Sunset Social Club

My wife and I had been lying in bed talking after a round of great sex. When I say great sex, I mean great sex, which is what we usually have. On rare days, its no sex at all. A bad day is good sex, and on good days it's spectacular sex. This had been a normal day, which is to mean it was great.

"Mmm, I love you, honey," I murmured as she rolled off me.

"I love you, too," she answered. "I also lust you." I laughed at that.

"Well, I lust you, too. Couldn't you tell by the way I was kissing and sucking at your nipples while you rode me to your orgasm?" It was her turn to laugh.

"And couldn't you tell by the way I licked and sucked your dick before I climbed on? God, that turned me on." I reached over and pulled her close to me.

"Yes, I could tell," I whispered. We lay there in comfortable silence for a while, and I almost drifted off to sleep.

"Jerry?" I heard her call my name.

"Yeah, hon, what?" came my sleepy reply.

"Do I, you know, do enough stuff for you when we're making love?" I was surprised at the question.

"How do you mean, honey? Do you do enough stuff? I guess a person could always do a little bit more, but I certainly am happy and satisfied with our sex life. It's great, in fact!" I was waking up, sensing a longer conversation in the works.

"I just wonder sometimes….you had other women before we were married, but you're the only man I've ever made love to. I wonder sometimes if I missed something, and if maybe you're missing something because I have so little experience." She turned and I could feel her looking at me, even though the room was dark. "Do I make you happy?" she asked.

"Absolutely," was my instant and heart-felt reply. We had been married for four years, and they were the happiest of my life. I loved my wife dearly, and held her above all else in my world. I would do anything to make her happy.

"Good," she answered. "But maybe I should have had more experiences before I met you. Maybe I missed something." She yawned, and silence fell upon our room like the darkness that surrounded us. I heard her breathing become rhythmic as I lay awake, thinking about what she had said. And hatching a plan.

***

Three weeks later on a warm, balmy Saturday night, we stood outside the opulent residence that we had been directed to, where that night's meeting of the Sunset Social Club was to be held. I had done my research, and found what I thought sounded like a legitimate club, with a slightly better class of member and clientele. The membership was limited to 60 people, evenly distributed with 30 men and 30 women, almost all married couples. Openings in membership were rare, and when there was an opening, memberships were offered for sale to carefully selected guests, usually when a member moved away or aged beyond the good of the association. Even to become a guest, a couple had to pass rigorous testing and interviews. Then, for a "guest fee", up to ten guests per evening could attend. Greta and I had apparently passed our testing and interviews with flying colors, and it was really no wonder. We were in our late twenties, I was making a hell of a living as the hottest young architect in our area, and we were both pretty good looking. Well, not me really; I'm probably just average looking. But Greta, she is something to behold. Long blonde hair, a tight body honed from years on horseback and in the gym, a tight butt and small, but full, perfectly shaped breasts. Did I mention that her mouth and nose are perfect, her chin sculpted by the gods, and that her blue eyes captivate me when they look askance, excite me when they have the devil in them, and make me feel elated when they sparkle? In other words, she's a total babe!

We were to be guests for the first time this evening. "New meat," I thought to myself as I stood in awe at the mansion before me. The thought entered my mind because of the kind of social club Sunset was. It wasn't just for socializing, it was for sex. That good, old fashioned American obsession: sex. With a few reservations.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Jerry?" Greta asked as she clung to my arm.

"I'm doing it for you, honey. I'm ok with it. Are you sure you're ready?" I felt her draw herself closer to me.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm ready."

With that we stepped onto the porch and I rang the doorbell. As we waited for an answer to the lengthy chime we heard from within, I reflected on the conversation we had when we finally decided to come. I had sprung the idea on Greta the morning after our conversation, and while she was excited by the idea at first, she soon turned lukewarm. The idea of it excited her, but she wasn't sure she could go through with it, and she definitely knew she didn't want me to be with another woman.

