Chapter 40

In the back-and-forth of everyday life, chance took me down a street I rarely crossed. The traffic was heavy, people rushing around, horns blaring irritably, and in the middle of it all were those pushy flyer distributors shoving papers at unwilling strangers. One got tossed my way. I shot an impatient look at the guy doing his job with zero enthusiasm. I hated getting handed shit on the street.

Out of reflex, I almost crumpled it without reading, but something made me stop. The ad was unusual, provocative. A liberal house specializing in erotic shows, couple swapping, and pleasures I’d never imagined exploring. I let out a low chuckle. Definitely not my scene.

Later, already hunkered down at a bar table with my best friend, the conversation followed its usual flow.

“So, what’s the plan for the weekend? I can’t spend much.”

“Yeah, I’m broke too,” I replied, swirling my glass on the table before remembering the flyer. “Check this out. Picked it up on the street today.”

I slid the paper over to her, and she picked it up without hurry, furrowing her brow as she read.

“What the fuck is this? Is this a whorehouse?” Her tone mixed laughter and surprise, but her eyes scanned me like she was trying to figure out my intentions. “Girl, I’m no slut!”

“For God’s sake, it’s a swingers’ club, not a brothel,” I shot back, shaking my head. “They say the vibe is more… respectful.”

“You’re talking like you know,” she arched an eyebrow, enjoying my hesitation.

“I don’t know, just heard. But look at this,” I pointed to a section of the flyer. “Women get a pretty generous voucher to spend inside.”

“Oh, now I get why you’re interested. Free drinks, huh, you naughty thing?”

“I’m not gonna deny that’s what caught my eye,” I admitted, smiling. “But I gotta confess I’m curious. Free booze and watching other people fuck? Sounds like a different kind of entertainment.”

“Girl, you’re trouble!” She burst out laughing, but kept eyeing the flyer. Her silence was enough to tell me something there had sparked her interest.

I lowered my voice, leaning in a bit over the table.

“We could just go check it out… No one has to know.”

“Hmm… what if someone sees us going in?”

“We dress normal, slip in quietly, and that’s it. No need to join in on anything.”

She bit her lip, thoughtful, then let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright. But total secrecy.”

The plan was to dress normal, but we were two wild party girls at heart — our dresses looked a size too small and way too skimpy, high heels, heavy makeup, and hair done in a rush. We were pretty girls, and dressed like that, we drew even more attention.

That night, we pulled up to the address on the flyer, but the initial excitement quickly turned to palpable discomfort. The spot was in the city’s commercial district, a area that, at that hour, took on a shady, dangerous vibe. Dark alleys hid uneasy shadows, while bums and street hustlers spread out on the sidewalks, staking out territory in a silent knife fight.

What gave us immediate relief was the bunch of cars parked haphazardly along the street. They were luxury rides, and out stepped sharply dressed guys in tailored suits and women who, oddly, wore overcoats even though the night wasn’t cold.

“Why are all these chicks in overcoats?” my friend whispered, frowning.

“Stop calling women sluts, please?” I rolled my eyes, tugging her arm.

“Okay, but look at us… we look underdressed.”

“We’re not. Come on. It’s right there.”

I pointed to an old, weathered building where muffled club music leaked through the cracks of the heavy door. The place had no clear sign of what went on inside, but the discreet line of well-put-together people confirmed we’d hit the right spot.

At the entrance, a massive bouncer, muscles the size of my head, eyed us up and down. His gaze was blank, trained to screen entrants without showing emotion. We exchanged one last conspiratorial look before crossing the threshold, quickening our pace like we were committing a crime. The fear of being recognized mixed with the adrenaline of the taboo. And then, we were in.

Inside, everything was different. The contrast between outside and in was almost ridiculous. The space was luxurious, full of strategic lights reflecting off shiny metals, creating a sophisticated, exclusive atmosphere. It was clear this wasn’t for just anyone — and definitely not for us.

