“Let’s have a drink,” suggests Victoria. “The guide said to mingle in the cabaret. There are rooms for sex.”
The way she puts it, so mechanically, is at odds with the sensuality on display in the room. A few tables over, a slender Asian woman writhes on a table as her pussy is loudly licked by a top-heavy blonde. Just behind us, a smirking brunette in a nurse’s uniform is jerking the cocks of two masked slave boys wearing collars, leashes, and little else.
“This is pretty intense,” laughs Sofia over the cabaret music.
“I’m going to get us some drinks,” says Victoria. “Feel free not to be here when I get back.”
It takes all of five minutes for a chisel-chinned Frenchman in a tuxedo and mask to approach our table.
“Ladies,” he says, “You are all looking so delicious tonight. Might I be forward and ask if you would like to be licked from your lips to your toes. I promise, I will not miss a spot between.”
I chuckle at his bold approach and warn him, “I’m afraid I am not interested in men.”
“A fair line. I am not interested in men either. I simply cannot see our appeal.” He bows slightly to me. “But my offer extends to your beautiful companions.”
He holds out a hand to Brittany and his other hand to Sofia. Brittany glances at us and takes the man’s hand. His smile spreads beneath his white mask. Sofia waves him away.
“A good evening to you, ladies.” He helps Brittany to her feet. “Come, my dear, and allow me to give you a complete tour.”
Sofia watches her go. It’s hard to read her expression with her mask covering most of her eyes. She seems unhappy with Brittany leaving.
“So much for ‘us girls need to stick together’,” says Sofia. “Brit gets one look at a handsome guy and starts dreaming about cock.”
“Sofia!” I exclaim, surprised by her bitterness.
“I didn’t need her distracting me from you,” says Victoria, sliding up behind Sofia and caressing my daughter’s shoulders.
“I thought you were getting drinks,” I say, sounding more peevish than I intended.
“Here you are mademoiselle,” purrs a sweet French-accented voice. It belongs to a beautiful brunette with a pixie-cut and green eyes glittering behind a cat mask. Her lips are an adorable bow painted pink and she deftly slides a tray of cocktails onto our table. Her bare breasts are nearly as perfect as my daughter’s. Her pale areolas rise to delicate pink nipples as she lifts a drink from the tray and sets it in front of me. “Agro Dulce for you.”
The drink is red and swirled with the skin of a fruit. Maybe an orange. It is strong and sweet when I lift it to my lips and have a taste.
“Oh, that’s good,” I say to the waitress. “Really nice. Hard edge, but smooth in my throat.”
Victoria chooses a cocktail from the tray. Sofia looks at me expectantly and I give her a nod, indicating that even though she is under age for a cocktail, I’ll allow her to drink tonight. She sips her mojito as I pay the waitress a generous tip.
The waitress thanks me for the money, turns and walks away, giving me a chance to admire her plump, round bottom, thronged and bouncing above her knitted thigh-high socks. The girl stops and casts a glance over her shoulder. I smile and raise my cocktail in salute to her sex appeal.
“One hour,” purrs the waitress. “I will be in the zigzag room. If you would care to join me.”
“Mommmmm!” laughs Sofia. “I think she likes you.”
“You should feel honored,” agrees Victoria. “It said in the guide that the waitresses rarely get involved in the swinging.”
“See?” says Sofia.
“Speaking of which,” continues Victoria, “the guide said there are pools and a bouncy room along with the ‘Arabian Harem.’ Want to go find out what that’s about?”
“Oh, yes! You’ll be alright mom?”
“Don’t worry about me. Have fun, the both of you.”
They hurry off, giggling to each other as I return my attention to the cabaret performers. More of a burlesque, really, not that I’m complaining as three beauties in matching slinky attire take to the stage and begin to undress. The music is something loud and punky and it makes me think of Addison. Before I can pine too much about her, things start to get distractingly erotic on the stage. Fingers are slipping in and out of luscious holes as the women move their bodies in time to the music and moan in a way that almost seems like song.
