Swinging in Amsterdam
...at the Swingers’ Club
Polly J Adams
James Grieve Press
© Polly J Adams 2014
This ebook is copyright material and no portion of it may be reproduced or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law.
www.pollyjadams.com
http://www.facebook.com/pollyjadamswriter
Twitter: @PollyJAdams
Join the Polly J Adams mailing list for all the latest news and offers.
www.pollyjadams.com/about.php
Cover image © Zastavkin
Contents
Swinging in Amsterdam
Afters: about the author, and hot samples from other books
Swinging in Amsterdam
From the hotel window Selena could see through a canopy of leafy trees to the canal. Long, narrow houseboats lined the far side, their roofs and gunwales deep with potted plants. A small boat piled high with cardboard boxes chugged past. Beyond, there was a bar advertising Amstel, Heineken and Jupiter beers, with tables outside and more across the uneven street by the canal. Most of the tables were occupied, a mix of tourists and locals stopping for a beer on their way home from work.
Selena stood with her face pressed up against the cold glass, her arms held high, her hands clutching the window frame. She wore a black corset, her breasts pushed up, spilling out, cupped in Martin’s hands, his fingers and thumbs flicking and pinching at the hard nipples.
She pushed back against him and felt his hard dick sliding slowly into her once again. The end pressed against the front wall of her vagina, sending stabs of pleasure through her belly. She tipped her head back, grinding her cropped hair against his shoulder, feeling the scrape of stubble against her cheek.
“Fuck me,” she gasped. “Fuck me hard.”
One hand stole down across the ribbed fabric of her corset to cup her shaved smooth pussy, guiding and controlling her as he thrust deep.
That pressure... the way his hand contained her like that... the way his fingers squeezed her pussy, making her feel tighter... the way the heel of his hand ground and rolled against her, sliding that fleshy hood across her clit...
Outside...
She wondered what they could see, if they could see anything at all. Their room was on the third floor – so high up that passersby would only see reflections, and at best just the shape of someone standing here. Or would they be able to see more? Would they make out her features, her short auburn hair and angular cheekbones? Would they see that there was not one figure here, but two? Would they see his hand on her left breast, see the rhythmic movement of her body as he thrust into her, see the opening of her mouth in another gasp as his other hand adjusted and a finger slid up the wet slit of her sex, parting her lips, finding the hard nub of her clit?
She closed her eyes, trying to picture the view from outside, savoring the thrill of watching and being watched, of being so risky and public.
Just then, he thrust harder, lifting her to her toes, focusing all her senses on his dick inside her and that finger as it circled her clit.
She felt a pulsing, deep inside, a sudden throb as Martin held himself deep. Another throb and a deep grinding thrust and then wet heat as he came deep inside her.
That did it for her, the wetness and the shifting sensations as he came and then started to soften and all the time that finger relentlessly circled, circled, circled.
She gave a long, drawn out groan and then felt everything tighten, a protracted pulsing of the muscles in her pussy, an intense wave of pleasure spreading through her belly. She slumped forward against the glass, face and breasts squashed against its coldness. Her legs had gone weak, threatening to give way beneath her.
Thank goodness for those strong arms around her, catching and supporting her.
She twisted in Martin’s embrace and his dick abruptly flopped out of her, leaving her wet and feeling intensely empty of him. She tucked herself into those arms, that body, and allowed him to guide her across to the bed, lower her, lift her legs up so she could lie and he could tuck in behind her, those arms still looped around her, the two of them wet, tangled, spent.
§
“So what haven’t we done?”
That had become a standard line on this mad tour of Europe’s great cities. Rome, Prague, Berlin and now what remained of the afternoon and then one more night in Amsterdam before heading up to Centraal Station for their train to Paris. So what haven’t we done?
They’d been to Museumsplein for the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum. They’d idled through Vondelpark, and ridden the trams for miles just to see where they would end up; they’d navigated the shopping throngs on the Damrak and then last night they’d relaxed on a champagne canal tour before dinner at a classy little Vietnamese place in the Jordaan.
They lay facing each other now, and Martin’s dark eyes fixed on Selena. They were the kind of eyes you could lose yourself in so easily, meet that look and just forget everything. Being taken from behind, hard up against the glass, had been such a turn-on earlier, but in that position it hadn’t been possible to make eye contact and Selena liked nothing more than locking eyes with Martin as he climaxed. That was such an intense and beautiful thing.
She raised herself onto an elbow so she could lean forward and kiss him. It was a gentle pressing of lips, all the more intimate for that brief, delicate contact.
As she pressed against him she felt that unmistakable stirring as he started to respond.
The trip had been all that Selena had dared hope. They’d packed so much in and seen so many fabulous sights. It had been pretty exhausting, though, and right now a quiet, rude evening in their hotel room seemed the perfect option. This was their not-quite honeymoon, after all.
