The Copa Cabana Club

"Hi, Baby," I say to you over the phone, "Can you still make it out tonight?" I anxiously await your response.

"Yes," you whisper into the receiver, "I'll be there at 8."

"I don't think you can see me smiling, but you must know that I am, right? I'll see you there. Oh, and Ashleigh," I ask, waiting for your response.

"Yeah, I'm still here,Sugar," you say.

"I have a present for you. I know you are really going to like it."

With that I hang up the phone, not wanting to know the response this would elicit from you.

Tonight we are meeting at an upscale club in Hartford, Connecticut called the Copa Cabanna. It is a rare twist of fate that has allowed us to both end up in the same place so far from our respective houses, spouses and families. But fortune has smiled on us and we both know that this opportunity is as rare as fine wine and that we have to capitalize on the precious time we can garner for ourselves.

I arrive early, making sure that the Matre'D' has the booth I've requested ready and waiting. He seats me and I can see that this place is all I have heard about. The seating arrangement is in the shape of a horseshoe around the dance floor and that the bar and kitchen are at the open end of the 'shoe. The booths are staged like stadium seating, the row against the wall is a full six or seven feet above the dance floor. After every third or fourth booth is a little set of four stairs leading up to the next level. Our booth is at the top level, just left of center, and affords an awesome view of the whole dance floor. The seats are done in dark red crushed velour and are semi-circular and high backed to afford a good deal of privacy to the occupants. The only light in the seating area comes from the candles burning on the tables in deep red glass sconces.

Looking out from the booth over the dance floor is a dazzling spectacle of colored spotlights mounted in the overhead, all facing out onto the dance floor, spinners and mirrored balls over a parquet wooden floor of ebony and birch with a center circle having the club logo inlaid in little mosaic tiles.

Having been seated so early, I took the time to look around and I place a smallish box on the table, wrapped in soft pink paper, a dark red ribbon encircling it in juxtaposing angles, a small bow cover the intersection of the ribbon. In the far corner of the dance floor away from the booth, a jazz quintet was setting up. Dressed in white tuxedoes, each band member had a different color cummerbund and matching tie. It looked awesome with the fine white pinpoint spotlights as each guy had a different metallic color. The bass player was plucking his huge string bass and I knew right there that this would be an awesome musical display. The sound of the deep bass notes just coursing through me and reverberating about the room. Budumb, bumb,bumb, dubumb, dum. God, I love the sound of a big string bass! The tenor sax fired off a few notes to be sure he was ready and and the trumpet player tried out the feel of the room with and without his muffle. An acoustic electric guitar, on the platform behind them drums and an oboe, and a woman in a glittery, white, full length dress with a flute.

At a quarter to eight, the place started to fill up. Couples in evening attire; men in tuxedoes with jackets of white and black, every imaginable color of bow tie and vest and accruement. The women ranged from miniskirts to full evening gowns, all dressed to kill and thrill at the hottest, swankiest club in a town overrun by Cuban dance clubs.

Then I saw you coming across the edge of the dance floor on the arm of the Matrie'd . A black dress, above the knee, silky flowing elegance with a pleated skirt above the knee and black stockings and killer high heeled shoes with the toes done in a hand tooled antique silver. The points of the heels were also covered in antique silver. Your ensemble completed by a shawl wrapped over your shoulders of swirling blood red designs on a shimmering black background shot through with silver, with fringe hanging down the trailing edge. Your hair is longer than I remember it being, but you have it up in the back, held with a clasp in antique silver and black onyx in the shape of a dragonfly.

I stand and make way for your entry, I reach and help you remove your shawl. Your shoulders are bare below the shawl, your dress a halter that comes around your neck tying off in a bow, it's strings elegantly dangling a bit down your back. I can't help but notice the slight bump of your nipples sticking through the thin material, you are a vision of elegance and diaphanous splendor, your neckline plunging to show an ample cleavage, your womanly charms stretched taught into the material. I love the way you look, so much a woman, full, ripe and dazzling.

Standing before me I touch both of your shoulders and kiss you lightly on the cheek and whisper in your ear "I love your shoes." You giggle and hugging me say "I just bought them and they are so damn expensive I think my husband is going to kill me!" "Well," I laugh, "in that case we need to be sure you are well fed and well fucked before I send you home." You blush and sit, sliding into the booth from the left.

