“So, what are you two party animals doing tonight?” asked Riley as she wiggled her eyebrows at us.
“That depends on your father. If I can get him de-grumped, I might see if I can drag him out to a show or something.”
“You have plans?” I asked Riley.
“I’m going dancing. No big deal.”
“Maybe we can go too,” I suggested.
“I’m not going dancing with my parents!”
“Let your daughter be young, Paul. We can do something else.”
“Thanks mom,” said Riley with a big smile. “I’m full. Mind if I go get ready.”
“Sure. Have fun sweetie.”
“And be careful,” I said to her back as she departed.
“Aw, poor honey-bunny,” said Beth to me. “Having a hot daughter is driving him crazy.”
“It doesn’t help that you seem to be trying to get her laid.”
“Oh, don’t be a dum-dum. She doesn’t need my help for that. Personally, I’m glad we’re rid of Riley for the rest of the evening because I’ve got something that will make you feel better, something special for just you and me.”
In her hand she was holding a card that read: “Sindy Streets’ DEEP PINK.”
******
My mood had much improved when the taxi pulled up to the hotel portico and Beth showed the old Caribbean driver the card for Deep Pink. He looked Beth up and down, appreciating her tight black mini dress and lingering too long on her barely contained cleavage. He gave her a sleazy grin and winked.
“Deep Pink, eh? Beautiful lady’s gonna have a gooood time tonight. Heh, heh, heh…”
‘You know it!” she said and patted him on the cheek.
We were both in high spirits as we anticipated our first visit to a sex club in many years. We had kept an open relationship in college and had experimented with swinging a bit when we were newly married, but that kind of thing just got more and more inconvenient as our adult responsibilities piled up. The idea of once again stepping into a maelstrom of casual, anonymous sex was making my palms sweaty and my cock hard. I looked Beth in the eye as the Taxi drove through the town’s narrow streets and I saw a deep sexual hunger roiling within her.
The taxi dropped us off at a squat grey building on the edge of town. It was completely unremarkable but for the crowd of a few dozen men milling around outside. A very large Caribbean man in a tight black tee-shirt and black cargo pants was working the door. He looked up at Beth and smiled big and friendly. “Hey hot mama, ladies enter at the other door.” He pointed to another door with no queue.
“What about my husband?”
He looked me over. “Sure, he can go in with you, if you want him. But we got better options inside. Ha-ha-ha!”
We entered and paid. Ladies got in free. The cover was steep for me, but not too bad since I was accompanying my wife. According to the sign, the cost was insanely high for unaccompanied men. When I commented on this, the matronly woman working the box office just shrugged. “Supply and demand, darling.”
Next was a waiting room. After a cute black woman in a tight pink dress took our temperatures, drew our blood and took swabs of our throats, we were given wristbands and told to wait until the number on our wristbands were called. As we waited, I saw another couple, a hot couple in their late twenties/early thirties, get turned away because of unsatisfactory test results. As they left looking embarrassed, Beth and I exchanged an approving nod. It was nice to see that this place enforced its standards.
Finally, our numbers came up. We were brought into a small room by a “consultant.” She was blonde, about thirtyish, wore a tight pink mini-dress and spoke with a bubbly Australian accent. She introduced herself as Suzi and began going over the rules of the club with us. There were a lot of rules.
As Suzi spoke, we heard the thump-thump-thump of the bass track from the club’s main room change to the sound of someone speaking over a microphone and the responding crowd noise. I could hear cheering, laughter and applause rising and falling along to whatever was going on back in the depths of the club.
“What’s going on out there?” I asked.
“We’re having our blow-job contests tonight,” answered Suzi.
Beth’s eyes got wide. “Blow-job contests?”
“Oh yes. They’re quite popular. Are you interested?”
Beth looked at me with her big brown eyes in full begging-puppy mode. “I think I am,” she said. “But my husband gets final say….”
“Well, you need to decide right now. One of our shareholders just brought in a girl he was super eager to see compete, so we slotted in an extra round. But we still need an opponent for her.”
“What would Beth win?” I asked.
“Other than getting to suck a lot of cocks, not much, to be honest: a plastic tiara, coupon book, some drink vouchers. You also get to decide the punishment for your losing opponent. That’s always fun.”