People headed to counters where elegantly dressed receptionists handled them with a natural ease we lacked. The ritual seemed rehearsed, almost bureaucratic, but to me it felt weird. The sense of being out of place only grew as I watched the other patrons’ confidence.

We got in one of the lines, and when it was our turn, a guy waited on us. He sized us up quick and smirked, reading our insecurity right away.

“Ladies, you’ve never been to a place like this before, have you?”

“No, sir,” my friend answered, still glancing around. “This isn’t dangerous, is it?”

He let out a low chuckle, not mocking, just like he’d heard it before.

“If I say it’s not, you won’t believe me anyway. So best to see for yourselves. Think of it this way: security, privacy, and respect are what bring people here. Without any of those three, this place wouldn’t be packed. Look around.”

We did what he suggested. Sure enough, the room was crowded, and no one seemed uneasy. Men and women moved through the lounge with magnetic confidence, chatting, laughing, flirting. The vibe, though thick with sensuality, wasn’t pushy.

The attendant grabbed two wristbands and slipped them on us. The light, mechanical touch snapped my friend out of her daze.

“Hey, sir, don’t put the single one on me. They’ll wanna fuck me! Give me the married one.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, clearly used to that reaction. Before he could reply, my friend cut in.

“Oh, stop! I’m not a dyke, go ahead and put the single one on me, sir.”

He laughed again, this time with real amusement.

“Relax, ladies. Here, nothing happens without consent. If anyone bugs you, just let me know.”

I glanced at my friend, who still seemed to be processing it all, and sighed. Now that we were inside, there was no turning back. And as we stepped in, the world opened up in new colors and rhythms. I thought it’d be some Sodom and Gomorrah, but no — the people were just having fun, drinking. The women there wore way bolder outfits than us, and the guys stared openly, laughing, but without that animalistic edge guys usually have. There were bars in every area — and man, there were areas. You could get lost in there in a blink.

The two booze hounds didn’t waste time and beelined for the bar. The plan was simple: milk that generous voucher for all it was worth, the one that’d convinced us to come. But the illusion didn’t last. When we saw the menu, reality hit hard. Yeah, the voucher was fat… but so were the drink prices. A cocktail cost nearly a third of what I made in a day’s work.

“We got duped!” my friend exclaimed, pissed.

“Switch to economy mode, girl. War strategy. We sip slow.”

Resigned, we clinked our first toast and headed to the dance floor. If we couldn’t get wasted, at least we could have fun. And we did. We danced like no one was watching, like the world was ours, laughing nonstop, letting loose body and mind. But gradually, things around us started shifting. The vibe, once just party, picked up a different intensity. Little touches, loaded glances, whispers too close for comfort.

Guys and girls started closing in with propositions that made us blush. The upside? With every pickup line came drinks. We took the cocktails like innocent favors, but really it was just an excuse to dodge a straight answer.

At first, we found it all hilarious. We laughed nervously, swapped knowing looks, shook our heads, turning them down politely. But with every advance, every intense stare and suggestive smile, the feeling we were playing with fire grew clearer.

When it got too hot, we bolted. Same routine every time: one would eye the other, widen her eyes, and yank the arm.

“Come on, come on, let’s hit the other side!”

And that’s how we bounced around, like there was some truly “safe” spot in that place for two curious girls who didn’t exactly know their limits. But truth was, with every sip and every fresh advance, the game got more intriguing.

We saw people doing stuff. Some, literally, were fucking right on tables in the lounge corners, out in the open for anyone who wanted a show. And yeah, we watched it all. The sex there wasn’t just about getting off; it was performance. Bodies moved with provocative intensity, like they wanted to be ogled, craved. The air pulsed with raw energy, husky voices, moans, and hungry eyes.

I was totally hooked on the atmosphere when I felt a soft touch on my arm. I turned and came face-to-face with a woman straight out of a fantasy. Stunning, almost unreal beauty. Her body, nearly bare under thin, teasing fabric, radiated confidence. She had intense eyes, like she knew exactly the effect she had.

