Private club

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After a party, we head to a club to meet some of the peo­ple from the party. It’s a pri­vate club, exclu­sive, the kind where you have to know some­one to get in. Set off the main drag, it’s hard to find — just a dirty red door set down in the end of a dingy alley.

I’m dressed to the nines. Black leather high-waisted skirt — it sleeks down over my hips and up over my abdomen to stop just under­neath my unfet­tered breasts. A panel in the back removes to expose my round ass, accen­tu­ated by a min­i­mal g-string. White tai­lored but­ton down shirt, just sheer enough to hint at my choco­late nip­ples beneath. A sleek fedora crowns my head of shin­ing black hair, and with D on my arm, resplen­dent in his gor­geous black suit, we cut a very dash­ing fig­ure as a couple.

At the door, we show a card to get in. It’s that kind of club — the kind you have to know about, the kind that doesn’t even have a name. You either know about it, or you don’t.

Our friends are in the back. Kitschy booths line the wall like hip throw­backs to a fifties diner that never was, and they’ve taken up a cor­ner, piled into three or four booths, sprawled over an addi­tional table or two. Our host­ess rises to greet us, kisses D on the cheek, but me full on the mouth. She presses her body against mine, push­ing her tongue past my lips, tast­ing me, sip­ping me like fine wine.

Her hands roam over my body, skim­ming over the shirt, paus­ing at the hid­den panel. “Show me,” she orders me. “I’ve been wait­ing all night to see this.”

My hands trem­ble as I fum­ble at the top but­ton, a usu­ally easy task made abnor­mally dif­fi­cult with her eyes burn­ing into each inch of exposed flesh. I’m clumsy and what should take a few min­utes takes an eter­nity as I strug­gle to push each but­ton through the sud­denly resis­tant fab­ric. She grows impa­tient, push­ing my hands aside to unbut­ton the last two but­tons her­self, slid­ing the thin white fab­ric off my shoul­der to expose the curves of my breasts, held aloft by the leather embrace of the skirt’s waist cincher.

She holds me at arm’s length, exam­in­ing me like she would a piece in a museum, turn­ing me. From the cor­ner of my eye, I see D shrug­ging out of his jacket to take a seat to watch the show.

She skims her palms over my arms, back to my shoul­ders and then down the slope of my breasts, paus­ing over the nip­ples as they harden beneath her touch. I’m speech­less, held in thrall by her gaze, prac­ti­cally breath­less, almost gasp­ing for air as though need­ing her per­mis­sion to breathe.

She slides her hand over my cheek, cup­ping my jaw, pulling me towards her. Push­ing her hand into the thick mane of hair at the nape of my neck, she traps me in her grasp, pulling me towards a booth in the mid­dle of the group, push­ing me onto the table, up on top of the table, so that I kneel before the group, breasts swing­ing freely. She runs her hands over my naked back, down the long curve, and over the sup­ple leather, to the hid­den panel, and expertly detaches it in one fluid motion. My sud­denly exposed skin goose­bumps in the unex­pected chill, and she giggles.

More hands touch my flesh, run­ning their nails lightly over the sur­face, some less lightly than oth­ers. A hard pinch makes me gasp and brings tears to my eyes to the sounds of more laugh­ter. Glanc­ing over my shoul­der, I see D sit­ting, legs spread, with a gor­geous Asian crea­ture sit­ting on his knee, press­ing soft kisses over his rough jaw­line. His eyes meet mine, and there is a lust­ful fire that sends a shiver down my spine.

She pulls my g-string to one side, expos­ing the cleft of my bot­tom, pulls my cheeks apart to access my tight rose­bud. Her soft mouth on my ass, her warm tongue press­ing against my tight lit­tle hole. I moan, try­ing to spread my legs wider, but impos­si­bly hob­bled by the tight hem of my skirt. She delves with her pink kit­ten tongue, purring against me, the vibra­tions dri­ving me crazy, and I beg her. I can hear the smile in her voice when she pulls away, and I can hear the zip of her zip­per as she undoes her tight pants.

The soft head of a thick dildo replaces her tongue at my ass­hole, and with lit­tle effort, she slides into me, fuck­ing me gen­tly, but con­fi­dently, gath­er­ing my hair in her hand to pull my head back, urg­ing my back to arch, to take her in deeper.

I moan beneath her, con­scious of the eyes upon me, aware of the liq­uid heat drip­ping down my thighs, a wild­fire build­ing deep inside me with every stroke. She fucks like a man, like the dildo is a part of her anatomy, and every stroke deep within me brings a hiss of plea­sure to her lips that builds to a crescendo as she gets closer to orgasm. She orders me to come with her, to match her orgasm with one of my own, as she thrust harder, more wildly, the ele­gant pace aban­doned in the fren­zied pur­suit of elu­sive plea­sure. She slams into me, rough and hard, the sen­sa­tion over­whelm­ing me, and I start to come a few sec­onds before her, our moans and cries mix­ing with those of the crowd around us as they enjoy the show we put on for them.

Her warm hand on the back of my neck as she pulls off, but doesn’t pull out. The dildo still deep inside me, but no longer within her. She stays my motions with her hand, keep­ing me in place while the tremors in my chest sub­side and the pound­ing in my head dulls down.

A col­lared sub­mis­sive whose name I can­not remem­ber is brought to me, cheeks red with embar­rass­ment. They lift her onto the table behind me, and push her to her knees gen­tly, with a word. Eager to please her mis­tress, but embar­rassed by the atten­tion, nonethe­less, she clings to my thighs, grasp­ing me through the sup­ple leather as they order her mouth down, telling her to fel­late the dildo, one end still impaled in my ass. They tell her suck my hostess’s come off the sil­i­cone phal­lus, lick­ing up every drop, clean­ing it up like a good lit­tle slave should.

The motions of her mouth on the dildo send tremors through my body, rub­bing against my g-spot through sen­si­tive lay­ers of flesh, and it is all I can do to keep my body still as another orgasm threat­ens to wrack me. The greedy slurps of another mouth on another cock, and deep male groans draw my atten­tion to a spot just past her, and I turn my head to watch the Asian lady boy between my husband’s knees, tak­ing his cock deep into his mouth while D moans his name. His hands fisted in long black hair, knuck­les white with the effort of con­trol — his eyes wild as I whis­per his name as his gaze meets mine. I beg to come as the sen­sory over­load over­whelms me, des­per­ate to come when he does, to orgasm at the exact moment that his seed spills behind those pout­ing red lips.

Her hand on my nip­ple pinches cru­elly, even as she denies me per­mis­sion, but by then it’s too late, and his roar as he comes is matched by a shud­der in my own body as I gush and scream, unable to help myself, the pain in my breast a pre­cur­sor to the pun­ish­ment that will surely fol­low. “Bad girl.” she breathes into my ear, and I smile up at her, hop­ing it was worth it, the poor sub­mis­sive behind me going still in amaze­ment at my audacity.