Come with me on a voyage into depravity that I make every weekend. Deep in the woods of Georgia, there is a dirt road made of blood-red clay that twists and turns through an uninviting forest. There are signs posted to warn trespassers with legal violations, some tongue-in-cheek threats and on one tree, a simple skull and crossbones made of lifelike bone-white ceramic. At the end of the road, you will eventually find a two-story house made of dark wood that sports a crow’s nest on the very rooftop. Across the side of the house in gold letters repainted every month is the name of this very private clubhouse. It’s called The Booty Lounge.
Cars of all kinds and all financial capabilities are parked around the house. A pristine Mercedes sits next to a falling-apart Escort. Two hardy pickup trucks flank a dainty little sports car. A motorcycle is parked alongside a soccer mom’s SUV, while nearby a vintage Corvette sits shimmering with chrome. Rich and poor, old and young, the vehicles outside are the first clue of the wild diversity inside.
The smell hits me as soon as I walk in. I’ve been coming here for three years, and I never get used to the mixture of liquor, rope, wood, semen, meat, cunts and sweat. It soaks into me and I know from experience that it will take an hour of showering to truly cleanse it from my body. For now, though, it soaks into my clothes, my hair and into my very soul.
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My eyes adjust to the electric lantern light that fills the main gathering area. The walls and furniture are all made of the darkest woods we could find. A giant bar dominates one wall, stretching out to offer a seat to every man who wishes to lift a glass of rum tonight. Paintings of every sex act possible hang on the walls. Pirate paraphernalia fills the places paintings can’t go: Anchors, peg legs, flags depicting Jolly Rogers, cutlasses and anything else we could scrounge from eBay, flea markets and trend shops. It is both overwhelming and terribly inspiring.
The decorations imprint upon us, and it is reflected in our clothes. Polo shirts and slacks have no place here. In time, our wardrobes shifted to more practical and yet fantastic fare. Men wear open shirts no matter whether they have beer guts or muscular abs. Women wear skirts that are easy to lift or tight, tempting pants that beg to be ripped apart. In the dimness of the electric lanterns, we wear bright clothes decked with stripes or flashy adornments. Bandannas hold back long hair or simply collect the sweat that comes from being in a room with fifty bodies. Corsets push breasts up to be nibbled, while men wear loose shorts roomy enough for an easy grope. We dress like pirates out of fetish but also out of the same reasons pirate dressed this way. Loose clothes make for easy movement and fucking.
Smaller tables and benches dot the room. At some tables, men and women drink, talk and gamble, while on other tables, people are fucking, spanking and just making out. There is no shame here. We have had orgies, beatings and wedding nights in this room. I have watched a man take a woman’s virginity while a crowd of thirty cheered. I have seen a woman fuck a man’s ass with a monstrous dildo while another woman took pictures. We have lost all sense of modesty within this dark walls, and we look at sex as something we are either doing or watching.
For me, especially, this is true. You don’t build a place like this without every man and woman having a job to do. Tito mixes the drinks and maintains the bar. Busty Linda carves fresh paddles for us to use when we break her old ones. We all have a job to do as our price for being in the club, and my job is the hardest. I am the recorder. I watch and witness every act, and on Monday night I write it all down and add it to our secret Web site. There, our club members read and recall the decadent things they might not remember themselves because of the rum they had drunk. They read my writings and not only remember but also rekindle their lust and build their excitement ’til the next weekend, when they unleash their frantic sex drives on each other once more.
I go to the bar and request a mug of beer from Tito. He fills my mug and makes a mark of how much I drink. You can’t get a liquor license for a place like this, but you can buy liquor for a private house and make sure no one mooches too much. Tito is smiling at me, and at first, I am confused till I see that he has Evelyn on her knees behind the bar. She is sucking his cock, and I know from personal experience that she will insist on making him cum down her throat. Evelyn likes to drink, but her favorite chaser is cum.
I take my mug and wander over to Jerry and Ned. They are gambling with dice that use sexual positions instead of numbers. I sit with them but decline their offer to join. I can’t play with their stakes. They are gambling swings of the chain flogger Jerry bought. Right now, Jerry is in debt for fifty lashes with the cruel stinging chains, and Ned offers him double or nothing if Jerry can roll higher than two doggy-style fucks. Jerry licks his lips. The two men are both sadists but the chance to whip another sadist is worth the indignity of being whipped in turn. No matter who wins, I know that an ass will be fucked and that any hard feelings will be soothed by morning.
Jerry rolled double hand jobs, and Ned howled with greedy delight. I got up and patted Jerry on the back in sympathy. He flinched, perhaps already feeling the relentless lashes to come. I made a note to myself to ask him later how it felt so I could record it come Monday.
I wondered over to another table where Janice had been strapped face down spread-eagle to all four points of the compass. She was completely nude except for a red bandanna wrapped around her eyes for a blindfold. I had no idea what her husband was punishing her for tonight but when I slipped my fingers into her cunt, I found her already wet. She moaned as I finger-fucked her, and afterwards she cleaned my fingers off with her mouth.