“Hey, you two enjoying it here?” she asked, her voice low and inviting.

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” I replied, already a bit buzzed, not even hiding my awe.

My friend leaned to my ear, whispering urgently:

“Girl, she wants to fuck us.”

The words pulled a nervous laugh from me, but before I could process, the stranger went on:

“Look, my husband wants to throw a private party in that room over there, just us. He loves watching me get hot with other women. We can talk it out… you in?”

She was polite, sweet, direct. And for a second, something in me wavered. Part of me wanted to stay, at least think it over. But before I could form a coherent thought, my friend jumped in.

“No thanks!”

And without giving me time to waver, she yanked my arm, laughing like it was the craziest shit ever.

We ended up in a narrow hallway, doors packed close together. Without overthinking, we picked one and slipped in, using the space as a hideout. Truth was, we needed to breathe. And mostly, rest. The heels were killing us.

I leaned against the wall, catching my breath, while my friend rubbed her ankles.

“Girl, I’m wiped,” she murmured, chuckling softly.

“What the hell is this place?”

It was a cramped little room, pitch black. We could barely see each other. The air reeked of dust and mildew, like it hadn’t been aired out in ages.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, my friend yelped, nearly scaring me shitless.

“Girl, check this out!”

She pointed to the wall, where there was a perfect round hole, just the right height for something very specific.

“Is this a glory hole?”

I blinked a few times, trying to wrap my head around it.

“That thing where guys stick their dick through for someone to suck?”

“Yeah, girl.”

The initial shock lasted seconds before we cracked up. The laughter bounced around the tiny room, loose and fun. We started cracking jokes about a random cock popping out, debating how ballsy you’d have to be to shove your junk through an unknown hole.

But we didn’t even finish the laughs.

Like we’d summoned some horny ghost, an erect cock pushed through the hole, coming from the other side without warning. The giggles died instantly. A weird silence hit, and all we heard was our own held breaths. The easy vibe turned tense in a flash. Until, unable to hold it, my friend let out a nervous snicker. And then it was impossible to stop. Between shock and disbelief, we exploded in laughter again.

“So, what do we do now?” My voice came out shaky, between disbelief and the urge to laugh.

My friend, not missing a beat, had the most ridiculous idea.

“Take a pic of me!” She posed next to the hole, fake-sucking with her mouth open and an over-the-top sexy look.

I laughed, but my eyes went back to what was right there in front of us.

“I’ll take it, though…”

“You’re crazy!” Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t stop me.

And I took it.

Holy shit.

It was gorgeous. Could’ve passed for plastic it was so perfect, but the difference was huge. Warm, throbbing, alive in my hand. A mix of curiosity and adrenaline rushed through me, and I looked at my friend, laughing, waiting for some reaction, a sign of okay or no.

But she just stared, frozen.

“You’re nuts…” she whispered, unable to look away. “What if it has something, girl?”

“Girl, it’s like buying fish. If the head’s pink, it’s good. Safe to eat.”

She cracked up, and my totally dumb excuse seemed to convince her. The laughter eased some tension, and I saw her relax a bit.

“You’re bad news,” she shook her head, still giggling.

“Bernardo loved when I jerked him off like this,” I commented, mentioning an ex, as my fingers instinctively slid along the cock still there, still, waiting.

She looked surprised but said nothing. Just watched.

To show how he liked it, I gripped that dick firm, almost choking it, pinching the base right under the head between thumb and finger. Then I started a rhythmic stroke, slow, a careful massage I knew worked.

“It’s dry, girl. Spit.”

“You’re nuts? I ain’t spitting on a dick I don’t know! What if the owner doesn’t like spit!”

I rolled my eyes, holding back a laugh.

“Girl, if he cared about his dick, he wouldn’t stick it in a hole for anyone to suck.”

That cracked us both up. The sheer absurdity made it even funnier.

“Go on, you do it,” I urged, giving her a light push.

