped from her, soaking her lace panties and probably her favorite wool slacks. She knew better than to go there right after work, it always cost her some piece of clothing.

Another sigh rolled through her chest. She was so finished with it all but she didn’t have to quit. She was an initiated member in her own rights. Rights? Ha! Within the walls of the Magnolia Men’s Club, women had no rights. They were catapulted back into another era, another time. A time that had always fascinated her, but she knew, even in costume and accepting the basest of drives from men pretending to also be legitimate personage of the early 1900’s, it wasn’t what really captivated her. Not really.

Maybe it wasn’t the Club that had her thinking about this decision. Maybe it was just time to leave Dave once and for all. If she felt like partaking in the insane goings on at the Club, she could continue to go there. So maybe he’d be there, maybe not. Half the time she never really knew who was fucking her anyway. One cock was the same as the next. And two at a time … well, what difference did it make what man they were attached to? She wanted to leave Dave. Period. Not because he’d done anything to her … but because he did nothing for her. Nothing that made her blood warm or her thoughts focus on him at all. Too bad too, because he wanted to marry her.

The light turned green then yellow and again red. Four in the morning; major dead time in Pittsburgh. No one behind, no one coming toward her, no one on the streets. Who cared if she sat through another cycle? Who cared if she ran the light? Who cared?

She closed her eyes and let her memories float and filter. Remembered the last time she was thinking about leaving Dave. That was the weekend he suggested the Club.

“Listen Carrie! It’s supposed to be something crazy, you know and right up your alley too. I understand it’s totally steeped in that Victorian era shit you’re so into. Kinda like your house and all those antiques you’re always looking for. It could be fun! And baby, it’s nothing new to us. We’ve been swinging and doing this shit for a while. It might be just another thing to try. What do you say?”

She shrugged, gazed out his big plate glass windows down at the sparking city. She always thought it was a filthy shame what they did to that huge mansion he lived in at the corner of McCardle and Grand View. She could almost hear the ghosts of those once living there rolling in their graves and grumbling. Nothing worse than remolded Victorians. “What do I say? Sounds interesting, but how are you proposing to get in? You’re telling me it’s some kind of private club. Don’t you need a sponsor or something?”

“Don’t have a clue,” he grinned and opened his laptop. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

There was some history about the architecture of an old house called the Magnolia Men’s Club, but no address, not even a basic location. Nothing to indicate that it even still existed.

“Sheesh, Dave. If it’s still standing, it could be anywhere in the country.”

“Nope, it’s here. That’s what my cuz told me. Let me call him, maybe he can get me more information. We’re getting in Carrie. No two ways about it. I gotta get us into this thing!”

She shrugged and flipped channels with the remote; halfheartedly listened as he called his cousin then another man then a third man. That final conversation took a bit longer and Dave was back at the computer.

“What are you doing now?” Carrie yawned wide. It was getting late and she was losing interest in this secret club nobody ever heard of that had supposedly existed for over a hundred years. Right there in her home town? Not likely.

“Uh … I need to get financial information to this dude. Other shit, you know, to prove I’ve never been arrested or indicted or anything. These guys are serious.” He clacked away at the keys and she stood behind him.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Letting them know all this stuff? Your bank accounts, place of employment, personal history?”

“It’s what they want. Then he said I’d have to go to a specific doctor for a physical. If everything clears, I can go on to the next step, whatever that is, but at least I’ll get my nose into that place.”

“What about me?”

“First things first, babydoll. Let’s get me in then he said they’ll let you in.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll be there in a few, Carrie. Then we’ll fuck, okay?”

She watched his brow curl as he continued to focus on fulfilling all the requirements in his scribbled notes. “Yeah, fine. If I’m still awake.”

Finally his eyes rose. “Oh, I’ll get you awake, baby. Get naked. We got those new toys to try out. I’ll be there soon as I’m done with this.”

Yeah, Dave was a real charmer. All his information was e-mailed to an investigative firm in Colorado. Two weeks later he received an envelope in his mailbox. Not in the mail, but in his mailbox. He was so damn excited he didn’t open it until she arrived. Damn thing was sealed with a real wax marking. Blood red and pressed with the form of a magnolia. Ah well, Carrie thought. It wasn’t all that hard to get in after all.

