The Liberal Club That Changed Our Motorcycle Getaway

Ever since that weekend when we let ourselves go for the first time, Carla and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about the next adventure. The end of summer, with that heat that gave no respite even at night, seemed like the perfect excuse. A motorcycle getaway, traveling light, with no fixed destination beyond the one I had kept secret.

She trusts me enough to get on the back without asking where we’re going. That’s part of the game. The rule when packing is always the same: little clothing and make it very suggestive. I choose light leggings and, under the jacket, a mesh top that hides very little. For her, a tight faux-leather jumpsuit that traces every curve of her body.

The first stop was a huge, almost deserted beach, hidden among dunes. The ideal place to debut the swimsuits we had bought for the occasion: her, a tiny, semi-transparent bikini; me, a minimal thong that barely did its job. After quite a while stretched out in the sun, with too much heat on top of us, we decided to walk along the shore to cool our feet.

We were walking hand in hand, stopping only to kiss or for my hand to disappear for a moment beneath the wet fabric. Her nipples showed through the bikini and I, obviously, couldn’t hide everything. That was when two women crossed our path. Mature, though maintained with a care that was obvious at a glance. One wore a white thong that highlighted her tanned skin; the other boasted an all-over tan and breasts that, it had to be said, were the work of a surgeon with a good hand.

They stopped beside us under the pretext of asking the time. Both looked shamelessly downward, at me. Carla noticed and, far from getting uncomfortable, turned up the temperature of the scene by sliding a hand down my back to caress me. My body responded at once.

—We’d never seen you around here before —said the darker one, not taking her eyes off us.

—We’re just passing through —Carla replied, amused—. We were looking for somewhere quiet to have a drink tonight.

The two women exchanged a conspiratorial smile. Without hesitation, they recommended a place. A liberal pub on the outskirts, El Edén, where, they said, a couple like us would fit in perfectly.

—Tonight’s the welcome for new couples —added the other one, the one with the operated breasts—. You can just go and watch, if you’re embarrassed. No one’s going to force you into anything.

***

We had never set foot in a place like that. The mere idea made my stomach churn with excitement. We confessed we didn’t know how to behave in a place with those characteristics, and they laughed softly, like two patient guides.

—You arrive, set your limits, and observe. Nothing else. If you feel like something more, we’ll see —one of them explained—. There are lockers to change in, a bar for drinks, and at the back, the rooms. But you discover that on your own.

We said goodbye with the promise of seeing each other that very night.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Back at the hotel we showered and went down to dinner. Carla chose a black pleated miniskirt that she knows perfectly the effect it has on me, and underneath, a very fine thong that barely covered her. I put on tight light trousers, matching her provocation. During dinner she played with me the way only she knows how: a long look, one less button in her blouse, the hint of lace from her bra. Before dessert she got up, went to the bathroom moving her hips with calculated calm, and on returning slid her soaked thong into my hand beneath the table.

—The adults’ part starts now —she whispered in my ear.

On the way to El Edén we hardly spoke. I drove with one hand and with the other checked every so often that she no longer had anything on beneath the skirt. We were nervous, it was our first time in a liberal place, but anxiety weighed less than curiosity.

At the entrance they asked if it was our first time. When we said yes, a guy at reception offered to give us a guided tour and suggested a reserved table with a bottle of cava and something to nibble on. We accepted.

—Feel free to do whatever you want and, above all, feel free to do nothing —he told us as we crossed a small dance floor—. Here you’re the ones in charge.

He showed us the red-lit corridor, the rooms on both sides: some with sofas and a huge futon on the floor, another closed off with a grille through which you could see a naked couple playing, and at the end a room with handcuffs on the wall and a rack I recognized from the movies. When the tour was over, he left us in the changing rooms.

—From here on, you’re the protagonists —he said before leaving.

We came out changed. Carla in a mini leather dress, a very short skirt and ruffles that left nothing to the imagination. I dared to wear a vinyl thong and a couple of thin chains around my body. The die was cast.

***

From our table, as we drank in small sips, we watched the place like two spectators in a private theater. Two couples were chatting at the bar. Another was openly rubbing up against each other on a sofa. A girl was dancing alone, holding onto a vertical pole, incredibly confident in her body. We commented on each scene in low voices, complicit, comfortable in our role as voyeurs.