"Well, I don't think I want you to actually be with another man, either, honey," I told her. "Not having another man inside you shooting his load into you. That's why I think this might be a good thing for you, and maybe eventually for us. They don't allow fucking. No bang-bang. No intercourse. It's all just touching and feeling." That seemed to allay her fears somewhat.

"And you wouldn't touch anyone, or be touched?" she asked for the nineteenth time.

"No, honey, not unless you give me the secret signal that it's ok."

She jumped from her sitting position onto her knees on the sofa and clapped her hands. "Let's do it!" she cried, and threw herself into my arms. Clothes went flying, and there were loud slurping and squishing sounds in the room for the next 40 minutes or so. Like I said, normal is great. This was spectacular.

I was roused from my daydreaming when the door to the mansion opened. An absolutely stunning woman, dressed expensively and tastefully in a long, black gown, stood before us, smiling. The side lights of the door reflected off the string of pearls around her neck.

"You must be the Turners," she said, looking from Greta to me and back again to Greta.

"We are," I answered.

"Please, come in."

She walked us through a grand foyer, which was framed by dual staircases that swept up to a mezzanine above. I noted many doors leading off the mezzanine, and wondered what went on in those rooms. As we walked across the black and white checkered marble tiles to a doorway off to the left, the woman said, "This is the home of one of our founding members. Each and every room is decorated with exquisite taste." With that, we entered a library, plush with deep pile carpet, dark wood paneling, and three walls lined with tomes of every size and shape. She led us to a sitting area.

"My name is Clarisse, and I want to take a couple of moments to go over a few things with you, and prepare you for what you are about to experience." She smiled at Greta. "I understand that it is very stressful at first, but it is also very exciting. You must be careful not to let either of those emotions get the better of you."

Greta squeezed my hand and answered, "I've read the orientation packet over at least 10 times, and I think I'm pretty well prepared."

"Good," Clarisse replied. "Now I understand that Mr. Turner, Jerry, won't be participating tonight. You made that clear in your interviews."

"It's not that I'm a prude," Greta retorted, then blushed when she realized the paradox in what she had just said. "It's just that Jerry wants this to be for me, and I think I wouldn't enjoy myself if all I was doing was worrying about what he was doing."

"That's fine, Greta, my dear. Many couples have started in just such a manner. Some never come back. Many, though, get used to the idea that a couple can enjoy this experience and still have a stable and happy marriage. It isn't like one spouse cheating on the other. Of those couples that come back, a few have even become permanent members. It is most important that everyone here is comfortable. Without that comfort zone, clubs like ours don't work."

I felt more comfortable just hearing it said. "So what should I do as the evening progresses?" I asked.

"Well, Jerry, part of the joy of our club is participation. But another part is observation and entertainment, pure and simple. You will see many things tonight, and you will find them all very entertaining, and very arousing. Be an observer. Don't be afraid to really look at people and become mentally involved in what they are engaged in. There is no privacy here." I heaved a sigh. "And remember that Greta loves you and only you, and at the end of the evening, you will be her only escort home, and you will be the only one to give Greta what she will be craving so much. Be patient, Jerry, and observe. Enjoy yourself."

"Ok," I said. "I'm in."

"Good, then," Clarisse replied. "Let's go over a few rules so there are no problems. Our members observe and enforce all rules, so there is not much danger of you breaking them. To break a rule is to be expelled from the club, and there is not one member or guest who wishes that. First, absolutely no penile penetration of any orifice is allowed. Tongues are allowed for licking, but not for penetration into any orifices of the body. There's a fine line there, and we ask that you observe it." Greta and I were both nodding.

"You have been tested for and been found to be free of any venereal or sexually transmitted disease, and agree to be tested every three weeks for the duration of your participation. We ask that you not have any sexual contacts outside the club or each other. While the very purpose of our club is to experience sexual excitement and satisfaction without fear of disease or divorce, one can't be too safe." We were still nodding.

"Also, you may not have any contact with any member or guest of the club at any time other than at a sanctioned meeting of the club. This is to prevent cliques or extra-marital affairs from developing, and is also one of the cornerstones of the success of our association." I shifted in my seat, eager to move on into the rest of the house. We had been over all this during our interviews and orientation, and I was primed to get to the good part.