I finish my drink and move on to what I assume was Brittany’s. It’s a spicy, rum-flavored drink that goes down even smoother than my citrus drink. By the time I’ve finished that one, the burlesque has shifted to new performers, a man and two women, fucking and licking and sucking onstage in a way that is passionate and artful. I’m feeling the drink in my face. A warmth that is trickling into the rest of my body and stoked by the carnal scene.
Surely enough time has passed for my rendezvous with the waitress. I rise from the table and head in the direction I watched my companions leave. A red leather door opens into a door-lined corridor heavy with a perfumed scent and the sound of erotic house music. A trio of laughing women emerge from a door down the hall. Their masks are askew and their costumes are in various stages of disarray. They stop as I approach and seem to jeer at me in French. One of the women tries to pull me into an embrace.
“I’m going to meet someone!” I cry as I slip free from her arms. Her friend moans something and tries to slip her hand under my skirt. I hurry past them and the three women begin laughing.
The hallway bends, revealing new length and new doors. Two men are fucking in the hall, one face down and the other rhythmically moving his hips and sliding his cock in and out of the other man’s ass. They do not even look up as I gingerly step over them to continue down the corridor.
The zigzag room is labeled with a zigzag symbol in a silver frame. I knock on the door and there is no answer. I open the door gingerly and fog begins to slowly ooze out through the open door. Red lights illuminate a room covered in zigzag designs. If that weren’t disorienting enough, the bed and chairs and various other furniture are mostly concealed beneath a waist-high fog that issues from nozzles on the wall. Every few seconds, the red lights pulse brighter, like lightning, before dimming back to conditions more like the bridge of a submarine.
I step into the room and the door closes behind me.
“I was not sure you would come,” says the waitress.
“Where are you?” I ask, searching for the source of her voice in the fog.
I nearly stumble over and ottoman hidden in the fog. She rises next to me, her smile and mask somehow slightly menacing in the red light and maddening zigzag pattern. She takes my hand and pulls me down into the fog. Even very close to her I can barely see her. My hands fumble and I find her breast. She moans and leans in to kiss me. It’s an awkward embrace, but as her lips open to mine and I taste the sweetness of her tongue, the awkwardness is forgotten.
I pull her closer to me and reach for her mask. She pushes my hand away.
“No,” she says. “We are together as strangers. We cannot deny any desire when we wear the masks.”
“What do I call you?”
“Chat. Or as you say, cat.” Her hand caresses my thigh. “What do I call you, my beautiful mademoiselle?”
“Goldie,” I say, referring to my golden mask.
“Mmmmmm, that is a good name.”
She puts something in her mouth and inhales. I hear a slight bubbling from deeper in the fog and I realize it must be a hookah. The spicy scent of something mind-altering reaches my nostrils. I open my mouth to ask the waitress what it is and she kisses me again. This time she breathes the smoke into my mouth and I instinctively inhale. Euphoria surges inside me. A sense of contentment at odds with the red lighting and creepy zigzags. The pulse of the red becomes like my heartbeat and I smile dreamily at the girl in the cat mask.
“That’s nice,” I laugh.
“Yes,” she agrees. “Have a little more.”
; She sucks another mouthful from the hookah and we press our lips together. This time there is no surprise. I suck it greedily from her mouth as another, stronger wave of euphoria washes over my body. We laugh together, our bodies at last colliding in sensual warmth within the secret space of the fog and our tongues slipping together in the drugged heat of that kiss.
“I want you,” I moan, my desire rising to the surface. “I want to taste you.”
“Yessss,” purrs Cat.
I descend into the fog as she stretches out on the cushions hidden in the white blanket. She has shed her panties already and her knit-stockinged legs and neatly trimmed slit emerge from the fog without a sense of scale. It is as if I am traveling an entire neighborhood of her body. I laugh at the sensation of being wrapped in the thighs of a giantess.
