Sweet As Whole // 0:42 – 1:02

Categories: Club D, feral musings

And it turns out I’m actually kind of a bitch. But that only happens when I get provoked by some piece of shit asshole we all sadly know. And I sit and I write while reminding you all that mean songs are still better than going postal.” – Sara Bareilles

After a pretty fun and I’d say successful 7 or 8 months of hanging out at Club G pretty much every single weekend, we’ve made a shitload of friends. J & I both have never felt so at ease in such a sea of people, whether we know them or not. We’re constantly meeting & talking to new people, something we struggled like a mother fucker to do in any other social situation we’ve found ourselves in.

But unfortunately because of the culture of our country & the lack of any real sex education to be found, sometimes we (I) stumble across shitty people. Especially outside of a lifestyle club environment, but as I’ve mentioned before because of what the club offers once in awhile an asshole acts like not an asshole long enough to cause a little chaos.

When it comes to sexual education, consent was not something generally talked about in public school sex education when I was growing up. Not to the extent it should have been touched upon anyway. We learned what everything looked like & how it worked, we learned how to properly put condoms on a banana & we learned that if we got pregnant, we were fucked in every sense of the word. I don’t recall there ever being a concrete, no frills discussion around what consent is, why it matters and how to use it.

Club D goes above and beyond (in my opinion) in trying to educate new members about consent and the general expected behavior at the club. I know I’ve described it like a slutty piece of paradise, which it is, but paradise quickly descends into hell if there isn’t a general understanding about what’s allowed & when.

You’re allowed four visits to feel the vibe of the club & it’s people out before you’re required (male, female, couples, everyone) to sit in on the orientations. I’ve talked about it previously and was highly impressed with how well it was done.

Wow, that’s a lot of boring shit to have to sit through to be apart of what sounds like a raging fuck fest.

It’s really not. And if you can’t sit for an hour and listen to someone basically give you the laws of the land you’ve been so lucky as to stumble on to, you really don’t deserve to be there & are likely a future threat just waiting to fuck up someone’s night.

When I think of people who shoulda paid more attention to orientation (most definitely attended & absorbed the information from both the singles & couples orientation) a couple interaction I’ve had come to mind.

The two examples I have from personal experience of how I have handled having someone not understand the word “no” in the past, one was correct & one I took a teensy bit too far.

One evening, at the very start of us attending the club I’d stumbled down to the orgy room with two lovely ladies. With only thoughts of diving face first into the wondrous space between their legs floating through my brain I neglected to clock the creepy guy leering from the corner of the room at first, but boy howdy – he clocked my distraction & focus on the ladies I was taking down there immediately.

I don’t know what it is about people thinking if they see someone fucking they can just…join in. Unannounced and uninvited. I’m gonna go out on a limb & say it’s probably that lack of understanding consent sprinkled with a pinch of not ever being taught basic respect for other people. This guy so happened to assume that since I was rolling around on the bed with two women, it was an invitation to do as he pleased.

He would quickly find out he was very wrong about that assumption.

Unbeknownst to my muff mesmerized ass, he stood behind me while I went to town on one lady, deafened by the grip of her luscious thighs to the world around me. Eventually, the little blood that remained in his brain must have flown to his feeble cock & he decided it was a great idea to stick his fingers in my pussy.

I don’t know about you guys, but if I’m with someone already, male or female and you interrupt me? Throw off my flow and rhythm? I’m gonna be pissed off. I whipped around ready to scream the face off of whoever had just shoved their sand-pappery digits into my snatch, to be met with the sight of a couple. The woman looked…lost & he looked like the dictionary definition of a sexual predator. Creepy, mask-like smile plastered on his face, body language that sent off alarm bells in my head, the whole nine. I immediately told him “no, not interested. Quit fucking with me.” & then glanced at the woman standing sheepishly beside him. Technically, in this part of the club at least, she was partly at fault. No single men can go down into the dungeon without a female escort. Coupled or not. I informed her to keep a better eye on the man she was with or take him out of the area. He’s come off his leash & you need to smack the fucker with a newspaper if that’s what gets him to knock this shit off.

