Club Ravish
Tucked in-between The Bubble Salon and Tippy's Tacos was a little building that stayed as dark as the two p's in the Tippy's sign all through the day until night fell.
It was when everything else went dark; the sky, the windows on the salon, the lot -- that Club Ravish glowed.
A beacon of neon set on a run-down street corner, diagonally across from a gas station that was ignored more often than it was used, Club Ravish was for sex clubs what the Gala Motel was in her city; not so bad on its own, but certainly not something that drew the eye when standing in the shadow of The Hawthorne or The Vos.
That suited Olivia just fine.
She blended in easily in her sprawling city, just one of a thousand heads kept down as she tended to her daily business. She went to work, came home, shared a quiet dinner with her husband, and then on Friday nights, she was off to Ravish, where she was renewed in the shadows, christened in the sultry light, not so different from the establishment itself.
Meanwhile, her husband assumed she was out with friends.
This wasn't a complete lie. The patrons of Ravish were among the friendliest company she kept all week. They kept the secrets of her body well, and she certainly looked forward to seeing them.
Inside, where she could drop her coat and mix with the sweaty crowd of people, the skyscrapers outside disappeared, humbled to the high, black platforms in Ravish.
It was a little like being in an art gallery, with thick, red velvet ropes setting off some stages, where those that only liked to be watched lay, their fingers between their legs, the audience's admired voyeur. Those simple platforms that lacked the guarded prestige of the ropes made up for such minimal grandeur in experience -- this was where people who wanted volunteers from the audience went. This is where Olivia preferred to be.
It was dark, courtesy of the blindfold fixed over her eyes.
She could still feel the heat in the club, though, the life in the scent of sex, spiced with the tang of sweat. The strobe lights slipping over her like a second skin, shaking up the restless energy collecting just beneath.
I love my husband, she thought, her eyes falling shut even from beneath the blindfold.
She did, truly. Club Ravish wasn't some desperate attempt to get away from him or to find some young, twenty-something paramour. She wasn't unhappy with Dean.
It's just, he was a programmer, and if she was honest, he made love like one too.
Over the years they shared together, all of which had been very, very good years, their relationship had gained a respectable, grounded quality to it, like finely aged wine. With that, though, of course, the butterflies had started to dissipate.
When he touched her, it was with the carelessness that took one in the act of something they'd done a thousand times before and would do so a thousand times again.
She wanted her body to shock the eyes of her lover with the poignant intimacy of seeing her naked for the very first time. She wanted to be exalted and degraded, rewarded and punished. She wanted to be grabbed and taken, knowing that it was frantic desire for her that spurred such desperate actions.
Besides, it was kind of erotic, being displayed as an object of desire to be used as others pleased. Olivia liked feeling strangers' hands on her body and so many at once. She liked the liberation of being naked in public and of being able to relinquish her pleasure to the crowd.
Tonight, mounting the stage felt like a sort of homecoming. Olivia's nakedness felt like armor, like power, rather than vulnerability. She moved her hips around a bit, a gesture intended to stoke the arousal of those in the room as well as keep her body loose for what was to come.
The bass was pounding in the club, so heavy she could feel it in her chest, vibrating her ribs like a tuning fork.
She wondered if anyone was stopped in front of her stage yet.
The blindfold served as protection for her ego if they had not.
Regardless, no one would stay for long if she didn't get the show going.
She eased her knees apart so that her legs were spread and dropped a hand down to push between her lower lips. Immediately, she was enraptured by her warmth and how slightly wet she was already -- no doubt in her excitement for the night. She'd been waiting for this all week.
Her mouth opened in a soundless moan; it was all the same to the crowd. The music would've drowned it out anyway.
She felt immense trust then and there; it swelled in her, this confidence she was seeking with these strangers, entrusting her naked body to them.
She felt a hand stroke along her back, and she stiffened slightly, not having expected it. There was a lingering touch at her hair, petting softly. Given how high the stage was, whoever was touching her must've jumped up to join her. Her stomach flipped in excitement; she had been here mere minutes. Was she already going to be filled?
Olivia took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, wanting to be loose for whatever came next, nor did she want to seem overly eager to her array of potential lovers either. She let her lips part wider, wanting to leave the option open for someone to stick something between them.
Her skin felt electric with the potential of being touched.
She felt something warm grip around her wrist, and her stomach flipped. From her left, she could hear the sound of a snap popping open and fabric shifting over skin. For a moment, Olivia expected to feel a velvet, hot hardness slip into her palm. She imagined a stranger's hand guiding his cock to her fingers.
Instead, the grip seemed to move closer to her. It paused just for a moment, and she felt something brush along the backs of her fingers as if inspiring them to splay open. Then the guiding grip returned, and she felt her fingers skim the soft, smooth skin just below her clavicle.
She shivered, her breathing growing rough. She could feel the swelling breaths in her chest, tempered by how sensitive and heavy her breasts felt. She could sense where this was leading; she couldn't wait.
Her heart was thudding in her chest, a war drum for the hot-blooded impact of another body she craved.
The grip pressed her palm against her breast, covering her hand, encouraging her touch to cup it and let it drop. She could feel the weightiness of it as her sensitive nipple brushed against her palm. The hand over hers closed gently over her fingers, molding her fondling touch like clay.
She could feel the slight roughness of callouses along the inside of this stranger's hand.
Olivia squeezed her breast of her own accord as if to communicate to the other hand that he could stray from this area, that she wouldn't dare to stop touching herself if he left.
When she felt them release her wrist, she reached up with both hands to give her breasts a bounce, fingers brushing over her stiff nipples, wanting to give the audience something fun to look at.
A twinge of pleasure flecked up her spine at the feeling of friction against the stiff buds. She could feel wetness seeping between her legs. She wondered if anyone else noticed it.
She didn't know why because she couldn't see, but it felt crowded, like the air was heavy, and the floor was so packed that the rub of skin against skin was just from trying to cut through the crowd rather than from jerking off.
Still, Olivia knew that at least someone was watching; "Yeah, baby, just like that. Give those tits a nice bounce for us."
The voice had sounded too far and too low to have come from the stranger up on stage with her. Still, the praise and vulgarity of his wording made her even wetter.
The firm grip returned after her little show, which he took from one breast and guided downward this time to the other wrist.
Olivia's thighs parted, seemingly of their own accord, baring her cunt better for the audience and her partner's reach. They guided her hand down, and her certainty melted into satisfaction as she felt her fingers brush the wiry hairs between her legs.
The hold didn't stop coaxing her down until she felt her fingers press substantially against her folds.
