I'm going to tell you about an experience I had during a business trip to a European city. I've kept some details a bit vague but may reveal more if you ask me.
The city I went to doesn't have much of a swinging scene, but on previous visits I'd scouted out a couple of venues and had a little taste of action. So on this trip, late one evening, after dinner with colleagues, I got in a cab and handed the driver a piece of paper on which I'd written a particular address. He drove for 20 minutes or so away from the city centre and eventually dropped me outside a large detached town house in a quiet residential suburb.
I was buzzed in at the gate and someone opened the front door. Last time I'd been here, I'd been welcomed by a suave barman with excellent English who had given me a tour of the premises and introduced other guests. (He later joined in a gang bang with considerable enthusiasm - perk of the job I guess). But this time I was met by a grizzled chap in T shirt and jeans who, while polite enough, could just about communicate enough to take my entrance fee.
The entrance led straight into a bar area. It seemed quiet. Not much happening. A few men at the bar. I sat on a bar stool and asked the very attractive and sexily dressed barmaid for a mineral water (I had drunk quite enough alcohol at dinner). She didn't understand, and I didn't know the local word. Impasse. Then a female voice to my left - "Water, yes?" followed by something I did not understand. The barmaid smiled and served me my drink.
Well, that was an icebreaker. I turned to look at my new-found interpreter. She was probably in her mid-forties and strikingly attractive. Pale skin; sharp, fine, rather bird-like features; huge blue-grey eyes; and black hair, drawn back rather severely. She was wearing a dress that you could only wear in a sex club. It was short, backless, black, and made entirely of flimsy see-through material. She was very obviously completely naked underneath it. I could make out a trim, fit figure with small round breasts.
"Your first time here?" she asked, in accented but clear English, fixing me with those hypnotic eyes.
"Second, actually."
"You go to other swinger clubs?"
"Occasionally." I named venues that I had visited in the UK and elsewhere. "But, you know, I am not, like, a hardened swinger."
"Sure. My husband and I," - she nodded towards a tall, slightly older but athletic-looking man who was standing a short distance away, watching impassively - "we live the lifestyle, you know? He is my master."
Whoa. I felt out of my depth. She'll never be interested in someone as gauche as me, I thought. But she smiled, and turned on her bar stool so that her thigh was pressed against mine. And she started to tell me stories from the lifestyle. Hedonists' parades on the beach at Cap d'Agde, her as slave wearing a hessian sack and a neck chain. Bondage, shibaru, suspension. "Being suspended, it's stronger than orgasm." Having feathers attached to her back by needles to turn her into a peacock. It was dizzying. And I knew she was showing off (and now I think of it, the needles seemed to have left no trace at all on her back) but she was doing so in such a charming, welcoming way that I didn't mind being shown how limited my own life experience was in certain areas.
And then she was gone and I wasn't quite sure how. I think she went to talk to her husband, I turned to the barmaid to mime another order for water, and when I turned back, the woman, her husband and one of the guys who had been sitting at the bar were no longer there.
Oh well. I decided it would be a bit needy to go looking for her so I drank my water without rushing and sauntered up the stairs to where I knew the playrooms were. Another guy from the bar followed.
I'd been in the main playroom, with its porn video screen and enormous "bed" (the size of about 3 double beds), on my last visit. This time, a gate consisting of an iron grille had been pulled across the entrance with a notice in English and the local language: "Couples room. Single men only by invitation." The woman's husband was watching though the grille and did not mind the other guy and me standing next to him. Now, I knew it would have been perfectly possible to find a spot on that bed out of sight of the entrance. But the woman and the guy she had chosen had placed themselves quite deliberately in the eyeline of anyone standing where we were. They were both naked: she was lying back with her legs in the air while he, supporting himself on his arms, was banging away enthusiastically at her. Nice. I placed my hand on my own crotch to feel my cock harden. The woman moaned and gasped convincingly while her playmate quickened up his thrusts before a grimace and a grunt on his part indicated that he had shot his load inside her. He breathed deeply for a few moments, then raised himself off her while ensuring the condom did not slip off his cock. As he retreated to the back of the room, the woman stood up, smiled at those of us watching through the grille and said, "You wanna come and play?" She had let her hair down, literally, and her slim but womanly figure was displayed in all its glory.