But when he broke the wax and unfolded the heavy paper, all that was written was:

Forester Magnolia, Legacy
Parker Williams, President
Franklin James, Master

And a phone number with an area code they couldn’t trace. “Shall I call?” Dave asked, a strange little-boy-lost-and-afraid look on his face.

“You’re the one who started this. Call. Don’t call. You’re choice.”

“I’m calling.” He dialed. Spoke briefly. “No. Yes sir, I understand,” then hung up.

“What?”

Dave shrugged. “Can’t talk to him unless I’m alone.”

She could see he was antsy to get back to it and stood, pulled on her coat and picked up her purse. “No problem. I’m meeting Jenna for dinner anyway.”

“At the Grand Concourse?”

“Yeah. Later,” and she left.

Carrie didn’t see or hear from Dave for three weeks. It almost felt good. She puttered around the house, went antiquing, cleaned the Persian carpet in the living room and framed a few ancient photos she’d picked up months ago. They’d be perfect in the entry hall next to the big mahogany coat tree.

As she straightened the third elegantly framed wedding photo of people unknown from nearly a century ago, there was a knock at the door. Dave stood, smiling, a dozen roses in his hand. “Missed you, baby.”

“Missed you too.” She took the rusty pink roses and put them in an antique crystal vase, arranging them and wondering if she’d ever seen roses quite that color before. “Where’ve you been?”

He took her hand and excitedly tugged her to the velvet settee, knocking the doily off the armrest as he settled. “Man, I have so much to tell you. I got in!”

“In? That club? You’re kidding?”

“Nope. It’s real! Fuck, Carrie, it’s damn amazing! You will not believe it!”

“When do I get to go?”

“Um …” he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s the scoop. You have to go through all the stuff I did. I’ve kinda … well … already started the process. I gave them your credit card info, social security number, bank account numbers.”

“You what?” She stood abruptly but he pulled her back to the cushion. It was a strange move, grabbing her like that; a kind of possessive, demanding move that excited and scared her at once. She wrenched her wrist free and glared. “I never gave you permission to do that, David!”

“I know. But I’m your sponsor and it really worked well for me. Seeing that I had all that information made them look more seriously at letting you in. Trust me … this is so fucking worth it!”

“What’s it like?” Did she really ask that? Right on the heel of reprimanding him for exposing her credit information to God knows who?

“Un-fucking-believable! This place is amazing! You won’t believe it! We’re in costume and talk differently. And the women! Fucking astounding! Not like hookers or anything. All dressed prim and proper in period clothes. Corsets, petticoats, button down shoes, the works!”

She squirmed, imagining it all. “Sounds a little like the Anachronistic Society.”

“Yeah, a little. But trust me, we’re not playing. And Carrie … the sex! It’ll make your hair curl. It’s so strange, I mean, women all covered like that, men smoking cigars and drinking fine brandy or hundred year old scotch and … it’s amazing!”

“I take it it’s … amazing,” she teased. “What’s the place like?”

“This building is over a hundred and fifty years old and they tell me it’s exactly the way it was back then. Jesus, it feels different in there. When you get into your clothes –”

“What clothes? Do they provide the costumes?”

“Baby, these aren’t costumes, they’re the real thing and yeah, all provided. You get a room and everything’s laid out for you. You just, I don’t know … become … someone else. So, are you ready to do this?”

She sighed, fought a tremble of excitement and swept back her loose hair. “Sure. Tonight?”

“Ah … no. It doesn’t work quite like that. See, I’m your sponsor and you need to go through the whole process. Here,” he handed her the envelope. “You have to have the physical. There’s a plane ticket in there, you leave Tuesday.”

“Leave? Leave where?”

“St. Louis. You’ll be checking in to a clinic there. It takes three days, then after you get back another few days before all the tests are in. If you pass, you’re in! And … if you don’t, at least you’ve gotten a hell of a check up.”

She fingered the ticket. “Why wouldn’t I pass?”