Oh, what a giantess! Her skin is honeyed milk emerging from the warmth of her adorable, legging-like stockings. I can just make out those breasts and deliciously puffy areolas when I look up from her thighs. Her face is obscured by the fog. I peel down her stockings, exposing more of her thigh and running my tongue up her warm, perfumed flesh. Her pussy is so incredibly delicate. I have been having sex with teenagers for the past few weeks and this is still one of the loveliest quims I’ve seen.
I’m in no hurry. The smoke has given me a crawling lust, a sleepy sensuality colored by my inner warmth. I want her so much, so badly, and yet I linger with soft kisses and little teasing licks up her thigh. She shifts one leg and then the other over my shoulders. My nipples are pinching as the pop free of the corset in this position. They rub against the cushions as my kisses find their way to that prim nexus of her womanhood.
“Ohhhhhh, mademoiselle,” she cries above me, slipping her fingers into my silky hair and pulling me against her mound.
I slip my tongue past her velvet entrance and sample the nectar that gathers inside the heat of her channel. So sweet, so tight it squeezes around my tongue, I moan as I begin to lap at her glazed folds. She rocks her hips and her hands guide my tongue to her clit. I linger there, teasing it, a pellet of pleasure so small I have to search for it beneath her delicate hood. She gasps as my tongue strikes true and I burrow the probing tip against her little bead.
“Yes! Mademoiselle, yes! Just like that!”
Now my secret trick. I press a kiss to her tiny clit and open my lips just a bit to suck at that tiny bundle of pleasure. It is not big enough to suck between my lips, but I know the incredible pleasure that suction will bring. She arches against the cushions and thrusts her sweet pussy against my mouth. Her juices spill down my chin. Her thighs squeeze against my face. I suck harder and batter her clit with my tongue.
“Goldie!” she cries. “So beautiful! You make me cum!”
Her thighs clench tight enough to close off my hearing in one ear. I can feel her pulse, throbbing against my eardrum through her leg. I furiously beat my tongue against her and slip a single finger into the slippery channel of her pussy. I don’t fuck her with it, I probe and find that spongy spot that will drive her beyond pleasure into a sort of toe-curling madness.
“Nnnnnnnnaaahhhh!” she wails, holding my mouth so tight against her pulsing pussy that she threatens to suffocate me. I don’t fight back, I suck and lick and curl my finger into the hot, squeezing channel of her pussy.
She doesn’t kill me with her surprisingly powerful thighs. Instead, she pulls me up from between her legs and over her, my soft breasts now completely bursting from my corset and fat nipples against her puffy tips. I bend down to suck one and roll that little pebble on my tongue. She gasps and pulls me up again, urging my mouth to hers in a passionate kiss that shares her sweet pussy between us.
Her hand is between my thighs, under my skirt, fingers invading the heat of my pussy as we kiss. I roll my hips and fuck against her touch. She has me on the brink of cumming simply with those skilled fingers. Her hands cradle my ass and lift me higher up her body, so she can smother herself with my dangling breasts. I gasp as she suckles one nipple and then other, back and forth, as if she hopes to coax milk from my plump tips.
“Fuck me,” I gasp, rolling my hips and fucking myself on her three fingers.
She reaches into the fog, searching for something as she continues to pop her warm, wet mouth onto my nipples. She finds whatever she is searching for and holds it up. My gasp of tit-sucked pleasure becomes a laugh as I see an elegant, carved strap-on of lacquered wood.
“Oh, yes,” I say to her. “That’s exactly what I need.”
I distract her with kisses as she straps on the cock. She pushes me onto my back, the fog swallowing us both as she slides the cock into me and begins to fuck me in a splayed missionary position. My breasts heave with her every stroke. I clench against the carved ridges, slick with the lacquer and my copious juices. She kisses me, silencing my cries of pleasure. Kisses me and fucks me harder and harder until her lovely cock is sloshing into my wetness and my juices are dripping down my ass.
I feel the other person in the room as I am cumming. I try to ask who is there, but Cat kisses me so hungrily that my words are lost to her tongue. And then I can only curl my toes and cum, more than once, body arching beneath her and my inner walls squeezing tight against the thrusting wooden cock.
