Ken is treating me for my fortieth birthday by taking me on a tour of European sex clubs!? He has visited many of them with business clients in Europe, where it is considered normal—a bit like discussing business on the golf course, but with less exercise. Ken thinks I might learn a thing or two!
We’ve been to a couple of clubs in Amsterdam, including the famous Banana club! One in Copenhagen, another in Berlin, and tonight we are visiting one in Cologne, which Ken has not been to before; it comes highly recommended.
A rather bored taxi driver drops us off at the club a little before ten o’clock, takes his payment, and gives us his card, saying.
“Call me when you want to be picked up; I work this area until six in the morning,” the cabbie tells us, in German.
After paying the membership fee, we get ushered into the lounge bar, where we stand for a while, acclimatising to the dim light and getting our bearings. A circular stage is to our right, the bar to the left, and the tables and lounge seating all face the stage; they’re also all occupied, with just a few stools available at the bar. Additionally, I noticed that only a few women were in the audience.
Before going to the bar, I check my attire, popping open another button on my blouse, a sheer light grey satin job, exposing a bit more cleavage. My skirt is a black leather wrap-around style with a buckle fastening on one side of the waistband. The overlap on the wrap is minuscule and shows my thigh when I walk. Given that the next show is not for another thirty minutes, I determine to put on a show of my own and twist my skirt around so that the overlap is at the front, giving anyone who cares to look a glimpse of my inner thighs, and who knows what else. They might see my burgundy G-string, which matches my bra, visible through my sheer blouse.
Sitting on adjacent barstools, Ken orders our drinks and chats with the barman. At the same time, I turn about to face the stage and audience, many of whom are looking in my direction. Leaning back against the bar and placing my elbows on it thrusts my breasts into the limelight, and gives a view up my skirt to my knickers. Several glasses get raised to me, along with appreciative comments.
“I wondered what the fuss was about,” Says Ken as he turns to see how I am displaying myself.
“Well, nothing is happening on the stage yet, so I thought I’d keep the audience interested,” I grin in reply, taking my drink and turning to face the bar.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Ken says.
So I don’t, and I turn back to face the stage, parting my legs a little more. Ken pops the lowest button on my blouse, leaving one straining against the push of my boobs. Dangerous, it could pop off and put someone’s eye out!
“About the stage, the next show is at ten-thirty. Additionally, private rooms are available for those who wish to have a little playtime. Extra charge, of course,” Ken informs me.
“Later, perhaps. Let’s wait and see the show,” I reply.
Music blares out, making us jump, and three women appear on the stage, one tall and statuesque, wearing a diaphanous gown that trails along behind her. The two on either side of her, each guiding her by the elbow, are in short white tunics.
“Queen Nefertiti has completed her bath, and her handmaidens will now anoint her with oil,” a narrator announces.
Nefertiti gets led to the silk-clad bed in the centre of the stage; on reaching it, her attendants slip her gown from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. Her body is already glistening, accentuating her toned and perfect musculature, not to mention her proudly pert breasts and naked pubic mound. Very nice.
Glancing from one attendant to the other and then around the area.
“Where is my foot maiden?” Nefertiti enquires haughtily.
“We do not know; we could not find her anywhere,” one of the maidens supplicates.
“I cannot be prepared correctly without a foot maiden. You there?” she shouts, pointing at me just as a spotlight engulfs me. “You will be my foot maiden, come here this instant,” she commands.
Whether it’s my curiosity, the crowd’s encouragement, or Ken pushing me off the stool, somehow, I find myself walking toward the stage. Once there, one of the bouncers lifts me onto it.
“Remove those ridiculous garments; they have no place in my chamber,” Nefertiti commands me.
My skirt and blouse are swiftly on the floor.
“Far better, and royal colours too; I knew you were a loyal subject,” Nefertiti approves.
We three maidens assist Nefertiti onto the bed, laying her comfortably and centrally. One of the maidens hands me an amphora containing oil, indicating that I should stand at her feet; that makes sense. Standing on either side of Nefertiti, the two maidens begin drizzling oil over her body; I follow suit, drizzling oil over her feet and lower legs and massaging it into her skin. The top of her feet, the soles, and between her toes, as well as along her leg to her knee —I miss no spot as I rub the oil into her skin. Sensing that I should also work on her thighs, since the other two maidens are only attending to her body, I open my stance a little to make my balance easier and stretch forward. I lean my body over her feet and drizzle oil onto her thighs. Replacing the amphora, then lean forward again to rub her thighs. It is quite a stretch for me to reach their tops, not that the audience seems to mind, as my G-string slips into my wet pussy.
Trumpets sound.
“Akhenaten, Pharaoh of all Egypt, enters,” announces the narrator.
“Is my Queen ready to receive the Royal phallus?” Akhenaten enquires commandingly.
“Yes, my lord,” a maiden replies meekly.
“Then position her,” he commands.
Ushering me out of the way, the maidens slide Nefertiti down the silken bed, positioning her bottom at the end, and lift and spread her legs into a V. Leaving me wondering what to do.
