Club Ravish

She didn't want to take the safe option -- she never had here.

That's why she'd start coming to Club Ravish anyway. She could've stayed at home and simmered in her arousal and boredom, but she didn't.

She went and got hers, and now instead of the sexually neglected wife, she was dicked down weekly and a coveted object of desire.

More than that, though, she really didn't want to think of the consequences, especially now.

She flashed a smile to the crowd.

"Shoot!" She called, hoping the professional voyeur in the audience heard her. "How do you want me?"

She could feel the vibrations where someone made impact with the platform, and then she heard a grunt and felt it again -- someone was mounting the stage.

Two guiding touches at her shoulders manifested -- gentler than her other stage partner.

"Lean back like this," the accent was much closer now, as was the sharp scent of his aftershave.

Olivia obeyed, leaning back as much as she could before she started to lose her balance. The first set of hands tipped her right into the firm hold of partner number one again. She couldn't help but think she was undergoing the ultimate trust exercise, laying naked, blindfolded back into a stranger's arms.

"Mm, good. Now," another gentle brush of fingers swept around Olivia's inner thighs, easing them wider apart. "Let's get a better look at what you have here."

She could feel the stickiness at her folds make a wet sound as the movement forced her into a more open, more vulnerable position.

Hands took hers, surprisingly cold, and guided her hands to her breasts, giving them a lofty little squeeze.

"Mm, like that. Perfect."

She gave her own breasts a little squeeze; perfect was right.

Soft, buoyant, with cute little nipples, like cherries waiting to be sucked on. Olivia fondled her breasts softly, and the photographer never stopped her.

Someone from the audience whistled.

The hands at her shoulders and back, bracing her up, let her down, and she let out a hiss as she felt the cold surface of the platform hit her back.

Her nipples were hard, rasping against her palms. She never stopped her kneading. Puncturing the hazy wall of noise in the club, she could just make out the thin, reedy sound of the camera shutter.

"Just like that -- vulnerable, opened up to the viewer, teasing us with those yummy tits of yours."

The camera clicked a few more times. When the photographer spoke again, his voice was much closer.

"Now, for this next pose, it's going to be a bit more...demanding, so let your friend guide you, okay?"

Olivia's stomach flipped. Demanding?

Somewhere up above, she could hear the unintelligible voices of the photographer and her partner. Then, she felt a pair of strong hands smooth over her sides to her hips.

She could feel a presence above her.

"What is it?"

A note of silence fell.

"Trust me."

Olivia didn't answer. Instead, she let her partner get a firm grip on her hips and start to lift.

"Keep your shoulders and back down. Maybe use your hands to support your back as I lift your hips."

She obeyed and, in doing so, found new stability despite how her partner raised her legs. Her upper arms formed a sort of base as her hands braced at her lower back.

He paused, and she felt suspended in the air, all the more vulnerable in being naked.

"I'm going to fold your legs over now, okay?"

Behind the blindfold, Olivia's brow furrowed -- she didn't fully understand what he meant by this. She was performing now, though, all the same and didn't feel she had the time to ask.

"Okay."

She let her partner do as he said he would, feeling carefully for any signs of strain or discomfort. Surprisingly, there was none. The way he did, it was like bending over at the waist, but while laying on her back and shoulders, the tops of her thighs brushed her belly, her shins touching the floor. Like this, her cunt was facing straight up, like someone could come along and just stick their cock in.

Pressed to the stage like this, she could hear so much more; the cold surface against her neck and upper back, the hardness bruising her shoulder blades, and of course, the blood rushing all to her head.

She felt alone here, this exposed. The partner she'd had when she'd first gotten onto the platform felt far away -- even if he could've been right beside her, for all she knew.

The camera continued to snap shots of her, legs spread generously and upside down.

Something stroked along her cunt, too thick to be fingers.

Someone's cock?

She moaned, temporarily losing some of the pose's stability in her body's need to lean further into the sensation.