I turned around, smiled plastered on my face once again, thinking that the annoying pussy grabbing piece of shit dealt with, I was ready to dive back in. Just as I got back into have that lovely FUPA plopped on top of my forehead, working my way towards tongue and finger-fucking this gorgeous woman’s soul out of her body, Dipshit McGee decides he didn’t hear me the first time & shoves his mummified feeling fingers right on back in my poor, unguarded cunt.

Alright, I was done here.

I stood up, ripping his fingers out as I did & walked straight outside to find someone who could help me report this fucker to the proper security folks. I found Han who quickly ushered me over to Mr. Bubbles (our security guy) who took me downstairs to point the guy out so he could have a talk with him about what’s acceptable behavior at our establishment.

Totally killed my boner for the evening, but the fact it was dealt with so seamlessly once the people in charge were made aware of the situation made me feel 10000% better about what had happened & I continued on partying, enjoying the rest of my night.

I heard tales later of how Dipshit McGee continued to push his luck with other people hanging out at the club that night. His woman & him were pretty quickly kicked out & banned so far as I know. If you’re still willing to fuck around & find out after Mr. Bubbles has to take time outta his night to tell you to stop being a fuckin’ asshole, you deserve whatever ya get.

The other incident that I handled not-so-well was more recently. I had been talking to my friend Bear outside that evening & was well into my 6 pack of beer. A stunningly beautiful woman sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. I was into it until she wouldn’t stop touching me & grabbing my face (without any sort of “hey can I do this/hey would you like to _____” before hand). Had that occurred, the reaction she would have gotten from me would have been much different and far more pleasant. Between her touchy tendencies & seeming not to know how to give a sincere compliment to save her life, I wasn’t interested & I told her as much.

She didn’t take it well. Or rather, she didn’t take it all? It was like every time I told her to stop she thought I was playing coy when it was obvious I was getting progressively more fed up. To the point where Leia, who had been sitting at the table with us saw what was coming next and quietly made her exit to do her Sexy Velociraptor rounds inside, away from the incoming way of bullshit I was riding.

I continued to blow her off, asked AND told her to stop several times & finally took up refuge in Bear’s chest, drunkenly begging HIM to talk sense into her since nothing I said had worked so far. She tried one more time to dip her greedy little hands between my legs or twist my head to face her so she could sloppily try to plant an unwanted kiss on me and I sorta…snapped.

I had done all the steps correctly (tell ’em no, tell ’em fuck off, etc) EXCEPT for getting up and grabbing Mr. Bubbles. I was hoping this lady would just get the idea of her own accord, but that ship had clearly sailed.

I stood up and grabbed my beer bottle. I calmly told her if she touched me again, whatever she touched me with was getting smacked with said bottle. She tried to whine to me about my choice to be done with her silly ass. I was far past done, this had cross the threshold of obnoxious behavior long ago.

As she continued trying to make excuses for her shit behavior, I couldn’t think of anything else to do in the moment, I was so frustrated and annoyed. At the top of my lungs, for god and every pervert in a 2 mile radius to hear, I screamed for her to leave me the fuck alone. I’m sure I looked like a complete fuckin’ crazy person to everyone outside.

Which of course was loud enough to alert the Mr. Bubbles inside. He came barreling out & scolded us both & told us to scatter as Bear told me nicely to put the damn bottle down & The Grabby Bitch scurried back inside.

That was the WRONG way for me to do that and I instantly knew I’d fucked up. Some people run away when shit gets too much, some freeze & panic. I tend to lean towards fight, especially if I feel like I’ve done nothing to receive whatever negative attention it is I’m dealing with.

I’m working on it.

Realizing my part in the fuck up, I stumbled back inside & found Mr. Bubbles. I apologized as sincerely as I could while having to scream it over the pumping music of the bar. Screaming is chill, but threatening folks with beer bottles is NOT kosher. I knew better and I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I made it his problem WAY too late for him to properly do his job. That much was definitely on my shoulders for not having handled properly.

I went back outside and again tried to keep on enjoying what was left of my night, hoping I wasn’t going to have to stand in front of board members & explain why I threatened to pop another club attendee upside the head with what would be considered a weapon.