"One last thing," Clarisse continued. Your photos have been circulated to all members of the club. All are aware that this is Greta's first meeting and that you, Jerry, are only observing. The members will put you both at ease, and Jerry will not be approached by any member. If a guest should happen to approach you, you may tell them you are just observing, and they shouldn't bother you. Our goal here is to make you comfortable and for you to enjoy yourselves. And for our members to enjoy you." With that, she stood up, offered her hand to us, and said, "Welcome to the Sunset Social Club."

With that she led us back through the foyer to the great room of the house. At first glance, it looked like any other cocktail party attended by successful young to middle-aged professionals. Nicely dressed people stood in small groups holding cocktails with one hand and gesturing with the other as they chatted. Greta and I walked hand in hand through the room, admiring the decorations and many oil paintings, feeling a bit self-conscious. Many people smiled at us, and I smiled back. I could see that Greta's smile was a bit forced, which told me she was nervous. Although somewhat shy, she was usually very comfortable at parties and in social situations. I spotted a bar, and told Greta I'd go get us a couple of drinks. Greta stuck close to me, and accompanied me to the bar.

"Hi folks, what'll it be?" the smiling young bartender asked.

"Bourbon and 7 for me, and a Chardonnay for the lady." The bartender was swarthy, possibly of Greek extraction, and his muscles rippled beneath his sheer white shirt as he mixed my drink and poured Greta's wine. As I scanned the bar top for a tip jar, I spied a bowl of small blue pills on the countertop.

"What are these?" I asked innocently. "They don't look like candy."

"They're not; it's Viagra." He winked at me.

"Well, I've never had that problem," I replied at once, lest he think I might need one.

"You don't have to have a problem to take Viagra, man," he said. "You take Viagra so you can be Superman, and stay hard all night long at these parties. Quick recovery, man, that's the key," and he winked again.

"Thanks," I said. "That's probably good advice," and not seeing a tip jar, steered Greta away from the bar and back into the crowd. We soon got our first dose of what the party was all about when we got to the far end of the room and stopped cold when we both saw what we saw at the exact same moment.

A woman of about 35 with short blonde hair and very fair skin had the top of her gown pulled down, exposing her small, pert breasts, and was sitting on the leg of a muscular black man seated on the couch with his pants down around his ankles. Although her bottom half was still hidden by her gown, from her movements it was obvious that she was working her bare cunt against the black man's leg. Back and forth, back and forth, she rode him as he pinched and squeezed both her nipples between his two thumbs and forefingers. While she ground herself against his leg, oohing and aahhing with each thrust of her pelvis, she was stroking his long black shaft with both her hands. Greta and I both stood, frozen in our tracks, as we watched her stop and grab a bottle of lotion from the coffee table, oil up her hands, and return to her stroking and grinding. I heard Greta mumble under breath, "oh, my god!", and we stood hand in hand as the woman picked up her tempo, beginning to really grind her cunt on the black man's leg. As she sped up the movements of her pelvis, she began moving her hands faster up and down the black stud's growing cock. It was swelling and becoming huge as she went at it with both hands, faster and faster.

She began to moan audibly as she worked her pussy against his hard, muscular leg and he closed his eyes and began to buck as she stroked up and down his hard black cock, faster and faster. Without warning white strings of come began spurting from his dick into the air and falling on his leg. He groaned once as another white stream gushed from his black cock, this time landing on her gown. With one final thrust she ground her cunt hard against his leg, screwed up her face and clenched her legs tight against his as the first wave of her orgasm hit her. Still pumping his spurting fat shaft, she moaned as each wave washed over her, subsiding little by little until she stopped her grinding and they both sat still. After a short moment during which they came back into the here-and-now, he smiled at her.

"You are still incredible," he said as she took one last push against his leg.

"And I still think I'm in love with your leg," she laughed as she got up and pulled her top up. "But you got my dress all messy, you bad boy!" He reached over and picked up a small hand towel from the end table.

