Mar 142013
 

I told the tale in one post. V split it into two. The first was here. The second, here:

I’m surprised at how visible the club is.  I always assumed these places were hidden behind secret doors in bars, in basements, but here it is right on the street.  I’m holding N.’s hand as he navigates the various tricks to enter.  

He’s watching me carefully and trying to exude as much confidence and care as he can.  He does this well, but still I’m nervous, scared even.  I normally think of myself as calm and confident, but that night I was feeling shy as ever and completely out of my element.

We enter and he delights a little in giving me a tour. There are a handful of people in the lobby, some clothed, some naked with towels, some in underwear.  I’m suddenly feeling quite overdressed. 

N. points out a few people he knows from past encounters, some of whom he’s written about here. He enjoys telling me about them.  I take pleasure in his enjoyment– it even relaxes me a bit.

He leads me over to an empty couch.  We sit down, kiss, and then he asks me to get up and stand about a foot in front of him.  

“Take off your sweater,” he asks.

I do.  

“Kneel for me,” he says.

This time I do, without hesitation.  

I want to pause here for a moment.  At the bar, I was struggling with the decision to kneel in a way I had never experienced before.  I had an enigmatic desire to listen to N., to do anything he asked.  Why would I want to do something that made me feel embarrassed, self-conscious, and slutty? In my normal dating life I wouldn’t do anything remotely close to some of the things N. has me do.  And yet there I was, deeply conflicted in that moment wanting to give in to a deep desire to obey and yet not being able to reconcile that with my normal self.  Now, here at Le Trapeze, in all of five minutes I was on my knees in a room full of people, and I loved it.  True, it was safe here, it wasn’t embarrassing here, but to be honest I didn’t even notice the other people, I was just watching N. 

I approach him and put my mouth on him through his jeans.  I love how much we both enjoy the anticipation of my mouth on his cock.  He can feel my lips against the fabric, breathing on the tip of him.  He twitches against my mouth.  I press my tongue against the length of him, moistening his pants considerably. “Let’s go,” he says, and we leave the lobby.  

We put our coats and shoes in the locker room, and N. leads me into a small room, the floor lined with mattresses.  There’s loud club music playing.  

“Stand up against the wall with your hands over your head.” 

He approaches me.  I love this moment– I’m vulnerable, physically, mentally, unsure what is about to happen.  All I can think about is my desire and I just watch him coming for me.  

He slides his hand between my legs over my leggings.  I moan. 

“Spread your legs, please.” 

He continues to touch me expertly. He wants to feel how wet I am, how wet he makes me.  He wants to know how turned on and ready I am for him.  He wants to feel me soak through two layers of fabric for him. 

I do.

He asks me to take off my leggings and my shirt.  I’m standing in front of him in my panties and bra, my hands over my head, and he slides his hand along my legs, this time skin on skin.  He traces my thighs ever so lightly.  I’m trembling.  

I move to touch him, his face, his neck, his cock, anything, I just need to get my hands on him, but he grabs my wrists and places them up over my head again.  Gently, but firmly. He teases me more than I think I can handle.  He dips a finger into me, pushes it in all the way, pulls it out and licks it clean. I’m panting.   He’s watching me closely. He continues this for five minutes straight, driving me mad. 

HIs eyes are still on mine.  “What do you want?”  he asks calmly.

I have no such self control.  “I need your mouth on me, now. Please.  Please put your mouth on me.”  I’m practically begging. No, I am begging.

“Lay down, please,” he says.  

N. then proceeds to lick my pussy more than I ever imagined possible.  Done with the teasing, his hands spread open my thighs and his mouth presses fully against me, he licks up all of my juices, sucks my clit into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue while pushing a finger inside of me. I’m quickly overwhelmed and bucking against him.  He doesn’t stop. He continues to move his mouth, his lips, his tongue against me for what feels like days. I have no awareness of the noises I’m making, of the words I’m saying.  We are both worked up, sweating, my hands finding his head, his neck, his beard, his earrings, his earlobes, his hands.  I so enjoy touching him when he’s on me like this. 

The sensations are overpowering, and at one point I start to tell him, “No, I can’t.  No more!” and even try to squirm away, overwhelmed by the intensity of my orgasms, of his tongue.  He grips the top of my thighs, and pulls me into his mouth once more. He knows better. He knows what I can handle, and he will push me even further.

I had twelve consecutive orgasms that night. 

We then go back to the locker room and shed most of our other clothes.  He opts for just a towel, while I decide on just panties. N. wants to show me around the rest of the place.  We peek in one large room  where half a dozen couples are in various stages of fucking.  Then we head up a spiral staircase. I lead, giving N. a good view of my ass.  We find a lot of people congregated around a room at the end of the hall, I think two guys fucking one girl.  The observers all seem to be checking each other out, looking for something, someone to do, while I just want to get my hands and my mouth on N. again.  We walk down the stairs again and head back to the little room we started in.  

He lays down.  “Now I want you to suck my cock,” he says.

I crawl over to in between his legs and do just that, savoring every bit of how hard he is, how good he tastes, how sexy I feel when I’m pleasing him. The blow job is long, but still it ends too soon for my taste. I tease him with my tongue as I swallow his cum, and he curses loudly which I haven’t heard him do before.  

We hear the closing time music which is more than a little surreal for me, having first read about it on this very blog. We get dressed and make our way back out to the real world.  We walk a few blocks until we find cabs, kissing along the way.

  7 Responses to “One short of a baker’s dozen, her version (part 2)”

  1. I love how polite you are N even when you are telling her what to do. 😉

  2. I want to join you at an upcoming event. Please email promptly 🙂

  3. Just discovered you via the SS365 blog awards and pleased I did.

    Ive added this post the my ‘Something for the weekend’ reading list I publish so others can discover you.

  4. Me too, MG. Though to be clear, if N. had you pinned against the wall right now and was whispering in your ear any of what was said above, no matter how many times he says ‘please’, there would be no mistaking that he was telling, not asking. 😉

  5. V, I found myself thinking about this post again yesterday, and I just wanted to thank you for sharing it. You are so lucky!

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