“Punishment?”
“Not actual punishment. Sexy punishment. You can have her chained up where everyone can grope her and whatnot, or you can have her eat you out, or fuck you with a strap-on, or you can fuck her with a strap-on if you really want. But the usual punishment is to have all men who didn’t get to come during the contest gangbang the loser: like, ninety percent of the time. So don’t compete if you don’t want to risk a gangbang.”
“I’m willing to risk a gangbang,” said Beth as she looked at me.
“OK,” I said as my heart fluttered in my chest and my cock grew firmer in my trousers. “Let’s sign my wife up for the blowjob contest.”
*****
Suzi led us to a unisex locker room where Beth removed her dress to reveal the classic black-satin bustier, garters and stockings combo she was wearing underneath. The lace cups of the bustier clearly displayed her rosy nipples and barely contained the quivering flesh of her breasts. She wore no panties, so her smooth ass and bare pussy were completely exposed and fully accessible. Since I had bought no accoutrements, I was given a threadbare terrycloth robe that was so short the head of my cock hung beneath the hem. I suppose that should have made me feel proud, but mostly I just felt silly.
After we surrendered our phones, Suzi led us through a pink padded door into a crowded ballroom decorated in glass, plastic and chrome and lit here and there with intensely pink neon lights. On the stage, a woman with curly blonde hair and shapely little tits was on her knees as two red-faced men stood flanking her, stroking their cocks with their florid heads aimed point-blank at her upturned face. As we watched, one of them came and his thick load splashed across her nose and forehead to hang entangled in her hair in thick, pearly blobs.
Suzi turned to us. “See there? She lost the previous contest. Looks like her punishment is bukkake. That’s another popular one.”
“Wow,” said Beth as she unconsciously licked her lips.
“Your round of the contest starts in about twenty minutes; more than enough time to have a little fun first. We’ll call the number on your wrist band when it’s time to get ready.”
Suzi turned to me. “I have one piece of advice for you. Many men come here with their wives or lovers, they get excited, then shoot their load almost immediately. And then they’re miserable because suddenly everyone’s horny except them. So, hold your shot as long as you can. As. Long. As. You. Can.” With that she wished us a fun night and left us.
Beth took my hand, and we walked a circuit around the ballroom, taking in the action and checking out the people. Women prowled the floor in fishnet catsuits, lace chemises, sheer teddys and various other lingerie ensembles as men hovered by, hanging out while waiting for a signal that a woman desired their attention. Some of the bolder ladies were nude or nearly so, wearing nothing but stockings or just a bra. We stopped to watch one blonde woman, who was wearing only long black velvet gloves and four-inch heels, strut up to a divan, pick up a dry erase board and write “2 V O” on it. Several men stepped forward, of whom she selected two who joined her on the cushions. The rest stepped back to watch or faded away to search for other prospects as the two lucky ones began to kiss and lick along her neck and chest. She squirmed out of their dual embrace to position herself on her hands and knees with her thighs apart and her chin up. Her two partners quickly moved around to slide their hard cocks into her mouth and pussy as they began to pump her in a steady, synchronous rhythm.
“Ooo, I like this place,” said Beth.
“I bet you do,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Sooo fucking horny, Paul. I’m ready to get started… if you’re cool with that…”
“Oh, I’m cool with it,” I said. “Anyone you have in mind?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice him,” she said as she led me across the ballroom. Sitting in an easy chair was a hirsute, barrel-chested young man holding a dry erase board on which was written: “I will eat your ass.”
Beth looked at me enthusiastically and arched an eyebrow. She loved anilingus, which was something for which I’ve never been particularly enthusiastic. That this kid was so eager for it was a blessing for both of us. The delight on Beth’s face was infectious as she asked for permission to give herself over to this ass-loving weirdo.
“Have fun,” I said.
After kissing me deeply and appreciatively, she approached Ass-Eater with a big, friendly smile on her face and he stood nervously to greet her. After a brief exchange, he motioned to one of the long, unoccupied couches at the edge of the dance floor. She took his hand and led him there where she bent over the arm of the couch with her lovely round ass in the air and her thighs apart. My heart hammered in my chest and my cock began to twitch as I watched her put her ass and pussy on display.
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