Chapter 26 - Camile #2
My attention returns to the couple on the pool table.
Their kisses are growing heated as the man grabs a handful of her hair and yanks her head back so he can move to her throat.
He runs his tongue from the base of her throat, then nips at her jawline.
Her eyes are shut and her lips part as she lets out a cry I can’t hear over the music. It’s one of pleasure rather than pain.
Beneath my dress, my nipples tighten, and a zing of arousal shoots directly between my thighs.
How must it feel to be kissed like that?
To be so desperately desired that neither of you cares everyone is watching.
I ache for it, a need that feels as powerful as thirst or hunger. Like I might die if I don’t get it.
I wonder at what point these two will decide to get a room, but, to my surprise, the biker yanks down the front of her top, completely exposing her breasts to the entire club.
I don’t know if they’re real or not, but they’re the biggest pair I’ve ever seen in real life.
She makes no attempt to cover herself, and instead tilts back her head, her hair hanging down, and arches her back as though offering herself to the man who’s just exposed her.
He takes her offering, ducking his head and covering one of her large, puckered nipples with his mouth.
Her fingers spear through his hair, and her lips part.
I think she must be crying out with pleasure, but the music is too loud for her sounds to carry.
The sight of him feasting on her tits intensifies the sensation between my thighs, and I squeeze my legs together, wanting more, and find my panties are damp with arousal.
I put myself in her place, splayed out on the pool table for everyone to see.
Does she feel free and vibrant and alive?
Some people might say it’s demeaning, but I disagree.
She’s like a goddess being worshipped, and a quick glance around shows me that every man in the place is staring in awe.
The big biker cups her breasts in his massive, rough looking hands, pressing them together, moving from one nipple to the other as he devours her. His mouth pulls them into long, elongated peaks. He grinds himself between her thighs, and I wonder how far they’ll take this.
The woman sits back up, still bare-breasted, and reaches for his belt buckle.
Holy shit, is she actually going to get his cock out in front of everyone? I find myself squirming, my cheeks heating.
The zipper opens and she reaches one hand inside his jeans and pulls him out.
My eyes just about bug out of my head. Holy shit. I can see this man’s cock. And wow, what a cock it is.
The beautiful woman on the pool table must sense me staring, which is weird as everyone is staring, but she turns her face in my direction and locks eyes with me.
I almost choke on my drink, as something strange and silent passes between us, but she throws me a wink, breaking the moment, and turns back to her man.
Understanding dawns, and I want to slap myself for being so freaking sheltered. This must be what gets them off. They clearly enjoy people watching them fuck. It’s their kink.
I feel like I’ve been given permission to enjoy this, and my panties get even wetter.
My fingers tingle, and I’m tempted to put down my drink and slide my hand under my dress.
What would Jack say if he saw me doing that?
Standing in the clubhouse, with all these people around me, touching myself as I watch two strangers fuck?
He’d call me a slut and a hoe, but so fucking what?
He does that anyway, and I’m still a virgin.
If I’m going to be punished for a crime, I might as well go ahead and commit it.
The woman touches the biker, running her hand up and down his huge cock.
She’s half sitting, her calves still hooked around his hips, her already short skirt now hiked up around her waist, and her breasts fully bared and on display.
She rolls her tongue around the inside of her mouth, then bends over his dick and spits right onto his cockhead.
Then she uses her thumb to smear the saliva with his precum.
His eyes slip shut and his head tips back, his lips parting as she rubs him.
I press my free wrist to the front of my dress, hoping I’m being subtle, while the pressure causes my pussy to throb.
I’m so needy and desperate, I want to cry out.
Maybe I should run from here, straight back to the house, and take care of myself there while I replay the mental image of what’s happening right in front of me.
I’m so caught up in the show, my panties soaking wet and desperate to touch myself, that I don’t even notice that someone has positioned themselves directly behind me.
A hand reaches around and spans the breadth of my throat, strong fingers locking my chin in place.
I suck in a sharp breath. My face is held rigid and I’m unable to do anything other than stare at the scene in front of me.
Sheer panic breaks out in my body, and I want to run.
Instead, I freeze in fear. I almost drop my drink but thankfully don’t.
My fingers reflexively curl around the glass.
The panic has me locked in place, but there’s something else holding me still.
Something dark and hot deep in my core that keeps me rigid in this stranger’s grasp.
A low growl sounds in my ear, breath hot against my skin. “Keep watching.”
It’s too loud in here to be able to recognize the voice. I understand the words, but that’s all. Music thuds against my eardrums. I can’t even recognize the man’s scent, because the air is thick with cigarette smoke, alcohol, aftershave, and the smell of sex.
I whimper and try to pull away. His grip on me is too strong. I try to turn around to see who it is, but he jerks my face back around, so my gaze is lined up with the show happening on the pool table.
The low growl comes again. “Eyes forward.”
Perhaps I should scream, alert someone to what’s happening, but I don’t know if I’ll be heard above the raucous din of the bar, and deep down, I’m not sure I even want to be. That dark part of me burning in my core wants to see where this is heading.
He’s tall, I can tell that much, and solid, but that hardly narrows it down. It could be any one of these bikers.
Rough fingers graze up the backs of my bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
My nipples harden, and my pussy pulses with need.
I desperately want to be touched. Right now, I’d switch places with the woman on the pool table and let the tattooed biker fuck me.
Perhaps I could keep my legs spread and let biker after biker take me, emptying themselves into me.
I imagine Jack finding me like that, exhausted and spent, my pussy dripping with multiple men’s cum, and how angry he’d be.
That would serve him right for not taking me when I offered myself to him.
I know the thought is spiteful, and I’d never actually do it, not least because it would be a crazy way to lose my virginity, but the thought still turns me on.