The next evening at Game Night, a friend filled me in on how the rest Grabby Bitch’s evening went down since she continued to same shtick with a lady who is notorious for only rarely playing with ANYONE at the club & was simply ignored by her as she grooved to the music on the dance floor.

I guess I hurt her feeling pretty bad with not wanting her to grope/grab me and she walked back into the club to loudly protest “that none of these bitches wanna fuck.” And that “the bitch who runs the outside* is a prude.” Her next would-be conquest after me literally DANCED away from her anytime she tried her nonsense & she still felt like everyone else was the problem.

I don’t want to embarrass anyone** by telling you guys these stories. I want to use them to prove a point that if you go into this type of situation without an understanding of basic consent, but with the expectation that it’s just a giant orgy for the 6 – 10 hours the club is open where you can fuck anyone you please, you’re gonna fuck it up for yourself and possibly everyone you interact with that night. And if you don’t get the hint when it’s given, to correct course, you likely won’t continue to have access to fuck up other people’s good time. You and anyone you’re with is gonna get the boot & told to kick rocks.

In the same turn, no one worth fucking wants to fuck someone who can’t listen to basic instructions while everyone’s clothes are still on because how are you going to trust that person later on, in any sexual interaction, to listen if you choose to revoke consent/want to stop for whatever reason? You really can’t.

Don’t be that type of human, folks. It’s not worth the short term gratification you’re after to fuck up your long term ability to show up at such a cool place and have a great night.

*I don’t run a goddamn thing, I just like being slutty in the same places I can smoke at.

**If I did, I’d be FAR more descriptive of the people in the situations I’m describing.

Fun With Drugs // 1:34 – 1:48

Categories: Club D, feral musings, never fucks

I haven’t really gone over much about how things really operate at the slutty little social club we frequent yet after having first hand experience, have I? Let me try to sum it up before I sling a story with a warning attached to it at your face, on the off chance you ever get lucky enough to be invited to a similar (or the same) establishment.

I usually describe Club D to the curious and new as Slutty Cheers. Where nobody can remember your name, but everyone’s pretty friendly & welcoming for the most part. The people who show up every weekend, to every event they can, are usually the people who are taking care of the ones who forget their manners or imbibed more than they should have.

And both of those things have a tendency to happen when you unleash small amounts of the general public every weekend into the Dionysus-esque wonderland that is the club.

In the short time we’ve been there, most people seem to hold their own pretty well and get a ride home before they get past the point of no return, but every once in awhile you’ll get to enjoy the spectacle of a grown adult making an absolute ass out of themselves. And sometimes those walking shit shows even become regulars.

The owner has a saying that I like to utilize in my interactions with the club & life in general.

“Everyone’s got at least one good shit show in them.”

Being the unrepentant agent of unrest that I am, I tend to let people show me their shit show, exactly once, before I decide whether or not they’re worth having around long term. Most people I pull in are, but not everyone passes the test.

If you’re entire existence is a shit show & you find yourself wondering why the fuck the friends you’ve made are annoyed with you come Sunday morning, you’re not my people. You’re an asshole.

It’s a pretty well known human fact that alcohol and other substances make excellent social lubricant, but that can easily overfill & spill onto everyone else in a more-Slimer-less-Astroglide type of way if you’re not careful and don’t pace yourself. Most newcomers learn their lesson quickly, myself included, but sometimes not before making themselves out to be total dipshits who shouldn’t have the privilege of indulging if they can’t hold their head above the wave of tequila they poured themselves.

I’m not calling anyone out by name, in fact there are some regulars who shit shows are so beloved by all there are bingo cards dedicated to them (note: the key is to be entertaining), but I will leave you with the fateful tale of one Mr. Porky Pig.

It was a freezing winter night, not too long ago. It had been a pretty average if not calm vibe at the club. Nothing too out of the usual.

I was doing my now-normal late night prowl that consisted of wandering around the most active areas and seeing what fun there was to have. You’d be surprised once you make friends how easily you get pulled into interesting situations. On this particular night, I ended up being called into the dungeon after wander down to take a peek by two women who looked mildly panicked. Alarm bells started going off in my head as they described why they looked so startled.

