Club Ravish

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.

The thought of doing something that would please him also appealed to her -- and all the more because he'd asked her for it.

Her mouth watered as she imagined his musky scent filling her nose and mouth, his thick tip brushing the back of her throat, the salt of his pre-cum at her tongue.

A thought interrupted the sultry plans she was concocting in her head; the last time she'd blown someone, it had been her husband, two nights ago.

She thought of blowing the man up on the platform with her and then going home later that night to kiss her husband with those very same lips.

Olivia shoved the thought away, pausing the hand's ministrations at her cunt briefly so she could stick two fingers inside herself.

She arched, rolling her hips into her knuckles as she tilted her pelvis out towards the crowd and fingered herself.

She couldn't fill herself substantially, but perhaps someone would get inspired to hop up and help her soon.

In response to her partner's question, she shook her head.

"No thanks, for now."

She felt a finger tap against her shoulder blade.

"Let me know if you change your mind."

Olivia was almost certain she would. She wondered how late he'd be staying tonight and if his offer was a standing one.

She thought she heard someone moan from below her, and she imagined people in the crowd, women with their tits out, men fucking their closed fists as they watched her.

The friction of her fingers inside her was sweet. It only intensified the excitement she already felt for this evening, but how could she build on that?

Maybe she should blow the man next to her.

While normally, the anonymity was what got her worked up, the close quarters of this man and her compared to the audience had her fighting the urge to ripping the blindfold off. Was he handsome? Was he big?

His voice was deep, which had her picturing someone stocky and tough.

What color hair did he have? Was he cut?

The grip he had on her shoulders was strong; she wanted to feel them somewhere else. When she'd regained her balance, she leaned back, and his hands slipped from her shoulders to cup her breasts.

He never skipped a beat as he fondled and cupped her, thumbs and forefinger pinching at her nipples, making her moan as she rutted against her hand.

"You have a lot of practice?" Someone called.

Her lips twitched upwards.

"Everyday!"

There was a scandalized 'ooh!' from several people nearby, pierced by a playful whistle.

That's right, folks, I'll be here all week.

The hands at her breasts squeezed as if letting her know he'd also enjoyed the answer and the wicked thoughts it spun in his head.

"Why use your fingers, kitten, when I can give you something so much better?"

"Then come up here and give it to me."

She could feel lips at her neck and shoulder, teeth sinking in lightly where the two areas connected. She moaned. Fuck, maybe she would suck him off after all.

"I'd want to fuck you where everyone can see it -- you included -- like in front of a mirror or something."

This voice, from the same person in the audience who'd called her 'kitten', was almost drowned out by the music and the voices of other patrons. He forged ahead, though.

"I'd want you to watch my cock disappear into you as you bounce on my lap, my fingers at your clit, driving you crazy—"

His dirty talk wasn't bad, but it wasn't what had her fingers moving faster inside her either. Her stomach flipped, a wet heat springing at her skin, washing it cold once it faded, leaving room for the next wave to come up.

She was paying close attention to how the man on stage with her touched her. She wanted to pull his face down so that it was planted in her breasts. She suddenly wanted to sit and bounce on his lap, riding him.

She played it out in her mind; his white-blonde hair washed a brilliant magenta under the lights (where the physical details of her mystery lover came from, she had no idea -- nor did she really care,) his long, girthy cock stretching her so bad it might split her into two. And yes -- he was handsome -- the fantasy demanded it, with facial features that looked like they were cut from marble and eyes so dark a blue, they could've been a slate grey.

He had glasses, too, a detail that softened the raw, sexual energy he gave off, as it was.

Out of the mysterious sightlessness came the sensation of someone brushing their fingers against her wet sex, bumping against her own hands as she worked herself. Another clumsy touch brushed against her ribs and the underside of her breast as her mysterious stage partner continued to massage and fondle her.

She let out another moan, louder this time as if she drew volume from the touches of others. She could feel her walls clench and release, pulsating around her fingers; she was getting close.

She wanted to tell the man on the platform with her.

"I think I'm coming."

Her voice sounded meek. It was like home-Olivia had momentarily stepped in for club-Olivia.

That wasn't good at all.

"You think, or you know?"

The man's voice was ribbing.

She was startled at the feeling of someone smacking her ass. Still, it wasn't very hard and had come from below her, rather than above or beside -- Ravish must've been packed enough by now that all the space around the platforms was filled with a horny, wanting audience.

"They like you," the voice from beside her said. "They look like they want to try and mount the stage, and then you."

"And what about you? First dibs?"

He groaned at her flirtatious offer.

"You couldn't keep me away," he nearly growled.

Olivia felt a shivery sensation in her gut that took a few moments for her to recognize -- butterflies.

She felt herself clench hard around her fingers, so much so that it disrupted the frantic rhythm she'd fallen into.

The hands at her breasts left and were sorely missed. She wondered where her partner had gone. She didn't linger long on this, though -- the greedy squeeze of her walls against her fingers told her she was near. Rather than waste her energy on missing a man she'd never even gotten to meet, she decided to pursue her own release.

Just as she was starting to feel herself spasm and pulse, ready to unfurl in a loud, wet release in front of everyone -- readier yet to put her back into it and put on a show, she felt a spurt of something hot and sticky spatter onto her face.

The crowd gasped in a collective receding wave of noise before it picked up again; some people hooted, some people whistled.

"Fucking sweet," someone groaned.

Olivia was so startled for a moment that she almost lost the hold she had on her impending orgasm.

Her fingers stuttered in her as she drank in the new sensation of being come on. It seemed her partner hadn't come in quite some time; the load he dropped on her was generous. His musky scent clouded around her, and she darted her tongue out to catch the globule beading at her bottom lip. Her knuckles crashed against her as she pumped her fingers in, insistent on her own release.

"Couldn't wait, could you?"

She felt a driblet of cum slip over her breast, catching at her nipple. She came before her partner could answer.

Her skin felt like it was swimming in heat and sweat.

She panted, her chest rising and falling. She could feel something soft brushing at her face and lips, gathering the cum and wiping it away -- so her partner was a gentleman.

Blindly leaning her head forward, she caught his fingers clumsily, softly between her lips, her tongue venturing out to see if she could catch anymore spend.

When she did, she smiled wide, letting him pull his hand away.

"You taste good."

"You look even better."

She smiled, not knowing what direction to look to direct it to him. Then, she felt a touch at the inside of a knee -- nothing sexy, just a light tap.

"Miss," the voice had an accent that sounded European, she thought. However, her untrained ears couldn't place exactly where, especially in the messy runoff of club music and voices from the crowd. "Are we allowed to take pictures?"

She had to think for a moment -- on the one hand, the blindfold covered her eyes; was she even recognizable like this? She couldn't imagine how. On the other hand, she really didn't need leaked photos of her, covered in cum and naked at one of the city's seedier establishments. She paused -- or did she? The idea of people she passed every day in the streets, of her coworkers, of people she'd dined in the same restaurants as -- of all of them coming across her picture, or better yet, coming because of her picture made her clench despite how she still thrummed in the aftermath of her recent orgasm.