Looking out the passenger seat, an adventure unto itself as I am often the driver, I enjoy the night city light scan past the window. A layer of recent rain seems to give everything a magical glossy appearance. She said she had a fun night planned; instructing me not to worry about anything; to have fun. I look over at her; she is wearing my favorite black dress, looking picturesque. The car’s AC blows a sample of her perfume in my direction. The scent of lavender fills my mind and my mouth waters at sudden thoughts of honorific cunnilingus. I shift in my seat, allowing my hardon freedom to grow. Sensing the sudden aroused energy radiating from me, her hand moves from the steering wheel to my thigh. Her fingers dance over my leg till they tease the tip of my growing erection.
“I’m glad you’re in that mood, baby. It will make this much more enjoyable,” she says, hitting the turn signal and pulling into a parking garage.
Parked on an underground floor, I watch as a handful of people make their way to a red door flanked by two well-dressed men, security no doubt. A red carpet and silver stanchion connected by red velvet rope leading up to the door. I watch as each person produces what appears to be a business card to one of the two men, which prompts the other to open the door allowing entry. I look back at my girlfriend; she holds up a business card with an artistic and intricately printed picture of a lion’s head.
“It’s a club called The Lion’s Den,” she says in response to my oncoming questions. The name rings a bell. I smirk and begin to ask, but she cuts me off again. “Yes. That kind of club.” Her hand reaches over, rubs my hardon again, and taunts, “Let’s go have fun.”
A hostess leads us to our reserved booth. I look around the dimly lit establishment and smile as I watch all sorts of delicious decadence occur. In one booth, I see a man getting head while he puffs on a big cigar, takes a swig of alcohol, and places it in the hands of a submissive kneeling nearby. At another, a couple seems to be enjoying some typical pet play. Another, a full-on sixsome. A deep driving bass thrums out of strategically placed speakers, adding to the cacophony of chatter, moans, slaps, and yelps. We are seated in a cozy round booth that faces a stage. As we take our seats, a male waiter wearing a chastity cage and a dog collar asks if we want anything to drink. We give him our order as we sit. The back of the booth is the perfect level for me to rest my arm along, allowing my girlfriend to sit against me. As if to announce who is in charge tonight, she stands straddling my legs.
She puts one foot on the bench next to me and hikes up her dress to expose herself. My mouth dries and gapes as I see her perfectly trimmed pubic hair and glistening lips. She gently slides her middle finger over her lips a few times, coating her finger, then traces it along my upper lip, just below my nostrils.
“Now, you can smell me as we watch.”
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