“That’s the spirit. Now, get the days off and go do this thing. I’d like to get you in the Club so I can start fucking you too.”

She ignored the distaste that crawled up her throat; burning a strange jealousy she’d never felt before where Dave was concerned. “What’s all this cost?”

“Nothing to you, baby.”

“I’m serious. Who’s paying for all this medical testing and costumes and hundred year old scotch?”

“Like I said … I’m your sponsor. You don’t need to think about anything, don’t need to worry about anything. It’s all taken care of.”

“Huh.”

“And one more thing, Carrie. You can’t talk about this. Not to anyone but me and never with people around … not ever. That has to be clearly understood and you need to guarantee you’ll never, ever tell a soul. Never.”

“Fine,” she agreed with a casual shrug. “I vow, guarantee and promise, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Good girl.”

“What happens after I get accepted?”

“We’ll talk about that later.”

Carrie chewed her lip. “Where is this … Club … anyway?”

“Can’t tell you. Now, are you gonna do this or not?”

Her belly churned, her heart pounded, even her hands were clammy. “Okay.”

But from that moment until Tuesday as she stood in line to board the flight, Carrie still wasn’t completely sure she wanted to do this. St. Louis was cold. The clinic was normal. The tests, thorough and mostly uncomfortable, some even strange, measuring her levels of sexual arousal. She did several written tests that asked questions that had little to nothing to do with her medical or family health history, and she sat for hours talking with a therapist. Odd, real odd. But the oddest part was that every day, no matter the time, when she called Dave he didn’t answer his phone. Not at the office, not on his cell. And Carrie suddenly had a feeling she might lose him to this all new culture called the Magnolia Men’s Club. Walking away was one thing, but losing him? Now that was another thing all together. For the first time since she arrived in St. Louis she started to seriously want to get into this Club.

A horn tooted politely and she blinked, her eyes shot to rearview mirror and the car behind her. She pulled through the intersection; three blocks south and she could take the highway entrance and head home, but instead Carrie circled the block and returned the way she’d come. The sound of the sloshing wet snow under her tires hummed and splattered.

On a side street she slowed, pulled to the curb and looked up at the darkened stone building; at the one and only indication that the house was something different. Sparkling in the streetlamp was the twelve inch square, highly polished and colorful tile inset near the peaked roof … a blushing magnolia. The front porch was ornate with carved stone, deep and ugly in the hideous night. The massive double doors were inlayed with polished mahogany and brass fittings. The porch lamp actually burned a soft, low flame from an ancient gas source installed when the structure was built. Carrie imagined that the doors were heavy, weighted from the beveled glass and ominous warning of what went on inside … but of course, she could never know. No one ever entered the Magnolia Men’s Club from the front door.

Members entered through a clandestine blackened steel door at the back of the property and only with a particular key. Female members did not have a key; they were to pull a silent ringer and wait, no matter how inclement the Pittsburgh weather, until someone came to receive them. One then traveled along a dingy tunnel beneath beautiful gardens protected from the sun with an arched roof of concord grapes and blooming honeysuckle that attracted bees and any other insect who liked to sting. Their summer constant buzz efficiently drowned out any sound of the progressive city just beyond the high stone walls.

But the tunnel? That freaked Carrie out each and every time she entered. It ended in a dark basement hallway lined with closed doors, the secrets behind which it took her months to discover. From there, up the back stairs and into the magnificent house.

And oh yes, the house was exactly as Dave had described it … amazing. Perfect in its antiquity, it smelled of old money gripping its talons and holding on to all its powerful intentions. Everything was original, meticulously cared for and maintained. Aubusson and Persian carpets, fine teak wood floors, mahogany paneling in the stairwells. Her mind mentally toured the beautiful place.