You see, the dungeon is right across from the men’s bathroom. Which is kept separate from the women’s because, as I’m sure you guessed it from the vibe of this entry so far, dude’s can be creeps given even the smallest chance.

A guy with a t-shirt & no pants had come down, used the bathroom then popped out the door to start beating his meat to the sights and sounds of the dungeons and the two lovely ladies telling me their tale of woe we’re not pleased with him breaking one of the easiest to follow rules of the club: no unescorted men in the basement. As I’m sure anyone with enough emotional intelligence to fully comprehend consent can figure out, it’s a big no-go. It’s obviously gonna make some people uncomfortable if you’re just standing there with a blank, blackout stare on your face, cranking your freshly pissed out of yank.

Consent is key even if you’re not touching anyone else.

“Why not just have the door closed, Fonda?” you may be asking yourself.

Again, for the safety of everyone involved who wants to use the dungeon. Security often does walk-bys to make sure everything is consensual, it’s just easier for him to do his job if the door remains open. It’s also easier, like demonstrated in this situation, for people to call attention to unwanted behavior when it occurs.

In my opinion, you should be able to tell full grown adults not to do X, Y, Z in an effort to maintain the general security & good vibe around your establishment & expect them to listen and obey. It’s really not that hard, but I guess ole Porky Pig had missed that memo.

I stand dumbfounded & listen to what the ladies had to say & making sure to ask them where they’d seen him take off to after they scolded him for his gross display of incompetence.

“I don’t know, he went upstairs and walked right towards the playrooms.”

Okay, easy enough to find a pantless dude stumbling around up there. The club was almost completely cleared out by this point in the evening and I figured I could ask the playroom attendant if any of the doors were closed.

I barreled up the stairs with a vicious determination. I took a sharp turn towards the playrooms and instantly noticed all the doors were open. The beds were empty of anything that resembled their descriptions of Porky Pig.

The next most obvious place to search was the gloryhole. It didn’t look like anyone was standing behind the curtain, but I thought I may as well check. I peeked around the thick black curtains to see not a single soul. Thinking with some sort of tipsy, pervert logic, I thought to peer through the cockholes & saw the hairy figure of a very, very drunk Porky Pig slumped over on the floor like a fleshy, half-spilled bowl of oatmeal.

“For fuck sakes.” I whispered to myself as I took off, rounding the corner to enter the side he was sprawled out in. I popped my head in and saw a squat, bigger dude with trashed hair & no pants fitting the description of the guy the dungeon ladies had given me sitting with his arms splayed out in front of him, sorta conscious. He looked up enough for me to see any semblance of a human consciousness that existed when he got here fled hours ago.

I suddenly realized, even in my own hazy state, that I should not be the adult to handle this situation. Porky outweighed me by a good 100lbs & if he didn’t like me instructing him to get up & get himself together he could easily bowl my drunken ass over.

I gave my best plane stewardess smile to the toddler-minded adult staring up at me & slowly backed out of the curtains to the dance floor. I then proceeded to speed walk my happy ass back to the table to find a more stable, taller adult to take on the problem that was sitting, bare assed on the gloryhole floor.

I found Joe first who jumped into action with Han quickly following suit when they realized our main security guy had already taken off for the night. Pretty standard protocol, it was almost 4 am. Almost everyone except a small group of people & Mr. G were left. They let everyone who needed to know what was going on & headed towards the gloryhole where Mr. Pig sat & wobbled.

The next thing I saw was Porky Pig in all his pantless glory, running down the narrow walkway between the bar & the seating area, straight to the giant bean bag that sits in the room next to the bar. He plopped his ass down & in child-like defiance refused to be moved.

Unfortunately for this guy, Joe has a lot of repressed rage & a keen eye for when he can get away with exerting it. While Joe was picking him up by the arm and escorting him to the front so as not to disturb anyone else still left in the club to present the night’s shit show to the owner, I watched on with semi-worried curiosity. I’d seen people have sloppy nights, but this was a new level of fuckery I hadn’t witnessed before. I was riding a mixture of entertained & ready to claw the fuckers eyes out if he hit any of my people.

