Izzy Visits A Club

It took me years to bring this up with my partner.

Going to a sex club has always been a fantasy of mine, but I was certain Isabel would not be interested. And I wasn't sure I would enjoy the reality as much as the fantasy. But one evening, after a bit too much (or maybe just the right amount) of bourbon, unexpected words escaped my mouth.

You see, occasionally, and always after "some quantity" of whiskey, I'd say naughty words to Isabel while we were making love. I'd tell her how I love the feeling of my penis inside her, that I like to look down and see her lips stretched around my shaft, and that I can see her swollen clit. She's a little shy when it comes to sex and would never admit to me, or to herself, that she likes to hear these words, but on the rare occasions when I do whisper naughty words, she gets very excited and cums even harder. She'd deny it, but it's undeniable.

On this particular evening, as I was thrusting into her at a moderate pace (while being sure to bang my pubic bone against her mound), I whispered in her ear, "Sometimes when I masturbate (the fact that I masturbate wasn't news to her) I fantasize that another man and I are working you over. The fantasy makes me explode! Sometimes I imagine that you're sucking on me while someone is pounding you from behind. God, I love seeing you cum. Sometimes there are several guys. We're kissing your breasts, licking your pussy, and fucking you from behind. You're surrounded by handsome guys who just want to please you and make you cum, and cum, and cum."

I am sure

she

has never had that fantasy--which might have made it even more thrilling, or disgusting. As I told her my forbidden thoughts, she began moaning and pumping against my penis, banging against me.

"The men have clean, hard shafts that ache to please you. And while you're being fucked, you are also holding a stiff penis in each hand... and sometimes mine is in your mouth. And you're cumming and cumming without any guilt, just loving the feeling of being surrounded by stiff penises that want to thrust and cum inside you."

With that, she let out a long moan and her pussy began a pulsing orgasm around my cock. I stared at her wonderful face as I unloaded into her sweet hole. And then I collapsed onto the bed beside her.

After a few minutes of rest, she broke the silence with, "Good fuck!"

I held her in my arms and thought the same. I agreed, "God that was wonderful."

We lay there for several more minutes; I think. I may have drifted off for a bit.

"Do you really think that?" she asked.

"What? That it was a good fuck and that it felt wonderful? Absolutely!" I replied, grinning like a high-schooler who was just starting his sexual life.

"No, do you actually imagine a bunch of guys fucking me when you jack off?" She asked.

I paused. I could feel a blush that she couldn't see in the candlelight.

"Um, sometimes. Yeah." I admitted. In reality, this was a rare fantasy for me, but yeah, I'd thought about it.

"How come?" She asked. "How come you want other guys to fuck me. That sounds creepy."

"I guess because I like to pleasure you. To see you cum. To see you horny." I said.

"And it's just a fantasy," I continued. "I wasn't proposing it, just imagining it. Thinking about you horny as hell, surrounded by penises, loving it..." my voice trailed off as I searched for the words. "Okay, maybe it

is

creepy, but the

fantasy

turns me on," I confessed.

There was a long pause. Maybe a few minutes. I thought the conversation was over. I hoped I wouldn't regret having shared my fantasy.

"And how do I end up surrounded by all these guys? Are they people we know? Is it in our house?" She asked.

Ugh! The details. I was embarrassed to answer. But I'd been embarrassed to justify my thoughts already and, although this doesn't make sense as I write it now, it didn't seem like letting her know what I was thinking could make things worse.

"It varies." I explained, "but it usually involves us visiting a sex club in a big city."

I thought for a moment, "And it

never

involves anyone we know."

There was another pause before she asked her next question, "Are there other girls?"

"No, not usually," I explained. "Or when there are, that's a different fantasy."

"What do these guys look like?" she asked.

"It's a fantasy, so there isn't clarity. There are usually a variety of guys. You know, sometimes there are soccer-type athletic guys, or Black guys, or distinguished grey-haired guys,..." My voice trailed off.

"What?" she asked startled. "How many guys are there?" she asked.

"Usually just me and another guy, but sometimes several," I told her. "It's a

fantasy

, so there aren't a lot of details--it's more like a dream. The only consistent things are that they're clean, fit, and think you're hot. And they're hard and horny and want to fuck you."

