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Two women were doing sixty-nine. The woman on top buried her tongue in her partner’s sex, causing the woman on the bottom to scream and thrash.
Another woman, on her own, slid a clear glass dildo coated in lube up and down her wet slit, her head writhing in delight.
I turned as a woman stepped into something with straps and buckles, tightening both to take up the slack. Holy shit. It was a strap on, and she began to stroke like it was her own cock.
Chapter 22
Varden
I slipped the Audi’s gearshift into park and unlocked the glove box to grab my mask.
If it ever got out that I went to sex clubs—well, San Francisco was open-minded, but understanding only went so far.
So I was always careful. Very careful.
And I had to watch myself around Saffi, too.
Miss M greeted me, like she always did, with a kiss on my mask. I ran a soft finger down her bare arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Her usual steely look dissolved momentarily, and I could practically smell her need. She might be in a sex club night after night, but that didn’t mean she was getting serviced. It was a shame.
I wandered through the packed first floor, discreetly watching one couple take seats on a large sofa next to another man and woman. After some furtive glances, the two women began chatting, leading to introductions, and eventual laughter. It was just a matter of time before they retired to a room upstairs where the men would trade their eager wives, everyone excited at the prospect of some unfamiliar pussy and cock. I couldn’t help but smile inside my mask. Some couples played all the time, and for some, it was a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. They’d never forget their night at the club, that was for sure.
I grabbed myself a drink and cruised up to the second floor where the real partying took place. I spied my friends X, Y, and Z and decided to kill some time chatting them up while waiting for Saffi. Or B, as I’d be calling her. It was fucking hot she had no idea who I was. And I planned to keep it that way.
“Well, look who it is! Mr. Mask.” I couldn’t be sure which woman was which, but did it really matter?
“Ladies. How are you, my beautiful friends?”
After a chorus of greetings, one leapt to her feet to get a fresh round of drinks. The curvy one patted a spot on the sofa for me to squeeze into. Once wedged between two of the beauties, one of them played with the edges of my mask.
This, I did not like, and gently removed her hand. “Now, now. You know I don’t remove my mask at the club.”
“Aw, c’mon. You’re so hot. I want to see more of you,” she whined.
“Sweetie, that’s not part of the deal.”
She shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Hey,” the other said, running a finger down the side of my neck to my chest. “What do you say we go to one of the rooms?”
“Yes,” the skinny one said. “How ‘bout a little ménage?”
I stretched my arms along the back of the sofa, and reached around their shoulders.
“How ’bout you show me what you’re talking about?” I drew them toward each other with a hand on each of their backs.
They leaned in at my invitation, their mouths close but not quite touching, perhaps contemplating what they might do to convince me to take them to a more private setting.
“Well. Look at you three.” The third had returned with drinks. She stood before us, clad in sheer lace panties, high heels, and glittery nipple tape on her perky breasts. Her mask was an ornate confection in all black with feathers shooting from the brow, like the plume on a quail. She ran off to say hi to someone else, and the little bounce in her tits made my dick twitch.
Shit. Saffi. Where the hell was she?
“Ladies,” I said, untangling myself from their limbs and standing. “I’ve got to move on.”
They rolled their eyes.
“C’mon. Beauties like you never sit alone for long,” he reassured them.
“All right then. Maybe next time?”
