Date: Tue, 3 Feb 2009 09:48:00 +0000
From: clever wag <cleverwag@hotmail.com>
Subject: the boy girl club part 1

This is the first part of a bisexual tale involving sex between consenting
adults and younger (though not pre-pubescent) boys and girls. If reading
about explicit intergenerational sexual acts, some of a violent nature,
offends you then please do not read on. Otherwise, enjoy...

I always welcome feedback and suggestions, so feel free to email me at
cleverwag@hotmail.com

Dave Snow

1.

She'd picked the boy well. My beautiful young wife had exquisite taste.

`Do you like him?' she asked.

`I like him very much.'

`Good because I want to please you,' she said, and as a demonstration of
how she wanted to please me she gave my crotch a little squeeze.

`He's just a kid,' I said.

`I know, but look at that body.'

The boy did indeed have the angelic face of a boy but the smooth rippled
musculature of a young god.

`If he's as lovely in reality as he is in the photograph then I think we're
going to have lots of fun.'

`Oh God yes,' she said, and emitted one of those soft little groans that
excite me so much. Then she said: `looking at all these boys has made me
quite wet already'.

`Good.'

We were in the little bar of a private club in Budapest. We were the only
people there, apart from the barman. On the table in front of us were two
heavy leather-bound books. On the covers and spine of each, there was one
single word. On one book there was the word LANY (Hungarian for GIRL) and
on the other there was the word FIU (Hungarian for BOY).

It was the BOY book that my beautiful young wife was perusing now, and she
had chosen a boy. He smiled up at us from the photograph. It wasn't a sweet
smile, but rather cruel, almost a sneer. He was wearing a pair of low
riding jeans and apart from a gold neck-chain nothing else. One hand was
tucked into his jeans, the other was lifted and resting on one of his meaty
pectorals. His stomach was a hard mass of ridges. He was lightly oiled. He
looked amazing, and he knew it.

This boy, I presumed, was now waiting for us in one of the rooms
upstairs. We only had to wait to be summoned.


About a fortnight previously I'd come home from work to be greeted at the
door by my beautiful young wife dressed in one of her sexiest Chanel
dresses, of which she had several (all of them bought for her by me), and
which she usually wore for parties and premieres.

`Are we going somewhere?' I asked, thinking I'd forgotten some event.

`No,' she said, `I'm just feeling horny and I want you to fuck me in this
dress.'

`OK,' I said.  She had a thing for being fucked in expensive clothes. She
liked it even more when those expensive clothes got torn in the process.

`Where's Paulo?' I asked.

`He's in Berlin on a shoot,' she replied.

`Ah my poor baby,' I said, and kissed her neck.

Paulo was her lover of the moment – a 20 year old Italian model, rather
stupid but incredibly beautiful with a fantastic toned body and, according
to my beautiful young wife, a very very good fuck. In fact I knew he was a
very very good fuck because I'd watched them fuck.

She has no difficulty in finding beautiful young lovers, partly because she
is so very beautiful herself, but also because she is a model and so spends
a good deal of time amongst very beautiful models and other beautiful
people. If a new beautiful young male model comes to the Agency that
represents her, it's usually a certainty that she'll want to fuck him, and
almost always gets to.  Or if she spots some beautiful young hunk at a
shoot or on a catwalk, it's not long before they're fucking. Or sometimes
she just goes out and looks for a fuck – in clubs, or at parties, even
on the street.

Since marrying me, three years ago now, I suppose she must have had over 40
lovers, some of them just for the one fuck, but quite a few, if she judged
them to be good fucks (she has very exacting standards), on a longer-term
basis. She'll always tell me whom she's fucked, or is fucking, and enjoys
describing the fucks to me in considerable detail.  I enjoy too. I enjoy it
even more when she lets me watch.

Her tastes have always accorded with my own, so I judge her to have very
good tastes. She has a passion for young men, or perhaps I should say boys,
with defined, smooth bodies, with varying degrees of muscularity, from the
quite heavily muscled to the slim but lean. None of the lovers she has
brought home have been older than about 25, and usually she prefers them to
be 20 or below. The youngest she's fucked was an extraordinarily lovely
schoolboy whom the Agency had spotted.  He was 16 and a virgin. He had the
time of his life.

Then, of course, there are our trips abroad, when I'm accompanying her to a
fashion show or shoot (and if I don't accompany her I let her fuck anyway,
on the condition that she'd tell me about it), or if she's accompanying me
on a business trip, or to one of my homes elsewhere in the world. So she's
fucked Brazilian boys in Rio, rent boys in Amsterdam, bisexual and gay boys
in San Francisco and New York, surfer boys in Sydney, leather boys in
Berlin, blonde young gods in Stockholm, and a couple of exceptionally hot
young Kenyan beach boys in Mombasa (at the same time). Sometimes I've been
told about these fucks, and sometimes I've watched. I've hidden in
cupboards and behind curtains or peering over balconies. In my New York
apartment I've had a two-way mirror installed, which is rather fun.

Paulo was the first young lover of hers who knew I was watching. It had
been her suggestion. It would so turn her on, she'd said.  It would
probably turn Paulo on too, as he was so very vain. In fact he put on quite
a show for me as I sat in the corner of our bedroom and my beautiful young
wife licked his taut hard body, and he kept looking at me and grinning as
he fucked her. All three of us had a wonderful time.