"And you're okay with that?" She asked.

"Well, in my fantasy, yeah, I'm okay with it. Because in my fantasy you're in love with me, in love with my penis, and you always want to fuck me."

"So why do you think you fantasize about me having sex with another guy, or guys? Why isn't just the two of us doing those things enough?" She asked.

"I think because, at least in my fantasy, I want you to go over the top. To have sex that is beyond your imagination. To cum harder than you've ever cum before. And while you are experiencing sex that you could never have imagined, I want you to know that I am giving you that experience. That I'm giving you that experience by putting you in the position where a lot of guys want you. That I'm giving it to you by having these men fuck you. And I'm giving it to you because I love you so much and want to you experience this sexual bliss." I admitted.

"In my fantasy, and that's what this is--a fantasy, you love me even more, even while other guys are fucking you and pulling on your labia, you love me even more because I'm giving you this experience."

There was another pause. I was hoping she would understand that the root of my fantasy was making her happy. I was hoping she wouldn't think I was too creepy.

"Damn boy, that's sweet! It's really weird, really sweet, and

really

hot." She said as she leaned over and gave a few firm sucks on my wilted penis.

"You can have that fantasy anytime you want to jack off," she continued, "under one condition."

"You're placing a condition on my fantasies? Really? And what is it?" I asked.

"The condition is that you share your fantasies with me. It makes me hot, too." Her voice trailed off as she blushed.

I think we both fell asleep for a few minutes. I awoke to her next question.

"I know it's a fantasy, but would you want to do that? Would you really like to see me sucking and fucking multiple guys? Wouldn't you be jealous?"

"Isabel, if I knew that you truly loved me, that you love me and my penis more than any other, then yeah, I think I'd like it. I'd love to see you so hot and horny that you wanted to be fucked by multiple guys. That you wanted to suck on one guy and be fucked by another while another licked your clit. I'd like to see you so overcome by lust that you would do and ask for and submit to anything."

I waited a moment for that to sink in.

"Do you think that's creepy?" I asked.

There was a pause. She didn't answer.

"Do you still love me?" I asked, sarcastically.

"Yeah, I still love you. Probably even more than before." She said.

"Although if you really loved me, you'd arrange for this to happen instead of just thinking about it in your overactive imagination while you pull your pecker." She said, with taunting sarcasm.

I smiled and gave her a big hug. She's a wonderful gal.

Then she threw me several questions in a row.

"Have you ever had sex with more than one person? With two guys and a girl? Two girls and a guy? Have you ever been to a sex club?"

Without answering, I waited for her stream of questions to abate. I sensed a bit of jealousy.

"None of the above," I answered, "unless you consider a strip club a 'sex club'."

"And would you like to? In the real world and not just in that over-sexed mind of yours?" she asked.

The conversation felt honest. I didn't feel the need to lie.

"Yeah, I

think

I'd like it. To have sex with multiple people. But I'm afraid that the reality would be uncomfortable. In my daydreaming, the people are blurry images who are only interested in pleasing you or pleasing me, or pleasing themselves. But in the 'real world,' I'm afraid they'd seem like, well, real people."

After admitting my desire, as well as my concerns, it seemed reasonable to throw the question back at her.

"Would you like it? In the 'real world' and not just in my mind? Would you like to have me and another guy work you over? Or have several guys give you the 'treatment?'" I asked. ("Treatment" is our word for her stretching out on her back while I focus on pleasing her with my hands, mouth, and ultimately, my penis.)

Her pause.

"I don't know. I hadn't thought of it before. My mind doesn't work the same as yours. When you tell me about it, yeah, I get excited and like the idea. So when it's a fantasy, and especially when it's

your

fantasy, yeah, sucking on you while someone is thrusting into me from behind and men are kissing my breasts and rubbing me, yeah,

thinking

about it makes me wet."

She paused. I don't think she was comfortable admitting this to me, or herself.

"Does that make me a pervert?" She asked, adding sarcastically, "Do you still love me?"

"Hah!" I replied quickly. "The fact that you like the fantasy makes me love you even more."