Between the effort it took for Joe to get him to the front of the building and away from the other patrons & Han offering to take over the burden of getting him somewhere for the evening safely (mostly for the sake of other people on the road) from there, it was clear this guy was gonna be embarrassed as fuck in the morning, if he recalled any of his antics at all.

We left shortly after, watching Han & Leia struggle to stop the idiot from climbing into his cock-extension of a truck as we drove out of the parking lot.

I was filled in later just how out of control the night got from there. Needless to say, he was rightfully ashamed of his actions the next day & he was lucky that the people at Club D aren’t heartless bastards.

Any other group of people I’ve ever fallen in with would have left him to his own devices after taking his keys, but Han & Leia made sure he had a warm, safe place to lay his shitty little head for the night. Even after he tried to fight them, not something I would advise in the case of either person.

This entry is here for two reasons. It’s an entertaining story & to serve as a warning. A horror story if you will about how easily it is to act like a dipshit when you find yourself with too much alcohol and freedom. And in the hopes that if you’re ever in a similar situation, with access to such a fun, adult establishment, you won’t fuck it up for yourself.

I know it’s hard to adjust to a scene like that when you’re coming in with only the half-assed lessons the real world has given you, but more alcohol than what you can normally drink or more drugs than you can usually handle is not going to make it a better time. For you or anyone else around.

Moderation, my pervs. Moderation is key.

Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced // 1:29 – 1:57

Categories: Club D, one and done, slut stories

Girls just can’t keep up, I’m a real love machine. I’ve had far better sex while in jail. I’ve designed the Sears Tower, I make two grand an hour. I cook the world’s best duck flambé. I’ll take the pick of the litter, girls jockey for me. I don’t need these lines to get laid.” – Dropkick Murphys

One of my favorite authors once said “to be a good writer, you have to read a lot & you have to write a lot”. My dude was not wrong. And in the last year or so as my life became a series of insane and inane events, I’ve become a terrible writer when it comes to the top two things you’re supposed to do to even be considered one. But when your weekly activities can range from playing voyeur at a porn shoot to a bingo game serenaded by the muffled moans of hot tub shenanigans taking place directly outside on the patio, I guess it’s sorta understandable to slack on writing about it for awhile.

In the last 12 months, once again, my life has completely changed shape. We went from quietly discussing perv plans amongst ourselves to being welcomed into a giant community of like-minded people from damn near every walk of life. Life may be a shit show sometimes, but it’s never boring.

If you’ve read anything before this entry then you know I don’t shy away from talking about the bad side of crossing the cultural lines & making your life whatever the fuck you want it to be. This is the human race we’re dealing with, there’s always downsides. I’d hate to write about all this stuff in a way that would make you guys think otherwise. You guys deserve better than that.

One of those downsides can be desensitization. When your usual Saturday consists of a couple threesomes, a strange pussy in your mouth & a grateful, happy spouse cheering you on and a blur of substances, some of questionable legality, you can have a tendency to take it all for granted. Human beings can get used to anything, whether they want to or not.

I found out on this particular weekend that boredom often breeds its own fun when it can’t find anyone elses to dive into.

With my ass parked in the same spot it’s been in the months since the cold weather of the midwest pushed me from the smoking area I’d accidentally come to dominate over the summer, I scanned the room while talking to my friend Han about how his week had been.

“There’s a ton of new people here tonight, you should go introduce yourself to some of them! Come on, ambassador.”

I snapped my head back to Han and cocked an eyebrow at the new title he’d given me.

“I’d rather be the mascot. Ambassador seems like it would hold a lot of responsibility.”

He pointed out a couple awkwardly sitting at the table directly next to us & my eyes drifted behind them to the big, Chewbacca lookin’ guy pushed up as tightly as he could manage to a wall in between The Island of Misfit Perverts & the bar. I’m a sucker for someone who is clearly out of their depth and needs a friendly face. They usually have the best stories in them, one way or another.

“Fine.” I thought to myself as the first two beers I’d just inhaled hit my system. “If I’m an ambassador, I’m gonna be the bitchin’-est ambassador that ever ambassed, mother fucker.”