No electricity, softly lit by candle, hearth fire or gas lamp. The parlor furniture, spectacular in its weight and volume, covered with silks and velvets to match the flocked fabric covering the walls. Ferns and plants choked the spaces but were exactly where they were meant to be and it seemed even they knew it, flourishing in the limited light and boasting vitality. Across the grand foyer, the Matron’s office. Beyond that, the finest dining room Carrie had every seen. Yes, she adored the old house … but …

Other memories pushed forward. Memories she never could quite determine were good or bad, pleasant or frightening. The large parlor foot ottoman covered with elegantly needle pointed pink magnolias, the scent of it rich and heady against her face when she was forced over it and taken without warning. The strange ‘toys’ the members used; the brass molded rope of balls, sometime inserted into her, occasionally used to slam against her exposed flesh. The thick row of solid wood posts proudly displayed along the pink marble mantel like trophies. Those were often added to the activity for density and depth to enhance her or the men’s enjoyment. Polished mahogany dildos, go figure.

But most of these things she could cope with as some form of excitement, some means of gaining enjoyment for herself and/or the men using her. It was actually a give and take … in a strange Victorian kind of way. Skirts were tossed over her head and proper undergarments destroyed with forceful removal. Occasionally she was taken down to nothing but her corset and once … fully naked … like that night … in the dining room … on that table. The night of her initiation. Carrie drew in a breath and it vibrated in a ragged rhythm with the vivid memory.

Three months after she was accepted into the Club, Dave picked her up after work as usual on a Friday night. He said nothing, his face intense. Dave really got into all this craziness. He loved getting as many fucks in as he could in one night, loved swapping women, loved watching other men take Carrie. It was a sort of sexual addiction for him. She could take it or leave it, but seeing his enjoyment, Carrie always went along. What did it matter anyway? Right? At least she thought that was right.

“Why are you so quiet? You pissed at me?” She sighed as he hit the Parkway west and headed to Northside and the Magnolia Men’s Club.

“Be quiet.”

“Excuse me?”

“Quiet. You do know how to be quiet, don’t you?” His voice was harsh and she realized he was already getting into the role.

Carry grinned, settled into the deep leather seat and sighed, expecting Dave too to be quiet. He was almost like a method actor, the way he prepared for Club nights. But that night he wasn’t quiet. Oh, his voice was quiet but his words roared in her head.

“I’ve done everything I can to get you accepted. This is the last chance, woman. Grit your teeth and fucking bear it or it’s over. Us, the Club, everything. Do … you … understand?”

Hell no, she didn’t understand but she said nothing. There was an unspoken threat behind the blunt verbal warning she wasn’t about to mess with … not on Club night. No siree. “I understand,” she whispered. She truly didn’t understand, nor had she any clue what lay ahead that night.

All pretty standard. Since she’d arrived with Dave, he took her inside, along the tunnel and up into the house. He took her to the Matron’s office door, snapped two quick knocks then hissed in her ear. “Don’t fuck it up.” He left, heading up to his room to change into Mr. Trenton Farley, III, as he was known inside the walls of the Magnolia Men’s Club. Carry was simply called Alicia, a name she hated but whatever. It was all a game. Right?

The polished pocket doors before her slid opened slightly and she was tugged into the Matron’s office; the old bat wearing voluminous black satin skirts and a silly black lace veil dripping from the tight grey bun at the top of her head, eyed Carrie from head to toe. The man who did the tugging stood still as stone, his eyes ahead. It was always hard to get into the whole thing while still wearing her regular clothes and it took everything inside of Carrie not to simply turn and walk out. She’d never been treated quite that way before. Something was obviously different that night. The old woman grunted and sat in her big chair behind her big desk and opened her big ledger book. She slid a pair of real granny glasses onto her nose and grunted again.

“Disrobe her, Henry.”

“What?” Carrie spat. “I can handle my own clothes, Matron. May I go to my room now?” Damn, she really did try to say it without being too God awful belligerent.

The old biddy’s eyes rose. “Henry?”

And Henry did as he was told, practically fighting Carrie the whole way. He removed her coat, her blazer, her blouse and slacks and even her panties and bra. For three months Carry had been fucked and manhandled and brought to astounding orgasmic pleasures as a Magnolia Club associate, but never before had she actually felt naked. And in truth, it was the first time since coming to the Club that she actually was … fully … vulnerably … naked.