We lay on our backs, still basking in our post-orgasmic state.

"Are there any sex clubs around her?" She asked.

"What? Are you already up for a group 'treatment'?" I countered.

"No! But I was thinking, as much as you're into this fantasy, I'd be willing to go to one of these clubs, watch other people do naughty things, and then come home and let you fuck me like the naughty guy you are," she answered.

"No, I don't think there aren't any sex clubs around here. But I'll bet there are plenty in DC."

I mentioned DC because we were going there in a week on one of her many business trips.

"Should we visit one with the agreement that we're there to look and not touch?" I asked.

"Sure, big boy!" She laughed.

I think she might have been thinking I'd chicken out. In fact, I

was

wondering if I had the guts to follow through.

We arrived in an Uber--I think a classier guy would have rented a limo.

From the outside, the building didn't look nefarious. It looked like a brownstone home, only much larger. My parents' generation might have called it a mansion.

I wasn't sure where I'd find a club of pleasure. I finally got the nerve to ask the jock who was managing the hotel's gym. He wasn't embarrassed to give his recommendation. He explained that there was this pricy, several hundred dollars for an evening visit, sex club, and that you needed a recommendation to get in--he handed me a card with a handwritten note on the back. I tipped him a fifty.

As we approached the large wooden door, a handsome young man in a tuxedo smiled and opened the door. Isabel grinned and looked back at me.

The staff inside were equally-well dressed. Most of the men were shirtless under their tuxedos, although a few of them were wearing starched and unbuttoned shirts. And about half of the men wore black boxer briefs in lieu of pants; boxer briefs with pouches that accented their manhood.

The women were also dressed in black. Some wore tuxedos that were similar to the men's, although they had vests that were cut to call attention to their breasts. And, although a few women were wearing very short boxer briefs, most were wearing G-strings. And all of the employees were wearing some type of "choker" collar. Old-school. Hot.

The men were fit, but not in the overly muscular manner I expected in this kind of place. And the women, who were ridiculously attractive, didn't have the too-big boobs and excessive makeup I expected.

We walked through the entrance to discover a large open room with people milling around and chatting. Most of the guests were holding drinks. There were long bars with stainless steel counters on either side of the main room and several small, free-standing bars scattered throughout the room.

A few dozen couples were standing around. A couple at the bar was making out. His hand was up his woman's shirt and she was squeezing him firmly through his pants.

My eyes roamed the room. A man was standing near another counter, his pants below his knees. An attractive woman was kneeling and stroking him gently--she held the end of his penis in her mouth.

Isabel looked at me and followed my gaze. When she saw what I saw, her eyes opened wide and she turned and looked at me. Her expression seemed to say, "Oh my god what are we doing here?"

I tried to smile back at her confidently for reassurance, but the truth is I had the same thought, "What

are

we doing here?"

An attractive older guy, I'm guessing he was in his early fifties, momentarily placed his hands on our shoulders.

"By the looks on your faces," he said with a friendly smile, "I'm guessing this is your first time here."

I smiled back. Isabel looked uncertain.

"I'd ask how you can tell," I said smiling, "but if my face reveals half the uncertainty that I'm feeling, it must be very obvious."

He responded with a smile and a knowing nod.

"Yes, this is the first time we've been here or anywhere remotely like it," I admitted.

"You can relax," he counseled. "Everybody has apprehension the first time they're in a place remotely like this. But as you'll soon discover, this is a safe place. Nobody will bother you and if anybody suggests something that you're not interested in, you can simply smile and say no. In fact, a lot of people come here simply to watch."

"That's good to hear," I said, "because that's our plan. We made a deal that we are here 'simply to watch' and that we will go home for..." I wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.

I could tell by the look on Isabel's face she didn't like me telling this guy we were going to have sex when we got home. My return glance, and the shrugging of my shoulders, expressed what I was thinking, "It's okay to talk to him about sex. Look where we are!"

"That sounds like a good plan," he replied. "I'm Roger. Why don't you grab some drinks and I'll give you a tour of the place."

"Thanks, Roger," I replied, as I introduced ourselves. "That sounds like a 'good plan,' too."