“What was your crime tonight?” I asked.
“I dropped an entire tray of food.”
“On purpose?” I asked.
There was a pause before she said, “Yes.”
“And how many men have taken advantage of your helpless state tonight?”
“Three,” she said. Her smile was shameless.
“Would you like me to fuck you right now?”
“Yes!” she said.
I nodded and walked away. This, too, would go into my notes.
The sounds of laughter drew me to towards the buffet table. Red Yolanda, that fierce black woman with her red streaked braids, was showing off again. She had scorned tables and chairs in favor of volunteers and personal slaves to her whim. Two men were down on their hands and knees, forming her chair and dining table. A third man stood to the side, fetching her fresh mugs of rum while the heavy weights around his balls jingled. Red Yolanda herself sat in her magnificent red corset that displayed her wonderfully ample tits. She entertained the crowd that assembled around her with observations about the virility, strength and size of her lovers. She told a few scathing jokes that brought blushes to the faces of both her slaves and her listeners. I wrote down a few of those jokes in between bites of fish tacos. Truth be told, I also spent a good bit of time watching those magnificent chocolate breasts and wondering what price she would extract from me if I asked for just a minute of nuzzling.
I tore myself from Red Yolanda’s humiliation of her willing men to use the bathroom. In The Booty Lounge, there is no division of the sexes when it comes to the restrooms. There are also no doors on the stalls. Kenny was fucking a woman from behind in one of the stalls, while Ian watched casually, masturbating. I took out my cock to piss at a urinal and didn’t flinch when Ola looked over my shoulder to watch. She whispered several naughty things in my ear and laughed as my cock grew harder as I pissed. She offered to let me piss on her, but I was tapped. Don’t cry for poor Ola, though. The rum was flowing, and I knew she would get her wish from someone tonight.
Back out in the main room, Rope Master Charlie was giving another demonstration. On a real pirate ship, he would have been a master of sails and a great sailor, but here he was a teacher to us all on the proper knots to tie. The beautiful Belinda was suspended from the ceiling stark naked in a web of knotted rope. Charlie drew our attention to the mess of knots clustered around her sex and showed how every twist of Belinda’s body was forcing the knots to stimulate and arouse her.
We watched as Belinda struggled, climaxed and then struggled some more. Over and over she came ’til the ropes were soaked with her juices. Charlie stood there filled with pride, and I knew the sight of a bound woman was better than the actual sex for him. The reason Belinda struggled was that she knew this was all the fucking she would get from him.
“Tom! Where’s my fucking writer?”
I smiled and excused myself from Charlie and Belinda’s show. The captain was calling for me. I worked my way towards the back and into the captain’s quarters, where I knew he would be. It didn’t bother me to be summoned. The captain calls only when he knows there is something worth watching.
No-Pants Wally is the founder of our club, and we call him Captain with real affection. He is a madman but of the good kind. He bought this house and his vision has delighted us for three years running. No-Pants was pacing around wearing nothing but his captain’s hat and a loose-fitting vest that clung to his six foot six frame. , His foot long brown beard was stained with pussy. Of course, he wore no pants. He never did. It wasn’t that his cock was huge or particularly spectacular; it’s just that No-Pants didn’t see the point of ever having anything in the way of his cock.
Tonight, his cock was fully erect and pointing towards the sight on his bed. The massive four-poster bed was holding three beauties sharing some sort of dildo among their three cunts. The dildo was shaped like an anchor, and the women moaned as the dildo bobbed between them. Their legs had crossed over and they were engaging in some lovely Sapphic love right there on the captain’s bed.
“Have you ever seen such a sight!” No-Pants yelled. The Captain didn’t talk, he boomed. “Three sirens fucking an anchor!”
“It is truly something,” I said.
“Fuck! You’re a writer and that’s all you got!” No-Pants yelled. “My God, Tom, did you get your dick cut off? Look at that and tell me you’ll ever see this again!”
As my captain requested, I looked. One of the women was Diana, our oldest member actually. She was sixty-three with gorgeous silver hair and a wicked smile like an evil grandmother. She was a larger woman, but the weight helped make her beauty timeless. Even her extremely well-fucked pussy was struggling to contain the dildo, for she was impaled on the head of the anchor.
To her left was Jessica. That wasn’t her real name, but it was what we all called her because of her similarity to a certain pop star. She was gripping Diana’s leg for dear life as she humped against her end of the anchor. Those lovely young breasts bounced and jiggled with every thrust. She tossed her head back and let loose one of her famous screaming orgasms. It was a sound we never got tired of hearing.
Completing the circle was tiny Susan. Barely four feet tall, she was the cruelest dominant of us all. I have watched her reduce grown men to sniveling tears, so it was strange to watch her surrender her body to the bliss she was so obviously enjoying. Her immaculate black hair was over her face, almost as if it was trying to protect her mistress from being seen as the dildo-hungry slut that she was.
The three women fondled one another as much as arm’s reach would allow them. Their legs intertwined around the strange anchor dildo and each other. To see three women of such different ages, body types and sexual identities merging together on the captain’s bed just seemed right.