Martin was smiling. “Come on,” he said. “One more night. Let’s go out and explore. What shall we do?”
He could read her like a book. He’d known she was about to suggest staying right here, ordering food and champagne up from the hotel’s restaurant and not budging until morning for the tram ride up to Centraal.
She reached down and took a firm hold of his shaft, and immediately that first, tentative response she had felt nudging against her became something more definite. She tugged gently, then had to change her grip as his shaft pushed upwards.
She ran her thumb over the exposed head of his dick, so wet already.
Then she raised an eyebrow and said, “Really? You want to go out? Okay. Let’s get ready.”
With that, she pushed away from him, releasing her grip so that his dick slapped against his belly.
Standing by the bed, she looked back down at him, loving the way those dark eyes explored her nakedness.
“Well what are you hanging around for?” she said. “Let’s get ready.”
§
They ended up drinking white beer at a canal-side bar, a short walk from Dam Square.
“You happy?” Martin asked.
Selena nodded. “Never more so,” she said, and it was true. She’d just turned thirty when she met Martin almost a year ago. She’d never married, although she’d come close. In each of the three big previous relationships in her life, she’d believed it was the real thing, that this was how love was, but it hadn’t worked out. With Martin, though, she could see just how different the real thing was, how those previous
relationships had only been vague approximations of what she had with him now.
They’d agreed early on that marriage wasn’t for them. Martin had been there before and emerged with the scars, and now that Selena had Martin nothing else mattered to her.
“We don’t need paper and certificates,” she’d told him. “We just need us.” So instead of having a wedding, they’d had what they called a Weddon’t, a big party where they stood before friends and said of course they were going to make this thing last because why would you not?
And now... here on their not-quite honeymoon, they sat by a Dutch canal watching the world go by.
“You want to explore?” she said now. This canal led up into Amsterdam’s Red Light District, a part of the city they had only seen in passing from their canal tour that morning.
They drained their drinks and stood, then hand in hand they followed the canal-side street north.
A short time later they paused, leaning on cast iron railings by the canal. Further up Selena could see the bulky form of the Oude Kerk, the old church at the heart of this district, an odd feature of an area that was coming alive for the early evening now. The tables outside the bars were crowded here, and the streets were alive with people: couples, groups, even families, just walking along and taking in the sights. Just behind Selena, a coffee shop painted in vivid graffiti gave off that distinctive marijuana aroma so heady you just had to stand outside and take a deep breath to get a bit of a buzz going.
Across the canal there was a row of glass doors, each with a lingerie-clad woman standing behind it, trying to catch the eye of anyone passing by. As Selena watched, a middle-aged guy in a gray suit stopped at a half-open door and started to talk with the woman inside. After a minute or two the door opened wider, he stepped inside, and a blind came down over the glass.
“How long do you think he gets?” asked Martin. He’d clearly been watching the same encounter.
“Shall we wait until he comes out?”
They laughed, stood away from the railings and walked on. Now there were more of the famous glass doors. The women came in all varieties, and all ages, it seemed. As Martin and Selena walked, the prostitutes kept making eye contact, smiling, posing.
“You fancy?” asked Selena.
Martin laughed and answered, “Do you?”
“Some, yes,” she said. “I hadn’t expected them to be so hot.” She’d never hidden from Martin the fact that one of her previous relationships had been with a woman. She always said that she didn’t care what gender someone was: if there was a spark, there was a spark. She’d often told Martin he could easily have been a woman, and he knew exactly what she meant.
The wide paved area around the Oude Kerk was fringed with bars, coffee shops and more glass doors. Even the church itself had glass doors around its flanks.
They looped around and headed back down the other side of the canal. After a few minutes they paused outside a small theater. Its neon sign read LIVE PORNO and LIVE SEX SHOW, and photographs of its shows festooned the walls outside.
“Hey, hey,” said a big guy in a leather jacket. “Live sex show, best in Amsterdam. We have a couple of seats left. Show starts soon. You wanna see what they’re all talking about?” The guy patted Martin on the shoulder, and went on: “You wanna make the lady happy, right? I got you special deal. Normally it’d be a hundred euros just for the tickets, but you’re young and in love – I give you two tickets, a free drink each, all for eighty euros.”
§
The cramped stairwell opened into the back of a small theater, rows of red velvet cinema-style seating ranked before a stage concealed by a long black curtain. The walls were decorated with classical-style murals of naked men and women, their limbs all out of proportion and their poses awkward and unnatural.
“This is weird,” said Selena.
“You don’t say?”
About half the seats were occupied, and Martin and Selena took seats at the end of a row in the middle. Selena took a long drink from her plastic cup of beer and looked around. There was a loud and excited group of young women over at the front on the far side, wearing tiaras and sashes and false breasts. The rest of the audience was made up of small groups, couples and lone men, one of whom was taking photos of the murals.
