The E-club

In the outer suburbs of a certain metropolis are towns connected to the city by interurban train lines. At the last stop on one of them there is a town on one side, in a wooded valley, and a path up the hill on the other side. A short way up is a secluded building, the E-club. I know the owner, so one sunny summer afternoon I rode out to the leafy station.

On the train I spotted an attractive brunette with a pixie haircut and a lithe body, probably in her late 20s, wearing a very short white skirt and a tight pink sweater with three-quarter length sleeves and a zipper down the front. I sat next to her because I guessed where she was going. I ventured, "Hi, are you going to the last stop?"

She looked at me, surprised, and blurted, "How did you know?" But at the same time she uncrossed her long legs and spread her thighs apart ever so slightly.

"I guessed from what you're wearing, and now I know from how you're moving your legs. The way your breasts bounce, I know you don't have a bra on, it's just you under that sweater. You're on your way to the E-club. I'm going there too."

"Pretty good guess, for a guy."

Most women would have given me a death-look and moved away, at the very least, getting talk like that from a complete stranger. But I knew that a woman who goes to the E-club alone craves sexual attention; she needs men to admire her exposed body, to affirm her desirability. I knew I could push her further, with the right compliments. "You seem to have fantastic breasts -- bouncy and prominent. Pull your zipper down to the middle of your breasts."

She looked at me with a mixture of awe and desperation, but her hand moved itself up to her zipper, and she slowly pulled it down.

I leaned over and whispered, "Beautiful! You do have great breasts - I can see your soft flesh. But I can't see enough. Pull your zipper down to the bottom of your breasts, and show me everything."

This time she looked down at her chest, and did nothing. Just when I thought I had pushed too far she touched her zipper again, as though resigned to her need for exhibition, and pulled. I couldn't believe my luck. "Beautiful! Now turn yourself so I can see under your sweater."

This wanton woman turned her head away, but she knew what I wanted, and was ready to give it to me. Turning slightly toward me, she lifted her head and leaned forward so that I could see a perfect nipple, glowing in the pink light shining through her sweater. Her breast, average in size, was perfectly shaped, with a large bumpy areola and a nipple already erect from the excitement of this display. Though her head wasn't facing me, I could detect the lust in her expression reflected from the train window, in the flickering light between the trees. After a few seconds she abruptly moved back and zipped up, but only a symbolic finger's width.

"I can't believe I'm showing myself to you like this, in public. I don't even know your name. I know I ought to be ashamed, but I'm so aroused I can't think straight."

I put an arm around her, knowing that she hadn't reached her limits yet, and murmured in her ear, "Where we're going I'll see more than just your cute nipple: I'll get a good look at your whole body, tits, ass, and all, even your crotch. You'll open it up for me. And you won't stop me, that's just what happens at the club."

She shivered and spread her legs a little further, whispering "Ogod, I want that, I want you to see me. I even want you to touch me while other people watch."

This girl deserved a reward for being so good to me. I took her large purse and laid it in my lap, unzipped my fly, and fished out my wang. She watched from the corner of her eye while she lifted her knee on the side away from me, planting her foot on the seat, exposing slim thighs that went on forever. I took her hand and gently moved it to touch me; she wrapped her fingers around my cock and squeezed, her eyes half closed, her body slouched down, her other leg pressing against mine. In a slow rhythm she squeezed and released, flexing one finger after another so that waves of excitation flowed toward me. The train rumbled and slowed.

Quickly we straightened ourselves out at the next stop, as three men got off, eyeing us on the way. They probably thought we had known each other for years. One of them leaned in close to her, leering, and gave her a quick thumbs-up before jumping off the train. She returned a subtle smile. The doors hissed shut, and we picked up speed.

"What was that about? Did you know those guys?"

"I never saw them before in my life. But they were watching me all the way out from the city. As soon as you sat down I opened my legs so they could see up my skirt."

"Wow! But why did you wait 'till I was here?"

She arched back and looked at me. "You really need some lessons in city life. I didn't feel safe showing myself when I was alone. With you here, it was ok. They didn't know we were strangers. But you missed the whole show. You were so busy inspecting my boob, you didn't even notice them leering at me, you didn't see me opening up."

