"I'm sorry to intrude, sir, but may I have a quiet word?"
A quiet word can put a damper on what had been a totally incredible evening, but the guy was smooth. Not just the way he spoke, but everything about him. He was the same guy who had welcomed us to the club, in his satin smooth black suit, his smooth, white shirt, and smooth, silk striped, red and black, knotted tie, with his black hair immaculately smoothed back from his high forehead, his eyebrows and moustaches trimmed, his cheeks lightly made up so smoothly, and what had to be some kind of clear lip gloss smoothed across his lips. Either he was gay, or smooth metro-male.
From the way he had appraised my wife when she had checked in her coat, my guess was hetero metro. Her dress, that time around, had been an inexpensive stretch tube, in red, that left her arms and shoulders bare, and skimmed the under curves of her buttocks and her otherwise naked slit. Given the chance, he would have fucked her, in a most considerate, unselfish way. Since he was one of the club's permanent staff, there was no chance that that would happen, but she would be good for business, the kind of woman most male guests would want to fuck.
Not that we swing. Even happily married, respectable couples like ourselves can enjoy a bit of sexual daring, but we are not swingers. That was our first time ever in a swingers club. It was a mutual dare, to celebrate our twentieth anniversary by actually going to a club, checking out the atmosphere, doing a bit of dancing, exploring the play rooms, just to look, not to participate, waiting until we got home to enjoy the privacy of our bedroom.
My wife's dress was part of the dare. Having found the club online, we had checked out the dress code. Dare to bare, lingerie, leather, things like that. The dress she chose, first time around, was that red, stretch fabric, with circular cut outs, like mesh stockings but the holes were round, not diamond shaped. Thse holes stretched wide. Two inches wide. Wide enough for entire areoles to be left bare. Wide enough for guys she danced with, to caress them, skin on skin, and make them respond and redden to their touch.
Not that the men stopped there. A single man pays twice as much as a couple for their entrance fee, and they were there to play. I found myself watching my wife being openly groped on the dance floor. I like to dance for only so long, and had left her to do her thing so unsurprisingly, I guess, someone else moved in. After some solo dancing facing her, a slower track gave him the excuse to go in close. She let him hold her, hands on her butt. As they danced slow together, the guy fingered at her dress, easing the hem gradually upwards, exposing the perfect white globes of her buttocks, stopping only when the hem was rucked around her waist, then fondling the flesh he had just bared.
It was quite a turn on watching, but also an unnerving warning. This was the first guy to touch my wife since we were married. She had danced with other men at parties. Of course she had. But not with her dress rucked up like that, not with her butt exposed, and not with the man groping her like that, or holding her quite so close to his groin. My guess was that he would have had a hard on, and that the hardness would have been pressed against my wife. Given the type of club we had dared ourselves to come to, I had no doubt what the guy would like to do to her. Maybe I should not have left her on the dance floor on her own.
Meanwhile, I was enjoying looking at women wearing even less than a red tube dress. Lingerie meant corsets, suspender belts and stockings, not bras or thongs. Whether what was worn was soft fabric or unyielding leather, I was taking in a never ceasing parade of naked breasts, bare butts and even exposed slits, most of them devoid of hair. I know that as a churchgoer I should not covet my neighbour's wife, but these people did not live beside us, so they were not our neighbours, and I was not planning to fuck any of these women. I did not want them for myself, as 'covet' means. When the time comes, and I am asked questions at the pearly gates, I plan to say that I was only looking. But I admit to being at least as horny as the average guy, and I was entranced by everything I saw.
We were only looking in the play rooms too. For a couple who had never made love outside of our bedroom, except once, on our honeymoon by a quiet lake in Italy, those rooms were something else. They were mind-blowing. I confess to having watched some porn online, but this was real, live, right before your eyes, going all the way, cock sucking, pussy licking, missionary, doggy, two on one, you name it, it was happening.
Our first tour around those play rooms, by now something after mid-night, we just took it all in. Hand in hand for reassurance, we made our way through three playrooms and a dungeon. If seeing people making out together in the playrooms was just staggering, then what was happening in the dungeon was incredible. Not that it was in a basement. It was just through a black painted double doorway on the same level as the rest of the club, dimly lit, decorated in black and red, imitation beams and panelling, brass chandeliers and wall lights, black tiled floor.
The stand-out scenes were, first, one woman strapped to a massive wooden cross, having her butt flayed by her guy, using some kind of multi-strand, short whip or crop. Nothing seriously sadistic, but enough to turn her butt a delicate shade of pink, the strand of the crop marking her with overlapping lines. In between strokes, he was playing with her nipples, and fingering between her parted legs. It was way more than we had expected to see first hand. Then, second, a blindfolded brunette had been strapped on her back into a leather swing, her ankles secured as high as her parted legs could stretch. A guy was fucking her. Another was at her head, playing with her nipples. Four other men were watching. It was only when the first guy finished, spurting his come inside her, and another took his place, that we realised that the other men were not just watching, but were in some kind of queue. Whether the queue stopped with those four guys, or was more open ended, we did not wait to see. Back in the bar, we talked about what we had just witnessed. Both of us had been fascinated, and stunned.
"Would you ever want me to do that,...?"
"No, not in a million years. Would you want to,... I mean, like with the guy you danced with?"
"With a stranger? No! I never want it to be anyone but you!"
"The same. I mean seeing all this,... it's exciting,... but you're all I need."
"If you want,... we could,... I mean,... it might be nice to do it here,... in one of the rooms,...?"
She was telling me that she wanted to, but the inflection in her voice softened what was an enquiring suggestion, making it a question too, the decision left to me.
We found a space on a vinyl mattressed multi-person bed in one of the three play rooms. We were far from ready for the dungeon. The play rooms were daring enough for both of us that time around. The ease with which my wife removed her dress was just incredible, the way she just unzipped my fly, drew out my cock, squatted down and started sucking, so, so, wonderful. Not that we are the kind of lights out, missionary position only, couple who wear body concealing pyjamas at all times. We sleep naked. We know how to enjoy our God-given bodies. My wife sucks my cock, I lick her out. We know how to fuck, and not just missionary.
