Six years ago, in the Montreal area, my boyfriend Stéphane called. ‘Dress sexy tonight, Joyce. That black skirt and white blouse. Picking you up at 7.’ My pussy twitched just hearing it. I shaved smooth, skipped the bra, slipped on the tight skirt hugging mid-thigh, thin white thong barely there. Mirror showed a hot redhead, short hair, big shiny eyes. Anxious buzz in my gut, wet heat building.
He arrived on time. We drove to this spot—didn’t catch the name. Bouncer checked us in. Dark hallway led to a classy woman with killer cleavage. She toured us: plush armchairs, dancefloor ringed by mirrors and stools, open shower for eight, TV lounge, cushioned chaises on a stage, sauna beyond. Then the playrooms—huge, spotless mattresses on floors, big windows between. ‘Swingers club, right?’ I whispered. Stéphane grinned sheepishly. ‘Wanna leave?’ ‘No… but not the rooms yet.’ Heart pounding, intrigued, embarrassed. We’d fantasized, but this? Real.
The Awakening: Stepping into the Unknown Heat
We grabbed a table by the dancefloor. He brought vodka-oranges—no booze served. Glasses stayed full. Liquid courage loosened me. Eyes on my sheer blouse, nipples poking. Music throbbed—disco mixed with modern beats. Empty floor. Couples chatted with neighbors, not partners. Slow song hit. Everyone flooded the floor, grinding close.
Stéphane pulled me up. ‘Wanna feel you.’ Buried in his 6′ tall, muscled chest, I melted. Lights dimmed, crowd thickened. Hand grazed my ass—brushed it off. Then, ‘Look right.’ Woman on knees, sucking cock deep while swaying. Shocked, I hid, but heat flooded my cunt. Another glance left: stunning woman in white dress, unbuttoned low. One guy behind kneading tits, another fingering her soaked slit. Fingers vanishing inside. Hands on my ass again. ‘They’re respectful,’ Stéphane murmured. ‘Show no interest, they stop.’
Back at table, sipping, watching. He dragged me to peek rooms—orgy of fifteen fucking wild. ‘Not that,’ I gasped, booze-fuzzed. He kissed me deep, pulled me close. Those touches? Turned me on. Back to floor, he steered us. Hands firmer now—hips, ass. ‘Let go,’ he smiled. Mystery person back-to-back, then spun, hands bolder. Skirt fabric? No—a flowing skirt. Woman, early twenties, long brown hair, tanned skin, sweet smile. Hot pick.
The Act: Surrendering to Raw, Pulsing Desire
Triangle dance. Hands everywhere—Stéphane on her, them on me. Skirt hiked, skin electric. Booze flowing, I grinded harder, groped back. Face-to-face now, her lips crushed mine. Soft, cool tongue sucking mine. First girl kiss—endless bliss. Hands under her skirt, firm ass. Other on perky tits. Buttons undone, nipples hard. My blouse open, tits free, skirt up, thong soaked.
Stéphane dropped, yanked my dripping thong. I sucked her nipple. He stripped hers. She bit mine—waves crashing low. His fingers plunged our cunts, slick with juice, teasing asses. I came hard, gushing thighs. She cried out, head back. Licked her clit, fingers pumping. Stranger hand—big, on my ass, index in my lubed hole. Froze. ‘Stéphane…’ He just grinned, fingering us. Turned—tall Arab guy. ‘Prettiest ass ever. Continue?’ ‘Too late to stop,’ I shocked myself.
Back down, tongue on her clit, his finger fucking my ass, Stéphane in my pussy. Orgasms ripped endless. Crowd swirled, touching, moaning. Another joined—’Rooms?’ High as fuck, ready for all. But Stéphane teased, ‘You said no other cocks.’ Her boyfriend dragged her off, pissed blond.
Mood crashed. Exhausted, cum-drenched. Arab begged, card out: ‘Come home, I’ll make you scream.’ ‘Maybe.’ Drove home. Fucked, but spent. Week after? Nonstop fire—reliving every thrust, kiss, finger. Craving more forbidden nights.