"Damn, I must be completely blind. Your breast was worth it, though."

She leaned in closer, a breast brushing my arm. "Thanks. But there's more. I'm not wearing panties. They saw more and more. When I lifted my leg they got a real good look at my bare pussy. I shave so guys can see it better. I pushed my other leg against you to open up more, to give them a better look. You were so distracted with your dong, you didn't even realize I was showing myself to those three guys. It was a thrill, though."

"Wow, you're quite an exhibitionist. It's really exciting to meet you, I'm so lucky to have sat down here."

"You've got a lot to learn about me. I like you already. You're frank, but gentle, you appreciate me, and my needs."

We sat quietly, our hands squeezing the insides of each other's thighs, until the train slowed to our stop. As we exited, this charming but mysterious girl extended her arm to shake my hand as though we were ordinary people, and bubbled, "Hi! I'm Colleen. Great to meet you."

I responded numbly, "Um, I'm Brad. I know John, the guy who owns the E-club - we were roommates in college. He promised to show me around."

Colleen was taller than I thought she'd be, long slim legs with a body that seemed small but nicely proportioned. Her little turned-up nose, round face and gray-green eyes gave her an impish look. We exited the station arm in arm like old friends.

The path up to the club crossed a creek with a little bridge; I stopped, and we leaned on the rail, looking at the creek but thinking of other things, as two couples on the path behind us drew closer. Gently I lifted Colleen's skirt and took a handful of ass in my hand. She leaned into me and said, "Brad, there are two couples following us. They can see my ass. No, don't move your hand, it feels great, I want them to see it."

"But they'll see everything in a few minutes, when we're in the club."

"I know, but there's an extra edge when you expose yourself in public. You're not supposed to do it. That's why the episode on the train was so hot." She bumped me with her hip; I tucked her skirt into her waistband to expose her entire ass, and I caressed it, cool, smooth, round, soft. Colleen shivered as my finger ran lightly down her crack, forward to touch her sex. The couples walked past us, looking back and nodding knowingly. I kissed her on her bare neck.

"I like it that you're fingering my pussy, and we just met a half hour ago. It feels natural and right. But do you even know why I wore a white skirt today?"

"Haven't a clue. Um, because white stands for purity?"

She snickered. "Well, here's a clue. It lets more light in to my crotch, in case an opportunity opens up like I had on the train. And if you're looking for purity, you've got the wrong girl."

I had a lot to learn about exhibitionism, and about Colleen. I left her skirt tucked up the rest of the way. Walking outdoors with a bare-assed woman gave me a vicarious thrill, I'll admit. As we neared the club we spotted our two voyeur couples again, but they weren't going in. They were continuing on a hike up the mountain. It gave Colleen an extra little thrill when I pointed out that she had displayed herself to ordinary hikers, not clubbers.

We entered the club where the two arms of the L-shaped building come together. A cashier puts a plastic bracelet on you, to pay for drinks when you're too nearly naked to carry a credit card, and you leave most of your clothes in a locker room. Colleen ducked into it. I greeted my friend John, who lost no time getting me oriented. "Hey, Brad, it's terrific to see you! You know, everybody who comes here is displaying their body to other people; some people are desperate to show themselves, other people do it just so they can ogle the exhibitionists. Some people go in completely naked, but most of them wear something scandalous. It's all good, as far as I'm concerned."

John had been an industrial engineering student in college. He worked hard and got good grades and eventualy a good job. But when he got bored designing factories, he managed to combine his organizational skills with his love of women, and especially the company of attractive naked women. At just the right time a small inheritance materialized from a recently deceased grandfather. The club was the result, his ingeniously designed format for sexual exhibition.

There were men's and women's doors for the locker rooms, but both of them emptied into the same large space, like a gym locker room. "One of my little jokes," John told me. "I like to keep people a bit off balance." I spotted Colleen changing on the other side of the room, but John kept me moving.