I returned a few minutes later with drinks. Isabel and Roger were discussing her work as a scientist. I'd expected that she would have gone incognito and not talked about her "real" life, but apparently, she was comfortable with Roger and the setting (the latter seemed doubtful).

With drinks in hand, Roger led us down a broad hallway. Large doors on either side of the hallway gave us views into the adjoining rooms.

The first room we passed was the size of a large living room. There were three beds, with ornate headboards aligned along the far wall. There were couples in the first two beds; the third was unoccupied. The couples were naked. The sheets and blankets hung from the foot of the beds. Although the room itself was dark, small spotlights illuminated each bed.

The couples were doing what couples do. On the first bed, it was man-on-top with the woman pulling her legs wide apart. On the second, the woman was straddling her man. His hips were thrusting upwards at Mach speed.

I wasn't sure if the two couples knew each other or if they just ended up in the same "bedroom." The couples were not, however, shy about looking at the activities taking place on the adjacent bed.

Continuing our tour, we turned the corner at the end of the long hallway and encountered three naked young men. Their backs were against the wall; their hands were secured by leather straps above their heads. A fit woman, probably in her late 30s or early 40s, was on her knees in front of them. As we watched, she would suckle on one of their penises for 30 or 40 seconds until the lucky young man would begin to rock his hips and moan, she'd then switch to the next gent leaving the previous man's unattended cock swaying in the air. The boys looked excited yet exhausted. I suspect she was keeping them happy-enough that their erections remained rigid, yet not happy enough to unload. I wondered how long she would keep them in that torturous state. For their sake, I hoped it wouldn't be much longer.

Roger cleared his throat several times to get our attention and then suggested we keep walking.

The next room we passed had a massage table in its center. An oiled woman was getting massaged, from head to feet and in between, by four muscular men. The room was midnight dark except for a single white lightbulb that dangled above the table.

Isabel, who had been several steps ahead of me, was stopped at the next doorway and watching something intently. I walked up and stood next to her. What I saw was a little confusing, at least for me. Isabel looked more curious than confused.

There were three men inside. One of them was on all fours in the center of a round, red bed. He was sucking on a man who was kneeling in front of him. The third guy was slow-fucking the man who was on all fours. We could see his oiled penis sliding in and out of the sucker's ass. The three of them were making quiet, animalistic, grunting and moaning sounds. I didn't know what to make of it. It was sexual and exciting, yet it wasn't something I wanted to do. I wondered if that's how Isabel was feeling about much of what we'd seen. We walked on.

The hallway ended at a large room with two free-standing bars. The "help" in this room were dressed scantily. Many of the waiters were wearing G-strings; some didn't have anything covering their manhood other than the flaps of their jackets. Most of the waitresses were naked below their waists. And the G-strings that the few women were wearing had slipped between their shaved vulva.

Roger walked up to a bar and shook hands with a couple of thirty-something guys who were "hanging out," literally, at the bar. He introduced us to them briefly and we shook hands. Isabel did the same. Her lowered eyes could have been taken as a sign of modesty, but it was obvious they were inspecting the men's penises. I don't think she was aware that she was staring, but their swelling shafts made it clear the men were.

Roger handed us fresh drinks and proposed a toast "To your next adventure!" Isabel looked up to receive the drink from his hand and smiled at his toast, but her eyes instinctively returned to study the men. I glanced at Roger who smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "So what? She wants to look."

Looking at both of us, Roger offered a suggestion.

"I know your plan is to go home after having a look-see, and that remains an excellent plan. However, you should know that you do not have to go home to enjoy each other's company. There are plenty of private rooms where you won't be bothered. And you might find it fun to play with each other when you're still under the spell of this magical place."

Isabel and I exchanged nervous, noncommittal glances.

After a few sips of his drink, he added, "There are also public rooms where the two of you can enjoy each other, but where others can have the pleasure of watching you."

I looked up at Isabel who smiled, bit her lip, and looked down again--at the penises, which, after a short decline, resumed their upward journeys, Isabel, now aware of her role in their transformations, looked up at me quickly as if to say, "Oh shit! I'm staring, aren't I?" I smiled.