Sharing Her

This is a public sex club.

And the music is doing nothing to hide the sounds of it.

As Tiffany and I walk through the club, I look to my right, and my eyes widen.

A man in a suit is reclining in a chair, and there’s a girl riding him. When she brings her hips up, I catch a glimpse of his cock in the pink light. It’s glistening with her honey, and the way they’re both moaning makes me think they’re both into it.

That could be me.

The thought comes unbidden to me. I blush. I don’t normally have those thoughts, but I keep glancing back at the two as Tiffany leads me along.

We pass a long, luxurious red couch where a man in a mask is bent over a girl my age, one of her legs draped around his shoulder while he pumps into her, and to their right is a third girl reclining on the couch and touching herself while she watches the two.

My cheeks get even redder. I’m surprised all these people seem really into this, but at the same time, I can’t tear my eyes away from each group of people we pass.

“Hey hey, in a hurry?” a male voice calls from nearby, and we both turn our heads. There’s a large man with a big beard sitting alone in a booth with a drink, and he hooks a finger to beckon Tiffany. “Yeah, you--pink boa.”

Tiffany looks at me with a bright smile. “Sorry, Amanda, I gotta take this one.”

“W-wait, don’t leave me alone!” I try to say, but Tiff is already on her way to her man. My jaw drops as I watch her descend into his hands, and immediately, he sticks his fingers into her panties and starts going to work on her clit.

I put a hand to my mouth in shock. This is my friend...but even I can’t take my eyes away for a few seconds. Why am I so fascinated by all this?

I finally turn and hurry away. This was a mistake. I need to get out of here. And yet…

My license might say that I’m too young to drink, but I start making my way to the bar, wondering if the bartender would give me a pass. But I don’t make it halfway there before something catches my attention and holds it paralyzed.

Across the room on an elevated platform is a corner booth. It’s cozy, and there are lights behind the seats that give it a certain allure, but it’s still almost as exposed as the rest of the seating. There are two dark figures sitting there. I can’t make out their features, but they both have tall, striking frames and are wearing crisp button-down shirts rolled up to the sleeves.

And they’re looking right at me.

I try to look behind me to see if they’re eyeing someone different, but when I look back, they’re chuckling at my naivety. I’m paralyzed. If I went up to them and they don’t want me, I’d die of embarrassment.

One of them raises his hand and gestures for me to come, just like Tiffany’s guy did, and I feel my cheeks burning. But as if entranced by a spell, I feel my feet moving toward them, one step after the other.

Am I really doing this?

I walk up the steps slowly, and I realize I’m unconsciously swaying my hips. They seem to like that, and I feel butterflies in my stomach. The men have to be at least ten years older than me, and the idea that they like what they see is both scary and exciting.

But then, I get close enough to see their faces.

I gasp.

They’r

e familiar faces.

It’s Michael Pierce and David O’Connor...the two owners of the multi-billion dollar business my father works at. He’s been their personal assistant for as long as I’ve been around.

And now, they’re devouring me with their eyes.

“Well well, look at the last face I expected to see at this place,” Michael says in a very different voice than I remember. “Does your daddy know you’re here, Amanda?”

A shiver goes up my back. The mood of the club was already putting me into a strange, unfamiliar headspace, but hearing Michael’s voice talking to me like that does something to me.

“I never would have guessed,” David says, leaning forward. “Here I thought you were just a cute little bookworm.”

He remembers that about me? I’ve been around these men plenty of times in my life, but I never thought for a second that they were looking at me like...this.