You sit and I lean over kiss you softly on the mouth. My eyes trail over to the box on the table and yours follow my gaze. It seems as if your focus becomes fuzzy as you look at it sitting there. "Go ahead and open it, I know you want to," I whisper to you.

You take the box and hold it before you. I can see what looks to be teas welling up from deep inside you. The mist slowly fades and a different look slowly washes over you. I rest my hand up on your thigh, slightly expose by the slit in your dress. You fumble with the ribbon, at first, and then it is off. The paper comes away easily and the frail white cardboard box sits naked before you, a little gold seal holding the flap down. Your longish index finger nail slits the seal and you hold your breath as the box opens before you.

There it sits on the bottom of the box. A leather collar in soft, pastel pink, studded with silver stars and half moons around it. It is wide, nearly an inch and a half. You lift it with trembling fingers from the box, a look of rapture upon your face. Your breathing quickens and My hand slides up a bit and the heel of my hand brushes into your panty covered cunt. You are already moist, and I feel my manhood stir. You breathe deep and your nostrils flair. The oval medallion that hangs from the collar reads: Good Girl.

I take it from your trembling fingers and ask you "May I help you with that?" You Look me in the eyes, then lower your gaze to the table. Your reply of "Yes, Sir." Sends sparks of lust through my loins. I place it around your neck, and fasten the collar's buckle behind you.

The wine steward, a young, waifishly thin Latino girl in a steward's white coat over a white silk peignoir, asks our preference and I tell her we'd like the merlot. The waiter is there, setting salads and thin crunchy bread sticks with a pot of whipped butter.

Through the beginnings of our meal we chat, often taking time to just look at each other and touch the others hand, or thigh. Soon the salads are gone and there is an appetizer ready, a bed of two oysters on the half shell, surrounded in semi circle by a half dozen jumbo shrimp, filleted open with their tails standing. The cocktail sauce is crisp and slightly hot, leaving not a hint of fishy taste on the pallet. It seems that we are just finishing one thing and another arrives, the main course is up and it looks divine.

Small medallions of prime rib overlap each other across the top of the plate in an arc, drizzled over them in a zigzag pattern is a light brown gravy, there are small new potatoes and the outsides of which look crunchy, and they still seem to be sizzling there on the fine white bone china. Some baby carrots and a two sprigs of parsley with an orange slice cut and twisted and standing up right complete the garnish. The wine is there and the steward has passed on the formality of a tasting. She pours us each a healthy half glass, leaving the bottle and the white linen on the edge of the table, and retreats.

I raise my glass and propose a toast "To our wild adventure just beginning, may this night be emblazoned in our memories for ever." Our glasses clink and we continue chatting about life and current events as dinner moves along. Exquisite food, fantastic conversation and the portent of the nights adventure ahead have laughing easily and feeling just right.

Soon the dinner plates are about to be whisked away and the waiter is there and he chides us to partake in the orange wedge and to chew and eat the parsley. Why ever would we eat the parsley we ask him, you wrinkling your nose at the idea of eating the garnish. He tells us that our secreted sexual juices will taste better from the parsley. "It cleanses the sexual palette," he intones. You nearly choke on the sip of wine as he says this, And with a twinkle in our eyes and a wink from me to you we raise our sprigs of parsley and as we simultaneously place them in each others mouth the waiter says "Bon apatite!" And then with a flurry of plates removes and others reset there is strong black Cuban coffee, heavy white cream that has a mild scent of hazelnuts and a sliver of cheese cake on a small black plate.

"Do you think parsley changes the taste of... well, your cum?" you ask. "I'll ask you later," I whisper conspiratorially. My left hand is on your knee, and I raise it slightly to the top of your gartered stocking, where the flesh of you thigh lays naked and exposed. The pinky of my hand traces the line where the stocking stop and I feel you tremble, ever so slightly. I notice you reach up and tentatively touch the edge of your new collar encircling your neck. The look on your face, sort of a silly grin, makes me swell with pride.