“You there,” Akhenaten points at me. “Prepare my queen for penetration; she must be well-oiled.”
Ah, that’s what I can do. Picking up an amphora, I pour a little on Nefertiti’s mound and watch it flow down her slit. The audience can see everything and is getting excited. Just a bit of oil, then I rub it into her mound and around her labia, gently moving her lips apart before slipping my oily fingers into her waiting hole. Slipping them in and out, ensuring she is ready for his phallus.
“Enough. Come here and relieve me of my kilt,” Akhenaten orders.
Kneeling before him, I look and see how his kilt is secured and release it, pulling it away from his body and releasing his generous and already prepared phallus, which springs upward, proud and ready.
Ignoring me, he steps to his Queen, positions his phallus at her entrance, and thrusts his full length into her, making the audience cheer in delight. The two maidens holding her legs are struggling to stop her from sliding along the bed as he thrusts into her. Seeing an opportunity to help, I place my hands on her shoulders and push her forward. Fascinating, I ponder; he is thrusting with enthusiasm, yet her breasts are not moving a millimetre. The wonders of silicone!
He’s done but keeps his phallus inside her, letting it wilt before removing it. Stepping to one side swiftly, allowing the audience to watch his cum ooze out of her and trickle down her bottom brings fresh cheering.
“You, foot-maiden. Kneel before me and clean the Royal phallus. Do it well, and I will reward you,” Akhenaten instructs.
This is going further than I expected; never mind, it’s not as though it’s the first phallus I have cleaned. However, it is the first with a paying and baying audience.
Kneeling before him, and taking his flaccid phallus by the root in one hand and guiding it to my mouth with the other, licking around the head, and removing all the sticky dregs, then sliding my tongue down the shaft, doing the same for that. Then, I slide it into my mouth for an all-over clean and rinse, using my tongue and lips as I slide it in and out.
What!? His phallus is twitching and hardening in my mouth, pushing ever so surely to the back of my throat until he has filled me. Whoa, he must be taking something to recover this quickly!
Stepping away from me, pulling his now erect phallus out of my mouth, he gazes down at me.
“You have done well, maiden. You shall have your reward,” he says.
“Maidens, prepare her for my phallus. Lieutenants, position her when she is ready,” Akhenaten commands.
The maidens lift me to my feet and quickly remove the rest of my clothing. The lieutenants take over, lifting me onto the bed and positioning me as the Queen was before, holding my legs in a V, showing the audience my expectant sex. The maidens hold my shoulders with one hand and caress my breasts with the other.
Akhenaten positions himself before me, places his phallus at my entrance, and thrusts firmly into me, making me gasp in pleasure and surprise. He is worthy of his title of mighty Pharaoh! His phallus fills me, stretching my walls and teasing at my cervix. Long and wide, a lovely combination. His thrusting goes on forever; it is the second cumming! The lieutenants and maidens do a fine job of holding me still, that is, until I arch my back skyward as an orgasm shudders through me. Still, they hold me down; only my back has come off the bed, pushing my stomach up. All my muscles tense and contract as I almost scream in ecstasy. The audience is going wild.
As I collapse back into the bed, Akhenaten fills me with his royal seed and withdraws from me immediately.
“Lieutenants, I am invigorated. You, too, shall benefit from her gifts,” Akhenaten invites. “Amir, as a senior, you shall use her first. Sakiri, then you,” he continued.
The maidens take hold of my legs as the Lieutenants prepare themselves. Amir steps up to me and does the same as his Lord Akhenaten. He positions himself at my pussy and, with one thrust, enters me as deep as he can. Damn, I think, if all Egyptian soldiers have weapons like this, how could they ever lose? He’s not quite as big as Akhenaten, but it’s close.
Amir uses slower, gentler strokes. Prolonging his and my pleasure, and I am enjoying it. Audience be damned, the sex is good. We don’t cum together, but it’s as close as he fills me with more seed just before I shudder with pleasure again. Can Sakiri make it three?
Of course, he can; his phallus is as big as Akhenaten’s, but he is not as tall as either of the previous occupants of my pussy. Meaning his phallus enters me at a different angle. Pointing to my stomach and hence slipping over my G-spot more readily, making me cum in record time. Sakiri is in no rush and punishes my pussy at his leisure, finally ejaculating and filling me with the final seed of tonight.
The maidens hold me in position after Sakiri has stepped away from me, allowing the audience to watch their combined juices ooze out of my gaping hole and run down my bum crack.
“My Lord, what of our comrades in arms? Should they not benefit, too?” Amir speaks up.
“Well said, Amir. You always think of others. So be it. Take her to the guard quarters,” Akhenaten orders.
What? I hope this is play-acting. It must be; there is no room on the stage for anyone else.
Still, Amir and Sakiri take me by the arms, slip me off the bed, and guide me to the rear of the stage, which starts to rotate, making me glad they are holding me. I can’t make out what is happening until we step through a door at the back of the stage, and find myself still facing the audience. Nonplussed for a moment, I don’t immediately see the four men in this new setting. But there they are, four soldiers of the Pharaoh’s guard, drinking ale and dressed only in tunics.