She hesitated a second, but curiosity won. She grabbed it with both hands, and it was clear she had more skill than me. Her touch was smoother, fingers gliding precise, and she kept the rhythm going like it was no big deal.

I watched, fascinated, then threw out the tease:

“Got the guts to put your mouth on it?”

She, focused on the job, laughed.

“I dunno…”

“Come on… I wanna see how you suck! Teach me, you’re sluttier than me.”

“Oh, girl, fuck off!”

Without thinking, she swung at me, using the guy’s dick as a weapon. The swat was clumsy, but we knew on the other side, someone felt more than a tap. We burst into another fit of laughter, while the mystery of who it was lingered. And in the middle of the fun, things heated up by the second, and without a word, she took the cockhead in her mouth.

She covered her teeth with her lips, twisting down to her throat, then pulling back straight, letting drool slide to lube her hands’ motion. It turned me on huge. She switched speeds and depths, and I wanted to figure her logic to learn. She seemed so natural…

“Your turn?”

“No,” I said firmly, but inside dying to take it in my mouth.

“Seriously? Come on, fuck!”

And then, I grabbed it again.

I’d always had my own way of doing it. Never one for shows, never needed over-the-top stuff. For me, sucking a guy was less about wowing him and more about my own pleasure. Maybe that’s why I loved it so much. I like feeling the texture and heat on my lips, exploring slow, savoring every bit. I like watching the little body twitches, involuntary reactions to a firmer suck, a surprise squeeze. I like the taste. The wet touch, mix of spit and lust dripping on my skin. I like the hardness against my mouth’s softness. I like losing myself in the rhythm, the slow glide and exact pressure that makes him lose it.

And there, in that dark, secret spot, it felt even more intense. More forbidden. More exciting.

Time seemed to fold in on itself, and on the other side, the owner started squirming. His body shook, and the spasms got more intense — it was obvious.

“Shit, girl, he’s gonna cum! Come on, come on!”

“I don’t wanna take a load to the face!”

“Hurry! Then we can say we sucked a dick together!”

She paused a second, but the taunt worked. Laughing, she came to my side, and there we were, sharing that unknown cock. Each on one side, sucking as best we could. No sync at all. Our heads bumped now and then, making us laugh harder. But even through the giggles and awkwardness, the pace picked up.

Then, we felt it.

The unmistakable shake. The frantic pulse between our lips. We knew what was next.

We pulled back just in time, shielding our hair, clothes, and makeup. And that’s when we saw it. A strong, hot spurt shot from that anonymous dick — a scene that would’ve been ridiculous if it wasn’t so unbelievably fun.

The laughter hit loud, spontaneous, full of adrenaline.

For a bit, the cock stayed there, up for our less serious play. Until, mission accomplished, it started softening. It wilted slow, and with one last slide, it slipped back through the hole, vanishing like an animal to its den.

We stood there, still kinda breathless, laughing at what we’d just done.

“Girl, that was insane.”

“We’re so brave, girl.”

Embarrassed but secretly proud, we touched up our makeup right there, fixed our hair, and slipped our heels back on.

“Girl, that’s enough, right? Let’s bounce?”

“Yeah, I’m beat too.”

We opened the door and stepped out… and then we realized. Something was off.

Outside, a crowd. Guys and girls pressed in, laughing slyly, watching us with amused glints in their eyes. Whispers, exchanged looks, and the sense that everyone knew exactly what we’d been up to.

My stomach dropped.

My friend nudged me, pointing to the booth we’d come from.

“Fuck… I can’t believe it…”

I stopped and looked.

There they were. Small frosted glass windows, placed just right so anyone outside could watch the show inside.

In our rush to get in, in the dark we’d been in, we hadn’t noticed.

Everyone had seen.

Everyone saw us two blowing a total stranger. And from the looks, it was a big deal around there — some were even clapping.

We didn’t think twice.

We ran out, into the world beyond those doors. And we laughed, laughed so hard we could barely breathe, because in the end, it had been a wild ride. A delicious madness we’d never forget.