I looked hot. No one had to know the dress was from Target, or that I owned exactly one shade of lipstick and one color eyeshadow, or that I normally walked around in a t-shirt and jeans and ugly Skechers. Tonight, I looked hot.
I wasn't sure about going to a swing club. But we were in Las Vegas, and we had a night out on the town by ourselves, and we were itching to try something new.
The club was not at all what I had pictured. This was not a nightclub, with alcohol and smoke and loud music and dancing. This was an entire building dedicated to sex. Rooms full of beds and couches, boxes of tissues everywhere, plenty of opportunities for exhibitionists and voyeurs. The bar sold only soft drinks and condoms. Bad porn played on a loop on the TVs in the common areas.
If you were in this place, it was because you wanted to watch people have sex, or you wanted people to watch you have sex, or you wanted to find other people to have sex with.
The night got off to a slow start. We explored for quite a while, wandering from the main room down various halls to couples-only areas, voyeur sites, orgy rooms, and "private" rooms. Single men followed on the heels of couples like hungry puppies, hoping to get to watch some of the action (or possibly be invited to join in). Most of the other couples there seemed as timid as we were, sitting down somewhere to make out, then getting up and going somewhere else.
As the hours wore on and midnight came and went, the atmosphere became more adventurous. An older, more experienced couple took the center bed in an open (but very dark) room, stripped, and got down to business. Several other visitors sat in couches nearby to watch.
My husband pulled me into his lap on one of the couches and kissed me. He put his hands up my dress and hiked it up far enough to pop my breasts out of my bra and tongue my nipples. Could other people...see? My butt was out, my boobs on display. Another couple sat down right beside us and started making out.
A man in the corner was receiving a subtle blow job from his girlfriend. On one of the leather-padded beds, a woman's high-heel-clad feet dangled beside a man's shoulders as he went down on her.
Sex.
Everywhere.
My husband picked me up and carried me to an empty bed in the corner. He lay me down at the edge and knelt between my feet, pulled my thong out of the way, and set to work on my pussy. Two couples saw what we were doing and sat in chairs nearby to watch.
Discomfort turned to arousal, and I focused on the feel of the tongue on my clit. My dress was up over my face, and his fingers pinched my nipples.
All these people. Watching us. I would much rather be watched than watch. Those people weren't up here, on display! But we were. "Look at us! Look how much fun we're having! Don't you want to have fun with us?" I thought.
Then he was kissing my lips, and his cock sought entrance. Now my feet hung beside his hips, my breath came in high-pitched gasps. I would have been louder in private. But I couldn't let go completely. Not with all those people watching.
They were close enough to touch us, right there in our business, almost part of it. Here, a woman giving head. There, hands on breasts and lips locked together.
Sex.
Everywhere.
From my position, I could choose not to see the other people around us. I could look at us in the mirror beside the bed, in a bubble of excitement, where it was just us, having sex like we usually did.
Except we didn't usually have sex in front of other people.
We didn't ever have sex in front of other people!
He came. I didn't. I was still too busy worrying about being watched. But it was so hot. It was. And when we wiped ourselves off and I sat up and saw six people sitting beside our bed, getting off on our little show, I felt powerful, confident.
I fixed my dress, resettled my thong, closed my bra.
We were done. But the night was still young, and we hadn't gotten what we came for.
We wandered back out to the hall, where a tall man in his 40s stood with his wife, a pretty woman near the same age, wearing a black dress similar to mine. He stuck out his hand. "Hi," he said, in an Australian accent. "I'm Bruce, and this is Susan. Are you having a good time?"
My husband shook his hand. I shook his hand. I shook Susan's hand. My husband shook Susan's hand. "I'm Sam and this is Anna," my husband said.
"It's fun," I said.
"Good." Bruce put his hand in the small of my back. "Have you had a chance to look around?"
"We've been here a few hours," I said.