I looked back over to Chewie, we locked eyes & I gave him my best “I swear I don’t bite” smile. He gave me the world’s weakest wave and made his way over to our table. I asked if he was new & he nodded his head.

“Well, take a seat, my dude. Only way to get used to anything is to start doing it.”

We made small talk about any number of weird topics that came up at our table and I did my best to get him acclimated before I got bored and wandered off to see what other chances for chaos the club was bringing tonight.

I stumbled outside, to take a peek at my phone and have a smoke break away from the loud, bedlam-like atmosphere that the club tends to develope between the hours of 10 PM & 1 AM every Saturday. I saw a clump of friends & sat down to join their conversation like I usually do, only to spot another person, looking just as new & awkward as Chewie did. Tall & weirdly innocent looking. Like a lamb in a den of very drunk wolves waiting to be devoured. Like Lurch from The Addam’s Family if he was a redneck.

“Okay, Ambassador, it’s you’re time to shine.” I thought as I introduced myself. He stood there nervously as he told me his name & confirmed it was indeed his first (and likely only) night at the club.

Out of towners, my fuckin’ favorite.

More small talk floated around as I dipped between the conversation I’d struck up with ole Lurch & the group of friends. Trying my best to be nice (and honestly see what chaos I could create) I told him he was welcome to join our table if he wanted to & went back to chatting with my friends who were already sitting, sucking down smoke just as fast as I was.

I snubbed my cigarette and made my way back inside to see Chewie still sat at our table, making his best attempts to socialize like I’d suggested he do before I escaped to the patio. “Good.” I thought to myself as I made my way through the ever growing mass of bodies in between me & the table. “If he’s already making this much effort in the short time he’s been swallowed up by the environment, he’ll make a fantastic regular if he decides to stick it out.”

Soon after Lurch materialized at our table & I welcomed him to pull up a seat (or stand around…we’re limited on ass sitting room most of the night). He did & joined in on the conversation while the hour grew later.

As the conversation at the table took twists & turns down perverted paths, my silly slut of a self decided to bring up my most recent fuck friend. A short, but eager to fuck & please human being with a baseball bat between his legs.

Yes, I tell my slut stories IRL too. Are you really that surprised?

After demonstrating with my hands “big fish story” style what I had the pleasure of enjoying earlier in the week, I hear Lurch pipe up from my left and utter the words “My dick’s huge too!” with a sly smile spread across his face.

Before I even had a chance to react (and may the slutty powers that be forever bless him for antics like this) Han, who was sat between & Lurch, shouts back “Then whip it out. Come on, this is a sex club after all.” I could feel the chaos gremlin inside my mind rattle the bars and then let out a cackling howl as Lurch boldly unbuckled his pants and revealed a very scared looking button on a fur coat.

The reaction around the table was a collective cringe from the male population & stifled laughter hidden behind disbelief from the ladies.

Up to this point, I’d been going back and forth mentally on who to play with that night. It seemed like I had a fair chance with either Lurch or Chewie. But only one was making an ass of himself & likely to never return.

A gift from the universe for a bored feral slut.

Don’t get me wrong, Lurch wasn’t necessarily a bad person. He’d spent the night bragging about his family’s trips to some far away land rich fucks took over as a vacation spot & lamenting about his personal woes. But the level of cocky he’d been giving off was enough to make a chaos gremlin want to take him for a spin & see if his mouth could keep up with his dick.

I let Joe in on my little plan for the evenings entertainment & then went to find Lurch.

In hopes that he was a grower, I got his attention & asked if he wanted to go into the dungeon for a bit of playtime. He eagerly nodded yes and I’m sure a smile akin to the Grinch hatching his dastardly plan spread across my face as I took his hand and led the way. I made sure Joe was following and we climbed down the stairs with two very different outcomes in mind.

Joe stood back as I surveyed the landscape & tried to figure out the best place to fuck. My friends Dad Joke George, Spinner & Eris were already all piled into a beautiful, loud clump of flesh. I smiled to myself as I spotted the spanking benches and started to drag Lurch towards them while telling him to grab a condom from the container on the shelf.