"Easy," that deep rumbling voice sounded, close and just above her.

She thought of his cock, thick, long, cut or uncut -- who knew?

Who cared? It could stuff her just as well.

Her partner kept stroking her in long, measured strokes.

Sometimes, he'd draw almost painfully close to her clit but would stop just far enough away where he wasn't touching it. Was he teasing her? How must she look, practically upside down as this man nearly fucked her. She could feel the weight of her breasts just under her chin in this strange position. It heightened the vulnerability she felt, and with it, the near-maddening arousal.

She thought she must've been so wet now that a small lake was gathering between her legs. Her partner's cock certainly glided easily along her sensitive folds.

Through this, it was almost impossible to notice the shutter of the camera, which was beginning to melt into the cacophony of the club, rather than cut through it.

Olivia gasped as her partner removed his length from her sex, but before she could protest, his voice cut her off.

"Switching positions."

She could feel that firm grip on her hips again, guiding them over her head and back down, so she was laying on her back. There were voices overhead as the photographer explained what he wanted.

Then her partner's touch was back, stroking from shoulder to hip. His touch felt a little less firm when he was petting, caressing rather than lifting or grasping. It didn't last long; then his hands were easing under her and shifting her up onto her side.

She could hear a few more whistles.

"Look at that body."

On her side like this, the people in front of her could get a generous glimpse of her front side, breasts hanging out, whereas from behind her, the people got a great view of her ass.

Someone reached up to spank her lightly.

Her partner's guiding touch reappeared at her leg. Her body obeyed, bending her leg so that her knee formed a peek over the leg laying flat against the platform. She propped her head up with one hand, displaying her breasts to the audience in front of her and the wet seam of her cunt to everyone else. She felt a sweaty hand reach up to tweak one of her nipples, and she moaned, feeling herself get wetter.

She was already a mess between her legs.

She wondered if the other club-goers could tell.

The snip of the camera shutter could still vaguely be heard when she chose to focus on it. The platform vibrated slightly behind her like someone was adding their weight to it.

She felt something brush lightly against her forehead. Then the crowd in their vicinity erupted into a smattering of cheers and whistles. She thought she felt something pass over her body; someone's presence shifting over her, first as it brushed over her forehead, then as it caressed against her ass.

She could tell it wasn't her partner; this touch was different.

Firm, but softer somehow. A gentler heat rather than a domineering grasp and less sweaty. This hand hadn't touched Olivia yet.

Down by her legs, she felt something -- or someone -- move between them, weaving sort of between the one bent and the one laying.

Whoever was down there was broad; she could feel the impressive barrel of his torso between her knees and further up as he continued to push his way between her thighs.

Then something thick and hard pressed against her swollen cunt, and she knew that this stranger was here to fuck her.

"Oh!—"

She had been waiting for this all night; the surprise in her voice sent the crowd wild.

Olivia thought she could hear the rub of skin, and she imagined how many people might've started touching themselves at how she must look right now, with this monster of a man's cock pressing into her. She hadn't been stretched, so she felt a burn as he parted her inner walls. Still, she took him valiantly; she had been waiting for some action all evening, and it was finally here.

"Fuck, you're tight."

The voice grunted, rough and scratchy like hot gravel.

It immediately set her skin on fire, and she moaned, wanting to give her partner even more things to enjoy.

She could feel the jostle of her breasts; it was almost a shame that he was so preoccupied with her lower half, only fuck, it felt so good. He was thick enough that she almost thought he'd break her in half; God, she almost hoped he would.

His hands were hard at her hips, using them as leverage so he could pound into her.

Her legs were squeezed tight around him. When she tensed and trembled around him, Olivia could feel the flex of his thick thighs.

God, she wanted to rip off the blindfold and look into the eyes of the man taking her so vigorously.