And then they appeared. Bruna and Nadia, the women from the beach, came through the door already dressed for the occasion. The brunette wore a white openwork dress beneath which only a thong could be made out; her friend, a black mini dress with lace on top, no bra. They found us immediately and came straight over to our table, greeting each of us with a kiss on the mouth as if we’d known one another all our lives. Their presence, I don’t know why, gave us a false sense of security.

After a couple of drinks, Nadia suggested we go dance. After a few upbeat songs came the slow ones, and before we had time to decide anything, Bruna pressed herself against me. I felt the heat of her body, her hands sliding down my back until she grabbed me brazenly. I was trying to control my reaction when I discovered, a couple of steps away, Carla dancing with Nadia, the two of them tangled together in a contrast of skin that left me breathless. We swapped partners for a couple more songs and returned to the table laughing.

—So, how’s the experience? —Nadia asked, handing out the remaining cava.

—We’re curious about the back area —Carla replied, glancing at me sideways.

They invited us to go with them. We moved down the red corridor. Some rooms were already occupied: in one, on a divan, a couple was fucking without caring who saw while, on the other side of the grille, two men were masturbating as they watched them. We entered the screening room and sat in the back row, where the screen was almost an excuse.

I didn’t wait long. I slid my hand under Carla’s skirt and found her completely wet. At the same time, Bruna, seated to my right, slipped hers inside my thong and freed me without asking permission. While I caressed my woman, she lowered her head and got to work. Nadia, who had knelt between Carla’s increasingly open legs, was doing the same. We barely lasted a few minutes like that: Carla, fed up with her passive role, stood up abruptly, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the room.

***

She strode down the corridor with determined steps to the room at the back, the one with the handcuffs. Once inside, she pushed me against a wooden cross leaning on the wall and, with some straps hanging from the ends, bound my wrists and ankles. Bruna and Nadia followed us, surprised, still unable to believe the turn things had taken.

Carla bit my neck, ran her tongue across my chest, tugged on one of the chains I was wearing until she made my back arch. Then she turned to the other two.

—Now it’s your turn —she ordered.

The two of them knelt at the same time. While one took me all the way in, the other licked me slowly, little by little building up. Carla watched standing up, one hand between her legs, directing the scene with nothing but her gaze. When she realized I was too close to the end, she yanked both of them away by the hair, positioned herself with her back to me, and impaled herself in one hard thrust until I felt her body slam against mine.

—Not yet —she whispered—. We’re finishing this somewhere else.

She untied me, we changed, and we left the place. The night breeze dried the sweat from us. Bruna and Nadia pretended to be offended at having only been allowed to watch, and Carla cut the argument short by inviting them to the hotel to finish the party in a more intimate place. They accepted without thinking.

***

The hotel was two streets away. We crossed the lobby holding back our laughter and got into the elevator. As if they had rehearsed it, all three of them threw themselves at me at once. We hadn’t gone up even one floor and I was already naked and hard, with Carla’s mouth on mine and the hands of the other two everywhere. I had to warn them that we’d already reached the floor.

We stumbled into the room. Carla pushed me onto the bed.

—Look what your games have gotten you —she said, already undressing.

The three of them stripped in seconds. Carla sat on my face while Nadia took care of me with her mouth and Bruna kissed my wife’s breasts. Then they changed positions and it was Bruna who climbed on top, tight, marking every movement. I let myself be handled, unable to think. It surpassed anything we had imagined.

Then I saw Nadia on all fours, offering herself to her friend, and I seized the moment to get behind her and enter slowly, earning myself a long moan halfway between complaint and pleasure. I was thrusting hard when I felt two firm hands gripping my hips and a tongue tracing me from behind. Then, in the middle of the confusion, something harder forced its way in. It was Carla, with the harness we had bought on our last getaway, pounding in with dry, determined thrusts.

I couldn’t take any more. I let out a groan and came hard, undone by an orgasm that chained into another. When I opened my eyes, one of them was filming the scene with her phone. She came over, kissed my ear, and whispered:

—I hope you like the souvenir.

Carla, beside me, was smiling like someone who has just won a game she had been preparing for months. And I knew, without saying it, that that wasn’t going to be our last getaway.