I got down on my knees to find his dick already out & staring up at me with a limp, anxious stance. I popped it into my warm mouth & started playing around with it, using my tongue to stroke from the root to the head as I bobbed back and forth. It got a bit bigger & I popped it out of my mouth to examine my handy work. After getting a decent look at it face-to-dick, I figured it’s current state was as good as we were gonna get. Might as well try to end the evening with a bang in every sense of the word.

I instructed him to slap on the condom as I crawled up on the spanking bench and leaned back, lifting up my robe to expose my pussy who was less than enthused by the chaos gremlin who was now in charge of steering the ship. He fumbled around with his cock as I tried to cheer him on and reassure him “it happens to the best of us” as he managed to find my slit & shove his half hard in.

He continued to hump me half-assedly for 2 or 3 minutes before I realized, besides my bored moans the room had gone dead silent. The gorgeous giggles & sounds of fucking we’d walked in on had stopped & been replaced with the awkward sounds of me trying to save this guy’s ego.

I laid back on the bench as I felt him pull out and start to go down, hoping his attempts to eat me out were better than his dick game when suddenly there was a dick on my forehead. I laughed & looked up to find DJG with his long dong flopped on top of me.

“You’re looking a bit bored there, Fonda. Wanna suck my dick? Might be a bit more fun.”

While I had been getting fumble-fucked, Joe had taken it upon himself to point out how quickly my moans had grown bored to our friend’s who were taking a break from their own shenanigans. Which had caused DJG to wander over to where Lurch & I were struggling to make something happen that resembled fucking and cause a little chaos of his own.

The death rattle of Lurch’s ego crashed through the room as I wiggled out from under him while trying not to laugh & started suck Spinner’s cum off DJG’s semi-hard dick. I realized my rudeness (a bit too late) & audibly popped the new cock of my mouth to turn & apologize to the old one cringing between my legs.

“I think we’re good here, babe. I’m good. Sorry about your luck.”

Before he could respond, my sexual ADHD kicked in as I hopped off the bench & found Spinner strapped into the sex swing directly across the room, legs splayed & pussy looking delightful. In fact, in that moment I realized it looked like it could use some warming up, so I politely asked if she was okay if I muff dove for a bit. By the time I came back up for air, only the people I actually liked were left in the room. Lurch must have slunk up the stairs & out the front door after he picked up all the pieces of his shattered cockiness.

The next morning I woke up & did the usual post-Slut Sabbath discussion Joe & I have every weekend.

“I invented a new game last night after I watched you with Lurch.”

“Oh?” I looked at him surprised by his enthusiasm for me letting men make fools of themselves for a private audience.

“Yeah. I call it The Bored Game. On slow nights when you want to fuck someone new, we take turns picking a person at random like you did last night, go down to the dungeon and see how it goes.”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea, sexy man.”

I smiled at him and realized not for the first time in our long and storied history, Joe has a little chaos gremlin in his head too.

What is chaos to the chump is serenity to the gremlin.

Always Sayin’ // 3:29 – 4:06

Categories: Club D, repeat fuck, slut stories

You’re always sayin that it’s all going better. Well I’ve seen you, and it needs to. God I hope it’s all going better for you. And you’re saying that it tastes so much sweeter. Well I’ve been there, and it’s bitter. God I wish that I could feel sorry for you.” – The Littlest Man Band

Over the weeks of knowing Private Pyle two things had happened. He’d earned his nickname & I had realized he was up to some bullshit. The chaos gremlin that controls (at least) half of my brain can’t help giving people enough rope to hang themselves & seeing what they do it with. Usually they string themselves up faster than a desperate man trying to fuck an especially saucy looking marinet. I love to see what plays out & you guys can’t deny it usually makes for some interesting stories.

But sometimes (often) I chaos gremlin a little bit too close to the sun & my tiny gremlin ass gets burned.

We quickly went from fucking at the club to him sneaking me into his (mom’s) house to me having to meet his whole family as a consequence. I swear to god this little shit was in his mid-twenties, but was also mid-divorce & given all the information he’d given me in the weeks of knowing him, consciously or not, kind of a hapless idiot.