`Next time,' she'd said, `I'm going to ask Paulo if he'd mind if you joined
it a bit more.'

`That would be nice,' I'd replied.

`He was pretty impressed with your cock,' she whispered.

`That's interesting,' I said.

One of the advantages I have over most of my beautiful young wife's many
young lovers is in the size of my cock, which is well above average –
nearly ten inches when it's hard. The other advantage that I have over
these youngsters is that I am extremely wealthy, and therefore able to
accommodate my beautiful young wife's every wish, which I always do,
without argument.

With Paulo away that evening, I pleasured my beautiful young wife to the
best of my ability, and she enjoyed herself, I think. I ripped open the
Chanel dress, played with her tight little model breasts, chewed at her
nipples, ate her out, and fucked her quite lengthily on the kitchen
floor. But after the fuck, I could tell she was pensive and that she wanted
something more from me.

`It was so fantastic fucking Paulo with you watching and him knowing it,'
she said.

`Yes it was,' I said.

`I really really want to do it again,' she said.

`I know, you said.'

`But maybe not with Paulo – but yes of course we should do it with Paulo
again – but maybe we should do it with other boys too...'

`OK,' I said.

Then she asked, `have you ever been to Budapest?'

I wasn't sure what this was leading to, but I answered that yes, I had been
to Budapest, though not in a long while. Like any sensible money-maker, I'd
been there when communist Europe had just started to disintegrate, looking
for opportunities, just as I'd visited all those collapsing capitals.

`There's this club,' she then said.

`In Budapest?'

`Yes, and it's full of the most incredibly beautiful boys'.

`Really,' I said. `And how did you get to hear about this club?'

Still deliciously half-naked as she was, she took my hand and dragged me to
the study.

`You know Glen, the receptionist at the Agency? He showed me some pictures
of these boys, which he'd printed off from the web site, and he gave me the
address...'

She tapped something into the keyboard of the Mac. It wasn't a
straightforward web address.

`You have to do this to get into a special portal,' she said. I was
fascinated. `God this is going to make me really horny,' she said.

A window came up with just two boxes, for a username and password. `I'm
sorry darling I gave them your card details.'

Well I was used enough to that. I didn't mind.

Another simple window came up, with the words KLUB FIU LANY on it, and then
ENTER.  So we were about to enter the carefully protected, highly secret
and probably illegal web site of the BOY GIRL CLUB of Budapest.

`Girls, too,' I said.

`Oh yes, all fantastically beautiful, you won't believe...'

I was relieved to see, once we'd entered, a picture of a boy and a girl who
weren't, mercifully, pre-pubescent, but they were young all the same,
probably in their mid to late teens. They weren't naked either. The boy was
wearing a shirt open to the waist and a pair of baggy jeans.  The girl was
also wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a cropped top revealing her
midriff. They looked as if they could be brother and sister, or even twins,
or a couple of street kids out on a date.  They were heartrendingly
beautiful, and (from what you could see of their bodies) very well shaped
– taut, toned teenagers both. My first suspicion was that they weren't
real, or not real in the sense that they were actually what you might find
in any properly corporeal sense at the BOY GIRL CLUB of Budapest. They were
probably models, stolen from some other web site.

She clicked on, becoming more and more aroused as she did so (those little
groans and whimpers). Now we were seeing the real (I supposed, or hoped)
boys and girls of the BOY GIRL CLUB of Budapest – except of course that
my beautiful young wife was concentrating on the boys.

 I don't think there was a boy there who would have been over the age of 20
at most, and some looked as if they could be 16 or even 15. They were
wearing fewer clothes now, although none was fully nude – usually
topless.  Almost without exception they had smooth, very lean, defined
torsos.  Some were more muscularly endowed than others, but they all shared
that excellence of physical proportion that I had of course noticed in my
sojourns in Hungary, and indeed in the other formerly communist countries
that I had been to all those years ago.

`Oh my Christ,' she said, fingering herself, ` they're so fucking gorgeous
I'm going to come'.

`Let me help you,' I said, and I lowered myself between her legs and licked
her to a climax as she continued to click through the pages.

The final page of the site read: `WE HAVE MORE FOR ALL YOUR TASTES, PLEASE
VISIT US'. And then they displayed the rates, which were not, even by my
standards of expenditure, cheap. In fact the prices were staggering,
massive enough to keep away all but the wealthiest clientele, I
supposed. I'd been to brothels all over the world – boy bars and girl
bars in Thailand, clubs in Germany, in Amsterdam, Prague, in Rio and Costa
Rica and Los Angeles, but I'd never had to pay as much as the BOY GIRL CLUB
of Budapest was demanding.

Nevertheless I made the booking then and there. I was becoming interested
to see if such a place could match up to its promises. They already had my
details so they asked no questions. `Yes Mr Ramsden we will be pleased to
welcome you'.

`God baby you're so good to me,' she groaned.  She let me fuck her hard
again in gratitude. As I crashed her against the wall and tore the already
ripped Chanel dress from her body and thrust my now engorged cock into her,
she threw her head back and screamed louder than she'd ever screamed
before.

And so it was that my beautiful young wife and I ended up in the client bar
of the BOY GIRL CLUB of Budapest.

to be continued...