Their Surprise

I recently wrote a story called "The Surprise" - a non-consensual story with a twist. I deliberately picked a vague title, and so I will try and write a different tale under each of Literotica's twenty-five writing categories with the same inspiration over the next year.

* * * * *

My wife repeated what many people have said: sexual libido decreases with age.

That may be true for my wife, but it wasn't for me. I fell in love with a vivacious twenty-year-old and for several years, we screwed like rabbits. We produced three fantastic children, all of whom went to university, and all returned to live in our leafy suburban town.

But once Alicia, Margaret, and Robert moved away to their own homes, we had the privacy we missed as younger adults. There was no longer the threat of an unwanted guest mid-shag, but unfortunately, the peace did not provide any action to satisfy my rampant sex drive. My parents enjoyed night after night in front of the television in their late forties; I do not. I want the intimacy and sexual satisfaction I had in my twenties.

But time had delivered me to a dead bedroom; a wife, who I still adored but who was no longer the cheeky, playful, sexual being that I married.

I was not the first husband to complain about their wife's lack of libido, and my drinking buddy made a suggestion in the pub one evening, a couple of pints of beer in. Martin was five years older than me, but we met when we played for our local pub's pool team and remained friends. He was a little crude, and was not the sort of mate I would bring home to my family, but we sunk a few beers together every Friday. He oft-moaned that "wife's cunt is like Santa Claus; I only see it once a year." He chuckled and then continued. "You know that sex club and dungeon in Stockport on the ring road? They do a party with prossies once a week. It'll cost ya seventy quid, but you can get a massage, and fuck a delightful piece of ass, and then have a drink."

I hummed. "That's cheatin' ..."

"I go every week. I need sex and if my missus won't give it to me, then I'll find it a slut who will. Monday afternoons."

"I work on Mondays and ..."

"So do I. I go to work early, take my lunch around two, come back at half-four and finish late." He downed the rest of his pint and tapped his glass. "Another?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "Last week, I had this wonderful slut. Fanny was tighter than a duck's arsehole, and she was nineteen. You can be anonymous, but I like to fuck 'em on the bed and give 'em a tip. Three weeks ago, I got head from a fat trollop, who could suck a golf ball through a straw. The last time I got a blowjob from the fat cow I'm married to, flares were still fashionable. It's your birthday at the end of the month. Let me take ya! This one is on me."

The overweight, gruff Northerner reiterated his offer the following week; as two lunar months had passed between my last sexual experience with my wife, I gave in. My horniness was too high.

I arranged a half-day holiday with work and met Martin in the packed car park of the sex club. Nervousness radiated through me as he escorted me into the former gymnasium. Now with classy black decor and neon pink lights. "We'll take twenty gold tokens," Martin announced to the receptionist, putting a stack of banknotes on the desk. "It's twenty for one hundred and thirty, or ten for seventy. But what you don't spend this week, you can spend next week or the week after, so it's worth buying in bulk." The man wordlessly counted out the gold discs, like casino chips, to my friend, who then gave him a couple back. "That's entry for two."

Martin knew where he was going; he took a pair of locker keys from the receptionist and we walked into the changing room. Two other middle-aged men were there, getting changed, and my friend effortlessly spoke to them as I undressed. The reason for our visit embarrassed me, but Martin embraced it, striking conversation with the near-naked strangers.

"Busy?"

"It was earlier. The girls got proper railed!" One replied. "I got some amazing head and then fucked a slut up the tailpipe."

"The gloryholes open?"

"Yeah. About ten to twelve tarts in. Including Fat Pat."

"Fat Pat is the bird who gives the best head," Martin explained to me.

"T'at's true," the dressing punter replied. "She says she's on the cum-only diet, which explains why she's the size of a fuckin' whale."

They chuckled. "What about the massages, the fantasy room and the sex slings? All open?"

"Yeah, all open, mate. They have four of the rooms open if you want a normal fuck, too."

"Nice." Martin passed me a blue towel to wrap around my waist, and a pair of disposable closed-toe slippers, that I slipped over my feet.

I followed him along the corridor and he swapped two tokens for a couple of twenty-minute massages with no happy ending. The women, young enough to be our daughters, rubbed a scentless oil over our naked bodies as we lay face-down on the massage tables, and it soothed away my tension. My anxiety and fear of doing the deed had left me tense, and the nameless masseur's smooth hands rubbed away the guilt I felt. I drifted to a relaxed, peaceful state.

However, I couldn't cheat on my wife; we had been together for 25 years, and as we walked along the corridor towards a lounge-cum-cafe area, I admitted the truth to Martin. "I don't think I could fuck another girl." My hands shook as I thought about seeing another woman as I screwed her. "I'd be too nervous and ..."

"A cunt is a cunt is a cunt. I was going to go for a two-girl two-bloke thirty-minute double, but we'll just do the anonymous room instead. Do you ever knock one out to Czech Fantasy?" He asked, staring at me as we entered the lounge area. Pornography blared away on the wall, as my friend grinned at me.

"Yeah," I admitted. "It's ..."

"They have a room. They call it the fantasy room. You just need to get hard, stick your dick in the pussy and fuck it. You don't even need to meet the girl." He gulped. "She could be a fat munter, but it's servicing the horn. C'mon, when was the last time you got laid?"

"Two months, a week, and six days ago."

"Exactly." Martin led me along a different corridor to the small "fantasy room." Two pairs of legs were fastened to the wall, and the torsos stuck out of the gap of the wooden panelling. Rubber flaps ensured we could not see the women, and they could not see us; most of their bodies were behind the wall.