Fine enough for a fuck friend, but again, it was clear he had some other motives besides fucking me by just his insistence on wanting to invite his (soon-to-be ex) wife to the club again. They’d been before, but it wasn’t really her bag, but he was certain he could show her the light if she just came with him as friends. They’d always made better friends than lovers according to him.

Another balmy night at the club, sitting out back basking in the clouds of smoke & fruit flavored mist and moonlight. At this point, I’ll be honest I’d grown pretty bored (and annoyed) by Private Pyle and his antics. I’d started to ignore his messages (what few and feeble he’d send) but on this particular evening, he’d managed to get his (probably-by-now ex) wife to join us for a night of good ole fashioned American debauchery behind the sacred walls of Club G and the chaos gremlin in brain started to scratch at the inside of skull again.

I sat in my usual spot & watched Joe doing the same thing he’d be doing weeks earlier: playing on his 3DS. In strolled Private Pyle looking mighty proud to introduce the woman who lived rent free inside of his mind. I smiled, introduced myself & noticed immediately Pyle was about to act up.

She sat down across from us on the steps into the dance floor as we made small talk & Pyle did his best to paw on me in ways he’d never bothered to before, including but not limited to grinding his semi-hard dick on my back.

I looked at his ex-whatever-the-fuck to see what her reaction to all this was & instantly weeks of wondering if it really was some high school level bullshit was confirmed. This asshole was trying to use me as a pawn to hurt another woman who to my knowledge (and his own words) hadn’t done a damn thing wrong except not want to be with him. After I shrugged off his hands & dick, clearly not getting the message, he grabbed my face & tried to shove his fat tongue down my throat to the second hand embarrassment of his obsessive ex-love interest & first hand embarrassment of me. I shoved him off & told him he needed to stop. At the very least for the night, if not indefinitely. If he touched me again, whatever he touched me with was being returned to him in some form of pain.


Soft Boy // 0:05 – 0:28

Categories: Club D, slut stories

I’m living the dream, it’s just one of those dreams where you’re losing all your teeth. If you think that it gets better… darling, take a look at me.” – Wilbur Soot

About 6 months into our new tradition of going to Club G every Saturday (a.k.a. The Slut Sabbath) I found myself sitting outside with Joe, watching the usual mix of new people and regulars mill around in various degrees of undress. A beautiful starry night with a light breeze & amazing vibes running wild throughout the club.

Most Saturday nights at this point, Joe while willing to talk to whoever might walk up to the little patch we’d staked out in the back patio, still spent the majority of his time playing games on his 3DS while I sat & waited for my next plaything to get caught in my web of smoke & cherry scented perfume. Neither one of us were very good at being social quite yet, but it seems to come easier to me in situations where clothing is optional & alcohol is not only encouraged, but freely available if you’re lucky.

I gazed around at the clumps of people that had accumulated in the short time we’d been sitting down. I instantly spotted a chubby, cherub faced dude with a Justin Bieber haircut standing off to the side of everyone, trying his damnedest to look cool. I gave him a quick look then dove back into the glow of phone, scrolling mindlessly through club Facebook posts trying to discern with as little effort as possible who was available for the night.

“What’re you playing?”

I looked up & was greeted with the very same face I’d caught a few minutes earlier putting on his best Derek Zoolander impression. He was peering over Joe’s shoulder, trying to figure out what game he was playing.

“What the fuck is that hair cut?” I blurted out before my brain could think better of it.


“How old are you?” I quipped. He had to be at least 21 to be inside the walls of our humble little club, but he had a baby face from hell.

“How old do you think I am?” he shot back with a surprised smile on his face.

“Too fuckin’ old to be taking style tips from Justin Bieber.”

And that’s how I was introduced to Private Pyle.

I’ve never been one for bullying as a form of flirtation, but some people just bring it out in me I guess. And Private Pyle was that type of mother fucker. Hindsight being 20/20, it makes sense. The lizard parts of brain picked up on his bullshittery long before my conscious mind noticed anything.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, a big dick & a pleasant disposition can make up for a lot, but the second either of those things falter the red flags become glaringly obvious and you end up with a situation like me & PP ended up venturing into.