“You feeling horny?” asked Selena.
“Not remotely. You?”
She reached down and dragged her nails up his thigh, before brushing her hand across his crotch. Those thin linen pants didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Not yet,” she said, drawing her hand back across a new hardness. “You regretting not staying in the hotel?”
He put an arm around her, resting it along the back of her seat. There was something about the way he did that, the way it emphasized his strength and drew her in... It was a subtle and unusual turn-on, but it always worked and he knew it.
“We can always make our own entertainment,” he whispered into her ear.
Just then the background music became louder. The curtains drew apart to reveal a blonde woman standing there in heels, a split black skirt, white blouse and thick-rimmed glasses. The music cut to “Sexy and I Know It” and she started to dance, turning to shake her ass as she unbuttoned her top. It was a standard striptease routine, destroyed by the bored look on the dancer’s face.
“She looks like she’s thinking about her shopping list,” said Martin.
Selena snuggled into his embrace, savoring the feel of his body against her and that strong arm drawing her in.
For the next act a dark haired woman with tattoos across her shoulders came on to dance as a circular bed rose out of the stage. She was naked already, everything shaved smooth.
“This is looking a bit better,” said Selena, resting her forearm across Martin’s lap. Was he hardening for the dancer, or was it just a physical response to that pressure from her arm? She rolled her arm forward a little, and then back, and felt that hardness fill out a little more.
As the dancer stood with her back to the audience, shaking her well-formed ass, a guy came out onto the stage to join her. Tall and tattooed, his head shaved bald, his body was ripped: broad shoulders and chest tapering down to a rippled abdomen and a long, slender dick that was standing hard and ready.
He posed for a few seconds so that everyone could admire him, and then he moved to stand on the bed, which Selena saw was now rotating slowly.
The girl went to him, dropped to her knees and took him deep in her mouth. They held the position as the bed rotated and then she started to bob her head.
When the bed had completed another rotation, the girl lay down and the guy started to fuck her, holding himself so that there was a space between their bodies to allow the best view of dick sliding into naked pussy.
Another rotation and they changed positions. The girl pushed her hips upwards and now the guy was standing over her, knees bent, thrusting downwards into her.
“You see the look on her face?” asked Selena. “It’s like it’s taking all her concentration to remember what the next move’s going to be.”
“And him,” said Martin. “It’s like watching a bodybuilder go through the poses.”
“What kind of bodybuilders do you know?”
They laughed, and drank more of their beer. When Selena shifted her arm in Martin’s lap again, he’d gone soft. How strange to be a couple of rows of seats away from two hot naked people having sex and not be turned on! There was something clinical about it all.
“It’s fucking by numbers, isn’t it?” said Selena.
The girl was on all fours now and the guy was taking her from behind. Martin was right: for the guy it was all about the shapes he made with his body, the poses.
“And not even a happy ending,” said Martin, a short time later as the act drew to a close. The performers took a bow and then walked off chatting, the guy still erect. “These guys must get through a whole load of Viagra.”
A woman with long golden hair came on next, weari
ng just a thigh-length black fur coat and killer heels. There was something different about her, a spark in the eye and a spring to the step as she started to dance. Close to Martin’s ear, Selena said, “Now this is more like it.” Under her forearm she felt an immediate response, a filling out, a twitch.
They watched as the woman danced around the bed, her movements sinuous and her coat occasionally flashing open to reveal a long, slender body, black lingerie, long legs. Dropping to lie on the bed, she started to writhe, hands plunged into that coat, pressing between her legs. When she rose again, she gave a shrug of the shoulders and somehow the coat stayed behind.
Now, only in lingerie and heels, she stepped down from the stage and started to dance among the audience, teasing them by drawing close, twisting, and turning away again.
The shoes went first, kicked clear, and then she stood with one foot on the stage and started to roll one stocking down that long leg. She turned, then, and removed the other stocking, before standing with her hands on the stage, her legs spread, twisting and bending her body to the music.
Martin was hard against Selena’s forearm now. She felt a little guilty to have been so distracted by that writhing body, so much so that she had not even noticed the transition from soft to so hard he was testing the strength of those linen pants. She shifted her arm, allowing him to adjust, and now his erection lay across his lap, in line with Selena’s forearm.
“Would it be rude to suck you now?” she murmured into his ear.
The dancer was down to just her bra and a thong tied in a bow at each hip. As Selena watched, she dropped to her knees, so that one of the young women at the front could reach round and fumble with the catch of her bra.
Clutching the bra to her breasts, the dancer rose to her feet again and resumed that sinuous, sexy dance.
There was a tension in the way Martin held Selena now, that arm across her back. She pressed her arm down against his erection, wondering how long it would take them to get back to their hotel if they left right now.
Swinging in Amsterdam (At the Swingers' Club, #1) Page 1