The arm keeping her head up had since tired, and now she let herself sprawl messily across the platform. Her face drew in pleasure; this only deepened the angle at which he fucked her. She could feel hands on her now, everywhere, reaching over the edge of the stage, grabbing her hands, tracing along her arms, squeezing her breasts, and bouncing them in their palms.

She felt like a piece of meat tossed to a pack of wolves.

The thought only made her burn hotter.

Olivia felt tension leap at his ass as he pumped his cock in and out of her. The virility in his movements, the strength -- she wanted to milk his cock of every last drop. She clenched willfully around him as if to communicate that to him.

She let herself be loud in response to how he fucked her; she wanted everyone to know just how good he was. Moans spilled haplessly from her lips as she writhed, rolling her hips against his.

The crowd seemed to respond well; she was starting to lose track of the sweaty touches smoothing down her body, groping at her breasts, pinching her nipples, squeezing at her ass and thighs.

Now she could feel her cunt tensing with every touch.

The musky scent of sweat and sex was everywhere, clouding over her. It was almost as if her face were inches from someone's crotch -- she wondered if it was.

Her skin was sensitive. Olivia felt hyperaware of every sensation, from the fingers stroking at her to the drag of this strange man's cock inside of her to the bead of sweat slipping down her back.

She could feel someone stroking at her hair; the softness of this touch contrasted starkly with the robust, pinched grip at her hip.

"You like that?"

The voice over her came so suddenly it almost startled Olivia.

With its raspy, silky quality, she was surprised she'd heard him.

She did; his cock reached depths in her that hadn't been seen in years.

"I do," she sighed wantonly. "You—oh!—you stretch me so good."

She could just barely make out the grunt punched out of her partner as he continued to plow into her.

Olivia couldn't help but wonder how she looked beneath him. Her skin shone with sweat, her hair mussed as a myriad of different hands pulled and reached for her, fondling, squeezing, stroking. She knew her body had a bit of give to it. She could feel the bounce of her tits and her ass, how her thighs shook and trembled.

Her skin burned.

One of the hands at her hip left. Suddenly she felt something brush over the sensitive button nestled against her wet folds, and her body jolted like she was a livewire.

"Ah!—" she gasped as wetness flooded her.

"Look at how you rut, like a filthy, fucking whore."

The cock pumping into her never stopped, her inner walls rippling around it as his fingers worked at her clit, circling fast, just shy of painful, making her body writhe.

It was so, so good.

Olivia let out a helpless little mewl, not only a testament to the cock she was taking now but an invitation for others as well.

"Oh! Please, give it to me—"

He never had the chance; her orgasm hit her with the force of a truck, and she tensed. She scrambled for a hold on anything, anyone, writhing as her release wracked her.

Someone grabbed her hand and guided it to something she could wrap her fingers around. When her hand was coaxed into a short, rapid-fire back and forth motion, she knew she was holding on to someone's cock.

All the while, the man fucking her never let up as he pumped into her. Her walls felt like they were vibrating with the overload of sensation and now she was writhing trying to get away, but still, the man's hands anchored her to his hips.

"You wanted it, now take it," someone called.

"You're gonna make a great cum dumpster, kitten."

This voice was lower and much closer to her. Her stomach flipped as she wondered at the seriousness of the statement.

Olivia felt his cock twitch inside of her and knew he was close. Fuck, she loved the feel of a man spilling himself inside of her, all warm and sloppy.

At this, the hand wrapped around someone's cock stuttered in its rhythm, and the owner of said cock wrapped his hands around Liv's again, coaxing her back into an easy rhythm with a grunt.

She felt a tight grip yank her hips forward as the man fucking her hilted deep inside of her. She felt the telltale spread of warmth of his seed, and her toes curled at the luxury in the sensation.

Her partner's stillness inside of her told Olivia that the performance was over. She arched towards him, trying to press his softening cock deeper inside of her, to pull a last bit of sensation from him before he pulled out. Her hand was once again coaxed into motion at the mystery-cock in her fingers.

