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.
Her breathing stuttered; her partner seemed to take this as a sign that they'd reached their destination. Olivia expected the grip to melt away; instead, it seemed to become more forceful, like it was trying to instill a firmer touch at her sex.
Using the fingers at her cunt, she spread her lower lips open, feeling the delightful, sensitive stretch. Her slick coated her fingers readily as if to signal her excitement at the potential of letting someone fill her.
She thought she heard a grunt, but the sound was too fast for her to be certain, let alone to try and guess where it had come from.
"Touch yourself."
This voice came from right beside her; she felt the speaker's breath against her cheek. So deep it was almost a growl, she figured it must've been the man holding her wrist.
Her stomach flipped at how virile he sounded.
"I already am."
His hold seemed to tighten.
"More."
Olivia ran her fingers along her wet folds, tracing the seam of her cunt before her fingers traced back up to find her clit. The pads of her fingers circled at the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled there, and at once, she felt herself get wetter. She moaned at the fresh sensation that sang through her, vibrant, impossible to ignore, shredding through the feverish heat washing at the inside of her skin.
The man's voice alone was enough to make her eager to please him with how she looked. She canted her fingers fervently against the wet patch between her legs, wishing the room was quieter so he could hear the lewd sounds she made as she fingered herself. Did he like how her soft cunt looked when her fingers worked it the way they did?
Did he like the way tits filled her palms?
She imagined how much better it might feel with someone's head buried between her thighs, their tongue lapping at her sensitive cleft, their lips meshing against her pounding arousal. She inched forward; maybe if she were close enough to the edge, someone in the 'nosebleeds' would be so inclined.
The audience seemed to take to this; soon enough, she felt fingers splaying at her knees, then her thighs, first the outside, then the sensitive insides.
She almost didn't notice how the grip on her wrist disappeared, traded for a much firmer one at her shoulders that caught her weight with surprising steadiness. For a moment, her stomach felt like it was in free-fall, and her heart was in her throat as her butt sat just at the edge of the platform.
"Be careful," the voice murmured. "You'll fall off."
Her stomach flipped at the tempered concern in his voice.
She had half a mind to lean back into the sturdiness of him. It was strange, having another man look after her well-being, standing in the space where Dean had occupied for so long.
Her other hand was still kneading at her breasts. The image of someone eating her out paired with the movements of her fingers had made her so wet that if they hadn't been in the club, she was sure other people in the room would've been able to hear how she played with herself.
"I wanted to see if someone could use their mouth on me," she said a bit breathlessly.
"That's risky. You could try and suck me off instead."
Olivia considered it; the audience would undoubtedly like it.