The lights on the dance floor come alive, and a male singer in a white dinner jacket and red bow tie is introducing himself as the owner of the world famous Copa Cabana of Hartford, Connecticut. The band starts right on cue and he begins singing that song: "At the Copa, Copa Cabana, music and passion were always in fashion at the Co-pa, they fell I love." Our cheesecake diminished to a pile of crumbs, the coffee slowly cooling in the cups the wait staff is back whisking away the remnants of a very memorable dinner experience.

The Steward is there taking drink orders, I propose raspberry martinis and she is off in a flash. The owner of the club is on his third song now, Moon River is apparently wider than a mile, if he is to be believed. Our martinis arrive, raspberries in a line a on a skewer in the pink colored gin. His song is ending and he introduces another man who tells us that they will have a little floor show, followed by dancing for the couples. He chides us to remember to follow along with the band leaders orders and demands that we sing along to the songs if we know the words.

All the lights are out, suddenly and a trumpet's blast, sounding Spanish, like the call to battle of an army long past, splits the hushed din of the patrons of the club. You snuggle in a little closer and I raise my arm and wrap it around your shoulder. You are pressed against my chest and I can feel you breathing softly against me.

A pinpoint spotlight comes down from the center of the dance floor, a couple are out there posed and poised to start dancing. He in a white poofy shirt, a black mask like Zorro, tight black pants, boots up over the calf and a hat that is like a bolero matador style brimmed affair. She is in a flowing white cotton dress, with a scoop line neck, gathered around her waist is a red scarf and she is wearing a red over-the-eyes mask. Her hair is as black as midnight and shimmers a blue contrast in the stark white light. The music begins and the begin a latin tango-like dance. They cross the floor, their moves becoming more pronounced and sexual. He turns her and spins her back into his arms and the sash about her waist falls in a puddle at their feet. On the next cut and turn he pulls the top down, exposing her glistening breasts, their exertions have them in a lather and she is proud and tanned and breasts heaving and free. The continue to dance, his shirt opening and then gone, both topless now and dance to a fevered pitch. He flips her over and she is left naked except for dancing shoes and falls to her knees and to the beat of the music he undulates his swelling package in front of her.

She is on her haunches reaching for him as he dances around her, flitting closer and allowing her to rub his manly bulge and finally, oh god, finally he stops in front of her nad she yanks the zipper down the side of the pants and they pull away, his cock his sticking straight out and she devours him with he wanton mouth. She bobs and sucks , he continues to grind into her face to the salsa rhythm of the jazz quintet. He backs away, she stands, turns and grabs her ankles and he assaults he from behind, bayoneting her red swollen lips again and again, she rises up, slightly to place her hands on her knees and as the music roars in crescendo he pulls out, jacks the length of his cock twice and spurts his seed all over her back. The light winks out the crowd roars in approval and the band segues into a dancing ripple and bauble, a filler tune, and then suddenly the lights are again on, colored spot lights dancing over the rotating ball casting a thousand shard s of rainbow light over the floor and the booths and the crowd.

On the dance floor a man is in a straight back chair, his hands bound down the back legs with thick, soft white cords. Two women, a red head with alabaster skin and a tanned blond with no tan lines anywhere, dance naked around him like nymphs in the forest.

My left hand has found the way inside your halter top dress, I cup and hold the fullness of your breast, I feel the stiffened nipple pressed into my palm and I lean down and kiss your mouth, my tongue finding yours, dancing a dance of our own there, I feel you breathe into me and I know that our souls are intertwined. I feel your right hand squeeze my hard man cock through my trousers and my right hand slides up, moving the small triangle of silky material out of the way and I slide a finger deep inside your slickened cunt.

The dance and show went on, on the floor, but I am not sure who did what to whom as I was so wound up around you. Digging my fingers deeper and deeper into you demanding to feel every inch inside you and you moaning into my mouth and the abject surprise of feeling you heave against me and delicately spray your womanly honey over the heel of my hand.

The orchestra leader is inviting all to dance, and I pull you, still dazed in your orgasmic splendor to your feet, I put my arm around you to steady you and I notice as we proceed down to the floor that many, many folks here are in a high state of arousal. The lights dim and the singer is crooning Two Spanish Eyes, prettiest eyes in a of Mex-ee-co. Soon he'll return," he says and I hold you in my arms, tight to my chest and finally you look up and tell me "Thank you, oh god, you made me cum so hard. I thought I was lost in the fog or something." I answer you by placing my mouth over yours and kissing you deeply. The song ends, people gracefully clap and the Band leader tells all the women the time has come to put on their masks and strip to the waist.

