So we decided to go again. It had been more than two years. At other times, at other places it was fun and, "successful", if you will. We achieved our desires. Mine to experience the touch and feel of a woman or women, his to watch me experience the touch and feel of a woman or women.
I wanted to continue satisfying his fantasies and mine but there had been rejections. There were husbands to deal with and there had been enormous pressure for me to participate (by my husband Tom). When the evening isn't successful he gets cranky. Once, I said I did not want to go back and he pouted like a boy who didn't get that toy truck for his birthday.
The time now, however, was right to return. Tom promised no pressure and to be cool. He promised just to enjoy our dirty dancing.
As we arrived at Club Amnesty we could see fireworks from not too far off Disneyland. The receptionist promised we'd find more fireworks inside (groan).
The theme for tonight's party was "Nighties". That is, we girls would wear our sexy pajamas, lingerie, bustier or some such thing. I brought my pink nightie as a backup but wore a sexy little number in while I gauged the crowd. It was a sleeveless blouse: yellow, lose, and plunging. It just covered what was necessary in public but clearly exposed the roundness of my breasts and invited hopes of more to be seen in a subtle slip . More than likely Tom would help the fabric fall away in a not so subtle exposure.
After storing our stuff in a locker we scoped the crowd as we seated ourselves next to the dance floor. Only one couple was dancing, a May-December couple. She wore a thin material wrap-around-dress over well-augmented boobs. She was white and had dazzling legs with a tiny waist. He, though much older, was distinguished and handsome. They sat down in a dark corner, where he immediately got a hand-job and those tits, those wonders of modern science, also got a hand-job.
In a more exposed section against the back wall another lucky fellow was getting his erection washed. His head back, eyes closed. Her head deep in his lap...I never did see her face. Couples and foursomes were spread out at the many tables throughout the club.
Tom and I sat, chatted until something we could dance to came on. Alone on the floor we danced close, doing our usual twirls and dips. Tom squeezed me from behind, pressing my boobs together to make a tremendous cleavage. My blouse slid out just wide enough to expose only the slightest edge of my nipples. That's where I like it, just flirting with exposure. But then, as I warned you earlier, Tom exposed all by pulling my blouse to either side. I did not protest Others joined us on the dance floor now.
As we danced Tom again pulled around to my backside. His hand slid to inside my thigh. His palm open on my upper leg and his knuckle pressed on my clitoris. I threw my head back on his shoulder. We swayed as he rubbed. He kissed my neck and fondled my breast as I grabbed his cock. The bone in his hand stroked my slit. I shuddered. I was riding the wave toward a crash on shore. However, fear, the mind-killer took me over. People were watching and expecting! As that realization hit I straightened and turned. The wave pulled back to open sea and we continued to just dance.
In another time and at another dance floor I had rode that wave all the way in. The dance floor was packed and the music load. Ironically I felt much less self-conscious. Of course then it was a woman rubbing my panties, kissing my neck and fondling my breast. As Her two finger stroking became harder and more vigorous, I let out a siren that was not quite audible over the music. Tom, who watched from the sidelines, said that few others seemed to notice my orgasm.
Back at Amnesty there was a pole on the dance floor. Guess for what! Yeah you'll never see a guy seriously using a pole.
Another couple joined the cast on the dance floor. She was pretty. Short blond hair, a blue halter top and nothing underneath it or her white skirt, I assumed. I was curious but cool. I wasn't going to be the one to approach. She went to the pole with her husband's encouragement. He was sort of accountant looking. He encouraged me to join her as she reached and pulled me over to the pole. I made a rather lack-luster attempt. Poles are not my thing.
My performance was short. I made a few obligatory twists on the poll then returned to Tom. Surprisingly, she (the lady in the blue halter) soon followed. She sandwiched Tom between she and me. Tom enjoyed this immensely. We freaked danced. Ms. Blue-halter liked my hubby's thighs. Though they aren't big, they are tight. You can feel the sinewy muscle through his pants especially as he bends at his knees. She ran her hands along his thighs up and back on his ass, pausing to take them in.
Breaking our rules Tom grabbed her hands and put them on my breasts. Again, I did not mind or protest. My boobs replaced his ass, I guess. Ms. Halter slipped the neckline of my blouse around the sides of my breasts. Tom pulled out of the sandwich and around to my back. I slipped her halter so that the wrap went between her breasts. I cupped her tits...yessss! I love that feeling filling my hands. We pressed together, nipples-to-nipples, my hands held on either side of our tits. She leaned back. I cupped her boobs somewhat clumsily. I admired her nipples, medium sized, round, reddish brown and sharply delineated from the rest of the breast. No fading into the whiteness of her skin but a high contrast edge to the aureole.
We French kissed, then, since we were both exposed, she dropped down to my nipples and sucked lightly, her tongue flicking their obtrusion. Tom was coming unglued. Her hand was on my pussy and mine on hers. She, as I expected was not wearing undies. I couldn't really find her clit so I ran the whole of my forefinger the length of her cleft. I inserted just the tip of my finger in her. She, pressing on the fabric covering my pussy, seemed like she was trying to enter into me with her finger(s). I was riding that wave in again, and again it pulled away as the music ended. We collected ourselves and off we went to our respective corners. Damn, my undies were soaked.
May/December got back up to dance. Her dress was superfluous. It clung to that young body like a vacuum packed hourglass. She must have thought the dress redundant too for soon it was lying on the dance floor. Her panties and fuck-me heels were all that was left. Her torso angled up from her tiny waist like an upside-down isosceles triangle. She raised her arms as she swayed and we saw the Bosu ball shape of her tits curve out of either side of her body. Amazingly, I never saw her nipples. Little guns I imagine. Like those on the assassins in Austin Powers.
Tom and I relaxed and watched the crowd. Tom suggested I try on the nightie now. I went back and changed. It is pink, see-through, and reaches just below my butt. The bra cups you can't see through but they push up my boobs like a Renaissance barmaid. Now I had my own fuck-me heels on. We dirty danced a few more rounds.
The dance floor cleared. We sat. A young girl got up to dance with the other poll that was on a stage to the right of the dance floor. She was gorgeous. Cute with no fear, she undid something and her flimsy skirt slid along her butt and floated to the floor. As she stepped out of the flattened skirt she kicked it to the mirrored wall revealing the sturdy round porcelain cheeks of her booty split by a thong. The blouse...well I don't remember the blouse or how it came off. I was transfixed by legs and butt. Now though, I had something more to admire: tear drop shaped and firm were her medium sized breasts. No enhancement here...no need. Perfectly round nipples in similar high contrast as with Ms. Halter but somehow they blended at the edges of her melanin-challenged skin. She used the pole like a stripper.
There I was waiting for the departure of her thong when her boyfriend or husband burst in on my reverie. This guy was a car salesman, I'm sure of it.