A hand slips between my legs, and I find myself stepping my feet apart to give him easier access.
God, what am I doing? I must be losing my mind.
It’s as if I’m unmoored from reality in this place, in the same way events have made me unmoored from my life.
Everything is in flux, and it scares me so much that I want to feel anything but that dread sitting in my belly.
This is better. As fucked up as this is, it’s so preferable to my lingering fear of the future.
Fingers push against my panty-clad pussy, pressing the material against my folds, and I whimper.
“Wet,” the man hisses behind me, and it’s still too low for me to make out his voice.
A sense of familiarity fills me, though. Jack? Is it Jack? Or is that just wishful thinking?
The stranger pulls my panties to one side and slides one thick finger inside me.
I cry out, my legs going weak, but he holds me up.
I should tell him no, even scream, but I want to find my release.
I need this so badly, I no longer care who gives it to me.
He keeps his hold on my face, so I’m unable to turn around to see who it is.
He adds a second finger, pumping into me.
It’s dark, and I try to glance down, to get a look at the stranger’s forearm, or hand, anything to give me some idea of whose fingers are now pumping inside my pussy.
My legs tremble, and my stomach muscles are taut.
Despite myself, I lean back against the person behind me, needing them to steady me.
But I’m also seeking familiarity, trying to work out if this man is a stranger to me.
To anyone else, it would just look like I’m standing here, still holding my drink, with a biker standing behind me.
Not that anyone is looking at us, not when there’s a literal porn show happening only a few feet away.
The couple are full-on fucking now. She’s lying flat on the table, her tits bouncing with every thrust. His jeans are halfway down his thighs, and his bare ass is clenched.
Now I’m getting finger fucked myself, and I can feel my orgasm building.
My clit is swollen and throbbing and desperate for his touch.
The man behind me slides his fingers from my pussy to pay attention to me there, trapping my clitoris between his fore and middle finger, squeezing, pulsing.
I grind against his hand. My gaze is still locked on the couple fucking on the pool table.
I’m gushing wet. His hand is still locked on my jaw, not allowing me to turn my head.
It’s so erotic, the way he’s holding my throat while he works my pussy. The dominance of the hold he has over me makes my legs weak, and my breath catches in my throat.
I want to believe it’s Jack, but am I just trying to convince myself?
It could be any of the men here. Both Rook and Ghost have vanished, so perhaps it’s one of them behind me?
I’m not sure Rook would be so forthright, but Ghost…
well, he’s completely unreadable, so maybe he would, if he thought he could do it anonymously.
Then again, he also doesn’t seem interested in me that way half the time. He’s an enigma, that’s for sure.
The man at the pool table slides out of the woman, and I catch a glimpse of his cock, thick and dark red, and shining with their combined arousal.
He turns her over, planting her feet on the floor and bending her over the pool table.
He pushes into her from behind. She turns her face to the side and locks eyes with me again.
My heart jumps. Can she tell what’s happening to me?
Does she know the man behind me? Then she gives me a tiny smile and turns away.
The man behind me continues to rub my clit, and I know I’m going to come any second.
My breathing grows ragged, and cries of ‘oh, oh, oh’ escape my lips.
Whoever this man is doesn’t realize how loud I am when I come.
Even though it’s noisy in here, people might notice if I’m screaming the place down.
I’m thankful we’re in a darkened corner.
I’m not as brave as the woman on the pool table, and I don’t want everyone looking at me.
His hand slides from my jaw to my mouth, and I cry out against his palm as sparks burst and pleasure races through me like a bushfire, combusting every nerve ending in my body.
I crumble, spilling my drink and almost folding in two. My orgasm goes on and on, and still, he continues to work me. On the pool table, the couple also reach their peak, hips thrusting and backs arching as they come together.
I’m breathing hard, the floor no longer solid beneath me. The man releases his hold on me, and his hand vanishes from between my thighs.
I need to move quickly, to see whose hand I’ve just climaxed on, but my head is spinning and my limbs don’t work. I lean against the wall beside me, needing to catch my breath and orient myself.
By the time I turn, the side door behind me swings shut.
“Shit.”
I gather myself enough to follow. I set my now empty drink down on a nearby table—something I should have done ten minutes ago—and burst through the door into the night air. I turn in one direction and then the next, but there’s no one around.
A wave of shame sweeps over me, but I do my best to push it away. Wasn’t this what I wanted? To be sexually awakened and free?
Now the initial high of my climax is wearing off, I just want to hide.
I tell myself I know the man who was touching me…
it must have been Jack, or maybe Ace, or even Ghost…
but the fact is that it could just as easily been a stranger.
One of the bikers spotted me standing in the dark corner, watching that couple fucking, and decided they wanted to fuck around with me, too.
I should be grateful they only used their fingers.
What if they’d tried to use their cock? Would I have just stood there and let them, braced myself as some stranger shoved his dick inside me and let myself come all over it?
Could I have lost my virginity to a man when I didn’t even know what he looked like?
Christ, I need to get a grip and stop this. I could have gotten pregnant if I’d let that man fuck me. Gotten a disease, for God’s sake. I’m out of control, and the men here, and the heady, raunchy atmosphere of the clubhouse, all mess with my head.
I cover my face with my hands. Maybe Jack is right. Maybe I am a slut.
No, I hate that word. Men never get that label, and even if they do, it’s not the same. They’re branded as experienced, while the women they gain that experience with are supposed to carry the shame.
I don’t want to feel shame, to buy into that patriarchal bullshit, but I do.
Hating my dress and heels suddenly, I put my head down and hurry back to the house, wishing I’d never come to the clubhouse and never let that man touch me.