You look at me surprised and I pull your mask from my pocket, a pale pink affair with a small white feather at the corner of each eye. I reach up and untie your dress, Your color is high, you are blushing and I know that your pussy must be flowing like a faucet, like falling raindrop, showing yourself off in a room full of strangers such as this. The pale pink of your collar is beautifully offset by the crimson blush through your tan. You glance around and see all the other women are topless, too. A wide range of tits, some milky white, others tanned, some pierced with hoops and other with a tattoo or other adornment. Some sag, others are store bought, but every woman there is topless and the men are beaming at the spectacle.

The music starts in a flutter of brash brass, Mack the Knife is clamoring and the women are all getting spun about and twirled, their tits free and exposed, all those hard nipples and the smell of sex begins to pulse through the room. Mack Heath did something rash and the song ends and people clap. The lights go very dim and Glenn Miller's In the Mood, wafts through the room, I pull you into me, I lean down and suckle at your breast, leaving your nipple hard as a diamond, and wet with my saliva. I nuzzle your neck and again I hear you moan, I am so damn proud of myself, I ask "Are you having a good time, My Pet?" as I bite the spot where your collar bone meets your shoulder, just below your new adornment. You groan again and I say, in a whisper in your ear "I'll take that as a 'Yes'."

We dance and sway and the music is changing. "Strangers in the Night," the band leader croons, "Exchanging partners... everybody switch!" He intones and we break apart, a man with silver hair has you scooped up quickly, I end up with a lithe red head, her boobs are way too firm and high for her fifty-ish face, but she takes my hands and places them on there telling me she loves them played with. I feel her hands on my crotch, seeking out my cock, squeezing it and whispering in my ear she wants to suck me off. I look over your shoulder and see the silver haired gent suckling at your tits, your head is thrown back, your hair nearly askew, your mouth open, I know he has you right where you need to be.

The leader calls for another switch and I am with a short pudgy girl of about 19 with nipple rings, she falls to her knees before me and hauls my cock out and grabs both my ass cheeks and vacuums my cock into her throat. I see you staring wide eyed at the Latino man you are with, his cock is in your hand and I can see the spotlight glint of a drizzle of pre-cum that you are massaging into his dick head. We switch again and it all becomes a blur. Too many titties and cocks to keep track of and suddenly the song is nearing an end and we are back together. I feel silly, really, my semi erect shaft hanging out the front of my tuxedo pants. I see two little hickeys on you, and my cock twitches knowing that they weren't there when I left you.

Back at the booth, the temperature in the room is about a thousand degrees. The wait staff is changed, the men in leather jock straps, the women topless in neon g-string bikini bottoms, they are waiting at the tables, helping people out the rest of their clothes, wiping us down with scented cool, moist towels. The smell of eucalyptus, rises up through the air, I can wait no longer right there in the booth I pull you to me, sitting astride me, facing away, I plant your beautiful ass on my engorged cock and pull you all the way down on me. My hands find your breasts and I see the towel boy offering you his cock to suck. "Do it!" I hiss, "Suck that fucking cock!" It is then I feel the breath of another on my ball sack. I feel you twitch on my cock and nearly gag on the erect monster shaft in your mouth. That little girl is licking your clit while you ride me. I feel her cheeks against my shaft as she eats your clit and cleans the fuck juice off my shaft as I pull out.

The music is building in intensity and I feel the rumble of orgasm approaching. The little vixen is sucking one ball and then another into her little mouth, I see you jerking the towel boys cock trying to force him spew his man milk onto and into you. I swoon, I nearly faint, the orgasm builds so deeply inside me as I hear the man in the next booth cry out in his release and I feel the dam burst, my cock spewing forth, lurching and twitching and cumming and cumming and cumming. She is still down there sucking up the frothy jizz and honey pot cream, he busts hi nuts into your mouth and I see the excess spill down your cheek I twitch again and I have to moan because it feels so good, she rises up and kisses you fully on the mouth, his spunk, my jizz, your cunt juice and it is all over the faces of both of you and I pull you by the hair, gently lovingly and I kiss you, too. The earth, musky fuck milk of all of us together on your lips.