Fetish: marriage

Fetish: marriage

Last night I watched Shortbus, a wild film about sexuality. It’s the story of a sexual therapist who never had an orgasm (can you believe it) and, to get over this bad trip, began to frequent an underground club in New York called Shortbus where everyone screws everyone else, with no introductions, no restrictions, as if there was no tomorrow. It’s not really a porno-film, but there is a lot of explicit sex, which left me really excited. I finished watching, replayed the first scene – a montage of various sex scenes that culminate with a guy coming on a Pollock painting above the head of a bed – and I masturbated. After I came, I felt satisfied, thinking that’s how I would end my day. With no further intentions, I went to sleep. But it’s funny how the occasion became strangely ironic.

A few hours later, just after midnight, who calls but Rique. Of all my friends “with benefits,” I think he is without a doubt the most shameless. He’s the type of guy who I see more in the horizontal than in the vertical. We almost never talk about our personal lives. The dialog, even when it’s only verbal, is limited essentially to sex: he has no idea if I have a boyfriend, a husband or a family, but knows that I shiver with desire for a bearded man (which, by the way, he is). If he doesn’t know where I grew up, he knows the best way to massage my nipples as I come – alternating between a strong pinch and a circular movement with his finger. If he never asked about my favorite book, he has made me wear a bodice, handcuffed me and dominated me on all fours. In sum, Rique is the personification of a fetishist, and with him I can realize any fantasy. If it’s a fetish, and just that, it’s only fair that I don’t even know his last name, and he doesn’t know mine.

I met Rique walking in the street. We flirted, talked about trivialities, he “offered me a ride” and took me to a motel – I had no objections. Since then, he calls about once a month, picks me up at home, and we go right to the same motel. Never at our homes – I don’t even know where he lives, only his car, whose ivory leather passenger seat I have got wet as many times as he has masturbated me with his short, fat fingers.

This time was different. As soon as I got in the car – he opened his pants for me to go down on him during the ride (a common ritual) – and I decided to suggest a change of itinerary:  “Rique, today I want more people. Let’s go to a swing club?” All that free love that I saw a few hours ago in Shortbus had fed this fantasy. And no one better than my faithful fetishistic friend to support me: “Do you know one?” Sharp as I am, I had already searched the Internet while waiting for him to arrive, and discovered a well known club, quite suggestive: Marquês de Sade.

After a fast oral preliminary in the car, to not break with tradition, we arrived. The place had a small red awning above an old wooden door, with a few rococo carvings with an art nouveau pretension. Alongside was an interphone, and nothing more. At first sight, the club could be confused with any one of the bordellos that seemed to be nearby.

Rique spoke on the interphone. On the other end a deep voice informed us it would be R$50 per couple to enter. Confirming our entrance, the apparent owner of the voice came to attend us. A skinny, bald guy, a bit shorter than me. Right at the door, there was a narrow staircase, along which we were silently guided by the host. On the last steps, Rique took my hand, perhaps for the first time out of bed, and said: “Let’s play couple. For all purposes, today we are united by marriage.” The idea of being married on that night, of sharing my man with other women and being shared by other husbands and fathers of families automatically left me wet. That Rique knew exactly the formula to get me horny. As soon as we climbed to the top, I discretely grabbed the bulge in his pants. It was big.

We came to a dark room, lit by simple red glass lanterns. The music seemed to be Portishead, but with a forced formula, in an obvious attempt to create a sexy-lounge environment. The walls were a peeling red. Some white and gray sofas took up the small space, where a few couples had beers and drinks. At the back was a bar, and on the side an unused pole for dancing.  “The stripper didn’t come today,” the host explained. If in Shortbus the mood is generally more festive, here at Marquês de Sade there is a certain unease in the air: the couples eye each other, speak briefly, they are discrete. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for.

Eduardo, the guy who greeted us, realized that it was our first time and made a quick tour of the principal spaces. To the right of the bar-lounge, a straight corridor with six rooms: “These are rooms to rent, for a couple or group that prefers a more intimate environment.” It also wasn’t exactly what I wanted…if the idea was to rent a room, even for group sex, I would have called other friends and had gone to a motel with Rique. I asked the guy “But isn’t there a more open space? – That’s where we’re going now,” he responded.
At the end of the hall a staircase led down. “This is the dark labyrinth, where things happen more openly,” Eduardo said with a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Dark labyrinth,” is something that, with all the diversity of my sexual experience, I had never heard of. What would I find? I looked at Rique, that shameless face, with dark bangs, a short beard…he took my hand and guided me down, as if he knew the place well. I hardly had time to thank Eduardo (who had his charm).

We reached a more complex space, with lots of entrances, mini-corridors and different levels. The wooden dividers and the beams of light on the ground marked the paths, like the lights in a movie theater or airplane, it seemed like a high tech stable.  The entire space had a single sound system: a homogenous chorus of moans, cries, howls and whispers, accompanied by the offbeat rhythms of penetration (multiple penetrations). Holes in the wall allowed us to see what was happening in the booths, each lit with a dim lamp. In the first I saw a delicious blond, very thin and well defined; she rode a guy who was on a kind of improvised bed, while he licked the enormous breasts of a brunette, who was standing up. Another man watched and touched himself. I imagined that he was the blonde’s husband – lots of guys don’t even care about participating, but just want to see their wife being dominated by another couple.

The scene immediately fascinated me. Rique sensed my excitement, and impetuous as he is, began to take me from behind. Since the hole in the wall was more or less at breast height, I had to lean down a bit to watch my exclusive live porn session. This made it easier for him...while he grabbed my breasts firmly with his left hand, he lowered my skirt, put on a condom, and entered me right there.

My moans entered the synergistic chorus, and were quickly perceived by the four protagonists of my film. The rhythm of the sex began to make me involuntarily rock the thin wall that separated us. The supposed voyeur-husband of the blond, a very white, muscular and blond guy, of whom I could only see a tattooed shoulder, looked at me through the wall and smiled. Suddenly, extending his hand, he opened the door (a board of wood with hinges). Rique steered me to the left and pushed me inside the cabin – but did not leave me.

We interacted without saying a word. My “husband” held my hand while he kneeled down and began to suck the busty brunette. Meanwhile, crazy with desire, I began kissing the blond woman who was riding the dark man. I could now see he was copper skinned, deliciously furry, with short hair and a goatee, the classic Latin lover. I kissed him too, and then opened my legs in his face, so that he could suck me while I kissed the woman he was screwing.

What happened next is a bit foggy in my memory, it was so intense. Rique entered each of the women, and for a moment stayed just with them, while I began to have fun with the Latino, in various positions. Then the women switched positions to be between the two men – one in front and another behind. The strong blond man just kept watching, smiling – and was obviously excited. Finally, we gave a show of femininity: the women had sex with each other for their respective husbands, who were now all relegated to voyeurs. In a chain of oral sex, we came together. I, like the protagonist in Shortbus, felt like I had never had an orgasm before.

Soon after, Rique kissed me so intensely and sweetly, like he always does after a night of intense fantasy, as only a husband in love could do. Even if he doesn’t know my last name, and the marriage is the hottest fetish I have ever enjoyed.


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