"Here, let me get that for you," he said as he reached over and began spotting the come from her dress. He finished that and began sopping up the mess on his own leg. I felt Greta tug on my arm, and we turned and walked away.

"Oh, my god!" she whispered to me as we walked through the crowded room. "That was amazing! I can't believe what I just saw!" I glanced to my right and saw a woman earnestly stroking a man's cock as it stuck straight out of his suit pants, while he stood and gazed around the room, holding a glass of wine in his hand. She stopped and took a sip of his wine, then returned to her work.

Greta pulled me to my right, obviously spotting something she wanted to see and steering me in that direction. As I turned my head from the hard-working woman and the man in the suit, I saw what Greta had been pulling me towards. A woman was lying on the couch, completely naked, her head resting on a small casual pillow. A small man with a large bald spot on the back of his head was gently kissing and licking her breasts and nipples. He went very slowly, with long slow licks that encircled a breast before landing on its erect nipple. He would kiss and lightly suckle the nipple, then kiss his way across to her other breast where he would repeat the long slow licks around the nipple, finally finding his target and gently kissing and suckling it. The brunette woman had her eyes closed and was thoroughly enjoying his gentle ministrations. I saw Greta take a gulp, then bring her wine to her lips and take a long pull from the glass. As I looked back to the woman on the couch, the small man stopped for a moment, picked a face from the many watching him perform his erotic slow-motion tongue-ballet, and said to the man, "Would you like to join us?"

The man, in his late thirties and dressed in casual slacks and a Hawaiian shirt, nodded and moved towards the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion just below the bald man's head. The woman spread her legs as the man sat down, revealing a neatly trimmed bush. The man took his hand and began slowly tracing his fingers up and down the woman's thighs. Occasionally he would let his fingers lightly trace over her mound, running lightly up and down her slit. Each time he did this, she would spread her legs and raise her bottom off the couch. You could see the ache and desire in her movement as she willed him to touch her there and bring her more pleasure.

Greta leaned over to me and whispered, "This is really turning me on." I squeezed her hand and took a sip of my own drink. It was having the same effect on me.

We watched as the small bald man continued his slow and gentle attention to her breasts, and the other man lightly traced circles with his fingers up and down the insides of her thighs and over her vulva. She continued to raise her bottom off the couch and at one point without opening her eyes, asked "Put a finger in me." The bald man continued his light licking and sucking, and the other man continued to lightly rub her pussy, up and down, along her slit and over her now swollen clitoris.

"Put a finger in me, please," she asked again, and I saw the man's middle finger slowly disappear into her wet cunt. "MMmmmmm," was her response. The man began to slowly, very slowly, move his finger in and out of her. Two men were making love in slow motion to this lucky lady and she lay on the couch and purred like a pussycat.

"Put another finger in me," she asked, and I saw another finger slip into her. Greta reached over and gave my bulge a squeeze. Surprised, I glanced over at her, smiled and said, "Yes, it's getting to me, too." From my firm bulge, it must have been obvious. Greta's breathing, I noticed, had become ragged and irregular.

We stood hand in hand and watched the woman being slow-motion finger fucked and breast-licked. After 4 or 5 more minutes of this, she opened her eyes, turned her head towards the gathering crowd, and pointed her finger at a young man of about 30, with blue eyes and curly blond hair. "Come here, tiger," she growled.

He stepped forward, and she reached for his zipper. Pulling it down, she reached into his slacks and pulled out his rock hard cock. She began stroking it as the two men below continued their slow-motion dance. She took long strokes of his young meat, stopping to play with and tickle the head of his penis from time to time. She grabbled hold of him, pulled him to her, and took a long slow lick up the underside of his swollen member.

"Do you want to come on me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Come on my breasts." The bald man moved away, and the young blonde stood over her as she stroked his cock. The man below began picking up his speed, ramming his two fingers in and out of her, using his other hand to rub her clit. Soon his hands were a blur as he pistoned his fingers in and out of her with one hand and rubbed her clitoral area with blazing speed. She, in turn, sped up her stroking of the young blonde's cock.