Henry fitted a mask over her head and eyes, it felt light and itchy and she wondered what it looked like. Silk ropes were bound tight at her wrists and she was led by the ropes out into the chill of the grand foyer. She could not see much through the mask but knew the trek well. Led by her temporary keeper she passed through the parlor; Carrie was pawed and fondled by a number of hands. Large hands. Some raw and callused, some smooth as silk, some rough and some playful. All possessive and all demanding.

She could sense more than see the huge dining room. Next, her senses were all she had as she was forcefully laid onto the polished wood table, the openings of her mask aimed up at the ceiling, leaving nothing else visible … and making it feel all the more ominous. Her wrists were loosened only long enough to rebind them and her ankles. Carrie was spread eagle and shivering on the table. Men crowded the room, filling it with Cuban cigar smoke, the whisper of fine liquor and testosterone. Carrie shuddered at the memory, clearly recalling the sensation that she just might die that night.

Few words were spoken over her. Hands braced her shoulders and opened thighs. Then … the pain. Unbelievable pain she wasn’t expecting as her right nipple was pierced and the left lip of her sex was also pierced. Small metal rings were inserted into the new holes and with tears soaking her face beneath the mask, Carrie thought maybe it was over. But it was not.

Searing flesh, the smell of burning meat then the shooting agony from the small brand marked on her right wrist. “Jesus!” she screamed and struggled but it was Dave’s voice close to her ear. Dave’s voice that soothed and terrified her at once.

“You’re doing good, Alicia.”

For long moments she lay, panting and mentally choosing which hurt to focus on. Then a voice she didn’t recognize. Resonant and bold, the sound of it pressing right through her body.

“I, Forester Magnolia, legacy and sole descendant of the original creators of this, the Magnolia Men’s Club, do hereby proclaim this woman the property of this membership. Miss Alicia, your life belongs to this Club.”

That was the moment she felt the delicate chain jingle through one ring and then the other. “I place her as your responsibility, Mr. Trenton Farley, III. You answer for this fully pinned and marked woman. Do you accept.”

“I accept and herby offer her to this gathering.”

If it wasn’t for the burning brand, the aching piercings and the tight ropes, what followed might have been fun. It wasn’t. Carrie felt she should leave Dave and the Club that very night, but she didn’t. Another decision left to gather dust in her soul.

There were not rights and honors bestowed upon her after initiation, no blessings or special favors. She still had to wait at the damn door to be brought inside and she still had to keep her mouth shut. Even with the rings and brand (a small infinity sign she hid just beneath the face of her wrist watch), she managed to keep her real life separate … but it was getting harder. The thing that had originally attracted her to the Club had lost its luster. It was hard to admire the hand carved dark wood moldings along the stairwell when it melted with memories of being lashed to the banister and taken my several men, more men than she could clearly count. After three, all she could do was brace herself. It only hurt more and more and the members were not picky or gentle about which way or path they used to get inside her either.

Sex at home came to an abrupt halt after Carrie’s initiation. Dave seldom touched her, even when they went out with friends. If they were alone, he never kissed her and always left without a word. She knew he was going back to the Magnolia. He was addicted. Period. But … was she? This had gone on for nearly two years!

“No,” Carrie said over the roar of the dashboard heater. “No, I’m not.” Her breath steamed against the inside of the passenger window. Carrie opened the door and stood in the spitting sleet, her eyes focused on the Magnolia emblem high above. “I’m leaving Dave. Finished with him. And,” she drew in a deep breath, “I’m finished with you too.” Her glove covered hand shot a pointed finger at the ponderous stone Victorian building.

A lightness accompanied her as she returned behind the wheel. A thousand ideas flowed in her head that would have never seeded there before the decision. She could leave town. She could go anywhere. She was free, free, free! She smiled and released a mammoth sigh of relief. “I’m free.”

Carrie put the car in gear, pulled into the street, turned and made it halfway into the intersection. Glass shattered, metal crushed and pressed as the truck plowed into her and eventually rolled her car over and over, smashing it like a pancake against the side of the high stone wall that hid the Magnolia Men’s Club garden.

***

“Miss Alicia?” A man’s voice. A hand shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Miss Alicia.”