She leaves me gasping and drunk with pleasure as her wooden cock leaves me with a slurp. I can’t even speak. Cat kisses my breasts and her warm lips move down my body and between my thighs. Her tongue finds my clit and she continues to pleasure me as I begin to helplessly laugh at the ecstasy I am feeling.
The girl in the butterfly mask appears from the fog, her pert body against mine. Her lips descend to mine and I only have a moment to realize someone is touching me before we are kissing. There is something so sweet, so soft and familiar about those lips, I cannot resist them. Her hand fondles my breasts as we kiss, as Cat’s tongue lashes my clit, I pull this lovely interloper against me. I feel the youthful firmness of her body against mine.
“Who are you?” I breathe between kisses.
“Shhhh,” she quiets me and it is impossible to resist another kiss. Our tongues mingle. Something about a butterfly mask troubles me. Some memory. But the smoke from earlier and the pleasure of Cat’s tongue allay these distant worries.
She has the hookah in her grasp, inhaling deeply from its bubbling hose. She passes the mouthpiece to me and I suck the sweet, euphoric smoke into my lungs. I exhale the loveliness against her parted lips and our mouths meet once again. I slide my hand to the firm bubble of her bottom. I squeeze her lovely ass and tease my fingers into her crack.
What is this? Who is this?
It’s a smoky dream of zigzag stripes. Through the fog I see auburn hair and big brown eyes behind the butterfly mask. The sweetness of a familiar face half-hidden in the fog and behind the mask. I pull her atop me. Cat pleasures us both with her fingers and tongue. Our bodies are pressed together, floating together in this incredible fantasy. Unafraid, I pull her atop my face, between those slender thighs, and I taste a forbidden fruit. It is twice as sweet as any peach I have tasted before. My fingers probe her tight channel. She rocks her hips against my face and I cum against Cat’s fingers and tongue.
I know who this is. I know it but I can’t speak to myself. I hear a familiar voice moaning above me, riding my tongue and spilling her sweet juice into my mouth. I suck it from her delicate folds. I suck her clit and spread her firm bottom. I let my tongue lick here there as well, tasting the faint sweat of her pink pucker. The spilled juices of her pussy that have flavored that hot clench.
We smoke again and it all blends beyond rationality. Fingers and tongues. Lovers and more. Breasts against breasts, hearts beating together as I kiss. Cat? This stranger in her butterfly mask? Is this really happening to me or is only a dream? If it is a phantasm of my mind, I desperately cling to it. I suck and lick and fondle it. I thrust my tongue deep and taste the sweet nectar of that dream and I want it to last forever.
The Return Trip
“That club
was insane,” babbles Brittany over the whine of the jet engine. “I can’t believe it. I must have fucked three different girls and five different guys. This one guy had me pinned up against the wall…”
I’m not listening to her. My heart and my gaze and all my thoughts are fixed several rows up, where Sofia is sitting and softly talking with Victoria. What are they saying? Does Victoria know? Do I know? I can’t talk to Sofia about it. If it was a dream, I would be revealing my desires to fuck my own daughter, and if it wasn’t just a fantasy confused by drugs and lust, then what have I done? I am a bigger monster than Tyler.
“So what do you think, Lindsay?”
“Huh?” I look at Brittany. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I get nervous sometimes during these flights and start imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios. What did you ask?”
Brittany leans against my shoulder and strokes my thigh.
“I was talking about going up to the bathroom together and…” She whispers the rest directly into my ear. “…eating your hot pussy until you beg for me to stop.”
“Mmmmm!” I try to sounds turned on. “I like how you think. I’m afraid that I’m a little nervous now that we’re in the air. Maybe I’ll relax when it’s dark and I can’t see anything under the plane.”
“Sure, no problem,” says Brittany.
No problem, except for all of the crazy things running through my head. No problem, except that I might have fucked my daughter for hours the night before in a haze of intoxication. Not that whatever was in that hookah is an excuse. Even in the moment, I suspected what might be happening. Did she? Did Sofia know what she was doing? Questions like that run amok in my head. I can’t even pretend to read the magazine I am flipping through.
The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club Page 14