I couldn't go in fully clothed - strictly verboten. But I'd forgotten to bring some outrageous costume, so I just stripped to my blue cotton briefs and folded them down until my pubic hair was peeking out. That seemed to please the girl inspecting customers at the locker room exit, who stopped me and pulled my cock up until the tip was peeking out above my waistband. She gave my newly-uncovered helmet a little squeeze, and smiled. Cute, young and topless, her tits were so pert and perfect that I would have been happy staring at her the rest of the day. John pulled me on; we came out into a bar. The sun angled in from a big skylight, spotlighting some of the nearly naked people. Seeing a pair of nice tits is one thing, but seeing a roomful is quite another.

The most striking thing about this bar, though, was the bar area itself extending all along one wall. John built it for women to display their cunts to strangers. The stools, horseshoe-shaped, opened at the front. Under the bar a long mirror was angled to allow anyone to see between the legs of the women sitting on the stools. A little spotlight hidden below the bar illuminated each crotch. John explained that it's easy for women to display their tits and ass, they're right out there, but the cunt is harder, hidden away. A lot of his customers told him they wanted to display their cunts, so he thought up the design. A sign behind the bar flashed the initials PB, which the bartender explained stands for Pussy Bar. He has the best job in the world.

John invited me to step up to the bar beside a lovely middle-aged woman with dark curly hair, wide hips and generous breasts, clothed only in a half-bra. "Go ahead, Brad, she's a regular, she'll welcome you. It's easy to strike up a conversation about the bar, or her clothes, or the club, and she's aching for someone to pay attention to her cunt."

Indeed, she was sitting with her legs spread wide, facing the mirror. As I sat down, she spoke before I could address her. "Hi! I see you're already looking at my crotch. I love this place."

I was indeed looking. The stool's contour held her legs spread so wide that her lips were forced open. In the mirror I could see all the treasures inside. She had big floppy inner lips and was showing lots of pink, with no modesty at all. Instead, she seemed pleased that a total stranger was inspecting her genitals. It took me a minute to think of what to say. I decided to go with the obvious: "Well, I guess there's no sense beating around the bush. You have a beautiful bush, it can't be beat, but I'm surprised you're displaying it so openly. Most women would be embarrassed."

"I know, but if there's one thing I've learned it's that I'm not like most other women. I know it seems bizarre, but I'm not the only one. Look at all the other women lined up here with their legs spread for strangers. Oh, and cute pun."

It's not often that you can walk up to a beautiful woman and enjoy her open cunt before you even say hello. Tan lines from a very small bikini lined her hips; her delicate breasts had small, deeply pigmented nipples peeking out above a half-bra that lifted them up for better visibility. I put a hand on her inner thigh while I told her that I liked her tits too, displayed so nicely. She pointed out the house rules, posted behind the bar. They are pretty simple: "1. No genital-genital contact. 2. No oral-genital contact. 3. Ask before you touch."

"You didn't ask", she reminded me gently, "but I don't mind. You can touch my pussy if you like."

I decided that I liked this club already, and this beautifully displayed woman. I stroked her higher, running my fingers in the clefts between her legs and her outer cunt lips. Shaved up to the top of her slit, she was adorned with lovely silky pubic hair above that, carefully groomed for the occasion. She squirmed, trying to get my hand into her soft pink flesh, and finally took my hand and placed it right in the middle of her hot snatch. "Ah, that feels so good, don't be shy, stick your fingers right inside, flick my clit."

I told her how smooth and slippery her cunt was; she confessed that she had sprayed a little scented oil on it, to keep the exposed flesh from drying out. All the girls there did it. Here I was with a woman I had met five minutes before, with my fingers in her vagina, discussing her exposure. Wow! I had to adjust my cock with my other hand. She looked down and asked, "Can I touch?" The rules went both ways.

So there we were, fondling each other's genitals and enjoying every second. I remembered to ask before I tweaked her nipples, and of course she assented. She was beginning to breathe faster; a sexual blush appeared on her torso and her face. I leaned in to kiss a breast while one hand kneaded her other breast and the other pinched her clit; with all those intimacies, asking didn't seem necessary anymore. Her body stiffened, her hips jerked, and she came in my hand. A minute later she slumped back, exhausted, and I excused myself.