“Which one should I fuck?” No-Pants said. His voice caused fresh moans from the bed.
I didn’t hesitate. “Why, all of them, captain.”
“Damn right!” He took my suggestion and waded right in. I watched for a little bit and then withdrew. I had enough for my writings, and somehow I don’t think of the participants were going to be forgetting that night No-Pants Wally and an anchor fucked three women.
It occurred to me that I have seen enough. My notes would carry me through and provide enough of a log for this day. I was horny and ready to take my share.
There was a girl I had seen last week, and I sought her out. Round and curvy in all the right places, Katie was at the bar flirting with Tito. Her long brown hair was tied in a braid under a saucy little pirate hat. Her round ass peeked our from under a black miniskirt. Her ample bosom was straining against a frilly blouse that had more cleavage than material. I had seen her get fucked by five men last weekend, and I decided it was time to board her myself.
I reached for her braid and gently tugged her head back ’til my mouth was at her ear.
“I wish to fuck you, Katie. Do you surrender to my terms?”
A swallow before she answered. “Yes.”
In leather dungeons, there are formalities and negotiations to be addressed first. In even sex clubs, there are procedures of caution and seduction that must be met. Here at the Booty Lounge, we had already satisfied all the requirements needed. She surrendered to me, and for that, I would do what I wished.
I reached around and grabbed one of her breasts. My fingers squeezed ’til Katie shuddered in pain or pleasure. I suspect both. I spun her around and ripped open her blouse. She gasped in shock, but the gasp soon turned to a smile as I bent down and bit her nipples.
They tasted of sweat, liquor, wood, rope and sex, just like everything here. I took my fill and bit her breasts until my teeth marks were all over her curves. I heard whistles and cheers as I plundered the fair Katie, and my cock grew harder. Let them watch me for a change.
I came up for air and spun her around. I bent her over the bar and hiked her skirt up. There were no panties, but a small skull and crossbones tattoo did smile at me from her ass. She spread her legs for me without being asked just like a good slut. A moment later my cock was inside her. I swear it was the slickest pussy I had ever entered, but then, aren’t all cunts at the Booty Lounge that way?
We fucked. Well, I fucked her. Just because it amused me, I pressed her head down to the bar, knowing that Tito never cleans the bar till the morning. It made me harder to know that her face and tits were soaking in spilled rum, beer, cunt juice and semen. Katie didn’t struggle at all, and considering how tightly her cunt squeezed around my saber, I’d say she liked it.
Frustration builds when you watch debauchery all night long. Frustration, as well as delight and pure excitement, swell with us as we engage in our secret place away from the eyes of the world. It pushes us to be bolder, to take what we desire, and it encourages us some nights to just fuck the shit out of another body. My thrusts were like those of an animal. There was no art or technique, just the pounding of desire. I fucked Katie on the dirty bar of a very dirty club while dirty men and women looked on.
Katie climaxed. She reached behind and grabbed my shirt to hold onto while she came. The bar muffled her cries, but I could tell by how tightly she pulled me into her that she wanted more. No matter which end of the fucking, spanking or degradation one finds oneself on, we all want more.
I came in her cunt. The orgasm made me a little weak in the knees, but eager Katie held me up with her grip on my shirt. I cried out my climax, and thirty people returned my cry with cheers of their own.
When I pulled out, she stayed slumped over the bar. I grabbed her by the braid and pulled her to her feet. The look of lust and satisfaction on her face was going to earn her a poem in the morning.
“That was great,” she said.
“We’re not done,” I said. Her eyes sparkled with the promise of more pleasures. The beautiful Katie and I were just getting started tonight. There were paddles, food , blowjobs and threesomes to be had, followed by a long nap in a cozy hammock till we recharged enough to fuck tomorrow. Only on Monday would we slink back to our lives and feign normality ’til we met again on Friday. Such debauchery can never last, and we all know that one day the Booty Lounge will close its doors, and we will be stuck in your world of boring bedrooms, prudish bars and rule-ridden leather dungeons.
But for now, with Katie’s hair in my hand, her cunt still slick with juices and my teeth on a nipple, it’s a pirate’s life for me.
7 Responses to “Fiction: The Booty Lounge”
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Arrrrrrrgh. Argh. Arrrgh. Aaargh. Aaaaaaagh. Aaaah. Ah.
Gods be praised… I want to be that lass Katie right now….
and Gods be damned- I’m at work now and can’t do anything about
Very Hawt. It’s always hard to find a way to integrate pirates into modern times, love the way you accomplished that.
Hey, male pirates! Now, where do I get me one of them thar anchors?
jaenelle- A real pirate knows when to use the restroom :)
mandy- Thanks :)
M- Arggh, you must request one at the Booty Lounge.
the bathroom isn’t used enough to mask the sounds…
I always play my music on random, and usually it just fades into the background. But I finish reading this, go “damn that’s hot”…and realize what’s playing.
“A Pirate’s Life for Me”
You rock so hard even my computer wants to serve you, Shon!