“By command of our Lord, Akhenaten, a gift for your loyalty and service,” Amir shouts as he and Sakiri release my arms and push me toward the nearest soldier, who promptly grabs me and steadies me on my feet.
Taking his time, he looks over my body, touching, probing, and poking at me.
“Ah,” he says, pulling his sodden fingers out of my pussy. “The commanders have used her; now let her see what a real soldier can do.”
Stepping behind me, he grabs my elbows and pulls them backwards and down slightly, arching my torso forward. My breasts are pointing upward, and my mound is thrusting forward. Another soldier walks up to me, shrugs his tunic off, and slides his phallus over my mound and down my slit until he finds my sodden sex. Grunting with effort as he thrusts into me hard enough to lift me off my feet, holding me off the ground on his phallus as he grins at me.
“This is how soldiers do it,” he almost spits out as he proceeds to use me violently. Taking my full weight on his phallus, driving it into me as deeply as he can until he empties himself in my pussy. He immediately takes it out, walks away, and returns to his drink. The man holding my arms pushes me forward and onto my knees, kneels behind me, and enters me from behind. His balls slapping against my clitoris sends a buzz of pleasure through my loins.
The slapping of his balls, added to the squelching of all the mixed juices being stirred and splattered, makes for a glorious sound. I doubt the baying crowd can hear it, but I can. He tenses as he is about to cum, which he does, but not before pulling out of me. He shoots his load over my back, and it splashes as far as my neck.
The remaining two take a calmer approach, lifting me off the floor and laying me on a table. Taking a flagon of ale and pouring it over my pussy, the soldiers use their fingers to clean me. Pushing them up my pussy, slipping them around, and trying to empty my body of excess juice. Once cleaned to their liking, one casually slides his phallus into me. He may not be last, but so far, he is the best, wide and long. Even in my used and abused state, he is stretching me open, and he strikes my cervix, too. Is the best going to be last? I wonder in hope. Still, let’s get this one done first. He does me, and how. Long, firm strokes, stretching and probing at my inner sanctum. Putting pressure on my G-spot constantly brings me to a violent peak of pleasure. He continues to use me; minutes, hours, days pass. I don’t know or care, as another orgasm makes my body shudder and my mouth gasp and whimper.
Filling me suddenly to overflowing, as his phallus keeps gushing great gobs of cum into me, so much it leaks out past his tight-fitting weapon. When he finally relents and withdraws his wilting phallus, floods of cum soak my bum and splash to the floor.
What is next? Who can follow that?
No one, not even the last soldier, tries. He drags me to the floor and onto my knees; kneeling before his eager weapon, he pokes it at my mouth. Willingly, I open it and let him slide in. He doesn’t slide; he thrusts, hitting the back of my throat and almost making me gag. Then face fucks me in a frenzied manner, his balls slapping at my chin almost painfully. Cumming almost instantly, nearly choking me as I struggle to swallow his load.
Eventually, he takes his weapon from my mouth, strong arms lift me to my feet, and I find myself facing the applauding audience with all the cast members standing alongside me.
“Quiet, please.” There’s someone on stage with a microphone. “Settle down. That’s better. Thank you to the performers for another fantastic performance. However, special thanks must go to our foot-maiden, Sharon, from England. She is not a performer but the wife of a business acquaintance. He had asked if I could somehow entice his wife onto the stage, perhaps more. I doubted this would be possible, especially the performing part. It seems I was wrong; He must know his wife better than I do! Please show your appreciation to Sharon.”
After the noise dies down and we are about to leave the stage, I hear Ken speak up.
“What about the wager?” he says.
“Ah, yes. I was trying to forget that. OK, I have lost. All drinks are free for the next thirty minutes,” the announcer confirms jovially.
Being handed a towelling gown as we walk off the stage seems superfluous. But I put it on anyway and wear it to the dressing rooms and showers, where I spend a long time getting cleaned and refreshed. Some kind girl even does my makeup for me before I get dressed. My clothes have also been bought backstage for me.
Ken and the announcer walk in. Ken hugs and kisses me.
“You were fantastic; I can’t believe you went all the way like that,” Ken beamed.
“You bastard,” I grinned back at Ken. “You planned this all along.”
“Hello, my dear. I am Siggy, an acquaintance of your husband and the owner of this establishment. I must add my congratulations to you; that was a truly inspiring spectacle. Better than many professional performers. Perhaps I could tempt you?” Siggy suggests with a wink.
“I think I’ll stay a gifted amateur, if you don’t mind,” I answer. Besides, when would I find the time?
“Oh, I do mind. But I also understand,” Siggy acquiesces. “Not even as an occasional guest appearance?” he continued.
Looking between him and Ken, Ken has that puppy-dog look that means, ‘Please say yes.’
“Perhaps,” I answer non-committally.