Just as I stood up, Colleen appeared from nowhere. Damn, did I blow it with her for a few minutes' feel with some random woman? "Hi Brad, that was really hot how you handled that woman. Great show - you'll have to do that to me sometime."

It wasn't the first time this girl amazed me. She had been standing behind us the whole time, enjoying the scene. I looked again, appreciating her costume. A lot of the women in the club just wore more-or-less racy lingerie or see-through dresses, but Colleen had changed into a top made of two circles of black leather straps framing her breasts, with straps around her neck and back to hold them up. The effect was to frame her breasts, to draw attention to them. Underneath she wore lacy black bikini panties, open-crotch, her sex protruding through. She giggled when she saw my outfit, "Brad, that's so cute how your pecker tip is peeking out. I just knew you'd invent some sexy look."

I didn't tell her how improvised the whole thing was. We sat down at one of the glass tables in the bar (you can guess why they were glass), where she told me that she really wanted to go home with me at the end of the evening, but she had some commitments at the club. "Can we meet in half an hour right here? I need to do some things."

Anything she wanted was fine with me, as long as I could be in this woman's intoxicating presence again. She got up; I admired her graceful sway and her round bottom as she walked away.

John found me again, continuing my tour. He explained the rules - they lowered the risk of the club getting sued over STDs or unwanted pregnancies, but you could still have lots of sexual fun. I asked about these women who would expose their bodies to men and allow themselves to be fondled by complete strangers. He said, "You could go up to a hundred women and ask them whether they'd mind exposing themselves to strangers or letting them touch, and you'd probably get a hundred slaps in the face. The women who come here are the one in maybe a thousand who would ask you for the details, with their panties getting damp." With a knowing smile he went on that in a city of millions that meant thousands of such women, exhibitionists and flirts who get off on the sexual attentions of strangers. But not just anyone; the men who come to the club follow the rules (or they get thrown out), and can be refused.

The next room, the small arm of the L-shaped building, was dominated by a narrow counter running its entire length. Unlike the other countertops in the club, this one divided the room, with a mirror built into it. We came in on one side while topless women sat on the other, their tits reflected in the mirror for maximum exposure. John explained that he had designed this room for beginner exhibitionists, so that they could show just their tits in a controlled environment. They had a separate entrance and locker room at the end of the L, away from leering males.

But almost immediately, something unexpected had happened. Overweight women began visiting the room, paying the entrance fee so that they could display themselves. In hindsight, John said, it was the perfect setup for them; they could emphasize their tits, which were often huge because of their weight. It was a place where they could feel beautiful, admired, even sexy, and enjoy sexual touch. The stools were adjustable so that each woman could spread her boobs out on the mirror. The tit-bar became one of the most popular rooms in the club for women, not only the overweight but women of all sizes and shapes. Usually there were more women on one side of the counter than men on the other. "Go ahead, Brad, take your pick. I'll be back to fetch you in a bit."

I sat down opposite a woman with absolutely huge knockers. Her round face and rosy cheeks gave her a cheerful look, framed by curly brown hair, but the main attraction was clearly those boobs, spread out nicely. The mirror replaced her lower body with a reflected image, mostly boobs and shoulders. She seemed to float there.

I picked this woman because her boobs had huge areolas, discs of deep red sexual skin the size of teacups, with prominent nipples to match. That look turns me on, as though all that sexual skin makes women like that more naked than normal when they're topless. Again it was easy to start a conversation in this sexually charged atmosphere. "Hi, can I sit here? This place is really unique, isn't it?"

Sort of a lame beginning, but my big-tit partner didn't mind. She went right to the reason she was there. "Hi, you can sit, but I think you're here for something else."

"Well, I guess I can be frank. You have spectacular breasts, and I love all that sexual skin around your nipples. It's amazing that you feel ok displaying them so openly."

She sighed, "I know, I crave sexual attention. I'm heavy, but I still like to enjoy my body."

Even with my limited social skills, I knew it was time to change the subject. My hands rested on either side of those mounds; my gaze alternated between her face and her nipples, poking out halfway across the narrow counter. "I think you're pretty brave to come here, and I love the way your breasts show me your sexuality. Can I touch?"