A rotund woman dressed in rubber stood in the centre of the space, protecting her prostitutes. We watched as the only man in the room approached the girl in the blue fishnet stockings and plunged his giant condom-covered cock into the cleft between her thighs.

"OK boys," the matronly figure called. "Pussy for one or two?"

"Two," Martin said. "It's his birthday. Six tokens each, right?"

"Yeah. Get your towel off, love, and get yourself hard."

It felt so clinical. I was on autopilot as I hung my navy towel on the hook beside the door. The sight and smell of the room, thick with musky arousal, had woken my prick, and I barely needed to pump it to bring it to its full length. Martin deposited a dozen disks into a coin slot beside the free woman, and we heard them drop into a chamber. The rubber-clothed matron ripped open a condom and slid it over my dick with a single movement, and she watched as I walked over to the girl in the red and green striped stockings.

Her ankles were at my head height; her hairless pussy was puffy and sodden, glistening in the sordid room. I nuzzled the tip of my cock into the opening, pushing forward. It felt weird to do this with an audience; Martin, the stranger, and the matron watched as I fucked another.

She was tighter than I ever remembered my wife. Any thoughts of performance anxiety disappeared the moment I plunged into her tight cunt. All six inches of my prick felt alive as I slid into her well-lubricated hole. I savoured the motion; the feeling was both unfamiliar and natural. This is what it felt like to have sex for the first time with a new partner. I ignored the sounds to my left as the fellow punter smashed his mammoth dick into the other woman. Her cries of pleasure echoed in the room, and I concentrated on the delicious sensations on my cock.

I gained a rhythm, feeling the woman beneath me rock her hips to match my cadence. She engaged with the sex, unlike my wife who passively lay as I pounded into her. My mystery screw arched her back as I thrusted into her. I felt the warmth through the condom as I reached the point of no return, hammering into the prostitute.

I filled the teat of the condom with a grunt; the first time I had cheated on my wife, and the first time I had used a rubber sheath in over two decades. And the first satisfying climax I had had for years. The anonymous slut was a more receptive partner than my life partner.

The matron passed me a couple of baby wipes from a dispenser on the wall, and I watched as Martin repeated the process. The guy beside us finished with the girl in the blue fishnets as my friend approached the tart I had just used. He slid his dick into her sodden snatch.

One thrust, and then he jackhammered into her. The room was alive with the sounds of his thighs smashing into flesh. He grunted and groaned as it became a cacophony of hedonism. The woman beneath him worked her hips to meet his furious pace.

I watched Martin's buttocks as he fucked her angrily and roughly. "Little slut loves it, right?" He barked at the wall; his hand touched her wet clit as he pounded his dick into her, grunting and groaning. The woman's thighs quivered and shook as Martin played with her button and his pushed his cock deep into her. His butt tensed as he spewed cum into his rubber sheath.

The matron passed him baby wipes, and he cleaned his cum-covered prick after he removed the condom. "Always make the tarts come, as fucking a climaxing pussy is so good," he remarked, thanking the rubber-clad woman as we left the room.

I wondered what the girls thought of their punters, but Martin exchanged a gold disc for two beers at the cafe and we sat on the couch in the lounge area chatting, idly watching the smut on the big screen. After an hour, Martin left to go to the toilet, and I looked across the room at a woman entering the coffee area. "Alicia," I squealed, staring at my topless daughter, provocatively dressed, stepping into the lounge. She stopped when she saw me, and skipped across the room, taking my hand and pulling me into the empty corridor. "What are you doing here?"

"Topping up my wages," she snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm with Martin."

"Does Mum know?"

I blushed and looked away, noticing her red and green striped hosiery. "Oh fuck! How many girls wear that?" I asked.

"Only me," she replied. "And you haven't answered the question. Does Mum know?"

"Does Mum know you whore yourself? C'mon, you got a great degree."

"That barely pays enough for me to live. And you think it's OK for you to buy sex but me not to sell it?" She shook her head. "It's an easy way for me to make some cash. I did it at uni for three years."

"What?"

"Student loans don't go far, Dad!" She grinned at my discomfort. "And I guess we both have to keep each other's secrets."

I nodded. I did not want my wife to know where I had been on Monday afternoon. But I had an even bigger secret: I had anonymously fucked my daughter, and watched my buddy screw her too. We had paid my offspring for sex. I felt queasy, and moments after Alicia left us, I hurried to find Martin so we could leave. I said I was going to be sick, and he reluctantly left with me.

We showered, and after we departed, I vowed never to return to the sex club. Three days later, my family had a meal at our house to celebrate my birthday. It was the first time I had seen Alicia since that moment, but she acted normally throughout the evening. She wasn't uncomfortable with me, but cornered me in the kitchen alone as I poured my wife more wine from the bottle in the fridge. "When I was in the fantasy room, I heard someone say that it was their birthday. Was that you?"

I gulped and nodded.

"And then they fucked me, and their friend did, too." I blushed, looking away from her. She opened her palm and put a dozen gold casino discs in my hand. "Next time, steer clear of the red and green stockings. And the blue fishnets too, because that's Margaret." My eyes flashed in her direction, and she grinned at my shocked expression. The revelation that both my daughters were whores amused her as she sipped from her glass.

"But Margaret's married!"

"So are you, Dad." She leaned in to whisper in my ear. "And we're both working next Monday."