The scent of musk clouded around her as a hot spatter of cum suddenly globbed at her face and hair.

Meanwhile, the man who'd fucked her was pulling out now. The drag of him against her hypersensitive walls paired with the confusion of the hard shaft in one hand, as the other struggled to comb the slippery substance from her hair, through her into chaos.

"Keep it in, sweetheart. Cream's your color."

A few other men laughed their harsh, barking laughs in agreement. Her hand, wrapped around the cock was coaxed into movement again, this time a quicker rhythm than what it was before.

Sightless; she felt like she existed in a world of virility; the scent, the seed, the hard bodies around her. It occurred to her that the other nights she was here, it felt different. Usually, she engaged with at least one other woman in the audience.

There was another spatter; someone else must've come. This time, it streaked across Olivia's lips.

Her tongue darted out to catch a salty droplet, and then suddenly, something musky, hot, and dribbling that salty seed was meshing against her lips, rubbing, smearing the spend along her mouth.

She heard a grunt from before her.

"Fuck, that's good."

She let him mash the head of his cock against her lips for a few moments more, and when he finally stopped, the first thing Olivia did was yank the blindfold off.

It was too messy now; she wanted a wipe down and some water.

She winced as the cut of strobe lights hurt her eyes, now so used to the dark. As usual, the club was packed with bodies writhing, shadows mottled with purple and magenta lights. When she looked down by her feet, there was a burly man, dark wiry hair all along his chest and arms against the deep brown of his skin as he perched at the edge of the platform and toweled his cock off. She figured a heavy brow over salient green eyes from behind the non-descript, masquerade mask he wore.

Olivia felt something cold against the back of her shoulder. She startled, turning to see what it was, and found a man offering her a bottle of water.

There was another soft, firm touch at her back, guiding her, coaxing her to accept the drink.

For a moment, she was too shocked to accept it. Looking him over, she saw that she'd been right; Olivia recognized him first from his touch and then from his face -- the face she hadn't seen but had conjured up in her mind. A blonde, fine-boned man with dark eyes and glasses of all things to wear in a sex club. Her partner.

"Thanks."

Her voice was hoarse as she finally accepted the water.

The man nodded and handed her a towel.

He lingered behind her, and Olivia realized that she preferred it that way. She felt safer.

By the edge of the stage, inspecting the back of his camera like a black brick in his hands, was another blonde man, his hair tied back into a loose ponytail. He was the most dressed person here, and severely so, in his crisp, white shirt and blazer.

Olivia took a swig of the water, taking her fingers and swiping away at the remaining mess at her mouth the best she could. It didn't much matter when she'd hose off before going home anyway.

She sat up, one leg dangling casually over the edge of the platform; being naked felt so natural now—the touch of others, so fitting for her skin, a second skin in itself.

How different she felt here, compared to at home, buttoned-up, stressed, smaller and quieter, and rinsed and repeated to fit into their little house tucked into a neat row of other little houses exactly like it.

Olivia pushed the thoughts away -- she left that life at the door and wouldn't pick it back up a moment sooner than when she walked back out.

Her eyes skimmed the crowd, only half paying attention to the naked swarm of bodies, some masturbating, some dancing, some reaching up to the platforms.

Her eyes found a familiar set watching her back, and it took a while for the realization and alarm to set in. She was used to catching a glance here and there at the club, finding someone's eyes without finding the person -- there were so many parts in the club, arms, cocks, eyes -- it was impossible not to catch one here and there.

This was different, though. This was not the coincidental glimpse of meeting a stranger's stare. She knew these eyes. She had had that coincidence -- seven years ago when they'd met, and he'd chatted her up at a friend's party.

She stared across the table at those eyes every morning and every evening.

She'd looked into those eyes in a dusty, old church and promised for better or for worse.

Olivia froze.

Her husband seemed to for a moment as well. Then he started towards her, cutting through the crowd with uncharacteristic looking gravity, a dark ship in troubled waters.